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Calm water, geese, fog, and a colorful sunrise are common ingredients in outdoor photography. When you combine all four of them in one photograph, you have a recipe for success.

Snowy Owl

Keep Off

A three-day-old piping plover is dwarfed by dune grass near a pond in the dunes north of Big Point Sable Lighthouse. The tiny bird has no idea it is a rare endangered species. Michigan Department of Natural Resources piping plover steward Katrina Hernandez and I have spent a couple hours this morning finding the plover and rest of its family after they fled from the cage and fencing designed to keep people and predators away, yet not to restrict the birds from leaving.

What is there about watching a seagull soar into the sunset that makes us want to trade places, if only for a short flight? I had that feeling one warm, sunny evening while watching this gull fly over Lake Michigan. But I have witnessed the opposite extreme--seagulls hunkering down on ice formations against wind, snow and cold on subzero mornings. Life as a seagull probably is seldom romantic; often it is a fight for survival.

Birds of a feather try to stay warm on a wire together along Iris Road. They remind me of tightrope walkers maintaining balance as their wire perch sways erratically with gusts of ice-cold wind. F2.8 at 1/800, ISO 400, 300 mm lens at 300 mm

Soaring by Todd Reed Our adrenalin flies off the chart as this bald eagle sweeps right over the top of our photography skiff on Hamlin Lake. My son Brad and I have set out this morning in our tiny Boston Whaler to try to show another avid bird photographer, Dr. Zane Knoer, an eagle to photograph. We are getting a better eagle show than we could have dreamed.

We took our Heaven on Hamlin Weekend Workshop students on a pontoon boat ride to the southern edge of the Ludington State Park to try to photograph bald eagles. After a long search, we found this eagle perched near the nest. It appeared to be guarding the nest from other predators.

A pair of mature bald eagles sat majestically on a favorite perch in one of the largest white pine trees in Ludington State Park. I was stunned to see the eagles so naturally vignetted by pine branches as Brad maneuvered our tiny Boston Whaler skiff into Hamlin Lake water shallow enough that I could get out of the boat and stabilize my extra-long tripod on the lake bottom and still keep my tripod ball head and camera dry above the surface of the water. I was very excited about the prospect of making a strong image, but I needed to stay calm and move slowly so as not to appear threatening to the eagles. I got the tripod set, made an “insurance shot” in case the eagles flew and quickly but thoroughly evaluated the digital feedback. Experience had taught me that when outdoor photographers—me included—are this spun up about a shot, we make mistakes we wouldn’t ordinarily make, especially when we fail to really see what we are shooting or just shot. I made that first “adrenaline dump” shot, then deliberately calmed down and set about going through my checklist for finishing the image. Right away I realized that a pine cone looked like it was sticking into the head of the eagle on the right. To eliminate this merger, I had to shift my camera position slightly to the right. I very slowly made my first few steps away from the birds to lessen any anxiety they might already have due to my presence. Then I moved a couple of slow-motion steps to my right and reset my tripod, being careful not to make any sudden movements of my arms and hands. Now the micro-composed composition looked nearly perfect. I quickly made another insurance shot and then focused on looking for a magic moment where the birds’ heads were in optimum alignment with my camera. I wanted to be able to see the profile of their beaks, and I wanted to emphasize the relationship between the pair. Seeing takes intense, total concentration. After a couple minutes, there it was: a magic moment. Click. Done. This was the rewarding finish to a marathon effort to get to this point. Brad and I had spent months learning the daily habits and haunts of several mature eagles we discovered while shooting in 2007 for our book on the park we thought we knew so well but were learning more about every day. I was able to make this photograph not only because we had learned where to look for these eagles, but also because we had learned how and how close we could approach without alarming them. Experience is a good teacher. I was rewarded with one of my all-time favorite wildlife images. Brad and I selected this image for the dedication page of Ludington State Park: Queen of the North in honor of my parents, Bud and Dorothy Reed, a pair of strong leaders who gave Brad and me the “courage to fly.” We thanked them “for encouraging us to soar after our own dreams.” Another dedication page image of an eagle taking flight honored my oldest son Tad, a U.S. Army Infantry officer, and all the other men and women of our Armed Forces who at the time were fighting in Iraq. Even while I was consumed with getting shots for the book, my thoughts and prayers were often focused on Tad, a world away, bravely serving our country. Those thoughts reminded me how fortunate I was to be in the Michigan outdoors living my American dream.

Taking Flight by Todd Reed A not yet fully mature bald eagle begins to take off from a fishing perch on Hamlin Lake at Ludington State Park. This eagle is one of the first of several mature and immature bald eagles Brad and I photographed for several months. Finding the rare birds and photographing them without interfering with their daily routines is a challenge Brad and I passionately and intensely pursue. I remember our first eagle sighting. We were raging with hunters' fever. I don't know how we ever got off a shot, let alone a good one. But soon good teamwork, strategy and self-control led to images like this.

I followed this immature bald eagle in my truck all the way from the Sable River at Ludington State Park to just south of the First Curve on M116. The beautiful young creature finally came to rest near the top of some trees between Epworth and Lincoln Hills. The eagle definitely had a bird's eye view of the world from atop the blowing trees.

Tuesdays With Todd and Brad Reed

After I waited over an hour for this immature bald eagle to fly, it finally took flight and headed the wrong direction. Luckily I was using my 600mm F4 Nikkor lens with a 1.4 teleconverter on my new Nikon D7000 camera body so I could still show a little detail of this young raptor as it looked for food along the shores of Lake Michigan. F6.3 at 1/8000, 6400 ISO, 600mm lens at 840mm

A diseased tree had split in half about four feet up from the ground and a bird made a beautiful little nest in the remaining top of the stump. I put my 14mm wide-angle lens extremely close to the nest. This photograph was taken close up yet does not look like a typical close-up. With a wide-angle lens, if you do not get very close to the subject, the subject will look tiny and the photograph will often lack emotional impact.

Legends Ranch Island Blind

Hamlin Lake Off Pontoon Boat

Seeing a snowy owl appear through the fog and darkness as the sun rose this morning was an emotional experience for me. My grandma, Linda Scott, always loved snowy owls and every time I see one on television or in print it makes me miss her. This photo is dedicated to her.

365 Week

I could not imagine a softer looking, more exquisite setting in which to photograph a snowy owl. The rising sun was just beginning to light and color the fog when this snowy owl landed on a frost-coated, grassy berm right in front of me. This Northern Michigan winter view felt picture-perfect to me as I carefully focused and exposed the image.

After following this same snowy owl the entire day, I was finally able to sneak close enough to the mystical creature to capture all the intricate details of its feathers and magnificent eyes. The beautiful side lighting made the eyes of this snowy owl look even more dramatic and powerful.