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Pentwater

In the last few years Ludington has had several different tall ships visit our port. As the Peacemaker rounded the Ludington North Breakwater Light and headed for the dock in Ludington, I was certain she was the most beautiful tall ship to visit this busy port. I was so impressed she came through the channel with all of her sails up.

Point aux Barques Guardian

One of the best parts of my job is that I am always meeting new people. My wife, Betsy, my dad and I trekked to the Big Point Sable Lighthouse on a long summer evening. Upon arrival, we were greeted by volunteer lighthouse keepers outside working on the grounds. They generously offered to turn on all of the interior and exterior lights. My dad climbed a dune to shoot from the south, while Betsy and I walked down the beach a few hundred yards to shoot from the north. To our surprise, we found a perfect reflection of the lighthouse in a storm pool. This shot would not have been possible without the help of the lighthouse keepers and for that I am very grateful.

Pure Manistee

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.

Still in use between Big and Little Sable Points, the Pentwater South Pierhead Light is the only remaining tower light boasting a traditional skeletal structure. Its erector-set-looking construction is interesting and has withstood Lake Michigan's fury for more than half a century. I usually take great pains to avoid photographic mergers, but I could not resist lining up the full moon with the light to create an illusion of the moon being the light of the lighthouse. The red light on top of the light is the real Coast Guard aid to navigation marking the entrance to Pentwater harbor.

I pulled into the beach parking lot in downtown Frankfort less than two minutes before making this image. I saw the clouds to the west over Lake Michigan from the top of the hill in Benzie at the intersection of US31 and M115 and I predicted the sun would pop out just before it disappeared for the night below the horizon. I knew if we were lucky and the sun actually did appear, the resulting light show would be incredible. Following your gut instincts is important in outdoor photography.

Like hundreds of shark's teeth, icicles cling in near perfect symmetry to a railing along the walkway leading to the Charlevoix Lighthouse. I decide to make the icicles the focus of this image. I know the bright red lighthouse and its reflection will still attract enough attention to stand out as a small part of my picture.

After a quick drive in the dark to Little Sable Point Lighthouse, my dad and I were as excited (and loud) as middle-schoolers riding a school bus. We had both just made some fantastic shots of the Northern Lights over Ludington. Our goal now was to get a photograph of the Northern Lights over Little Sable Point Lighthouse. Neither of us have ever had any luck in making that shot before. We have both tried several times, but the Northern Lights either never showed up, or they disappeared before we could make the 35-minute drive. Our luck was about to change. The Northern Lights were much dimmer now and almost invisible to the naked eye. However, like Galen Rowell taught all nature photographers, you have to learn to see like your camera sees. I tried to line up the North Star right above Little Sable Point Lighthouse. I made a few test exposures and then set my camera to F8 at ISO 200. I used my cable release and my iPhone as a timer and took a 32-minute exposure. The stars in the night sky made a perfect circle around the North Star and my camera could easily pick up the color from the Northern Lights. What a magic morning along the shores of Lake Michigan. I made this image at 4:54 a.m. on our 17th Tuesday of 2012. F8 at 32 minutes, ISO 200, 14mm lens at 14mm

Upon discovering that, even in snowshoes, I was unable to walk over the five-foot snow drifts on the utility road to Big Sable Point Lighthouse, I had to figure out another way to get to the lighthouse. After using some good risk assessment, I decided my best course of action was to walk on the ice a few hundred yards off shore. After almost a mile and a half of treacherous walking and crawling, I made it to the lighthouse. Exhausted and hot, I made this image in seven degree weather, made chillier by 20 mile-per-hour winds. It was so worth the journey. D7000, F22 at 1/60, ISO 100, 10-20mm lens at 10mm

In our 20-20 Vision course, my son Brad and I teach our photography students 20 concepts we use in building strong images. We like to think of these concepts as 20 distinctly different arrows in our photography quiver that we can draw from. This is the best image I have ever made of Little Sable Point Lighthouse, not only because I used a lot of image-building arrows, but because each of them was right on target maximizing the visual impact of the photograph. The dramatic clouds in the mid-October sky enabled me to use one of my favorite arrows: “Clouds are your friends.” Not only were there great clouds, but at the moment of exposure, the clouds were wonderfully positioned in relationship to the lighthouse. This was the fifth consecutive morning I had made the 60-mile round trip to Little Sable Point. I determined the ideal spot to place my tripod on the first day. My goal was to create a three-layer “Grand Scenic” layer cake, marrying foreground, middle-ground and background elements together in a beautiful union. A triangular mound of dune grass provided the perfect foreground and base in which to place my camera. This foreground layer was the most essential layer to make viewers of my finished photograph feel as though they were actually standing there with me. Brad and I strive to make photographs that transcend from pictures to experiences. We want viewers to step right into the scene. I designed and built a strong image that first morning. All the compositional elements were in place. All that was needed now was God’s “magic light” to finish the image. Four mornings in a row I watched and waited. On the fifth morning the light was sharp, the westerly wind was building up some great waves into repetitive patterns, and the clouds looked especially stunning and powerful. After 100 cold minutes, a bright beam of light appeared headed my way like a giant search light. As the light hit the lighthouse, I began shooting. A few seconds later the light also lit the dune grass in front of my camera and tripod. For about five seconds in five days, one of the most glorious shoreline scenes I have ever witnessed lay before me. Then the magic light moved on, and the scene became so much less moving. I and other photographers have made subsequent photographs from almost exactly the same spot. I don’t think Mother Nature will ever duplicate this day. I thank God I realized the need to persevere and be there at this amazing moment.

I felt like I was on an ice sculpture-lined path as I made this image of Point Betsie Lighthouse on January 5, 2017. I am never visually disappointed visiting Point Betsie; I always find photographic opportunities there. This was one of those “Bad Is Good” days for outdoor photography. Wind, Lake Michigan waves and near-zero temperatures had created this icy visual path to one of my favorite lighthouses. I was far too exhilarated by this frozen view to think about being cold as I alone appreciated and studied nature’s artwork and worked to make it the star of my picture show.

Manistee Lighthouse During Workshop

The Great Lakes freighter Algorail appeared about to strike the Ludington North Breakwall during an autumn Northwester, but its veteran captain used the powerful north wind and waves on her stern to his advantage. Moments after I recorded this scene, the ship’s bow reached the pierheads, the wheelsman wheeled the ship hard to port, and she advanced ahead while her stern transferred swiftly to the south. The big ship was guided into the harbor as though she were on a curved roller coaster track. It was a masterful piece of sailing.

An hour or two before sunset, my dad can usually foretell whether the sky will produce great color. I have endeavored to learn this skill from him. On this evening, my dad and I both noticed that the sky looked very similar to four nights earlier when I photographed the particle ray behind the Ludington North Pier. We immediately drove to Pentwater and our predictions were realized.

The Charlevoix Lighthouse stands out any time of year with its bright red aid-to-navigation paint job, but surrounded by a fresh coat of ice it bursts forth like a rocket. The compositional elements lend themselves to this vertical composition as well as the horizontal image I have already made in the same spot.

Mackinac Island

Frozen Aquarium