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During one of our weekday photography workshops, my dad and the rest of our students rushed to the North Breakwater Light in order to photograph the Badger leaving the harbor. I stayed further back and tried to frame the entire ship along with the lighthouse and its reflection in one photograph. It wasn

Flowing Beauty

As another photo hunting day dawned, I was searching along the shores of Hamlin Lake for a winter picture when I spotted a patch of open water. Some Canada geese and mute swans had already found one of the only unfrozen spots on the huge lake.

This is the second day I have been home sick on the couch with bronchitis and I am getting restless. A few moments ago I snuck outside with my camera and photographed the morning light hitting the frost on the hood of my red truck. Shhhh, don't tell Betsy! F9.0 at 1/200, ISO 100, 18-50 mm lens at 18 mm

I have always admired the bravery of the commercial fishermen who venture onto Lake Michigan year around whenever possible. While making this shot of the Indian-owned and operated fishing tug Eagle, I wonder about the rugged vessel's life history; oh, if she could talk! F4.0 at 1/250, ISO 100, 12-24 mm lens at 14 mm

The corn is tall, the roadside wildflowers and weeds are in full bloom and the crisp blue and white sky has shown up. These are all signs that September has come to Michigan's West Shore. These are early signs that autumn is coming.

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 been trying every which way to make a portrait of this beautiful horse utilizing some nearby sumac as the backdrop. I concentrate on seeing the relationship between the horse and the sumac while also trying to capture a moment when the horse looks best. My telephoto zoom lens helps me simplify and fine-tune the composition.

Storm in Manistee

365 Week 28

Sand Waves

Swan on Lincoln Lake in Front of Epworth

Frozen Hearts

Waking up to a frosty wonderland, I was on the lookout for a subject to showcase its beauty. These frozen pine needles on Budzynski Road were just the thing.

Epworth, located just north of Ludington, is beautiful every day of the year. The large hillside, with a scattering of majestic old homes, makes for wonderful photographs.

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.

In stillness, another summer day dawns in Pentwater. The village provides the backdrop for a view of the popular boating harbor from the west shore of Pentwater Lake.

Generally, to make a powerful grand scenic photograph, you need a strong foreground, middle ground, and background. The trick is to get the three separate layers of the photograph to overlap in a way that the viewer's mind will not get bored and "leave" the photograph. You want to encourage the viewer's eye to move all around the photograph. The viewer will also tend to have a greater emotional interest in the piece of art.