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#170206B Portland Headlight in Winter

When life hands you lemons….make pictures:)!

Last Wednesday, I had been excitedly awaiting one of my favorite bands Pepper, to play at the State Theater in Portland, Maine. I’d seen them live at the House of Blues in Boston a few years back, and was excited to see them again. I had purchased my tickets to the Portland show months ago, and was eagerly awaiting the concert. I figured I would bring my camera gear too, as I usually do when heading to Portland, just in case. Good thing I did, as they cancelled the show (lemon!) at the last minute, after already arriving in Portland that morning….

So I headed out to visit Portland Headlight and see how it looked. When I arrived at the Fort Williams Park, it was overcast and the wind was bringing the oncoming storm. I could see it was low tide, and really wasn’t planning on staying very long. I slung my camera gear and tripod over my back, and walked out to the cliff, scaling the fence, stepping in snow holes and over the rocky crags, to gain the outer rocks above the precipice.

It was quite beautiful that day, with a hint of color and definition in the storm clouds, with elegant turquoise blue and white turbulent water below. Even at low tide, the incoming storm was creating large waves that would crash loudly into the rocks below, throwing high spray into the sky. I set up my tripod, and even though it was a beautiful and wild ocean, the low tide was hampering the image I was imagining. I took a few pics anyway, and thought I might come back in a few hours when the tide was further in.

Being in no hurry, with the waves getting bigger and closer, the water so green, the crashing so thunderous, I was drawn to stay a while. I’d photographed this scene many times before, but this was the most violent ocean I had witnessed here, and it was truly mesmerizing. Before I knew it, an hour had gone by, and my feet were cold and soaked through from standing in the wet snow. My hands were also starting to freeze……but the drama increased as the ocean came closer, and crashed even louder, so I decided to stay a ‘bit longer’…..

But the scene just got better and better, and I couldn’t leave it. I stood there for 3 1/2 hours soaked to the bone with fingers so numb they were visibly shaking near then end. But I knew I had something wonderful:), and was happy to retreat at high tide, with the storm now starting to produce sideways rain and sleet. These two images are dramatically different, and I’m not sure which one I love more. One shows the turbulence of the ocean, with white froth, and frozen spray shooting high in the air. The other is more dreamy, with it’s long exposure, and difficulty to time with the waves perfectly, to give a soft feel, while maintaining definition in the larger waves.

Be flexible in life, go with the flow, and when presented with disappointment or difficulty, see where it leads you, which is usually to someplace special……

Make the sweetest lemonade from your sour lemons people:)!!

www.whitemountainphoto.com

 

The last time I mucked around this stream deep in a ravine, was 7 years ago. At the time, it was a drier summer and the moss wasn’t nearly as vibrant. I’ve been meaning to get back to it ever since, and this summer has been so cool and wet, the moss everywhere is truly electric this year.

The most important thing with photographing streams, is to make sure you are shooting on a cloudy day with no direct sun. The highlights off the water are simply too bright in contrast to the dark shadows, so something has to suffer. I don’t get much time off from my gallery in the summer months, and have been looking for one of those cloudy days to fall on my day off. I know, most people would be glad to get nothing but sunshine on their days off, and I too revel in swimming the sunny rivers on those days. But I was getting frustrated after 5 weeks of it not happening, knowing there may not be a better opportunity for years. So recently, I decided to drive to this location after work instead, and hike the 2.5 miles to this location. My plan was to arrive late enough in the evening, to shoot the stream after the sun had set beyond the height of the steep ravine, eliminating the contrasting light, but before it got dark.

I made a few mistakes that day though. First, I biked up Bear Notch in the morning. Then I ate an early lunch, and in my haste packing, I forgot to add an afternoon snack. Next, with map and compass always on hand, and my familiarity with terrain, I cursorily looked at the map before starting. I also planned on using my cup to drink water from the streams as I went, and forego my water bottle. Lastly, and most importantly, I forgot to safety text my plan to my best friend in case something happened. Well, I realized three of these things when I got out of the car at the trail head, but was so intent on getting the shot, I decided to go anyway. After all, I’ve been doing this for years and would be extra cautious.

But I didn’t look at the map closely, and misjudged my water availability, so I didn’t get very far before I began to get thirsty and hungry, my stomach growling. I also realized a 1/2 mile in, coming upon a trail sign, I had miscalculated the distance. My 3.8 miles RT, would now be 5. Not a big deal on most days, but already having biked a vigorous uphill in the morning, and with no food or water, I could feel my pace slowing. The struggle was real, but I’ve pushed through far worse in my life, so plodded on. After a good hour+ of uphill hiking with all my gear, not seeing a single hiker this late in the evening, parched, hungry, and beginning to bonk, I came across the brook I had been seeking. I drank long and deep from it’s clear cold waters, fully satiating my thirst. I surveyed the situation, and it was just as green and mossy as I imagined.

With the deep wood evening light already waning, I gently climbed down off the trail into the brook bed, scouting compositions as I went. After some time, I settled on my first composition, placing my tripod mid stream, straddling slick rocks, and took a few photos. It was so beautiful, the rich emerald green contrasting with deep black rock, and a crystal clear water flow. I wanted to spend hours going up and down the stream. But being so deep in the ravine, the light was already fading fast. It was super slippery too (A mossy brook bed, shocking I know), even with my Limmer boots on.

I looked downstream, and as I crept further on, my situation came to mind: The air was cool and damp, in the 50’s, and supposed to drop into the low 40’s in the mountains (perfect hypothermia weather), I had not seen a single hiker, was now off trail, no one knew I was here, and it would be dark soon. I wanted to continue on, and didn’t relish the thought of trying to duplicate this effort another day, but being hungry and tired, if I slipped and got hurt, even with all my gear, I knew I could quickly be in deep trouble. This is just the thing you read about in the paper the next day, and I wasn’t about to push my luck any further.

I backed off, crawled back up the embankment onto the trail, and repacked my gear for the hike down. As I walked back down the trail, I could hear a pair of wood thrush singing sweet songs to each other. Night closed in about half way down, and I pulled off my pack to retrieve my headlamp for the rest of the way. At least I remembered that important item. Well, I will be back again with more images from this magical spot soon, but you can bet I will have water, food, and a quick safety text before leaving. Until next time:)….This is the image from my second trip, with more time and proper planning.