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EVE TUREK'S NATURAL OUTER BANKS
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| Thursday, February 02, 2012 | | Early Spring... | Last year and this, at the end of January, I let myself miss south Florida, just a little. For three years Pete and I took a winter break at Fort Myers. Last year, I didn’t really miss warm temperatures because several snowfalls on the Outer Banks with some accumulation to photograph brought their own reward. This year, I don’t have to miss warm temperatures because our winter has been so mild thus far—so mild, we’ve even had fog! And I have quince, forsythia, vinca, and Indian Hawthorne in bloom… and daffodils ready to pop open any minute! It’s a record!
What I miss is the sheer numbers of non-spooky birds and critters we always found in Florida. The mild winter, perhaps among other factors, has meant fewer than usual ducks, snow geese and swan, traditional wintertime residents from Currituck Sound down to Pea Island and south. In fact, the only swan I’ve seen here so far this year in any numbers weren’t on the water at all, but in the farm fields of the Alligator River Refuge on the Dare mainland! I’ve seen snow geese hanging out in farm fields before but never this many swans. Last week, we did take a quick trip to Maryland and learned that the swan and snow geese are later passing through the Eastern Shore as well this year. A quick ride there through Blackwater NWR yielded, instead, the closest side-of-the-road encounter I’ve ever had with a hawk, which I included below for you to see too!
I always watch a spot near Billy’s Seafood on Colington Road for a good-sized flock of ducks that spend their winters there. About ten days ago for the first time this year, I saw the biggest raft I’ve seen in years: at least a hundred birds, nearly all bufflehead pairs. I’ve asked permission for a couple of years to photograph them more closely by accessing a piece of private property, and synchronicity worked in my favor again this year. Just as I turned down the lane, here came the owner who was happy to let me photograph once again. Not as happy as me! As I drove over toward the ducks, what did I spy but a Great Blue Heron. I stopped to take its photo first before driving on—and it let me, being less spooky than usual, for which I said my thanks. Maybe I don’t have to miss Florida after all.
A couple of weeks ago, the OBX chapter of the Carolinas Nature Photographers Association (nope, not a typo, covers NC and SC both) scheduled its monthly outing for a Saturday afternoon in Wanchese. There were a few pelicans there, but not dozens, and hardly any ducks at all. I went back there last week…still just a few pelicans, but also a couple of male “Common Mergansers” – fun-to-watch, colorful little ducks that dive, rather than dabble, for their eats. Usually they spy me and bloop! under they go, only to reappear some distance away, take a breath, and dive again, swimming out of range of even my longest lens.
Today the opposite happened. I saw one lone merganser in the cut where Gallant Fox, my personal favorite boat among the modern fleet, is docked beside the Moon Tillet Fish Company. Sure enough, it dove pretty quickly after realizing I was standing on the shore. At that moment, I had two opposite thoughts. One was, oh well, there it goes. The other was, wait. Maybe, just maybe, it will swim towards me rather than away. I’ve had critters and birds approach before, particularly if I put forth some effort to communicate my appreciation and gratitude for seeing them. It had happened with a juvenile pelican at the dock on my last Wanchese visit. It happened earlier in the afternoon today with a couple of the adult pelicans. Maybe the merganser would be similarly calmed.
I watched the water for clues as the merganser held his breath, waiting. Sure enough, it resurfaced much closer. You can come closer yet, I will never hurt you, I thought. And it dove again only to resurface at such a close distance that it nearly filled my viewfinder. Seeing something so beautiful so close up always brings a smile, and often teaches me something. Today I learned—in addition to another lesson about the power in gentle, loving intention—that the common merganser has a serrated bill. Google to the rescue! Dabbling ducks (the ones you see upended with their rumps where their heads ought to be) are feasting on underwater plants primarily. The mergansers are meat-eaters; they are diving for little fish or shellfish (even frogs!). Their saw-tooth bill helps them “strain water as they feed” (according to about.com). The third bird I focused on was unknown to me—it looked like a cross between a gull and a tern and had some behavior characteristics of each. I spent a chunk of time looking at pictures and I still didn’t know! It, too, flew increasingly close, making darting swooping loops near where I was standing. Once it landed in the creek behind the fish houses and swam around a bit while I clicked away. Thanks, baby. Karen Watras and Ray Matthews may have supplied the answer. This may be a Forster’s Tern. Karen photographed what she thinks was one, in Carova, and Ray photographed a whole flock of them in the same timeframe.
Our mild weather continues. If I had a groundhog, he (or she. Why can’t The Groundhog be a she!?) would not have seen its shadow early this morning but would certainly see it now with plenty of sunshine out my window. Time to go back outside! Enjoy.
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click for larger image | Not nearly as many pelicans as I expected, either time I went to Wanchese harbor. But every one is special to me! |
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click for larger image | Sometimes pelicans just make me laugh aloud! I call this Committee Meeting. (Maybe there is a clue in that title about how I feel today about participating in committees!!!) |
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click for larger image | Here's that precious little male Common Merganser. Nothing "common" to me about our encounter. See his serrated bill? |
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click for larger image | And here is the mystery bird, that I think we've finally sleuthed out is a Forster's Tern. |
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click for larger image | I drove down to Pea Island earlier this week. Still scarce water in the main pond behind the Visitor Center, so no snow geese or swan. Just this small group of Canada Geese standing in the mud. |
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click for larger image | Went to Jennette's Pier yesterday afternoon chasing Northern Gannets. Sometimes we see great flocks of them and sometimes none at all. But what made me smile the most? Sure, a pelican!! |
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click for larger image | Not From Here. But I wanted to share my close-up and personal hawk encounter from Blackwater NWR, in Maryland. Isn't it just beautiful? |
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posted by eturek at 12:45 PM |
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| Sunday, January 08, 2012 | | Gleaming, glowing gleanings... | If this blog is ever keyworded by search engines, “glow” will undoubtedly be statistically significant. Regardless, glow has been significant for me this past week and may be emerging as a theme for the year, along with Round. Let me explain.
2012 is a week old today, and it’s included what I think of as typical Outer Banks winter weather: shirts-sleeves for New Year’s Day (mid-60’s), ice at the edge of the sound a scant three days later (mid-30’s), and back to the mid-60s by yesterday! We’ve had skies that look like snow, calm still days, stiff north/northeast winds, you name it. Winter has multiple personalities here, and I admit I like all of them—particularly when the colder side doesn’t last too long, which is just the way I like it. I’ll tramp around in 30-degree weather but tramping and photography are much easier at least 20 degrees warmer than that!
In keeping with my desire to see some new spots in this familiar home-place, I’ve gone down a couple of times in the evening to Jennette’s Pier—usually I go to Nags Head Pier, so even this little ride shows a different perspective. Beyond that, I drove to Corolla to check out the shipwreck near Food Lion that gets uncovered at times and is uncovered now. Wrecks move around; right now this one is at the end of the street where the historic marker about the wreck of the Metropolis (1878) is. That wreck, along with the wreck of the Huron off Nags Head (1877), helped shame the Congress into fully funding the Lifesaving Service, which later became the U.S. Coast Guard. Along the way, I stopped to see the ice-edged sound. I didn’t linger at soundside, though, and saw no big flocks of either snow geese or swan up Currituck way, either on the water or flying overhead. That doesn’t mean they are absent, but I didn’t see them. Driving back south, with the sun getting a bit lower in the sky, I saw the brightest iridescence I have seen here in a long time, not a halo, with more neon glowing jewel tones than the primary rainbow colors. I finally had a chance to pull over and photograph the phenomenon before it faded. I got back down the beach in time to go to the soundside beach at Colington for sunset, but I have to admit that what caught my eye there was a sunlit, glowing, reddish live oak tree rather than the sunset itself. I do love those few minutes of glow, and colder weather and clearer air definitely produce more intensity than we usually see in the warmer, hazier, humid summer months.
This past Friday I spent an enjoyable 90 minutes walking the northern part of Jockey’s Ridge. I like that section especially in winter, when the only footprints, typically, are those of the critters that live there year-round. I found mouse tracks along with bird and fox and bunny and raccoon, and it is the mouse tracks I have to show you below. They are so tiny! An equally tiny clump of grass had partnered with the wind to create a spiral in the sand. (Seemingly random detail will become important later.)
The wind has sculpted the dunes and created wonderfully picturesque sand ridges. I kept recalling western sandstone and the mesas of Utah as I walked. As the sun began to set and the moon to rise above the ridges, the sand began to glow with a deep rose also reminiscent of sunset in western canyons. One little eroded section even looked like miniature badlands, and had slices of bright taxicab yellow in the setting sun! I’d spent a lovely earlier lunch talking about color with artist Judith Bailey, and with her encouragement, was even more alert than I usually am to see what it was I was seeing. I’d told her about the glowing live oak, and we agreed that sometimes the colors present to our heart are also present to our eyes as well. Artist E. M. Corsa sent me down the color path years ago, and Judy reinforced all of that earlier prompting. Tramping around, I spied a fellow photographer, Jared Lloyd, and we had a nice chat before turning back to what drew each of us there in the first place.
The next day I had another chance to be outside, this time with artist Emily Terrell. (Do you see a pattern here? Eve gets a little time off and what is she doing? Hanging around artists, talking art and life, and taking photographs! Ah, the good life!) Anyway, we hiked down some trails I had never walked before on Roanoke Island’s north end and came out at the sound. There were clouds overhead that looked a little like pinwheels, just a couple, and right above us. We wondered aloud at the swirling energy that must be forming them as we watched. Then Emily spied something neither of us ever saw before: a feather ball, wound tight by wind or perhaps by a critter like Mouse (although there was no entrance hole, and it was much tidier than any mouse nest I’ve ever seen), nestled among a tiny clump of marsh grass. It was a serendipitous, synchronous find, as we had been talking of winds swirling, and of various other round finds, both literal and metaphorical. I told her about photographing mouse tracks the day before, and about the spiral in the sand. Now here were spiral clouds overhead, and a wound ball of feathers at our feet.
On my way home I stopped again at Jennette’s to watch the sun set over the ocean. Yes, yes, I know. It sets over the sound, in Nags Head. But its setting color radiates toward the ocean and that is what draws me, again and again, in the early evening. The moon, almost full, hung overhead just south of the pier. What I loved best about all of it was a brief few minutes of an intense glow that lit up half of the eroded footprints in one little section of beach, turning that lit half bright pink. A green jeep had parked on the beach and I wound up taking a last few pictures of the pier itself right as the jeep began to pull away, and the driver was Wilton Wescott! Two artists, two fellow photographers, two walks, all in two days! The evening ended with the bright silver moon throwing a full halo above the trees across the street, as a mackerel sky moved swiftly overhead, another image of Round, and a glowing, iridescent one at that!
One happy part of being a photographer is being able to share such treasures. So all of these finds are below. Enjoy.
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click for larger image | Brake Test! One of the first photographs of the new year for me. You know I love me some pelicans! |
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click for larger image | January 1, I went looking for whales. None to be seen...but I did spy this large feeding frenzy of gannets near Kitty Hawk Pier, so dolphins and migrating humpbacks may have been nearby as well. |
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click for larger image | Here's the shipwreck in Corolla on the coldest day of the year so far! I'd forgotten my gloves so it made the experience all the colder. |
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click for larger image | Cirrus clouds, low sun, cold air...Google tells me you also need thin clouds and same-sized water droplets to produce the iridescence, or corona, as seen here. |
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click for larger image | What caught my eye here was the pink glow over the ocean. The glow over the sound was much more intense, but I'd chosen seaside as my vantage point. |
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click for larger image | Here is the glowing live oak. No these colors are not made up. They were THERE. And I was there to see them! |
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click for larger image | What we call sand is mostly eroded quartz; quartz's crystalline structure and the presence of trace minerals make a variety of gemstones, and help create the glow we see in sand and sandstone at sunset. |
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click for larger image | Here is the feather ball. It is about 2 inches in diameter. And to me, it is precious, a fabulous find. |
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click for larger image | The intensity of glow sometimes lasts only a few minutes, and sometimes even less than that! Here are the pink glowing footprints at Jennette's just last evening. |
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posted by eturek at 3:48 PM |
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| Wednesday, December 21, 2011 | | Light at the Solstice | Winter Solstice. Longest night/shortest day. First day of winter, December 23 this year. Whatever we call it and however we mark it, astronomically speaking, the day can be thought of as the almost imperceptible tipping of the balance between daylight and dark. In our hemisphere, on the first day of winter, the highest point the sun reaches—at noon—is nonetheless the lowest high-point of the year. As of Christmas Eve, the sun begins to climb again and the amount of daylight in the day begins to slowly increase. I’ve thought of the first day of winter as all these things, over the years.
Writing in my journal, anticipating the day a few mornings ago, I had another thought altogether. The sun is also at its furthest point south in its rising at dawn. I like the fact that right at Christmas, right at the New Year, the sun can be thought of as both east and south, directions I associate with spring/summer, with new beginnings, with vision and clarity, and with connection and the heart.
Light is everything to a photographer. This time of year, when days end early and so many have morning and evening commutes in darkness and spend their days working indoors, a little sunshine goes a long, long way. So in honor of the season, this blog is all about light, late fall light, Outer Banks style.
Earlier this month, I began noticing a predominance of cirrus clouds overhead in late afternoon. I have an old story to share, before I tell you my new one! In late November 2006, after a series of northeast storms, I walked the beach looking at my feet, photographing all the neat stuff that had washed up: whelk egg cases and lots of shells and little pieces of driftwood with barnacles, you name it. I was walking a beach access in Kitty Hawk, late afternoon. There were lots of wispy cirrus clouds overhead, and it was cold. Intent on all the treasures the sea had given, I was not paying much attention to either the sea or the sky when I felt, or heard in my mind, a suggestion: look up. Well, I didn’t. As I said, the stuff at my feet was really neat! The suggestion grew more insistent, louder. Look Up! So I did. What I saw took my breath and I literally bent backwards to lift my camera and point it straight up at the clouds over my head. An upside-down rainbow was there, like some giant smile in the sky! I had to google to find out what it was: a circumzenithal arc, formed by those cirrus clouds bending the sunlight at just the right angle, in an otherwise clear sky. They form only when the sun is in a very narrow angle to the horizon, in late afternoon or early morning, and they don’t last long at all. In less time than it has taken you to read this, it vanished. I never saw one again, although I look up now every time I see cirrus clouds and wonder, is today the day?
So back to the present. Predominance of cirrus clouds overhead. I looked up every afternoon but no upside-down rainbows. But on December 6, there was a strikingly beautiful full sun halo in the western sky in late afternoon—with sunspots on either side, and with a minor arc at the top! I’d never seen all three at one time before so I ran for my camera and my wide-angle lens. And there in the sky, above the halo itself, was a circumzenithal arc!! All four elements present at one time, and over the frame shop and gallery, too!
The next day was equally pretty but no arcs in sight. I went to the ocean about 4 pm and what caught my eye again was light, a path of light that led my eye and heart right to the sea. It took me a couple of minutes to figure out that the angle of the sun was just right to shine through the railings of the beach access platform and create this pathway of light. Like the arc, it faded very fast as the sun sank and clouds moved to diffuse the light source.
On December 8 there were sunlit flailing cirrus clouds but no other optical phenomenon, at least not while I was out looking up!
Then on December 18 my Westie woke me at 4:48 a.m. Yes, precisely 4:48! Out we went—he’s such a good dog, he wakes me rarely that early in the morning, so I knew he meant Business. Taking him out meant I also had to take the 1-year-old Sheltie in her turn. By then it was after 5, and I was awake with a capital “A”. The moody grey skies of the past couple of days seemed to have brightened, as I could see stars and wisps of cirrus clouds overhead.
I decided to let the dogs crawl back in bed with Pete but I stayed up and quiet in the living room and left the house in time to photograph the sun rising well in the south, from the beach at Jennette’s Pier. By then the cirrus clouds had either dissipated or moved on, and the morning sky held mostly puffy cumulus clouds. I waited for the sun to climb above them, hoping for the glorious crepuscular sunrays that always make me smile and warm my insides, no matter how cold the weather. And it was cold! I’d left my gloves at home and my fingers were freezing—but it was all worth it to watch the sun break through the clouds. The tops of some of the clouds toward the north glowed peachy-pink for just a little bit, and the ocean was a bright silver-blue-green I’ve never learned the word for. The sun climbed higher and was completely obscured by another layer of cloud. I waited, thinking the sunrays might just be spectacular—the reward for all of us is below.
Light-light-light. On this, the eve of the winter solstice, right before Christmas and the New Year, this is my wish and hope and intention and prayer for each of you: that 2012 will be for you a year of Light.
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click for larger image | Sky smile, aka Circumzenithal Arc. All the ingredients were there: wispy cirrus clouds, sun low in the afternoon sky, and my attention to my inner prompting: Look Up! |
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click for larger image | See the halo? See the sundogs, one on each side, like a dab of rainbow? See the rainbow colors at the top of the ring? Now...look up. See, near the top edge of the picture, a Sky Smile? |
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click for larger image | Dark and cold when I set out for the beach, kind of like winter often is. But worth the wait for the sun! |
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click for larger image | I call this Morning Glories. Crepuscular Rays! Spectacular sunbeams at that! Definitely worth staying put while the sun climbed higher behind the clouds. |
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posted by eturek at 10:40 PM |
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| Sunday, December 04, 2011 | | Late Fall Light | I wrote in my journal this morning that the first day of winter is only 2 1/2 weeks away--doesn't seem real, given the long run of Indian Summer days the Outer Banks has enjoyed throughout November and now in the first part of December as well. We're having incredible sky shows, combinations of cumulus and cirrus clouds with the clearer air of lower humidity adding to the sparkle. I decided to begin closing the gallery at 4, rather than 5 now, so that I don't keep missing the sunsets---or imposing on Pete to gallery-watch so I can leave a little early to shoot, when he has so much to do in the frame shop! Next year, I think I will change our closing time to coincide with the ending of Daylight Savings Time so that I can leave before dark and enjoy late light.
Thanksgiving week was especially glorious. On Thanksgiving Day, a family of pileated woodpeckers showed up in our yard and flew noisily back and forth between our front yard trees and our neighbor's dogwood. I've never seen one eat dogwood berries before so that was a treat. The larger treat is much more personal: pileateds showed up, on a regular basis, whenever Patrick was here visiting from CT. I'd go weeks or months without seeing one, until he came. I finally told him that I thought the bird was a special companion for him, in a native American sense. How special for our family that the first pileated I have seen in months came on our first Thanksgiving without him here at table.
Earlier in the week the clouds reaching from sound to sea were amazing, beginning in early afternoon. I finally had a chance to go to the beach and watch them roll in and darken the sky about 3:30 pm. Not quite 90 minutes later, all while a spectacular sunset was making up in the west, the eastern sky glowed a deep pink-red underscored by the lingering grays of the cumulus clouds that had given a brief shower an hour earlier, and produced a pink-hued rainbow right at sunset over the ocean. Spectacular!
Cormorants are on the move now in the afternoon near dusk, huge long lines and Vs of them. I went out on Jennette's Pier to look for dolphin but found cormorants--and a loon instead! That loon was a treat, too--closest I have ever been to one. I could see the feather pattern so clearly that gives lone tiny feathers with two white dots at the tips, like eyes.
Over Thanksgiving grandson Patrick and I tramped around a bit on Pea Island. The clouds that day were amazing too, and we found all sorts of treasures, including some driftwood. The stump below was too big to haul home so I was content to take its picture to remember it, and our day, by.
Finally, I had an appointment to meet an artist at Yellowhouse 2 hours before we usually open. That put me out and about on the beach at 9:15 a.m., when the light is still beautiful this time of year, with the sun low in the south and lighting up the northward beach. While I went to a familiar location, I went at a different time--time of day, time of year, so the lighting made everything look much different than it does in late afternoon, when I usually am tramping about. Sometimes a change as simple as varying the time of day I go to a location provides enough of a different perspective to get my attention.
All these gleanings of a gratitude-filled season are below. As always, I am grateful to share them with all of you. |
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click for larger image | Here's the cloud show a scant 25 minutes later! In another half-hour, I was getting rained on. |
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click for larger image | Once the rain came, I left the beach to do a couple of errands, and saw the sunset looked amazing...but then I saw what was happening over the ocean. I opted to go back to the beach for the pink sky and rainbow. |
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click for larger image | Here's a wider shot showing the combo of pink and gray clouds. The actual bow faded fast! |
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click for larger image | Here's my different-time-of-morning beach walk. I tend to either be up for sunrise (not too often, lately) or shoot in the afternoon. This time of morning--couple hours past sunrise-- I am almost always inside, not outside. I love the lighting here! |
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click for larger image | Our special Thanksgiving guest. Hi, baby. Pileated Woodpecker...not pecking for grubs. Feasting on berries instead!! |
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click for larger image | Sometimes deliberately changing perspective means changing lenses. Instead of photographing waves with my typical wide-angle, I chose my wildlife lens because I loved the smooth patterns & colors near dusk. |
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click for larger image | Tramping about Pea Island with my 13-y-o grandson Patrick is its own reward, so coming across this great photogenic stump in sweet light was a bonus! |
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posted by eturek at 11:09 AM |
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| Wednesday, November 23, 2011 | | Reconnecting | Reconnecting…a good word, it nonetheless implies for me a disconnect, something once-connected that needs to be joined again. I could say that after more than three weeks on the road, I needed to reconnect with this lovely place we are blessed—and grateful—to call home. True enough. The larger truth, however, is that I needed to reconnect my heart with all that is lovely about this place: beyond storm-tossed, beyond sorrow, beyond all that has happened to these Outer Banks and to my inner landscape this year.
So, first, I went to the places most familiar: the beach accesses closest to Yellowhouse. Easy to get to after closing for the day, or for snatching fifteen minutes before opening. I went looking for Seaside Goldenrod, the beach’s nod to autumn, and found a nice sun-kissed stand in late afternoon when most of the beach was shadowed. “Fall back” means that I usually miss sunset now, since we are still open as the sun slips into the sound. This past week I spent a chunk of three days in Kitty Hawk, setting up for the annual arts and crafts show at the All Saints church, and that allowed me to go to a different sunset spot before 5 pm last Friday. While I was up that way, I checked the eagle nest but saw no activity. However, on Sunday morning a young eagle, I would estimate about three years old, overflew our yard as I was out walking our Westie: a gift of memory (but not on a memory card)! I’ve been telling every year’s new eaglets that I would be most honored to have one choose Colington for its long-term home in maturity. Maybe this was one I invited to come check out our neighborhood!
Being in Kitty Hawk reminded me of the gifts Pete and I received in abundance out west: being in new places and seeing very different vistas of the American landscape. Sometimes going to the familiar is comforting. Sometimes, though, the familiar can dull the senses. You go looking for the expected. One of my hopes this winter is to deliberately refocus on the Outer Banks by actions as simple as choosing different access points to sea and sound. We’ll travel together, as always. Meanwhile, here are some moments gleaned from a still-busy daily life over the past couple of weeks home.
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click for larger image | Seaside Goldenrod...not quite as brilliant in sunlight as aspen, but the brightest yellow on the beach this time of year. |
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click for larger image | Sunrays at Sunset...on the opposite horizon. Regular readers know what these are: Anti-Crepuscular Rays!! |
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click for larger image | Pete's daughter-in-law Judy called the other morning to alert me to a magnificent rainbow over the sound. I'm drawn to trees in a new way since our trip west, so I included the sunlit live oak. |
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click for larger image | Out of town company prompted us to take our first Hatteras trip since the new breach-bridge opened. The ocean was cranking beside the isolated north point of Oregon Inlet. |
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click for larger image | Looking back out the window at the new cut-through at Oregon Inlet that isolates what used to be the north point. |
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click for larger image | Sand hills. The dune grasses look spring-green, and the sea oats look blackened. A lot of the formations we saw out west were formed from sandstone, remnants of earlier dunes. |
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click for larger image | I kept going back to the car and switching lenses as the light changed: long, wide; wide, long. I call this, Just You and Me. |
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posted by eturek at 9:29 AM |
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| (c) 2009-2010 Eve Turek & OBX Connection, all
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