Shoveler at Rest

Northern shovelers are one of my favorite ducks. I think they are strikingly beautiful -- from their exaggerated bills to their subtly bright colors. In this shot, I really like how the yellow of the eye stands out from that deep green head. Taken at the Radio Road Ponds in Redwood City a few weeks back.

Overcast exposure

Fall in the Bay Area means the start of some wonderful overcast days with high clouds all day and little chance of surprise rain. These are great days photographically, as you are not limited to the nice light that ends 2 hours after sunrise. This shot was taken on an overcast day in September. We had family in town and took them to the always spectacular Point Lobos State Reserve near Monterey. Everyone was disappointed that there were heavy clouds around all day, meaning no beautiful blue ocean. But the photographer in me was secretly pleased, as it meant that an encounter like this would be possible -- with no harsh light to be found.

Dilapidation

Its interesting to me how scenes of dilapidation can evoke such different responses. When I see urban dilapidation, it often comes with feelings of sorrow and sadness -- but when I find dilapidation in a rural scene, it can have a romantic side. Perhaps an inherent feeling of missing the 'simple days' of an era that has passed.



Here are two shots of a rural scene with a shed that appears to be on its last legs. Something about this scene has drawn me in every time I've seen it, but the many times I've been there in the full sun, it just didn't have the right feeling for me to get out the camera. On this overcast morning however, I finally felt the time was right to photograph it. Perhaps a sign that this was truly the appropriate time to make this image was that as I was standing there I had a wonderful flyby of a pair of mute swans. (Which, by the way, are nothing close to mute while they are flying. I heard them coming long before I saw them!). This image gives a neat contrast of this dilapidated scene with the bright elegant form of the swans in flight.

Golden Gate at Sunrise

Ever since moving to the Bay Area a few years ago and seeing the bridge covered in fog and then seeing the many amazing pictures of this scene, I have been chasing that moment. I regret to report that I still have yet to get the shot I want, but I started heading in the right direction a few weeks back. I was planning to head to Bothin Marsh in the Mill Valley area, and as I was crossing the Richmond-San Rafael bridge before sunrise I saw a chance for the shot I’m picturing. I could see clearly that the southern pillar was in the fog, and the northern was clear. So I decided to give it a shot and go for it. I passed by Bothin on 101, and decided to head down to Fort Baker, which is a place I had not previously visited.

To my surprise, I found the parking area full near the fishing pier and a ton of people there reeling in their catch as the sun came up over the horizon. Here's a view in the opposite direction, with the Transamerica Building reaching above the fog.



What amazed me the most about spending 20 or so minutes there is how dynamic the fog was. At times it would cover half of the bridge completely, and then a few minutes later most of the span, including both pillars would be clear in the sun. It was quite fun to shoot, but I think there is probably a better vantage point at a location other than the fishing pier down there. It was a beautiful morning, but I’m still chasing that glory-shot of half of the bridge in golden morning light with half in fog.

Broken trust and a final glance (Part 4)

(This is the fourth and final part of my Saturday morning encounter with this beautiful coyote)

After unsuccessfully finding anything to eat in the area directly ahead of me, the coyote headed down a small slope and into a brush-area. I again got to watch the entertaining hunting behavior of pouncing and shoving your snout into a burrow, but he was unsuccessful in his multiple attempts.



At this point, he was following a trail that made a big arc around where I was sitting, and while occasionally giving me a glance, he came quite close (perhaps 10-15 yards) of me. For the first time, I started to feel just a little uneasy, and I started talking to him to get his attention, saying, “Hey, we’re cool right? No need to get too much closer.” He stared at me quizzically for a while, and then went back to sniffing the ground.



He found a good scent trail and make an arc in the other direction, but one that came even closer to my position.





I loved the opportunity to take some close shots, but I was constantly rotating the camera and trying to keep my tripod and lens between me and the coyote at all times. Unfortunately, I had rotated as far as possible without having to move my feet, and when I stepped into a new position I made a loud shuffling sound and startled him. He gave me a worried glance, tucked his tail under and sprinted to a further distance. He then gave me this final glance, which I read as a look of the broken trust that we had temporarily had between us, before sniffing the air and running away.



I hung around the area for another 20 minutes or so, but he never returned.



These are the kind of experiences that make it so worth getting up well before the crack of dawn on a Saturday in order to get to the trailhead at by sunrise. It never really crossed my mind that I’d ever have a chance to spend some time with a wild coyote. You just never know what to expect on a trip to Point Reyes – which always makes it enjoyable.