Not Today — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Last week was rough. One for the memory banks. I will spare this space the details, but I will say things are looking up. Finally back on my feet, a rejuvenation elixir came by way of Great Bay Boulevard where I was out making photographs Saturday evening. Sunset was glorious—birds singing, marsh grass gently swaying in the dying breeze. Bait fish were boiling pockets of otherwise calm water providing an easy meal for the litany of seabirds that make the marsh their summer home. Families were out fishing together as young jet skiers plied their craft. I even took a moment to help out a new shooter with some camera tips to help her on her photo journey. It’s good to give back. It’s good to take it all in. The photographs were just icing on the cake. I struggle with being grateful. Perhaps this is a start.
All Too Familiar — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/80
Hey, New Jersey! Maybe you’ve noticed it’s been raining? Or maybe you live under a rock? In which case you’ve more than likely been claimed by the Drowned God. It’s been over a week now and it seems to be the only weather we know. This photo is actually a throwback to April 26 when a pattern flipping cold front powered through the mid-Atlantic bringing strong storms and powerful straight line winds to the region. Since that day it seems we’ve been in omega block city—only we’ve been on the wrong side of said block. The cold, wet, raw side. Not exactly the pattern anyone wants in late-April, early-May. Unless of course a sea of endless grey is your thing. While it looks as though a few breaks in the clouds may appear over the next couple days, it seems we’re heading right back into the soup for much of next week. To modify the cliché, April flowers bring grey skies to May that never end. Welcome to Ireland, New Jersey.
Heh, fittingly enough Jerry Garcia & David Grisman’s “Dreadful Wind And Rain” just randomly queued up on my iTunes as I finished paragraph one. If I could go back and do it all over again, I think that’s what I should have titled this shot. Alas, hooray for a fitting coincidence. Now where is that blasted Sun?
Friday evening I hitched a ride with Jon Carr and we made our way to Great Bay Boulevard. The hope was twofold: 1) outside shot at a well timed break in the clouds for sunset ignition; and 2) with a segment of thunderstorms approaching from the west, lightning captures were on the table. While neither outcome panned out in the ideal the night wasn’t a total wash. Under the gun of days of stiff west by northwest winds, a blowout tide exposed a land bridge and thereby allowed me to shoot from a sand plain that’s far more often than not under the cover of brackish water. Advantage: Greg. This afforded me a rare angle on Great Bay Boulevard’s first bridge, and I did my best to exploit the opportunity.
Surely I wanted some high drama cloud to ground lightning from this vantage point, but considering we were about 20 miles south of the real action that simply wasn’t in the cards. Instead I tried to make the most of the cloud level flashes coupled with the low cloud deck that was bouncing the light pollution in a cool array of orange, pink, and purple hues. One of the reasons I added a 35mm lens to my bag was for some better lightning photography. More often than not the 14mm is just too wide, and unless you have the fortitude to let the lightning get right over your head the bolts are oft too far in the distance. My hope is the 35mm while bring in the right amount of intimacy while remaining wide enough to still capture a good piece of the sky.
Run Out the Tide — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Friday evening, about 20 minutes before I made this, some primetime golden hour light was pouring over the salt marsh along Great Bay Boulevard. Better yet, the clouds were decent with the tide dead low and dead calm. All signs point to decent photo making when these conditions are met.
Compositionally my goal was to key off the remnant bulkheads—the roughly 1 foot in diameter stumps of wood you see aligned at an angle about the foreground—while conveying the extent of the dead low tide. To do this I kept my tripod higher than usual, putting the camera body about 5 feet off the ground, giving me enough angle on the marsh. More often than not I tend to get low and close when shooting wide angle—this makes closer objects appear more dramatic (re: large), but limits your ability to push the viewers eye depth further out toward the horizon. In other words, if I was crunched down here as usual, the tidal exposed marsh and the still water to its right would appear as much thinner strips. However, the bulkheads would be given much more visual weight. These are the kinds of decisions you have to make when you approach a scene. What am I trying to convey? And then, perhaps more importantly, what concessions do I have to make to achieve said conveyance? This is where I cannot advocate trail and error experimentation enough in an era of digital.
But it’s not all faeries and roses here. Due to the extreme angle I placed the sun—setting it to the outer sixth of the frame—chromatic aberration and lens flare marks the horizon from right to left in several spots. While I’m not sure if it’s a bad thing, I’m fairly certain it’s not a good thing. Ultimately I will leave this up to the subjectivity of the viewer. At the very least I should concede this effect was not intentional.
Here it is—my first photograph with the new 35mm lens. Finally. Despite having this bad boy for a week now, up until tonight I had yet been able to piece together a serviceable shot. Sure there’ve been a few passable photographs, but nothing of real interest or note. This isn’t entirely unexpected: 1) I’ve never shot at a 35mm focal length before; and 2) there’s always a learning curve with a new lens. Where are its sweet spots? How sharp is it wide open? What kind of bokeh and depth of field are we dealing with? How shallow is the area of focus and how does it change throughout all f-stops? How fast? How does it focus in low light? In hyperfocal how close to my foreground subject can I get while keeping it and the horizon in acceptable focus? And so it goes. While this learning curve can feel tedious and restrictive at times, it’s a necessary period in trial and error as you learn the limits and capabilities of your lens. So here’s to a spring and summer of experimentation, and a few expletives.
Through limited period of field time so far, my primary observations orbit damn this thing is heavy, and holy smokes, this thing is sharp wide open! The latter has me excited, and the former I don’t mind—I actually prefer a heavier rig, I have strong, sizable hands and prefer the heft; though I suspect I may be in the minority here. However, the combination of sharp focus and shallow depth of field—particularly wide open at f/1.4—has me salivating for flower season. This should afford some cool looks with all the flora about the area that’s about to bloom.
Perhaps this is Goodbye? — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Be it superstition, confirmation bias, or an actual demonstrable trend to which I have neither the data nor scientific awareness to prove, pre-storm sunset skies always seem to deliver. Today sure fit the narrative. Anticipating winter storm Jonas’ arrival has ground my personal perception of time to a relative halt. Since Monday night the hours, such as they are, have ticked by like days as I click weary-eyed from one model run to another, waiting interminably on weather to arrive. Yet no matter what the models show me, and despite the Blizzard Watch we’re sitting under currently, the pangs of last year’s bust at the hands of Juno gnaw away at my insides. I just want the snow to get here, stay here, and with any, luck bring little to no rain to southeastern New Jersey. Of course that toasty Atlantic Ocean looms large, ready to push warm maritime air onto our shores if the center of low pressure creeps close enough.
But let’s push my selfishness aside for a second, coastal flooding and beach erosion is the real concern here. But as the far less sexy story overshadowed by the high probability of widespread 12″ snow across much of the Mid-Atlantic, the tidal implications of a roiling ocean have been lost in the shuffle. We’re looking at an extended storm with a duration over 24 hours complete with a broad wind field of tightly packed isobars slinging wind gusts of around 60mph onto New Jersey shores. It’s subsequent storm surge will be aided by an ill-timed Full Moon giving an unneeded boost to already moderate to major tide heights. At least three high tides will be affected from Saturday morning through Sunday evening.
It is with this reality I title my post. Understanding the marina is now state owned and seemingly set to restore to its natural state, there’s a good change this little cove will look quite different as soon as Monday. These derelict posts of wood that once gave aid to docks and quays may soon be little more than a memory. This is why in considering where on Great Bay Boulevard to photograph today I recalled the wise words of Ben Wurst, instructing me to shoot here as often as possible fore it may soon be gone.
We Face the Path of Time — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I’m still basking in the glow of last night’s awesomesauce. And as much as I like the photograph posted last night, this one beats it out ever so slightly as far as I’m concerned. I realize we’re splitting hairs here and traipsing into the realm of subjectivity. But that’s all part of the fun—it doesn’t matter what I like, all that matters is what you like. While we’re all in this together we get to bring our own experience and thought into each and every photograph. And that’s p kool as far as I’m concerned.
In my previous post I talked about how I was all over the place trying to lockdown an ideal composition worthy of a killer sunset. The spot above is where the lion share of hemming and hawing went down. I just couldn’t get locked in. Do I get low? Do I go high? How many poles should I incorporate from the dock in my foreground? How much marsh should I capture along the right side of the frame? Is it balanced with the water to the left? On it went. Ultimately I settled in at a spot straddling a missing piece of board along the gangway. It wasn’t quite as precarious as it sounds, but when you’ve got camera equipment you care about riding the edge of no tomorrow there’s always pause for concern. But remember the mantra: you do what it takes to make the shot. That’s especially true when you’ve got light on a level that only happens a handful of times a year. Of course the fact that I bailed on this position to make last night’s shot, which at the moment I thought of as a last ditch effort to make a better image, speaks to trusting your instincts. The upshot to this indecision? I’ve got two damn fine photographs to add to my stockpile.
I — II — II — X . . . if roman numerals are your thing.
How about tonight’s sunset, New Jersey? Conditions from Great Bay Boulevard were just about as good as it gets—30+ minutes of standout light play working off intricate cloud structures overtop reflective bay water. If air guitar’s your thing, now would be the time.
Normally in this situation I settle into my composition quite naturally. It’s a rare area of decisiveness for me, and I almost wholly rely on my first instinct and ride out that whim compositionally. Usually a quick walkthrough of my target location—stopping occasionally to just look down the viewfinder from at most a handful of positions and angles. Once that’s locked in I grab my tripod, dial in, and wait. Wait for the big time color that comes after the sun goes down. Free and easy, just how I like it.
This afternoon on the other hand I was all out sorts, bouncing around from spot to spot struggling to find the ideal angle to shoot. At first I thought I had it only to be moments later second guessing myself. This process repeated several times over. For the next twenty minutes or so. Down to the end, really. This photograph here came seconds after full sprint running, camera still fixed to tripod from the spot I thought I was going to ultimately choose—I will share its photograph here tomorrow.
Suffice to say today I was fated to work for it. And that’s OK, because you know what? That sky tonight was incredible and it was good to feel the pressure of wanting to make the absolute most of a rare opportunity before it fades. Or maybe this was just an ill-timed dance with perfection questioning my best? Even so, I’m choosing to take this experience as an overwhelming positive. Start to finish tonight’s shoot was just awesome. Easily the best of the year. Would do it again.
Whew—with the obligatory holiday recognition out of the way I can move on to tonight’s photograph. I’m not gonna lie, I hemmed and hawed about posting this one. I’m pretty meh on this shot, but I’m struggling to pinpoint why. Is it because the shot itself is just a going through the motions kind of place holder photograph? Or is it because tonight’s sky seduced me into thinking it was going to color up one hell of a sunset? It’s hard for me to say but either way, here’s a photo I wouldn’t exactly write home about—of course here I am blogging about it so does that even make sense?
It’s funny how the great sunsets work. They ride a razor’s edge of boom or bust. There needs to be enough cloud action present to render a truly standout sky, but get a few too many clouds extending beyond the westward horizon and it’s cloud out central. That was tonight’s Halloween story: a sky full of grey and pastels nowhere to be found. But even with the miss, this sort of show up and hold your breath approach adds to the excitement and reward of landscape photography. Not too unlike fishing.
