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.
Subtlety in Familiarity — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Fierce sky tonight, folks. Ominous. Brooding. Ever-changing. A fitting vibe on this the third anniversary of Superstorm Sandy. Context appropriate I made for an old standby location: Antoinetta’s Restaurant, down at the far east end of Cedar Run Dock Road in West Creek, NJ—an area that was beat up pretty bad from the storm. Now closed for the season, at least I think, this pointe will likely feature more regularly in my winter shooting rotation. So huzzah for that. For whatever reason I’ve had some great luck capturing dramatic skies from this spot. Perhaps none more dramatic than this. Or this.
Not content to simply recreate an oft used composition from this location, I used what nature gave me. In this case? Puddles and some undulating sand—it should be noted I’m obsessed with this kind of sand pattern. It’s a personal Shangri-La I’m always keeping a keen eye for. But we all know sand is fleeting so it’s all about being in the right place at the right time. Either way this combination made for an interesting and complex foreground and thus I set myself and my trip up further back than usual. The key takeaway is this: even though we as shooters return to the same location over and over again doesn’t mean our shots ever have to be the same. Between the sky, natural processes such as erosion, the change of seasons, and even a little rain and/or tidal flooding can make all the difference in rendering subtle changes to seemingly familiar surroundings. No two photographs are ever the same no matter where you stand.
This Will Do — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I’m not in love with this shot. Mother Nature did all the heavy lifting today, rendering a slow burning sunset over Stafford Forge. I just kind of showed up and went along for the ride. My “problems” began on arrival. My plan was to revisit the spot Joe and Jackie brought me where I dabbled with a little astrophotography a couple weeks back. Unfortunately when I arrived at the trail there were cars—and where there are cars there are people—and where there are people there is a place Greg will not go.
Short on time with the sun setting fast, I returned to the front lake. Completely uninspired with my first setup and unsure as to how best to frame my shot, I searched my immediate surroundings looking for anything and everything that could give me a serviceable foreground. About 20 feet away to my left I found the branch you see above and rolled with it. To further my criticism in this airing of grievances the photograph is too right heavy; which is to say there’s just not enough balance from right to left—all the action (re: weight) is happening on that side. Compounding this is the section of longer grass filling the right corner, just behind the branch. Not my best work, but it’ll have to do. On this night Mother Nature gets a B+ and Greg Molyneux is slapped with a C (probably gonna get grounded).
Website update: I’ve been asked to participate little show coming up at the Little Egg Harbor Library on Thursday, November 12, and was tasked with putting together an artist statement and bio. Considering I went through the trouble I figured why not create a real deal about page and include it? Well, here you go.
Look Down On It — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I never thought pictures would happen yesterday. With Zombie Outbreak Build Day as the clear priority I put little thought into being able to do both. But thanks to fortuitous timing, some promising clouds, and the good sense (all luck) to actually pack my camera gear, I was able to travel direct from the Joseph A. Citta Scout Reservation—home to this weekend’s haunt—to my regular Dock Road stomping grounds. I had little time or desire to go elsewhere. In spite of feeling my age thanks to a good day of hard work, a rare moment of ambition settled upon me, prying me away from the Sirens’ call of a hot shower and comfortable couch. Not sure what was happening, pictures it was!
Arriving with the sun nearly down my shot choices were limited. And so necessity mandate I line up where I had done many times before. Only this time I threw in a few compositional wrinkles: first, though less rare than what comes next, I extended the tripod to full height—typically being a low to the ground shooter; second I framed up a shot with the lower 2/3 occupying the lion-share of the frame, leaving the upper 1/3 for the sky alone. For those more familiar with my landscape work you’ll usually see no less than 1/2 the image being sky. None of this is to say I don’t appreciate the ratio of last night’s shot, it’s just that I’m not very good at it. I feel the same about vertically oriented photographs. Whereas my buddy and fellow south Jersey landscape photographer, Ben Wurst, excels in these areas.
That’s all just a bunch of words to say that while peaking outside ye olde comfort zone yesterday, I managed to produce a solid result. The elevated 2/3 angle brings a perspective to the marsh I’ve struggled to extract. This vantage allows the viewer to better understand the depth and interconnectedness that endear New Jersey’s marshes to many—humans and birds alike.
And finally a note about this website: this marks post number 200 since launch in January 2014. Woohoo! Obligatory round number dance.
Having returned from vacation just yesterday I was left on the outside looking in as days of rain, wind, and tidal surge battered New Jersey beaches and intracoastal ways. Even though our area was spared the brunt of Joaquin thanks to just missing a capture from an upper level low spinning over the southeastern United States, my home town and neighboring beaches and waterways had front row seating to extended onshore flow that wrought moderate tidal flooding and a deluge of rain.
Sitting in Florida, a mere few hundred miles from the center of Joaquin’s cyclogenesis, I was crossing my fingers model run to model run as spaghetti plots meandered all over the eastern seaboard; many sending landfall to areas directly affected by Superstorm Sandy. Ultimately, after laying a beating on the Bahamas this turned into a fish storm and began its northeast march toward Bermuda and out to sea. But with a powerful blocking high pressure locked in around Maine and the low pressure of the storm off the coast of Florida, Mother Nature set up the physical mechanics of a pitching machine enabling a 72-96 hour period of onshore flow to fire streams of moisture and wind at much of the east coast; bringing devastating rain to South Carolina and beach erosion to many coastal areas. With the abrupt left hook of Sandy still fresh in all our minds, this was a little too close for comfort.
Pictured above is my photograph of tonight’s sunset still showing off the tidal remains of all that water that was pushed up toward the coast thanks to that pitching machine effect. Despite being days after peak flooding you can get a sense of just how long it takes water to recede safely back whence it came.
What Once Was — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Yesterday was the kind of day that drives home the Fall is the best season! mantra that gets bandied about heavily as the back to school season returns. Ever the contrarian, I’m not exactly Fall’s biggest advocate, but even I will concede to some of its merits; specifically those that involve the room temperatures and stunning visuals—bonfires are cool too.
Last night was glorious: the temperature and the sights. The crowds and bugs were scarce and conditions were ripe for restorative inhales. Jackie—the better half of the Jackie and Joe show, collectively known as The Joackie, gets all the credit for calling the spot. With late afternoon cirrus spanning the sky sunset plans were set into motion early. Great Bay Boulevard was the target, and at that moment I assumed we’d be setting up shop at my usual spot. Instead, as we were passing it by, Jackie piped up in favor of heading down to the old marina. This decision would prove most wise.
Upon arrival I was immediately convinced Jackie’s audible was without doubt the right call. Disused slips where boats once moored. The crooked remains of a seafaring past. Mirroring where we may tie up tomorrow. Whatever you want to call it? However poetic you want to get? A good foreground it sure does make.
Here on the Mullica — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Reclaimer of wood and photographer of things, Ben Wurst hosted friends for textbook late summer chilling and grilling this weekend. Naturally, festivities were preceded by an hour long sunset shoot at a location that was for the rest of us in attendance, a brand new spot! We found ourselves tucked away under the Garden State Parkway in Port Republic, NJ, set alongside the southern shore of the Mullica River. Offering both east and west exposures this is a versatile spot that will no doubt take its place in the rotation.
We were originally onsite so Ben could catch the full moonrise with his 400mm. Too bad it was obvious immediately that wasn’t going to happen; marine layer clouds were draped over the eastern horizon throwing a dripping wet blanket on those plans. The western side wasn’t much better with low level clouds riding the southerly flow. At this point I was milling about chatting with friends while Jackie remained steadfast to the photo plans, dutifully making shots. It was a good time, weather was perfect.
A few minutes before sundown, what you could see of a mostly cloud obscured sun disk was swallowed by the marine layer haze. With that it was looking more and more likely that a cloud out was inevitable. Driving the impatience further were some feisty appetites and a nice spread waiting back at the reclaimed home base. The natives were restless. Stalling twice for just three more minutes, I began to question whether my efforts were in vain. About 60 seconds from bailing I noticed an oh-so-subtle back build of pastel color brewing toward the east, over the Parkway span. Jackie! I said, we’re golden. And by golden I meant pink.
The best sunsets always straddle the fine line of oh yeah or oh no. It’s a razor’s edge of hope that there’s just enough gap underneath the clouds along the horizon to give the last photons of the day a chance to get an angle and deflect off the clouds. That’s just what happened Saturday: a near colorless sunset that ignited a good 5-10 minutes after actual sundown, only to smolder for another 15-20 minutes after that. On this day, our position in space and the physical laws of nature were on our side. Oh, and some luck too.
Update: unbeknownst to me, Ben captured me in the wild setting up for this shot with his 135mm. Good stuff, Ben. I didn’t even see it coming.
Under normal circumstances my own personal photographer’s modus operandi brings me to a set location of my choosing, and this decision is most always made before I even step out the front door. Yesterday afternoon, as I was jogging the park and watching the late day clouds fade as they are wont to do, I figured shooting wasn’t going to happen last night. No big deal. Another free summer night. And yet, about an hour before sunset as I was enjoying a doppio at the local Fauxbucks, I spied with my little eyes promising cloud formations building to the south and west. Sweet! I am in luck. And to those who saw me peaking out the inch of open window underneath the blinds, I apologize for my strangeness.
Before I was even back to my house to collect my gear, my heart and mind was set on Stafford Forge. It had been quite some time since I had shot there, and with little to no wind it seemed a good choice; glassy water does make for unparalleled mirrored reflections, after all. Alas as I was cruising down the parkway, windows down and NPR blasting—I know, I really know how to party—I noticed lots of activity at the Forge. Numerous cars and some Park Rangers. Ever the anti-socialite, I thought, welp, so much for that, onto Great Bay Boulevard.
All of this is just a long way to say, while I most never balk and change up on locations, last night I was sure glad I did. To hell with my M.O.! A most serendipitous unplanned deviation brought me to this spot. With this light. Under the shelter of some of the most glorious high pressure and comfortable temperatures you can imagine. For us folks along the NJ coast, better weather almost never comes our way. Everything about last night was perfection—even if my targeted spot wasn’t.
Take Your Place Amongst the Revelers — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Last night’s sunset was well attended—emphasis on well. Unsurprising in hindsight, on a gorgeous mid-Summer Saturday night, Surf City’s little Sunset Park must have drawn in some 40-plus revelers to capture the final few moments of the Earth’s daily rotation away from the Sun. It was great to see such enthusiasm from the populace.
Of course seeing and shooting are two different things, and it didn’t take long for me to realize I had chosen my final destination poorly. You see as the human headcount in any one spot increases, the ability to carve out a good, unobstructed view with a wide angle lens rears its limitations quickly. Unable to position myself with a more northward facing angle, where the most interesting clouds—both in shape and color—were marking the sky, I was left with no choice but to look out due west. Essentially recreating this shot from May 2014. Even with my little spot carved out I still had a few visitors get close enough for a hand or foot to sneak its way into my frame. Though I can hardly blame them: before I had gotten into photography I had no appreciation for just how wide a shot really can be.
At the end of the day I was able to come away with a serviceable enough photo. I just wish I didn’t feel at odds with myself; on the one hand bummed that I couldn’t hunt for an ideal exposure like I usually do, and on the other hand self-conscious about feeling like my presence is just getting in everybody else’s way. Folks enjoying their vacation time looking to get a good cellphone shot don’t want to have to deal with tripod laden space hogs such as myself.
