The Calendar Explained: March

Catherine Creek in the early evening on the Summer Solstice, with my Nikon CoolPix P100.

Ah, summer solstice. I placed this photo into March because it has an odd, subdued quality that feels old-timey to me, and more suited for a month more usually noted for rain. This photo was taken at quarter to six, on a hike when three friends and I stayed out until dark on the longest day of the year. I took this from the inside edge of an oak grove near Catherine Creek at a thousand feet above the Columbia, with the sun still a few hours from setting. Mosquitoes were biting in the shade and my friends were all ahead of me, but the combination of lupine, grass, oak, and mountain was too good to pass up, and the absence of middle distance made framing easy. The light was perfect, too: a soft, warm glow with strong shadows and backlit flowers and grass.

One of my photography goals is to take a photo that exactly looks like what I saw. This is one of the few times where I was successful in capturing both the subject and the mood, and it’s also one of the few times that required nothing more than pointing an expensive gadget at the scenery and pressing a button. I’m not saying this is a great shot, but I’m happy with it. If I’d had more time, and more knowledge, I’d have taken a better photograph. Anyone could’ve taken this – the camera did most of the work – but still, it was one of those moments where everything lined up, where the light and the mood were matched, and where all I had to do was click the shutter.

It all fell into place – just like the day.

2.

I was lucky with this one, but I set myself up to take advantage of it, in part because I was still learning about and playing with my camera (I’d only had it a few months) and I’d already set up the camera to shoot in that light. All I needed to do was adjust the exposure.

A snapshot doesn’t take much preparation or thought. There’s usually not much preamble, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes a snapshot is all you want or need. That’s what the auto setting is for.

When I hike, photography isn’t usually my main objective. But sometimes it is – a tremendous viewpoint, or a sunset from camp, or a scene in poor light all require a bit more from the photographer, and that’s where knowledge, skill, and effort come into play.

Effort is what gets you to the shot – the hike, in this case. Knowledge and skill are what allow you to take a good photograph. I don’t really have either. All that f/ stuff is mumbo-jumbo to me, but I do know how to make certain useful adjustments on my camera, and I know how to frame a photograph (when I bother to remember). The more complicated things get, though, the more distance I feel there is between me and the subject. Lots of things can go wrong in that space. But that space can be bridged.

Taking a really good nature or landscape photograph (and I’m not claiming this photo is one) requires a different way of observing and approaching to wilderness. It requires hiking for a different reason than I do – the interaction with the subject is different, but just as intense as with a hiker, backpacker, or hunter. It’s deeper than the casual hike with a few snapshots. It goes beyond the surface to touch on subtle things and profound things, things with emotional and psychological and spiritual meaning. The photograph isn’t just gifted to you. You have to be prepared for it, and be ready for it. And then you have to pay attention for a long time.

As I said, photography isn’t my main reason for hiking. But it does bring with it a bit of that different approach, and it adds variety and nuance to my experience. And sometimes, I take a photograph I really like.

The Calendar Explained: February

Taken November 15^th, 2011. Camera; Nikon CoolPix P100.

f/5.6, exposure time 1/278 sec., ISO 160, exposure bias -1, focal length 76mm, aperture 3

1.

I posted this image online shortly after I took it, and even after cropping and adjusting for its rougher qualities, I still like it. Sunset comes early in November, and despite the pink sky and sunlight glinting in the waves, there was tension flowing through the day. The tide was high and the breakers at sunset thundered against the rocks. Terrible Tilly hovered above a heaving sea, with seagulls and light filling the space between. I remember actually feeling and hearing waves break against the rocks and reverberate through the ground. It felt like any minute the sea would reach in and sweep away the few people on the beach, myself included. As a hiker I love days like this, when nature presents such an impressive and unending emotive and thought-provoking display. The juxtaposition of sea and stone, light and space, and tension and release made for a memorable day, and that hopefully shows in this photograph.

2.

I’ve always loved that Dizzy Gillespie said “I don’t care much about music. What I like is sounds.” His words hold true when translated to any artistic medium, including photography.

Like writing, photography is a method of re-creating experience. A good photograph will do that better than a snapshot, and the way to get a good photograph is to be in the right place at the right time, and to be looking the right way.

This photograph, I remember, didn’t take much effort at all. That’s not actually an arrogant statement. I drove to the coast and walked down the beach. I made myself comfortable and stayed on the beach for hours. I slowed down and grew attuned to what was going on around me. In other words, I did the work and was looking the right way. I only needed to see the photograph before I took it.

I’m sometimes guilty of letting the camera dictate what I see. Before I took this photograph, I spent a long time taking photographs of waves crashing against rocks and splashing high in the air. That time might have been better spent just watching.

Truth be told, I took 250 photographs before this one, and my camera battery was almost dead. When I finally stopped taking so many pictures, my experiences became richer. It took the absence of photography to get this photograph. And after taking it, I only took nine more.

That entire day, I didn’t get a single photograph I liked as much as this one. 

The Calendar Explained: January

Towards the end of 2011, I put together a calendar for a small number of friends and family. One of them hangs above my desk at work, and recently I flipped the page to April and decided to write about each photograph and the story behind it. This is the first of those stories.

Taken January 4^th, 2011. Camera: Canon PowerShot A480

f/3, exposure 1/160 sec., ISO 125, focal length 7 mm, aperture 3.15625

Timing is everything with winter hiking, and I’ve been fairly successful at getting out in January to see the Columbia River Gorge’s frozen waterfalls. It takes a set of cold, dry weather and some traction devices for your feet, but it’s worth it to drive along the old highway and stop at ice-coated falls such as Horsetail and Ponytail, Oneonta and Latourelle. Other falls may be more impressive, but the lower tier of Multnomah Falls under the Benson Bridge has an understated quality. Partly this is because the main drop on Multnomah is so huge, falling hundreds of feet down basalt cliffs spackled with patterns of frozen water. Partly it’s because the main splash pool just above the lower falls is coated with ice inches thick, and freezing spray turns the Benson Bridge into a skating rink. When I took this photo, there was so much ice on the bridge it was closed, and the upper pool was a monochrome definition of winter: black stone, white ice, and bitterly cold wind and spray. The lower pool, however, wore a more delicate, less severe mood, with bright green moss and winter fern adding warmth and contrast to the cool ice and blue water. The patterns of ice were accents, not the main theme, like a piano solo in the middle of a brassy jam: less abstract and elemental, they invited contemplation. Water still poured over the falls and winter still held the water in its grip, but there was melody in the rocky foliage and a note of passage. This photo scarcely captures that, but of all the falls and all the photos I took, this is the one that stands out to me emotionally, although I’m certain that quality is only evident if you’d been there.