I was once waxing Energetically growing keen to know
I was once full Brightly shining radiant life
And now I wane Aged and worn fated to winter
Coda
Upon the last minute recommendation of Jonathan Carr we made our way to a new location to make photographs: Parkertown Docks. This splendid location tucked away along Parker Cove offers 360 degree views featuring salt marsh, bay, bay beach, Atlantic City, and some old pilings. Tons of opportunity here, and no doubt a new go-to spot to watch thunderstorms roll in. Crazy to think this gem has been hiding in plain sight unbeknownst to me in my 27 years living in the area. It’s always a win to shed a bit more ignorance in the face of new discovery.
It wasn’t intentional (sunset was the goal) but we hung around through blue hour for the full moon rise. It so happened to be the second full moon of October, making this a blue hour blue moon rise.
The Moon Was a Crescent — 100mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1.6 sec
The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. A pale sun rose and set and rose again. Red leaves whispered in the wind. Dark clouds filled the skies and turned to storms.
—Bran III, A Dance with Dragons; volume five in A Song of Ice and Fire.
Author George R. R. Martin, in one of his strongest, and most rhythmic chapters in A Song of Ice and Fire brings the reader into long, uninterrupted passage of time. Written with exacting precision, we, along with the moon and the characters therein, cycle through time as Bran trains with the Three-Eyed Raven. “The moon was fat and full… The moon was a black hole in the sky… The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.” The cycle repeats no fewer than three times as readers work through Bran’s journey. Cold and lonely in a cave unseeing yet aware of the cold, cruel world outside. We endure the passage of time with our protagonist. Aware of both repetition, effort and duration. This takes peculiar significance with Bran who himself is able to take over the minds of others, man and beast. As readers, Martin is imploring us to do the same through his language. We become Bran in that cave.
Recalling how I felt when I first read through this chapter I marvel at what Martin had done. His use of language, tone, rhythm and repetition stirring my imagination. I saw the moon. I experienced the time. I was with our hero feeling the burden of the work and paralyzed with the task ahead. I am not a prodigious reader, nor am I schooled in language, grammar or creative writing. Yet this chapter left a mark as though made from a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. It took the habit of reading, and thereby the art of writing, to a new level of appreciation. For the first time I perceived how exacting words can move mind, body and soul. It was tangible evidence that reading is essential to better writing. It is the key to better storytelling. The key to better understanding of our world and our audience.
Standing out on the marsh last week, watching a sunset fade, I saw the moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. Immediately transported I saw all the sickled moon blades I’d witnessed over the years. In the same moment I was Bran. At the same moment still I was reading Martin’s words, seeing again all the sickled moon blades I’d witnessed over the years. Sharp as a knife, black as a hole, fat and full. Anything… everything happening at once, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.
Brittle fingers frozen from too much time holding a metal camera body in stiff winter winds did their worst to keep me from making this final photograph during the snow squalls last Friday. Two fistfuls of immovable digits was begging me to quit, but after making this shot I turned around toward the east only to spy a bank of pastel cumulus squall clouds and I knew my day wasn’t done—even if my hands were. With movement that would have made a rusted Tin Man seem spry I opened my trunk and painstakingly swapped my 14mm lens with my 35mm. For a moment I was worried I’d drop my equipment on account of lack of feeling. Carefully I made due.
It was only when I got into position to make my frame that I took note of the full moon rising over sunset clouds. Bonus, I thought. Chilled to the bone, I made two final shots. Oh, perhaps of some interest to my cold hand complaints: it turns out I was in position of gloves the whole time. Another thing, this is another check in the box of pros when it comes to using a tripod for landscape photography; less time holding the camera.
Momentary Lapse — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1600
Two moon shots in a row? If you’ve been following my work for any length of time you know moon/night photography isn’t an all too common occurrence in this house. It’s not that I don’t love me some moon, it’s just that I lack the requisite gear to make some hay in this department. Long lenses—telephotos—are not (in) my bag, baby. Yet here I am backing up Saturday’s lunar landscape with another moon sunset from Sunday; and as I am sure you’ve heard ad nauseum it was the start of supermoon central on the internets. For the next 24 hours Facebook and Instagram were inundated with giant orbs from our number one satellite. It was a lot like Majora’s Mask only less cool and with a worse soundtrack. Never one to want to miss out on the party I present you my contribution: photographed at 35mm overlooking Barnegat Bay from Barnegat Bay Beach in Barnegat, New Jersey. (Say Barnegat again, Greg. Please.)
Now if you’ll allow me to enter critique mode. Photographing handheld from the bay beach my intention was the get a front focus shot of some lime green mossy stuff strewn about the shoreline. I was shooting wide open at f/1.4 going for shallow depth of field where the middle ground and back ground faded away into smooth bokeh. Most of my shots Sunday were made with this in mind. However, I did pop off a few off frames where I focused out to infinity to bring clarity to the middle ground and back ground. Instead of stopping down to f/5.6 which increases overall sharpness while simultaneously pulling the acceptable range of focus closer to the viewer, I stayed wide open with the aperture. This is why the foreground is somewhat out of focus here. None of this is wrong, of course, and frankly the movement from out of focus and into focus creates a different kind of mood with the photograph. I am just conceding that if I went into this shoot with the goal of producing a sharp landscape, I absolutely would have used my tripod and stopped down to f/5.6 or f/8 instead of going with wide open handheld action.
Gazing east from Cedar Run Dock Road during last night’s sunset while simultaneously treated to a 96% waxing gibbousmoonrise was exactly what the doctor ordered. To far away Tranquility Base, detached from the present day reality of this earthly world, I salute you. Prior to yesterday’s sexy sky business, landscape photography wasn’t even on my radar. Conditions were crisp and cool all day with nary a cloud in the sky. Besides that I was tasked with making some afternoon family photographs—gasp!—of my friend and her parents. (Two super cute doggies in tow.) Despite my total lack of experience the shoot went well enough—I hope. Being out there, exposed outside of my comfort zone yet surviving, had an added benefit: the development of high level cirrus clouds building toward the east. The rusted gears of my mind began to turn and clank.
Leaving the shoot and driving over the LBI causeway bridge back toward the mainland I was hemming and hawing on whether to shoot and where to go. To the west the sky was mostly clear so a traditional sunset seemed out. To the east the clouds kept calling. Further down Route 72 West the exit to Route 9 South approached—reflexively right blinker went click, click, click—I suppose Dock Road it is. Driving down the isthmus and out onto the marsh an unexpected wrinkle was thrown into the fold; a big fat mostly full moon was a few inches over the eastern horizon and the plot began to thicken. Even though prime pastel cloud color was good 20 minutes away, it was a lock that the moon would sit large and in charge amid a cotton candy sky. As an added bonus the wind had died and the water was calm and reflective. For a chilly evening in November everything came up Greg with a sugar pill dose of much needed calm and pleasure.
Peering through my driver side mirror at 7:02 a.m., having just crossed the Delaware River—Turnpike Toll Bridge into Pennsylvania ,I saw what I thought would be my best shot of the day. My mirror showed the truth: sunrise was gorgeous, and there I was stuck in my car en route from my home state of New Jersey to facilitate a training session for work. The fiery sky was remarkable, grade A stuff, and I had little recourse but to chuckle at my misfortune of missing a sunrise I was actually awake for. Alas bills must be paid, and this guy must digress.
Home in time for a sunset I assumed I’d bag a good one at the usual stomping grounds. Upon arrival I immediately noticed what appeared to be a Full Moon breaching the northeastern horizon. Content to ignore our natural satellite I set up for sunset. Unfortunately sunset never came. Well, it did—it just happened to be a total letdown. What I could have sworn was an ideal cloud deck resulted in colorless vapor. I was giddy thinking the end of day would watch this morning’s glory but #nope.
Well into blue hour and hoping to salvage the shoot, I moved my tripod to the other side of the road and made for the Moon. In hindsight I’m pretty damn pleased I did. I don’t have many Moon shots—in fact I don’t think there’s a single one on this website—so it’s nice to add a nice new wrinkle to the cache. I hope you enjoy.
Related: October has been a good month for photos, and it was needed after a slow September.
