Ludington State Park Queen of the North

I have never witnessed such a radically divided storm front as the one that confronted me on the shores of Lake Michigan on the evening of July 12, 2007. As I burrowed my tripod into the sand, I could not decide in which direction to photograph. To the north, the sky was black and a massive storm front was quickly approaching my location. To the south, the sky and water looked tropical and calm. I decided to be daring and wait about 30 seconds for the storm to literally get on top of me, and then I photographed straight west. The end result was a photographic version of a Taijitu, the traditional symbol representing the forces of yin and yang.

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 enter a dark woods off of Piney Ridge Road and soon come to a wall of sand. I start to ascend the massive sand giant, stopping occasionally to let the burning in my legs recede. It is a race. Photographer versus the sunlight of early morning. I crest the peak and turn to the east to see if I've won. I notice beautiful yellow flowers at my feet. I get into position and only have to wait two minutes for the sun. Beautiful!

Catching sight of a pair of kayakers paddling in one of the many picturesque coves on Lost Lake, I momentarily find myself wanting to join them, to discover what they are discovering, to see what they are seeing. But I have already made my choice to hike the Island Trail this day and I am content to return to my own path of discovery.

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.

Radiant - Panoramic

Fall is a nice time of year to shoot sunrises because you don't have to get out of bed as early to catch the first light of day. The best light to photograph a sunrise often appears 20 minutes before the sun actually appears on the horizon. I made this photograph at Lost Lake during one of our "Picture Perfect Weekend" Workshops. Several of our students made equally compelling photographs.

Old enough to explore, a fawn pauses to check out a potential threat at the edge of its still small world in a swale between dunes near the Sable River. Hundreds of park visitors swimming, fishing, or just sitting on the beach have no idea the nearby swale is the fawn's first home.

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.

The Ludington State Park Canoe Trail is one of the park's least traveled and most beautiful areas for a fall color tour. On days like this many of us ask ourselves why we don't launch a canoe more often. Time passes and too many voyages go untaken.

Visitors flock to the Hamlin Dam in summer and in fall when the salmon are running, but few get the chance to see it in winter. Neither Brad nor I could sleep the night before I made this picture and Brad and I made several other images in this book. We knew before going to bed that the overnight snowfall was going to be a photographer's dream. We were kept awake dreaming of the pictures that awaited us. At first light, dreams came true.

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.

In 1994, my dad made one of his best-selling photographs of all time. "Storm Light" shows Little Point Sable Lighthouse bathed in the dramatic light of an October storm. Since that time, my dad and I have been working to make a photograph of Big Point Sable Lighthouse with the same quality of light. On the afternoon of November 5, 2007, radiant storm light appeared in front of my camera for less than three seconds as I stood on the blustery shores of Lake Michigan.

Fall is a nice time of year to shoot sunrises because you don’t have to get out of bed as early to catch the first light of day. The best light to photograph a sunrise often appears 20 minutes before the sun actually appears on the horizon. I made this photograph at Lost Lake during one of our “Picture Perfect Weekend” Workshops. Several of our students made equally compelling photographs.

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.

As the sun rises above Hamlin Lake and the birds start singing, a new world is awakening, a world that is begging to be discovered. Whether exploring her by land or by sea, Ludington State Park: Queen of the North will not disappoint.

Looking more like a watercolor painting than a photographic image, the Island Trail at Ludington State Park has never looked more gorgeous to me than on this November evening.

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.

Looking more like a watercolor painting than a photographic image, the Island Trail at Ludington State Park has never looked more gorgeous to me than on this November evening.

Over thousands of years, wind driven sand has polished smooth millions of stones along the Lake Michigan shoreline. The flat-sided stones are called ventifacts. I made this photograph near the Big Point Sable Lighthouse while on a hike to the northern boundary of the Ludington State Park.