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I could think of no better way to start 2020 than by celebrating New Year’s in downtown Ludington. By hanging out the upstairs window of our gallery as far as I could with my camera on a tripod, I was able to make this image of the New Year’s ball drop.

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.

The original Coast Guard icebreaker Mackinaw busts a path into Ludington harbor for the carferry City of Midland on February 18, 1977, after the Midland became mired in ice just outside the harbor entrance during one of the coldest winters in decades. I scrambled over huge ice mounds in making my way all the way out the breakwater to the Ludington lighthouse to have a close-up vantage from which to make this image. The Mackinaw helped keep Great Lakes shipping lanes open for 62 years before being decommissioned in 2006 when the replacement Mackinaw went into service.

Pure Manistee

Small items in nature can have a large impact on the surrounding area, both physically and visually. These leaves were the only spot of color on a vast dune at the Ludington State Park.

One of my son Brad’s first fine art images, photographed on the Ludington South Breakwater

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.

Calm, windless nights on Lake Michigan may not make for great sailing, but they sure do make for sensational photographs.

Stopped temporarily in its track by ice pushed by westerly winds across Lake Michigan into Ludington Harbor, the carferry Badger was framed by an ice-coated railing along the Ludington harbor channel. This scene and the “Red Tug” scene unfolded during the 1980s when the sturdy ship still carried railroad cars and operated year-around. This image still stands as my favorite carferry photograph from among the thousands I have taken.

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.

Traveling by horse and buggy is a way of life for the Amish families who have settled iin Riverton and the surrounding areas. On the verge of spring. I was photographing a Riverton farm near sunset when a horse and buggy came down Hawley Road at a fast pace. Even though the Amish choose a simpler way of life, they always seem to be on the move, undaunted by hard work, or lack of life's luxuries. I appreciate that they always seem to have time to give a cheerful wave as they pass by.

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.

I don't know who was more determined, the fish trying to jump up the dam on the Betsie River, or me trying to capture a flying fish with my camera. After a 30 minute battle, I finally got my photo. Unfortunately for the fish, it never made it high enough to get over the dam.

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.

I am following the Great Lakes freighter Saginaw into Ludington harbor, simultaneously concentrating on steering my 13-foot Boston Whaler and photographing the classic ship.

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.

While making this photograph near Walkerville, Michigan, I felt that this old abandoned house had a human characteristic to it. When trying to come up with a name for the photograph, my sister-in-law, Stephanie Reed, suggested Old Man Winter because she could see an old man with a long beard in the house and grasses. As soon as she mentioned that, I knew exactly what she was talking about.

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

A rowboat rests at its dock on Bass Lake near Pentwater, Michigan. The peacefulness and timelessness of the scene captured my eye on an early morning photo hunt. I am quite sure I photographed the same little boat at its dock a couple years ago but today the direction and angle of the light is far better. F9 at 1/250, ISO 100, 80-200mm lens at 200mm