The Art of Me

I am not an artist, but that didn't stop me from recognizing a big part of myself in the art of Elton Bennett.

Sea Birds Cry by Elton Bennett.

For a while, I've wanted to put some art of the Pacific Northwest on my wall, so some prints of Bennett's work caught my eye as I ate lunch at the Ocean Crest Resort on a recent trip to the beach at Moclips, Washington. They presented familiar scenes of the Washington coast in the soft, shadowy colors so common in the PNW.

Alone, the scenes in Bennett's work would have supplied me with enough interest for further research, but they also possessed a quality I knew I liked. After returning home and starting my investigation, I learned that Bennett had been a native of the Grays Harbor area in Washington, growing up and living not far from my hometown. That certainly struck a chord with me. The area had inspired much of his work, and I saw the care he had for some of the same things and places I grew up loving.

My photograph of a clam tide on January 2, 2015.

It wasn't just that Bennett's art portrayed a place I cared about though. As I examined his pieces in more detail, I discovered some of my own perspective in them. Many of his works emphasize the natural scene over human figures. Some contain no people at all. In those where people are present, the scenery often dwarfs the human, or the shadows or half-light blur them into the setting. I take photographs in much the same way. In fact, his piece Sea Birds Cry, which depicts the silhouettes of people digging clams against the blue-gray of the ocean and sky, recalled to mind some clam-tide pictures I took in 2015.

After conducting my research, I knew Bennett's art was the kind I wanted on my wall. I bought a print of Around the Cape, which beautifully expresses the essence of the coast on Washington's Olympic Peninsula. For more information about Bennett and his art, click here.

Although I could not have produced Bennett's art, its subject matter and perspective at least make me feel like it was created for me.

A Picture of Regret

The picture that's worth a thousand words assumes a heavier price when not taken.

For the last two and a half years, a picture I did not take in August 2015 has bothered me. The regret stems not from some beautiful missed sunset or mountain scene but rather from the awful image of dead seabirds washed up on the coast of Washington state. In the past, I have blogged about the disturbing experiences I had with global warming during the summer of 2015, and I have even mentioned that I saw the seabird carcasses, but this will be my first post dedicated specifically to those birds.

I saw the dead birds at Roosevelt Beach, their bodies half-buried in the sand and mixed with ocean debris at the high-water mark. The effects of the summer's unusual weather had already disoriented and disconcerted me. The heat, drought, and fires presented me with a Pacific Northwest I hardly recognized but for which I grieved deeply. Going to the beach seemed like a good way to escape the oppressive conditions, and although the ocean breeze made things cooler, seeing the dead birds added to my alarm. At the time, I didn't know what kind of birds they were, and I didn't realize the connection between the heat and their deaths. As it turned out, they were common murres, and the warming of the Pacific Ocean depleted their food sources, starving them into a mass die-off up and down North America's west coast.

A common murre swims in the surf off
Roosevelt Beach in August 2015.

A thought of taking a picture to capture the sad image crossed my mind, but I hesitated and ultimately decided not to snap it. I can't pinpoint the exact reason I didn't take it, but I remember feeling sad and confused about the sight before me. The birds' unceremonious demise made me question whether I wanted to or even should keep a photographic memory of it. I felt powerless and ashamed too. So I walked past without giving them the recognition they warranted. All I ended up with was a shot of a live common murre swimming in the surf just beyond the dead bodies of its kin. It's a haunting image in its own way--dark, lacking detail, and showing the bird looking into a vast ocean of uncertainty.

Regardless of why I didn't photograph the carcasses, I know I wish I had taken that picture of them. I should have recorded the moment. Because of what those birds went through, they deserved having their fate documented in the hopes that it would inspire people to prevent more die-offs from happening in the future. Additionally, the photo would have added another piece to the larger picture of what global warming, fueled by human activity, does to this planet.

The picture of those dead murres never made it to my camera, but the memory of seeing them on the beach has stayed with me in vivid regret and led me to write these words in an attempt to make up for the omission. I suspect it isn't enough.

A Mythical Event

With the right combination of anticipation, waiting, and surprise, some life events channel a magic so powerful that they become instantly and forever mythic.

Last weekend my favorite bird, the cedar waxwing, made one such event happen. It was something I had always hoped to see but wasn't looking for at the time.

My affinity for cedar waxwings goes well beyond my general liking of birds. We click. Social but free-spirited, subtle but with a unique style, peculiar but charismatic, these birds make their own rules and plumb a special joie de vivre. Anyone who pays attention can see them do amazing things.

Two cedar waxwings share a berry.

I've had plenty of opportunities to witness their behavior, and many of those occasions turned into cherished memories. I remember the day I first identified them as they fluttered through some Indian plum bushes in search of fruit; I remember sitting on the bank watching them hawk insects over a creek; I remember their whistles and trills by heart to the point that I instinctively respond to them with a smile and a look to see where the birds are. Usually, they're gobbling down fruits or berries, lounging cheerily together in a tree with their crests carelessly falling back over their heads, or flying off in effervescent earfuls to look for more berries.

For all my various encounters with them, before last Saturday, I had never seen them execute one of their most quintessential behaviors. Cedar waxwings will sit in groups or pairs and pass food, including berries, insects, and flower petals back and forth with their beaks until one of them decides to eat it. Sometimes, they do it as part of a mating ritual, and other times, they appear to do it just for fun. Whatever the reason, it helps define their nature as unique, social, and joyous birds.

Eager to see this sharing of food and long disappointed, I began to think I might not have the chance. It turned into something like the sasquatch (well, more like the auroras actually--some storied thing I knew existed but had never been in the right place at the right time to view in person). After a while, the reality of not seeing it pushed the hope of seeing it to the background. Then, last Saturday, I saw two waxwings in a bush along a walking path. As I started taking pictures, they leaned toward each other. Although blocked from the point of exchange, I knew exactly what I had just seen through the camera lens. The surprise and happiness of at last witnessing the pass of a berry from one bird to another locked the moment into my memory hard and in a way more clear than the picture I ended up taking. All the waiting and dashed hopes came together for an epic scene time can never take from me.

The stories of waxwings sharing berries are myths for me no longer, but my own experience with it sure seems mythical.

The Eternal Dance of Dark and Light

The greatness of some moments appears before they fully take shape and leaves its impact long after the sun sets on them.

Yesterday, I woke up early for some outdoor excursions, but I delayed my preparations when I looked out the window. No, the weather hadn't thrown me an obstacle. Rather, I could see some traces of the imminent sunrise in the clouds. I knew those hints contained the potential for something greater, so I grabbed the camera and positioned myself to capture what I thought might come.

The sun rises in eastern South Dakota.

My anticipation of the sunrise received a vibrant reward: a chance to see dark and light meet in unforgettable fashion. During the next 20 minutes, they swirled together in reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, purples, and blues. Clouds intertwined as those two great, contrasting forces, ancient partners who have done this for eons, embraced in the space of sky before me. With power and inspiration, they simultaneously lit up and shaded the world.

What I saw and photographed has remained with me in striking detail. I posted my pictures of it on Flickr, but that didn't seem sufficient. A need to articulate it in words drove me to more reflection and to make this entry.

Oh, what a fine, eternal dance the dark and light perform. How lucky we are to witness it even for the brief moment we're allowed.

It's My Party

Parties are fine, but they're no sunset at the beach.

This past New Year's Eve crystalized for me the realization that I prefer outdoor activities to traditional parties as ways to celebrate or mark occasions. I reached this determination on a clam-digging trip with my mom and uncle.

Traditional parties generate mixed emotions for me. I enjoy seeing friends and family, but I also consider parties somewhat constraining. Almost without fail, I find myself seeking some alone time to break away from the social confines. In addition, I'm not convinced that parties always serve as the best ways to celebrate. Once, I even remarked how hikes seemed like better ways to mark upcoming weddings than bachelor parties.

Roosevelt Beach celebrates the end
of 2017 with a resplendent sunset.

The clamming trip to Roosevelt Beach on New Year's Eve finally put all my feelings about parties together. Instead of celebrating 2017's end with a party, I took my camera to the beach, and while my mom and uncle dug clams, I photographed a brilliant sunset that had so many dazzling colors I could hardly decide where to look first. The light show had already begun when we parked on the beach. Excitedly, I pulled the camera from the bag, jumped out of the truck, and started snapping shots. The entire time the other two clammed, I took pictures, ending up with more than 120. Each photo seemed to capture some new color achievement produced by the interplay between the sun and the clouds. I smiled and smiled some more as I checked the images in the camera's viewer screen.

On the drive home, the contrast between what I had seen at Roosevelt Beach and the events of a traditional New Year's Eve party played out vividly. We saw people lighting off fireworks, and I couldn't help but feel how those colorful explosions paled in comparison to the sights I witnessed on the beach earlier that evening. The camera in the back seat now held images and memories a party could never have equaled.

With no party on the schedule, I went to bed before midnight. However, that allowed me to rise early and upload my beach pictures to Flickr. After accomplishing that task (you can see the full album here), I looked outside at first light and saw my first bird of 2018, an Anna's hummingbird. I really could not think of a better way for me to end one year and start another. I had watched the sun set on 2017 in astonishing fashion and seen it rise in 2018 with a feisty, energetic bird. It was nature from end to start, precisely who I am and how I experience this world.

Above all, I comprehended fully that it's my party, and I'll take photographs at the beach and watch birds at first light if I want to.

Life in the Half-Light

Frequently secretive and always precious, the Pacific Northwest's December light holds surprising colors and wondrous activity for those who seek it out in places like southwest Washington's Porter Falls.

I visited the falls on a short hike last Tuesday afternoon and discovered a place half lit and full of life. Whether on the forest trail, covered by trees of varying ages, or standing beside Porter Creek in the shadow of the surrounding hills, I found comfortable and picture-perfect light.

The lower section of Porter Falls.

The birds, including varied thrushes, hermit thrushes, golden-crowned kinglets, and a melodious American dipper, must have felt the same way. They moved through the area with a flourish of activity, taking advantage of the traces of sunlight for foraging and the shadows for concealment.

Along the falls, the subtle reds and greens of late autumn glowed in the light permitted by the gully walls and the trees overhead. A light mist rose up from the rushing, tumbling water, adding a hazy quality to the place. It all made for great photography opportunities, and I happily captured as many as I could. When my mom and I left the creek to the bubbly sound of that dipper, I felt completely satisfied with the results of the hike.

Not everyone can see the special qualities of the PNW's wintry light, but people who look closely into its shadows find pieces of life the sunniest summer day could never reveal.

Web of Memories

The female and male yellow garden
spiders I found two weeks ago.

Eight legs and 22 years ago, I saw my first yellow garden spider. I didn't see another until two weeks ago, but the two events share an unbreakable link in my mind.

In 1995, my parents built a house. I remember that event clearly enough in and of itself. However, I also remember that a yellow garden spider spun its web on the new deck rail that fall. The spider made a spectacular adornment for the front porch. Its large size and vivid colors stamped themselves into my memory, becoming part of an autumn that seemed especially fresh and alive.

The chilly morning I found the spider lifeless in its web also occupies a place in my memory. I recall feeling sad to see it dead (like something special had passed beyond me). As if to prove the point about the specialness of that spider, I didn't see another of its kind until two weeks ago, a length of time that further secured that 1995 specimen's place in my mind. A long-disappointed yet ever-fresh hope of seeing another helped keep the memory of the first undimmed.

Apparently, the long wait between sightings and my fond memories for the first spider also set the stage for the second sighting to leave a memorable and lasting impression. The night before I left Washington state for South Dakota and the fall semester, I went for a walk in a field. As I moved through the tall grass, rays from the setting sun worked between the trees and scattered to my left. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a ball of yellow gleaming in the sunlight. I probably knew what it was even before I had fully focused on the sight as a spider. At least, it seemed like a rush of memories pushed the realization that I was seeing a garden spider into my mind before I achieved full consciousness of the moment. After 22 years, I had my second visit from the species, and I set out to capture the moment, returning to the house for my camera.

As I took pictures on that cool night in the brown grass with the smell of fresh rainfall in the air, old memories and a vivid, new experience wound together in a perfect, strong form. I noticed the spider's web actually contained two spiders, the second and smaller of which turned out to be the male. The next morning, I found a sack of eggs near the web. Now, I had many yellow garden spiders to remember and a continuation of a story at once old and ageless.

In the webs of our minds, some memories, though separated by time, still manage to intertwine themselves in the most natural and certain ways.

Falling into It

Arriving at the intended place can inspire unexpected journeys.

I knew last summer that I wanted to visit Mima Falls on my winter break. Tucked away in a forest of Washington state's Thurston County, the falls and their relatively easy hiking trail seemed like a nice way of unwinding from the fall semester, so I penciled them in as a reward before classes even started.

Long-exposure shot of Mima Falls.

On December 16, with the easy path and perfect weather, my mom and I reached the falls according to plan, but once there, I found myself going somewhere I hadn't anticipated. The modest falls wouldn't challenge Niagara or Multnomah, but they sit within a cozy setting, and because of their relative smallness, they aren't as heavily visited as their more famous counterparts. Together, the quiet place and the welcoming falls inspired me to experiment with long-exposure shots on my camera.

The long-exposure pictures of the falls represented my first real attempt at such photography. No strong desire to do it had previously overcome me, but Mima Falls brought out the urge. Although far from perfect, the pictures left me with a smile and a drive to take my long-exposure photography further in the future.

Like the best of destinations, Mima Falls urged me on to future adventures.

Wild Celebration

The Wilderness Act turns 50 this year, but rather than celebrate in a way befitting of middle age, The Wilderness Society plans to get a little wild.

Signed by President Lyndon Johnson on September 3, 1964, the Wilderness Act legally defined wilderness and started a process that preserved 109.5 million acres in the United States over the last 50 years. Its legacy and environmental benefits are immeasurable.

Such a powerful piece of legislation deserves a special golden anniversary, and The Wilderness Society has come up with a fitting way to celebrate. The organization's "We are the Wild" campaign lets everyone mark the occasion by sharing a story about an experience in nature and/or uploading a picture of the moment at We are the Wild. After making the post, share it on social media with the hashtag, #WeAreTheWild.

Protecting natural ecosystems through legislation isn't all work and policy negotiations. It comes with the reward of having great places to celebrate. "We are the Wild" both recognizes the hard work that brought about the Wilderness Act 50 years ago and says, "Let the celebration begin."

Connecting with wild friends, taking lots of pictures, and doing some live tweeting: Sounds like a party.

Backin' Black

A new photography project asks us to embrace the power of the dark side.

Dogs with black fur tend to have trouble getting adopted. According to this article from The Huffington Post, it's due to "black dog bias." Because of a fear of black dogs, a phobia fostered by stories in books and movies, people shy away from adopting them.

Through the Black Dogs Project, photographer Fred Levy hopes to give black dogs a new image and a better chance of adoption. Levy photographs black dogs, capturing their personalities and raising awareness of the bias that makes them less likely to be adopted. To view his work, click here.

When it comes to perceptions, the power of images cuts both ways. Some images limit our thinking, but others expand it. That's one reason photography is so special.

With his pictures, Levy shows us the light about black dogs.

The Art of a Child

Some are born to be wild, and as the story of a nine-year-old Oregon boy shows, some are born to protect the wild.

According to this article from The Oregonian, Harper Graham-Nye has turned a passion for animals and a recent trip to Africa into art, a business, and a conservation effort--all before the age of 10. While visiting Africa, he learned about the impacts of poaching and met a wildlife photographer named Julien Polet.

The experiences in Africa combined with what appears to be a natural interest in animals and sparked Graham-Nye's creativity. He used editing software to alter Polet's digital pictures, creating pieces of art. Teaming with Polet, he put the images on T-shirts. The shirts are sold, and half the proceeds go to help stop poaching. To check out Graham-Nye's project, visit his Web site, Happy Tusk.

The things that interest us when we are young tend to influence our career and life choices. Graham-Nye simply has a particular affinity for the environment and a head start in turning that interest into his life's work.

Children might be the future, but this one has created a better present for wildlife.

The Virtues of a Foolish Heart

When a fool's errand becomes a life calling, the results can be great for individuals and the environment.

Morgan Heim, a journalist turned conservation photographer, made what she calls a "foolish" decision, and now, she encourages others to do the same kind of thing. Heim uprooted her life and her career path to take on an underdog photography project about a relatively unknown animal, the fishing cat, and she did so without a real plan. Watch as she discusses her foolishness below:



Under traditional thinking, what Heim did might indeed seem foolish, yet thanks to her work, the endangered fishing cat is getting worldwide attention, and we have a new model for finding fulfilling jobs. To learn more about Heim's foolishness, click here, and to view her photography, click here.

Fools may rush in, but sometimes, they come out with something special.

A Pet is Worth a Thousand Pictures

Image is everything for pets waiting to be adopted.

Mother Nature Network reports on this story about an organization of artists who are helping animal shelters. HeARTs Speak connects animal organizations with artists who want to donate their talents like photography, design, and illustration.

One of the coolest results of the collaborations that take place through HeARTs Speak is that good photographs help animals' chances of being adopted. Of course, animal shelters rarely have the resources to pay for such great shots, so the pro bono pics are doubly meaningful. For more information about HeARTs Speak, click here.

Pictures have an inherent power, but the HeARTs Speak images carry the force of a good cause.

The Digital Environment

Kids and their newfangled technology these days!

While it seems counterintuitive, digital technology can actually help children connect with the environment. The National Wildlife Federation recently produced a report showing that although technology can keep children inside too much, when it is used in connection with outdoor experiences, it can leave children with a better understanding of the environment.

To encourage technology use that has the best possible impact on children's relationship with nature, NWF created a list of suggestions based on its study. These tips included creating tech-themed adventures and recording the experiences with portable devices.

For further encouragement, the NWF is currently running a winter photography contest connected with its Be Out There campaign. For more information on the technology study and the photo contest, click here.

Who would've thought cyberspace would lead us to nature?

Start the Year on a BirdNote

No day can have enough birds, but there's an easy way to ensure you'll see at least one more every day in 2014.

The 2014 BirdNote calendar, featuring a different bird each month, is now on sale. It contains cool photographs of species like the ruffed grouse and the great gray owl. Pictures were taken by Gerrit Vyn, a conservation photographer from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

Along with ensuring you get a daily dose of birds, the calendar helps support BirdNote. For more information, click here.

If you're in need of a calendar for the coming year, give it wings.

Picture Forever

Think of the world without tigers.

Considering how iconic they have become, it is hard to imagine tigers disappearing forever. Yet these awe-inspiring animals are among the most endangered cats on the planet. Fewer than 3,200 remain in the wild. Three subspecies have already become extinct.

Panthera, an organization co-founded by noted biologist Alan Rabinowitz and dedicated to creating programs that ensure the survival of the world's wild cats, has a more positive vision in mind. Check out a video from the organization below:

About Panthera from Panthera Cats on Vimeo.

Tigers are one of the species Panthera has focused on most heavily. Efforts like Tigers Forever have emphasized the study and protection of the species and the conservation of its habitat.

To tell the story of Tigers Forever, Panthera media director Steve Winter has put together a book, Tigers Forever: Saving the World's Most Endangered Big Cat. The book provides information about the program and contains more than 100 pictures (Winter is also a photographer for National Geographic). Available now for pre-order, the book begins shipping on November 12. Part of the proceeds from sales of the book support the Tigers Forever program. For more information, click here.

We can either learn to live with tigers now or live with their extinction forever. Winter's book and Panthera's programs show us how to do the former.

Spot On

As if watching and photographing birds weren't cool enough, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology is giving prizes for doing those things.

I recently blogged about the upcoming season of Project FeederWatch, a citizen-science effort run by the lab. A connected contest is BirdSpotter. Now through February 12, BirdSpotter participants can upload a photo that meets the weekly theme. Each entry is eligible to win gifts from the lab and Bob's Red Mill Natural Foods. The grand prize is a trip to Oregon. For more information, click here.

All that's left is to get the camera and find a good spot.

Sounding the Call for Birders

As the fall migration for birds begins, bird-watchers are on the move as well.

Birding festivals, like the Puget Sound Bird Fest in Edmonds, Washington, take advantage of migration season to give birders maximum exposure to the birds moving south for winter. This year's Puget Sound Bird Fest is September 6-8.

The festival includes presentations on birds, bird-watching, photography, and native plants. It also features guided walks and activities for children, and it's a chance to see both migratory and non-migratory birds. For more information about the event, click here.

Fall means the last call to see certain bird species for a while, so get out there, and wish them a safe journey.

Something Borrowed, Something Green

The impact nature photographs have on us cannot be denied but neither can the effect photography has on the environment.

As a photographer, I am concerned about the resources I use in getting camera equipment and storing photos. For instance, a read through this National Wildlife Federation article on improving landscape pictures reveals the variety of lenses available to photographers. Each lens uses natural resources, and as technology advances, a photographer may need to buy newer versions, magnifying the impact.

Changing our perspective on the things we have can help address the issue of photography-related consumerism. While the NWF article provides some nice tips on better landscape pictures, I think its best idea comes at the end. By introducing BorrowLenses, the writer gives photographers a chance to use the right lens at the right time without buying.

BorrowLenses rents photography and video gear. The equipment is rented through the Web site and shipped or made available at certain pick-up locations. When the rental period is over, the photographer sends the equipment back or returns it to the pick-up site. It is important to note that the company receives an A rating from the Better Business Bureau.

Photography certainly impacts the environment, but equipment sharing through companies like BorrowLenses shifts the effect from consumption to appreciation, where it belongs.

Shared View

One of the reasons photographs are worth a thousand words is because good ones are usually the product of photographers sharing tips and ideas.

I'm always on the lookout for photographers who might have insight for me, and this blog entry from the National Wildlife Federation provides some good suggestions from a young photographer who won the youth category in NWF's photography contest two years ago.

I can personally attest to the recommendations about getting out regularly and taking lots of pictures. At least for me, photography is something that requires work and practice. The more I do it on a consistent basis, the better my pictures are. Also, because I am far from professional, I need to take many versions of the same shot if possible (this can be hard with nature photos). 

I never feel badly about taking a lot of pictures because I usually end up with at least a few that I really like. While I may end up with more failed executions of shots, the ones that work leave a great feeling.

If you've taken some nature photos that you think turned out well, you might consider entering them in this year's NWF contest. It is open until July 15.

After you win, don't forget to share the secrets to your success.