Some Winter Beauty

In early February, a small group of nature photographers gathered in the Thousand Islands region of New York for winter landscapes under the leadership of Chris Murray.  He is a local resident with broad knowledge of both photography and the available areas to explore. 

Conditions were beautiful with fresh snow on the second day.  The graceful birch tree seen below is decorated with new snow.  A middle ground cradles the birch and a distant sky of ultramarine plus puffy clouds completes the offering.

Images with multiple layers are appealing.  Beginning with a strong subject in the fore is sure to encourage exploration like the following scene.   Had to kneel low in the snow so that the cattails nearly touched the twin evergreens.  The distant trees highlight the pair of main subjects. (It was so cold that the coat of snow on my pants just dusted off cleanly.)

Other times, the subject is not low such as these remnants of the summer leaves.The white snow nicely isolates the beech leaves from an otherwise busy background.  That's a key benefit of fresh snow.  There's just a light amount of bluish gray on the snow. Lovely.

Back on my knees again for this setting of some Milkweed.  They are a winter favorite, and the setting here presented an exciting composition wherein you see a central stalk with two distant ones that guide the eyes to the top of the main stalk. 

Here's another setting that has two supporting elements. The Goldenrod is the main subject.  The massive Oak cradles the weed's stalk, so both sweep in a counter-clockwise flow.  Worked hard on this as there were other stalks that needed a gentle shift to the sides.

Back close to the ground with snow up to my knees.  This simple image of grass stalks benefits from fresh snow.   It is not always necessary to have multiple layers to the composition.

Time to add some wonky images.  This  might be called Waiting for Summer.  Boats are stacked in the Wellesley Island State Park's marina, just waiting.  It was so cold that colors were temporarily unavailable.

Next to the  boat launching ramp, the concrete walls had  weathered to appear as a midnight lightning storm.

Another stop was the "Wall" at DeWolf Point State Park (also on Wellesley Island). The "Wall" is an exposed rock wall from the last glacial event. 

The interplay of the weathered rock surfaces with lichens and mosses create intriguing patterns.  It's a visual playground open to many interpretations. I see two large fishes in the rock face below.

 Should I return next winter, it's sure I will not see the fishes but rather something equally as puzzling.

Time to end with a subject that can be agreed upon.  Sunset on the frozen St. Lawrence River looking towards Kingston, Ontario.  The Thousand Islands Tower is opposite the setting sun to the far right.

 

Many thanks to fellow photographers  Kathy, Kent, Bob and our leader Chris for both their companionship and creative inspiration.

To my blog followers, thanks for your interest and appreciation.

 

Paul Schmitt

Learning from a Winter without Snow

When the Art of Winter program by creative photographer Chris Murray was announced, there were justifiably visions of snowy forests with stark birch tree stands and graceful glacial drumlins across the land.  The hope was to find scenes like my March 2021 image at right of Cayuta Outlet near my home.  Sadly the Thousand Islands this year in February had scant snow cover.

The three days were going to be challenging,  yet that might actually turn out to be a better learning opportunity.  There arrives a call to more deeply observe and really understand what draws your interest. What follows are a selection of images that offer enjoyment and hopefully also ideas for coping with rainy days, dull light and otherwise disappointing situations.  Hasn't that happened to everyone?

On one morning we went to Dewolf Point State Park on Wellesley Island.  It is on a bay with only a very narrow connection to the main river.  Unlike most river areas, the bay is largely immune to river currents, so there was plenty of good ice. Arriving shortly before sunrise, two fishermen were soon loading their sheds.  We'd walked out to a line of summer cabins facing the expected sunrise.  The view did not impress me.  As I walked back to another view with a stately red cedar, the sound of the anglers' sheds crunching on the ice suggested they were on a path towards the point of the sun's appearance.   Backtrack quickly!  The sun can't be delayed.  See this!

 

There were two images to select.  When they were standing, the man's head on the right touched the dark treeline.  Creatively, it's called a conjoined element and is to be avoided.  Later, there were more fishermen on the ice but the missing starburst lowers the result to ho-hum. 

Once my gear was packed and I climbed the path from the view, there was warm sunlight bathing one of the summer cabins along the path.  Not wanting the open my pack again, the iPhone was pulled out.  This is an excellent time to ask the simple question, "what drew you to take an image?"  I hope you say something about the warm light on the line of icicles across the roof line of snow and also in the brilliant window reflections.

That was the answer for me. I am guessing this cabin is already reserved for most weeks in the summer.  Another thought is that a quick photo sure beats just ignoring the opportunity.  

Winter is also a rich source of beautiful monochrome images.  The next setting drew my interest as I saw this large snow capped rock with a fringe of icicles dipping towards the St. Lawrence River's waves. Many photos were run in continuous batch to get the best shape on the water. 

In other years, the river would be all ice and the wave shapes and fringes on the rock missing.  It's really a very simple photo.

The ice along the river builds forms often dependent on wind direction and the rock formats.   Here's another situation where the ice laid up a scalloped pattern.  

The real challenge for the above was getting into the narrow trough of rocks where the forms were free of distractions (and then climbing back up after my one leg fell asleep!)

The next image presents a contrast between a geological form and a seasonal form.  Hard rock and hard ice drew my interest.

 

I saw a sort of yin-yang pairing that was better in black & white. 

Later that morning at Dewolf Point, our leader took us to a long spine of hard rock that paralleled the northeast lay of the bay.   I conjecture that the spline resisted the glacial assault that excavated the bay.  Here's a wide view of the wall of rock exposed.

The panoramic image distorts the shape of the wall.  It's nearly horizontal on the top.  The height is close to 20 feet. One could spend a long day exploring the many patterns in the the stone.   The section below fascinated me.

So, I looked more closely and explored what I interpreted as a tree in a violent turmoil, perhaps a firestorm.  The large tree is in the far left and flames swirl away in a maelstrom.

That morning was surprisingly rich with ideas.  The afternoon was a bit challenging until the sun collided with a distant shore of the St. Lawrence River. Not any clouds, but a nice starburst framed by a nearby point.

 

The final morning sunrise was a bit richer when some wispy clouds appeared to capture the warm hues.

 

 

In terms of whiz-bang images, it was not easy.   But, measuring the lessons gained absent any "easy", it was extremely valuable.  I am not at all hesitant to share these images.  In every one, there is a clear reason why the subject was chosen and how it was arranged in the overall location. You cannot see what was excluded carefully to avoid any viewer confusion.  Success is knowing what to take and what to leave behind.  That's a line from a John Denver song "Friends with You."

Learning usually comes from challenges. 

Hope you enjoy the message.

Paul Schmitt

Trees in Winter

Picture that you are in the National Gallery of Art , sitting with me on a large, comfy leather couch enjoying walls of lovely impressionist paintings.  A small group of visitors come in to the gallery and with machine-like efficiency make cell phone images of every painting on the walls, and then move on to the next gallery.  Look closely and you'll see a guard sigh.  The visitors have documented but never really seen any of the paintings.  Such a waste of Monet.  So many look, so few really see.  That's always been the primary use of photography.  My story today is about how I could move past documenting. Maybe it will inspire you.

It's been a goal of mine through 2023 to move towards really seeing.  With the leaves off trees in late fall, my images have studied trees.  Here's a tree in my friend Leo's beautiful woodlot.

Actually it  is two trees.  The one on the right began it's life growing on a fallen dead tree. After years, the dead tree disappeared leaving three legs arching to the ground.  On left, a younger tree grew up between two legs.  Maybe it's a three-legged tree with a "friend". Anyway, it is interesting and worth really moving from looking to seeing.  I did that by sketching it and adding watercolors.  I devoted about 2-1/2 hours going from a tree to a combination of particular parts that add  up these two trees. Once complete, this was not just a tree, but now it is an individual. 

There's a difference.  This experience is at the heart of what can move photography from look to see.  My time in the recent months has been a balance of sketching and photographing with the aim to shift images to seeing.  (No more sketches now, just photos representing deeper seeing.  I find it easier to draw when no one gets to see my mistakes.   Also, working in ink taught me to ignore errors and just keep moving forward.)

Here is a scene from along Rock Creek in Washington, DC.

The beech trees are tenacious.  They take hold on top of the rocks and send roots around all stony barriers.  Removing all color often removes distractions to really seeing.  (Consider this a portrait and maybe it will influence family snapshots you make?)

Still along Rock Creek on an explore one morning, there is this fallen tree washed into the creek.  The reflection of the tree in the foreground caught my attention.  Typically, my eye begins exploring at the strongest contrast, which in this case it was the tip of the dead tree at the reflection.

What follows is a simple image that I first sketched with much attention to the textures of the huge oak tree in the fore. 

The tree textures in the middle ground also were sketched in detail.  This is also in Rock Creek Park.

There are also times where color deserves attention.  On a post-Christmas wander in Leo's woods, I spotted a sulfur colored fungus on a decaying beech stump.  It's a good example of moving from look to see.  First, I needed the distance to be de-focused.   Next, the subtle greens and rusty leaves seemed so much of the story that monochrome was out of the question.

I made over 40 images of this before I was happy with the background.  The stump needed to be separated from the hemlock to the left and beyond that, the rest needed to be blurry.  That's the way I will sketch this for a watercolor.  

The above was of such deep involvement that I lost all sense of time. That's a real benefit of learning to really look deeply. It's a type of Zen (seeing) that I first discovered in the National Gallery.  I am doing more sketching now than photographing,  yet when the camera is involved the influence of drawing with pen on paper is strong.

As I write this, the long range weather forecast uses the word snow.  I'm excited to have the simplicity of snowy ground, but it is unlikely I will find it possible to hold a pen and draw with cold fingers.  My seeing will only move to drawing once inside.  

My hope is that there is a mix of entertaining images plus useful ideas.

Best wishes for 2024.

Paul Schmitt

Frozen in Time

 Winter strips the landscape of a lot of noise.  The inner form of trees is simplified absent the leaves.  Waterfalls become clearer with the trees bare.  The precipices are covered with ice, and sometimes the flow of water is nearly stopped.  Early in my discovery of waterfall photography, I was directed to this hidden falls in Lansing (New York).  It was part of a family's backyard.

I even returned at night to make extremely long exposures and painted the ice with colored lights. 

The little falls had no name and likely was never seen in a postcard. Big falls are often seen on postcards and imitated by newbies.  I did that at Niagara Falls in 2013.  The falls are illuminated every evening.  Many capture just what was seen on the postcard.  There is also much more to see when exploring more closely.  

Seen below is a small portion of the American Falls that was created in the late morning when the sun created a rainbow.  Now, the sun moves pretty quickly across the sky so the rainbow is not static either.  Keeping the rainbow on that ice-capped rock keeps the photographer shooting, and quickly moving the tripod while not bumping into other people next to the railing.

This image of the American Falls was much more memorable in part, because it is not found on a postcard and will not be repeated exactly like this. 

Here in the Finger Lakes, the iconic falls is arguably Taughannock.  At 215 feet of straight drop, it is higher than Niagara and easily approached to the lower level, even more so in winter.  It's my favorite, especially when ice covered.  On this morning, there was a strong flow contributing to widespread ice well away from the drop.  It was also extremely cold; my fingers were nearly numb even with glove liners plus mittens.  (It was worth the walk up the gorge to hear and feel the giant in winter.)

There is, however, much more to portraying the mix of solid and liquid found in such a scene.  This is an ever-changing sculpture of  hard ice and liquid water.  This is an instant in time that will never be recreated. 

The photographer has the choice of shutter speed that creates an interpretation that can be faster or slower than how our brain processes time.  Seems fascinating to consider.

There are other winter scenes to explore. At the base of Ithaca Falls, there are ice formations found away from the falls.  They are the result of wind blowing the water spray, and also the rise and fall of the flows.  As the day warms, the flow increases and the ice creeps higher.   This image presents two levels - Ithaca Falls and the crooked willow on the edge.   That seems more interesting.

I think it wise to begin with a local favorite and conclude with an exotic favorite - Gibbon Falls in Yellowstone in early February 2020.  The river is not frozen because of thermal springs feeding the river.   One of the attractions for this location is the beautiful circular path presented to the viewer's eyes. 

A week later after making this image, we were all learning about a global pandemic and foregoing travel. So, that makes it a little more memorable.

I hope you find this enjoyable.

Paul Schmitt

When Winter Covers the Botanic Gardens

On a cold February morning, I decided to explore the Cornell Botanic Gardens.  The snow and ice cover up much of the background clutter to present a different feeling.  Tracks revealed how few visited.  

There is a winter section next to the Herb Garden that features plants offering textures and colors unique to the cold season.  I was immediately drawn to these beautiful trees with their  intriguing peeling bark. 

The entrance to the Herb Garden has a wrought iron gate that I've frequently highlighted on warmer days. In February, it presents a much different message.  Few enter there.

 On the opposite side of the garden is the iconic Yarb Woman statue.  In warmer weather, she is surrounded with rich colors but today she is abandoned.  No visitors except me.

The botanic garden has many artfully crafted benches offering a restful pause among the flora. Today they too have been left deep in snow. 

Yet, my path around Comstock Knoll did find a remnant of the summer flowers.

My final stop is deeper in the arboretum where an ancient willow tree has mostly succumbed to disease. It retains a gnarled trunk bent along the ground from left to right.  There are remaining  a few growing branches arching up from the far side.  I return each year to create images to capture the decline.

When I  review the photos, I realize that winter reveals a lot textures and clean forms. I''m hurrying to do some more of this before the fifth season begins.   A fifth season?  That is "mud season" and it's a real mess. 

Savor each day for whatever it offers.  Maybe "mud season" is made for finding waterfalls?

Paul Schmitt

Managing a Hard Winter

One key to managing this pandemic is staying active, and the hard winter we are experiencing is not making it easier. One benefit of living in the Finger Lakes is the number of outdoor activities that avoid close human contact.  Some of my early winter outings were to nature preserves close to Corning.  Plymouth Woods is small and rarely visited by more than a few people a week. At the entrance is a plaque featuring a timely poem by Robert Frost. 

I love exploring this small preserve to explore the intimate landscapes it reveals.  This thorny vine in early January still is showing a trace of green.  It's tough for sure.

 

Steege Hill is another nearby preserve, but it has miles of trails and some serious elevation changes.  It's a real workout in deep snow.  On one outing I used a phone app to remotely trigger my camera as I walked up a trail towards white birch trees. This is good way to take group photos with a tripod to hold the camera.  Easy.

In winter, the snow cleans up landscape so it is less cluttered.  Often, objects are seen more clearly. We are programmed to see familiar objects in cloud shapes, and likewise to see human forms in things like a tree stump.  Do you see a rather bizarre Root Man in this image?

Perhaps it was time to explore a little farther from home.  Snowy Owls are regular visitors when the winter becomes severe. Driving a few hours north, I found this owl perched at a roadside power pole.

My preference would have been to cross over to Canada for owls, but the border is closed.  Aren't we all accumulating a long list of deferred plans?  It just keeps getting longer each month.

Staying close to home, I met up with David Arkin to explore the Finger Lakes Land Trust preserve at Logan Hill in Candor.  It was one of the rare sunny winter days.  It was rich with animal tracks and a wide variety of habitats. It's now on my list for spring and summer wildflowers and birds.

We were so intrigued by Logan Hill that we returned to explore more with Betsy Darlington, who donated the preserve along with her husband for all to enjoy.  One highlight was discovering this fresh evidence of Pileated Woodpecker activity. There must have been a huge nest of Carpenter Ants in this old tree.

On the subject of deferred plans, one often frustrated plan for me was to capture an image of the full moon setting behind the iconic Little Joe tower in Corning.   Over about three years, I have plotted the shifting location of the moon relative to the tower, only to have my plan killed by complete cloud cover. I recall one morning when it all looked promising as the moon angled on a track down to the tower, only to be hidden by a fog bank rolling down the river valley.  Finally on a very cold morning in late January, I stood on the Chemung River dike and was rewarded with an image that I love.

You can see that the clouds advancing from the west could have ruined the image easily.

Installing a photo blind in my backyard and collecting some appropriate natural features, provided me with hours of enjoyment without the need to travel.  This Tufted Titmouse was captured at it hopped off its perch.  It was a matter of fortunate timing and selecting a fast shutter.

Sometimes, I am surprised at results that bring out a common bird's coloration with greater subtlety than we casually recognize.  That was the case for this elegant Mourning Dove that posed on a dead tree stump.  Doves are the earliest arrivals at our bird feeder most days.  Often they are shadows in the darkness.

Birds aren't the only visitors to my photo setup.  Gray Squirels police for sunflower seeds since my feeders are pretty safe from them. They are as alert for hawks as the small birds.

The White-breasted Nuthatch prefers a downward approach when foraging.  Each bird has a unique foraging habits and its is working down the tree.

In addition to the bird blind, another part of my strategy for tolerating the enforced distancing is to get out with my snowshoes.  As the snowfall became deeper, they became a great way to beat the cold and get some exercise. It was also another chance to practice using my phone to trigger the camera.

 By far, the time in the photo blind was the most productive activity in my plan to manage this hard winter and COVID.  It was rewarding when a beautiful bird slipped in swiftly to a perch that I had positioned for it.  I will end with two that were memorable to me.  The first reward was when a shy male Northern Cardinal appeared.  His posture indicated his alertness.

 

 

A second favorite was this inquisitive Carolina Wren that arrived to inspect this tree cavity shortly after I installed it.  Ten years ago, Carolina Wrens were unusual visitors, and now there are several pairs making daily visits.  

How to manage the double whammy of a hard winter and a pandemic?  A daily list of activities including some things one loves (plus the chores like clearing deep snow) and getting outside in low density areas for some fun. That's what works for me.

Paul Schmitt