Dedication

As I’ve mentioned a few times recently, this month I’ve been studying the work of Joe Cornish.  In addition to being a superb photographer, he also is very down to earth - for example, admitting that he often doesn’t know why one image works and another doesn’t - and is willing to share his thoughts and experiences.  So I’ve learned  from his words as well.

One of the subjects Joe returns to is something that has helped me feel that I (and Ann) are not totally nuts.  That subject is the life of a landscape photographer.  He talks about getting up at 3:30 to catch the pre-dawn light and the first golden rays of sunlit (yup, know that one), hiking miles and miles to find . . . nothing to photograph (yup, that one too), photographing along the coast wearing Wellingtons (well, ours are different water boots, but look just as goofy) and that struggle to find locations that are not lined with rows of photographers and/or herds of tourists (ditto).  Like us, he enjoys the quiet and wonder that one finds in nature, with the knowledge that you don’t need spectacular, famous places to make wonderful photographs and to enjoy the photographic process.  

And of course, he’s talked about the frustration that weather poses for all landscape photographers.  With weather comes great light, conditions and the potential for incredible photographs.  And with weather comes . . . weather.  So when I read about his adventures throughout the British Isles (Scotland . . . need one say more) and the on-again off-again weather he constantly confronts, I am there with him.  As were Ann and I during our trip to the Redwoods.

On our third day of the trip we spent time along Bald Hill road; you’ll get the full story later.  At one point I saw something and pulled over to the side of there road, and Ann and I wound up walking about a quarter mile down a field to photograph some trees.  You can see why from the image below.

The weather forecast was pretty miserable for the day and we’d already hit some wet patches earlier.  And, as is readily evident from the image above, fog and mist were blowing around us.  

So it wasn’t surprising that, by the time I was making the copy frames of this image, drops were starting to come down.  Not much, but enough for me to think I’d better hurry to set up the next image I was eyeing. 

I wasn’t nearly fast enough, because seven minutes after I made the above image, this is what I was dealing with.  Time to close up shot and head back to Beast.  A quarter mile away.  Uphill.

By the time we got to beast, we were covered in sleet and snow.  As Ann put it, “The sleet, the squalls, and just freezing your ass off!”

We were drenched, as was our gear, so we spent a few minutes wiping the gear down (thank goodness for weatherized equipment) and getting things sorted back in Beast so we’d be ready for the next shooting session.  

Which happened to be a whole lot sooner than we thought it would be.  As I walked around Beast to hop in to move to the next destination it all stopped, and the fog had rolled in.  

“Hey Ann, look at that!  Want to go back out there?”  Ann didn’t hesitate in her response.  

So twenty minutes after the squall sent us packing, I was making my next photograph.  And we worked our way back down to where we were before. 

Given the changed conditions, I worked with some of the same composition because the conditions warranted it .

And as fate would have it, it was deja vu all over again.  As I finished this series of images, the skies opened up once more.

I suspected it wasn’t going to be a light squall, so I quickly packed my gear and headed over to Ann.  She was determined to make the image she was working on, hoping that she could get something before things got too bad. 

So I pulled out my iPhone and took a snap of her.  Call it “Exercise in Frustration”.

Dedicated as she was, she quickly realized that the image wasn’t going to happen so she finally conceded defeat.  By the time she packed up a couple of minutes later, this is what the conditions were like.

This time the trek up the hill was even longer and we had even more snow to brush off. And, of course, gear to dry . . . again.  

Call us dedicated or call us dumb, I don’t know which would be the better description for us that day.  But at least by Joe Cornish’s standards, we are landscape photographers.