Lake Michigan Point to Point

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 tugboat John Henry circles the Badger to help the 410-foot carferry battle its way out of Ludington harbor against wind-driven ice packed tight from surface to lake bottom. This dramatic scene unfolded in front of my camera during the winter of 1989 as the big ship was battling the ice to ferry another load of railroad cars from Ludington to Manitowoc, Wisconsin. I climbed a high stone pile near the edge of icy Ludington harbor to get a better view. It was freezing cold, but I didn’t notice. As a photojournalist and artist, I lived for the opportunity to make images that I considered good news shots and good art. I was more than willing to pay a price and wait for a peak moment to capture. I still consider this one of the best maritime images I have ever made.

Water and foam swirl together on the Sable River to form a beautiful sea horse.

Pentwater

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

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.

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.

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.

On the Western shores of Bass Lake, near Pentwater, three large tree-covered hills grace the horizon. I have heard many names for these hills, but the local favorite is The Three Sisters.

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.

Bass Lake mirrors its famous landmarks, the Three Sisters hills that separate this lake from Lake Michigan north of Pentwater. A pontoon boat lies motionless at its offshore mooring.

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.

The few secluded areas of the Silver Lake Sand Dunes strongly resemble whispering desert hills.

The sun has set, the boat traffic has died down. It is a quieter time on Hamlin Lake, a time to savor the beauty of one of the most popular lakes connected to Lake Michigan.

Each night that I step onto the shores of Lake Michigan, I am amazed by the unique light show that unveils itself. No two sunsets are the same. Just when you think you have seen them all, Mother Nature renders a refreshingly new display of her beauty.

The moon setting in the West and the sun rising in the East created an extraordinary light show before my eyes at the Little Point Sable Lighthouse. The lighthouse has illuminated the most westerly point of land in the lower pennisula of Michigan since it was built in 1874. Little Point Sable Lighthouse is one of only a few brick lighthouses in Michigan still operating.

A compelling aspect of visual art is that different people may look at the same image and see different things. While I was composing this photograph, I noticed that the rocks, seaweed, and water resembled the face of an old man. I named this photograph with the hope that my viewers would enjoy the same illusion.