Faces of St. Marks Lighthouse

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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

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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

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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.