Todd Reed: 50 Years Seeing Michigan Through a Lens

I spent years on Coast Guard boats watching Lake Michigan waves curl and break. Their power and beauty demanded my attention then and commanded me to photograph them.

Look what the Snowbirds in Florida were missing on one of those magical Michigan winter mornings. Luckily I had stayed behind to see these jewels of frost during a drive through the Michigan countryside

There was no doubt in my mind that my son Brad was in heaven shooting ice sculptures created by mineral-colored water running down and seeping through the rocky cliffs of Grand Island. The massive ice walls that created this cave extended more than 100 feet up the rocky cliff walls. We were experiencing beauty beyond belief after hiking about a mile across ice-covered Lake Superior at the mouth of Munising Bay, a bay frozen solid by one of the coldest winters in decades. This “Don’t do this at home” expedition in March 2014 still stands as one of my most exhilarating, rewarding and memorable photography shoots. I am grateful to God for safe passage for Brad and me and three friends from the Charlevoix Camera Club, safe shooting inside the ice caves and for the beauty we found there. Upon our arrival at the island, Brad, Mike Schlitt, Bill Dietrich, Wally Barkley and I each went exploring various caves on our own, and we all came away with wonderful images; how could we not have since the sights we were privileged to be witnessing were so incredible—and incredibly challenging to reach. As harsh as Michigan Upper Peninsula winters always are, it takes an unusually long stretch of frigid weather for there to be enough ice to get to and from the island. Authorities and a couple of longtime local ice fishermen advised us against trying, but a local photographer and a local outdoorsman who had trekked there in past years said that if ever there was a good time, this was it. Several photographers had posted images from the Grand Island caves on Facebook a week earlier, but there had been a short warmup after that. The good news was that the thermometer had plummeted for the past several days prior to our arrival. Having been a certified ice rescuer in the Coast Guard, I understood the risk involved. A shift in the wind could quickly create open water gaps in the ice. Currents coming in and out of Munising Bay might have created or could create weak spots in the ice. I kept in mind the number one rule of ice rescue that I was taught in the Coast Guard: “No ice is safe ice.” I knew that if we got in trouble in this remote location, professional rescuers were most likely going to be far away and a long time coming. Survival time in the ice-cold waters of Lake Superior in winter would be short. We had prepared for the worst before leaving home. We brought a large, light ice fishing sled with two long quick-release lines attached to us to pull it with while staying far apart. This kept us linked to the sled and each other in case one or the other went in. We wore our life jackets snugged tight for extra hypothermia protection. We secured dry bags to the sled with dry clothing inside. I carried a rescue heaving line throw bag. Fortunately, we were able to accomplish our photographers’ bucket list mission without incident or need for rescue gear. There was comfort and wisdom in following the Coast Guard motto of being “Always Ready.”

I cannot imagine the gates of Heaven being more beautiful than this. I was exploring an ice cave at Grand Island on Lake Superior when I worked my way through a maze of ice formations and came face to face with what looked to me like an open doorway so splendid only God and nature could create it. This, for me, was truly a spiritual experience.

The long and winding, bumpy, two-track drive to Crisp Point Lighthouse was a big part of the adventure of going there on September 30, 2014. The moody El Greco sky over the lighthouse and Lake Superior as darkness fell added to the drama as I found a vantage where the sensor of my Nikon D800 digital camera, with a 30-second exposure, could accumulate what little light was there. I love how well digital cameras see in the dark!

365 Week

I hunt. I hunt deer. I hunt them with rifle, bow or camera. I am proud to be each kind of deer hunter. My love affair with deer hunting began when I was a child watching my parents getting geared up to go deer hunting, then anxiously waiting for them to get back home, hopefully with a buck. I loved hearing the stories of the hunts. I couldn’t wait to turn 14, the minimum legal age for deer hunting when I was a boy. The various youth hunts of recent years did not exist then, but when I was 12, my parents started to allow me to come along on their hunting expeditions in the sand dune area of what is now the Nordhouse Dunes Federal Wilderness. My family hunted from dawn to dark. Most of our time was spent sitting alone in fox holes with small charcoal fires in five-pound coffee cans to keep us from freezing to death. It was a great training ground for outdoor photography, which in my early years of hunting I had no idea I would become interested in someday. In between the fleeting moments of adrenaline rush upon spotting a deer and perhaps attempting to bag it, I spent untold hours perched high atop a sand dune taking in and learning to know and appreciate the spectacular dune landscape surrounding me for as far as the eye could see. The deer hunting quest, the incredible view, and even the fresh air ramming into my lungs made me feel most alive. Some of the greatest adrenaline rushes of my life have continued to involve stalking deer with rifle, bow or camera. But my greatest joy in hunting has derived from simply being in the outdoors, studying the landscape, learning to better see and appreciate its beauty, learning to be prepared, comfortable and at home there, having Mother Nature remind me time after time that this is where I belonged and still belong. In recent years, I have enjoyed spending a lot of time in hunting blinds with my camera. For the past several years, Brad and I have been blessed to have a wonderful business/friendship relationship with Legends Ranch near Bitely, Michigan, one of the finest whitetail deer hunting ranches in North America. Manager Robert Sergi and his highly skilled staff have treated us like family, giving us widespread access to their more than 2,000 acres of hunting land. My son Brad and I knew exactly which blind we wanted to be in on this Christmas card morning in 2016. The pine background of Strip Blind provided a beautiful, contrasting background for the falling snow. If a deer came out close enough, it would be framed against the contrasting snow on the ground. We saw several bucks that morning, a couple of them with much larger racks. Brad was photographing a massive buck to our right when I spotted a buck with a smaller but picture-perfect rack coming out from our left only 30 yards away. The shot I had been making in my mind for many years was materializing. Perhaps scenting us or hearing Brad’s shutter fire as he photographed the other buck, the wary buck stopped, looking in our direction. I fired. My “Legendary” experience making the wintertime deer photograph of my dreams was made. The buck walked on.

Out of Nowhere

“Top Shelf” – Storm cloud races ashore near Big Sable Point

Alice's Wonderland

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I know, but I am thinking God's creations don't get any more beautiful than this snowy owl. It has taken me nearly two hours of not-so-patiently waiting to see this magnificent moment up close and personal with the aid of my largest telephoto lens.

Crowning Touch

This icy sight greets Brad and me after a 150-mile drive to St. Joseph from Ludington on an ice-cold but sunny January 8th morning. Ice is already building up seaward from St. Joseph Lighthouse. Lake Michigan is on its way to freezing over before this winter ends.

Quite often (my wife would say, too often) on our frequent 2020 trail hikes, something caught my photo eye and I would have to pause to better see it and assess its photographic potential. On this May day at Ludington State Park my eye was drawn to some cattails, but more exactly to their reflections. Brad and I tell our workshop students to determine “what exactly” excites them about a scene or other subject. I focused on exactly that.

Nothing could have excited this Michigander more on a winter’s day photo excursion on M-22 than experiencing this eagle flying by so close that my 500-millimeter telephoto lens could seemingly reach out and touch it. The mature eagle was among several hunting for food on a January morning near Crystal Lake north of Frankfort. Brad and I were en route to photograph the Point Betsie Lighthouse when we spotted several eagles feeding just offshore by a large open-water seam in the ice. We saw one of the eagles fly to shore and roost in some tall pines on a nearby hillside. The lighthouse could wait; there might be an image here as good or better for the book we had started shooting, Todd and Brad Reed’s Michigan: Wednesdays in the Mitten. We would be proved correct. We quickly set up 25 yards on either side of the flight path and waited…and waited. I was rewarded with my all-time favorite eagle-in-flight image when one of the eagles chose to fly right by my hiding spot instead of Brad’s. The image was (and remains especially) meaningful to me because my Army Ranger son Tad served our country for several years as a 101st Airborne Screaming Eagle. This eagle was definitely screaming past. Once I got on target, I was able to squeeze off three shots as I swung the lens on my gimbal tripod head and tracked with the majestic bird. With fast action shots, a photographer can often pre-select the background; but often, time does not allow one to see at the fraction of a second of exposure exactly how the subject fits against the background. Back the next day on my computer at our gallery, this image screamed for attention and selection. The bird fit perfectly against the background, simplifying and making order out of what would have been chaotic one one-thousandth of a second earlier or later. Brad and I like to say, “Little things are big things.” On this shot, a fraction of a second made a big difference

I truly appreciate those Michigan entrepreneurs who make the Michigan countryside more beautiful in the process of luring customers. The Iris Farm on M72 west of Traverse City is a stunning example of such a business. I am delighted to drive a hundred miles to take in this sight.

Seeing Upper Tahquamenon Falls took away what breath I had left on this below-zero January morning in Michigan’s fabulous Upper Peninsula. Winter had already partially frozen the more than 200-foot-wide falls.

Halloween Horror

Winter had transformed Munising Falls from a rushing torrent of water to a motionless ice sculpture. The quietness on this windless January morning put me at peace and added to my enjoyment of one of my favorite Michigan waterfalls

Looking out from the Rock River Canyon Ice Caves, better known as the Eben Ice Caves, I was thinking that the rock ceiling and ice looked like a winter sunflower with “petals” of ice emanating from the center of the “flower.” Any way you look at them, these caves at Eben Junction near Chatham in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula are impressive.