Ludington State Park Queen of the North

Sometimes you just get lucky when you are making photographs. Initially what caught my eye in this scene were the two stumps and their reflections. As I was hustling to set up my tripod, two starlings appeared and had a face-off over before me, possibly over a potential mate. I quickly snapped the shutter just before the birds flew off, chasing each other all the way.

I hiked up and down a lot of sand dunes and through several swales before finding this picture in a cedar swamp area between dune ridges. It was a warm June evening and I was hot. As I tried to photograph this bluebell, my glasses kept steaming up. Finally, I gave up trying to repeatedly wipe the glasses and set them aside. I made the picture and happily set off back over the dunes and through the woods. I was almost back to my car on M-116 when I realized I was not wearing my glasses. It was not such a happy walk retracing my steps. I did find them, thanks to the flowers beside them. Had I not, I still think the shot

A blue jay pauses along the Sable River before spotting the photographer tucked in some nearby bushes trying to stay hidden while waiting for one of the State Park's resident otters to come into view. Sure enough, the small bird spots me and sounds out its familiar sharp alarm, announcing to all the wildlife within a mile that danger is here. My presence revealed, I decide to give up on the otter for now and turn my camera's attention to the one who blew my cover.

I would not have gotten a photograph of the fox at Ludington State Park if it were not for this chipmunk. The chipmunk had been playing at ease on the log in front of me for several minutes when suddenly it became motionless. I made this picture of my new furry friend and then turned around to see what she was so concerned about. It was then that I spotted the elusive fox.

A raccoon fleeing from two very irate, very powerful mute swans happens upon a camera and photographer on an Island Trail boardwalk. The raccoon had intended to steal eggs from the swans' nest. The raccoon quickly learned an important lesson: getting food from campsites and dumpsters is usually safer than messing with swans.

We had been trying unsuccessfully all morning to make strong still and video imagery of an eagle while shooting in 2007 for an upcoming book, Ludington State Park: Queen of the North. Some days are a bust; this started out being one of those. The eagles were not cooperating, and we had gotten wet and cold bouncing around choppy Hamlin Lake. In the Coast Guard, I learned that if Plan A does not work, always have a Plan B already in mind. So, despite being disappointed, cold and hungry, we turned our attention to photographing salmon making their annual return to the Sable River from Lake Michigan. It was the last week of October, and the fall color reflecting off the wind-rippled surface of the water made this salmon appear to be under stained glass. It was not the image I had set out to make, but it turned out to be one of my favorite images from a year of intensely photographing Ludington State Park. In years past I had made lesser photographs of salmon in the same spot, just under water on a spawning bed with fall color reflected on the surface. But on this day, Mother Nature blessed me with an extraordinary added ingredient. A brisk west wind made all the difference, agitating the surface of the water just enough to create a shower glass effect on the river. This faceted surface reflected various colors in various directions, turning my photograph into abstract art. I don’t like setting up an image. I love “found” pictures that are real-time moments in the Michigan outdoors. I am especially proud of this image because, while many people surmise it is not “real” and is somehow an electronic after-the-fact manipulation, it is as real, as purely Michigan at its genuine best as I have ever made. I love a lot of abstract art, but I don’t find myself drawn to setting out to make a lot of abstract images. But I do know a good abstract photo moment when I see one.

Coming face to face with this otter startled me even though I had spotted it a few minutes earlier as it moved between two ponds near the north end of the Island Trail. Figuring where the otter might be, I had stealthily snuck nearly to the edge of the pond when the big otter popped up less than 10 yards away. I jumped back but regrouped in time to get off one quick shot before the equally startled otter dove back under water.

The light of a beautiful June evening making its way into the forest beautifully lit this deer. The deer did not flee, causing me to suspect it might have a fawn nearby. I quickly made this portrait and moved on. The doe was still lingering along the trail watching me as I made my way around the next bend.

At one summer art fair when I was a young boy, I remember hearing a gentleman say to my dad, "That isn't art, it's just a photograph!" Well, everyone is entitled to his or her opinion, and I enjoy the fact that art is subjective. I enjoy making images like this one, where an object that might go unnoticed takes on a new appearance.

Trying to show the softness of these white pine needles, I decided to zoom my telephoto lens during a long exposure. I made several shots at different shutter speeds and varied the speed of zooming. This shot captured the essence of what I felt.

With thousands of travelers a year on the trails at the Ludington State Park, it is easy to find your way through the woods and deep into the forest.

Male whitetail deer in the fall will do the dumbest things when they are looking for love. I was able to crawl on my hands and knees within 30 yards of this small four-point buck. I just acted like another invading buck. I stomped the ground, grunted, and lifted my head up and down as I slowly made my approach. Just before I made this photograph, a female whitetail deer came down from the ridge and got this guy's attention.

Radiant orange flowers growing on the side of a large dead stump near the north end of the Hamlin Dunes caught my eye as we were passing by in our small boat. I hopped out and floated with my life jacket on, using my tripod as a paddle while trying to keep my camera dry above my head. When I got close to the flowers I was able to stand up and I found the real hidden treasure I was seeking.

Deep within the forest in the northern part of Ludington State Park lies a pond that my son Brad and I have discovered to be a delightful place. We watched this male wood duck and several others for more than an hour on a late September morning. We waited patiently for them to come closer and then looked for those magic moments when the splendid ducks fit in perfectly with their marshy home.

At first glance, a dead tree is not a pleasant sight, certainly not a beautiful one. But when a person spends enough time in the forest and comes to appreciate the natural evolution of life and death, one can actually look for and see the beauty in natural things that have died. I felt that way as soon as I saw this scene. Flooding years earlier in this dune valley swale had killed this tree and many others nearby. New life was all around.

For many of the months my dad and I were shooting at Ludington State Park for this book, my older brother Tad was busy fighting the war in Iraq. The park became a safe haven for my dad and me, a place to clear our heads and our hearts. The park allowed us to somehow feel closer to Tad. This tree on the north edge of the Ridge Trail became a special place for me and I named the spot "Tad's Tree."

The Sable River Outlet is one of the most beautiful and popular spots at Ludington State Park. Hundreds of people flock to the river mouth on a hot summer day. But it is during quieter times, like this early May evening that it calls to me the most.

A salmon leaps halfway up a wall of cascading water at the Hamlin Dam. Thousands of salmon return to the Sable River each fall to spawn and to die. I love watching the powerful fish try in vain to leap to the top of the dam, which holds back the fish that work their way upstream on one side and holds back the waters of Hamlin Lake on the other.

Having multiple camera lenses is a blessing and a curse. After a long snowy hike back from Big Point Sable Lighthouse, I spotted six bald eagles in a row of tall white pines about a quarter mile ahead. Of course, I had my wide-angle lens on my camera, and I scrambled for my telephoto as each bird took flight and soared overhead. Once I had the proper equipment ready, a seventh bird, an immature bald eagle, came into view.