Ludington North Breakwater Lighthouse

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.

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.

After shooting the lighthouse and waves at lunch and not being completely happy with my shots, I decided to drive through the beach after work and see how it looked for sunset. My son had a home basketball game, and I try not to miss them, but things looked too promising to pass up this opportunity. I could tell that the break in the clouds at the shoreline would allow for magic light to shine through on the waves. Using my car to help block some of the high wind, I set up my camera and tripod and went to work. What an absolutely unbelievable night. Thankfully, I still made it in time to watch David play, so it was a double bonus night.

It was the first day of the 1999 sailing season for the carferry Badger. Providing a colorful sunset, it was as if nature was saluting the grand ship on her return to Ludington harbor.

The sand hitting my face feels like shards of glass as I make my way to the water's edge at Stearns Park to photograph the Ludington North Breakwater Light. The winds over Lake Michigan at times exceed 60 miles per hour. Magic light, white clouds and dark blue sky behind are my backdrop. Now I just need a huge wave. Bingo! F5.6 at 1/1250, ISO 100, 300 mm lens at 300 mm

"This Is Ludington" by Brad Reed My girlfriend Rachel texted me tonight that the northern lights were out. I rushed to my truck and drove down to Stearns Beach in Ludington. I walked as fast as I could out the pier hoping the dancing northern lights would last long enough for me to get the picture I had pre-visualized. Luckily for me, the light show lasted over an hour, and at times, was spectacular! Nikon D850. F5.6 at 91 seconds, ISO 800. 14-24mm lens at 14mm. On a tripod without a flash. 11:22pm on September 18, 2023.

Cruising Lake Michigan

I was intent on capturing a close-up image of the Super Blood Wolf Moon setting behind the Ludington lighthouse on January 21, 2019. Mother Nature had something else in store. I just had to have the presence of mind and heart to see it at 9 a.m. on a way-beyond-ice-cold winter day. We teach our workshop students that 90 percent of a good image is about the quality of the light and or atmosphere. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was in the presence of both great light and atmosphere. We also teach, “Bad is Good,” meaning that bad weather provides good conditions for making strong outdoor photographs. It was a good bad day.

I was in awe of the giant bolts of lightning striking Lake Michigan as I stood on the beach at the end of Ludington Avenue during a fierce September electrical storm. One massive bolt after another came crashing down and I was lucky enough to capture one that split on both sides of the lighthouse. When I downloaded the photo the next day, my dad quickly noticed that the bolt looked like the lower peninsula of Michigan.

As I hustled to find a vantage point to capture this image, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of calmness. I realized that I was one of only a handful of people at that moment lucky enough to witness the perfect blending of a human creation and God's creation. This was a defining moment in my life when I knew I had found my calling as a photographer.

The ice breaking tugboat Manitou was called into Ludington's port this week to attempt opening a path so other vessels could get back out onto Lake Michigan. I watched this small tug work for over an hour to get about a thousand feet. To my surprise, the mighty little ship made it out to open water.

 I'm not a fan of the cold. I actually really dislike it. What I do love though is shooting. I will withstand freezing cold temperatures and wind chill, if it means I can get my camera in my hand and experience the beauty that surrounds me. To some it's fun to shoot when the weathers great, but to me, I long to shoot through it all!

Wind contorts my face, waves roar and crash just short of the feet of my tripod, sun gleams and dances across the water, clouds paint the sky. I am in my glory. This is as good as it gets for a Lake Michigan photographer. These are the days I dream about and rarely experience. This mid-September day of 2001 on the Ludington waterfront was one of the best moments of my life. My camera recorded it so I and others can experience it again and again.

I never tire of photographing the Ludington lighthouse, especially when it looks as magical as on this frigid January morning. I have gotten in place before sunrise, anticipating sun and steam as soon as the sun can hit the lighthouse and Lake Michigan waters around it.

Heaven knows how many times a God beam has lit the Ludington lighthouse. But when I saw this beauty shining down, I felt its spiritual quality more strongly than any other God beam I have seen before or since. On this calm May day of 1993, I was already underway in my tiny Boston Whaler skiff searching for photo opportunities because of the dramatic clouds. I quickly maneuvered closer to the lighthouse and centered the iconic Ludington landmark beneath the glorious beam. I laid over the low gunwale and fired away for about 20 breathtaking seconds before the clouds and spotlight moved away. As a longtime Lake Michigan mariner, there have been many times during the calmest or stormiest voyages that I have felt God’s presence; this was one of those times. As a longtime photographer, I have learned to better know when I am being presented with an extraordinary view with or without looking through the viewfinder; this was one of those views. The image I was blessed to make that day more than a quarter century ago remains my favorite calm day photograph with the Ludington lighthouse in the scene. In 2007, “God Beam” was selected for the cover of an inspirational book titled Hope: pure and simple. The book features “316 thoughts to lift your soul” by famous Christian author Max Lucado. I was humbled to have an image that means a great deal to me personally grace the cover of Pastor Lucado’s hopeful book.

Ludington Lighthouse

The First Curve at the Ludington State Park is one of the most popular places in Ludington to watch the S.S. Badger carferry steam in and out of port. I used a 400-millimeter telephoto lens and a tripod to make this photograph from the water’s edge at the First Curve on an October evening in 2007.

The First Curve at the Ludington State Park is one of the most popular places in Ludington to watch the S.S. Badger carferry steam in and out of port. I used a 400-millimeter telephoto lens and a tripod to make this photograph from the water's edge at the First Curve on an October evening in 2007.

Rain Amaze

I love going down to the beach on calm summer mornings in Ludington. As I was getting out of my truck to go for a run, I heard the Badger blow its horn, letting boaters know that it was about to leave the dock. I delayed going for a run and grabbed my camera and tripod instead. I climbed the small dune just west of the playground and waited for the Badger to get between the pier heads to capture this image.