Todd Reed: 50 Years Seeing Michigan Through a Lens

The 45-minute hike to Big Sable Point Lighthouse is rewarding even on those rare occasions when a good picture seems nowhere to be found. On this evening dune grass framed against the twilight provided a still life that stood out even more than the famous lighthouse.

Some of the first and last snowfalls of the season are often the most picturesque because of the better odds of higher temperatures that produce snow that sticks like glue. On this early November morning, I made certain I was at Ludington State Park shortly after daylight to start my search for snow shots before the wind started stirring and blowing the snow off the trees. When I spotted this scene along the Sable River I knew I had found what I was looking for

Only a few times in more than 50 years of photographing the natural beauty of Michigan have I felt so humbled, so awe-struck, by a scene before me than I did while making this image. Witnessing the Northern Lights above Lake Michigan the evening of December 14, 2006, was truly a religious experience. Green lights danced through the northern sky above me, and waves broke over the Ludington South Breakwater ahead of me as I tried to hike my way to the end of the pier without getting washed off. I was able to safely get no further than the bend in the pier. It was so windy I dared not extend the legs of my tripod. Instead I knelt down, mounted my camera on the low, sturdy tripod and began shooting. I was as pumped as a hunter with a 10-point buck standing in front of him. But the best was yet to come. About 20 minutes later, at 8:35 p.m., neon-red Northern Lights appeared and began rocketing up and down in the western sky. For fewer than two minutes, the sky was glorious and up to four times brighter than before and afterward. My camera recorded the peak of the color and brightness during this 30-second time exposure. The exposure also recorded a meteor (upper right) streaking through the sky. Technically, this image is not all it could be. I had made the switch from film to digital cameras only a couple years before this rare photo opportunity presented itself. Like many other longtime professional photographers, it would take time to master exposure with this new digital technology. Even though the image looked excellent on the electronic playback on back of the camera, it was underexposed by more than a stop. Since then, I have learned to better understand and rely on the camera’s histogram, which is a true output measure of exposure. In addition, the sensors on digital cameras have vastly improved, and newer models tend to render high quality images at higher ISOs than in the past. Even with the most modern digital photography marvels, one thing I know from experience: nothing is more important in photography than the proper exposure. Still, I am grateful to have made this less than perfect image of the most intense, colorful Northern Lights I have ever witnessed.

The Inland Seas sailed the inland sea on Grand Traverse Bay between Traverse City and Suttons Bay on a spring morning. The 77-foot Great Lakes schooner provides inland sea science and sailing adventures regularly from Suttons Bay.

Tranquil summer evenings on the Lake Michigan waterfront lure boats and people like fish to water. This late July evening in Pentwater was no exception. As in so many other favorite locations along the Lake Michigan shoreline, people and their vessels are drawn back year after year like salmon to their birthplaces.

The Big Finish

Tranquil summer evenings on the Lake Michigan waterfront lure boats and people like fish to water. This late July evening in Pentwater was no exception. As in so many other favorite locations along the Lake Michigan shoreline, people and their vessels are drawn back year after year like salmon to their birthplaces.

Lake Michigan waves splashing up on the erector­ set – looking framework of the foundation for the elevated foghorn building created this icy artwork at Big Sable Point Lighthouse on April 15, 2020. The rest of the story is the fall I took on the undetectable ice covering the sand en route to make the shot.

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.

Electric Beach

John and Denise Oliver love their Amber Township barn. I too was crazy about the rustic structure and maple-lined country lane leading to it when I spotted this view while on a photo-hunting, Michigan country roads drive. Denise said their beloved barn and barnyard beside their home hold wonderful memories of decades of family gatherings.

As soon as the Manitou Island Transit ferry landed at the dock, I made a beeline for South Manitou Light. I could see from the boat how beautiful the light and shadow were playing on the 100-foot-high white tower and knew I had to get to this spot ASAP. I waded into the shallows in order to use the intriguing water-covered rocks as a foreground base to my image.

As soon as the Manitou Island Transit ferry landed at the dock, I made a beeline for South Manitou Light. I could see from the boat how beautiful the light and shadow were playing on the 100-foot-high white tower and knew I had to get to this spot ASAP. I waded into the shallows in order to use the intriguing water-covered rocks as a foreground base to my image.

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.

Our workshop students were up to their waists in dewy grasses before sunrise and many of them were on their knees getting their cameras immediate to the wildflowers, grasses and weeds in a field near our Pere Marquette River property. I got down low beside them to immerse myself in the tapestry of spring growth. Six a.m. never looked better to me.

“Bad” weather days can quickly change into a photographer’s dream. First, I spent more than an hour on this rainy day working to make good images of Marquette Harbor Lighthouse. Then “magic light” broke out beneath the clouds near sundown and lit the lighthouse and trees like Christmas. Just before sunset, sunlight bounced off from clouds cast a diffused, soft golden light on the lighthouse, McCarty’s Cove shoreline, and Lake Superior. I love “bad” weather.

A fast-response Coast Guard rigid-hull-inflatable boat flies over the water on Lake Michigan off Ludington.

Dream Voyage - Panoramic