The ice returns and is that some inspo sliding in on it? Ever since I was a kid winter has owned my curiosity. Forever my favorite weather, the cold and snow continue to demand my attention. It’s like the first time, every time.
So it should come as no surprise that when the salt marsh turns frozen the urge to get outside explodes. To my camera and the marsh I go. Only this time a proper stop further.
For the first time since December 2020 (five years!) I am publishing a photo from Great Bay Boulevard. Once part of a steady rotation it’s been a casualty of a stalled hobby. For the first time in years, thoughts of making photos land upon my brain. It’s happening several times per week, easy, and usually in the shower. Where once there was desert, there are no motes of water, frozen as it may be. As for GBB, it was awesome to be back, and I am starting to feel I may be back.
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The Gift of Winter — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
No two sunsets are the same. This we know to be true. Return to the same place over and over again and you’ll be chasing unicorns to hunt down a pure facsimile. It’s best to take each unique moment and capture its joyful light as best you can, while you can. It’s a welcome lesson in the natural function of impermanence. This doppelgänger is impossible to find.
Tonight, however, I came close. In what I can only describe as the spiritual successor to Ruinous Splendor—changed only by time. Made just over five years apart at near the same exact track of bulkhead I give you the best sunset photograph I have made in five years. Recognizing the subjectivity of such claims I defer gracefully if you disagree in preference to another sunset photograph I have made. These decisions belong to us.
Winter sunsets, man. In particular winter sunsets heralding oncoming winter weather near always produce. While tomorrow looks to be a nuisance event with rain in southern Ocean County, winter weather will hit New Jersey tomorrow in the form of a weak coastal low. This, of course, is merely an appetizer for a far larger and more powerful system poised to wreak havoc on the entire region Wednesday into Thursday. Jackpot zones will be measuring in feet. Buried cars, bread and milk in short supply. Still over 72 hours out, where the rain/snow line and axis of heaviest precipitation set up remains up in the air. Stay close to Weather NJ’sFacebook page to keep up with the latest. You can bet I’ll be back out shooting Tuesday to see the big storm’s harbinger sunset.
Shout out to the universe today for giving me exactly what I asked for. This morning, while thinking about my photographs this year, I envisioned how great it would be to have at least one more clear cut entry into my annual best of series for 2020. My output has been solid enough this year, though real standouts have been lacking. Well, my Christmas gift came early. Thank you.
Great Bay Boulevard has sat out of the rotation for far too long. This photograph, made in late September, was my first shot made at Seven Bridges Road (GBB’s other name) since February. Great Bay Boulevard is like Cedar Run Dock Road with a multiplier. It is southern New Jersey marsh life writ large. The marsh extends for miles in all directions, at times leaving the observer with a solemn feeling of stark isolation. The road doglegs to the southwest running out the miles over several small wooden bridges. Alternating one way traffic is the order of the day in spots, minded by lonesome traffic light sentinels, adding to the area’s sense of place. It is splendid.
Specific to the photograph above I went about my business a bit different than usual. Using my 14mm wide angle lens I executed a shallow depth of field exposure, sitting wide open at f/2.8. This is a tactic I typically reserve for my 35mm and 100mm lenses. With wide angle work I lock into hyperfocal distance to capture sharpness throughout the entire depth of the image. This is born out in the hundreds of the wide angle sunset photographs I have published.
The remnant piece of wood, worn and eroded, marking the foreground, caught my eye. Its coloration, weathering, and grain draws the eye, and with some decent sunset light I wanted to make it the focus of the photograph. So with an open aperture I got down low, keeping the camera no higher than three inches of the ground, and worked some frames. Originally I deployed a western exposure, straight out into the sunset. Then I spied the telephone pole off to the south set over my left shoulder. I split the difference with a south-western exposure brining the pole into the frame. The shallow depth of field and off focus casting the pole in diffuse symbolism.
Photographs capture scenes to convey narrative in a visual medium. The story can be simple and straightforward, or it can mask in layers to tell multifaceted stories. It allows the viewer to imprint their own stories shaded by beliefs and experiences to connect in a personal way. This is the beauty of photographic storytelling.
Here the telephone pole will appear to some as a cross looking down upon a weathered wooden relic. An aged grained wood with a prominent knotted eye looking deep into the viewer under the auspices of Golgotha. There will be an obvious religious connection for many while others will absorb this motif in a different way. Both are correct and neither wrong. Here is the magic of imagery.
Ice World Ignition — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Tonight made for a proper sunset. The essential cadre rolled deep and even brought the support staff. There was snowpack, sea ice, disused dock pilings, and a painted reflection brushed by a solar goodbye burning out slow with smoldering intensity. It was fantastic.
Sure the temperature was biting and the wind unforgiving. Of course leaving the house with a pair of gloves would have made perfect sense. Hey, even a woolen hat would have proved wise. Yet when the ice world ignites the fire inside burns passion red.
This is winter at the beach. This is when the power sunset hits, when the seascape on our eastern flank locks in ice and casts a panoply of color. The marshes, bays, and coastal ways captured by cold, locked tight to the landscape despite battle from tidal forces. The power needed to freeze the land and stem the tide is striking. Cold, weather, nature—it all means business. A reminder of impermanence and subordination to big ‘N’ Nature.
Cold as I was, I was beyond pleased to be out exercising camera tactics amid the cold splendor. It was obvious this was the best shooting conditions I’ve encountered in months, even longer. The most promising since late last summer when I made a bunch of great shots only to have a corrupted file transfer render all data unretrievable. That moment had left a sour taste in my mouth for months. This evening cleansed the palette and froze it all away.
After a low output 2018, I am pleased with efforts and outcomes in 2019. I committed to making this a better year for my photography. I am delivering against the commitment. Writing about it here helps hold me accountable. It makes it more real. A commitment to myself and to you welcomed website visitor. Yes, you.
With any luck it is a touch warmer where you are at, and you were able to enjoy this photograph in comfort. Cheers, and thanks for your support and attention.
The twin forces of time and water erode a once proud place of recreation and enterprise. Torn asunder in Sandy’s rage, the derelict of Rand’s continues to degrade. The months pass and the irresistible force of nature reclaims as it is wont. In the absence of human intervention the twin forces return the natural order. The skeletal remains that once brought safe harbor to ships fade in a slow, inexorable exodus to the sea. With the outpost unmanned nature will have what is hers. Nature will always have what is hers. The twin forces do not sleep.
To the Point — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I’m brining it back to last Friday evening on Great Bay Boulevard. To my final set of seven brackets on what was an excellent first fall night. It was only moments earlier I scored this sunset before turning my camera vertical for blue hour. It was in this moment I thought about the past.
Vanishing points fascinate me. First introduced to the concept back in grade school art class I’ve been keen ever since. It unlocked the secrets of depth, proportion, scale and scope. Suddenly I could make my drawings fall back into the page, perspective now conquered. To an eager grade schooler it was akin to sorcery. The shroud pulled and in a single lesson my mind expanded.
The precepts from all those years ago are on display in this photograph. Here to the right Great Bay Boulevard itself retreats back to a single point at the center of the scene. It’s met with the parallel power lines and telephone poles falling back to said point. Everything here drives back to the same point on a line, shrinking as it goes. The marsh and puddles serve as more lines—albeit natural. Even the clouds are working it. All over lines leading the eye to the one vanishing point, the singularity of this world. And yet it’s a farce. Pursue as you may, you will never make it to the singular spot. It will keep its distance with cunning allure. It will remain as unconquerable as the rainbow and as elusive as its pot of gold. Still it is a wonder to see the world collapse down to a spot so small.
Fall Ahead — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Each sky is different. Yet some remain the same. This is the paradox of the light chaser. Last night on Great Bay Boulevard I welcomed fall. Or spun to the proper hierarchy of things, it was fall who welcomed me. I have no power over seasons and remain her humble servant. It is in accordance to such peerage I will observe my station. Putting the power of things aside it was Mother Sky set in the seat of high honor. This fulfills a trend of quality sunsets in and around seasonal shifts. Confirmation bias may be at play but this seems the case over my now six years of shooting.
As I suggested at the start of this story last night’s sky brought me back to a mid-August evening in 2015. The twin skies bore striking resemblance to each other. To further the symbiosis was the location itself. I was also shooting on Great Bay Boulevard at sunset that night. On both occasions the marsh held sway in comparable colors—green pulling back to brown. The sky cast in a clean, piercing blue gaze. All this was set aglow moments before the sun set low beneath the horizon. In a rare showing, low set clouds lit up brief and bright, breathing fire to a scene of peace.
The Old Wood Span — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/30
To the romance of wood. The fuel of the hearth. The bones of the home. The backdrop of the written word. Nailed to the story of man wood’s place in civilization’s ascent is both secure and unsung. Its importance overshadowed by the power of stone, bronze, and iron. Perhaps there being no Wood Age—nor great monuments to its own—lends to its secondary status. Regardless, the power of the trees have freed us from the land and we should not forget.
While it has not the historical cachet of stone, bronze, or iron, it does invoke the warm feelings of a simpler time. This is where my mind runs when I look upon old, well-fashioned wooden structures. From an early age wood crafts, buildings, bridges, and even roller coasters fired my interest. The fine tuned skill and the care left behind from the souls who put all into their work. Underneath that work is history. Who built this? Where did they master their craft?And with whom? When was it built? How long did it take? And what of the material? Is it oak? Is it ash or pine? Where was it milled? From forest to work site to finished structure is where the grand narrative sits. For while this is the story of but one bridge, it’s the story of the bulwark of our civilization writ large. For ours is a story warmed by it, built upon it, and sheltered underneath it—the shaded age of wood has never ceased to be.
Yellow Kiss — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
See the yellow kiss the marsh and pass the green of yesterday to memory. Seasons move and the lands do follow. Before the clocks of innovation the environment held sway. Celestial movement speaking the story of time through a perceptible and changing land. A change so clear to our ancient ancestors now seen so quaint in the eyes of our mankind machine. Our marriage to tools works to our freedom and subjugation. It’s the great paradox of humanity’s rise. The more we conquer the less we control. Masters of our own machinations mastered by the machinations that drive us. As with Alexander—we may steam role ever eastward writing histories and song to our exploits. Yet we leave little record to rule the glory left behind.
Then you look upon the marsh, untouched by man and kissed by light, and you reclaim the past. You watch the sun set and you perceive the world as our most ancient ancestors observed it. You see a changing place left only to the plotting of nature and time. A land left to evolve unadulterated as seasons come and go. No clock ticks to instruct us of this time. It is the hands of nature stretching out with an ephemeral grace to caress the green and kiss with yellow. For it is here we need no more than our eyes to tell of time—of life moving on.
