Storms

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Affinity
Affinity
During one of our advanced photography workshops, Rachel and I tried to convince several students to walk out the Manistee pier in the rain with us to hopefully get a shot of the lighthouse if the sun broke out. None of the other students took the risk. Just after we made it to this spot, the rain poured down on us as hard as I have ever seen it rain. We had no rain gear on and our cameras and lenses were literally filling with rain. I told her to leave her lens cap on and to preset her exposure based on the sun popping out of the clouds because I knew it would be a one-shot deal. By the second shot the end of the lens would be so full of raindrops, the shot would be ruined. Luckily for us, the sun did break through the clouds for a few glorious moments and we each got one shot off that was properly exposed and in focus.
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Hard to Believe
I was en route to Ludington State Park with a truckload of photography workshop students on October 2, 2018 when I saw magic light break out on the Ludington waterfront. Instead of turning north on M-116 to head to the park, I made an instantaneous decision to continue west to the west end of Ludington Avenue. We piled out and went to work making images of our own vision. I left my truck unlocked for the students, thinking at least a couple of them might need a warming hut due to the extreme wind and ice-cold windchill. The storm light got so dramatic, everyone was too busy shooting up a storm to think about being cold.
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Hard to Believe - panoramic
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.
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Positive Energy
One of the most spectacular lightning storms I have witnessed in my lifetime showed up on my wife Debbie’s birthday, September 4, 2014. We were guests at my Aunt Carol Garneau’s home on the Lake Michigan shoreline in Ludington Harbor. While photographing bolt after bolt as cells of the storm rolled past me for more than an hour, this granddaddy of them all exploded over the top of the Ludington lighthouse. I made this 30-second time-exposure image with my 500-millimeter Nikon telephoto lens from an open window of Auntie Carol’s second floor art room. I named it Positive Energy because she was always so positive and lit up the world with her presence.
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Hallelujah Moment
Hallelujah Moment
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Manistee Storm
Manistee Storm
Photographing lightning always gives me a jolt of adrenaline. This storm that rolled in from Lake Michigan hit Manistee with a punch. I was excited that I was able to capture a small bolt of lightning with only a shutter speed of 1/5 of a second. F22 at 1/5, ISO 100, 18-50mm lens at 27mm
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The Day the Fitzgerald Went Down
The day was November 10, 1975. It was—and still is—the roughest I have seen Lake Michigan. I was amazed by the 20- to 30-foot waves slamming into the Ludington lighthouse. The roiling sea engulfed the breakwater. Hurricane-force winds made it nearly impossible to stand up. I braced myself against a tree and held the camera as still as I could. Sand blasted me and my Nikon camera. Of course, I could not know that within a few hours, the Great Lakes freighter Edmund Fitzgerald would succumb on Lake Superior to what meteorologists would later describe as the “Perfect Great Lakes Storm.” What I did know without a doubt was this was the fiercest storm to hit the Ludington area shoreline since the Armistice Day Storm of 1940. I knew this storm was more than a match for even the mighty self-righting 44-foot Coast Guard motor lifeboat at Coast Guard Station Ludington. Thank God my shipmates there didn’t have to try to go out that day. The barometer dropped to the second-lowest level ever recorded in Ludington. Even the waves inside the Ludington pierheads appeared mountainous. The breakwater leading to the lighthouse was not even visible because the waves rolling over it were so large and storm surge so great. The waves were so big inside the harbor it was impossible to discern where the submerged breakwater was. This was a day for the history books. It was not the only big story I covered that day as a reporter and photographer for the Ludington Daily News. I had been sent earlier that day to a farm an hour away near Chase, Michigan, where a group of farmers herded their dairy cattle into a massive pit excavated in the middle of a farm field. The farmers surrounded the pit and shot and killed dozens of the cattle to draw national attention to the fact that their cattle and some farm family members were being poisoned by PBB that had been accidentally mixed into cattle feed they had purchased. The slaughter was a gruesome undertaking, carried out in pouring rain. I drove soaking wet back to Ludington. Upon reaching downtown Ludington, just before turning off Ludington Avenue onto Rath Avenue, where the newspaper was located, I could see the mountainous waves on Lake Michigan a half mile west of my location. I didn’t make the turn. Instead I drove straight to the west end of Ludington Avenue, jumped out of my Ford Bronco and began photographing the greatest Great Lakes storm I had ever witnessed. After a half-hour or so, I was too numb to shoot anymore. Incredibly, when I crawled back in my vehicle, I realized the hurricane force wind had blown all my wet clothing dry. I headed straight to the Daily News because I couldn’t wait to develop the 400 ASA Kodak Tri-X black and white film containing my storm shots. I was not anxious to see the cow-killing shots. Give me a great storm to photograph any day!
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Big Waves on Lake Superior (4309)
Big Waves on Lake Superior (4309)
Big Waves on Lake Superior
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Big Waves on Lake Superior Cropped Vertical (4309)
Big Waves on Lake Superior Cropped Vertical (4309)
Big Waves on Lake Superior Cropped Vertical
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Storm Front
Storm Front
Batten down the hatches! Storm clouds tumbling mixer-style steamroll threateningly ashore along the Lake Michigan shoreline on a June afternoon. This scene and the "Hot Pink" scene are among the hundreds of spectacular big sky views I have witnessed from my home near the Lake Michigan shoreline south of Ludington. They reflect the similar amazing scenes that unfold frequently all along the shores of Lake Michigan.
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Coming in Hot
One of the most ominous shelf clouds I have seen in years screams ashore toward Harbor View Marina in Ludington Harbor on the evening of July 26, 2020. These stormfronts tend to be such fast-movers, often advancing at 20 to 40 miles per hour, that I know I have to anticipate them and be in a good position to photograph them well in advance. For this storm, I set up my tripod and camera on the third-floor, outdoor deck of our waterfront home and waited to experience and record the storm.
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Amidst the Fury
Amidst the Fury
Amidst the Fury
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Turbulence in Paradise
Turbulence in Paradise
Turbulence in Paradise
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Rolling Thunder

I was awestruck watching one of the most impressive and unique storm fronts I have ever witnessed roll toward Ludington on July 12, 2007. The massive cloud formation looked more like a gigantic breaking wave than any cloud I had ever seen as it swept ashore from Lake Michigan just after 6 p.m., bringing wind, rain, and darkness with it. A few minutes earlier, my cell phone had rung while I was halfway through my 15-minute drive from our photography gallery in downtown Ludington to our lakeshore home at the time, south of Ludington. It was my wife, Debbie, calling to say she was almost home and was looking at the most amazing storm cloud she had ever seen approaching Ludington. She said I had  best hurry if I was going to catch it with my camera.

I drove rather quickly to the nearby Pere Marquette Campground, calling my son Brad at the gallery while en route. He was manning the store alone. I told him to run out the door, jump in his truck and drive the three miles to what locals have named the “First Curve” at Ludington State Park. We were working on a book on Ludington State Park at the time. I knew if he could get there in time, he might capture the storm with his camera for inclusion in the book. I calculated that the high-bank cliff at the campground a mile south of the harbor was the nearest and best vantage point where I could get an unobstructed view of the storm in time. 

I parked outside the campground, grabbed my camera bag and tripod and ran as fast as my 58-year-old legs could go carrying 40 pounds of gear. Campers lined the cliff’s edge, high above Lake Michigan, as I found a spot between people big enough to slam my tripod down. We were in the face of the biggest shelf cloud I had ever seen. I was not afraid, perhaps because my adrenaline was flying, perhaps because I had been in the heart of big storms throughout my adult life, maybe because I was so focused on getting the shot. The longer your photography career goes on, the more you know when you have gotten the shot. When I captured this moment and several others within 15 seconds of this one, I was certain I had made the shot. Still I kept shooting. You learn over time that sometimes when you have made a great image, an equally or more outstanding peak moment could have been captured if you had kept working the scene. Excitement and overconfidence can cause photographers to quit too soon. I learned on the light table decades ago the painful lesson of the need to finish making the best image you can. I am a confident photographer, but perhaps as an old newsman, I am a nervous photographer as well.

Thousands of people daily saw my best and worst photography and a lot of mediocre images in between. I strived to do my best; I still do. I made several more strong images as the storm raced toward me. The wind started blasting me, and rain pummeled me and my camera lens. The shooting was over. I looked up from my camera and realized that all but one of the couple dozen people who had lined the cliff had run for the cover of their tents and trailers. I think the two of us diehards were actually safer because their tents and trailers were downwind surrounded by big old trees. I try to avoid wooded areas during big storms. I couldn’t wait to learn how Brad had fared at the state park. As it turned out, he got in position on the Lake Michigan shoreline just in time to be underneath the massive cloud and make an image seconds before being inundated with rain. His image, “The Dark Side”, is just as good as mine; some love his dark and stormy image a lot more than my “prettier” version showing both the sunny and dark sides of the summer storm. Brad and I like to say, “Photography Is Feeling.” Each of our images evokes entirely different feelings, but most viewers have a strong reaction to both. Of all the storm cloud images I have recorded with my camera over a half-century of living, working and playing on the Great Lakes shoreline, many of them appearing as power-packed, this one stands out from all the rest because of its beauty. Brad’s image stands out from my perspective for its intense, scary yet beautiful drama. Both images continue to be among our favorites.

 

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Flying Ashore
Flying Ashore by Todd Reed As I was heading back to our photography gallery in downtown Ludington after lunch today, I observed a segment of very dark clouds high in the sky to the west. I drove quickly to the west end of Ludington Avenue, grabbed by camera out of the back of my Suburban and sprinted up a nearby sand dune at shore’s edge. A fast-moving rain (and hail as it turned out later) storm was headed ashore. I noticed that a powerful-looking portion of the clouds looked like a gigantic bird. I knew instantly that needed to be my focus. I made several shots with my Nikon D850 and a few with my iPhone. The rain was picking up and thunder and lightning were getting closer. I scrambled down the dune and back to my vehicle, beating the downpour of rain and hail by just a couple minutes. Gotta love a good storm front! Nikon D850. F10 at 1/100, ISO 400. 14-24mm lens at 14mm. On a tripod without a flash. September 20, 2022 at 1:18pm.
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Electric Landscape - Panoramic
My dad and I have found that the best way to photograph lightning is using the longest exposure possible for the given situation. This photograph is a 30-second exposure at F8 and an ISO of 100. It was shot on a sturdy tripod that could withstand the 30 miles-per-hour winds. This fierce thunderstorm headed north very quickly and it took out power in Manistee, Michigan.
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