What's YOUR Photographic Vision?
©Jay Ryser
Photography is a visual medium (yes, I've been told I sometimes have a firm grasp on the obvious, but bear with me). The term photography is literally translated as Writing With Light. I'm guessing that most, if not all photographers, at a basic level, capture images to document events and experiences, and as a way of sharing those experiences with others. That's not complicated - anyone with a camera phone, Polaroid, or disposable camera can do that. I'm talking about taking your images to the next level by clearly defining your Photographic Vision.
What do I mean by a vision? What is it that I want to capture? This goes beyond documentary photography _("I saw a mountain goat - here's the proof")_ to something that I hope is a little more personal and maybe even a little more artistic. Since I do primarily wildlife photography, my vision is to capture something unique about each individual animal that I photograph - something that makes that specific animal unique, an individual, among others in its community. I don't want an image of a generic red fox, for instance, I want to capture the essence or personality of this specific animal, what makes it unique among other foxes, for instance. That's what drives me, what pulls me out of bed on frigid winter mornings, again and again. I don't always accomplish my vision, but it is the driving force behind what I do and why I do it.
Just that's my vision and what I want to capture doesn't mean it will work for you or should be your vision. I know and work with lots of great photographers. My father in law is a retired professional photographer. But each one of us has a unique, idiosyncratic vision of what we're trying to capture in an image. When we define our vision, it makes us more mindful in our approach to making an image and capturing the image that we want.
Since I'm back into doing images for a stock agency, I have a very general vision in mind whenever I make images that I plan to submit. They have to be:
• sharp
• well exposed
• clean (no cluttered back or fore grounds, no Hand of Man)
To do that, I almost always use a tripod and a big gimbal head to get the sharpest images possible, I check the histogram regularly, I'm very aware of my camera settings.
You can't execute your vision with the camera on Automatic, making the decisions for you.
That's my basic vision whenever I shoot something that might have commercial potential, and I think the basis for any kind of decent nature photography (IMHO). Once I have the basics established, it's time to refine things a little more to see what I really want in an image.
What, then, is my actual Photographic Vision? Well, in no particular order:
• My primary goal is a connection with the animal (since I usually do wildlife), and that generally means eye contact with great light. I don't just mean the animal is looking in my direction - I mean I want to be able to see the animals world reflected back at me in the eye. When I edit the image, I want to zoom in and literally see the reflection of the scene (sometimes even with me in it) there in the eyes. It may not be visible at a size viewed on the web or even a small print, but it's there and may come across in a big print. there has to be great light to achieve this (more on that later). That's the connection I want, and that I want to present. If I have just black, dead, shark-eyes, I don't consider it a really successful image.
• I want great light. My preference is for early morning light for its color, direction, and quality. I want that warm gold or red color that sets off animal fur beautifully, and that catch light in their eyes. It also reduces harsh shadows and illuminates fore and backgrounds with that magic light. I have to get up early in the morning (you might say I'm an early Ryser - pun always intended) to get a head start on the sun and the wildlife, but it's worth it. I'm always surprised when I see folks arriving when I'm on my way home after a successful morning of wildlife photography. Plan for the light and arrange your schedule to capture it. Follow the light.
• Dynamic is usually better than static. I have a virtual ton of documentary shots of animals (the shots that document that you saw an animal, shots that could be put in Wikipedia or a textbook to show the animal in an accurate way). That was OK when I was first starting out, but now I want more. I want behavior, I want action, I want something a little different to set my images apart. That takes patience and some understanding of the subject. I'll use pikas as an example. They're very cute little critters, but they're almost always on the move, they blend in well with their environment, and they're more likely to be hears than seen. Initially, just finding pikas and getting an occasional shot was enough. Now that I had the basics covered, I wanted action. I have to find pikas (first of all), and plant myself in a location where I have good light, and be prepared to catch the action. When I do that, I can catch them gathering food for the winter, barking out a warning, or even stretching & yawning. That's the image I want, and that's how I'm hoping to set my images apart and capture something a little different (and hopefully make them more marketable in the process).
• Personality. This might be partly covered by behavior shots, but I'm also looking to capture personality whenever I can. My vision here is to find something that sets this particular animal apart from his or her peers. What makes this animal unique and individual. The old alpha male fox, Pock, was great - fearless, bold - a real character. I tried to capture his boldness whenever I could. His mate, the alpha female was calm and relaxed and seemed to project this, and made her great at doing portraits. Sadly, neither fox is with us anymore, making the time I spent trying to capture images even more special to me, and hopefully I was successful in preserving a little of what made each a unique personality.
• Shoot from eye level. I find myself shooting from a lower and lower Point of View (POV), in an attempt to catch the animal at their eye level. The closer I can get to their eye level, the more I'm able to present an accurate representation of their world. For foxes, I now never extend the tripod legs so I'm more on their level. Someone recently commented that my fox images seemed to be getting better, and I think that's part of the reason why. For mega-fauna (elk, bison, etc.), I'll crank the tripod all the way up to keep up to their eye level, but for everything else, the tripod goes lower and lower. To facilitate that, I'm using a pair of knee pads that I got at Lowes for less than $30, and they're a great investment and reminder to get down (and sometimes even look funky).
• Simplify and Isolate. I got this mantra from Brad Hill and try to practice it whenever possible. Basically, I try to isolate the subject(s) from the background and simplify the composition as much as possible. I shoot almost exclusively in Aperture Priority mode, usually close to wide open, so I can isolate the subject(s) from the background and simplify the composition as much as possible. When I do that, I'm much more pleased with my images.
That's a quick summary of my Photographic Vision. I'm very mindful of what I'm trying to achieve in my images and try to stick closely to my vision when I shoot. It's not meant to work for everyone, it's just what works for me. I don't expect anyone to follow my photographic vision, but to define and incorporate their own vision for what they want from their images.
What is it you want from your images? What's YOUR Photographic Vision?
Facing
I was out with a friend that I frequently run into while I’m looking for coyotes and foxes. We’d briefly seen Scarface, the little female that resides in the den we were close to, but she was too bashful to come out of the brush, so we never got a shot of her.
This is the alpha male again. He trotted by us several times on his morning rounds – too close to fit all of him in the frame. The weather was a little overcast, which was perfect at diffusing the light.
Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes)
City Park, Wheat Ridge, CO
Sony a700
Sigma 300/f/2.8
Jobu gimbal, Giottos tripod
ISO 400, 1/250, f/2.8, +2/3EV
Mindful
Same red fox, the new alpha male, from Christmas morning.
He’s taking a brief nap just outside his den. The temperature is about 12F/-11C, but he seems warm and comfy in his winter coat, snoozing in the snow.
Despite napping, he’s very aware of what’s going on around him. With his eyes closed, his ears would rotate around to pick up tiny sounds, most of which I couldn’t hear. From time to time he’d open his eyes and survey his surroundings, ignoring me for the most part.
Some minor cropping, and the background was cleaned up just a bit.
Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes)
City Park, Wheat Ridge, CO
Sony a700
Sigma 300/f/2.8
Jobu gimbal, Giottos tripod
ISO 320, 1/1250, f/2.8, +2/3EV
My Holiday Blessing
My Holiday Blessing
©Jay Ryser
www.jayryser.com
It’s the day after Christmas as I write this, but the event happened yesterday, Christmas Day. I wanted to write all this down, as soon as possible, as it’s fresh in my memory. And if you don’t mind, allow me to ramble just a bit – this is nature photography-related. I always have mixed feelings about Christmas; at one level, there’s the holiday spirit that seems to wane a bit more each passing year. I don’t dislike Christmas or anything it represents, but everything around it seems to suck the joy out of the holiday (buying things, shipping things, standing in one line, then another – I got to spend two delightful hours of my life, that I’ll never get back, in the post office a couple of days before Christmas, and I still have a bunch of items I’ve not been able to ship yet). Fortunately, I’ve been MALL-FREE SINCE 2003™ (yeah, that’s right – I trade-marked it). Usually by the time Christmas rolls around, I’m exhausted and not particularly in a holiday mood. Not in actual Grinch-mode, just blah (my preferred term is weltschmerz, but so few folks are familiar with that term, I just use blah instead).
In my aforementioned blah mood, I stole out of the house very early on a frigid, snowy Christmas morning, the family still snug in their beds, to seek out foxes. Foxes are a tonic for me, and spending time with them has a very soothing effect. My little fox hole is a wonderful place, with many foxes that are pretty habituated to the presence of people, but that doesn’t mean they’re always around or always cooperative. If you’ve kept up with some of my previous posts, you’ll know that there have been some huge changes in that park, including the loss of two of my favorite foxes. I won’t go too much into detail about that, except to acknowledge their loss as part of my weltschmerz. It’s only recently that the park and its residents have seemed to mostly recover from those changes.
It was still before sunrise when I arrived at the parking lot and set up my gear. I saw two other people who I greeted briefly (both, surprisingly, in a more blah mood than me, it seemed), and quickly started down the icy trail, tripod and gear over my shoulder just as the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. It was cold enough that the snow squeaked loudly under my shoes – I wasn’t going to be sneaking up on anything that morning. The sky was mostly clear, and the woods were bathed in a warm, golden light. Twenty meters from the parking lot and I was alone in a Winter Wonderland. I had to cross two wooden foot bridges on my way to my usual spot – a crossroad on the back trails. I’m usually fairly cautious crossing these – I had a spill near another of these a couple of years ago that nearly tossed me headfirst into the creek that runs through the park – and the bridges are frequently icy.
As I turned a corner on the trail, I noticed a fox curled up just outside the drainage system he uses as a den. It was the previous beta, now alpha male of the little area. He spotted me and quickly slunk into the den, disappearing from view. “Of course,” I thought. I went ahead and set up the tripod nearby, hoping he’d emerge from the den at some point so I could get a few images. I do like to take red fox images in the snow – their fur is puffy and contrasts beautifully with the snow this time of year.
He poked his head out a few minutes later. I wasn’t expecting too much from him. When he was still a beta male, he was very camera shy. He’s a good looking fox – classically handsome in a fox-way – but always camera shy and prone to hiding in the brush as the beta. It’s not unusual for me to talk to my subjects in as soothing voice as I’m able to muster; most of the time it doesn’t cause them to flee, and sometimes it even works to make them a little more relaxed. “It’s just me – I’m harmless. Just go about your business and I’ll stand over here and stay out of your way.” To my great surprise and delight, he hopped out of the den and sat by the den entrance. Then he curled up and took a little nap. He wasn’t completely asleep, as every time I made a small noise, or something else happened, one or both ears would rotate around in the direction of whatever noise caught his attention. He quickly adjusted to the sound of the shutter firing, and after the first few shots, he didn’t even bother turning his ears towards me at all.
For about half an hour, he napped, stretched, and quietly sat by the den, with me firing off images 10-15 yards away. The sun hadn’t quite crested the ridge, so he was still in very soft light the entire time we were together. Sufficiently rested, he stood up, stretched again, and slowly trotted off. I had filled an 8gb card by that time. “Thank you, and have a Merry Christmas!!” He turned around for a quick glance, and disappeared up the ridge and out of sight. At that moment, I was more relaxed and at peace than I can recall being in a very long time.
This was a blessing, a very special moment. I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift, and I don’t mean the photo opportunity (although that was wonderful, too). I do mean being given the opportunity to spend a brief period of time in the presence of one of God’s wild creatures, who seemed very relaxed in my presence, to be able to share a moment in time, and maybe even be able to share a slight connection among another living, thinking, feeling being.
Peace on Earth, Good Will to All Living Things
LIFE (AND DEATH) IN THE TALUS FIELD
LIFE (AND DEATH) IN THE TALUS FIELD
©Jay Ryser www.jayryser.com
Wildlife, Landscape, and Nature Photography Online Magazine
To the casual observer, a talus field is a large jumble of oddly-shaped rocks that have collected at the base of a mountain slope. To anyone who has ever tried to ascend or descend a talus slope, particularly while wearing a heavy pack, it’s a dangerous area where one misstep on a poorly balanced rock can pitch you dangerously into a world of hurt. It’s slow going, and treacherous footing – most people and many animals avoid talus field when they can.
Talus is another word for scree – a collection of broken rock fragments that have broken away from a higher cliff or mountain slope as a result of weathering and erosion. Talus can range in size from golf ball-sized stones to chunks of rock the size of VW Beetles. Technically, scree is smaller than talus, ranging in size from gravel to small stones. Because of the irregular size of the rock fragments, there can be quite a bit of space between the rocks, making talus slopes an ideal home for a variety of small animals.
The alpine zone (mountainous regions above tree-line), is a unique ecosystem characterized by intense weather conditions, a very brief Summer growing season, hardy vegetation, and animals with specialized survival skills. Many talus fields are found in the alpine zone. Two of those species of animals with specialized survival skills happen to be two of my favorite animals – pikas and marmots.
American Pikas (Ochotona princeps) and Yellow-Bellied Marmots (Marmota flaviventris) are two of the more common species inhabiting the talus field, and two species highly adapted to this extreme environment.
Marmots
Marmots are essentially high-altitude ground hogs. The name marmot comes from French marmotte, from Old French marmotan, marmontaine, from Old Franco-Provençal, from Low Latin mures montani “mountain mouse”, from Latin mures monti, from Classical Latin mures alpini “Alps mouse”. Marmots are also called “whistle pigs,” “rock chuck,” and my favorite nickname, “brake-line chewers.” In North America, marmots inhabit mountainous terrain in the western ranges, including the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky Mountains. Other varieties of marmots can be found in similar locales in Europe and Asia.
I have not always been so kindly disposed to marmots. In my younger and more adventurous days, I’ve had ropes and harnesses chewed upon during alpine bivvies, and once very nearly rappelled using a nearly chewed-through rope. I’ve even been known to chase a marmot with an ice ax, without good intentions, after catching one chewing through my pack. Since that time we’ve managed to put aside some of our old conflicts and have actually become quite chummy. How can you stay mad at something so cute?
Marmots get the nickname “whistle pig” from their habit of whistling, hooting, or squeaking out a warning to their neighbors if predators are present. Marmots therefore have the reputation as being one of the few truly altruistic species on the planet – they keep themselves in danger to warn their peers. Marmots are also apparently Mormons (or LDS, if you prefer). One dominant male can share a burrow with 3, 4, or more females, and breed with all of them. Marmots are very skilled burrowers, and can construct a complex system of rooms and tunnels under the talus, including toilet areas, dining rooms, living rooms, and bedrooms.
To survive the long, cold alpine winters, marmots hibernate for 6-8 or months out of the year. Each summer (and at their altitude, it’s a very brief summer), they must almost double their body weight. Much of their day is devoted to eating, and they have a varied diet. Marmots are usually vegetarians, consuming alpine grasses, leaves, and flowers, gut also eat fruits (when they can find them), grasshoppers, and even bird eggs. Full grown marmots weigh between 6 and 12 pounds (2.7-5.5 kilograms).
Marmots have several behaviors that set them apart from other mammals. To protect their young, marmot parents whistle, hoot, and squeak, and run back and forth to distract predators as their young flee to safety (another way they are considered altruistic). My favorite behavior is the Helicopter-Tail. When they sense danger, while fleeing, their tails spin around in a circular pattern- it sometimes appears like they’re getting an extra boost in speed with the propeller action of their tail. And while they’re running, they’re hooting and whistling, but honestly, in my head I hear Nya-aaa-aa, wooob-woob-woob-woob.
Pikas
Pikas are very close in appearance to large hamsters, but are actually more closely related to rabbits and hares. They’re often referred to as “rock rabbits.” They’re small animals, only about 6-8inches in length (160-220mm) and weigh about 6 ounces (170grams).
Unlike their marmot neighbors, pikas are awake and active over the winter months. To survive during the coldest months under the rocks and snow, pikas must gather enough food during their brief summers to last them through the winter. To do this, pikas devote a sizeable portion of every day to gathering food (grasses, leaves, flowers, thistles, etc.). The process for this is for the pika to run out in their talus field and gather mouthfuls of vegetation and pile it into tiny little hay bales to dry in the sun. Once the vegetation is dried, they bring it into their underground burrow for storage. Despite weighing only about 6 ounces themselves, they must gather in excess of 50 pounds of food to last the long alpine winter. It’s not uncommon for pikas to try to steal little hay bales from other neighboring pikas – when they’re caught, a loud argument usually ensues. These arguments are sometimes exploited by nearby predators.
Pikas live in small communities, but unlike their neighboring marmots, they tend to be solitary except for mating season. Pikas seem to have three speeds during the summer. The first is to perch themselves on a rock outcropping to survey their surroundings. They can be absolutely still during these times (presumably to prevent detection from raptors and other predators. The second is to move at blindingly fast speeds through the talus field, going out in search of and returning with mouthfuls of vegetation for processing and storage. because they blend in so well with their environment, they can be exceptionally tough to spot and track. Lastly, they disappear for long periods of time into their burrows in the talus, and may not emerge for minutes to hours later.
Pikas do share another trait with marmots. When they spot a predator or potential danger (or if you get too close to their little hay bales), they emit a surprisingly loud “EEENK.” They also keep themselves in harm’s way to alert their neighbors. It’s more common to hear pikas than see them.
Pikas have special adaptation to like at high altitude. They have very thick, dense fur means they stay warm in frigid temps and high winds, but it also means they can’t dissipate heat quickly or effectively, making them prone to overheating in warmer temps. About the only place not covered in thick fur is their eyes. Even their toes and the end of their nose is covered with fur. Their ears are short and round and lay almost flat against their skull, presenting the least area to the cold. When perched on a rock, they tuck their feet almost all the way under their bodies and bunch their shoulders around their short neck in an effort to conserve heat.
Both marmots and pikas are common (at least for now) in alpine regions of western North America. It’s easiest to spot marmot near roads and trails as the sun themselves on a warm rock or sit upright to survey their environment. Pikas are much more difficult to spot, in part because of their small size, their coloring, their speed, and their ability to look just like a rock when perched motionless on a rock outcropping. You’re much more likely to hear a pika than see one. Patience is rewarded, as both species are very curious and will check out visitors (from a distance) to their realm.
I find the best times to photograph marmots and pikas is summers, from dawn until mid morning. On very cold mornings (below freezing t mid 40’sF), marmots may be slow in getting out of their burrows and may wait for the sun to warm rocks. During the mid part of the day, marmots seems to nap, and may become active again in the late afternoons to close to sunset. Pikas seem to be busy most of the day, with three primary activities – perched on a rock, maniacally gathering, drying, and storing food, and hidden away in their burrows for long periods of time.
Because both species are smart and curious, sometimes the best photo strategies is to locate an area where you can hear marmot whistles and pika squeaks, and set you gear there quietly, and wait. Marmots are much easier to spot. They can approach quit closely at times when they don’t feel threatened. Pikas are much more difficult to spot. It’s not unusual to just see movement out of the corner of your eye as they run between the rocks. Spend some time and get to know your pika – they tend to have established routes and follow those routes most of the time. Instead of trying to track them with a long lens, pre-focus on a spot that you’ve observed them perch on, and when they resume their perch, hit the shutter. The more time you spend, the more familiar you’ll become with the routes and their habits. My favorite pika, Larry the Pika, has a routine that’s well known to me, and I can usually get fairly close and have memorized most of his favorite perches, allowing me to get set up and wait for my shots.
Since both species live anywhere from 8,000 to 14,000+ feet, dress appropriately. You may need to spend hours in the talus field waiting on your subjects. They have specialized fur to keep them warm and protected from the wind, and if all you have is a T-shirt and shorts, your photo safari will be over very quickly. And while you’re at altitude, wear a broad-brimmed hat and wear sunscreen. Your skin will thank you in the coming decades.
My usual set-up for capturing images is a DSLR and a telephoto lens, usually a 300mm f/2.8 with a variety of teleconverters. I use a tripod and gimbal head for practically every image I shoot. Without a tripod, I stand little chance of getting images of tiny little pikas that don’t look like a potato in a pile of rocks. I shoot close to wide open using a large aperture (f/2.8-5.6) to limit DOF and make the subject stand out from the background (in this case, similarly sized and colored rocks). There’s usually plenty of light, so low ISOs are the norm. Because of the plentiful sunlight, I sometimes add a polarizing filter to reduce glare and help prevent blown highlights from snow and light colored rocks – losing a couple of stops still gives me shutter speeds in the 1/1,000-2,000 range – plenty fast to freeze action.
Pikas, and marmots to a lesser extent, are considered at risk species due to climate change and global warming. They live on what is essentially a cold island. They are unable to migrate to different locations, as doing so would require them to cross long stretches of excessively hot ground. Their only alternative is to climb higher and higher up the mountain, and there’s only so much mountain to climb. Most pikas spend their entire lives in a half-mile radius. It’s estimated that pikas cannot survive in temps higher than 75F for more than a few hours.
Anecdotally, 8-9 years ago I rarely saw coyotes much above 12,000ft on Mt Evans, but now I see them regularly above 14,000ft, presumably pursuing their prey (marmots and pikas) as they continue to move up the mountain to escape climbing temperatures.
Jay Ryser
