The solar eclipse of August 2017 behind the World Trade Center One building
Cages of steel are the new norm for me. I've said my goodbyes to the mockingbirds singing their sweet midnight songs and to the beautiful golden hills of California. I will miss them while I'm gone, but I will return. My "goodbye" to California is more like a "see you soon". As of August 14th, 2017, I live in New York City and will be attending Columbia University for the masters in Ecology, Evolution, and Conservation Biology program.
Ceiling detail of the World Trade Center Transportation Hub
High winds blow snow up over the top of Manatee Mountain in the Tatoosh Range, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
Breathing crisp, mountain air reinvigorates the core. After staying in the hot tropical forests of Yucatán or being cooped up inside a warm room for weeks upon weeks, feeling cold is a welcome change. I never thought I'd miss shivering. I hadn't been to the snow in over a decade and now I can only beat myself up thinking about all the time I wasted by staying indoors in the dead of winter because it was "too cold and wet" to be outside. What a fool I was. Hiking, snowshoeing, and camping in the snow make you feel alive. Icy air entering your lungs and cooling down your heated core. The fog that rises in front of your eyes when exhaling. The vibrating crunch that reverberates through your legs when you pack dry snow while walking.
In a way, winter and snow are nature's way of cleansing itself. A white blanket visually removes nearly everything from the landscape, leaving only lines, trees, and rugged mountaintops exposed. In addition to creating a blank canvas, the snow also freezes or forces dormancy in life underneath it—a fresh start for life every year (let's try to keep it that way).
This yearly fresh start is a wonderful practice in photography. Lines and light. That's all there is in winter. White, slightly less white, grey, darker grey—and occasionally a bit of yellow snow here and there. To be fair, that's pretty much all there is all year round but in winter there's much less color for you to think about in the composition of photographs. Plus, far fewer people go out into the inclement conditions to get a photo. If you want a novel photo of an ever-changing landscape, winter is the time to go out and get it.
Snowshoers climb a ridge in whiteout conditions on the way to Artist Point, Mount Baker Ski Area, WA
Pinnacle and Plummer Peaks of the Tatoosh Range, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
Snowshoe tracks leading into the valley below the Tatoosh Range, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
Whiteout conditions at the Mount Baker Ski Area reduce visibility to just a few dozen meters
Golden hour overlooking the Tatoosh Range from Mazama Ridge, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
Unicorn Peak (left) and Manatee Mountain (right) of the Tatoosh Range, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
A brief moment of sunshine illuminates the Tatoosh Range during a snowstorm, Mount Rainier National Park, WA
Staring up at the night sky is one of humanity's last true links to the past. People have been staring up at the same, relatively unchanging night sky for millennia. With light pollution an ever-growing problem, we are losing this link to the past and we have to travel far from the places we call home to find these dark skies.
As summer has faded my thoughts run to my memories of the vast, clear skies of the Northern California. On clear days the skies seem limitless and the stars shine brightly as if they were a string of lights on a blackened wall. A year ago I was here. I was at the Angelo Coast Range Reserve in Branscomb, California. I don't have much to say about this place. Just, magical.
A male Anna's hummingbird (Calypte anna) flashes its iridescent magenta head as it stretches its wings
A bird that lands upon a fence, tree, or roof in your yard may land in mine tomorrow, a month from now, or a few years from now. In that way we are kin, and we are all connected. The wilds of the world connect us all in ways we will never truly comprehend or appreciate until it is too late—whether it be by its demise or ours.
Two juvenile Anna's hummingbirds pack into a little lichen and web nest
A young scrub jay (Aphelocoma californica) perches on a lichen covered branch
I have few words for this journal post. Not much has changed for better or for worse. Instead I'd like to take this time to share with you some images I recently captured of this wonderful California spring we're having. In doing so I hope to make the world kin by sharing a touch of nature with you.
Silver lupine (Lupinus albifrons) grows amongst California poppies (Eschscholzia californica) on a hillside in Las Trampas Regional Wilderness
A male Anna's hummingbird perched in San Ramon, California
A western bluebird (Sialia mexicana) perched on a stake in a San Ramon neighborhood
A lone oak grows upon a grassy hill in San Ramon, California
A western bluebird hovers over the grassy fields of Briones Regional Park in Martinez, California
This post is written in honor of John Muir whose birthday is coming up in little over a week.
“I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news”
When life throws you curveball after curveball and brings you to the brink of falling to your knees in defeat it's hard to believe anything good will ever come your way. Times like that are when it's most important not to give up because when shit is hitting the fan hard things can't really get worse.
I'll spare you the details but for the first two months of this year I was slapped in the face with graduate school rejections, job rejections, and a friendship gone awry all of which crushed my positivity and urge to go out and shoot. For a long time my attitude towards the future was bleak. In many ways it still is. However, in that period of gut-wrenching and heart-rending disappointment I forced myself to go out in the elements to shoot some very mood-appropriate weather. As the rain falling on myself and my camera turned to hail I felt a sort of cathartic release of my internal stresses that were shattering my glassy ambitions. Things just seemed to wash away with the rain...
Some positivity did come from my patience. In the past month I landed a temporary job, scored an interview (and nailed it) for a biologist position at the California Academy of Sciences, and bought a new Nikkor 200-500mm f/5.6 lens to fuel my wildlife photography madness. When you hit rock bottom the only place you can go is up. Force yourself to get out there and do something you enjoy when all you feel like doing is curling up under the blankets and sleeping for an entire weekend. Here's some images I took during the past few months of dark times. I hope you enjoy.
Tumultuous clouds flow over the hills of Briones Regional Park as a large storm approaches the East Bay
A western bluebird (Sialia mexicana) feasts in the rains in San Ramon, California
A white-breasted nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis) searches for insects in Martinez, California
A Say's phoebe (Sayornis saya) ruffles its feathers after preening in the rain in San Ramon, California
Here's to hoping things pick up for all of us—
Confronting barriers callouses the mind and makes it more resilient and more well-rounded. A coddled mind surrounded by safe space barriers is a weak mind – a mind that is just running through the motions like a broken automaton. A well-rounded, calloused mind is grown and strengthened much like an immune system. Going outside of one's comfort zone trains the mind and allows it to be more innovative in subjects that it is already familiar with.
I have been out of the game for quite a while. Finally getting out of the house led me to plunge straight into an unfamiliar situation for shooting: a fire in Berkeley. Shooting something unfamiliar allowed me to get experience that would help my normal landscape and wildlife photography. Shooting at night makes you play with shadows and bright spots of light. A lot of the scene is black and things must be framed interestingly to avoid detracting from the image.
Photographing the firefighters in Berkeley doing what they do best helped me get some of my game back – and then some. After being gone for so long it was a challenge but I really find that the plunge into a type of photography I am not well-versed in prepared me for the trips I was to take up the north coast of California and down to Big Sur. On these trips I found my self more aware of the contrast of my images, the framing, and overall direction of the images. I normally do not experience this in my everyday photography which is primarily simple profiles of wildlife – namely birds. This plunge into an unfamiliar scenario brought clear changes to my photographs of the California coast just a week later. I still missed many potential shots due to my slow-focusing lenses but many of the shots that I did manage to take far exceeded much of my previous work (in my opinion). It was nice to finally get out and shoot again and I hope to never slow down again and stop. This post is to tell the story of the aforementioned road trip and to show how putting yourself into uncomfortable situations can drastically improve your abilities not only in photography but also in life – I hope you enjoy the stories I have to tell.
The first destination on the two day journey with my brother was the north coast of California. Crisp air. I had missed California's winters. Stepping out of a warm car or a warm sleeping bag and feeling the cold air bite at your cheeks is – to me – arguably one of the most reinvigorating and rejuvenating feelings there are in this world. The long drive started in the Bay Area where we began our journey heading up through wine country to Montgomery Woods State Natural Reserve (Pic. 1). Upon reaching the reserve, the temperature was a brisk 25° Fahrenheit. Frost coated every surface – from the smallest pebble to the biggest boulder. We wandered for a while through the gargantuan redwoods and stared in awe at this hidden gem of a park. Few people visited simply because it was a state reserve rather than a state park. However, the groves of old-growth trees in this natural reserve put the twig-sized redwoods of many state parks to shame. As we reached the end of the circular trail around the virgin groves, the air began to warm so we began the long drive to the coast. We drove directly west and when we hit the coastline we stopped at beaches along the way down south. The most prominent beach stop was Schooner Gulch State Beach. Receding tides and trickling streams emptying into the sea left dramatic and beautiful fractal patterns in the sand (Pic. 2). The patterns in the sand were remarkably similar to the branching of veins and arteries and the branching of lateral meristems on a tree. The mathematical characteristics of nature and the similarity between the abiotic and biotic was striking and in a way very humbling. As we continued down the coast in a panic to find a nice place to watch the sunset we found ourselves at Salt Point State Park (Pic. 3). The landscape of the park was simultaneously rugged and tame in that the tops of the plateaus were smooth and gently sloped while the cliffs were intimidating, sheer drops straight into the tempestuous Pacific Ocean. As the sun dropped below the horizon the sky turned a beautiful and vivid winter orange and dimly illuminated the landscapes which lay to the east. It quickly became dark and we scrambled in the dim twilight up the rocky hill back to the car. The day came to a close as we drove back home to the Bay Area to prepare for a new trip the following day –
Pic. 1: My brother walking across the boardwalk in the heart of Montgomery Woods
Pic. 2: Fractal patterns appear in the sand of Schooner Gulch State Beach
Pic 3. An outcrop of boulders pokes out of the otherwise flat landscape of Salt Point State Park on the northern California coastline
The next day we left in the early afternoon to drive down south to Garrapata State Park and enjoy the afternoon hours and sunset. Not much can be said about this trip as the weather was warm, the skies were flat white with clouds, and the roads were straight and boring. However, once we arrived at the park, we were captivated by the beauty of the coastline. Large rock outcrops and arches protruded from the ocean like ancient Grecian columns. Upon arriving at the park I was first taken away by the power of the sea. Aggressive waves crashed with such power against the cliffs that rumbling could be felt in the ground like titans being awakened (Pic. 4). After spending time trying to photograph the anger of the sea, I spotted in the distance a bird. When I looked closer, it was a peregrine falcon (Falco peregrinus), a species I had never seen in real life before. She sat quietly and observed us, already getting tense at our presence from scores of meters away. My only choice to get a closer look was to head downhill out of her sight and army crawl back up through the sandstone rubble to get close enough for a shot. Within the first two exposures, she had flown away (Pic. 5). Following this encounter, I headed over to the outcrops jutting out of the sea and took advantage of the dimly lit sky to take some long exposure images of the sea (Pic. 6 and 7). It is quite remarkable to see such a violent and tumultuous sea turn so calm through a long exposure – something so powerful and intimidating turned smooth and docile. At the end of the shoot at the park, we drove back north towards the Bay Area to finish off the last day of the road trip – a road trip I deemed quite productive and beautiful.
Pic. 4: The angry seas off the coast of Garrapata State Park, California are intimidating as well as beautiful
Pic. 5: A beautiful peregrine falcon (Falco peregrinus) perches on a rocky sea cliff
Pic. 6: Looking north, a tumultuous sea turned calm and silky by means of long exposure
Pic. 7: Water moves back out to sea as it flows over the coarse rubble beaches of Garrapata State Park, California
A few weeks have passed since that road trip with my brother and I still find myself appreciating the practice I obtained through photographing the firefighters in Berkeley. I recently drove down to San Ramon to drop off an early Christmas gift for my best friend who had recently been feeling down and I figured I should take advantage of the fresh rain which had turned the hills a bright green (Pic. 8). I have posted before about what a wonderful wildlife haven San Ramon is, but every time I visit I am dumbfounded by the sheer number of birds of prey. During my visit I spotted around eight different American kestrels, two golden eagles, two red-tailed hawks, a few vultures, a northern harrier, and a white-tailed kite – all around the small ranch reserve. The experience at the fire in Berkeley has left me with an appreciation for framing images in a more interesting way rather than just trying to get as close as possible to wildlife to get close-cropped images. Shots such as Pic. 9 and Pic. 10 show how I utilized what the fire taught me as the framing and depth-of-field of these images have made them drastically more pleasing to the eye than if they had just been side profiles of the birds. While I am sad that people had the misfortune to lose their apartments and possessions to that fire, I am grateful for the experience the fire gave me as I have finally begun to appreciate what a difference it makes when the entire image is interesting rather than just the subject. As for my friend who was feeling down – hope you feel better Rona. You're awesome and inspire me to take photos like these.
Pic. 8: The bucolic hills of San Ramon with a lone cow in the foreground
Pic. 9: Barbed wire fence in San Ramon trail off into the distance
Pic. 10: A pair of American kestrels (Falco sparverius) perch on a feces-coated chimney in a San Ramon community
Power lines trail off into the distance over the rolling hills of San Ramon
Heat resonating off black tarmac. Kids screaming as the 3PM bell rings at the end of a school day. Honking. Engines roaring. Hearing the names "Danville" or "San Ramon" bring to mind a type of community like a 1940s atom bomb city in Trinity, New Mexico. Fake houses, fake people. Noxious. In my mind it's a place that can hold nothing natural—nothing beautiful.
Boy was I wrong
Lafayette. 11AM. 90 degrees. Nothing quite like starting a day in an inferno. Sitting outside at a café waiting for a call. The phone rings. I've been waiting to head out to San Ramon to meet up with a friend who will be leaving my life soon for the masochistic and labyrinthine world of the biotech industry. One last hurrah before a world of materialism consumes her—and eventually me as well.
As I exit the highway into San Ramon I immediately notice an abundance of brand-spanking new Mercedes and Beemers. People living a lavish lifestyle in this city-equivalent of an annoying popup ad. Driving down the streets of San Ramon is a peculiar experience. Lanes so wide that you could fit an M1 Abrams tank snugly in each. Now for a moment stop and think about the following question: Does this seem like a good habitat for animals? You may be surprised to hear that the answer following my visit seems to be Yes. As I drove down the streets I saw a hawk on every fifth or sixth street light or rooftop. As a birder and a photographer I was outraged at how I would never see this many hawks when I went out to shoot in a regional or state park!
Why such a city seems to house such a large amount of normally scarce birds still confuses me. Within a 15 minute period in a small neighborhood I had seen five different red-tails, two kestrels, and enough bobcat and coyote scat to fill up a five-gallon bucket. A possibility I believe is how much grass is left. Imagine what I am about to say but in David Attenborough's voice: Grasslands are some of the most productive ecosystems and sustain some of the largest populations of animals in the world. If the same area had been covered in trees the area would likely house more types animals but far fewer of them. San Ramon is absolutely teeming with rabbits, ground squirrels, songbirds, and the occasional neighborhood cat that gets eaten by a large red-tail or an eagle. Now that David Attenborough has read it to you, doesn't it sound so much more plausible a hypothesis?
While I was trying to snap a couple photos of two red-tails perched on rooftops a kestrel barreled down towards a flock of blackbirds and knocked one down off a fence post. Never have I been so lucky in photographing birds of prey anywhere. I was spoiled for choice! Spoiled for choice like a cat fishing from a koi pond. And about as happy as one!
What I thought would be a city that I would despise quickly became a sight for sore-eyes. Life behind a computer monitor wasn't good for me. All these animals roaming around despite the presence of people made me envious. I couldn't believe that I was envious of the people of San Ramon. I hated the city but look at me now—
I can't wait to go back
Wildlife photography is hard. I had always wanted to snap a few shots of birds of prey for my portfolio. They're regal, powerful, and beautiful animals. But they're annoying little divas when you try to get close enough for a good shot. Prior to a few days ago, the two following pictures were my only relatively successful attempts at getting good shots of a hawk.
While not horrible, they certainly weren't images I was proud of, nor did I want to show the world a sub-par version of something I thought I could do better. The birds are posed beautifully but the images were heavily cropped, not that sharp, and the background was quite boring.
These images were shot on a weekend home in Martinez. The oak grasslands are ideal habitat for these beautiful red-tailed hawks (Buteo jamaicensis) but the bright, clear skies make for a difficult backdrop for photos. Back in Berkeley I was walking through the university campus to meet a good friend from my fieldwork in the South Pacific and a large flash of orange flew about 5 meters from my face. I wasn't sure what it was but I knew it was a bird of prey and immediately I regretted not having my telephoto lens on my camera. From then on I began carrying my telephoto lens around everyday and when it was quiet around campus, I'd always have it mounted on the camera.
Sure enough, I got the shot. A bird of prey in a bustling urban environment. Unheard of! Not only was the hawk on campus, it was right by one of the busiest paths on the university property. A beautiful red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus) flying back and forth from the oaks to the redwoods and vice versa. A more beautiful subject and background could not be wished for.
But the point of all this? It took two months of carrying around an extra lens (an extra five pounds in addition to my already normally heavy backpack). All for the mere chance that I'd see the bird. Every morning and every evening on the way to and from work or to and from class. Two months of patiently waiting. And it paid off.
The point of all this is that if you wait long enough and try hard enough at pretty much anything, it pays off. Don't stop trying just because you're tired or because you think you're not good enough. Sometimes it'll seem like you're stuck and you'll feel like you're drowning. But don't stop trying. If you fail, who cares? The only thing that comes from a failure is that you become a better, more experienced person. So don't stop trying. Even when you get to where you want to be, don't stop trying. The day you stop trying to do the things you love is the day who you are dies.
Also, I graduated on Saturday. Yay.