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Exhilarating by Brad Reed Clark Little is one of my photographic heroes. His shore break photography of Hawaii has made him world famous. Clark's work inspired me to try to do the same thing in Michigan. The cold, crystal clear waters of Lake Superior, mixed with the colorful rocks and beautiful shoreline, made for the perfect mix.

One of the most spectacular lightning storms I have witnessed in my lifetime showed up on my wife Debbie’s birthday, September 4, 2014. We were guests at my Aunt Carol Garneau’s home on the Lake Michigan shoreline in Ludington Harbor. While photographing bolt after bolt as cells of the storm rolled past me for more than an hour, this granddaddy of them all exploded over the top of the Ludington lighthouse. I made this 30-second time-exposure image with my 500-millimeter Nikon telephoto lens from an open window of Auntie Carol’s second floor art room. I named it Positive Energy because she was always so positive and lit up the world with her presence.

This is, as I look back at my first 50 years as a photographer, the best photograph I have ever made. That lightning bolt still explodes in my mind’s eye nearly a quarter-century after it lit up the night on September 19, 1997. At least once more in my lifetime I would like the privilege of photographing a moment as power-packed as this one. I was as charged as the air about me as an enormous storm cloud fired lightning bolts faster than a giant Gatling gun and swept across Lake Michigan toward my vantage point on the Ludington shoreline. I had a crow’s nest view looking west toward Lake Michigan from my Officer of the Day berthing room on the second deck of Coast Guard Station Ludington. An hour earlier, I had been readying to get my boat crew underway for nighttime training aboard Coast Guard Motor Lifeboat 44345 when I spotted what at first glance looked like miniature lightning bolts barely visible dancing across the entire western horizon. We were seeing a thunderstorm hitting Wisconsin and heading our way. We secured the boat for heavy weather with extra lines and secured the station. With our work day done, I retreated to my room and set up my 300-millimeter lens on my tripod, awaiting the advancing tempest. I maintained my visualized composition, never changing the narrow aim of the Nikon N90 camera at the Ludington lighthouse. I had never seen so many lightning bolts in the sky at once. I decided that the odds of capturing one large bolt lighting up the Ludington lighthouse could not be better than now. As the stormfront raced across Lake Michigan at 45 knots, I began taking 30-second time exposures when it was still 30 miles away. The closer the storm came to the Ludington shoreline, the louder, larger and brighter the lightning became. Many bolts were going off during every time exposure shot, but often north or south of the narrow angle of view of my large telephoto lens. I began doubting my decision not to use a wider angle. The super cell of the thunderstorm was less than a half-mile away now. The lightning was revealing a massive thunderhead cloud steamrolling end-over-end right at me. Boom! I jumped for the first time from the concussion. The light was blinding. My camera was recording it. But what did the camera see? And even if there was a big bolt recorded on the Fuji Velvia slide film, was it going to be in a good position relative to the lighthouse? Only time would tell—a lot of time. There was no instant feedback with film. I would have to wait until I was off duty to send the film in and then wait several days more for it to come back. I remember like it was yesterday pulling slide after slide out of the plastic storage box they came back in from the processor and looking at them one by one on my light table with an eight-power loupe. The first slides I reviewed, which were the first shots taken when the storm was further away, quickly turned my excitement into disappointment. The images were not living up to the experience. But the further I dug into the box, the bigger the bolts were, and the more they lit up and colored the sky. Finally, upon pulling out the next to last slide in the box, I saw the image I had visualized making, except far better than I could have ever imagined making of my own accord. I believe God was my guide in capturing this Heaven-sent moment. I named the image “God’s Light.” Post note: Without my knowledge, my wife, Debbie, entered the original “God’s Light” 35-millimeter slide in the 1998 Nikon International Contest. It won third place.

The 45-minute hike to Big Sable Point Lighthouse is rewarding even on those rare occasions when a good picture seems nowhere to be found. On this evening dune grass framed against the twilight provided a still life that stood out even more than the famous lighthouse.

My dad and I try to position ourselves at dynamic angles to our photograph's subject. In this photograph, look at the triangles that are created throughout the composition. By placing the jetties at a dynamic diagonal on the left side of the image, it creates a more powerful and three-dimensional look and feel. F7.1 at 1/20, ISO 100, 18-50mm lens at 20mm

My grandpa, Bud Reed, always gave a thumbs up as his sign of approval. The last few years of his life, he could not hear very well. The thumbs up was often his way of letting you know he understood what you were trying to say.

Our workshop students were up to their waists in dewy grasses before sunrise and many of them were on their knees getting their cameras immediate to the wildflowers, grasses and weeds in a field near our Pere Marquette River property. I got down low beside them to immerse myself in the tapestry of spring growth. Six a.m. never looked better to me.

Heaven knows how many times a God beam has lit the Ludington lighthouse. But when I saw this beauty shining down, I felt its spiritual quality more strongly than any other God beam I have seen before or since. On this calm May day of 1993, I was already underway in my tiny Boston Whaler skiff searching for photo opportunities because of the dramatic clouds. I quickly maneuvered closer to the lighthouse and centered the iconic Ludington landmark beneath the glorious beam. I laid over the low gunwale and fired away for about 20 breathtaking seconds before the clouds and spotlight moved away. As a longtime Lake Michigan mariner, there have been many times during the calmest or stormiest voyages that I have felt God’s presence; this was one of those times. As a longtime photographer, I have learned to better know when I am being presented with an extraordinary view with or without looking through the viewfinder; this was one of those views. The image I was blessed to make that day more than a quarter century ago remains my favorite calm day photograph with the Ludington lighthouse in the scene. In 2007, “God Beam” was selected for the cover of an inspirational book titled Hope: pure and simple. The book features “316 thoughts to lift your soul” by famous Christian author Max Lucado. I was humbled to have an image that means a great deal to me personally grace the cover of Pastor Lucado’s hopeful book.

Over thousands of years, wind driven sand has polished smooth millions of stones along the Lake Michigan shoreline. The flat-sided stones are called ventifacts. I made this photograph near the Big Point Sable Lighthouse while on a hike to the northern boundary of the Ludington State Park.

Traveling byways instead of freeways and highways is slower but gives me more new places to discover and more time to appreciate the views. After years of traveling byways throughout Michigan, I was stunned on January 31, 2017, during a meandering back roads drive through Oceana County to discover a barn I had never seen before. My view through snowflakes of this distinctive old barn made it seem to me like I could have been looking at an Andrew Wyeth painting. I had been an Andrew Wyeth fan for years; I think he could not have resisted painting this barn on this winter’s day if he had been there instead of me. The falling snow and blanket of snow on the barn roof and ground added to and emphasized the limited color palette of the scene. I loved the muted color of the grasses sticking out of the snow. I had only to find the best position from which to fit the layers of the scene perfectly together and “paint” the arrangement with light on the sensor of my Nikon D800 digital camera.

Insane Sunrise

I had been in the indoor swimming pool with my kids all afternoon at my dad and stepmom's new condo and not paying attention to the sky. Our employee, Aubry Healy, texted me a cell phone shot she had made up near Onekama of some pretty awesome clouds. I told the kids it was time to go upstairs and get changed. When we got upstairs and looked out over Lake Michigan, my jaw hit the ground and I went into full "storm chaser" mode. I knew I had missed my chances of getting a good shot in Ludington, but I calculated that if I drove down to Little Sable Point Lighthouse near Silver Lake, I might be able to get the shelf cloud over the lighthouse. After a long 30-minute drive, I was in position waiting for the storm and shelf cloud to arrive. Within 15 more minutes, the rolling clouds were upon me. I was on the bright side of the storm so the lighthouse was lit in magic light. I waited until the cloud was in just the right location in relation to the top of the lighthouse and clicked the shutter. My grin was from ear to ear as my heart was racing with excitement. My dad and I live to chase Lake Michigan storms!

"Heavenly Glory” by Todd Reed Victory Trinity Lutheran Church has long been one of my photographic muses. My favorite country church came to mind while I was photographing the aurora borealis over Mount Epworth at Lincoln Lake. Rather than head home after finishing that image, I drove straight to the church a few miles away. I could see the color and rays of the Northern Lights clearly with my naked eye even before shutting off all my vehicle lights. I knew immediately my decision to come here instead of going home was a good one. I was especially pleased that the sanctuary lights had been left on even though no one appeared to be there. While shooting several time exposures to fine tune my composition and exposure, I watched two possums and seven deer cross the road and peacefully pass near me. I wonder if they were aware of the phenomenal sky I felt privileged to be witnessing. Nikon D850. F4, 130 seconds, 800 ISO. 24-70mm lens at 24mm. On a tripod without a flash. October 7, 2024 at 11:36pm.

 

Wind contorts my face, waves roar and crash just short of the feet of my tripod, sun gleams and dances across the water, clouds paint the sky. I am in my glory. This is as good as it gets for a Lake Michigan photographer. These are the days I dream about and rarely experience. This mid-September day of 2001 on the Ludington waterfront was one of the best moments of my life. My camera recorded it so I and others can experience it again and again.

I have never witnessed such a radically divided storm front as the one that confronted me on the shores of Lake Michigan on the evening of July 12, 2007. As I burrowed my tripod into the sand, I could not decide in which direction to photograph. To the north, the sky was black and a massive storm front was quickly approaching my location. To the south, the sky and water looked tropical and calm. I decided to be daring and wait about 30 seconds for the storm to literally get on top of me, and then I photographed straight west. The end result was a photographic version of a Taijitu, the traditional symbol representing the forces of yin and yang.

When God creates a scene this extraordinary, you pray to God you will be there! Lake Michigan waves flooded the Ludington State Park beach on October 18, 2007, during one of the most apparent meteotsunamis Brad and I have experienced in our photographic lives. These Great Lakes weather-driven meteorological tsunamis happen many times a year. They quickly raise the water level and flood the shoreline. Most of these meteotsunamis have little impact. We have left camera bags high and dry, only to find them sitting in a lake that wasn’t there 15 minutes earlier. We knew from experience to respect the water and realize we and our camera equipment could get swept away if we did not maintain situational awareness. This day, I had chased the storm clouds to Ludington State Park after spotting them while driving to the Ludington beach. Moments after I arrived, I heard noise behind me and turned to see Brad running down to the shore wearing soccer shorts, shoes and T-shirt. It was hilarious to see someone running toward a fall Great Lakes storm dressed in that outfit. But, like me, he knew time was of the essence when he interrupted his participation in a soccer game to chase a storm. People often think we wait for hours to get our shots. But, especially in the case of fast-moving storms, we are often chasing the storm like mad dogs. Just as Brad arrived, the sun popped out of a hole in the clouds and flooded the beach with light. Before us was one of the rarest magical Lake Michigan views of our lives. I will never forget the experience of being there in sun and wind and water. Less than five minutes later, I would witness and capture with my digital camera an equally memorable out-of-this-world moment. Bottom line for photographers, when it looks this great, focus with all your being on your photography until the magic disappears.