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The day was November 10, 1975. It was—and still is—the roughest I have seen Lake Michigan. I was amazed by the 20- to 30-foot waves slamming into the Ludington lighthouse. The roiling sea engulfed the breakwater. Hurricane-force winds made it nearly impossible to stand up. I braced myself against a tree and held the camera as still as I could. Sand blasted me and my Nikon camera. Of course, I could not know that within a few hours, the Great Lakes freighter Edmund Fitzgerald would succumb on Lake Superior to what meteorologists would later describe as the “Perfect Great Lakes Storm.” What I did know without a doubt was this was the fiercest storm to hit the Ludington area shoreline since the Armistice Day Storm of 1940. I knew this storm was more than a match for even the mighty self-righting 44-foot Coast Guard motor lifeboat at Coast Guard Station Ludington. Thank God my shipmates there didn’t have to try to go out that day. The barometer dropped to the second-lowest level ever recorded in Ludington. Even the waves inside the Ludington pierheads appeared mountainous. The breakwater leading to the lighthouse was not even visible because the waves rolling over it were so large and storm surge so great. The waves were so big inside the harbor it was impossible to discern where the submerged breakwater was. This was a day for the history books. It was not the only big story I covered that day as a reporter and photographer for the Ludington Daily News. I had been sent earlier that day to a farm an hour away near Chase, Michigan, where a group of farmers herded their dairy cattle into a massive pit excavated in the middle of a farm field. The farmers surrounded the pit and shot and killed dozens of the cattle to draw national attention to the fact that their cattle and some farm family members were being poisoned by PBB that had been accidentally mixed into cattle feed they had purchased. The slaughter was a gruesome undertaking, carried out in pouring rain. I drove soaking wet back to Ludington. Upon reaching downtown Ludington, just before turning off Ludington Avenue onto Rath Avenue, where the newspaper was located, I could see the mountainous waves on Lake Michigan a half mile west of my location. I didn’t make the turn. Instead I drove straight to the west end of Ludington Avenue, jumped out of my Ford Bronco and began photographing the greatest Great Lakes storm I had ever witnessed. After a half-hour or so, I was too numb to shoot anymore. Incredibly, when I crawled back in my vehicle, I realized the hurricane force wind had blown all my wet clothing dry. I headed straight to the Daily News because I couldn’t wait to develop the 400 ASA Kodak Tri-X black and white film containing my storm shots. I was not anxious to see the cow-killing shots. Give me a great storm to photograph any day!

Orvis the dog watched intently as professional fishing guide Chris “Uber” Raines defied the wintery weather to fly fish for steelhead on a flies-only stretch of the Pere Marquette River near Baldwin. The stretch of the National Wild and Scenic River known as the Claybanks looked like a winter wonderland as the biggest, stickiest snowflakes I had ever seen clung to everything in sight. “There is something almost magical about standing in the river as the water sweeps past you and the snow is coming down; it’s mesmerizing,” Raines said. This was a perfect day for die-hard fishermen, Labrador Retrievers and photographers. It didn’t start out that way. January 17, 2012, started out with pouring rain. Brad and I had committed to a yearlong book project, photographing Michigan all day each Tuesday of the year. This was the third Tuesday, so we had to find a way to make good images despite the ugly weather. We say, “bad is good” in outdoor photography, meaning that often the best images are made in the worst weather. I spotted and photographed misty-looking Emerson Lake near Walhalla with a giant weeping willow in the foreground making the scene appear more mystic. Ten more miles down the road Brad spotted a scene sure to brighten the gloomiest shooting day—bright red winter berries amidst cattails. The rain and mist softened the swampy background and made the winter berries rocket out of the scene far more than they would on a sunny day. Even with two good images in the bank, it looked like a very challenging day to make strong book images that would wow people. But onward we went; we were not about to give up. Michigan would surely find a way to deliver on her worst day. By mid-morning we had worked our way to the Pere Marquette Lodge Orvis fishing shop south of Baldwin, hoping to learn where we could photograph some trout fishermen. While owner Frank was obliging us by arranging for us to rendezvous with one of his guides who’d be doing some off-duty fishing, we noticed the rain was turning to snow. A half-hour later, when we started hiking a wooded trail to the river at Claybanks, the world had been transformed into a fairyland. Chris was hoping the fishing would be good. Brad and I knew at that point we were going to catch some magical photographic moments. We each did. This image wound up being my favorite shot of the entire year-long book project, during which I tripped the shutter more than 20,000 times. I sure was glad we overcame our gloomy attitudes at the start of that rainy morning and kept on keeping on. “Don’t be a quitter,” is a lesson my dad insistently taught me, and I’m glad the lesson stuck.

I have photographed dozens of storms with waves as big as or bigger than those I shot during this February 1995 storm, but this image remains one of my favorite storm images because of the wave’s shape, position in relationship to the Ludington lighthouse, position of the seagulls and drama created by the storm light. I consider this image “perfectly poetic.” As my Grandma Reed liked to say about her small but precisely designed and tastefully decorated home: “There is a place for everything, and everything in its place.” I made dozens of exposures on Fuji Velvia film this day, none so perfectly poetic as this one. My youngest son, Willie, and I watched this February storm for hours, capturing photographic moments during lulls in the blizzard. As sunset neared, I prayed for storm light. If this magic light arrived, it would appear shortly before sunset, and only if the sun could find its way through, or beneath, a band of boiling clouds skirting the distant horizon. It is a photographer’s game of hide-and-seek I have played with the sun and clouds thousands of times. I love winning, but experience has taught me that I am more likely to lose or at least not win big. This time, as I had envisioned, sunlight broke from beneath the clouds, backlighting the waves and the lighthouse. Rewarded by the knowledge of what could happen and by perseverance, Willie and I were oblivious to the gale winds pummeling us as we witnessed the magic light and lake’s fury come together against the storm cloud backdrop.

This is my favorite tree to photograph in Mason County. This scene is on Kinney Road just east of Old US-31. To date, this is the best piece of art I have made of this scene.

Brad called me on my drive into work this snowy morning; he had spotted a bald eagle by the Pere Marquette River Flats. I headed straight there, switched to my big lens, and adjusted my settings before walking across the highway. I was able to get one shot off. That fast, I made the best wildlife shot I have ever captured and a memory to last a lifetime.

 What better way to spend a beautiful fall day than traveling across Lake Michigan on the SS Badger on our way to shoot the vibrant color in the Upper Peninsula. Todd and Debbie Reed, Brad and Betsy Reed, Sarah Genson and I decided to have a fall get-away to the UP. It was a bright sun, blue sky, warm breeze, and smooth sailing way to start our journey. We then traveled through Wisconsin towards the Porcupine Mountains. We knew we wanted to make a stop at Bond Falls, and the closer it got to dark, the more worried we were that we would miss shooting the sunset there. We made it, got our waterproof clothing on and hurried to the falls. It was a stunning experience and a great way to end our first day of shooting!

Strawberry Moon

Standing inside this 50-foot-tall ice cave on Grand Island, I had the strangest feeling I had been there before. With the warm sun and an occasional water droplet hitting my face, I felt like I was at a new beginning in my life. It was a spiritual moment for me.

I can’t imagine how many shots of songbirds I have taken in 50 years, but I can unequivocally say this is by far my favorite and most artistic. The moment this male cardinal, in all its glory, landed in this spot, I realized this was the perfect bird in the perfect position in the perfect place at the perfect time. The bright red bird rocketed out of the monochromatic background of the rocks and fresh snow. I couldn’t have designed or painted a better background. Click. Mission accomplished, not because making that image was my objective; it wasn’t. I got out early that morning because of the gorgeous blanket of snow that had fallen overnight. I drove to Ludington State Park and hiked across the foot bridge to the far side of the Sable River and found a spot to hide myself, my tripod, my Nikon camera and 500-millimeter telephoto lens amidst some young pine in hopes of catching some shots of a mink or two coming out of an opening in the rocks as I had observed on a previous hike. Just as I had anticipated, a mink soon emerged. I was all set to capture the moment the mink’s splendid coat would be framed against the snow. Photographers dream of what wildlife might do. As in this case, sometimes you can even visualize the finished picture on the wall. But of course it is up to the wildlife to decide for themselves where and how they present themselves and the course they will travel. We can’t pose them. For more than two hours I watched mink occasionally come out and go back in. Never did one of them set foot in the snow. I was getting more frustrated and colder by the minute. Suddenly a cardinal flew in. Fortunately, my camera was already trained and focused on the spot because cardinals almost never stay still for more than a few seconds. Because I chose to get off the couch, because I got out early to take advantage of the fresh snow, because I had paid my dues spending a lot of time at the park, because I had previously seen the mink along the river in that location, and because I overcame the great disappointment of the lack of cooperation from the mink, because I stayed, I made a completely unexpected but better image that will be most pleasing to me for the rest of my life. Many of my favorite images did not come easy. That makes them especially rewarding.

Wednesday Under Water at 12 Mile Beach

Mackinac Bridge Rainbow

Super Moon

This remains one of the most priceless moments I have ever captured with a camera. On an unseasonably cold October day, I saw a flock of sheep marching single-file across a field. I sought permission from Bernal Burke to venture into his Carr Settlement fields. I arrived where the sheep were heading with just enough time to set up my camera. The lead sheep turned sideways, and the next sheep in line followed his lead, setting up a barricade to protect the flock. As they maneuvered, huge snowflakes began to fall. It was the first snow of the season, and the lead sheep did not appear happy. For many years after my camera froze that moment, a framed print of this image usually hung in a prominent spot in our art fair tent. The image caused a lot of laughter as art fair patrons attempted to mimic the lead sheep’s expression and even try to make sheep sounds. It made people happy and brought us some comic relief from our long weekend grind on the Michigan art fair circuit. I will always be grateful to Bernal Burke for being so kind, accommodating and trusting to allow me to roam freely on his land. Besides being a farmer, Bernal served for many years as the Mason County Treasurer. I always admired and respected him when, as a reporter, I covered county government. I admired him as a farmer just as much. I believe we shared mutual respect, which meant the world to me.

“Invigorating Light” by Brad Reed Only a few times in the last 21 years of photographing Michigan have I had an adrenaline rush while shooting photos as powerful as I did tonight at Big Sable Point Lighthouse. For eighteen minutes before sunset, the sun was casting magic light onto the dunes and historic lighthouse inside the Ludington State Park. After the sun had set, the sky started to turn different colors over Lake Michigan. Eleven minutes later, I was witnessing one of the most colorful sunsets I have ever seen in my entire life. Everything, including the grass, lighthouse, sand, water, and of course the sky, were glowing different colors. I waited about thirty seconds before shooting another shot so that the moving clouds would align correctly behind the tower of Big Sable. By waiting and by shooting less and seeing more, all of the lines in the photograph ended up directing the viewer’s eyes right at the lighthouse. This was a night I will never forgot. Nikon D850. F6.3 at 0.6 seconds, ISO 31. On a tripod without a flash. 5:17pm on November 30, 2021.

On the walk back from Big Sable Point Lighthouse around 12:40am on Sunday, May 12th, my dad, Ethan, and I turned around and finally saw the northern lights show we had been waiting for all evening. The pillars shot straight up from the ground to above our heads. It was unbelievably bright and visible to the naked eye. Of course, the camera sees the colors even better than we do. This shot was just before the pillars shrank and disappeared. This is my dad’s photograph.

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.

The Start of a Legend

Totality

I barely got in position in time to make my all-time favorite image of the Mackinac Bridge on March 20, 2012. It was the 12th Tuesday of 2012, and Brad and I were out early to photograph the foggy sunrise for our year-long project to showcase the beauty of Michigan all day every Tuesday of the year for our book, Tuesdays with Todd & Brad Reed: A Michigan Tribute. Brad and the two other members of our Team Reed full-time staff at the time, Sarah Genson and Rachel Gaudette, shot out of my Suburban when we reached our preselected shooting spot in the Straits of Mackinac. They ran like jackrabbits to the shore’s edge and began shooting the fast-changing, gloriously atmospheric scene in front of them. As I was bringing up the rear, I spotted a cloud formation that looked a lot like a bear. The trouble was, my view of the cloud bear was partially obstructed by the south tower of the five-mile-long suspension bridge connecting Michigan’s Upper and Lower Peninsulas. I know how fast cloud shapes change. I knew if I could get far enough, quickly enough, to the east I might have a shot at lining up the cloud bear right between the towers. I ran like I was being chased by a bear. I must have run 250 lung-busting yards before the bridge in the middle ground and cloud bear in the background lined up from my perspective. I slammed down the tripod and fired off a quick shot to capture what I saw while it looked almost perfect. Then I took a momentary physical and mental deep breath and began analyzing at warp speed how to improve the image. I quickly shifted my tripod less than two feet to the left to make the rocks in the foreground layer better balance with the middle and background layers. The cloud bear continued to cooperate. I have taught photographers for years “Clouds are your friends.” They become your very best friends when they are exactly the right shape in exactly the right place. I love clouds, and I love bears. Seeing this view, experiencing the chase and coming away with an even better image than I had envisioned is like winning my personal and private world series of Michigan outdoor photography. This image remains a winner for me. A lot of visitors to our gallery have appreciated it, even before spotting the cloud bear. Children, with their keen, fresh eyes excited about the world they see, tend to be quickest to spot the bear and other imaginary creatures. But once spotted by viewers or pointed out to them, smiles invariably follow. That makes me happy, particularly because I know how much of myself went into making the image.