Harbor seal on kelp covered rock, Point Lobos State Reserve

A walk along the northern trails of Point Lobos State Reserve is always a nice treat. This park tends to fill up to capacity frequently, but most of the traffic (both car and foot) stays toward the main trails in the southern side of the peninsula. On this summer trip, we enjoyed a nice view of a herd of harbor seals resting on the rocks just offshore in Moss Cove. Their colors ranged from sun-bleached gray to this particularly handsome darker black. The kelp covered rock was an interesting setting for a photograph, but even in the short time we were watching them, the tide was visibly rising and its lush green island was soon to disappear.

California quail fledglings calling (almost), Point Reyes National Seashore

California quail are one of my favorite species to photograph, and it was a treat to get to see some fledglings on my last summer trip to Point Reyes National Seashore. On several previous occasions, I had seen younger adorable downy fluff balls scurrying around behind their parents, and this was the first time I had some really nice looks at slightly older fledglings.

The Abbotts Lagoon area is a hotspot for finding quail in Point Reyes. In fact, I often didn't even need to get out of parking lot, or even the car, to find some in front of my lens. Since they can be rather skittish, it actually works quite well to use the car as a mobile blind to get close as they stand on the fence railings and bounce around the coyote brush along the parking lot. That's what I was doing on this rather dreary morning in the park. There was a small covey hanging out along the fenceline, so I drove up slowly, rolled the windows down, and parked the car in a nice position to observe them out the passenger side window.

As I was watching the group, I heard the distinct call of "Chi-Ca-Go" from behind my vehicle on the driver's side. Though notably, it was a rather small rendition of a quail song, and when I turned around in my seat, I saw this pair of fledglings on the branches. I had long been chasing a photograph of California quail in song, which I finally managed to capture on a 2014 trip -- but I had never imagined the opportunity to capture young birds doing the same. Unfortunately, to have a chance, I needed to contort my body to point my lens out of the opposite rear window to get the right angle before the moment had passed. I strained my body to get into a reasonable stable position and waited for another chance.

California quail can put on such a show when they are calling out -- throwing their heads back with abandon -- but that means the beak and eyes are moving quickly. On this morning, it was just too quick for my lens under the deep overcast light, and the frame above is the closest I came with any bit of sharpness to the singing head. I had only a few chances to capture the song before this young pair scuttled back down into the brush, and I'm disappointed to have failed to capture a clean shot. That said, these unexpected moments are what is so fun about wildlife photography, and even without something to add to my portfolio, it's an encounter I won't soon forget.

Mule deer behind the dunes, Point Reyes National Seashore

The short road to the North Beach parking lot in Point Reyes National Seashore always feels to me like it has a lot of potential. There's nice tall grasses on the backside of the dunes, with splashes of color from the abundant wildflowers. I've seen a fair number of raptors there, occasionally a coyote, but the most likely find are the abundant mule deer in the area. This doe was browsing among the dune grass under the thick morning fog. She gave me a couple of curious glances before sauntering across the road to the other side.

Tule elk in wild radish, Point Reyes National Seashore

While the peak of the tule elk rut in Point Reyes National Seashore is generally in late August and into September, this handsome bull was keeping track of his harem in early July. It made for some nice photographic opportunities as the herd grazed among the late summer wildflowers (predominantly wild radish) on the hillside along the road to Drake's Beach. From this vantage point he was keeping track of the other bulls bugling in the area. In the top frame, he's listening carefully as a rival bull sounds out across the valley, and in the bottom frame he's responding with his own call (through a mouth full of grass!).

Curious American avocet, Don Edwards National Wildlife Refuge

The travel itinerary of my 2016 trip to California include a few nights in the South Bay, which meant I was in a great position to look for American avocets. In my opinion, these are by far the most elegant shorebird species, and I greatly miss having the chance to find them here in the Northeast. They're especially photogenic in their breeding colors, and it was a treat to encounter salt ponds filled with them at Don Edwards National Wildlife Refuge. This location was one of my early favorites on San Francisco Bay, and I had a handful of spectacular trips there when I was learning the ropes of shorebird photography a decade ago. The park can be a little tough for eye-level photography since the trails are on elevated dikes around the ponds, but on this day the water level was down far enough that I was able to get low in the mud at a few places. This curious avocet waded fairly close to where I was set up, and the old degrading pilings were an interesting setting to contrast the elegance of the bird.

Shared with Wild Bird Wednesday -- follow the link to see this week's posts.

The Magic of Point Reyes National Seashore

During the two years that I let the blog go dormant in 2016-2017 I actually had a couple of really nice photographic outings. I was even able to return to California for about a week in the summer of 2016, which included a couple of days spent in Point Reyes National Seashore. It wasn't the most productive trip photographically, but it felt so great to be back in my old footsteps on those well-trodden trails. For those of you that have followed my work, you already know that Point Reyes National Seashore holds a special place in my heart -- and in some ways I can't believe it's taken me this long to share some some images from the trip.

July isn't necessary the best time to be in the park for photography, I personally think that the fall is ideal with the shorebird migrations and tule elk rut, but I was treated to some spectacular fog-less summer sunsets on this trip. While living in California, I most often visited the park for sunrise, which usually involved a heavy cover the marine layer fog, so it was a treat to have the warm colors of sunset on multiple evenings (although I almost didn't know what to do with the light!).

While driving out Sir Francis Drake Boulevard on so many prior trips to the park, my eye had often been drawn to the gorgeous rolling agricultural valleys. On many occasions I pulled the car over, swapped on my landscape lens and attempted to capture some of what had caught my eye. I was never really able to do the scene justice though, especially since so many of my trips were under the coastal fog. I love overcast light for wildlife, but it really left the landscapes feeling flat and far less interesting than then actually were. I was driving around the park on this summer evening while the light was absolutely spectacular, and hoping to find something to photograph before it was gone. I struck out on sighting any wildlife in the golden glow, but as I passed this valley, I was completely drawn in. The last rays were fading fast, and I knew I wouldn't have time to set up my tripod before it was gone. So I rolled the window down, leaned across the passenger seat and fired off a few frames. I love that the low hanging sun left a tiny sliver of "alpenglow" across the top of the coastal hillside. That's part of the magic of Point Reyes National Seashore -- it's given me fleeting moments that are so special and unexpected on so many visits.

While I was taking the photograph above, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that I could see myself in the passenger-side mirror. Being a solo trip into the park, I didn't have any other photographs of myself there, so I took advantage of the opportunity to make an unorthodox selfie from this unexpected scene in one of my favorite places.

After spending the night in Inverness Park, I set out for a sunrise hike at Abbotts Lagoon. Just like old times, I began the day as the first car in the parking lot as the daylight was just beginning to break. It was wonderful to breathe in the cool coastal air, and to be invigorated by the feeling of the warm rising sun under clear skies. This is a wonderful place to look for quail and not too far from the parking lot I found a handsome male keeping an eye on his covey from an old scrag of coyote brush (which I posted yesterday for my 500th blog post). I slowly worked my way closer, trying to get clean shot of the quail who was glowing in the warm sunrise light. In the meantime a second car arrived at the trailhead and another photographer set off down the trail behind me. As he approached, he politely waited to pass until the quail had decided to hop from its perch and head into the brush. Further down the trail, at the bridge between the freshwater and brackish lagoons, I encountered the photographer again. We chatted briefly, and he shared his new found love for the park. It seemed that this amazing landscape had recently cast a spell on him, the same as it had on me nearly a decade ago. He was now regularly driving up from the East Bay on the weekends to search for wildlife -- which sounded awfully familiar to my ears! We chatted briefly about the gravitational pull of the park, and neither of us could easily express a specific reason for why it captured our creative imagination so strongly over all of the other great places in the Bay Area. But perhaps the vague mystery of that deep-felt love for that beautiful peninsula is part of the magic all the same.

Post #500: California quail in Point Reyes National Seashore

In the fall of 2009, I started this blog with my first post of semipalmated plovers at Point Reyes National Seashore. At this time, I was in the middle of graduate school and had found that escaping to the coast with my camera on the weekends was critical to managing my stress levels. I had taken my first nature photographs over two years before that, and was regularly sharing pictures on Flickr, but decided that it would be nice to branch out into my own corner of the web. I didn't really know what I had intended to do with a blog, but I was inspired by the work of others like John Wall who was blogging about his explorations of similar places in the Bay Area, and myriad other California photographers (like Jim Goldstein, Gary Crabbe, G Dan Mitchell, and so many others) that were sharing their work on the web.

When I started this blog, posting a photo while I ate breakfast was a pretty regular part of my daily routine, and over the first few years, I added about 150 posts per year. At that rate, I figured I'd reach 500 posts in no time! But a move to Massachusetts and start of my career reduced my rate to about a third of that for a while, and over the last two years almost to zero. Yet I still find myself drawn to sharing my work through this venue.

Over the past few weeks, I've read back through each of my 499 previous posts, which brings up a cacophony of feelings -- from bittersweet nostalgia for my favorite places in California and being able to visit them regularly, to joy of remembering some amazing wildlife encounters (some that I vividly remember, and others that I had almost forgotten), to relative embarrassment of the quality of some of my earlier pictures. I was getting out with my camera so much more regularly during the first few years, which led to a more temporal aspect to my blogging, and it's fun to now have a narrated log of my weekend trips from that time period of my life.

As I roll through the beginning of my tenth calendar year of photo blogging, finally reaching the round number milestone of 500 posts, I guess I still don't know what I'm really trying to accomplish. I've long since passed the naive dream of being read by a huge number of subscribers, but still feel drawn to have a place to share my experiences with the incredible natural world around me. Seeking a connection with nature is one of the major things that drives me as a person, and I want to continue to seek out these experiences for my own self-interest. But beyond that, I like to share these small glimpses with anyone else who cares to find them. I know from personal experience how photographs have the power to connect people with our natural world, to cause them to care, and allow a window to share in a joint experience even if the observer wasn't physically present. I wish deeply for others to care about our environment and the amazing creatures that inhabit it, and any small thing I can do to spread that connection is worth it to me.

As I think about what it means to move forward, I'm sure that my opportunities for serious photography will continue to be limited. However, I know that even a decade after I first picked up a camera with the intent of photographing the natural world, I still find that when the cacophony of noise that is modern life becomes overwhelming, my mind yearns for the simplicity of a shared moment with a wild animal from behind my lens. Wildlife photography is meditation for me, and I hope that having a place to share my artistic expression of these experiences (even if really only for myself) will continue to drive my pursuit of seeking out those powerful moments, no matter how frequent or infrequent the opportunities arise.

Warm spring light, Piping plover at Sandy Point State Reservation

Developing my photographic vision under the cool marine layer in the San Francisco Bay Area has turned me into a sucker for overcast skies, but I still enjoy a lovely golden hour when I have the chance. The last few days in Massachusetts have been gorgeous -- with unseasonably warm temperatures and spectacular evening light! It's been a pleasure to get out for few short walks after work to enjoy this wonderful taste of springtime, and it's great to notice the days getting longer. Even if it is still February, spring is in the air at least for another day or two.

This photograph is from a springtime trip I took last year to Sandy Point State Reservation. There were a handful of piping plovers cruising the beach, and I was able to get a few close encounters with this particularly curious bird as it searched for a meal before losing the daylight.

Willet catches a fish, Bunche Beach Preserve

Willets are a really fun shorebird to watch and photograph. What they lack in interesting plumage patterns and elegance, they more than make up for in character. I've had so many fun encounters with these curious birds on various beaches over the years. On this trip to southwest Florida, I had a chance to photograph so many interesting species, many of which I have no opportunity to see near home on the coasts of New England, but on each of my morning outings to Bunche Beach Preserve a willet caught my attention and left me delightfully entertained.

This willet was working a shallow tidal pool near the main entrance of the park. It was wading through the water in a much more heron-like pattern, clearly hunting for moving prey. For the frame above, it was working hard to pull something to the surface.

It continued to manipulate the prey under the water, attempting to find the right grip. Much to my surprise, when it finally pulled its prize free from the water's surface, it was some type of small flat fish. As many times as I've enjoyed photographing willets in the past, never before had I seen one with such an interesting type of prey! Unfortunately, in the excitement of finally freeing its meal from the water, I lost the lovely backdrop of the sand and mangroves in the distance as I tracked its movements sprinting out of the pond with its catch.

Eye on the prize, Little Blue Heron at Bunche Beach

With no recent trips to pull from, here are two frames from a fantastic trip to southwest Florida I had a few years ago. I spent two mornings at Bunch Beach Preserve in Fort Myers, and came back with so many images (many of which are still waiting to be shared). That area is truly a bird photographers haven!

I watched this little blue heron hunting in a shallow tidal pool for over a half an hour. It strolled back and forth through the water, constantly searching for prey, and I saw it pull a surprising amount of fish from the small pool. When the image above is viewed at 100%, you can see the small fish caught in its bill behind the splashing water, which it shows off quickly below before swallowing it down.

Harsh realities of being small, Piping plover at Sandy Point

This piping plover wraps up my belated posts of the stories behind my five favorite photographs from 2017. In a typical year, the goal would be to blog about the photos long before the annual summary -- but I've ended up trying things in reverse this year. Anyway, it was a beautiful day on this late spring trip to Sandy Point State Reservation with moisture-rich clouds adding color to the sky and providing nice diffuse light and a handful of piping plovers scurrying around the beach. Really, it's hard to ask for much better conditions, at least between the intense gusts of wind blowing across the water.

I was laying in the sand with this friendly plover, enjoying the chance to watch it rest and preen. But when the wind started to blow, the sand fiercely ripped around. While walking around the park that day, the sand steadily pelted my face whenever the wind blew. But while laying prone in the sand, I could really feel the intensity of the higher density of sand near the ground. While my sand blasting was optional, it was a hard lesson to realize that these tiny shorebirds have to deal with this every time a stiff wind blows!

In this series of photographs, you can see how when the intensity of the wind picks up, the bird is heavily obscured by the sand, even from my relatively close observation point. It was apparently intense even for the bird, who closed it's eyes against the wind. I found the plovers to be fairly resilient though, as well as opportunistic in seeking shelter. I observed them scurrying behind any small windbreak they could find, including this tiny "dune" formed by a small collection of leaves and wrack.

Eventually, this bird realized that it's wind break just wasn't cutting it, so it stepped out and leaned into the wind as it sought better shelter. I really love how this last frame came together -- with the stoic look of the bird boldly walking into the sandstorm against the streaks of individual sand grains -- leaving me with one of my favorite photos of the year.

Submitted to Wild Bird Wednesday -- follow the link for this week's posts!

Backlit sanderlings, Ogunquit Beach

As I mentioned in my previous post, the conditions weren't ideal for photography on my fall trip to Southern Maine -- but when I find a flock of friendly sandpipers, it's worth making the most of it! As the rising tide continuously pushed the flock to different positions around me, I had to settle for some angles looking directly toward the morning sun. When this happened, I pulled my eye away from the viewfinder and just enjoyed the lively scene of this energetic flock of shorebirds. Thankfully, there were some high clouds passing through, so when one slipped in front of the sun, I'd go back to the camera and work what I could. At the time, I didn't have much faith that any of the images would turn out. This proved to be mostly true when I reviewed the images later, but this frame stood out to me with the pattern of the three feeding birds and enough details in the shadows. It's not my typical style of shorebird photography, but it's fun to take advantage of a new challenge when the opportunity presents itself.

Sanderlings in Maine

Maine is not synonymous with shorebirds for me -- as most of our experiences in coastal Maine, since moving to Massachusetts, have been in Acadia. While there are probably shorebirds around that area at certain times of year, I haven't had the pleasure of seeing any on our summer trips. This fall we took a short weekend trip to southern Maine, and a priority goal was to hit the beach at sunrise to search for some peeps. I checked the eBird recent sightings, and judged that Ogunquit Beach would likely be my best chance. It just so happened that we traveled there during "OgunquitFest" weekend, and I was surprised at how many other folks were out strolling the beach for the sunrise. I can't blame anyone for ever wanting to enjoy the sun rising over the water, but the density of people out early on the beach meant that my chance to encounter a friendly flock of sandpipers had greatly decreased. It was a still a delight to take a long morning stroll through the exposed sands of a low tide, but not a single shorebird was out along the way.

My luck turned though as I made my final approach back to the parking lot. Down at the far end of the beach (in the opposite direction of how I walked) was a small flock of maybe 50 sanderlings. Even though the good light had faded, I wasn't about to pass up my first chance in months to share space with some shorebirds. The direction of the beach made getting a good angle tough, and the light was only reasonable when I cloud passed over the sun, but it was fantastic to hear their exuberant peeping as they probed the sand being covered by the rising tide.

With less than ideal conditions, including having to put the rising tide at my back, I didn't fully commit to a true eye-level view of the birds -- which has been my preferred technique over the last few years. Keeping my camera on the ballhead a few inches above the ground worked out reasonably well though when they approached the saturated sand, giving me the chance to capture some reflections. Even if I didn't come away with any portfolio level images, it was still fun to add a new state to my shorebird catalog.

Serenity in a salt marsh, Parker River National Wildlife Refuge

"What good is a salt marsh?" asks the sign at the long pull-off area next to the salt pannes in Parker River National Wildlife Refuge. I love this sign with its catchy title, and it shares important natural features of these awesome ecosystems. For me, the essence of a salt marsh goes even further. There's something about this ecosystem that just pulls me in -- far enough that I studied them for my Ph.D.! The sights, the smells, just the feel of a breeze flowing over them, it's all unmatched for me. Photographically, I haven't made that many images that attempt to capture some of that magic. I'm usually distracted looking for wildlife, like this snowy egret, rather than focusing on all of the interesting details that abound.

On my drive out of the refuge as the sun was dropping fast toward the horizon, I pulled off the road to watch this delightful snowy egret hunting in the shallow water. Its feathers were drenched in the warm glow of the falling light, and it emphatically leapt from panne to panne as it searched for a meal. I followed it with my lens, having to roll the car forward a few times to keep up with its exuberance. Egrets are a marvel to watch as they hunt, darting this way and that, shading the water, and seemingly dancing their way through the process. I was happy to observe its show near the road, and after a few minutes, it flew further back into the marsh. The golden light was caressing the salt grass and casting low shadows, and everything fell into place when the egret landed and set off a wave of small ripples, leaving me with one of my favorite photos from 2017.

So what good is a salt marsh? The list of benefits is long, but at the top for me is the warm feeling that overcomes my consciousness when I'm able to soak in a scene like this.

Sprint and stop, Piping Plover at Sandy Point State Reservation

As I mentioned in my favorite photos of 2017 post, this very friendly piping plover gave me a lot of great looks as it sprinted across the sand and then stopped on a dime. It's an interesting behavior -- I'm not sure if it's related to finding prey or to evading predators, but its certainly common among the piping plovers I've had a chance to observe. After I positioned myself in the sand, the plover kept working its way closer, giving me wary but seemingly curious looks along the way. It continued to close the distance between us, with the frame below being taken at 270mm on my telephoto zoom. Eventually, it came close enough that I could no longer attempt to focus on it (my Tamron has a minimum focusing distance of 8 feet), so I pulled back from the viewfinder and just enjoyed the chance to observe a gorgeous shorebird at close range. It's always special to earn the trust of a wild animal and the opportunity to share space with it on its own terms!

Protection from the world, Sandy Point State Reservation

I led off my favorite photos of 2017 post with this handsome piping plover and its chick set against the lush green backdrop of the dunes. On its own, that image (the last in this post) warms my heart with a tender moment between a parent and the most important being in the world to it (something I can now relate to!). I think the full context of this image is interesting to show as well. It was a reasonably nice day on the beach, but there was an occasional stiff wind ripping over the inlet and across the spit of sand at the tip of Sandy Point State Reservation. The strong gusts were pelting us with blowing sand, and this noble adult was attempting to shelter its chick from the elements.

But when the winds settled down, the chick was ready to go again, and quickly pulled away from the warm embrace of its parent.

It paused for a moment, leaning in for reassuring touch before darting across the sand on its own. I can empathize with how I imagine the parent must have felt, left behind to watch its offspring cutting out on its own -- still needing protection and assurance, but also the chance to explore the world independently. No matter how much we want to, there's only so much we can do to protect our kids, and at least mine still has a while to go before he's charting his own path across the beach!

Favorite Photographs of 2017

2017 was an exciting year for me, though not as much for photography. We welcomed our first child to the family, and it has been so much fun being a new father. This, of course, has left my free time pretty limited -- though I did make a few pre-baby trips to Plum Island to look for piping plovers, and I had a chance to spend time with a small flock of sandpipers on our first trip with the baby to Southern Maine.

I enjoy reflecting on the images I've taken each year, and even with only a handful of photographic opportunities this year, I was still able to come home with a few noteworthy photos. I'm far too late to submit to Jim Goldstein's Annual Blog Project -- but it remains an inspiration for this yearly endeavor. Here are my five favorite photographs from 2017.

Plover parent and chick, Sandy Point State Reservation
This is perhaps my favorite of the year based on the context of my own 2017. While waiting for the arrival of my son this summer, I was able to get away for a short outing to look for baby piping plovers at Sandy Point State Reservation on Plum Island. Two years ago, I had a handful of very productive trips there and there seemed to be plover chicks all over the beach with some parents watching over as many as four at a time. Unfortunately, this was one of only three chicks I saw on the beach this year, and it was the single chick in the clutch for this parent. While it was disappointing to see so few nesting plovers, it was special to observe this parent watching over it's chick -- especially when I knew that my own son would be arriving soon. While humans have our own set of challenges as new parents, at least our babies aren't born mobile and running around on the beach evading predators from day one!

Running piping plover, Sandy Point State Reservation
On a spring trip to catch the sunset on Plum Island, there was a dearth of sandpipers around, but I did have a nice encounter with a handful of piping plovers cruising the tidal flats. It's always special to be able to observe a threatened species, and this particular adult gave me a lot of nice looks as it probed the sand looking for a late meal. They have such an interesting rhythm as they run in short bursts of speed before stopping on a dime, then running again. Here, this friendly plover was sprinting straight toward my lens (eventually getting within my minimum focusing distance before scurrying off in a different direction.)

Snowy egret in a salt marsh, Parker River National Wildlife Refuge
On my drive out of the refuge as the last of the sun's rays were slipping past the horizon, I saw this lone egret working the salt pannes of the Great Marsh. Wetlands are by far my favorite ecosystem, and yet I've struggled to create many meaningful images of them. This one came together nicely for me -- with the low golden light, a beautiful white bird causing waves of ripples, and the lush greens of springtime salt grass. Taking in a scene like this with a deep cleansing breath is food for my soul.

Harsh realities of being small, Sandy Point State Reservation
The wind was really whipping on this trip. My face was scoured by sand while walking along the beach, but when going down to ground-level, I could get an even stronger feel for how tough it must be to live in this harsh coastal environment. I was able to create a series of interesting images with the sand blurring out the scene, and the plovers finding any small shelter they could on the beach. But in this one, the steadfast strength of the small bird pushing forward into the driving sand speaks to me.

Backlit sanderlings, Ogunquit Beach, Maine
We took a weekend trip to Southern Maine in the fall to introduce my son to the coast. He had a blast on our afternoon visit to the beach, and I sincerely hope we're able to pass to him our love of the coastal environment. The next day, my wife graciously made me get up before the sunrise to seek out some shorebirds. I took a long walk along Ogunquit Beach with the rising sun and found none. Then, as seems to happen far too often, as I was nearly back to my car the birds were hanging out in sight of the parking lot! The contours of the beach and rising tide limited my ability to get a good position with the sun over my shoulder without getting soaked. But the birds were extremely friendly, so I tried to make the most of the situation. I attempted some more stark backlit silhouettes with reflections in the wet sand, but this composition worked best in a fleeting moment when a cloud passed over the sun.

Thanks for taking a look through my favorites from the past year, and all the best to you for 2018!