Nature Photography Writing Contest

A friend of mine turned me on to photographer Guy Tal. He has a fantastic collection of images from out West, and he’s also a great writer. Guy was holding a creative writing contest on his web site. So I entered a story that I wrote about the image “Body & Soul”, and my story was chosen as a runner-up.

Here’s the story:

I’ve been pedaling hard these last five miles along an old farming road, loosely packed with sand and dirt. Racing against the setting sun, my legs are getting really tired. The hot, humid August air is thick, really thick, and the sweat is pouring down my face. I want to stop for a drink, but I can see my final destination a quarter mile ahead. Earlier in the week I discovered a very photogenic tree that I wanted to capture with my camera; I knew I needed to return when the light was right. Now I am back with the “sweet light” in my eyes. I step off my bike, pull the gear off my back and take a deep breath; I have arrived.

Before me lay the magnificent Chesapeake Bay, the largest estuary in the United States; a timeless stretch of beauty intimately known as “The Bay”. Over 400 years ago Captain John Smith sailed right past these shores exploring this “new” land in search of riches. This evening I am in search of a different treasure. The lone tree that I came to explore is quietly nestled between the Bay and a small pond. If I can frame it just right I’ll get the tree’s reflection in the still waters of the shallow pond. For nature photography, this is where the land and the skies collide. For those of us that live on the East Coast of the United States, the opportunity to witness the sunset over a large body of water is always a treat; the Bay seldom disappoints.

I have finally caught my breath from the bike trek, and as I wait for the perfect light, I begin to relax. The gentle rolling waters of the Bay are hypnotic.  My camera is framed and ready to go; let the light show begin. I snap a few shots waiting patiently for the sun to light up the clouds. As time passes, I slowly realize that the low-lying clouds that help create those iconic Chesapeake Bay sunsets have been blown off to sea by a storm that passed through earlier in the day. I was in such a hurry to go out and shoot this evening I didn’t even pay attention to the weather. It seems my hopes of capturing the countless colors of the typical Bay sunset may be gone.

The sun slowly shrinks back below the horizon and the mosquitos (Virginia’s state bird) are in full force. I begin to pace around contemplating my next move. Should I stick it out to see what happens or head back to the campground?  I look out at the Bay, look back at my camera, all the while slapping my arms, neck and legs to keep the bugs from biting me. My photographic journey has taken me here before: I have hiked up mountains, walked along rocky shores, been trapped in torrential rains, so I could catch that once in a lifetime shot. It’s times like this I am gently reminded what matters most is the experience of being surrounded by nature; it’s not all about the images. Mark Twain wrote that golf is a good walk spoiled. Certainly my golf game has spoiled some walks, but in this slow-paced world of nature photography it’s a bit different. Every hike I’ve ever taken, even the ones where I didn’t fire a single shot with my camera, have always been very rewarding; both physically and spiritually.

Staring out at the waters of the Chesapeake, I begin to sense the magic in the air. Over the course of my soliloquy the colors of the sky have slowly changed; the hues have moved from red to purple. The few clouds that are hanging over the horizon begin to light up. The sky has come alive! For the next thirty minutes I fire off shot after shot working quickly to capture every subtle change in the Western sky. My patience has paid off.

It’s now time to head back to the campground. I load up my backpack and hop on my bike. I have my tripod in one hand, the handlebar in the other. With my headlamp lighting up the way, I retrace my tire tracks that I made two hours earlier. I will never forget this quiet August evening I spent along the Chesapeake. I walk away with more than just images on a memory card; I leave with a greater appreciation for this fragile ecosystem. I look over my right shoulder to get one more glance of these tranquil waters. The sun has gently set, but with it comes the promise of a new day.