Todd Reed: 50 Years Seeing Michigan Through a Lens

The battle between ships and mariners and the elements has intrigued me since I was young boy watching on the Ludington waterfront from my parents’ and grandparents’ automobiles as one or more of the several Ludington carferries still operating at the time fought their way through strong ice or fierce waves en route to and from Wisconsin. I never lost that fascination. When I became a journalist and photojournalist for the Ludington Daily News in 1970, I loved keeping an eye out for photo opportunities involving Lake Michigan boat and ship traffic. The carferries were my favorite muse, not only because I loved watching them but because the big ships were a vital segment of the local economy, and most of our readers had ties to them or at least enjoyed seeing them in action through my newspaper photographs. The big black ships with white trim also lent themselves perfectly to black and white photography, especially during the winter. Of the tens of thousands of carferry images I have made over the years, this one is my favorite black and white carferry photograph. On January 27, 1977, the 35-knot westerly winds of an arctic storm had driven ice shoreward and packed it tight like a giant trash compacter at the Ludington harbor entrance. The powerful, coal-fired steamships with extra-strong hulls for ice breaking could usually bulldoze their way through the ice, but this ice was packed 25-foot deep, leaving the City of Midland (right) nowhere to displace it as the ship attempted to steam that morning to Wisconsin with its load of railroad freight cars. The Midland ground to a halt just outside the harbor entrance. Several hours later, another C&O carferry, Spartan (left) became stuck while attempting to steam out past the Midland and break a path to open water. She ground to a halt just beyond the lighthouse. The ships fought the ice for hours, with assistance from the tugboat Mary Page Hannah. I took a lot of shots (too many, some might say) trying to capture peak moments. As evening approached, the two ships were now facing bow to bow with the lighthouse between them. While the Rule of Thirds is one of the age-old guidelines for composition, I looked at this scene and said to myself, what are the odds of these two great ships being so symmetrically positioned with a lighthouse between them? This was a time to break the rules if I ever saw one. To make the image even more symmetrical and three-dimensional, I backed up my camera position to include more of the two shadowy ice mounds. A lot of perseverance, thought and work went in to making this image. I gave it my best shot and was rewarded with one of my best shots ever. It doesn’t always work out that way, but, even with a good shot in the bank, I have long stood fast at changing scenes waiting for the big money shot.

I had been an avid fan of Outdoor Photographer for several decades when my favorite magazine selected one of my images of Munising Falls to grace the cover of their October 2016 issue. Several other photographs made by my son Brad and me illustrated our six-page story about discovering and photographing fall color in Michigan. We were proud to see Michigan’s autumn splendor showcased nationally.

My mental diary of places where I have made, or hope to someday make, a good photograph has long included an entry for the Victory Trinity Lutheran Church in Victory Township, Mason County. In all of the decades I have looked for a picture there during my travels, I have only made two photographs I knew before ever getting the camera and tripod out had all the elements needed for a good picture. This 1980s day was one of those rare times. Sadly, I was heading back toward Ludington on Victory Drive from photographing a horrible fatal car crash on US 31 north of Scottville. As a newspaper reporter and photographer for the Ludington Daily News, covering hard news came with the job, but it was the hardest, most painful part of the job. I was overwhelmed by what I had seen and photographed at that crash site. The last thing on my mind was taking more pictures on this depressing day. But as a visual person, I couldn’t help but see the tremendous clouds overhead blowing toward my favorite country church. As I approached the church, I calculated that I might be able to line the cloud up over the church if I could quickly get to a high spot near a small barn several hundred yards west of the church where the Ruba family had given me permission to go. Thirty seconds later, when I jumped out of my Jeep Cherokee and started running to the peak of a hill overlooking the church and surrounding countryside, I could hardly believe my eyes. I saw a “Jesus Cloud” headed right over the church. I had visions of the Ascension as I worked feverishly to set up the tripod, mount my camera, set the manual exposure and shoot. The incredible view I was privileged to be witnessing and documenting was so uplifting that my spirits were lifted as well. This was a day of extremes in the life of one photojournalist. There were other days with highs and lows but none that stick with me the way this one does.

The battle between ships and mariners and the elements has intrigued me since I was young boy watching on the Ludington waterfront from my parents’ and grandparents’ automobiles as one or more of the several Ludington carferries still operating at the time fought their way through strong ice or fierce waves en route to and from Wisconsin. I never lost that fascination. When I became a journalist and photojournalist for the Ludington Daily News in 1970, I loved keeping an eye out for photo opportunities involving Lake Michigan boat and ship traffic. The carferries were my favorite muse, not only because I loved watching them but because the big ships were a vital segment of the local economy, and most of our readers had ties to them or at least enjoyed seeing them in action through my newspaper photographs. The big black ships with white trim also lent themselves perfectly to black and white photography, especially during the winter. Of the tens of thousands of carferry images I have made over the years, this one is my favorite black and white carferry photograph. On January 27, 1977, the 35-knot westerly winds of an arctic storm had driven ice shoreward and packed it tight like a giant trash compacter at the Ludington harbor entrance. The powerful, coal-fired steamships with extra-strong hulls for ice breaking could usually bulldoze their way through the ice, but this ice was packed 25-foot deep, leaving the City of Midland (right) nowhere to displace it as the ship attempted to steam that morning to Wisconsin with its load of railroad freight cars. The Midland ground to a halt just outside the harbor entrance. Several hours later, another C&O carferry, Spartan (left) became stuck while attempting to steam out past the Midland and break a path to open water. She ground to a halt just beyond the lighthouse. The ships fought the ice for hours, with assistance from the tugboat Mary Page Hannah. I took a lot of shots (too many, some might say) trying to capture peak moments. As evening approached, the two ships were now facing bow to bow with the lighthouse between them. While the Rule of Thirds is one of the age-old guidelines for composition, I looked at this scene and said to myself, what are the odds of these two great ships being so symmetrically positioned with a lighthouse between them? This was a time to break the rules if I ever saw one. To make the image even more symmetrical and three-dimensional, I backed up my camera position to include more of the two shadowy ice mounds. A lot of perseverance, thought and work went in to making this image. I gave it my best shot and was rewarded with one of my best shots ever. It doesn’t always work out that way, but, even with a good shot in the bank, I have long stood fast at changing scenes waiting for the big money shot.

Its About to Pour

Looking like giant Oreo cookies, these striking cattle graced Larry and Jo Sholtey’s Beef and Bees Farm along South Lakeshore Drive between Ludington and Pentwater. Commonly referred to as Oreo Cookie cows, they are more accurately named belted Galloways, a rare breed of Scottish beef cattle. Larry Sholtey had grown up on a farm. He and Jo raised and showed the distinctive, thick-coated cattle for many years after their retirement from Ludington High School, where Jo taught and Larry was principal. I always enjoyed seeing the “Cookie Cows,” occasionally stopping when I thought I saw the makings of a good photograph. I made several images over the years that pleased me but none that wowed me. Then one summer afternoon I spotted them grazing on some Queen Anne’s Lace in a corner of their pasture. I couldn’t stop fast enough. I had not visualized this picture, but I instantly recognized how extraordinary it was. Untold numbers of passersby enjoyed seeing Larry and Jo’s cattle until Larry became too ill to care for them. I will always be grateful to Jo and Larry, for happily and graciously sharing these beautiful creatures with me and countless other passersby

Team Reed photographers Brad Reed, Rachel Gaudette, Dustin Kunkel and I were teaching a five-day workshop at Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park at the west end of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula in October 2018 when I made this image at often-overlooked, Overlooked Falls. The fifth day in a row of rain didn’t stop us or our workshop students from finding and making good photographs. This “bad weather” workshop reconfirmed for me what I already knew; rain can be an outdoor photographer’s friend. My Nikon D850 and I survived and thrived in the rain.

Cows curious about a visitor lined a fence while two others checked things out from the flapped doorway that allowed them to go in and out of their barn as they pleased. I always looked forward to seeing the cows at a farm along Fountain Road in northern Mason County.

Looking like giant Oreo cookies, these striking cattle graced Larry and Jo Sholtey’s Beef and Bees Farm along South Lakeshore Drive between Ludington and Pentwater. Commonly referred to as Oreo Cookie cows, they are more accurately named belted Galloways, a rare breed of Scottish beef cattle. Larry Sholtey had grown up on a farm. He and Jo raised and showed the distinctive, thick-coated cattle for many years after their retirement from Ludington High School, where Jo taught and Larry was principal. I always enjoyed seeing the “Cookie Cows,” occasionally stopping when I thought I saw the makings of a good photograph. I made several images over the years that pleased me but none that wowed me. Then one summer afternoon I spotted them grazing on some Queen Anne’s Lace in a corner of their pasture. I couldn’t stop fast enough. I had not visualized this picture, but I instantly recognized how extraordinary it was. Untold numbers of passersby enjoyed seeing Larry and Jo’s cattle until Larry became too ill to care for them. I will always be grateful to Jo and Larry, for happily and graciously sharing these beautiful creatures with me and countless other passersby

Relaxing Morning

When summer comes, I like to escape to my favorite getaway spot along the Pere Marquette River between Ludington and Scottville to see the wildflowers in what I consider to be my personal field of dreams.

I have photographed this grand old maple tree in one of Pete Conrad’s farm fields on Conrad Road in Amber Township for years. On this October day, I loved the bright yellow foreground provided by the asparagus field, which was turning color along with the magnificent maple and the hardwoods beyond.

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.

It occurred to me during one of the most spiritual photographic experiences of my life that I was inside a real-life crystal cathedral. I think the beauty of this God-made ice cave “church” on Grand Island on Lake Superior by Munising far surpasses the beauty of the Crystal Cathedral made by man. Brad and I had photographed many phenomenal views in the Michigan outdoors, but nothing had prepared us for what we witnessed inside the Grand Island ice caves. We felt like we were stepping into God’s art studio as we entered a glowing world of intricately sculpted green and white ice. Few places could be as incredibly glorious as this place. We were, and remain, most grateful for the experience and privilege to make images testifying to the beauty we beheld.

I have witnessed many a storm while living in Michigan for more than 70 years. I watched from my porch overlooking Ludington harbor as this front swept ashore on August 2, 2015, bringing with it the most spectacular mammatus clouds I had ever seen.

It was a magic moment. While photographing a farm surrounded by mustard grass near Fountain, I heard a noise in the opposite direction. I spotted a collie heading my way. Wheeling about, I instantly framed the dog in the viewfinder, panned with him, focused, and shot as he passed by toward the picturesque old farm that may have been his home. It was an unexpected incredible photographic experience.