Spring Thaw

Winter started its annual retreat around here about a week ago. And with it the ice on the lake began to break up and move out. Open patches of water appeared and the ice volcanoes shrank a bit. And blue skies - something we haven’t seen much of this winter. But weather changes quickly, as I recently experienced. These images were taken over a five-day period, in different light, in areas close to where I live. All were taken around water and ice that changed on a daily basis.

A large piece of driftwood sitting close to the beach in the open water. But it didn’t stay that way for long. Just five days later strong winds, high waves and cold weather brought in more ice and water and that large log was buried once more.

Looking out from the shore, a close up the ice volcanoes. The white bands, and soft edges on some of the ice is due to the combination of moving ice and a two minute shutter speed.

The change in weather also affected the river cut. Completely open just a few days ago, it’s full of ice once more. It won’t last long, the warmer weather will quickly melt it, but for now this is what we have.

Driftwood comes and goes. It’s been in the water - sometimes already on the beach, often coming in with the winds. But those trees are no longer alive and the harsh weather can’t hurt them. But this small tree, once on the beach, is now surrounded by water and lots of wind. Will it survive? I hope so.

The living trees growing near the edge of the lake face harsh weather in the winter and early spring. Ice builds up on the branches, melts, and builds up again. Yet the trees somehow survive. I find their resilience - and their beauty - comforting.

I’m captivated by driftwood. Once living trees, possibly part of a forest, transported from parts unknown, they now appear as natural sculptures, formed by time, wind and water. Their shapes and textures are remarkable.

There was a lot of ice at Grand Bend this year. It is starting to melt but it will take time and some warmer weather before it’s all gone. But people are already there, watching the ice recede, and looking forward to the summer that’s not too far off now.

Weather changes everything. The light makes a difference, as does the wind. And ice - well that’s a whole story on its own. Ice is powerful, it moves whatever’s in its path And when it leaves, what’s left behind is different than what was there before.

The Beauty of Winter

I tend to like winter. Not the cold I must admit, but the beautiful soft light and pastel colours that make up the winter palette. Images taken then can be peaceful, minimalist, quiet. And now this winter’s nearly over. It’s been a dull one, grey most of the time, not a lot of snow to brighten things up and lots of ice. The combination meant there were fewer days with good light and many days when it was simply too treacherous underfoot to be wandering around. So not as much photography as I would have liked.

But there were a few good days, and there’s always beauty when I search it out.

I’ve photographed these wooden posts many times in just about every kind of weather. But I think these images, taken in January, are my favourite. Ice and sleet from the day before had “dressed” the posts in beautiful layers of ice, the wind had twirled and shaped the water as it froze, curling it around the posts, and the icicles had not yet melted or broken off. I took some shots at normal exposures and then made long exposure images which changed both the look and mood dramatically.

My imagination gives stories to these images. The two posts, side by side, seem intimate to me. I can think of them as “sisters” or as a “couple”. They are beautiful. They are “dressed up”; they stand proud. The simplicity and elegance enchants me and I am transported.

And what about that “No Parking” sign. It looks strange, out of place in that environment, but there it is and I quite like it.

A few days ago the ice on the lake started to melt. Winter is coming to a close. The ice volcanoes are still there but there’s also some open water. Another week and the ice will be gone, some driftwood will become visible and the lake will look different again.

Away from the lake, a couple of days ago I took a walk through a nearby forest. Different in winter but still beautiful. The last of the ice still lies in patches on the path ahead.

Just off the pathway a small body of ice lay in a shallow area. Looking closer, leaves under the thin sheets of ice created abstract images of shape, pattern and colour. The frozen bubbles were mesmerizing. So many images there.

Time stopped. I became completely absorbed in the beauty around me and in the joy of trying to capture what I saw.

Winter is nearly over. These kinds of images won’t be possible for another year. But two days ago I saw a group of tundra swans passing overhead and heard their loud unique sound - a sure sign of spring. And with the warmer weather and the start of a new season there will be other beautiful subjects to enjoy and photograph. Our world feels harsh these days, but seeing all the beauty there is in the world does much to soften that.

Driftwood: A Story of Trees, Water, Storms and Time

This winter was long and harsh, with high winds and big storms.  Lake Huron froze early and stayed frozen until March.  Once the ice left an unusual amount of driftwood remained on the beaches and in the water.  Where did it come from?  How far had it travelled?  Impossible to know.

This image was taken on May 9, a half-hour before sunset.  Most of the driftwood had been returned to the water and the smaller pieces picked up by people walking the beach.

Three weeks earlier this is what that same beach looked like.  The large tree in the water is constantly tossed and turned by the waves, and the rest of the wood and debris has mostly disappeared.

Late in the evening, a silver shimmering lake and a log sculpted by water, wind and time.

The same scene, taken with a longer exposure.  The first a "natural" representation, the one below created to smooth the lake and sky and give a more serene and minimalist look.  To my eye both images work.

A different beach, again photographed late in the day.  The evenings have been cloudy with storms ever present on the horizon.  The light is hard to catch.

A closer shot of the three logs, buried in sand under the water, and projecting up.  Hard to know how long they'll keep their positions before the sand shifts or the next storm takes them out.

The logs, despite their weight, are hurled together by water and wind, ending up as interlocked forms.  To lift these logs is impossible; only the changing water levels, pushed by winds and storms, can toss them around and shift the configuration.

White, smooth, and sculpted - and now mostly out of the water - this lovely piece still decorates the beach, hopefully for some time.

Again late on another evening when the skies were dark and a storm threatened.  

Over the three weeks that these images were taken the beach has changed.  The large logs are still there, heavy and hard to move; the smaller pieces are scattered or gone.  The opportunity to find and photograph these natural sculptures is probably over for this year but I'll keep on looking. As always, I am awed by the beauty of the world around me.  And grateful to be able to photograph it.

Iceland Through a Long Lens

On a recent trip to Iceland my main lens jammed on the first day and I was left photographing that big-picture landscape country with just a long lens.  And while my 70-300 is a good lens it's not the one I reach for first, and certainly not for a place like Iceland.  First disappointment, followed by mild panic, and then I simply had to get on with it.  So two weeks to go and an opportunity to practice longer focal length photography.  Not ideal and It was a challenge.

Iceland is known for the size and scale of its waterfalls.  Broad and high, cascading over massive rock formations, they are impressive.  With this lens I had two choices:  shoot from further away or focus on just a section of the waterfall.

150 mm, 1/40sec  @ F9, ISO100

A tall, narrow waterfall a short walk away from the massive Skogafoss waterfall.  It was the small tree, growing in a rock wedged into an opening that caught my eye.  

70 mm, 1/15 sec @ F16, ISO100

A small section from Skogafoss, a large waterfall in the southern part of the island.    Capturing the entire scene wasn't possible but this shot gives a sense of the volume and power of the water cascading from the river above.

108 mm, 1/8 sec @ F20, ISO100

Hraunfossar Falls, or really just a small part of it, is a series of cascading falls that stretch along the lava fields.  The landscape above was a riot of fall colours.  And because it's off the beaten track it gets fewer visitors and can be enjoyed almost in solitude.  That said, it's difficult to capture without getting unwanted twigs and shrubs in the foreground.  So this time the longer lens was an advantage.

70 mm, 1/8 sec @ F16, ISO100

A struggle at Oxarafoss Falls in Pingvellir National Park.  There was no way to get the right angle on the falls and also be far enough away.  At 70 mm, the widest angle I had, I focused on the lower section and the water cascading over the rocks in the foreground.  Vertical shots or closeups provide a different view.  

79 mm, 1/5 sec @ F22, ISO100

300 mm, 1/10 sec @ F16, ISO100

Lava fields, rock formations, black sand beaches, ice formations - Iceland has it all.  Rock formations jutting into the seas, formed by lava and shaped by time and weather, are remarkable.  Here a longer lens often worked well, as in the image below, taken at Vik in the south of Iceland.

128 mm, 1/20 sec @ F16, ISO100

"Drinking Dragon" rock formation with mountains behind.  

135 mm, 1/20 sec @ F11, ISO100

Ice formations on a black beach taken in the "blue hour" just before dark.

81 mm, 0.5 sec @ F16, ISO400

And the same place at dawn the following morning.

124 mm, 2.5 sec @ F16, ISO100

The Blue Lagoon.  Large chunks of ice and small icebergs break from the glacier, stay in the lagoon for a while, then make their way to the sea.  The black markings on the ice are ash from volcanic eruptions that occurred in ages past.  The longer they're in the lagoon the smoother the ice surfaces become, shaped by all kinds of weather.

182 mm, 1/50 sec @ F11, ISO 100

Blue skies and snow-capped mountains with glaciers moving down them are part of the unique beauty of this place.

244 mm, 1/800 sec @ F7.1, ISO100

Lava fields are slow to regenerate.  It takes years for earth to accumulate sufficiently for moss to grow, and the hardy plants, bushes and few trees that are able to grow in this environment take much longer.  

70 mm, 1/50 sec @ F16, ISO100

112 mm, 1/6 sec @ F16, ISO100

Fishing nets along the shore in the northern part of Iceland.  

93 mm, 8 sec @ 16, ISO100

300 mm, 13 sec @ F16, ISO100

Winding roads along the fjords and small communities built along the water or nestled up close against the mountains, common sights as we travelled through the country.

78 mm, 1/160 sec @ F9, ISO400

90 mm, 1/80 sec @ F10, ISO100

124 mm, 1/50 sec @ F8, ISO400

100 mm 1/250 sec @ F8, ISO1000

Churches like this are found all over Iceland, brightly coloured, with a few buildings nearby.

300 mm, 1/200 sec @ F8, ISO400

The abandoned herring factory at Djupavik in the north of the country.  Built in 1934, closed in 1954 when the herring were gone, and recently painted and refurbished as a setting for part of the superhero movie "Justice League" in October, 2016.  A beautiful location.

105 mm, 0.3 sec @ 11, ISO100

70 mm, 1/30 sec @ F10, ISO100

The harbour in the town of Patrekskfjordur.

116 mm, 1/2 sec @ F8, ISO100

100 mm, 1/160 @ F8, ISO400

Iceland's famous black church in early morning.  And a full view of the church at dawn.

300 mm, 1/15 sec @ F13, ISO100

70 mm, 0.6 sec @ F16, ISO100

Spending two weeks in Iceland was a treat.  Being there without my regular landscape lens was a challenge.  Just an unlucky break.  I had an extra camera body with me, extra cards and batteries, a second cable release, but it wasn't practical or feasible to take a duplicate of each lens.  So I struggled to overcome my frustration, worked with what I had, and learned more about shooting with a long lens.  Despite the setback I had a great time and the images I wasn't able to capture with my camera are firmly tucked away in my memory.

Greenland's Stunning Icebergs

Icebergs are amazing in every sense of the word.  Massive, beautiful and powerful floating blocks of ice, some as large as buildings, others in the shape of giant columns, wedges, or other formations.  Seen up close they invoke awe and a strong appreciation for the forces of nature.  And as large as they are, only 10% of their mass is visible, the rest remaining below the surface.  These icebergs calved from the Greenland ice cap.  They will initially travel north, pushed by ocean currents, and then start their journey south where they'll melt along the coasts of Labrador and Newfoundland.

The scale is hard to describe.  The smaller iceberg on the left is higher than many buildings; the larger one the size of several city blocks.

Icebergs assume different shapes and names are given to the various formations.  This one is a "Pinnacle"; the first image is a "Dome".  They weigh between 100,000 and 200,000 metric tons.

Icebergs remain in the water for months and often years, their shape changed by water, weather and time.  This one now has deep caverns along one side.  On the narrower side at the left daylight can be seen filtering through the cavity.  Icebergs with slots or channels through are described as "Dry-Dock".

Deep cracks appearing at the edge of an iceberg, indicating part of it may be getting ready to split off from the main section.

The tiny zodiac with it's driver and ten passengers on the left edge of the image provides scale and shows just how large these ice formations are.  To be on the water, circling closely around them, was an incredible experience.  

Black-legged kittiwakes sitting on a small floating piece of ice, with larger icebergs in the background.  A few moments later they flew off showing their lovely wings in flight.

A "Tabular" formation.  Flat on top, longer than it is high, with sheer sides.  It's the length of a city block or more.

Columnar icebergs, probably once part of larger formations, broken off and made smaller by the elements.  

These images were taken off the west coast of Greenland near the town of Ilulissat which is  the iceberg capital of the Arctic.  Across town lies the Jacobshavn Glacier and Icefjord, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The glacier produces 10% of all Greenland icebergs, with 35 billion tonnes of icebergs calving and passing out of the fjord every year.  

Ice sheets, calved from the glacier, moving through the fjord.

While hard to compete with the icebergs the rocks and tundra at the edge of the fjord offer up their own beauty.

Jacobshavn is a fast-moving glacier, calving vast amounts of ice into the fjord each year.  Larger icebergs can get stuck in the fjord where they remain until they are broken up by the force of the glacier and the continually moving ice.  Looking out across the fjord the vista is a mountain range of ice, moving steadily on its path to open water. 

The towns along this Greenland coast are colourful against a backdrop of rugged mountains.  And they have these ice structures as part of their landscape.  

Some smaller icebergs and floes in and around the fjords and mountains.  The beauty of it all can be overwhelming.

I've been drawn to icebergs for a long time.  Their beauty, mystery and raw power is unique.   As is the soft light and the northern colour palette which I find wonderful to photograph.  I first went to the Arctic two years ago and immediately knew I would return.  These past two weeks along the coast of Greenland, across Baffin Bay and into some of the northern parts of Nunavut was memorable.  This world is beautiful.

Friendship, Conversation, and Time in the Country

We met in graduate school thirty-seven years ago.  Our backgrounds were different, as were our personalities and many of our preferences.  Our friendship was built on a shared love of learning, a commitment to personal growth, and a deep curiosity.  We spent out time together in conversation.  Long talks, deep and intense, across a wide range of topics.  We talked about the books we'd read, the authors and thinking that had an impact, along with what was going on in our lives.

In the early years our children, the challenge and joy of relationships, and our developing careers were part of our stories.  But always, it was the conversations that mattered, the glue that kept us connected.  We seldom went out - dining, movies, shopping, entertainment - weren't what we did together.  One time, strong in both our memories, we spent an entire day in early spring sitting on lawn chairs just talking.  We simply moved the chairs to follow the sun.  It was pure pleasure. We did travel, to places like Esalen, New Mexico, deep into the Ecuadorean Amazon jungle, and to workshops and retreats that fed our curiosity and hunger to learn which, in turn, provided more to talk about.

Over the decades our children grew up, relationships ended and new ones began.  Successful careers enabled much.  We kept learning and growing.  And at one point, late in our careers, we were able to work together, and that was a joy.  We created something together than was larger and better than each of us could have achieved alone.  And we kept talking.

But change continued, as it always does.  We both moved away, pursuing different chapters in our lives.  And our times together became less frequent.  Sometimes long periods would go by without contact.  But the strength and draw of those conversations remained important to us and we sought a solution.  So every other week, at a prearranged time, one of us calls the other and we settle down for a feast of rich conversation lasting an hour or more.

Recently I went to stay with my friend at her home in the country.  Her home is beautiful, situated in lovely rolling countryside.  She and her husband have created special places throughout the property.  Passing through grasses, a small grove of trees, and up a hill, they found the perfect spot to build a labyrinth.  Modelled on the one in Chartres Cathedral, it's comprised of eleven concentric rings split into four parts, creating a path which leads from the outside to the inside passing once over every track.  The journey to the centre is a slow and contemplative one, and you remain in the centre of the circle with your thoughts and reflections for as long as you wish before retracing your steps to reenter the world.  To walk a labyrinth is a spiritual experience.  We walked that labyrinth, in silence, delighted to be there together.

We woke to the crowing of roosters on a nearby farm.   We ate simple nutritious food, we spent time together, and the days went peacefully by.  There was beauty everywhere.  

The conversations, as always, had strength and meaning.  It wasn't that we had to catch up or reconnect - that was always there - but we both experienced a deep pleasure in seeing each other and simply being together.  The telephone had kept our friendship from slowly fading away but at the end of our time together we knew it was important to see each other on a regular basis.  And we'll now make sure that happens.

The gift of deep friendship, the joy of real conversation, and delightful time in the country.  Life is rich and full.  I am so grateful.

The Light is Everything

I've been photographing for a few years now, and I like to think my images have improved. But it wasn't until I started focusing more on the quality of the light that I could see a real difference.  Prior to that I'd tend to go out with my camera during the middle of the day, the mornings and evenings usually taken up with other things.  And the images reflected that.  Many were not interesting.  The light often harsh, hot, or simply not there.  It became clear:  The Light is Everything.

Photography is important to me, a creative outlet that's quickly becoming a passion.  And if I wanted to get better I'd have to pay more attention to the light.  So I made the commitment but it wasn't easy.  Light is something special - I think of it as a gift - and it's not always there.  Weather patterns shift, clouds come in where none were expected, it rains or is overcast for what seems like weeks, and this winter has been one of the greyest I can remember.  The lake didn't freeze, there was little snow, blue sky was a distant memory, and the wonderful soft winter palette of pinks and blues was mostly absent.  And when it does make an appearance it doesn't stay for long.  It's elusive and challenging.  But when you are there at the right time, and you're able to get the shot you've visualized, it is exciting.

A winter shot of a few bleak trees at the edge of Lake Huron.  Nothing much to look at most of the time, but when the light hit them late one afternoon they put on a show.

A group of farm buildings in Lambton Shores.  Again, not much to look at in the harsh light of day, but late in the afternoon they seem to sparkle.  And those old silos right beside that brand new wind turbine tell a story.

Good light often partners with bad weather.  Just before or after a storm front passes through the sky can be striking, with good contrast, dark clouds, and slivers of light.  It's a good time to be out photographing.  But, as always, those peak moments are fleeting.

Last November I hoped to get some pictures of the Supermoon.  The sky was clear that night and it looked promising.  Along with a photographer friend we set up in a field at a spot where, using the Ephemeris app, we'd calculated the moon to rise just to the left of the large silo.

But our calculations were off by a touch, and that beautiful moon rose just a bit further to the right and not over the silo and farm buildings.  An error of a few degrees makes a big difference.  Some scrambling and fast running to get the best shot possible under the circumstances.  I did get the Supermoon, just not where I expected it.

The next morning in Grand Bend.  That amazing moon setting exactly where Ephemeris said it would.  And that light on the lighthouse is from the rising sun.  Light is the magic sauce that makes the difference.

A shot of the Assiniboine in the Sarnia Harbour, taken just as the sun broke through on a cloudy day.  The light hit the ship and the colours popped.

Two similar images taken on the same day, 16 minutes apart.  The sun broke through the clouds and lit up the buildings, creating a completely different look and mood.

A picture of Sarnia's Chemical Valley, taken at dusk.  Dark, moody, and mysterious.

An oil tanker, the Algoma HANSA, in dock on the St. Clair River.  The sun caught the side of the ship just before sunset.  I think of these scenes as beautiful industrial landscapes.

Another industrial landscape, this one taken in Hamilton at the end of February when the harbour still had a thin coating of ice on it.  Large storage containers, tugboats, and reflections in the water.  Industrial for sure, perhaps not appealing to everyone, but for me it definitely works.

I'll close this post with a Tundra Swan coming in for a landing.  Taken late in the afternoon it wasn't quite "last light" but the blue sky rendered the water a colour that contrasted nicely with the bright white of the swan's feathers, and the shadows provided detail.

It is harder to get out when the light is right.  And that light is changing all the time.  It's also brief, the time of day when the light is at its best is incredibly short.  But good light makes for better images and that's what I'm after.  So I'll continue to be out there, chasing the light and seeing what I can do with it.  The light is everything.

The Challenge of Summer Photography

A hot summer.  Mid 30's most days.  Beyond a couple of fierce and impressive thunderstorms in early spring there's been little rain.  The light is harsh and contrasty.  Sunrise is early, sunset so late, and lots of strong unappealing light in between.  Those beautiful intense greens of spring are gone and most vegetation is dry and dusty; in full leaf but no longer fresh and vibrant.  The lake is high, higher than it's been in years and there's little beach.  The kettles at Kettle Point are completely under water and the loss is deeply felt.  Perfect weather for camping or cottage life, or even being at home enjoying food on the patio with friends.  But not so good for photography.

I haven't taken many images this past month.  The camera hasn't been out much.  The beach I love - wild, empty, with loud crashing waves - is now decked out for summer.  Loads of people, each group using umbrellas and beach chairs to lay claim to their staked out piece of sand.  Boats and Sea-Doos racing across the water at full throttle, making a different kind of lake noise.  But it's summer and this is a beautiful beach:  sandy, shallow for a long way out, safe, clean, with waves for the kids to jump and play in.  People love to be here.  And that's a good thing.

I walk the beach often but in summer I seldom take a camera.  But today it came with me.  The beach is narrow, much of the dunes have been washed away, but there were clouds in the sky that  made for interesting lighting.  So I took some images, letting myself get lost in the place and the moment.

The Dunes of Ipperwash Beach

Old Log Pushed up on the Dunes

Tall Grasses at the edge of the Lake

Summer Clouds and Children Playing in the Lake

Dune Grasses and Trees seen from the Lake

I was waiting for a sunset shot to fill out the day but as it often does the sun got lost in cloud in its final hour.  A group of people were still playing in the water and the sky and lake were interesting shades of blue and pink so I took the shot.  A different kind of beauty.

Last Light on the Lake

It's harder for me to find the beauty I search for during the summer months.  It doesn't mean it isn't there.  I simply have to look for it in a different way.  

The Intense Greens of Spring

In Canada the winters are long and we wait for spring with much anticipation.  And, after all that waiting, our springs are short with not enough time between the first hint of green in all its lovely shades and the harsher hues of summer.  This year the spring colours seemed more striking than usual.  These images were taken in Grey County, just below Owen Sound, the last week of May.  Spring had arrived and green was everywhere, vibrant and intense.

I was going back to a place I'd visited last year to see if the colours were the same, to hopefully improve on the images I'd taken then, and to find some new locations.

Walters Falls and the Bruce Trail

Walters Falls is a small village named after the pioneer John Walter who established the first sawmill there in 1854 using the power from the falls.  The falls continue to provide power for a gristmill today.  Walters Falls is the only double waterfall in Ontario.  The Bruce Trail - an 885 kilometre trail that runs from Tobermory to Kingston, following the Niagara Escarpment, and one of the few UNESCO World Biosphere Reserves - runs through the area.   

Rocks, Moss and Trees

Below the Bruce Trail

Branch abstracts amid the moss and stones

This image of the falls was taken last year.  Unfortunately the water was exceptionally high this year and access along the river to the falls wasn't possible.  Disappointing as photographing the falls again this year was one of the reasons for the trip.

Double cascading waterfall at Walters Falls

Trees and a Small Brook Along a Country Road

How to find places to photograph?  Never easy, especially when you don't know the area.  And harder to find scenic imagery in the middle of the day.  These shots were taken mid-afternoon in bright sun.  But the greens were lovely and waiting for a bit of cloud cover helped, as did using a polarizer.

Trees in spring along a small brook

Trees and dead branches in the flooded marsh

Bognor Marsh

Another place visited on last year's trip.  This time not so easy to photograph.  The light wasn't good and finding a decent vantage point to shoot from was tough.  Another reminder - not that I need one - that nothing stays the same, change is constant, and I need to stop and get that shot when the light and the composition are there because waiting to come back for it often doesn't work.  These are two images from this year that I did like.

Lilly Pads and Blooms

Bognor Marsh

A couple of days travelling in Ontario with a friend who's also focused on photography is always a good thing to do.  I see new things, revisit a few places I've been to before, make mistakes, learn a bit, and come back home rejuvenated and energized.  I'm now thinking about where to go next.

The Northwest Passage

Six months ago I travelled through the Northwest Passage with Adventure Canada on a journey that took 16 days and covered more than 5,000 kilometres of Arctic waterways.  My reason for going was to see a remote part of my own country and to fulfill a long-held desire to see icebergs.  

We started from Kugluktuk, formerly known as Coppermine, travelling east and north through the islands, straits and bays in the Canadian territory of Nunavut and then across Smith Sound and Baffin Bay to Greenland.   

Each day we left the ship on zodiacs to explore the land and visit historic sites and communities. On board, talks and presentations were given by experts in their fields designed to give us a sense of the history and current reality we would encounter on the land.  There was so much to see and hear it was hard to take it all in.

Two Inuit boys in Gjoa Haven

Town of Gjoa Haven, population 1,200

The first community we visited was the hamlet of Gjoa Haven, the only settlement on King William Island.  There was a guided tour through the town and then a cultural presentation in the community centre.  

Sailing through Bellot Strait, a narrow passage only 2 km wide and 25 km long, with sharp rises on either side, that is locked in ice for much of the year was remarkable.  The strait separates Somerset Island on the north from the Boothia Peninsula in the south.  The opening to the strait could be seen for quite some time.  Standing at the front of the ship watching us draw closer was a slow and peaceful experience.

Approaching Bellot Strait

Fort Ross

An outpost of the Hudson's Bay Company, no longer in use, and left as it was.   Looking at the buildings, so small on the land, it was hard to imagine people living there year round.  

Small cabin at Fort Ross

Arctic Willow, slow growing and very old

Willow and lichen growing on the rocks

Beechey Island

Large, desolate, haunting, with graves and the remains of a settlement.

Walking along the edge of the island approaching the Franklin settlement at the far corner.

Devon Island, Croker Bay and Glaciers

Grise Fiord

Grise Fiord on Ellesmere Island is Canada's most northern civilian settlement.  It has a population of 130 people.  The community welcomed us warmly, sharing stories about their lives and their culture. It was a privilege to be there.

And the Icebergs…..

They were everything I'd imagined them to be.  Majestic, mysterious and beautiful.

Early morning among the icebergs

Sunrise on a stormy morning

This Arctic journey was everything I'd hoped it would be.  I learned so much - about the far north, the land, its people, and the challenges that come with living in such an isolated and harsh climate.  It is also strikingly beautiful and easy to understand why the people who live there are so attached to it.  The icebergs were just one part of that beauty.  I gained much from the trip and plan on returning to the Arctic next year.

Sunrise on the Bruce Peninsula

These pictures were taken a couple of years ago during a trip to the Bruce Peninsula.  I came across them recently as I was going through some of my older images.  I remembered how frustrated I was with the challenge of making strong images in light that didn't always cooperate.    When I got home I found most of the compositions just weren't compelling enough.

To get to the sites before sunrise meant getting up at 4:00 a.m., driving for 30 minutes and hiking into the forest in the dark to find a spot that looked like it might work.  Then set up the camera and tripod, and wait to see what the light would bring.

This shot was taken at 5:05 in the morning half an hour before sunrise.  

These were taken thirty minutes later at the same place.  The first shot includes the sunrise and I like it for that reason.  The second version, with a stronger foreground and more detail on the right side, taken just two minutes later, is more striking but the sun had risen and disappeared behind a cloud.  Had I looked more carefully, been more thoughtful as I composed the images, I would have been able to get a single shot that included both.  

A different location, a different morning, but still on the Bruce Peninsula.  The sky was hazy and the sunrise obscured:  light is either there for you or it isn't and you just have to get the best shot you can with the light you're given.

Going back through older images is a good exercise.  It was possible to see when I didn't have the camera settings quite right or where compositions could have been improved by moving just a little.  Learning is a continuous process.

Winter's Trees

Trees have a different look in winter.  Stripped of foliage their shape and structure becomes visible, less flowing, more architectural.  Standing in fields or by the side of roads and outlined by winter light they add a lot to our winter landscapes.  I can identify many trees by their leaves, but far fewer once those leaves are gone.  

A willow tree, standing in the snow with its fine branches flowing in the breeze.  Full of grace and beauty.

These two majestic trees sit in the middle of a farmer's field.  In the summer they are surrounded by growing crops, usually soybeans.  It's less efficient to harvest around them but the farmer has decided to allow them to stay.  It's a gift to the community and to all who travel past them.

Each tree is different.  Some grow straight and narrow, others - like the willow - retain their flowing look without their leaves.  Some can be found in clusters, others alone.  Winter is nearly over and soon these trees will take on their spring and summer finery.  But until then I find much to enjoy about their winter look.

The Canadian Rockies

I recently spent a week in the Canadian Rockies with my son Scott.  Seeing and photographing this part of Canada was something I'd wanted to do for a long time.  The scenery is spectacular:  snow-topped mountains, turquoise lakes, evergreen forests, all so beautiful it takes your breath away.  

Mount Rundle with Banff below

Peyto Lake

Sunrise at Moraine Lake

Sunrise at Lake Louise

Sunrise conditions at both lakes wasn't ideal but walking the trails at the edge of Moraine Lake and Lake Louise was a great way to spend a few hours.  

Lake Louise with Chateau Lake Louise in the background

The poppy garden at Chateau Lake Louise

Yellow Iceland Poppy

Red Oriental Poppy

On several days backgrounds were obscured by a haze from forest fires that had been burning for some time.  Images on those days lacked punch.

Columbia Ice Field

Emerald Lake

Beauty Creek Waterfall at Tangle Ridge

Emerald Lake

Although the weather wasn't ideal the trip was a success.  Simply being there, surrounded by impressive scenery on a major scale, stopping often to take it in more deeply, was more than enough.  And knowing it's my own country made it all the more special.   Having a camera focuses my attention and helps me see more clearly.  I will go back, and I will take more pictures, and perhaps the weather conditions will be more favourable.  Sharing this trip with Scott was a delight.

Beauty, Change, Loss, Regret

Kettle Point is a beautiful and unique place, one of only a few spots where kettles - or stone concretions - are found.  These rocks that "grow" were created millions of years ago and most years can be seen as half circles of various sizes rising out of the waters of Lake Huron shore at Kettle Point.   They are formed by mineral precipitation around a nucleus, with each layer visible in a broken or split kettle.  The ones at Kettle Point are called cannonball concretions.

Sunset, February, 2012

Lake levels were unusually low in 2012 and 2013, the lakebed in Kettle Point dried out and many more kettles were visible, along with the beautiful shale from which they emerged.  

Emerging Kettle, March 2012

Broken Kettle, September 2012

As the lakebed receded, kettles that had been hidden for many years became visible.  Some were just emerging, popping up from the shale around them.  Others were large, magnificent structures.  Some were broken, their circular structure visible in the pieces.  They are natural creations and they are beautiful. The external banded markings show the water levels in different periods.

Large Cannonball Concretions, April 2013

Kettle Interior, April 2013

I returned time and time again to walk amongst these ancient stones.  I sat with them and I photographed them, and felt grateful for the beauty of our natural world.  

While the lake was extremely low in 2012 and 2013, the lowest in several decades, water levels in the Great Lakes are cyclical; a return to a more normal level was likely.  

The winter of 2013 was long and cold with lots of snow and no mid-season melt. Lake Huron froze early and stayed frozen.  There was no loss of lake water due to evaporation and in the spring of 2014 the water level was high.  The kettles became submerged once more.  This past winter saw the same pattern as the prior year and as the ice leaves the lake the water level remains high.

There are now no kettles to see.  A loss for sure.  Where once there lay a field of emerged and partially submerged kettles there is now only water.

April 15, 2015

How long do we have to wait for the kettles to return?  Will they return?  We don't know.  I feel a deep sense of regret.  I wish I'd spent more time there.  I wish I'd made more images.  I wish I'd been there more often in the early morning.  I've learned a lot watching the kettle landscape change.  Change is the only constant.  I know that, and going forward I will stay with beauty where I find it, allow it to energize and fulfill me, and use it to further my photographic journey.

Lake Huron Remains Frozen

It's the last week of March and Lake Huron is still frozen all the way to the horizon, as it has been for several months.  The early ice cover, heavy snow and a late melt means higher water levels and a smaller beach area later this year.  Lake levels were high last year and are now likely to be even higher, leaving much less beach for people to enjoy once summer comes.

Ipperwash Beach at Army Camp Road

The beach is completely frozen.  The blue in the foreground is reflected colour from the sky, not water.  But the ice is thinning, temperatures are forecast to be above freezing next week, and the lake will start to open up.

Ipperwash Beach from the Top of the Dunes