Getting soaked at Schoodic

As the high tide washed onshore, I found a few spots of interest within this small Schoodic cove to focus on. Though the sunrise was somewhat colorful, I was again thinking about how this scene might look when converted to black and white. The prehistoric looking rocks presented a strong, almost polished, foreground, and the the breaking waves were softened by the long exposure. The pre-dawn sky was alive with fast-moving clouds finally clearing out after a couple of days of rain, and I felt pretty fortunate as I soaked in the scene.

Speaking of getting soaked… right after I made this frame I got drenched by some frisky spray from a particularly big wave. I did my best to cover my camera and protect it, but I did get a few drops on the front of my lens. I thought I had cleaned them all off, but when I got back home I realized that I had missed a few drops, making the rest of the morning photographs useless. Lesson learned… when shooting around ocean spray, always check for water drops on the lens!

A rabbit hole of dark yumminess…

As some of you may remember, I recently purchased a copy of Nik Software’s Silver Efex, a pretty awesome tool for digitally converting photographs to black and white. And in case you hadn’t noticed, more and more colorless photographs seem to be making their way onto the blog these days.

In fact, I have become quite fascinated with this new (to me) world of black and white photography, and even though I sort of feel as if I’m taking a shortcut – I haven’t even once touched a piece of film in a wet lab – I can’t seem to get enough of this medium.

What started out as merely de-saturating a color photograph has quickly and uncontrollably evolved into an infatuation with interpreting a scene differently, creating a mood that no colors could ever convey. I’m on a slippery slope, sliding into a pool of black ink… falling down a rabbit hole of dark yumminess.

Stop me when I go too far 🙂

I saw a coyote on my way to the cove…

Ever since Chad Tracy and I “discovered” this little cove a few weeks back, I’ve wanted to return at sunrise to photograph it. There are big rocks and little rocks, jagged rocks and smooth rocks, and the view is undeniably quintessential Maine. Two times I’ve returned here at first light, but on both occasions I was far from impressed with how a very low tide had transformed the cove. A large swath of dark, seaweed-covered rocks made for an un-photogenic landscape, and both times I ended up punting and going here and here – where luckily I witnessed some gorgeous early morning light on those classic Schoodic round rocks. However, when I checked the tide charts for this weekend and noticed that high tide was going to coincide with sunrise, I figured it was time to return.

As I’ve mentioned fairly regularly, sunrise comes early to Maine in the summer months, and when you factor in a 75-90 minute drive to be in a particular location about an hour before the sun actually rises… well, you can imagine how jarring that 2:45 a.m. alarm sounds. I’m always wary when driving on rural roads at that time of night – or is that considered morning – since on more than one occasion I have encountered wildlife trying to get from one side of the road to the other. Animals I’ve seen include moose, deer, porcupine, raccoon, woodchuck, bobcat (my buddy Steve swears it was a mountain lion though)… and those are just the large-ish critters that have crossed my path!

Today though, I got to add another animal to my sightings list… a coyote. About ten minutes into my pre-dawn drive I saw a scrawny looking creature running across the road just on the furthest edge of my high beams. I’m fairly used to seeing deer while on the Maine roads at night, so initially I just assumed that’s what this was… a small deer. As I caught up to him though, it became obvious that it wasn’t a deer and that I had just seen my first Maine coyote! Looking for luck, I immediately convinced myself that a landscape photographer hoping for a glorious sunrise who spots a coyote crossing his path must be similar to anyone else having a black cat cross their path. That’s supposed to bring good luck, right?

Focusing on the details

Trying a new technique here. I’m trying stacking several photographs (in this case 4), each shot at f8 and each shot with a different point of focus so that the level of in-focus and sharp elements throughout the scene is greater than if I used just one frame.

If I were to shoot one shot with a small aperture of say, f18, depending on certain factors, it can still be difficult to get everything in the scene sharp and in focus. There is a scientific and reliable formula to try to achieve such sharpness if desired, but I usually just focus about 1/3 of the way “through” the scene, and in most cases this works pretty well for me. So, why stack several frames with different focus points?

Every lens is different, but every lens has what is called a sweet spot for sharpness, and one thing is for sure… that sweet spot for my 17-40mm lens is not at f18 or higher. This means that if I choose to shoot at f18, any benefits I get from an extended depth of field are usually negated by degradation of the image from diffraction, especially if I am positioned very close to parts of the image.

So, without getting into a topic that is too complicated for me to understand – never mind explain – I shot this scene at f8 to see if I could get a cleaner, sharper image. In this case though, one shot at f8 would not provide sufficient depth of field and sharpness throughout the image for my liking, so I made four images of the same scene each shot at f8, but I changed the point of focus each time. Here’s a pretty simple explanation from the DPS web site of how you might use this technique on a macro shot.

FYI… in these four frames I focused on the very near foreground rocks, the bottom edge of the tide pool, the top edge of the big slab of rock, and then the furthest headland. I then stacked those four photographs in the computer and used the Photoshop auto-align capability to “line everything up” correctly. A few blending shenanigans later, and I had created one image with the result posted above.

On most smaller, web-sized photographs you can’t really tell if everything is sharp front to back, so here’s one that is a little bit bigger than I usually post so you can hopefully see at least some of the impact this process had on overall sharpness. Normally both the very front rocks and the very far trees would be less than sharp, even if I had shot with a small aperture, but in this version they are both noticeably sharper. Like most things, this technique “works” on some scenes and not others… and then there’s creative interpretation.

Bottom line… is the full-sized original of this image cleaner and sharper when shot and processed this way? Yes, actually it is. Am I willing to invest the time and effort needed to shoot and process every image this way? Hmmm… maybe, maybe not.

Disclaimer: every digital image needs to include some degree of sharpening in the post-processing workflow, and this one was treated as I treat all of my other photographs posted to the Interweb.

Unfinished business…

4:53:37 a.m.

A few weeks back I visited this little rocky beach on the Schoodic Peninsula, and although I got some wonderfully cool blue light on that trip, I couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if the sunrise had materialized as I had hoped. For that reason, and because I can’t think of a better place to spend some quality time, I returned there this weekend in hopes of getting some of that nice, warm light I had been promised.

5:03:11 a.m.

Being on the edge of the eastern time zone the sun rises really early here in Maine, even in the first week of May.  Scheduled for 5:15 a.m. this past Sunday, that requires a VERY early start to get to where I want to be about an hour before first light. Most people think that arriving at their location by sunrise will give them the best light, but for me, it’s that 45 minutes or so before the sun actually crests the horizon that really rocks. As the new day slowly wakes, there is a peacefulness and tranquility that cannot be found at any other time of day. The air is clean, the light is new, and the sights and sounds specific to such early moments are only available to those who rise early enough to enjoy them.

5:04:23 a.m.

I don’t usually do this, but I’m showing a series of photographs here that I made that morning as the sun rose. A low bank of clouds both hindered and helped the morning colors develop, and as the day unfurled, I worked what was probably only a 30 yard area for numerous compositions. All of the photographs in this post were made within a twenty minute period before the sun actually rose, and as you can see, the colorful pinks, oranges and yellows that contrasted with the darker rocks hung around for a while. I have my favorites from the morning, but I wanted to show you just some of the many possibilities there were… and I probably didn’t even scratch the surface.

5:06:39 a.m.

Kicking back and soaking in a scene like this can be an almost spiritual experience, and just because I’m crouched over and peering through the viewfinder, it doesn’t mean I’m not appreciating the moment… in fact, it is quite the opposite. For me, the quest for creating a pleasing photograph means being acutely aware of every element within the landscape. I’m paying attention to the changing light and how it interacts with everything within the scene, how the inclusion or exclusion of different elements impacts the composition, and I am totally absorbing the first sounds of the morning.

5:09:57 a.m.

There are many similarities in these compositions… sometimes when I visit a scene I already have pretty solid idea of how I am going to try and arrange the elements, and at other times I make lots of photographs, tweaking the composition… moving a couple of feet either way, tipping the camera up or down more, landscape versus portrait orientation, using different focal lengths. I consider this to be, well… both fun, and good practice. Each of these photographs is a blend of two exposures, one for the darker foreground rocks, and one for the brighter sky. Our eyes can easily make the adjustments necessary to fully appreciate the range of light within each of these scenes, but the camera cannot… hence the need to combine exposures (or use a graduated neutral density filter).

5:10:50 a.m.

One of the coolest things about landscape photography is that if there had been ten other photographers sharing this location with me, each and every one of them would have rendered this scene totally differently. Oh yes, and another cool thing about landscape photography and this particular morning is that there weren’t ten other people there sharing the scene with me. All mine… can you imagine?

5:13:55 a.m.

Stormy skies…

A familiar scene… the sunrise didn’t quite materialize as I had hoped on this particular morning, though the dark and ominous clouds offshore certainly made for a dramatic backdrop to the Prospect Harbor Lighthouse. The white of the lighthouse structure and the red of the actual beacon “popped” really nicely against the darker background, and the gloomy early morning light helped paint an interesting scene. In addition to the stormy skies, I was drawn to the foreground reflection of the lighthouse which was visible, but at the same time was being broken up by waves gently lapping the shore.

Crescent shaped coves…

Scattered all along the edges of the Schoodic Peninsula in Acadia National Park are secluded little crescent-shaped coves like this one. The rocky granite shoreline has been shaped forever by the forces of nature, and these small pockets of wonder are seemingly built for exploring. Jagged rocks often co-exist with the round, polished boulders – big and small – that Acadia is renowned for, and depending on how much the tide unveils, you will get to see more (or less) of what for me is a spectacular landscape.

Secrets revealed…

5:50:15 a.m.

While I appreciate the drama that high tide and lively surf can offer compositionally, I also enjoy exploring the secrets that are revealed at low tide. All sorts of normally submerged goodies become exposed, and quite often the palette of color on display is striking. On this particular morning, the soft, even light of what was actually an uninspiring sunrise created a kaleidoscope of earthy colors that I really liked. As the incoming tide softly washed around my feet, I couldn’t help but smile as the ocean once again temporarily reclaimed possession of such a beautiful landscape.

Feeling blue…

5:37:23 a.m.

As first light tries to reach out from under the cloud cover, I was drawn to these amazing shapes and lines in the rocky surface of the Schoodic shoreline. The textures and colors were remarkable, with everything seemingly pointing toward the island lying just offshore. Skunked at sunrise in that there wasn’t any explosion of color and light, but I have come to appreciate (and love) photographing in these cool blue moments before dawn.

Simplifying the scene…

5:17:33 a.m.

Simplifying the elements of a scene is always important, and when the weather doesn’t cooperate by providing the anticipated magical light, it becomes even more critical. Over my shoulder there was “almost” some nice first light, but a frontal system had stalled just offshore long enough to dull any chance of a dramatic sunrise. So, instead of warm pinks, yellows and reds lighting up those dappled overhead clouds, I had to settle for the deep pre-dawn blues of what was actually a cold, spring morning.

As soon as I arrived here, I knew immediately that I wanted to make the round boulders the star of this scene. In the second photograph I splayed the legs of my tripod out as far as I could and tried to get as close to the ground as possible. By doing so I was able to place greater emphasis on those beautiful smooth rocks which seemed to stretch forever. In both I liked how the classic Maine treeline and crescent shaped cove help to subtly frame the scene, and I don’t mind how the low-tide line and trees are silhouetted.

In the first photograph above, a longer exposure (80 seconds) added the effect of a little movement in the clouds (which I like), and in the second photograph we see a more traditional rendering of what were billowing and textured clouds. I think both of these are rather simple compositions… rocks, shoreline, trees and sky. I’d be curious about your thoughts on either of these compositions…

5:31:29 a.m.

As the light fades…

After making a few photographs, I flipped on the video camera and I sat down to pause and reflect. I’ll see you all in a few days 🙂

Needing to breathe…

Needing to breathe, I headed to Acadia tonight. I feel quite melancholy about a recent loss and wanted some time to think and try to come to terms with things. As I arrived, my mood matched the dull grey clouds, and then the light unexpectedly turned nice. That made me smile.

Prospect Harbor Lighthouse

Originally constructed in 1850 out of granite, the Prospect Harbor Lighthouse was replaced in 1891 by the current 42 ft high wooden structure. Standing sentinel at the mouth of Prospect Harbor on the Gouldsboro Peninsula just east of Schoodic, this beautiful lighthouse both welcomes and warns local mariners. I had spent a wonderfully peaceful early morning exploring the rocky shoreline of Schoodic, and after finishing up there, I wandered further around the coast toward this little gem of a place. The ocean was calm, the sun was warm, and I think I found another place to return to with better light.

Why I’m a morning person…

7:41 p.m.

There is nice soft light to be found at both the start and the end of the day, but my preference for making landscape photographs always seems to be the morning (though the one above was in the evening). I’ve been somewhat curious as to why I prefer to get up at early o’clock, and despite actually spending time trying to come up with a definitive answer, I have never really been able to put my finger on the true reason… until now.

Some theories I have considered include:

1. Since I’m on the right-hand coast, and considering that the sun generally rises in the eastern sky, it makes sense that to take advantage of that warm, golden light hitting the majority of east facing landscapes, I would need to plan accordingly for an early start.
2. While technically I find it just as difficult as the next person to get up at 4:00 a.m. to leave the house in time to arrive at a particular location for the best light, I genuinely don’t seem to mind getting up early… besides, I have learned that the payoff can be worth it.
3. While I have no problem sharing a gorgeous vista with others, I also enjoy (prefer) the solitude of being in such a place all by myself. So, if sunrise is at 6:00 a.m., and sunset is at 6:00 p.m., which of these times do you think people are more likely to be around?
4. I’ve heard there is some scientific mumbo-jumbo about how the light at sunrise and the light at sunset are different… err, OK… but none of these are the true reason why I like to make photographs in the morning.

Looking across toward Turtle Island and Cadillac Mountain, the photograph above was made from Raven’s Nest on the Schoodic peninsula within Acadia National Park, and it was while making this image that my suspicions about why I prefer to shoot in the morning were confirmed. The image above was made at 7:41 p.m. and the one below at 7:47 p.m. – that’s about 45 minutes after the sun had set. It was only when I had finished making these photographs – standing on the edge of the ocean – that I truly comprehended how dark it had become.

Though I’m quite accustomed to arriving at a morning location while it is still dark out, I’m also used to the day then getting progressively lighter as I go about my business, so as I stood on a high cliff overlooking the ocean, I’m not afraid to admit that the unfamiliar darkness began to make me a little uneasy. Of course I was never in any danger, but getting a sense of where the trail was and which tree roots I shouldn’t trip over posed a challenge in itself, and I also quite suddenly and acutely became aware of the heightened sounds of nature all around me – both the deadly silence and the strange, random noises that I hadn’t even heard five minutes earlier – and I admit to getting a little spooked.

7:47 p.m.

Luckily I had my Petzl headlamp to illuminate the path back to my car through what had now been transformed into an eerie, shadow-filled, and creepy forest. It was only as I hurriedly ditched my gear in the back seat of the car and quickly drove off (before anyone or anything could knock on my rolled up window) that everything clicked… I’m a big scaredy pants when it comes to being alone in the woods after dark… and that’s why, when it comes to landscape photography, I’m definitely a morning person!

Raven’s Nest

6:45 p.m. - 17 minutes before sunset

It is very easy to miss an amazing little stretch of Schoodic that is tucked away out of sight – unless you know where it is of course. Previously oblivious to its location, I have driven by an area known as the Raven’s Nest many times, but with a bit of sleuthing by Chad Tracey, directions were obtained and a visit planned. Ever since a recent trip to Schoodic, I can’t seem to get the place out of my mind. Feeling restless, and not having the patience to wait for the weekend, I hopped in the car mid-week and made the trek to the coast.

A short walk through a gnarly and wind-sculpted forest brings you quite quickly to this rather dramatic overlook. The NPS doesn’t seem to publicize this location, and I can sort of see why. Though some care has obviously been taken in the curation of the thin trail around the craggy headland, this place definitely isn’t for the faint of heart, and I certainly wouldn’t bring my kid here. Tree roots and coarse vegetation – both interested in snagging your every step – abound all along a narrow trail which is at times mere inches from a precipitous fall. I’m not so good with heights and taking risks, so let’s just say I was leaning heavily to one side with my center of gravity pretty low as I explored this gorgeous area!

There are many more compositions to discover in this one tiny part of Schoodic, so this is a place I will definitely be returning to. The two images in this post are from just before, and just after, the last light of the day. In the first, warm light on the classic Acadia granite before sunset was truly remarkable, and despite the absence of any clouds, I loved the view and especially the color reflected onto the ocean. With the horizon so clear, I was hoping to capture the subtle colors of the earth shadow in the second image, but instead, as the night rolled in I settled for some incredibly deep blues. I’d love to hear your thoughts on both of these…

7:32 p.m. - 30 minutes after sunset

Scouting in Schoodic

After spending a wonderful early morning near the main parking lot area of Schoodic, fellow photographer Chad Tracey and I decided to extend the morning and do some location scouting for future photo expeditions. We found some big rocks and some little rocks, and as we rounded every headland, strikingly beautiful coves lay waiting to be discovered, with each rocky beach seemingly better than the next.

Although part of Acadia National Park, Schoodic lies across Frenchman Bay from Mount Desert Island, and as such, it receives much less traffic, and could even be considered unspoiled. I love that part of the park which lies within the boundaries of Mount Desert Island, but I have to admit, spending a little time over at Schoodic definitely opened my eyes to the potential for landscape photography. Anyhoo… here’s a quick snap from one of the headlands – I can’t wait to return and get down into those secluded and spectacular Schoodic coves.

The Devil is in the Detail

The coastline of the Schoodic peninsula is a tapestry of nature’s most basic work. The rocky landscape is… all at the same time… smoothed and polished, cracked and broken. Along this particular section of shoreline, there are massive swathes of granite divided by lines – or dykes – of black basalt which stretch from the headland down to the ocean. The thin fingers of basalt are more easily worn down by the elements, creating a fractured landscape that is absolutely captivating to explore. Water often pools in deeper pockets of rock, and in the photograph above I was intrigued by the patterns, reflection, and natural details on display. In the second image, you can get some sense of the windswept nature of this stubborn piece of rock that reaches out into the Atlantic, and off in the distance across Frenchman Bay lies a close relative of this land… Cadillac Mountain and Mount Desert Island. And yes… those trees really do lean back like that!

High tide at Schoodic

On my recent visit to Schoodic, high tide and sunrise were supposed to almost coincide, and that got me excited for the famous surf that this rocky headland is known for. Take one look at the landscape all along the Schoodic peninsula and you can tell that the ocean has bruised and battered this coastline for years. There are huge slabs of granite scattered along the shore, some smoothed by the ocean and some violently broken apart. Although the high surf that Schoodic is renowned for wasn’t on display on this particular morning, with a little imagination you can easily envision how the dynamic forces of nature have sculpted this landscape.

Standing on a slippery ledge overlooking a 20ft drop into the Atlantic ocean as waves race in and out can be quite exhilarating, especially if you are bent over a strategically placed tripod and peering through a tiny camera viewfinder. As I inched my tripod further and further toward a more dramatic photograph, I fought my insecurities and told myself that I was safe, but the restless, incoming tide and the fear of being swept off my perch kept my senses quite taught. If you haven’t ever experienced what it’s like to stand on the edge of the ocean before dawn with deep swells rising and falling, the sounds of gulls crying overhead, and a strong sea breeze swirling all around you… well, you should (well back from the edge).

***Let me stress that no-one should ever take any chances around the edge of the ocean. The ocean is a fickle thing, and I have heard plenty of stories where smart, practical people have been caught unawares by a rogue wave. I was in no danger whatsoever when I made these photographs, and wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t suggesting you should put yourself in any danger.***

Schoodic Penninsula, Acadia National Park

There’s more to Acadia than Mount Desert Island, and this past weekend I had an opportunity to explore a much less traveled part of the park, Schoodic Penninsula. Schoodic lies across Frenchman Bay from MDI, and for those interested in a markedly quieter – but still strikingly beautiful – experience in the easternmost national park, then this is the place for you. Big rocks, big waves and an exposed, windblown landscape… what’s not to like? Although there might be a little bit of wide-angle distortion going on in the upper left corner of the frame above, those trees really were leaning backwards like that having been shaped by the elements for years.

I hadn’t ever been to Schoodic for sunrise, so this was very much an exploratory mission. With no real plan in place other than to head to the main parking lot and then delve into the fantastically rugged shoreline, I fairly quickly stumbled on this rain-filled pool which had a thin sheen of ice on it. The sun had yet to rise to the east, but I was immediately drawn to the sky being reflected in the pool, the irregular shape of the water, and that familiar cloudless, colorful gradient in the sky which made for a wonderful backdrop.

A summer morning in Acadia

I have visited Otter Cliffs and Boulder Beach in Acadia National Park often, always hoping to photograph an awesome sunrise partnered with some dramatic clouds and pounding surf. I have certainly been lucky at times with spectacular light, sometimes with ominous clouds, and at other times with pounding surf. Heck… I have even had two out of three on the rare occasion, but never has everything come together where the angels sing and I make the photograph I have been dreaming of. All of the forecasted conditions seemed to be happening as advertised this morning though, and as some warm pink hues peeked over the horizon I was beginning to get excited. Maybe this was the morning when everything would come together?

This was ten days before the summer solstice, with sunrise scheduled for a very early 4:48am and high tide supposed to hit at 7:05am. As my friend Josh and I cruised along the Loop Road toward the ocean, the adrenalin that was pumping masked the effects of the 2:30am start to the morning. Arriving at our destination with plenty of time to spare, we were welcomed by some of the most beautiful pre-dawn light I have ever seen. I made a couple of photographs looking back toward Great Head and Schoodic, but all the while I couldn’t help wondering just how good Otter Cliffs was going to look when this light hit them.

I even took my socks and shoes off and rolled my jeans up so that I could get closer to the breaking waves and round rocks. I learned that the Atlantic Ocean is quite chilly at this time of year, but that didn’t phase me one bit as I soaked in the incredible scene and waited for the moment. With my camera aimed at what I thought was a decent composition, all I needed was the bank of thick grey clouds that were gathering near the horizon to stay high enough to let the sun streak across the sky and light up the granite cliffs. As my toes started to get numb from the cold, and right about when the sun was supposed to make it’s appearance, like a curtain being drawn, the good light faded and the photograph below shows what the scene looked like. Oh well… still one of the most amazing places to let the senses soak in the experience at dawn, and all the more reason to return and try again 🙂