Sunny 16 Camera Club

This year I began to explore in more detail another area of photography that I had not explored in depth before; Wildlife Photography. I discovered, not surprisingly, that it is much more difficult that one might think. Having visited other photographer’s websites to gain a sense of what their ‘wildlife’ images look like, I kept wondering how they managed to get so close to some of these critters. I will often see owls or birds of prey, but usually they are way off and even with a 500mm lens, too far to do much good.

I’ve come to the conclusion that luck plays a big part of it. Recently, I arrived at Shanty Hollow Lake well before daylight and paddled my canoe to the upper end hoping to catch the sun rising over the lake. I was greeted with one fine show as a result. After the initial morning program played out, I continued with my outing by doing some fishing eventually drifting into one of the several large coves on the north end of the lake. It wasn’t long, and was still early, when I saw a green heron fly across the lake and set down behind some cover on the far bank about 30 yards or so from where I was fishing.

Green herons are interesting birds…rather small about the size of a crow…and have the ability to extend their neck about double the sitting length. They prowl along shallow waters and bend way over leaning close to the water until an unsuspecting minnow swims too close and…zap…the minnow now becomes a meal.

I extracted my camera from the dry box, and paddled slowly in the direction where the heron prowled the bank. I couldn’t see him at first, but by the time I closed within 10 yards I spotted him under some brushy cover. I began to snap away grateful for my good fortune to have gotten so close to a usually wary bird. For the next thirty-five or forty minutes, I followed the heron along the bank as he went in search of a meal. He never seemed too concerned until I closed to within 5 or 6 yards at which time he began to show some signs of alarm by raising the hackle on his head and squawking loudly…but he still didn’t fly off allowing me another few minutes of close observation. Eventually, he simply jumped up and off he went and I figured the photo shoot was over so I went back to fishing.

About 10 minutes later he flew back in and sat down a little further up the bank close to a partially submerged log. Again, I extracted my camera and made my way over to where he was. To my surprise and delight, he allowed me to close again to within about 5 yards. This time, he worked his way down the submerged log and offered the best photo op of the morning.

The water was a dark green with natural cover in the background. The heron was standing in full sunlight his image perfectly reflected in the water underneath him. I fired off several shots thinking that something special just might have happened. It wasn’t until later after I downloaded the images did I discover just how special. The green heron’s portrait is one of the best wildlife images I’ve ever taken…only because he allowed me close access. Luck is simply being able to take advantage of a good opportunity when it arrives.

You can view a few of the images under the sunny16 gallery section under Destinations/Shanty Hollow 2009

     Sometimes I believe I was born in the wrong century. Our modern world has provided us with conveniences our forefathers only dreamed of. Yet in many ways because of those luxuries we’ve lost something of ourselves.

     Often I am torn between wishing I could wander back in time to experience the simpler life unencumbered with the hassles of today’s world, and understanding that those so called good old days were actually pretty hard and demanding. Even so, too often we neglect what our souls need. The modern world has separated us across time from our connection with the land and the inherent aesthetic qualities a slower pace of life provided for our inner peace.
     In our rush to find success we sacrifice significance. In our desire to make a good living, we overlook how good experiencing nature makes us feel. We’ve forgotten how to do those things that were once common place and instead rely on high tech solutions to solve our needs.
     Don’t get me wrong. I understand that modern technology has enhanced and made our lives easier in many, many ways, and those things should not be denigrated. But, often I feel a tugging inside to step away from those things and seek out a place that provides that unique connection to who we once were.
     Fifteen or more years ago now, I made my first visit into Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie Preserve. For some reason I always had envisioned that area as simply just a big pasture full of weeds. How wrong I was. From the outset it became apparent that this was a unique landscape with a history, and ecological impact far more important than any weed filled pasture might offer. It was full of drama and filled with a myriad of wildlife and plant species that I was later to understand as more varied than found in the rainforests. The only camera I possessed at the time was one of those disposable 35mm film cameras, and it fell well short of capturing the essence of that wonderful place.
     On the afternoon during that first encounter, I pulled the car off the dirt road and walked across the prairie a couple hundred yards to the top of a grassy knoll. It was a warm, breezy day in late May and the summer heat had gratefully not yet arrived. About a quarter mile from where I sat down a few hundred bison meandered across the rolling hills that dropped away to the west. Few if any signs of human existence were visible, and I released a deep calming breath.
      For several hours I simply sat there on the grassy knoll listening to the prairie sounds; birds sing, feeling the wind in my face – hearing it as it swirled across the tallgrass, insects flittering about, and the low grumble of the distant bison herd. The prairie grasses possessed a unique flavor and aroma all their own and all of my senses were challenged to accept this rich new stimuli. Eventually, I watched the sun slowly sink into and then below the horizon. The sky turn brilliant orange, then red, then faded into a shade of lavender and purple. As I stood and bid it farewell I made a promise to myself that I would someday return and seriously photograph this wonderful place. Little did I know that a full decade would pass before that opportunity would become reality.
     In time I learned that only about 1% of North America’s original 400,000 square miles of Tallgrass Prairie still existed. Most of the rest was converted into cropland, highway right of ways, and city streets. Bordered on the east by hardwood forests, and on the west by the drier climate short grass prairies and the Rocky Mountains, it once stretched from Canada into Texas and across Iowa and Illinois. It was the most dramatic transformation of the landscape in history. At one time, the state of Iowa was about 98% tallgrass prairie. Today, almost nothing is left. It is like having Iowa represented as a 1000 piece puzzle. Today, all that is left is a broken scattered fraction of one piece. Across the Tallgrass Prairie’s original range, the same holds true.
     Once I began to grasp what happened to this unique eco-system, discovering that Oklahoma, my home state, possessed the largest single unbroken track that remained, I had no other choice than to try to photograph it. I’m not the first to do so, but I wanted to capture its essence in such a way as to create a complete body of work that serves to define what we as a nation almost lost.
     Photographing a location like the Tallgrass Prairie requires more than simply pointing your camera at various objects that you see. The Tallgrass Prairie is a story unto itself with a diverse history and ecological importance. To tell that story you must seek to capture its essence in not only the broad vista sense, but in the more subtle ways as well.
     In May of 2008, I spent one full day driving and hiking across the preserve shooting in excess of 700 images. Although I managed to return a few times after that day for a few hours, the bulk of my photographic attempt was from that one day. The weather was typical Oklahoma weather; un-cooperative. The day presented either dark dreary skies, or thunderstorms and rain, or bright hazy bland skies. What I wanted was one of those blue sky puffy white cloud days. Even so, it wasn’t until later that I realized that the soft light I encountered provided some wonderful lighting opportunities and I managed to capture at least a few nice images.
      From that series of images I began to formulate an idea about building a photo exhibit based on the Tallgrass Prairie. This season, June 2009, I will be returning equipped with a rekindled desire to visit this most unique of our landscapes. Maybe the weather will be more cooperative.

     In July, the first showing of the “Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie – One Day on the Bluestem Sea” exhibit will be held at the Bob Kirby Branch Library in Bowling Green. I hope everyone who reads this can find the time to visit.
     I realize I get a bit long winded with these blogs. Bear with me if you will. Over the next few weeks I hope to write more about the trials and tribulations of photographing the Tallgrass Prairie. Trust me on this one – it’s not as simple as it sounds.

I woke up early New Years Day, 2009. Normally I would have slept in, wanted to, but I wanted more to catch the Sandhill Cranes as they left their roost on the mud flats of Peter’s Creek on Kentucky’s Barren River Lake. Four or five previous trips over that way provided a few opportunities to capture images of the Sandhills with my high dollar digital camera and new Sigma 50-500mm telephoto lens, but I wanted more…and better photos. It’s much harder than it looks I discovered. Sandhills are jumpy even on their best days and don’t tolerate the encroachment of humans into their resting and feeding areas. I discovered that the hard way a week before.

After spotting several thousand of them sitting in a field about a quarter mile from the main road, I walked along a fence row hoping it would hide my movements. Barely fifty steps later still a few hundred yards from my intended observation point, they took to the air. As magnificent of a sight as that was I stood there helplessly, as they honked and chattered in protest to my intrusion, thinking that I had really blown it. But luck was with me and they began to circle around and passed directly over where I was. I put that camera and new lens to good use and actually made some decent shots. But, on this the first day of 2009, my luck would eventually hold better.

Decked out in full hunting gear camouflage I arrived early enough to work my way into a spot next to that same field they were previously using. When I arrived, I discovered they were already there in force, but this time a band of timber blocked their view of my approach. When I got within seventy five yards of where I wanted to setup, I had to slow my pace, crouch as low as I could eventually dropping to a sitting position and scooted along dodging manure piles using one hand to maneuver with and one hand to hold my camera. It took almost twenty minutes to make that last fifty yards, but I managed to close the gap without spooking them and the effort was worth every scrape and splinter as I was able to get some of the best shots to date I’ve taken of these unique and enchanting birds.

The first time I ever saw Sandhill Cranes was well over a decade ago…closer to twelve years actually… while doing some late season goose hunting on Northwestern Oklahoma’s Canton Lake. It was there I stumbled into several thousand of them stopping over during their migration south. I didn’t have a clue what they were. They were using the mud flats created by the lower than normal lake levels that year. My curiosity was aroused when I couldn’t figure out what was creating all that chattel-like racket I kept hearing. With a little stealth and helped by an abundance of tall grass that hid my approach, I was able to get within a few yards of the outer perimeter of where they were settling down. From there, peeking through the grass, I watched as they circled high overhead in one giant rotating ball that soared to over 2000 feet filling the air with the chattering and honking of their combined calls. They were circling and swooping all around me as they dropped onto the mudflats. Although they were legal to shoot in Oklahoma (I hear they taste just like chicken), I set my shotgun aside and crouched lower into the edge of the tall grass and simply watched as this best of nature’s choreography played out. I was fascinated and forever captivated by their haunting songs. After returning home I followed up the discovery with some research about these magnificent birds.

Sandhills are a large bird, approximately forty seven inches high and weighing between 8 and 10 pounds with a wing span of almost eighty inches. The males are slightly larger than the females, other than that they look exactly alike. They share a common size and general appearance of their more famous cousins, the Whooping Cranes, except the Sandhills are a little smaller, are slate grey in color which is often stained brown, and like their cousins have a distinctive red crown across their foreheads. This red crown oddly enough is not feathers but a leathery skin that can grow brighter or darker depending on what mood the birds are in. Mated pairs stay together year round and migrate together with their offspring from their breeding grounds on northern Canada’s tundra, and in some cases the northern United States around the Wisconsin area. The Sandhills that migrate through central Kentucky breed in Wisconsin for the most part and are known as Greater Sandhills, and exist in lower numbers than their counter parts that migrate through the central part of the country. Those are known as Lesser Sandhills and they migrate in flocks numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Although I’ve never made the trip over there, there is a stretch on the Platte River in Nebraska where hundreds of thousands of Sandhills stop over every year. That would be something to see.

The birds that migrate through Kentucky are heading for the Gulf Coast, but if the weather is mild, they’ll spend a good part of the winter on Barren River Lake before moving on south. Sandhills are one of the few cranes whose numbers are still high and they are locally common but seasonal in this part of the country.

If you have never heard or seen a large flight of Sandhills then you have missed a real treat. Once you hear their haunting, chattering calls interspersed with loud trumpet like honks, you’ll never forget it…there is nothing else like it in nature. Often you will hear them long before you see them as they fly high overhead in their distinctive V-formation or long single-file trains. Nothing else sounds like a Sandhill Crane and to hear an entire flight of them sounding off as they circle overhead is like listening to one of nature’s most enchanting symphonies.

A few Sandhills begin arriving in this area as early as mid-November but usually by the middle of December good numbers have arrived. As many as 4000 of them can layover for extended periods and if the weather stays relatively warm, they may remain in the area through the winter and into the early spring before heading back north.

As someone who enjoys nature photography, the idea of having such opportunity so close to home is just too tempting to ignore. Even so, it takes patience, persistence, and a lot of scouting to take advantage of the opportunity. I’ve found it best to set up next to a field the birds like to feed in well ahead of when they either leave their roost of a morning or just before they return in the evening. This may take some scouting before being able to determine the best location, but by setting up before they arrive, then chances of capturing some good images improve tremendously.

They tend to move early right at day break from their roosts on the mud flats to their feeding grounds in the cornfields and pastures often not flying too far in the process. A couple hours before sundown they start making their way toward their roosting areas often stopping over in a favorite field before heading off one final time for the day. You should be dressed in drab clothes, camouflage is best, but as long as you blend into the background, that should work very well. Portable blinds work well, but sometimes they can be a nuisance to carry around and set up and they tend to restrict visibility. Personally, I prefer to sit inside a patch of tall grass next to a fence row and blend into the natural cover. With any luck at all the birds will begin arriving on schedule, but beware that they have tremendous eyesight and will often catch sight of your movement…even simple movements like raising your camera…and off they will go…I learned that the hard way missing out on several good opportunities as birds were beginning to drop into the cornfield.

If photography is not your thing and bird watching is, then you can often simply watch them from your vehicle. Even so, you might miss out on one of the most amazing parts of their behavior and that is when they take to the air all at one time. When that happens, you almost have to be as close as you can and outside to experience the full impact of the moment. To have thousands of them leap into the air all at once…well, it’s a sight you’ll never forget. Later that afternoon of that New Years day I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Setup in the tall grass that grew along a fence row on the back side of a cornfield, I snuggled into the cover to get out of the cold wind. Behind me a half mile or so away were the mudflats of Peters Creek where the Sandhills tended to roost. There were some light clouds drifting low on the horizon mingling with the pale blue sky. About 3:30 pm when the sun began to hover lower in the winter sky, a few flights of the cranes began to drift in and dropped into the field offering me a few opportunities for some good photos. About a mile away most of the birds were feeding or resting on that same rolling pasture I found them on that morning. About 30 minutes before sundown, I noticed what appeared to be a black cloud rise off the fields in the distance. Two to three thousand Sandhills took flight all at once and started flying toward me. Wave after wave of them passed overhead chattering to each other and sounding their trumpeting calls that echoed across the country side. A few of the cranes settled into the field in front of me and I snapped their portraits. It was a magnificent sight and even if I had not been able to get some good photos, just being there at that moment made the early rise and long, cold wait worth it all.

The migration of the Sandhills is one of nature’s most enduring phenomenon and one that relatively few people have an opportunity to connect with. The area around Kentucky’s Barren River Lake near the Peter’s Creek area offers a great opportunity to witness this timeless and prehistoric movement. By doing so, I’ve began to view nature with a different attitude and to understand more about how we’re all connected. Sandhills are magnificent birds living out their lives amongst one of nature’s most enduring spectacles. By taking time to discover them for yourself, in the process you just might jump start your own imagination, and discover something new about yourself and your own world that you never knew existed.