David's photo blog

Secrets of Myakka

2012-01-21T18:34:00.001-05:00

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Seeing the bountiful wildlife and beauty in Myakka River State Park, one might ask what wonders lie downstream? That's what I thought anyway. Flowing south from the park, the river is relatively inaccessible,lined by large tracts of private land and few roads or bridges. The hiking trail to Lower Myakka Lake and Deep Hole in the Wilderness Preserve is a popular hike for fishermen due to the teeming tilapia, there for thecatching, (and for some of us looking to photograph alligators who also love thetilapia.) But we heard it was possible to paddle all the way from the park to a funkyrestaurant in Venice called Snook Haven. After that, the river was said to become much more populous with less natural beauty. OK. Let's paddle!

With ground support from friends of our 3^rdpaddler, Keith, John and I ventured forth … andwere we ever NOT disappointed!

The winds were favorable as we reached Lower Myakka Lake and I was able to sail across in my kayak at a good clip. (Sure beat having a headwind on this big open stretch of water.)

The Preserve beyond Deep Hole is shallow and full of birds, including huge flocks (like thousands!) of swallows and shorebirds, and smaller flocks of Roseate Spoonbills. A small concrete dam marks the southern boundary of the Preserve, but the river remains undeveloped for miles beyond the dam. Wildlife –birds, gators, deer, hogs, and turtles – abound.

The strangest thing we saw was this open-air beehive. No dark cavity for this queen and her brood! Bee Art for the world to see.

Swooping palms, oaks, and classic Highwayman-like scenes line this wild river. Well, see for yourself.

Signs of civilization appeared along the banks as we began approaching I-75, so we opted to pull out a few miles upstream from Snook Haven at a smalllanding by Sleeping Turtles Preserve (then drove over to Snook Haven). And while I didn’t make a photo at the "happening" SnookHaven, we did enjoy a pitcher of beer, a late dinner, and great band. This is another Myakka destinationworth visiting!

Keith was a great host in Venice. One evening, we joined a group of his friends for Yoga-on-the-Beach at Siesta Key (though yoga ended up getting rained out). Ghost-like flocks of sanderlings flowed up and down with the waves in the dusk-light... like "vapors on black-stick legs".

We also made the extra effort to visit Deep Hole late enoughone day to light the gator eyes with flash. So many eyes! Briefly, a light misty rain delivered droplets near the camera that burst with light from the flash as well, addingto the magic of the scene.

Ahhh, Myakka aka "Big Waters", you so deserve your designation as 'Florida's first wild and scenic river'... thank you for sharing your secrets.

Tooth Peace

2011-12-29T12:42:00.001-05:00

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The Peace is a river of fossils. It's waters meander throughphosphate-mine country east of Tampa, Florida,from Bartow to the Gulf of Mexico. I found hundreds of fossilized shark teeththere back in my South Florida days whilecanoeing, camping, and exploring the Peace River’shoney-colored waters and white-sand beaches. My prize tooth back then was about 2 1/2 inches long.

Early this month, John Moran and I revisited the Peace River, accompanied by a massive megalodon tooth(giant shark) John had borrowed from a museum. Photographing the tooth in the Peace would honor the ancient history ofboth fossil and place. I had brought myCanon G12 with its underwater housing in hopes of maybe combining the mysteriesbeneath with the scenic beauty above in a half-in and half-out of water shot.

Launching our paddlecrafts at Zolfo Springs this finemorning, I felt a rush -- being off on a new adventure in this place of myyouth. Six hours later, we were barelyout of sight of the bridge where we’d put in. We’d become caught up in momentby moment photo ops and the day slipped away. John may have made one keeper of the tooth but there were many othereye-catchers as well in the creeks, turtles, palms, and birds.

When reality kicked in – namely 23 miles to go in the next two days – we decided to paddle into the moonlitnight. Submerged snags kept us focused(on not tipping over).

Finally, we set up our tents around 10 pm and fell asleep to the serenade of flowingwater and hooting owls. At dawn's crack,I discovered we were surrounded by at least a hundred vultures. Felt a bit Gulliver-like. The birds scrambled to the trees to watch aswe emerged from our tents. Food?

As the day unfolded, I searched for the right setting tophotograph the tooth: shallow water,palms in the background, sunlight coming from about 45 degrees off my back (somy shadow wouldn’t be a problem.) Thisseemed so simple and yet proved elusive. Finally, late in the day, the shot lined up and I felt excited by (hopeful)success.

We were beat and ready to stop when the rain began. Setting up camp in the rain is no fun so we optedagain to paddle on into night. As hungerpeaked, we knew we needed at least a dinner stop. Luckily, by the time we had eaten, the rainhad pretty much stopped so we stayed the night. By morning, the weather was gorgeous again. I saw an otter by these turtle-shaped rocks. And many birds along the way.

Our final short day was relaxed because of all our nightpaddling. Rocky banks had replaced sandbars. A few artsy shots at our nap-stop finished the trip and soon we werepulling our boats out at Gardner.

The Confluence

2011-11-28T09:35:00.001-05:00

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Once more, I return to "the Confluence" (as we call it) - where the Wacissa River ends, spilling its spring water into the black-watered Aucilla. First time I visited (a long-ago-blog-entry), there was a beautiful rocky shoal... a "waterfall" one might even stretch, by flat Florida standards. All the visits since, we have found the rocks submerged and the confluence waters tame. Crystal had heard my exuberant rant after the scouting trip, but became a doubter after about the 5th flatwater visit.

The bird's eye view of the Aucilla River (this section) is a series of sinkholes and short runs, because mostly it travels through underground caves. The Wacissa ends at a short stretch of Aucilla called Half Mile Rise. And that's why it took me years to consider that maybe the Aucilla water level at the Confluence rises and falls with the tides of the Gulf where it ultimately flows miles downstream. So for this trip, I did some homework and calculated when Half Mile Rise might be at a very low tide level and timed our paddle accordingly. Bob and Trudy Thompson joined Crystal and I on this glorious afternoon as we ventured through the Braided Swamp of the lower Wacissa arriving at Half Mile Rise to find my hypothesis spot on - a roaring rocky Confluence!

A believer once again, Crystal declared this a top five favorite spot in Florida's Big Bend. It's inaccessibility only makes it more desirable. Most lower Wacissa paddlers take the more distinct side channel - the Slave Canal - to a regular landing on the lower Aucilla, rather than get lost in the braided swamp. (Getting lost is always part of our adventure.) Plus the "road" to the take-out at Half Mile Rise is strewn with boulders and laced with tire-eating gullies. So worth the effort!

Big Bend Coast

2011-10-25T13:23:00.004-04:00

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The tides were going to be wrong, but the weather perfect -- and the weekend was free, so we decided to go for it. Sue and Jeff in their boat, Crystal and I in ours -- we headed to the Big Bend Coast where the waters of the Econfina and Aucilla Rivers spill into the Gulf of Mexico.

We launched at the ramp of Econfina State Park and picked our way through low tide hazards to the cool clear Gulf water. The Big Bend Coast is home to the world's finest seagrass beds -- nursery grounds for a myriad of sea creatures.

These are the grass beds of our summer scalloping forays. Snorkeling here, you never know when you'll meet a stingray, eel, crab, or even small shark. The rocky reefs that are so treacherous to our propellers, become a paradise of sponges, aquatic plants, and fishes upon donning a mask and diving in.

We explored west as far as Cobb Rocks until the tide was nearly high, then entered the mazes of saltmarsh, creeks, and estuaries that make up this coast. GPS is useful - well, more like essential - unless you are a local fisherman.

In the Pinhook River, we came upon two such fellows who offered tips about finding our way and avoiding hazards. We made it upstream as far as the St. Marks trail bridge. By luck, our fisherfriends were just wrapping up a successful afternoon and led us through a zig-zag of channels - a shortcut into the Aucilla River where we planned to spend the night.

Palm islands dotted the marsh, fish jumped almost continuously, rails called from the grass edge, as the sun fell into its golden hour. I found a clump of trees for a future sunset photo, but the no-see-ums drove us to more open water for dinner and camping.

The sky put on a show for us - sunset... dark pink clouds of dusk... stars, more stars, then millions of stars and the Milky Way stretching from horizon to horizon. We lay on our backs after dinner, boats rafted together, watching the show in the sky, as gently lapping waves and jumping fish provided the sound track. A cool light breeze kept us nearly bug-free.

Soon everyone was yawning and ready to turn in to our cozy deck tents, BUT WAIT... a glowing cloud on the northeast horizon drew our attention, and held us rapt as a 91%-full moon climbed into the sky. Too much movement of the boat for night photography (which requires long exposures) meant I could simply lay back and take in the show with Crystal and our pals.

2012 Florida Forever Calendars

2011-10-25T10:53:00.007-04:00

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Word just in: Legacy Institute for Nature and Culture's 2012 Florida Forever Calendars are shipping today! Here's an excerpt from the press release as well as a sneak preview of images from the calendar.

The 2012 calendar is a collaborative work featuring 12 of the state’s leading nature photographers focused on a selection of Florida’s most vulnerable but spectacular landscapes.

For more than two decades, the state's Florida Forever program has been protecting sensitive land from development. Yet more than a million acres of land and water are still in need of protection. "These images capture the best of what remains of natural Florida,” says contributing photographer John Moran. “We hope this wall calendar serves as a daily reminder to all Floridians of the importance of preserving the state’s principal investment -- the natural resources we all depend upon for sustenance, economic vitality and quality of life.”

The calendar shares rare landscapes from across the state, selected from among more than 100 endangered sites awaiting funding on the Department of Environmental Protection’s Florida Forever preservation list. Each locale is celebrated through the eyes of some of the state’s most talented conservation photographers: Chad Anderson, Kevin Barry, Clyde Butcher, Will Dickey, Daniel Ewert, Jason Hahn, John Moran, David Moynahan, Mac Stone, Jim Valentine, Carlton Ward, Jr., and Eric Zamora. Their photos reveal stunning vistas, endangered waterways, native wildlife and fragile ecosystems that could all-too-easily be lost to development.

Four former Florida Governors – Rubin Askew, Bob Martinez, Bob Graham and Jeb Bush – share their views in the calendar on the need for Florida Forever and safeguarding priority lands from development. “Florida’s success in preserving natural resources is a tremendous asset for residents and visitors,” said Martinez. “It allows any person with the desire to enjoy the beauty of Florida’s woods, wildlife, wetlands and springs. Most importantly, future generations will inherit a state whose policies recognize the interconnectedness of people and ecosystems. Maintaining this shift in priorities will ensure a high quality of life—health, jobs, recreation—for years to come. Losing our focus will compromise the very foundation our state was built upon.”

Buy your signed copy directly from me for $15 (plus postage). They make great gifts too! Email your order to me at david@davidmoynahan.com. And thanks for your support!

NewPort to NewYork

2011-10-19T17:08:00.006-04:00

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Getting a smart phone happened to coincide with going to my niece's wedding in Newport, Rhode Island earlier this month. The droid was supposed to have a pretty decent camera so I took none other so I'd be forced to learn to use it. Being in my pocket at all times, I knew it would be great for snapshots and family events, but what about nature and art? Here was a chance to try it out.

First there was Newport - surrounded by water - with it's rocky coast and tide pools. The photo header above was shot from our hotel room window (Quality Inn). How we appreciated that the window opened to the fresh cool air, bird calls, and this spectacular view! And YES!, I discovered my phone-camera stitches panoramas - a delightful new feature.

Snails...


Mussels...

...and cheese, veggies... oops.

Gotta love those tide pools. We explored the rocks, then went for a swim.

My family...

you can dress 'em up....

...but they still have fun.

So far, so good. After the wedding, we took the train to the Big Apple for a night, to see our youngsters' new pad in Brooklyn. Here's their "balcony" vista (aka fire escape).

Aside from seeing the apartment, we wanted to check out Occupy Wall Street, the new New York phenomenon that is catching fire around the country and world. Just a few blocks from the apartment was a dock where the East River Ferry stopped, so we hopped aboard and headed for south Manhattan. Being tourists from the Wakulla County woods, the boat rides down to Wall Street and back were delightful and full of photo ops.

The Occupy Wall Street demonstration was in full swing... hundreds marching and chanting. Cops on horseback. Fancy shops. Men in suits. Outbursts of tension. We joined in, though I mostly marched along making photos and trying not to drop my new phone-cam. Here's a sample, starting with the New York Stock Exchange building.

We came to the big bronze bull in a small plaza. Is he there as a market mascot or might he represent something else ...a matter of perspective? My heart goes out to the many unemployed, those struggling to make ends meet, the thousands of public servants who've lost their jobs more because of the Bush tax cuts and expensive wars than government largesse. I had to wonder how many of the police here considered that these demonstrators are marching in part for them, maybe their jobs too... the 99%.

As for my pocket-sized phone-camera, I was very pleased with what I got. I'll be reaching for it again and again in those spontaneous moments when typically I wouldn't have my camera gear at hand.

Faces of St. Marks Lighthouse

2011-09-21T17:26:00.005-04:00

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A friend recently asked if I had any photos of the St. Marks Lighthouse, a local icon at the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Over the years, I have made quite a few photos of this beautiful building so I started looking through my archives and found some to send him. I picked out ten. Some are classic postcard --"ahhh, wouldn't those make a nice gift card set?" -- while others are unique or unusual (even arty) perspectives. Let's start with a panorama.

This image I made one clear evening from the observation tower next to the lighthouse. It is a high dynamic range composite of 15 images blended and stitched together, creating a huge finely detailed photo that is capable of any size enlargement (like, really BIG).

Anyone heard of the Rule of Thirds. No subtlety here. This shot I made back in 2005 at a high tide sunrise with my first digital SLR camera.

From east of the lighthouse in early light (my favorite time of the day), this image catches the sunlight raking (and showing off the beauty of) the saltmarsh grasses.

After one amazing day at the Refuge photographing a surreal sunrise, black skimmers, fishing dolphins, and a pretty sunset, I turned around (after sundown) to see the "lighthouse in blue" from a viewpoint I had never before noticed.

Lighthouse pond is nearly always full of action with wading birds, sea birds, ducks, and osprey, so on this morning I set out to highlight the birds in a vista with the lighthouse.

Many visitors enjoy the walk east along the coast from the lighthouse, leaving a well-worn trail. Looking back up the path which led my eye right to the tower, and then to the lovely reflections in the pond, the photographer-in-me said 'nice composition'.

Nearly a year ago, early one morning I set out to photograph the fall migration of the monarch butterflies and include the St Marks Lighthouse to give the photo a sense of place. The butterflies had been plentiful in the preceding days, but many must have started across the Gulf just before I got there. The shot I want will look something like this, but with many more monarchs clinging to the juniper. (Maybe next month?) Not that this shot failed. I liked the graduation of color in the sky and the position of the butterflies, but I want more of them.

One full moon evening a few years ago, the St. Marks Photo Club gathered at the lighthouse. As we stood offshore in the dark behind our tripods, we wondered if the moon was going to show given all the clouds in the east. It peeked through a window for a few minutes and here's what I got.

Not long ago, the club lent a hand at clearing a small peninsula in the waterway along the road to the lighthouse and added a bench to make a new observation point. This early morning was my first photo visit to the spot, and I was stunned by the perfect conditions and reddish light.

And finally, my March 2011 Super Moon photo. Crystal and I drove down near Shell Point to a spot where the lighthouse was but a distant speck on the horizon in the east. The hype was that this full moon would be the largest in my lifetime. So I had my biggest telephoto lens and extender and set up my tripod a full hour ahead, having picked a spot where I thought the moon would rise directly behind the Lighthouse. It didn't work out perfectly - does it ever? - but I was happy with the results. I wrote the full story at a previous blog you can find by clicking on this image (in caption text).

Ten photos of the same thing... hope I haven't bored you. Really, it is a pretty stunning lighthouse with many moods, faces, and changing light. Make a trip to see it ... or at least order some prints for your wall or a gift...
Oh, and please leave a comment here if you'd like. I read and appreciate them all!

Beyond Chassahowitzka

2011-08-03T19:15:00.021-04:00

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"Fresh Blood!", must have reverberated through the insect world as we four humans tromped midsummer into the swamp of Chassahowitzka WMA and National Wildlife Refuge (Chaz for short) along Florida's west coast. Each of us was enveloped in our own personal cloud of mosquitoes. Bruce Day (with headnet), John Moran and I were following Bruce Morgan whose rich descriptions had lured us here in search of deep blue gems, places where one can peer intimately into the veins that carry Florida's precious blue blood beneath her gnarly skin.

I was reminded of the pirate, Jack Sparrow, as Bruce glanced at his trusty compass, glared with furrowed brow into the thicket, and then marched purposefully ahead. Specifically, we were in search of the headwaters of Blind Creek. Bruce had been there once.

Suddenly, there it was -- crystalline water first breaking the Earth's crust; water that then porpoises in a series of swallets and resurgences until it finally surfaces through a big hole that forms the Creek on the Gulf. Our goal was to explore these waters, both here in the swamp and, next day, find our way up Blind Creek to its final resurgence.

Arriving at this spring in the swamp, I was awestruck. And snorkeling over the blue hole, I looked down 180 feet into an enormous cavern sparkling with rays of sunlight. There's John diving for a closer look (video below).

After seeing this wonder, we were game to follow Bruce anywhere... so, he led us much deeper into the swamp - zigzagging - in search of the next resurgence.

Bluestripe Ribbon Snake

There were moments of doubt and head-scratching, but eventually we saw a brighter patch through the trees ... and that turned out to be our destination.

Unlike the headspring, this upwelling was broad and mostly shallow. It featured a long underwater rock wall about 35 feet high. At the bottom of the wall, several springs flowed out of caves. Strange algal formations rose from the wide shallow flats, a playground for the fish. We too had a frolic in this watery garden.

Returning to the headspring was much more challenging since it was but a dot in the swamp. To miss it meant the Mosquito Blood Bar might get drained dry. Despite our meandering course into the swamp, Bruce - the human GPS - led us in a beeline back to the headspring.

While taking another refreshing swim (and respite from the bugs), two strangers arrived. The man heard a voice from the spring and asked, "Is that Mr. Morgan?" How could two avid Florida caver friends have come to this hole in the swamp at the same time? Hmmm, probably not that unlikely. One thing led to another, and soon the four of us were tagging along with Rod and Allee on their date where he had promised to show her some of his favorite cool places, including CAVES. We caravanned east to the Withlacoochee State Forest. Rod led the way into the forest -- another long hike in rugged unmarked terrain... How do these guys find these places?

With little daylight left, we moved (too) fast past grandfather trees, fern grottoes, limerock bluffs, and finally came to a spectacular series of caves and tunnels snaking through the earth and undergrowth. Speaking of snakes, Allee, a college prof and herpetologist spotted a beautiful coral snake along the way. "Red on Yellow, Kill A Fellow..." First one I've seen in the wild in years.

Having had a mere taste of the riches here, dusk set in, along with a drizzling rain. Which way do we go? Had Rod wanted to keep this location a secret, blindfolds would've been unnecessary . I'd have been hopelessly lost without his guidance both in and out.

Mud-covered and rain-sweat soaked, we got back to our vehicles about 9:30 pm. We were ravenous as mosquitoes, so Rod pointed us toward a nearby tavern, where, despite our grubbiness, we were welcomed and soon sated with good food, beer, and karaoke. Meanwhile back at the campground - still an hour away - neither John nor I had set up our tents yet, and Bruce's mate, Ann, who'd arrived earlier that evening was undoubtedly beginning to wonder where we were. That was a late night.

The next morning, we launched the boat there at the Chaz River Campground (a Citrus County Park) and within minutes, the five of us were bathing in the sweet clear waters of the Seven Sisters Springs. Imagine cool clear shallow water flowing over a swiss-cheese-rocky bottom. We cavorted like otters through tunnels and caves to our heart's delight.

But on to the 'serious' mission of the day: finding Blind Creek Spring, about 12 miles away by boat... and we had to be back again before low tide drained our navigable water from the Chaz River. This part of the coast is a maze of small islands and treacherous rocky bottom. I had printed out some charts from AcmeMapper which we tried to follow, though we were often in dispute about exactly where we were.

The beautiful sky, palm islands, and bountiful wading birds lured us on as we picked our way from channel to channel. Finally arriving at Blind Creek Spring was anticlimactic given the jewels of springs we had just been to. This spring dropped off to about 50 ft deep, but the water was so dark here that we couldn't see anything. When Ann unexpectedly bumped mask-first into the shallow wall, we knew it was time to declare success and move on.

Back in the Chaz River, I saw this lovely red "rhubarb" growing in the river. A botany friend tracked down it's identity: Giant Amaranth. These stems will get MUCH bigger before it freezes back. Meanwhile, a red-green abstract.

Bumping upstream on one shallow rocky tributary, we came to a different-looking spring rich in minerals -- to the point that the aquatic plants were covered in rust. Wonder why the water content of adjacent springs can vary so much?

Our final stop was a random little creek leading to a nondescript spring that Bruce Day was drawn to. As we glided in a large manatee sidled up to the side of the boat and poked it's head out to see who we were.

After a sweet manatee encounter, we headed for home, revitalized by Florida's remaining fountains of youth.

These jewels that adorn our remaining wilds must be protected for our children's children to explore... and marvel at... and find their connection with our planet.

Thanks for sharing in my adventures... and please leave a comment if you feel like it. The comments won't appear right away, but I'll see them and be sure they get posted.

Cave Painting

2011-07-17T19:02:00.014-04:00

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When I read Bruce Morgan's 'Pauper's Holiday' email recently, I got all fired up to see the caves along the Chipola River. Besides being a fine yarnspinner, Bruce included some enticing photos. So last month, John Moran and I set off on a mission to find Alamo Cave and light it up to make a dramatic nightscape.

Our first stop on the river was Johnny Boy Landing (near Hwy 20) where droves of local tubers drifted off like colorful balloons in the summer sky. Every cluster had big folks lounging, little folks being wild, AND a caboose-tube for the ice chest and goodies. It was a sweet scene that I hope to join one day later this hot summer.

By the time we launched our boats in Marianna, it was almost naptime. Accommodations: four cypress trees at water's edge.

Late afternoon, we rounded a bend to see a boy come flying off a cliff over a gaping hole in the lime rock and plunge into the river. We had arrived! The river was low and clear and ever so lovely. The high and holey rock bank and giant boulders shouted THE CAVES ARE HERE.

Friends in the area had given us the GPS coordinates for Alamo. Still it was a thrill to find the mouth of the cave there in the woods not far from the river.

Such a cool cave! Mouth-like entrances front and back. So many possible compositions. Arggghh... which ONE for the night light shot? Shooting from within the cave (photo at top)? Nice. West entrance? East? Which trees? By the time we had a couple dozen test shots made, gear was sprawled out on the forest floor.

We finally settled on two spots about 10 ft apart where we set up cameras to capture similar sets of photos. Let the fun begin! (Well, fun for photo-geeks.)

The next two paragraphs are the ones to skip if you are not the least bit photo-geek. Not that they're technical, just may ramble into 'boring'. Anyway, the idea was to make multiple exposures (like the old double exposures from film days). Each frame has the identical composition, but each is enhanced with light from off-camera flash, flashlight, candles, torch, or colored-gels-over-lights. And finally a frame of "darkness". Then some of these frames would get chosen to layer into a composite -- feathering in the different lit trees and rocks -- to create the "masterpiece nightscape" (one hopes).

We started with soft warm light in the cave entrance. Then as darkness fell, we literally light-painted the trees and earth outside the cave. The human figure was a last minute afterthought "just to have another option". Unlikely because we had thought that soft blue "moonlight" in the back of the cave would "show" there was a rear entrance. That version didn't look so good. The afterthought image read much better in the overall composite - that is, warm-lit human added elements of scale, underground space, and mystique. Here's the final.

There seemed to be no way to show the front-door-back-door feature except by video... so we made a video too. Modern cameras have options.

Early the next morning, I went to explore the Ovens, another cave we had passed upstream. By the time I returned, John was up and all excited about a beautiful new angle on Alamo, but was struggling to get the flash units to cooperate. Technical difficulties. After a bit of fiddling with the flashes, he got his shot. Nice one. (Here is my version.)

Entering the Ovens brought back memories of Tom Sawyer and my childhood. My dad was from cave country in Indiana, so whenever there was an opportunity during a family trip, we'd go explore some cave. In the red glow of my headlamp, deep in the Ovens and my reminiscence, I suddenly heard fluttering, growing louder, then softer, then louder again. There were many side tunnels, but the sound was hard to locate. Finally, I caught a glimpse of it.... a bat! It continued to fly about so I went out for my camera and tripod.

The Ovens entrance was classically picturesque, well, except for the graffiti scratched into the limerock by modern day "cave painters". Luckily, lush maidenhair ferns also adorned the limerock walls which stretched far overhead. And then there were fine small jewels hidden in the moss and ferns.

Later I was making the photo of John (below), when an older couple (translation: older than me, I'm 58) showed up with their 10 year old grandson. Each was paddling his/her own kayak. Grandpa said they'd known this place all their lives and they had decided it was time the boy saw the cave. Nothing should be more exciting to a boy that age than exploring a cave on his own. (G and G stayed outside.) He loved it. And no one could have better grandparents than these two who paddled 10 miles for him to have this experience. (Of course, paddling the river was part of their gift as well.)

Moss-covered roots artfully decorated one stretch of riverbank drawing us in. An hour and several photos later, we were still there as heavy raindrops began falling. Oops, our gear was all exposed. By the time we got it all under cover, it was really raining.

So beautiful was the rain on the river, that we had to get cameras out again. John has an elegant rig for attaching his big umbrella to his tripod. But me... I felt a bit foolish hauling my tripod and camera out into chest-deep water and setting it up one-wet-handed. Kept thinking, is this tempting disaster or what? I didn't make any great photos, but I got plenty chilled, and did get my quite-wet-camera back in its drybox before the storm really let loose. Sitting out the 40 minute downpour with flashing lightening and crashing thunder in our camp chairs in soaked raincoats on the high bank, somehow John fell asleep. Not me. With chattering teeth, I worried about my camping gear as I watched my kayak fill with rainwater.

Summer rains pass pretty quickly in Florida, and soon enough the sun was warming my bones again. We paddled on, not sure whether we'd spend a second night on the river. Unexpectedly, on the left, springwater flowed strongly from a small side creek. We'd be spending another night on the river.

Maund Spring, we later identified, is a beautiful deep crack in the earth from which clear blue water spills. The spring run curves horseshoe-like to the river, making a nice fish-eye composition (below). Fish played on the sandy delta at the confluence, while the photographers played with angles and compositions all round the spring.

After we were satisfied with looking and shooting, it was time for a swim. I dived deep into the hole and looked up to see the trees haloing John's silhouette. Here's how that looked (using my wife's little Pentax Optio).

We had a lovely summer night on the riverbank. (My camp gear had stayed dry! Whew!)

Back on the river again, the next big landmark was the confluence of Spring Creek with the Chipola. This is a popular tubing run - from Merritts Mill Pond to the Chipola to the outfitter's shop a few miles downstream. In the low water, the jigsaw-puzzled-barerock bottom was showcased in the confluence of streams. While starting to set up the johnnypod (tripod ladder) over the slippery rocks, a water bottle came floating down Spring Creek, and soon we heard voices. The journalist and springs activist in John jumped at the opportunity, and here's the photo he made. Followed by the beautyshot from atop the J-pod.

A bit further, a troupe of thespians frozen in mid-play in a tupelo tree caught my attention along the right bank. We stopped there for lunch and a nap. Setting up for this photo, the rain began. Rescue my hammock? the chair and food? No. Get out a showercap for the camera and close the camera box? Yes. Click. Click. Click: "All the Tree's a Stage -- The Troubadours of Tupelo".

Our final stop was a tiny spring or seep flowing out of the riverbank. Try as we might (below), neither of us could capture the beauty of this scene in a photograph.

Then John came up with the idea to make a video with his little waterproof Lumix. Voila! It came alive. Here's my version with my Pentax.

The Chipola continues to amaze me... caves and springs this time. But this is also home of the Dead Lakes, Prothonotary Warblers, Look-N-Tremble Shoals, and "Hidden" Spring, all places I've written about in earlier blogs.

Please feel free to leave a comment. (It won't appear at first, but I'll see it and attach it to the blog.) Thanks for sharing in my adventure.

Sweet Water

2011-07-10T12:46:00.008-04:00

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Sparkling jewel of the Ocala National Forest, Sweetwater Spring is tucked away on Juniper Creek. Unbeknownst to most people, there is a Forest Service cabin on the spring that is rented out year round (by lottery). My friend, John Moran was lucky enough to win the first week of July this year and invited a group of buddies to enjoy it with him. I felt most grateful to be there.

This trip was more for fun than serious photography, but I tried my hand at both. The cave above is my novice attempt at underwater photography using my wife's little waterproof Pentax Optio. The Challenge: could I, all in one breath, swim into the little caves of the spring vents without stirring up silt, get turned around, and then make a photo without my lungs demanding that I BREATHE NOW! in no uncertain terms? Then there's Alan's photos:

Alan Youngblood, accomplished underwater photographer, arrived later with some cool gear. "OK, I'll be the model", I almost insisted. That's Alan's handywork above starring yours truly.

When it comes to partying, I am a major wimp. (Earplugs are the secret to successful sleep in a bunkroom of a party house/yard.) The flipside is that I get to enjoy the peaceful early mornings while everyone else sleeps... well, almost everyone. Bruce Day was just pushing off his kayak when I got down to the spring the first morning. An early solo paddle up Juniper took me to Ledge Spring (above) in lovely misty light. Ahhh, I really get juiced by places like this. This silky springwater is the fountain of youth in Florida's summer heat. Mmmm.

I left earlier the next morning for a much longer paddle upstream to "rapids"! (Juniper Creek does not have rapids... except during big droughts like now, so this was a MUST SEE.) The roar preceded the view. Then, there it was, a class-one-fourth whitewater rapid. Walking my kayak up the slippery rocks, I finally came to this rock ledge (above) at the top of the shoals...no banged shins, lost paddle, broken wrists, or dunked equipment so far. Whew. After making my photo, I paddled a bit further before turning back for breakfast. Juniper Creek is amazing, but NOT an easy paddle for the novice -- as was evidenced by some of the paddling passersby at Sweetwater. Lots of twists and snags and swirling water to bully the newbies. We had a wayward woman and her two youngsters dragging an icechest up the Sweetwater spring run in search of help after her man abandoned her because 'the canoe wasn't working right.'

Blasting down the bumpy-watered rapid (with full camera gear in my kayak) was a thrill... now I'm really awake. My day for dumping will come, but not this day.

Bruce Day (above) knows and loves this Creek better than anyone. Saturday evening he led a small group of us up to a secret spring he had discovered years earlier, which he calls Vortex in Space and Time (below). On the way we stopped at Nine Palm Island and the nearby hollow cypress tree. Four of us managed to cram into its sensual opening. John tried to get in as well, but it was not possible, especially with the camera timer counting down ten...nine...eight... so he gave up and made this photo (below). Then, there's the goofy-looking Tree Gnome -- my big head in major wide angle lens distortion. Despite our irreverent playing around, both the tree and the secret spring felt sacred. It took Bruce years to come upon these and his other hallowed treasures along the Creek. Thanks for the special tour, BDay. It was worth missing seeing the bear near the cabin.

The other treasure we found at Sweetwater was the camaraderie in this gathering of men -- two Johns, Mitch, Alan, two Bruces, three Davids, Mike, Gene, Ed, Doug, Steve, Gary, George, Chip, and probably others who arrived after I left on Sunday. Rich in thought and wisdom, lively talk and funny stories, open hearts and generous spirits, daring stunts, fabulous food, and beautiful music -- the weekend was really joyful for me. Thanks John, and all of you. Here are a few of the men.

Sad to leave the gang at the spring, but my parents were staying nearby. So for the Grand Finale of the holiday weekend, I went to Cocoa Beach for some great family time. Ron Jon's put on an outstanding fireworks show over the Atlantic.

Tip of St. Vincent Island

2011-06-08T18:48:00.004-04:00

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That's 'Tip', as in 'tip of the iceberg'. In two short days that's all one can possibly see of this big diverse wildlife refuge (especially since you can't camp there). The island is an easy paddle by kayak across Indian Pass, and there's a day ferry there as well. Susan Cerulean is writing a book about this part of Florida, so Crystal and I joined her and Jeff for a couple days visit to IP and St. V. last month.

I had noticed the Railroad Vine with its Beach Morning Glory flowers right away, so I was out crawling in the sand setting up the photo (above) well before sunrise the next morning. I hadn't realized that the flowers would be still furled asleep until mid-morning, but decided they still made good (if not better) subjects when curled up. That's St. Vincent Island in the upper right.

May means the shorebirds are in full breeding plumage - much more showy than most of the year. I saw (or noticed) my first Red Knot - a red-breasted sandpiper. The little Sanderling boys dominated with their battling and posturing all up and down the beaches. We saw many other sandpipers, egrets, herons, oystercatchers, terns and gulls, eagles and osprey... and the list goes on.

Least Terns were nesting on a remote beach gulfside of St. Vincent. We watched the guys bring minnow-gifts to their coy sweethearts. And the females fiercely defending their nests from potential predators like ghost crabs.

We passed another spit covered with Black Skimmers, presumably many on their nests. As we were leaving, an eagle soared over sending the flock into synchronized flight.

One long walk on St. V lasted through a magnificent sunset which shone orange light across the sand. I had carried only one large telephoto lens in my little kayak, so all my photo subjects that evening had to be small (like a bird) or a detail from a distance (like wolf tracks). It was an interesting exercise (and repeated reminder to come prepared.)

A massive storm front was moving in fast on our final morning giving us a dark-brooding-sky sendoff.

Life at Dead Lakes

2011-06-06T18:08:00.003-04:00

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"Surreal", I thought as we idled out into Dead Lakes from the ramp. Hulking sculpted tree bases filled and lined the lake. Stumps rose up to 15 feet above water while others hid treacherously just below the surface. The lake is the result of backed up water in the final 10 miles of the Chipola River when the Apalachicola River is high. The Chipola ends at the mighty Apalachicola. But there is more to the story - a dam that was built in the 1960s and then removed in the 1980s. Many trees were killed by the massive flooding, hence the name, but why it's plural I don't know.

Crystal, Sue, Jeff and I slowly weaved through the skeletal trees in search of shade and a swimming hole. The day (yesterday) was a hot one which gave me opportunity to try out my experimental bimini-top shade extender over the bow deck of the jonboat. Pieced together from Tyvek housewrap and electrical conduit pipe, it proved to be a lifesaver (well, at least skinsaver).

We explored northward from Wewahitchka. Pretty soon we got used to the eery landscape and started noticing the abundant life in the Dead Lakes. The lake was full of fish and birds, and probably gators, though we saw none. And from the thousands of stumps, young cypress trees and other plants had sprung up. Islands have formed. We even found a sandy-ish beach where we picnicked and had a swim. The water was around 85 degrees fahrenheit - Coldwater-Phobic-Jeff declared it perfect!

By hanging out in that spot, nature returned to her rhythms and the wildlife resumed its activities. A pair of grackles repeatedly flew from their cavity nest carrying their nestling's fecal pellets out over the lake and dropping them. An osprey dipped and weaved past us with several grackles in hot pursuit. As one of the blackbirds pecked the raptor, the osprey dropped what had to be a baby grackle it had stolen from a nest.

Prothonotary warblers called all around us. We saw two males fighting. Later, one male came to the tree over our boat and proceeded to gather insects for his nestlings. His beak was stuffed by the time he headed home. Turtles sunned and plopped off logs, and all sorts of herons and egrets fished, flew, and posed for us.

Banks of clouds grew in the sky on this hot summer day, reflecting on the windless water surface... and life was good.

Moonrise-Sunset at St. Marks

2011-04-29T15:30:00.001-04:00

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April 17 the full moon was scheduled to rise at the same time the sun was to set. I drove to St. Marks on a clear-sky evening... well, except for the no-see-ums and skeeters - they were thick in the air.

Armed with a new compass and info I'd researched online, I set out to predict exactly where the moon would break over the horizon. One of my beloved sculpted snags would serve as my global line-of-sight. Wow, was I impressed when the moon came up in exactly the right spot! This could be a powerful tool for future photos.

I was there early enough to need distractions from the biting bugs. Here is another snag catching the last rays of the sun. (The weird background colors just happened that way.)

Behind me, the sun was creating a fiery horizon behind the pines.

And just before moonrise, a pair of grackles posed briefly on the perch on which I has my lens focused - making easy my favorite shot-of-the-evening (above). The moon popped faintly into view a couple minutes after the birds left, and rose into the bowl of the snag.

As the light fell, I made a few more images, including one with another grackle... and then packed up for home. But as I was driving out, a silhouette scene in the western Afterglow stopped me. What a beautiful place in which I live and love!

Pictorial Ode to an Old Friend

2011-04-14T20:24:00.004-04:00

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Visited this venerable pine along the Florida Trail many times over the years. The tree was massive and exuded presence. Saw the tree last week and it had died. A recent burn decorated the trunk. It still commanded plenty of beauty and awe. I felt grateful to have known the tail end of the tree's long life.

Devon Creek Canopy

2011-04-12T17:39:00.004-04:00

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Arching over our heads from both sides, cypress and tupelo create a gorgeous canopy as we paddle up Devon Creek. Author, photographer, and friend, Doug Alderson remembered this little creek -- off of Owl Creek off of the Apalachicola River -- from a visit here 30 years ago. Doug is the Florida Paddling Trails coordinator for the Office of Greenways and Trails -- namely, he is probably Florida's chief paddling trailblazer.

We launch on this exploratory paddle to find out whether this might be a destination for other paddlers or not.... and WOW, is it ever! At the high water level this evening, the mouth of the creek is obscured by tree branches, but research had lent some GPS coordinates, so we plunge into the floodplain and soon find the channel. The amazing canopy, winding path, and mirrored water surface lead us through a spectacular tunnel of green light on a circular skeleton of dark limbs.

Birds of the swamp -- dominated by the bright yellow Prothonotary Warbler calling "Sweet...sweet...sweet" -- escort us. Turtles and frogs perch on low branches. Tupelo "knees" form hoops instead of being pointy like cypress knees. This one pair of tupelo knees appears to have "tied the knot".

Cypress trees are always great subjects, offering such unique sculpted shapes. Below are three photos of cypress. The first, solid and healthy, near the one spot we are able to stop on dry land.

The next, a fan of splintered wood reaching for the sky.

Third is Doug's photo called "Cypress Angel". He sees this contorted living tree twisting up, over and down again, wrapping around itself. At it's ragged tip is one healthy branch feathering its bright green needles around the tree's waist. Despite the challenges of the busy elements of swamp and dappled sunlight, he captures the Angel in the tree. Well done, Doug!

Finally, on our way back to our put-in, the sun dropping rapidly toward the horizon, an arch of trees along Owl Creek captures a burst of magic light on the far shore. One final photo and the adventure ends in perfection.

Wakulla County Slave Canal

2011-04-07T17:31:00.007-04:00

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The story goes that slaves were made to dig a small canal connecting Alligator Lake to Otter Lake through a series of sinkholes and ponds in an attempt to drain Alligator Lake for planting cotton. Like the draining of the Everglades, the Alligator Lake scheme failed, but the remnants of the canal are still there, now traversing part of the Panacea unit of St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. My friend, Bob Thompson, knows these woods well and took me along on one of his favorite hikes - the canal - earlier this week.

Our first stop was a Live Oak Boneyard, an oddly-clear area in the woods, except for a standing trunk and old "bones" of the long-dead live oak tree. The place felt of ancient reverence. A quarter mile away, we stopped again to admire two old tree trunks, mysteriously aligned, with their root-butts facing each other. Too heavy to have been moved by hands, and no evidence of having grown in this spot, how and why did this pair come to lie here like this for so many decades?

More evidence of man's habitation in these woods, we found two catfaces along the canal-bed. "Catface" is the name given to the scarred base of a pine tree after turpentiners had been draining the tree's sap for years. One was a totem-like standing stump of hard resinous lighterwood. The other had fallen, but still had its metal funnels and sculpted face.

These are dry times, so we were hiking in swamps that could be more than 5 feet underwater in wet times. Beautiful cypress and black gums rose from the leaf-laden swamp floor. The black gums all seemed to be hollow with hobbit-like doorways. I marvelled at their eerie dancing legs.

We experienced snake camo first hand when Bob nearly grabbed a stick next to a neatly coiled diamondback. If you are not snake-phobic, be sure to click on the thumbnail here so you can better see the intricate beauty in the pattern of the Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. Later we spotted a gray rat snake stretched out along a gray log, invisible to the hawk or owl that might make a meal of it.

The canal itself was a marvel that stretched through miles of forest and swamp, sand and mud, roots and rocks. This was the results years of monumentally hard labor. Nature has largely reclaimed the canal, so that now it is just a monumental trail engraved in the forest floor, offering a beautiful walk through history and nature.

The Braided Swamp

2011-03-28T12:30:00.007-04:00

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"Lost in the swamp." We've heard tales over years about canoeists spending fearful nights and/or needing rescue after accidentally straying into the swamps of the Aucilla Wildlife Management Area where rivers and creeks intertwine and often disappear into blind alleys of sheet flow in the giant floodplains. A wild rarely-visited swamp? What could be more enticing? So, for years Crystal and I have been exploring these waters with our good friends, Sue and Jeff. We have had our share of mis-adventures, but that goes with the territory.

Saturday we launched our kayaks and followed one of Jeff's old "breadcrumb trails" of subtle green flags into the swamp once more. (I admit, we gave Jeff grief for 'littering' the pristine swamp with his markers way back when ... now we were secretly grateful.)

The day was cool and sunny, the water unusually clear. Limerock and rubble dotted the sandy bottom and occasional banks. A red-legged White Ibis followed us for a piece. We even passed two ancient Indian mounds rising up out of the floodplain. This was as good as it gets.

The flowing waters forked repeatedly like extensively branching limbs... "Do we go left or right? ... hey, there's one of Jeff's markers"... until eventually we came to a huge new logjam of freshly fallen trees that was impenetrable. We paddled back upstream to the last fork and took a new blind path into the swamp... and that's where we found the scene pictured at the top of this story. Swamps are typically so full of verdant growth, that a photo shows only chaotic busyness. Here was a scene that depicted the story and beauty -- "braiding" waters, lush growth, diverse species -- AND was readable enough for a decent composition. Crystal, Sue, and Jeff patiently pulled over to wait as I stepped out into the shallow waters and sank shin-deep into the soft sandy mud. Let's see... tripod, camera, filters, settings, placement ... can I move my feet?... save my buried Crocs?...

Awhile later, we were again weaving down unmarked waterways. Nature watched as our little parade floated by. Songbirds serenaded us. Mullet leapt into the air. A brown water snake posed lazily on a nearby log. Further downstream, a freshly shed molt swaying in the creek flow -- the ghost of its former snake-self. A Prothonotary Warbler landed on a snag not 20 feet away, ignoring me in its search for insects.

Part of our journey included a short paddle on the 'Aucilla River proper', if you could call it that. In these parts, the Aucilla dips underground frequently -- no more visible than a chain of beautiful sinkholes in the woods. Holey limerock, towering cypress, and gnarly roots sculpt and decorate the banks of this amazing river.

Never really lost, we found our way to the truck we left in the woods at our presumed destination... another day well spent in one of Florida's remaining Gardens of Eden.

Super Moon

2011-03-21T18:08:00.008-04:00

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The moon is closer to Earth than it has been in 19 years! The full moon was Saturday and the weather gorgeous - clear and cool. Crystal and I headed toward Shell Point in search of a western viewpoint from which we might look due east to see the moon rise over the St. Marks lighthouse. We found nearly such a spot on a remote stretch of salt marsh. I hiked along the shore to a point where my hand-held compass put me due west of the distant lighthouse. Crystal set up a chair to write and watch the evening unfold on the marsh.

The light did it's usual magic on the marsh as the sun sank toward the horizon.

I set up two cameras, one tucked back in the cedars with a wide angle lens to try to capture the setting with the moon rising. That one I put on an intervalometer which would automatically shoot a photo every 15 seconds starting shortly before the scheduled event.

For the lighthouse set up, I used a combination of camera and lenses to give me the greatest telephoto power I could get... the equivalent of about a 1000 mm lens. Tightened the tripod, locked up the camera's mirror, and attached a cable shutter release to minimize vibration. I tested manual settings until I was in the right ballpark. Then the countdown began.

8:04 pm came and went on my watch... No moon. But by 8:08 the top of the huge ghostly red "jellyfish" began lifting out of the invisible haze a few degrees above the Gulf horizon. The effect was really dramatic through my telescopic lens. There was one little problem - one that I had half expected: the moon was rising about 10 degrees to the right (south) of the lighthouse. No way to move far enough or fast enough to re-frame it, so I photographed the lighthouse, then shifted my camera slightly and started shooting the moon.

When I "photoshop" a photo, like I did with the Mooned Lighthouse at the top, I like to describe the process. My published "altered photos" go into the Altered section of my website. Mooned Lighthouse is a composite of two photos shot sequentially with the same camera and lens. The scale has not been changed and the horizon lines are matched to make it as accurate as possible had I been able to predict the exact spot the moon would rise and been a few hundred yards down the shore. Here are the two full images superimposed but otherwise unaltered. Next chance I get, I'll try to be in the spot that lines up the full moon and lighthouse so I can make the photo in one shot.

Moments later, the massive shimmering celestial body -- distorted and fuzzy from the heat and haze thickest near Earth's horizon -- was fully visible over the Gulf of Mexico.

As it lifted away from the thick atmosphere, the moon grew yellower and brighter and was soon casting a reflection across the choppy water. The bright globe glided into the night sky and cast sweet moonlight on the marsh as we packed up to head home.

Blind With a View

2011-03-21T12:15:00.004-04:00

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Two hours sounds like a long time to be cooped up in a small portable photo blind. That's what we were thinking as Tara zipped Crystal and I into the dark dome tent blind and said to phone her when we were ready to come out. We were wearing black and had most of the zippered view-ports closed to keep out light. Our hope was to see the wary wood ducks from close range.

Tara and Jim live on an incredible cypress swamp and pond in NW Tallahassee... in fact, they own and manage this sweet little sanctuary with wildlife being the number one consideration. Tara is an award-winning "digiscoper" - meaning she shoots her photos through a spotting scope rather than using the (much heavier) telephoto lenses and DSLRs like I do. She showed me her sleek customized set-up. Very cool. Jim had recently done a controlled burn around part of the swamp's perimeter... the wildflowers wiill be coming up soon. Meanwhile, from the blind in their yard, there was a clear view of a small spit of land reaching into the swamp.

Actually, the blind was quite comfortable - two chairs, iced tea, and enough room for my tripod with camera perched at the one opening in front of us. Crystal was watching through her binoculars. There was no time to get bored or antsy. Tara had scattered some corn out near the shore so there was a parade of wildlife from almost the first moment. Here are a few: the male and female Northern Cardinals, Blue Jays, Swamp Sparrows, Red-winged Blackbirds (particularly the stripy females), Mourning Doves, and even a squirrel... but an unusual Gray Squirrel in that it was a white morph. There were egrets and storks and other wading birds building nests further out in the swamp.

We saw our first-ever Rusty Blackbirds! What a special treat. What's left of these uncommon (and declining) birds will migrate north very soon.

We'd seen a few pairs of ducks from afar. An hour and a half in, a pair of wood ducks cautiously approached from a distance swimming across the duckweed. They kept their eyes glued to the blind. We froze. Very slowly they worked their way toward us. Every click of my camera alerted the male, but finally he decided it was safe. I wondered how many times he'd been shot at or lost flock-mates after hearing gunshot. These beauties are prized by duck hunters.

The pair finally made it to shore and began to forage. After several minutes, a few other pairs of wood ducks arrived. We had a great show for nearly a half hour, then suddenly they all took off in a flash of color. Wow.

Piney Island

2011-02-23T19:37:00.003-05:00

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Palmy Island would be a more appropriate name. Maybe there were pines there once, but now the island is mostly saltmarsh with a few areas high enough to support trees. The largest of these spots does have a small piney forest... otherwise, it's marsh with spits of sand covered in grass and lined with cabbage palms and a few cedars.

Bob Thompson and I ventured out as the tide was rising to circumnavigate Piney Island, land and explore it where we could... to see what the island had to offer.. Bob had heard that there is a plaque at a point called Seven Palms which describes the acquisition of this 1000+ acre island by St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. The photo above was made at Seven Palms.

"A minefield" is how I would describe the oyster bars around the island. The bars are numerous, come up randomly and suddenly from deep water, and are super shallow, even at full high tide. With Bob's eagle-eye watching from the bow and going at idle speed, we avoided many groundings, but still hit three oyster bars - CRUNCH!

Along the way, we detoured to a long line of trees along the mainland near the mouth of Purify Creek. We didn't have time to stop, but above is a shot from the boat.

There were moments when we wondered if we'd get back to our put-in by dark, but made it just in time for sunset along Bottom's Road. Here are a couple pelicans in the marsh and a panorama of the saltmarsh looking east towared Piney Island.

Memories at Work

2011-02-15T16:56:00.002-05:00

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Travelling as much as I did over the past month made for a pileup of work at my office. For several days, I’ve been working on catching up with photo orders… six big canvases for a conference room at Georgetown University, two prints of the endangered red-cockaded woodpecker in its habitat in central Florida, a foggy morning on the Sopchoppy River for a man in NY who had good times on the river as a boy, scallop eyes for a college-level biology textbook, and one of my favorite artsy bird photos, a ruffled young white ibis on a shrimp boat in Miami. Just sitting at my desk I get to take a meandering trip through recollections of good times in the making of these images.

Corkscrew

2011-02-10T09:27:00.001-05:00

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Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary run by Audubon is a special place in SW Florida. Crystal and I visited there a couple weeks ago and delighted in the many songbirds (what I used to refer to as LBJs... "little brown jobs"... for to my untrained naked eye, that's all they looked like.) The Sanctuary boardwalks took us through cypress swamps, with alligators and wading birds, owls and hawks; through pine flatwoods, with the smaller birds. and a grassy marsh in between. Pretty amazing place. Meanwhile, here are a few of the LBJs we saw (not so brown afterall) - the male and female Painted Buntings, and a Gray Catbird, plus a little blue heron from the swamp.

On the Road Again.

2011-02-07T22:00:00.003-05:00

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I'm trying to become more diligent about posting notes here, but get foiled whenever I'm travelling... which seems like a lot. Often travel means camping, working early to late (shooting photos), or otherwise having no access to the internet.

Right now I'm in a motel in Lake Placid, FL on a shooting trip for FWC (Office of Recreation Services)... catching up on several days of emails, I got one from my boss saying that our office is being eliminated in our new governor's proposed budget... hmmm, I may be out of a job soon. (Not that I will stop my conservation photography).

Meanwhile, here's a photo from a trail I walked today at Tenorac Fish Management Area. This female pileated woodpecker was so focused on her foraging that she ignored my approaching and photographing her. After I had made my shots, I just watched her, not 20 feet away, for the longest time.

Fisheating Creek Revisited

2011-02-05T09:21:00.002-05:00

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Fisheating Creek is one of those mysteriously magnetic places for me in Floirda. I have paddled there since my childhood. It is the only remaining creek that flows freely into Lake Okeechobee without crossing a weir or dam. The creek banks are largely undeveloped so wild things can grow and live unfettered by human interference. And the water levels in the creek are often too low for easy passage of even a canoe. I wrote another story about a Fisheating Creek adventure back in 2006 which you can read here if you'd like.

I had the good fortune of paddling a section of the creek in November 2010 with my friend John Moran, and then again last month. My wife Crystal had never been on Fisheating Creek, and after hearing my stories, really wanted to see it.... so we did. The water level was at 1.52 ft at the gauge - just barely enough (1.5 is cutoff) to paddle from Burnt Bridge to the campground/outpost at Hwy 27. We still had to get out and drag our boats at least 20 times. It's a spectacularly beautful place. Go see it some time. Meanwhile, here are a few recent photos from Fisheating Creek.

And here's the walking catfish whose story is told here.

Walking Catfish Walking

2011-02-03T19:57:00.005-05:00

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So we have probably all heard of invasive walking catfish... but who has ever seen one walking? ... or even seen one in real life? ... or seen a photo of one walking?

Well, my wife Crystal spotted this fish on the bank of Fisheating Creek from her kayak. She couldn't quite believe her eyes so caught up with me and we paddled back to investigate. I have seen a lot of strange things, but here was a fish that walked out of the creek in broad daylight to sit in the sun and enjoy a bit of fresh air.

This was a remote part of the creek, not one visited by fishermen, and rarely by paddlers for at least the past 6 months. There it was standing on its pectoral fins with sailfin raised high. It stood still until we touched it, and then it took a deep breath, fanned out it's tail and looked at us.

Fish biologist, Chad Hanson helped me identify it as a vermiculated sailfin catfish, one of a number of exotic sucker catfish, and this one can stay out of water for hours. Who'd a ever thunk?!

Moonlight Magic on the Turner River

2010-12-21T15:11:00.010-05:00

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On the night of the full moon, November 2010, John Moran and I set out to make this fantasy night time photograph on the Turner River in the Everglades. John had been here years before and had dreamed about returning one night to make a dramatic photo like this. I had been camping on this river with my dad when I was a boy and longed to return to explore. Not the typical nature photograph either of us shoots, but fun and fantasy can share a place in our work and even portfolios. The two of us had been brainstorming about the mechanics of this photo for months. We had borrowed the alligator skull from Gatorama in Palmdale, FL (a very cool old-fashioned gator farm and tourist attraction - website here). Days earlier, we'd scouted the river to find this beautiful S-curve in a mangrove tunnel and tested the lighting rigs that we had devised.

The preparation had been an engineering challenge. I had built a "5-flashlight sandwich" rigged to mount on the stern of my kayak (pictured lit in the portrait below). TheLED flashlights fanned out to illuminate the mangrove canopy, while the plates shaded direct light from the camera and boat making the actual light source and kayak invisible in the photograph. John had a powerful Q-beam lamp and a large clear drybag that we could submerge into the tannic water to paint light across the underwater bases of the mangrove prop roots and the river floor. We spent a full afternoon cleaning, re-attaching teeth, and wiring the skull. We needed to suspend the skull above the river bottom and wanted to be able to position it precisely, so we attached a plywood plate to the roof of the mouth to which we could mount a tripod.

The camera was mounted on a separate tripod and both tripods were heavily weighted and sunk deeply into the soft bottom to make them solid and still. Once we'd composed the picture, we taped the lens focal and zoom rings to keep them from being able to move and attached a cable release. Finally, time to begin! We trembled with excitement - not to mention the cold water and November air, or the ever-present concern about flesh-and-blood alligators lurking around us in the dark. John wore a knife strung around his neck.

We started making photographs of our scene just before dusk and continued until after 11 pm. By then the full moon light was filtering down through the canopy providing the mottled light on the upper bromeliad and alligator skull. With the shutter open, I ever-so-slowly paddled the kayak through the tunnel dozens of times trying to get the right exposure and a smooth S-turn. Once we tried walking the kayak through the tunnel -- both of us together -- it was just too creepy to do it alone. We lit the skull in every imaginable way, lit all parts of the river bottom with the Q-beam. Altogether we made 107 exposures, many of which were over a minute long. Chilled, exhausted, but triumphant, we took the time to make this portrait of us, the skull, and our gear before leaving the scene.

The finished photo (top) is a composite of many layers of exposures of the exact same scene. Nothing is photoshopped in or out (except to remove a few tiny wires and ties holding the skull.) The building of the different light layers and processing of the photo took many hours -- even more than the shoot -- and ultimately the assistance of a superb photographer and friend, Jon Fletcher to fine tune the subtle shades and tones. Successful night shots walk a fine line between detail and darkness, even when not so complex as this. This fantasy photo is perhaps over-the-top for some... but I can tell you it was a grand adventure making it, and a learning experience, one I will always cherish.

Fakahatchee Strand

2010-12-02T15:16:00.011-05:00

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I had the good fortune to spend two whole weeks adventuring with my friend, John Moran in mid-November -- destination: South Florida.. One of the highlights was the Fakahatchee Strand in the western Everglades. Through a contact of John's, photographers Mac Stone, Paul Marcellini, John and I were able to stay in a rustic cabin on an in-holding in the Strand... so we could intimately experience the nightsounds - bellowing gators, hooting owls, and snoring roomates -- firsthand.

You might imagine a nocturnal encounter with a Florida Panther - this is, afterall, their home. Or having a giant python fall onto you from a branch while slogging deep in the swamp. Or maybe stepping on a big alligator while wading through a mangrove tunnel on the East River. We did see a panther, but it was miles away at Gatorama near Palmdale. Here he is as he might have been in the Strand, just as you imagined: in the fading lightbeam of your flashlight at 3 AM on your way to the outhouse.

And while John and I were wading around in the mangrove tunnels of the nearby Turner River late into the night -- two different nights no less -- we fortunately returned with all appendages intact and tripped over nary a gator. We had with us a granddaddy gator skull that we used as a charm to ward off One-eyed Willie and the rest of his ilk that we had been warned about and also hoped to use it in a photo. (More on this photo in a future post.)

There were plenty of pairs of glowing eyes watching us all along the way as we paddled back to the put-in at 11:30 PM. Despite those shining red eyes, we couldn't help but stop to photograph the spectacular water lilies that had opened fully in the moonlight. They were huge -- far more open and spectacular than by daylight. We propped ol' Granddaddy up on the end of canoe (Beware, Willie!) and climbed back into the black water. Here's why it was worth it.

As for the python, it never occurred to me that we might see one, but several family members commented on our foolhardiness given what we were doing. We never saw a python, but I did see a Florida Water Snake (pictured) on the East River (in the Strand) that somehow found itself in the prop roots of the red mangroves, more typically the habitat for Mangrove Salt Marsh Snakes. No worries. Neither poisonous.

Our forays into these west Everglades sloughs and creeks entailed a lot of slogging. Even from our kayaks, we had to plough through dense grass, overhanging branches, and thick waterplants. But mostly we paddled on beautiful winding trails along the East and Turner Rivers. There were open lakes as well as completely canopied mangrove tunnels that could run for more than half a mile. The graceful stilt roots reflected beautifully in the smooth dark water.

While incredibly beautiful to see, it was often difficult to create compositions from the tangle of busy trees and roots -- all at close range -- and come up with a photo that pleased the eye. Here are some attempts from the mangroves creeks.

As we paddled back, hoping to find our way before darkness, the sun fell into the horizon. Mac and I pulled into a break in the sawgrass to see what we could in the western sky. Mac scrambled up a tree at the edge of the grass for a better view.

The other slogging we did was on foot. Paul had hiked into "The Cathedral" once before so he was annointed THE GUIDE. (Plus he had an iPhone with Google Earth and his previous route marked on it -- so we figured we couldn't get too lost.) Paul had warned us that the water could get chest-deep, so we struggled with what gear to bring and how to keep it dry. Fortunately, the water was only sometimes waist-deep, and there were fallen trees and stumps that made small perches for setting packs and gear. We had no camera-casualties during this trip. While we never made it to the heart of the Cathedral, we found some spectacular sloughs filled with Guzmania bromeliads and rare orchids. Once again, simplifying a composition in the thick of the swamp was challenging. Paul had inspired us with samples of his dreamy steamy swampscapes (on his iPhone), so we knew there were photos to be found here. Here are my attempts.

We started out before dawn to take advantage of the early light and avoid the added clutter of dappled shadows, but soon enough the sun was too high. Not ready to leave the swamp, we resorted to macrophotography. Mac found a baby treesnail that I spent far too long trying to photograph.

On the last afternoon, with only John and I remaining, an old gator posed on a classic gator log near the end of the dock. What was meant to be naptime turned into a great shooting op. The alligator mostly ignored us, so I had ample opportunity to experiment with all kinds of angles and lenses. The light was harsh and contrasty. After awhile, we traded aiming a big reflector at the gator's face to get some front lighting - which helped in making the close up portrait.

We each turned into our bunkbeds that night, as exhausted as usual, satisfied with the day. We were up at 4 AM (also as usual) to pack up, clean up the dear cabin, and leave the Fakahatchee. This sunrise greeted us as we pulled out of the park entrance. We headed east across the Glades.

Taste of Heaven

2010-11-04T12:26:00.007-04:00

Hot tea in the morning chill, a sliver of moon peeking through the cloud bank, dawn's crack... a taste of heaven.

Life can easily become too full of activity, commitments, and loose ends. For Crystal and I, the antidote is to escape to nature - away from bustling sounds, bright lights, computers, phones, and lists. So last weekend, after a week of dealing with post-wedding clean-up (our daughter, Lumin married a wonderful man from Wyoming), we stole away for a night to be bathed in the soothing balm of natural night sounds and light and beauty. We have spent about a year adding bells and whistles to our new-ish jonboat to make it work for ... well, just about anything. There is a large platform deck for photographing, napping, picnicking, even pitching a tent for camping. And beneath is ample dry storage for keeping the relatively small boat tidy of all the gear needed to camp. On the port gunwale, I designed a removable kayak rack so we can explore the smallest side creeks and skinniest shallows. There's a swim platform on back, anchor wells, a dry, secure space in the console for a quick- reach camera. And lots of smaller details. (Thanks, Jeremy, for your skillful welding, and John, for your inspiration!)

But back to getting away from all this thinking and working. We launched at Ochlockonee River State Park - a gem of a park at the junctions of the Ochlockonee, Sopchoppy, and Dead Rivers. These rivers snake in and out of each other like a serpentine maze. We idled slowly through the waterways to a remote curve of the Sopchoppy and dropped anchor an hour before sunset.

That's guacamole thawing on the console - with crackers, wine, cheese, and tomato soup = dinner at sunset.

Peace. No human-activity sounds. Calm. I could feel my body's energy slow down, take a deep sigh, and synchronize with this place. Ahhh!

A long night's sleep - one tends to go to bed early when there are no artificial lights to postpone the night. The night was punctuated by circling moon and stars, splashing fish, and froggy sounds from the marsh. A Good Night. We were up to experience the awakening next-day.

Sunlight wakens the day and birds begin to call.

Yoga on the tent deck. Salute to the Sun doesn't need to be symbolic out here.

The magic red light fills the marsh briefly before the sun rises into the cloudy sky and the light goes flat.

The Sopchoppy River carves through marsh and palms, mirroring the cloudfront.

Spirits renewed, we return to port.

COCA Photofest 2010

2010-10-29T10:48:00.000-04:00

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Now that I am printing more photos, I'm submitting entries to more shows. One prestigious local show is the Tallahassee/Leon County Council on Culture and Arts' Photofest that shows at the Artport Gallery (TLH Regional Airport) every winter holiday season. Two of my three entries were juried into this year's show as 12 by 18 inch framed prints. The show runs from November 14th through Jan 7th, with the public reception event on November 18th. If you are local, check it out. Here are my two images showing in Photofest 2010.

Wakulla Springs Lodge -- Photo Doors

2010-10-28T16:33:00.001-04:00

Four of my Wakulla Springs images grace a panel in four old cypress doors formerly used in the Lodge. My client, who has many fond memories of Wakulla Springs as a child, bought the doors years ago at an auction and recently built them into her new home as a wall in her foyer. The photos are printed on canvas and mounted over the single pine panel at the top of each door. Originally the doors were painted, so, when stripped, the light yellow pine panels stood out oddly against the redder cypress - so she came up with the idea of adding the photos. Cool idea! And well executed!

She wanted images of the Lodge rather than wildlife. Some of the images I made just for this project. It re-opened my eyes to the beauty (and photogenic quality) of this historic building.

FLORIDA FOREVER 2011 CALENDARS for sale

2010-10-09T21:05:00.010-04:00

(click red text below to see larger version of cover image.)

David Moynahan's photo of Black Skimmers landing at sunrise at Mashes Sands graces the cover (and September) of this beautiful new calendar.

The Florida Forever 2011 Conservation Photography Calendar measures 9-by-13 inches (32pp.) and is available locally in the Tallahassee area directly from David Moynahan (email: david@davidmoynahan.com) and at Native Nurseries. And for those needing to mail order it, contact the University Press of Florida (www.upf.com | 800.226.3822). The cost is $15.

Excerpts from the press release by Legacy Institute of Nature and Culture (LINC):

FLORIDA FOREVER has been preserving natural Florida for more than two decades. Yet more than a million acres of sensitive land and water are still in desperate need of protection. This year, Florida’s leading conservation photographers have joined forces to showcase what remains to be saved. The lenses of Chad Anderson, Clyde Butcher, Will Dickey, Laurie Meehan-Elmer, John Moran, David Moynahan, Judd Patterson, Jeff Ripple, Mac Stone, James Valentine, Carlton Ward Jr. and Eric Zamora, reveal stunning vistas, endangered shorelines, and forests that could all-too-easily be replaced by houses, shopping malls and asphalt parking lots.

The calendar was created by LINC. The mission of Legacy Institute for Nature & Culture is to raise awareness for natural environments and cultural legacies, educate about important connections between human societies and natural ecosystems, and promote conservation of natural heritage. For more information, visit www.LINC.us.

National Geographic Recognition!

2010-10-05T20:57:00.001-04:00

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Bivalve From Space

I just started submitting photos the National Geographic. (They allow one photo per month.) And I learned today that this September photo - Bivalve from Space, the Alien Scallop, Scallop from Another Galaxy, or any number of possible titles - was chosen in the Daily Dozen for September-Week 4. This means it may show up in an upcoming National Geographic Magazine. To see it at the National Geographic website -
click the Daily Dozen tab, then choose September-Week 4, starting here: http://ngm.nat...ionalgeographic.com/your-shot/daily-dozen

And to think it was a "failed test photo".

It "failed" because the settings for ambient light were way off. The sea grass was supposed to show up softly in the background. But the underexposure combined with bright flash (in a bag underwater) and the flecks of silt that we had stirred up came together to make this extraterrestrial delight. Nothing was altered here (except the viewer's perception).

Loggerhead - Surviving Day One

2010-09-22T16:25:00.018-04:00

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Little Loggerhead Sea Turtle

Walking along the Atlantic coast in Cocoa Beach a few days ago, I encountered a seagull standing in shallow water holding an odd looking crab in its bill. In a moment, I recognized that the crab was a sea turtle hatchling. Reflexly, I splashed toward the gull waving my hands, scaring it into the air. My heart sank as it flew away with its prey. BUT, in its hurry, it lost its grip and dropped the youngster into the shallows. The gull and I both swooped for it. I won... and to my amazement held a tiny loggerhead sea turtle in my hands. She appeared dead but without visible damage so I sat on the beach, cradled her in my palms, blew air on her and pleaded softly for her to revive. The sun was rising over the Atlantic horizon.

My imagination ran through what this little creature must have endured since digging out of her sandy nest sometime in the previous night. Just crossing the beach is treacherous.

I once watched (from too far away) as a Great Blue Heron ate nearly every baby sea turtle in the nest as they came up out of the sand. I ran, but by the time I got there, only one baby remained.

Ghost crabs who patrol these beaches, consider "turtlets" prized delicacies.
Gulls and osprey cruise the shore.

Lights from the condos, hotels and roads disorient turtle hatchlings and account for many deaths - the little ones stray up onto roads and yards where they dehydrate and die, are eaten or run over. There are lights-out laws, but they are rarely enforced.

Only one in a thousand makes it to adulthood.
(Check out http://research.myfwc.com/support/view_faqs.asp?id=16)

Hurricane Igor, way out near Bermuda, was sending big waves to this coast on this morning. If the surfers had to fight their way beyond the break, how could a tiny floating sea turtle make it? It was clearly a tough day to be born.

Loggerhead Hatchling

Then there was a wiggle, soon followed by flapping flippers. The little loggerhead looked up at me. I set her gently on the sand and photographed her second journey to the sea. Tired and timid at first, the tot got her rhythm and soon was running the gauntlet.

It was a thrill to see her launch into the shallow Atlantic wash, but then the first little shorebreak rolled up and dashed the turtle about before spitting her back onto the beach. Looking defeated, she sat there for a bit, then tried again. I imagined once more, the little turtle dodging crabs, being ejected time and again by the raging waves, and finally being snatched up by the sea gull. Determined to give this one a better chance, I stripped to my bathing suit, scooped up the little loggerhead once more, and swam her out beyond the furthest break. Now, I thought, all she has to do is cross a few miles of wild Atlantic waters to the relative safety and rich food supply of the weed line at the edge of the Gulfstream. I like to think she made it.

Sea Meets Shore to Little Eyes

Loggerhead Leaving

First Swim

Dashed


Spit Out

Over the next few mornings, I saw no more sea turtles... it is late in the hatching season. There was one unhatched nest (too close to the water). But I did see birds and people and artsy angles on lovely sunrises.

Florida's Rocky Coast

2010-08-02T17:46:00.008-04:00

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Who knew that right between the wide sandy beaches of Florida's Atlantic Coast there is a stretch of natural rocky shoreline. It is located at Washington Oaks Gardens State Park just south of St. Augustine. I visited there with a couple photo buddies during the last full moonrise and made these images in the late afternoon-into-night. Getting out of there after dark proved to be a bit complicated -- not to be repeated -- but the evening's beauty was well worth the ordeal.

Special Edition Duck Stamp Cachet

2010-07-28T17:46:00.014-04:00

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Yesterday, I was invited to Memphis for the unveiling of a first-of-its-kind special edition Federal Duck Stamp cachet (envelope) which will be sold to collectors, conservationists, hunters, birders, and the general public ($25, $10 more than the standard duck stamp) to raise funds for additional land acquisition for National Wildlife Refuges along the Gulf Coast. Duck stamps have been a conservation tradition since 1934 -- many thousands are sold each year.

The press event was staged at Ducks Unlimited headquarters (the world's leader in wetlands and waterfowl conservation) and included such VIPs as Ken Salazar, United States Secretary of the Interior, Evan Hirsche, President of the National Wildlife Refuge Association, and Rowan Gould, Acting Director of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

So why would David Moynahan, Conservation Photographer, be invited to such an event? Well, last week, I got a call from National Wildlife Service in Washington asking if one of my photographs from St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge could be used for this project. They had searched for the right photo of coastal wildlife refuge wetlands and found my image among the winners in a National Wildlife Refuge Association Photo Contest (click - here's what they found ).

Wow! I was happy to be able to contribute in yet another small way toward healing the Gulf and protecting her shores.

The project suddenly went into the fast lane... and on Monday, a flight and hotel were booked for me to attend the press release on Tuesday. It was a great honor to be thanked by Secretary Salazar and many others, and to meet the heads of federal agencies who are working relentlessly to help restore the Gulf -- a closeup view of our government in action.

And, for the day, I was a VIP too. Cool.

ps- The public can purchase the special edition Federal Duck Stamp cachet from the FWS's distributor at 1-800-852-4897 or at www.duckstamp.com.

Here is what the cachet looks like. The photo is printed on silk and set in an embossed gold frame.

My Best Shot at Bay Scallops

2010-07-19T10:14:00.013-04:00

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With black crude spewing in the Gulf, and the resulting cloud of poison moving ever closer to Florida's coast, I am seeing the beauty and bounty of our clear clean waters with new eyes. Like so many Floridians, Crystal and I are taking every opportunity to visit our beaches and swim in the Gulf. This summer (scallop season), that has meant going scalloping. The scallops apparently don't know about the oil yet and have flocked to the seagrass beds of Florida's Nature Coast.

Every year (for the 30 years I have been scalloping), I kick myself for not making the effort to photograph these incredibly beautiful sea creatures. Gather, shuck, saute, broil on-the-halfshell... or freeze some for off-season, but not photograph. So this year, finally, I spent all day Saturday with photobuddies, John Moran (http://www.johnmoranphoto.com/) and Eric Zamora (http://www.ericzamora.com/), making scallop photos. (Well, we did have to collect some first, and then, why not shuck and eat them too?)

John and I have been talking scallop-photographing strategies for a few months. Between his mastery of lighting and the contraptions and ideas we came up with, we had a fantastic and successful day. Eric is ever-mindful of documentation (a big failure on my part) and uses video, audio, and still photos to show the process and progress of the adventure. I look forward to seeing his piece on our day in the Gulf off of Keaton Beach.
While scallops are social creatures for sure, you don't often see them this cozy. But they do make a great group portrait!
Scallops see through those lovely blue eyes... and with eyes that beautiful, why not have a hundred of them instead of just two?
Scallops don't sit around like other bivalves. They use their strong (delicious) muscle to swim by sucking in water and then jetting it out. This photo also shows the sea grass habitat of the Gulf of Mexico's bay scallop.
This was a "failed" test shot as far as ambient light settings - the sea grass was supposed to show in the background. But the underexposure combined with bright flash (in a bag underwater) and the flecks of silt that we had stirred up came together to make this extraterrestrial delight. Nothing was altered here (except the viewer's perception).
What intricate beauty! A jewel of the sea.
The wind and waves made the water's surface tricky to shoot through (and most of the shots like this failed). But luck was with me on this one - the wavy surface creates the painterly quality, yet the detail and sharpness of the scallop is not obscured by reflections.
The scallops we gathered for the background here would occasionally swim to the surface and shoot saltwater at my camera or flash, leaving bubbles as they sank back to the bottom. Quick reflexes were a must -- saltwater is BAD for cameras.

The Nature Conservancy's Disney Wilderness Preserve

2010-07-10T21:36:00.020-04:00

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In Orlando for a conference, Ted and I snuck out one afternoon to visit the Nature Conservancy's Disney Wilderness Preserve. Through a friend, I had been introduced to some of the scientists there and so I had an invitation to take a tour. The roads were rough and wet in places so it took a special big wheeled vehicle to get around, but what a place! A variety of habitats, loads of wildlife, and great restoration work being done. The scrub jays showed off, Red-cockaded woodpeckers
kept their distance, sandhill cranes stalked around the marshes, some with chicks, some on nests, and, as the sun was setting, a flock of turkeys wandered across our path, strutting and shining and unconcerned with their human audience. We even saw a bobcat. It was a taste of Florida Nature -- I look forward to an extended visit next time.

UnspOILed - Writer's Speak for Florida's Coast

2010-05-30T17:35:00.016-04:00

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I have been working hard on the artwork for a new book these past few months. None of us could have guessed the book's release would coincide with the nation's worst oil spill -- right here in our Gulf of Mexico -- which threatens to turn Florida's coast from UnspOILed to despoiled. The book is a collection of 38 passionate voices speaking for the beautiful Gulf coast of Florida. My photographs, turned into black and white "inkblots" head each essay, as well as the book's cover. Here is a sample of the inkblots, as well as some excerpts lifted from the pages of Unspoiled and laid over a few of my color photos (most of which are not 'inkblotted' in the book).
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Details from Nature's Paintbrush

2010-03-15T17:48:00.009-04:00

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On a recent camping trip to coastal Georgia, I became caught up in the outrageous sand patterns etched by the tides ... the surf-pounded driftwood bent and colored ... and other castaways delivered up by the sea.

Selecting which images to post was a challenge, one more eye-catching than the next, but here are the chosen images from three days of beachcombing for compositions.

First the titanium-laced sand paintings (the "black sand" is titanium and other metals and minerals):

I was like a kid in a candy shop gawking at every drift and swirl, my head spinning with awe of and delight in this eye-candy. I have walked many a beach, and marveled at the sand art, but never have I seen so many different flow patterns in one area.

Next, there was the driftwood. This little barrier island was undergoing great shifts and erosion. The saltmarsh was getting washed over by sand, while the frontline of the beach was being carried seaward and south. The trees long-grown between marsh and beach recently found themselves bare-rooted at water's edge, and then they succumbed to the ocean. After being pounded into sculpted driftwood by wind, sand, and surf, they were finished with a lovely patina of algae, sea creatures, salt and spray.

As low tide exposed the wide rippled shoreline, the treasures rolling in the shorebreak lay exposed. Sand dollars walked along the wet sand on their myriad sticklegs, often carrying a load of sand on their backs. Seashells rolled in the foamy wash. Crabs crawled and darted - some died and lay in parts.

St. Marks Birds in Dawn Light

2010-03-11T17:02:00.004-05:00

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Insomnia drove me to St. Marks pre-dawn Monday. The sunrise was a beauty, but the birds were especially glorious in that magic light. I particularly love the backlighting in the coot and cormorant silhouettes. The Redhead was a willing model, as was the pair of Lesser Scaup.

The lagniappe (loosely defined as "the cherry on top") was a Belted Kingfisher. The F-You Bird -- as he's referred to by a sailor friend of mine -- is known for flying far away at the first hint of a camera, or even a stopping vehicle. This guy flew to the top of a roadside cedar in nice light as I was approaching... and then, to my amazement, stayed there as I stopped and slid my telephoto lens slowly out the window. He posed for about 15 frames before flying away.

Mashes Sands

2010-02-15T13:31:00.007-05:00

"Cold but sunny with calm winds" was the forecast yesterday morning... AND a low tide - perfect! I met Bob Thompson at Mashes Sands before dawn. We bundled up in the 27 degree dark, donned our rubber boots for crossing creeks, loaded up our gear and hiked off along the white sands of Wakulla County. As the dawn broke, we saw 2 eagles perched near their nest. This was my 3rd visit here recently, but this day Bob was leading me to some of his favorite low tide spots. I'm looking for the 2011 Florida Forever Calendar shot. My assignment is Bald Point - Dickerson Bay area... Mashes Sand is between the two, a peninsula that helps form the perimeter of Dickerson Bay. Here are some photos from yesterday. I'll be back for more.

Chipola River

2010-02-03T10:57:00.021-05:00

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Long overdue, I'm back to finish my story about the Halloween'09 Florida Panhandle River Exploration with my friend John Moran (http://www.johnmoranphoto.com/). Check out my blog, The Mighty Apalachicola River (10Dec09) which is 'part 1'.

The Dead Lakes are said to have been created when sandbars formed by the Apalachicola River blocked the mouth of one of its tributaries, the Chipola River. Many acres were flooded and thousands of trees died. The result - a broad expanse in the southern end of the Chipola River that runs for several miles - is filled with tree stumps, cypress trees, fish, and great beauty. However, boating in the Dead Lakes is treacherous due to many barely submerged stumps. We never saw another soul the whole day. And we had an amazing day on the lakes - the sky, trees, water, fall colors, sun and moon all coming together to make magic.

John's jonboat is rigged to setup his johnnypod allowing us vistas from 15 feet above the water. Wow, it was really a bird's eye view. Nature's displays kept us gawking from morning til dark... we barely found time for a nap in the shade of the swampy lakeshore in midafternoon. First there were the parhelions or sundogs. The ripples of high cirrus clouds in the blue sky fractured the sun's rays into rainbow prisms. These were stunningly beautiful with both short and long telephoto lenses, as well as the carefully shaded naked eye.

If it wasn't enough to have rainbow colors in the sky, the lake was full of brilliant fall colors against the blue water surface and grays of dead trees.

Later in the afternoon, we were searching for the right setting for the full moonrise. We found it in a twisted snag beside a living cypress. The sun would set behind us while the moon should rise in the east at about the same time. Nevermind that we would be far from the boat ramp in stump-filled waters after dark. Getting back was a nerve-racking feel-along-crawl , but SO worth it. The moonrise in this setting couldn't have been more breathtaking. And to think, the Dead Lakes were only our first day on the Chipola.

From locals at a cafe in Blountstown, we learned how to find 'Look-and-Tremble', the famous Chipola shoals. On the way, we stopped at the bridge over the river and found two other interesting images, one of a cypress on the riverbank, and the other of a long-dead garfish curled up in the sun by the parking area. As with most of our trips, John demonstrated his master-craftsman's knowledge about lighting. At this wayside park, he broke out reflectors to rake sunlight across the front of the cypress's buttressed trunk, and then again to brush bright sunshine horizontally across the garfish's bones, accentuating the texture and dramatizing the composition. Good lessons.

Here's Look & Tremble. John's idea to set up the johnnypod so we could get a higher perspective on the shoals and line up the sun in the oak. Another good lesson.
Our final journey on the Chipola was to try to find a remote spring that I had happened upon once on a kayak-camping trip in the past. John had seen my photos and wanted to bring his entire bag of lighting tricks to make a photo for a future book project. I had studied maps and Google Earth so I would "know" about where it was, but I was off by a half mile or more. We eventually found it, but not without doubts, and having to wade the boat upstream over several shoals. Here are shots from my first trip, when we first discovered this hidden spring.

In the next image, full credit goes to John for the amazing set up and lighting of the spring (well, along with Sun who contributed the pink dawn sky, and Earth, for this remarkably-sculpted vase of clear water in her crust). I do regret NOT documenting the entire production. There was a bright strobe in a specially-designed plexiglass housing attached to a long aluminum pole. This was carefully placed under a deep ledge at the bottom of the spring bowl. There were two additional flashes above water. All of these were rigged with photosensors to fire when the camera's shutter was released. The intensity of each flash had to be adjusted to put out just the right amount of light. John's image will include even more light painted (by moi, with a waterproof dive light) across the surface of the shallow ledge in front, and perhaps more painted light in the distant trees. We experimented with many techniques. (The fish in the smaller opening at the foreground was presumably happenstance. Ha.) This was a labor-intense process that involved lots of trial and error. We spent the previous afternoon, well into darkness, slept a bit on sight... and then were back at it well before dawn. The best light in the dawn sky only lasted for a few minutes, so when it really came down to it, we had to scramble to get our shots... hence, all the preparation.

Another lesson - thanks, John.

There were other adventures and images made on this leg of the journey - frogs in the palmettos and explorations of side creeks and islands... but beautiful and fun as they were, Hidden Springs was the highlight.

St. Marks Fog

2009-12-31T14:02:00.025-05:00

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Driving to St. Marks in the pre-dawn peasoup, I wondered why I got up so early for this. The fog was so dense and wet that I doubted I'd even expose my cameras to it. But I had arranged to meet Ross and I knew he'd be there. He was. We bumbled about and laughed at ourselves for an hour or so, until there was enough light to see some vague silhouettes. Not much to look at. Then a bright red poison ivy leaf caught my attention, and while studying it for a possible composition, Ross noticed the spider webs. They were numerous and loaded with water drops. I was enthralled while working one or two with my macro lens for the next hour.

As we were about to head out (earlier than usual), I saw a fish swim to the edge of the pool and beach itself. It lay there looking at me, it's blue highlights glowing with health. In only minutes, the fisheye glazed over and all color faded as the fish died. I wondered at this death, at the knowing look in the fish's eye, at the intentional beaching. I thought about whales that beach themselves, about premature fish deaths I'd seen, impaled and gasping on sharp anhinga beaks, and the circle of life that would surely include this meaty fish lying on the beach. While still squatting there by the fish, I heard a grackle call and looked up to see it on a nearby post. Despite my musings, I didn't make the connection, but as soon as I stood and made a photo of the bird, it flew down to claim the meal on the beach. The protective fog hid the bird's banquet from circling osprey and other likely party-crashers. In that moment, everything seemed right to me. I stayed and watched for a long time.

On my way home, I was feeling pretty peaceful and mindful when, all of a sudden, I saw the swamp near the Refuge entrance in a way I'd never appreciated before.

There was a stillness in the fog, everything was glistening and drippy, and the late fall colors glowed in splendor.

I wandered the length of the wetland picking out misty compositions...

and finally ended where I began... on a colorful strand of poison ivy growing on the side of a cabbage palm.

The everchanging magic of St. Marks will forever draw me in.

The Mighty Apalachicola River

2009-12-10T14:40:00.026-05:00

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On this full-moon-Halloween weekend, John Moran (http://www.johnmoranphoto.com/) and I headed to Apalachicola to explore some of the namesake River's tributaries, creeks and coastal marshes. Locally renowned photographer, John Sporher (http://www.forgottencoastoutdoors.com/) and his wife, Helen had offered us their delightful screen house on Scipio Creek for our sleeping comfort and base camp. Long docks into the marsh and big sky views just a minute's walk from the house offered some lovely sunrises.

Over the next few days, besides Scipio, we visited Cash Creek, Doyle Creek, Ft. Gadsden, Owl Creek, and Cesar Creek - paddling, boating, hiking and/or viewing from bridges, banks and even rooftops.

Cash Creek offered a gorgeous vista of the marsh, as well as beautiful flatwoods and meadows full of Deertongue and Goldenrod. A small green treefrog called one of these meadows home. We returned to Cash Creek three times - mid-morning, just before sunset, and another day at sunrise. That last time, following John Sporher's lead, we were there well before dawn to shoot the setting full moon and rising mist.

The Tate's Hell State Forest, Ralph G. Kendrick Dwarf Cypress Boardwalk provided a birdseye view of the dwarf cypress forest at peak fall color. I felt like a kid in a candy shop, taking in the magical light and color on the red, yellow, and green cypress needles and lilypads.

Further north upriver, we hiked the Nature Conservancy's Garden of Eden Trail through the Apalachicola Bluffs and Ravines Preserve. The plan was to be there at sunset - a challenge given that it's a rigorous 4 miles through slope forests, steepheads, and sandhills to Alum Bluff, the largest natural geological exposure in Florida.... and then the same rigor and distance out AFTER sunset. We considered backing out given the skyful of clouds, but we were at the trailhead and had always wanted to see this trail and bluff. The Alum Bluff and riverview were amazing even in the gray evening light. But then the sun broke beneath the cloud layer and shone red-orange across the land... mere moments before dropping below the horizon and fading to dusk. Wow. We were ready. (Well, almost... I had forgotten to bring an extra memory card and was down to too few shots on the one in my camera. Thanks for the loan, John.) We hightailed it out of there, hoping to be able to see the trail blazes and find our way out before it got too dark. I was glad to have my hiking poles. Here's the one shot.

Florida Forever - Seven Runs Creek

2009-07-24T20:34:00.023-04:00

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This past spring, I was asked to make a photo for the 2010 Florida Forever calendar which is produced by LINC - Legacy Institute for Nature and Culture - each year. The calendar features photographs made by "12 celebrated conservation photographers" of vulnerable properties in the queue for purchase by the Florida Forever Program. Having acquired and protected over 2 million acres over the past 20 years, in 2009 -- for the first time since its inception -- the Florida legislature approved NO funding for this program!
So, as part of the effort to get this program back on track, I was honored to accept this assignment. Seven Runs Creek in Walton County is a 15,000 acre parcel adjoining already-protected Nokuse Plantation to the south. I made 3 trips to the property in the spring and marveled at new wonders on each visit.

In February, John Moran and I explored the lowest section of the creek - as it loses its creekiness and turns into a braided cypress swamp that flows into the Choctawhatchee River. We started at a small roadside park (Hwy 81) where the shallow sand-bottom creek flows honey-colored through a lovely forest....misleading... Soon we felt like Hansel and Gretel, trying to figure out which branch to take and gawking at twisted gnarly cypress knees. As darkness approached, we wondered if we'd miscalculated. This was no place to spend the night: huge cypress trees in a deep swamp, owls calling... were we even following the right course? We paddled faster and faster. Finally arriving at Dead Lake Road, our aptly-named takeout, the sky had turned a deep purple. The familiar silhouette of a big split cypress stump standing near shore was a relief... and beckoned to be photographed (with a little light-painting). John took off on his bicycle in the dark to ride back for the truck while I waited with the boats. We were really bushed when our heads hit the pillows that night.

In March, I returned, this time in the company of 'Turtle Bob' Walker who is one of the biologists managing the Nokuse Plantation, AND the Seven Runs property as well. Bob hadn't seen much of the actual creek that winds through the acreage, but was game for a thorough exploration. By now, the mountain laurel and wild azaleas were in full bloom in the bottom lands. We took a tour of the property, stopping to visit with a large diamondback rattlesnake who was friendly enough, and many of the resident gopher tortoises, who weren't so friendly... mostly we caught glimpses of their tail-ends as they dived into their burrows. We stopped on the creek at Bad Bridge (burnt to ruins) and waded upstream. I got caught up in making a photo of the creek with the mountain laurel as two hours floated by. When I noticed, dark was upon us. I was grateful for Bob's patience - he is the model of patience - and for this beautiful setting in which I thought I had made a calendar shot (opening image in blog), and for Bob's knowledge of the property and how to get back to his cabin in the dark.
The next day, we arranged to drop a truck at Bad Bridge and some fellow workers drove us to a field in the middle of the property. We were sort of following a map. As we ran out of dirt road, we had to be careful to avoid the small longleaf pines dotted across the field by plantation workers in the past year. This was formerly agricultural land, now being restored to longleaf forest. But the creek ravine and its steephead runs had never been very accessible or useful and weaved through this land relatively untouched for many decades. We could see the dark lush creek woods across the field and got as close as we could. As we watched our ride rumble off in a dustcloud, it felt strange standing in an open field with paddles, kayaks and camera gear.
We hiked down into the woods and we came upon as lovely a spot on the creek as I could imagine. The early morning sunlight was bursting through the canopy. I was psyched. We had the whole day ahead to explore a creek that perhaps had never been paddled before. The water level had been bolstered by recent rains and appeared to be perfect. Bob was in his element. He knows most every creature and plant in this part of Florida, has a delightful sense of wonder and enthusiasm, and loves adventure. So, in spite of all the logjams, rafts of debris, and snakes, we had a blast. In fact, because of those things we had a blast. Bob taught me to smell the snakes before we saw them. However, I was still a bit blown away when this cottonmouth fell from its perch and landed with a soft cool thud on my hand. Even before it visually registered, my gut said "NOT GOOD!". It slid down onto my kayak and then into the water (as opposed to my lap). Bob got a good laugh and was disappointed I got off so easy. He challenged me to catch the next one in my boat. I did hop out of my boat anyway, to try to get a photo. The water moccasin was cooperative enough, but the water was flowing so fast and there was so much underbrush and debris, I couldn't get in position for a good shot. We saw and smelled many snakes that day... and took in many other wonderful sights. Bob was thrilled when he found a healthy cluster of a rare plant called Primrose Butterwort (not pictured), and again when we turned up an Eastern Dobsonfly larva. We both were sorry to see old Bad Bridge, but made a pact on the spot to paddle the one remaining section of the creek in the near future.

Preserving the gopher tortoise, a primary mission at Nokuse Plantation and the Seven Runs Creek tract is another whole story of its own, but I'll just say, I couldn't have been with a better tortoise guide than Turtle Bob. We had scoped out some burrows the day before and I had a great opportunity to photograph one of the endangered gopher tortoises in the evening after our adventure on Seven Runs Creek. (Here's a link to the Nokuse story).

Following through on our pact, we explored the final segment of the Creek in April. This time our wives, Crystal and Leslie joined us... after hearing about all the snakes and stuff, they just couldn't resist. So this time we put in at Good Bridge. (You knew there had to be a Good Bridge if there was a Bad Bridge... such creative names too!) And yes, Good Bridge is still functional, although it has a locked cable across it. We left a vehicle in the same field of mini longleaf pines for our takeout. The creek was beautiful as ever, snaking through these bottom-lands with tributaries (the seven runs) pouring in from left or right along the way. This trip a snake did fall into my lap. I saw it moments too late hanging on a branch above a logjam. My kayak rammed the debris as I caught hold of an overhanging limb and I was locked in by the strong current. There was the snake, fortunately this time, a big brown water snake, inches from my face, right over my lap. I couldn't get my boat out of the way so the inevitable happened. Having a close encounter with a human face no doubt startled the snake. Only one escape route: fall into the water. Only the water wasn't there anymore. Knowing that he was non-venemous didn't diminish the experience of having a flipped-out snake writhing frantically on my lap, and with both hands holding branches to keep me from capsizing, I couldn't even snatch the snake into the creek. By the time I got the boat out of there with Crystal's help and got out, the snake was under my seat and not willing to come out. Ultimately, ol' Turtle Bob arrived and with glee, didn't hesitate to reach into the dark crack under my kayak seat -- trusting me when I said "I think it's just a watersnake, Bob". He gently pulled the scared snake out and after showing it around and pointing out how unagressive it was, released it back to the creek. We all got pretty good at smelling out the snakes before crashing into them after that. The cottonmouths outnumbered the water snakes from what we saw.
Crystal and I headed for home after that exciting day and had one last snaky moment just as we were leaving Nokuse... a coiled up snake in the road. I thought it was a copperhead as we roared by, but it was just a very scared and angry red rat snake. Once we got him out of the center of the busy Hwy 20, I still had enough light in the day to make a few photos. He looked nothing like the typical docile corn snake that he was... all puffed out, jowly, and coiled for a fight. What a wild place this neck of North Florida is. Here's to Florida Forever!

Bog Blogging

2009-06-26T11:38:00.028-04:00

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At a recent SNAPP meeting (our local nature photo club) Bill and Marcia Boothe announced that they'd be leading a group to the Apalachicola National Forest on Saturday to look for carnivorous plants, rare plants, and accompanying wildlife. We were invited to join in. Having a rare free Saturday, and knowing Billy and Marcia's reputation and knowledge of the Forest (http://natureinfocus.com/), how could I pass up such an opportunity?

Gathering behind the school in Blountstown, the group then caravan'd down Hwy 65 to the Forest around Sumatra. First stop was "Billy's Bog" where we were rewarded with a wide variety of meat-eating plants - - pitcher plants, sundews, butterworts, and more. We found rare orchids, insects, and a pond. A real bonanza. Tom helped me with one photo by holding back brush and positioning some pitchers. It was challenging to make panoramic shots without photographers in the landscape, so photographers like Amy became subject matter as well.

We visited two other sites, each with special features or unique rare plants. Other than a lunch stop, we were at it all day - learning and getting to know one another. Marcia was quick with the books for keying out questionable plants. Bill pulled out his black velvet to demonstrate field-studio work. The rest of us were wow'd by it all. I drove home happy with muddy shoes, a cameraful of fresh subjects, and a re-newed appreciation for the diversity and beauty of the Forest.

Coastal Cleanup

2009-06-12T17:36:00.007-04:00

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Coastal Cleanup is a big event each year down at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Last time I joined with the St. Marks Photo Club to cover an assigned stretch of road. I took along a camera with a wide angle fisheye lens with the idea to make a photo like this one of George. He was my partner that day. But I hadn't anticipated what a great photo opportunity this would be. Along with the litter that marred the roadside, there were lovely clusters of flowers adorning it... and even better, insects accompanying the flora. There were the pollinators - bees and butterflies. And the predators - spiders hiding in wait for a meal to fly in. But the prize for me was a hummingbird moth that came buzzing along tasting each thistle flower. Normally a wide angle lens would be useless for such a fast shy flying insect, but today I would be lucky. I moved in very slowly, and was able to get within just a few inches of this moth... not a great photo, but a first for me, and not bad for my self-imposed limited gear.
We hauled many bags of litter back to the central collection area. There was a mountain of trash brought in that day... hundreds of workers scouring the landscape, just like the insects we had been observing. And our reward: a shiny clean St. Marks, there for all the wildlife and visitors to enjoy.