Transition
It feels like we’re living in Opposite Land. Nature is opening up, and humanity is shutting down. Bit by bit the land warms, the snow fades, the birds return. Bit by bit some of us veer away, close our doors, hide inside. The bears are coming out of their dens, some of us are going in.
*** if you’re reading this from the future, we’re in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic ***
And yet there are many people out and about. Some streets are busier than ever. Streets normally blocked off for summer Sunday family time are now blocked full time. Walking paths have a population density that I usually equate with Saturday morning, but now it’s weekday afternoons as well. Everyone is respectful of space and distancing, so honestly I think it’s healthy to be out, more healthy than being cooped inside.
Of course I’m out. If I see somebody else they’re usually across a field or we give each other a respectful nod hello and a wide berth. I’ve been out quite a bit, but haven’t actually gotten the camera out of the bag as frequently as I should. But still there are a few images I managed to take that I like, so let’s see what transitions we have this month.
First is a typical winter scene. I was struck by the opposing radiance of the sun vs the radial spread of the grass in the foreground. Sure, that’s a bit of a stretch, but I like the idea if not fully sold on the execution:
The next is in a similar vein, snapped with my iPhone, just a simple scene with a foreboding sky:
One more with the iPhone, and I really like this shot. The balance and the lines all work for me. Sometimes all you need is good light, and the best camera is the one you can carry in your pocket:
After this the snow faded until it was mostly gone, and then we got dumped on with almost as much snow as we had before it started melting…or it felt like it. But the ground was warmer, and it made for some interesting patterns in the snow:
In the theme of transitions, that’s it for landscapes. I had the joy of picking up a new 300mm lens for my Olympus for my first photographic passion: birds. Thankfully, just after taking that picture above I heard a hammering up in a tree close by, and wouldn’t you know it, a male Pileated woodpecker was drilling into a tree. Now came the tests: could I stay outside the bird’s panic zone; could I focus quickly enough on the bird to get a clear shot; and could I hold the camera steady enough to avoid motion blur? With my Pentax even if one of these succeeded the other two would fail. So I began my cautious approach. Much to my pleasure, I didn’t need to get anywhere close to the bird, and the Olympus focussed instantly and held steady:
I even got a shot of him tossing aside the wood chips he was chiseling out, you can see one around his beak, and one floating down bottom right:
A week later gave me some interesting gloomy skies, and flocking crows. Most of the time I ignore crows. They are everywhere, see everything, and worst of all they tell everybody where you are. You can stumble across a grazing deer who is unaware of you, and you begin a cautious approach, and then a crow or two pipe up with a special caw and bam! The deer knows where you are and that’s the end of that little scene. Damn flocking crows.
And let me tell you a tale of an insolent crow. Usually the minute I point my camera at a crow, it takes off. (Actually, usually the bird takes off somewhere in the process of taking the bag off my back, unzipping it, swapping lenses, turning the camera on, and adjusting settings…but I digress.) This was especially true with the Pentax, as I had to get so much closer. I’ve heard people speculate that they think of the camera as a giant eye, and it freaks them out. But the first day I was out with my new 300mm lens, I was so excited. I laid down my camera bag, and it didn’t move. I unzipped the bag and swapped lenses, and all the while it just watched me. I brought the camera up to my eye and pointed at the crow, and it just cocked its head. The viewfinder was dark. Silly me, I forgot to turn it on. But no, I had turned it on. What? I turned it off, then on, and brought the camera back to my eye. The crow cocked its head the other way, while the viewfinder said “Battery Depleted”. It knew all along, I swear. Damn flocking crow.
But still, sometimes crows just really look cool, especially when the light it just right. I really like this trio:
I also enjoyed watching this “parliament of rooks”:
But enough about crows.
This last weekend most of the snow was gone, but it was still quite chilly with dry trails and frozen puddles. Still, many smaller birds have started to return, and I’ve always found these to be the most challenging. I dub them “little flappy birds” because they are always in motion. Again the camera rescued me, focussing in a snap.
This Eastern Wood Pewee made it easier by taking a few minutes to warm itself in the sun:
Yeah, check out my wing. You like?
Later, a chickadee decided to moon me, before chuckling and posing prettily:
It’s a Chickadee Moon!
Just kidding…got any sunflower seeds?
Finally, every spring and fall the Slate Juncos pass through and swarm the ground looking for seeds and whatnot. These are the flappy-est birds of all, constantly hopping and squabbling and flapping over and around each other. It took a while and I had to stay pretty low to the ground, but I like how these came out:
Even with the new technology of the Olympus, my success rate with these shots is about 1 in 20. So many elements need to come together besides the technical aspects of focus and exposure. There shouldn’t be debris in the way, and ideally the bird should be caught doing something more than posing. It’s telling that of the above “flappy-bird” shots, only one is compositionally interesting for me, and that is the one with the trio of Juncos.
The next goal is to try and get birds in action. None of these shots actually represent their behaviour, so I’m looking forward to trying to capture them taking off, landing, squabbling, and what not. But that will take a lot more time and experience. Until then…
Like everyone, I really have no idea what lies ahead. At this point we seem to have “bent the curve” on the virus, but obviously there is a danger in opening everything up too soon. We’re all surfers in the same tsunami, I just hope we can all ride this wave to a soft landing.
Stay well!
