A few weeks ago I stood in the exact same spot for a couple of hours, watching light chasing shadows across the Lakeland fells. I saw sunshine and showers and half a dozen different weather fronts, watched buzzards and ravens, chatted with some walkers as they passed, waited while some inquisitive sheep wandered into my composition... and, without any effort on my part, became hyper-sensitive to my surroundings, ready for anything. And I wasnt bored...
I now feel compelled to share an experience from last week when I set up at the edge of a lake about 45 minutes before sunset, hoping to catch the last light on a distant mountain peak. This was out in an area that required packing in and sleeping in a dormitory room at a mountain refuge, so there were only two other people anywhere near the lake at the time. One was my husband, who had opted to climb up a nearby hill for a view in some other direction. The other was another photographer with a tripod. I settled down at the lakeshore, perched at the foot of a steep bank, shutter release in hand and eyes glued to the scene. I sat there marveling at the beautiful clouds and wishing that they would open up enough to let some light through to the peak that I had so carefully framed in my shot. Everything was ready to go: focus set, GND attached to the lens, exposure dialed in, and histogram checked. It was a beautiful location, but that mountain really needed some light, and my heart was sinking a little bit more with each passing minute that it didn't get any. I found myself beseeching the clouds out loud to cut me a little break: "C'mon, all I need is a few seconds of light!!"
I'm sure the other photographer with the tripod must have heard me, but he wasn't within earshot for long. His approach was to plunk down his tripod, fire off a burst of shots (probably bracketing), then whisk away the tripod and drop it down again maybe 30 feet further along the shore. I watched him do this for quite a while, starting far to my left and ultimately disappearing around a bend to my right, where the path continued back to the refuge hut. In that time, he must have stopped a dozen times, never staying in one place longer than it took to focus his lens and fire off a burst.
Shortly after Mr. Snap-and-Go was out of sight, I noticed a subtle change in the color of the distant mountain. My eyes were now adjusted to the dim light and acutely aware of any changes. At first it was just a hint of warmth on the rocky face of the massif. Finally, I was seeing something to make me hopeful. Another minute or so passed, and then BAM!!!...suddenly the tip of the massif lit up like a candle flame and the clouds around it bloomed with color, as if someone had flipped a breaker switch. The sky had opened up in just the right place, letting the light get through to make some magic. So what does an adult woman sitting by herself in the wilderness do when presented with such a scene (after pressing the shutter release button, of course)? Hoot and holler like a teenager! Yep, that's exactly what I did. It was an exhilarating moment.
I can't help but think about that other photographer, though. He hastily beat a path around the lake, shooting in dim, flat light all the way around. His tripod surely enabled him to get sharp images in that low light, and hopping around the shoreline like a jackrabbit probably produced at least a dozen different compositions for him. But he missed the moment when the whole place came alive.
Out on the lake yesterday, doing pix for a local company...
Wonderful. Such a terrific sky, great isolation of the boat, and light picking it out nicely. Makes me wonder why I'm sitting here tapping away on a keyboard right now...
Beautiful
Thank you.
Here's a companion to the picture I posted yesterday.
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Taken with iPhone 4
Now that's something you don't see every day!
