Eloquent Nature by Gary Hart posted: " This e-mail is the first edition of this post. Click here to read my edits and see my exposure settings. Once upon a time I posted a rainbow image on Facebook and someone commented that getting a shot like that is simply dumb luck. After having a good " Eloquent Images by Gary Hart
Once upon a time I posted a rainbow image on Facebook and someone commented that getting a shot like that is simply dumb luck. After having a good chuckle, I actually felt a little sad for the commenter. Since we all tend to make choices that validate our version of reality, imagine going through life with that philosophy.
No one can deny that photography has a significant luck component, but each of us chooses our relationship with the fickle whims of chance—I prefer to look for smart luck. Smart luck embraces Louis Pasteur's conviction that chance favors the prepared mind. Ansel Adams was quite fond of repeating Pasteur's quote, and later Galen Rowell as well as many other photographers have jumped on board. So while many may indeed feel lucky to have witnessed special moments in Nature, let's not lose sight of our opportunities to create our own "luck." Smart luck.
Some examples
Double Rainbow, Tunnel View, Yosemite
As nature photographers, we must acknowledge the tremendous role chance plays in the conditions that rule the scenes we photograph, then do our best to maximize our odds for witnessing whatever special something Mother Nature might toss in our direction. A rainbow over the Safeway parking lot or the sewage treatment plant is still beautiful, but a rainbow above Yosemite Valley can ascend to a lifelong memory (not to mention a beautiful photograph).
I'll never forget the time, while driving to Yosemite to meet new clients to plan the next day's tour over dinner, I saw conditions that told me a rainbow was possible. When I met the clients at the cafeteria, I "suggested" (pleaded?) that we forget dinner and take a shot at a rainbow instead. Despite no guarantee of success, we raced our empty stomachs across Yosemite Valley, scaled some rocks behind Tunnel View, and sat in a downpour for about twenty minutes. Our reward? A double rainbow arcing across Yosemite Valley. Were we lucky? Absolutely. But it was no fluke that my clients and I were the only "lucky" ones out there that evening.
Captive Crescent, El Capitan and Half Dome, Yosemite
Before sunrise on a chilly May morning in 2011, my workshop group and I had the good fortune photograph a crescent moon splitting El Capitan and Half Dome before sunrise. Was this luck? I'll give you one guess.
I suppose we were lucky that our alarms went off, and that the clouds stayed away that morning. But I knew at least a year in advance that a crescent moon would be rising at this less heralded Yosemite vista on this very morning, scheduled my spring workshop to include the date, then spent hours obsessively making sure I hadn't made any mistakes.
Rainbow Bridge, Colorado River, Grand Canyon
I'd love to say that I sensed the potential for a rainbow over the Grand Canyon when I scheduled my 2016 Grand Canyon raft trip, then hustled my group down the river for three days to be in this very position to witness the moment. Sadly, I'm not quite that prescient. On the other hand, I did anticipate the potential for a rainbow at least an hour earlier, scouted our campsite to determine the best locations to photograph it, then called the rainbow's arrival far enough in advance that everyone was able to grab their gear and be set up before its arrival.
Anticipating these special moments in nature doesn't require any real gifts—just a basic understanding of the natural phenomena you'd like to photograph, and a little effort to match your anticipated natural event (a rainbow, a moonrise, the Milky Way, or whatever) with your location of choice.
But to decide that photographing nature's most special moments is mostly about luck is to pretty much limit your rainbows to the Safeways and sewage treatment plants of your everyday world. I've lost track of the number of times I've prepared for a special moment in nature, changed plans, lost sleep, driven many miles, skipped meals, and suffered in miserable conditions, all with nothing to show for my sacrifice. But just one success like a rainbow above Yosemite Valley or the Grand Canyon is more than enough compensation for a thousand miserable failures. And here's another secret: no matter how miserable I am getting to and waiting for my goal event, whether it happens or not, I absolutely love the anticipation, the just sitting out there marinating in the thought that it might happen.
About this image
Milky Way and the Southern Alps, Mt. Cook / Aoraki National Park, New Zealand
Don Smith and I didn't choose New Zealand in June by accident. And it was no fluke that we were at this spot beneath the Southern Alps on a moonless night. June is when the Milky Way's core rises highest in the night sky, and we knew exactly where to be when it came out this night. Well, we thought we knew exactly where to be...
Our New Zealand workshop group had had such a great Milky Way experience on the workshop's first night, everyone wanted to do it again. But this year's trip encounter more fog than we ever have, which brought us some nice daytime conditions but wasn't particularly conducive to night photography. We finally got another chance on the workshop's penultimate night, when the sky cleared at one of my favorite places for night photography. After a nice sunset shoot, we went to dinner (at a spectacular buffet) while waiting for the sky to darken, then headed back out.
But when we arrived at our predetermined location, a bridge over the Hooker River, we discovered that workers doing grading (I assume) on the riverbank just upstream had left a spotlight on outside their little shed, perhaps by mistake, or maybe to discourage thieves. Whatever the reason, it was so bright that it washed out the bottom half of everyone's frame. No problem—we were familiar enough with the location that we were able to drive up the road a mile or so until we found a nice view where the light wasn't a factor.
This far into the workshop everyone was fairly comfortable with their cameras, but the utter darkness out there added another layer of complication. Spreading out along the shoulder, we had to take care not to bump into tripods and each other, but once everyone established their positions and started finding compositions that worked, there wasn't really any need to move around. At that point the job for Don and I is mostly to be a resource—help people with their compositions and focus (mostly just checking to ensure that it's okay)—and just stay out of the way.
Since most of my compositions at the prior Milky Way shoot had been vertical, this night I opted for horizontal frames that included more mountains. With nothing special in the immediate foreground, I minimized it in my frame. I further deemphasized (darkened) the foreground with a faster shutter speed that had the added benefit of reducing star motion.
After we'd been out their for a while and I was pretty sure everyone had been successful, I pointed out the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds, satellite galaxies of our Milky Way that aren't visible in the Northern Hemisphere. They're not in this frame—they'd be quite a bit to the right of the Milky Way with a very wide lens—but I've seen several images from others in the group that included them. Altogether a very special evening.
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