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Outer Banks Guide > Outer Banks Blogs > Eve Turek's Natural Outer Banks Blog

Saturday, November 26, 2016
Follow Your Arrow
As a photographer, I set personal challenges, some of which the larger world never sees. Not every properly exposed, powerfully composed, right-place-right-time image warrants gallery wall space, where every square inch ideally contributes to paying its share of total expenses. Some photographs never do grab a customer’s attention. But that doesn’t mean they serve no purpose, or that the time I spent outside to see them was wasted. As a dear friend reminded me today, some experiences, some images, are meant for me alone. They encourage or inspire or empower or embolden or strengthen or comfort or call out to…me.

Personal challenges remind me that I am in this, this walking-seeing meditation I call photography, for the long haul. When I hurt my back in October, I had to endure a period of inactivity, of forced rest in order to heal. The hardest part was not being able to be outside, camera in hand, for what I consider the prettiest light of the year. I make a large part of my livelihood through my photography. But photography is also how I make a large part of my life, my inner life. Coupled with my morning journaling time, which has become for me praying-on-paper, photography is a vital practice of being present. One of my favorite old hymns echoes a prophet’s response to a larger call: Here I am, Lord; send me. I think that, standing in a gale looking out at a wind-driven sea; I think that, standing in a stillness so palpable I can almost hear the Quiet calling my name, echoing in the reflections of birds gliding on calm water. Here I am. That is what every image answers: here I am. May I be truly present, may I be sensitive to the gifts of the moment, may I be faithful to share when prompted.

There are times I receive a gift through a photograph that I know is meant for someone else. Sometimes I know in the moment whose the image is; other times, its larger purpose is revealed much later. Those are the images I print without knowing when or to whom they will speak. I only know they were gifts and as much as I need patience out in the field, to wait out the right sweet light, or the best moments with wildlife, I often need just as much, if not more, patience once I click the shutter, process the photo, and then wait for its person to show up.

One of my personal challenges is to find new ways to experience and express each season of the year. The seasons are life-metaphors, too, as well as signposts of the Four Directions many Native American tribes use as signposts for personal growth.
Autumn can be thought of as the season of harvest, of abundance, of seeds planted and watered now bearing fruit. A signal of later midlife, autumn is also the season associated with the West cardinal point of the compass, a time for introspection, for going within oneself to bring forth the culmination of the annual cycle in winter wisdom. Together, fall and winter offer interludes of examination, assessment, rest and wisdom that help fuel another spring’s worth of creative growth and insight.

We are two-thirds of the way through fall now, nearly three-quarters of the way through the year. We’ve had our first few crisp colder nights, and days like today with temperatures in the low 50’s. Sunsets are more vivid with lowered humidity. While we don’t have large stands of maples or aspen to turn whole fields or mountainsides into glorious washes of red or yellow, we do have our own harbingers of the season. Photography has taught me this, as I have gone out to see what I can find that calls to me of autumn, both in the larger landscape around, and in my own inner year and life-cycle.

Late yesterday afternoon, I followed an impulse and went down to Pea Island. I haven’t been for months, and I had only an hour or so before the light would be too dim to photograph there. I almost didn’t go. When I arrived, the ponds to the north and south of the visitor’s center held more birds than I have seen there in many years, since before the dikes were damaged by Hurricane Irene in 2011. Thousands of different ducks and hundreds of other birds including tundra swan and pelicans, both white and brown, dotted the ponds. Periodically the ducks would blast off in huge clouds, performing aerial dances reminiscent of the murmurations of starlings.

The raft of Redhead Ducks closest to me rested, their heads tucked under wing. Finally when there was no more than a pink afterglow from the sun’s slipping behind a cloud at sunset, the raft awoke en masse. They formed a huge oval before taking off in rows toward the west, away from where I was standing. The blast-off I waited for came in waning light, and into the opposite direction. And still it was worth the wait.

What does autumn look like in your world? Are you open to gifts wrapped in a way you do not expect? If you were to try to photograph a season of reflection and introspection, what images would you choose? How would you photograph patience?

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A particular photograph chronicling Fall 2016: the largest "Jockeys Lake" I have ever seen, after record rainfall with Hurricane Matthew in October.

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Seaside Goldenrod on the dunes is an annual colorful signal of October. This plant is growing in Jockey's Lake, an image of a scene I have never witnessed before.

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I call this "All My Life's A Circle" inspired by the arching cloud and its reflection at Jockey's Lake. See the couple to the left? That's a bride and groom, celebrating a beginning at day's end.

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Here is a personal challenge image, inspired by the phrase "walking in light." I call it, Light My Way.

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Canada Geese are back in our soundfront cove at The Waterfront Shops in Duck.

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For a brief season, the geese were elsewhere, presumably raising goslings. Their return heralds shorter days and earlier nightfalls.

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Percentage wise, more deep red sunsets occur in the low humidity evenings of fall and winter than any other time here. I call this, Follow Your Arrow, as the light pointed True North.

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Tundra Swan are back at Pea Island in large numbers. We've seen only a few so far in Duck. These flew over me while I waited for the Redheads to blast off.

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Finally my asking and waiting paid off. In rapidly disappearing light, the raft of Redheads blasted off into the pink glow of sundown.

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Night, night, ducks. And thank you.

posted by eturek at 10:00 PM

Comments [3]

Tuesday, October 25, 2016
It’s Déjà vu All Over Again – Yogi Berra
After the Outer Banks dried out from a soggy Hurricane Hermine (more like Tropical Storm Hermine by the time it impacted our part of the coast), we had what seemed like an unusual number of cloudy and rainy days in September. Labor Day weekend was a washout, but those of us whose livelihoods depend on visitors in one way or another still had a strong fall to look forward to.

Then along came Hurricane Matthew, not forecast to approach our coast at all, and “only” a Category 1 storm when it did arrive. Who could foresee the widespread damage and flooding—much of it historic—that the Outer Banks would experience? Six plus weeks of rainfall culminating in a record-rain event in Matthew overwhelmed our sandy soil’s ability to absorb any more. Storm drains that likely were clogged with debris after Hermine were unable to handle Matthew’s great volumes of rain, causing unprecedented flooding in neighborhoods usually dry, and higher-than-usual water in other places just beginning to dry out after September. The fact that the storm arrived smack in the middle of Columbus Day weekend, effectively ending the season for businesses that suffered damage or catastrophic loss just made its impact that much greater.

I kept thinking I should drive around, take pictures of all the flooding, but honestly, my heart wasn’t in it. We—meaning my family, and our galleries—had no real damage. Even the power outages were more annoying than debilitating for us. Maybe that helps explain why the impacts suffered by neighbors—residents, homeowners, businesses, hit so hard. It could so easily have been ours, too.

Back in 2011 after Hurricane Irene, and in 2012 after Hurricane Sandy, I found myself in a creative slump. The drought, an uneven mixture of sadness, weariness, and an uncharacteristic apathetic fatalism, needed Nature, both the seeming inflictor of the wound and the victim, to somehow become the healer, to point the way toward beauty once again. I think I said then, my earliest photographic career was as a journalist. The role of reporter, of documenting damage, is an important one. But it is not my heart’s role any longer. I need signposts of beauty and hope. I need to find them, and if necessary, I need to carve them, out of light and shadow, water and air, feathers and fur.

Here are the signposts from the past six weeks or so that have pointed me in the direction of all that is beautiful still. I hope they do for you what they continue to do for me.

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The sea oats were still full after Hermine, and lovely against a sunset sky.

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This juvenile Yellow-crowned Night Heron was way out of place, hanging out at Outer Banks Pier after Hermine.

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The Canada Geese that winter over in our little cove at The Waterfront Shops in Duck are back in full numbers now. I never did see goslings here this spring.

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This Great Egret was stalking along the shoreline when I asked if it could please stride over by the dock for a photograph. Almost immediately it changed course for this image.

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After Matthew's rainfall ceased, the wind-driven Sound looked more like the ocean.

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I love the full moon in a cloudy sky. This night, I asked for the cloud and light to shape a heart. Then I waited. Here is the gift.

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Both storms kicked up a tremendous amount of foam. That is Avalon Pier in the background.

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This is seafoam in Kitty Hawk after Hermine.

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Sometimes the skies after a storm are the loveliest. Here, I used a Neutral Density filter to slow my shutter speed to allow the motion of the waves to soften.

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I love the pink glow of sunset on the ocean. It doesn't happen all the time, which makes the sight all the more special when it does.

posted by eturek at 12:13 PM

Comments [3]

Friday, September 2, 2016
Comes The Calm...
As I sit writing this blog, the morning of Friday September 2, our skies are overcast, we’ve had spitting rain not yet a drizzle here in Colington, and the air is perfectly still. Hermine is forecast to lumber up the east coast and bring heavy rains and tropical storm winds beginning later tonight and continuing through tomorrow. I’ve already talked to staff in both our galleries and decided not to open tomorrow unless the forecast models are completely wrong and we have no impacts. At the moment, my biggest concern is for soundside flooding, which can be devastating in low-lying areas. Colington and Duck Roads may both become dangerous to navigate in places, so hunkering down seems wisest, even though this storm won’t be a hurricane when it arrives.

We had a squall line move through last evening up in Duck that produced some over-the-top skies, and any sustained nor’east winds always kick up the ocean, so we may well have some beautiful conditions to photograph on the back side of the blow. Stay tuned for all of those.

Meanwhile, here are some images from the past couple of weeks, including some lower humidity days with already-golden sea oats, given our lack of rainfall up to this point.

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I get so excited when our sea oats finally emerge, newly green in July, but the gilded hues of fall are my favorite.

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You have to search out locations in summer to photograph the beach without people! Pea Island is one; north of Coquina is another.

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Light is everything for photography. I've seen the ocean appear teal, turquoise, navy, brown, purple, pink--and green! I saw these clean green waves at the "wrong" time of day for photography usually, near lunchtime.

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I've been looking for a Ghost Crab Hole Heart for the past couple of years. The shadows were just right for my heart to find its quest earlier this month.

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This is the best sand castle I have seen on the beach in years!

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Believe it or not, this is an iPhone photo! Now, it certainly won't enlarge to over-the-couch dominance, but at least I can share the encounter. Helps that I was on my belly about 2" away!

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We had family here last week and for a treat, we took a Dolphin Tour with Capt. Stuart Wescott (Captain Johnny's Tours). Saw more dolphin in the Sound than I ever have. When the boat kicked up a wake, I received a treat: surfing and jumping dolphin!

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Here's an image of the dolphin jumping the wake!

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A beautiful evening a couple of nights ago. Lower humidity, golden light, and fabulous skies.

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I call this "Encore." Sometimes the best light occurs AFTER the sun sets.

posted by eturek at 12:17 PM

Comments [4]

Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Summer's Orange
From a fiery Strawberry Moon at the summer solstice to our brightest sunset so far this summer, orange seems to be a color that has found my lens several times over the past weeks. (And those adorable baby red foxes from my last blog are really orange, not fire-engine red.)

The one brilliant sunset stands out especially because we typically don’t see that many vibrant sunsets in summer, thanks to high humidity and what is often an obscuring haze/cloud layer right on the horizon. We have plenty of heat and humidity now, but nobody who was here for our record rainfall in late spring is complaining, not that I’ve heard anyway!

I’ve seen dragonflies of varied hues both in Duck and in my Colington yard and have one yellow/golden one to share with you here. Dragonflies can tilt their heads in a way that appears to signal curiosity and heightened attention, and that gives (to use human terms) the appearance of a wide grin. I love the behavior and try to time my shutter clicks to coincide.

Summer heat also brings its share of summer squalls and thunderstorms and I have some images to share from that side of early summer as well.

The rain of late spring actually delayed the emergence of our sea oats, which thrive in hot, dry conditions. Now that they have fully bloomed, the seed heads that are still showing their early green should soon take on the characteristic golden we see most of the summer and fall.

As pretty as moonrises and sunsets are, the most interesting orange I have encountered in July was not in the sky but at the water’s edge. From Nags Head to Kitty Hawk I’ve seen tiny, clear Somethings with bright orange spots, almost the size and shape of candy corn! At first, I thought the Somethings were Salp, cousins to jellyfish, but without stingers. Depending on what life-stage they are in, they have a wide variety of appearances. I thought I had seen the stage where long strands of young Salp called aggregates, each genetically identical, had become dislodged and separated by the waves, washing up by the millions on shore. But I was wrong. Good thing I delayed posting this blog!

After seeing a post on Facebook by Jeff Lewis, I did more research. Our late July orange visitors were actually Naked Sea Butterflies, not cousins to jellyfish at all, but shell-less mollusks. (There is a shelled variety too, but these gelatinous creatures lack the shell). They are about the same size as the tiny aggregate Salp and also have similar color. And in an especially nasty case of sibling rivalry gone amuck, the Naked Sea Butterflies eat the Shelled Sea Butterflies. Both Salp and Sea Butterflies thrive in colder water and we had cooler (low 60’s) water right at the end of July, which brought the creatures to shore. If you want to know more, check out NC SeaGrant’s article found here: https://ncseagrant.ncsu.edu/blog/2016/08/01/an-invasion-of-the-naked-sea-butterflies/

One aspect of writing this blog that I love is, while I may start the month with a general idea of what to be on the lookout for (like bird migrations or sea oats blooming), I am almost always surprised by something I could never have anticipated.

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Prettiest summer sunset I have seen so far this year. From the Duck Boardwalk outside our SeaDragon Gallery!

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Our June Strawberry Moon, coinciding with Summer Solstice.

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These fiery waves are being lit by the Strawberry Moon on the first night of summer.

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Here is my dragonfly, looking joyous in my yard.

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We take a break from all the oranges for these Pelicans, gliding over green waves while a squall formed well to the north, giving beautiful, dramatic light to photograph.

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Another storm, moving well offshore by the time I went outside.

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Still showing green at the end of July, the sea oats nonetheless are a herald of summer.

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Here are some of those Naked Sea Butterflies.

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Sometimes the waves breaking were tinted orange with all of them!!

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Here is one close-up. Can you see its transparent "wings"? That feature is what gives the creatures the "butterfly" part of their name.

posted by eturek at 1:40 PM

Comments [5]

Thursday, July 14, 2016
Play More
This is a great followup to my last blog, Making Time For Joy.

I named this one, Play More. It’s advice I’ve heard repeatedly over the years, from friends, blogs, FB posts, even in my quiet prayer times. My usual response has been, “Yes, but…”

Then follows a litany of excuses, time being the most frequent, and opportunity (which is just a fancier word for time in my vernacular) running a close second. Typing this I realize, I have never used lack of companions as an excuse. Growing up as an only child, I learned to play by myself early. Alone time, especially outside, tends to refresh me for all the interactions I love to have with people, whether at home with Pete or in our galleries or just out running errands, hoping my smile will bring a corresponding smile from a stranger.

But I heard myself telling the gals up at SeaDragon the other day, I think I have laughed more with all of you in the past four months than I have in the past four or five years all put together. Somehow I had let my life become very serious, for all my generally chipper personality and focus on gratitude. I may have been positive, but as serious business! Somehow I had let the pure fun factor slip.

I can trace back signposts over the past few years so I know how I got here. The more important question for me now is how do I shift this? The way I shift anything in my life is first by awareness. Now that I know I want to make a change, I can take some steps. Journaling helps, too – but it isn’t the whole answer with me. Neither is talking things out with others. All that just helps to confirm what I already know. The trick is changing behavior in order for my outlook to change. As is often the case, photography as a Practice helped point the way.

Years ago when we were still in the old yellow cottage we leased on the beach road, we had a family of foxes spend part of our final summer there with us. Watching the antics of the young foxes helped bring out a playful spirit in me, too. In between customers, I’d sit on our front steps and sketch, even blow bubbles in the breeze! Somehow when we left the cottage and those foxes, I left my playfulness behind.

Fast forward to this June and I received a tremendous gift from a fellow professional photographer who shared with me the location of a fox den she had discovered. Happily, I could arrange my schedule to visit the location several times on my way to work or after supper. Our foxes at Yellowhouse were gray foxes, and these were red foxes. Even that little distinction helped my heart heal, as I could give myself fully to reveling in watching them explore the big wide world they’d been born into. After two to three weeks, Mom and Dad moved the den. I’m grateful to have had several encounters, all of which refreshed my own playful sense of wonder. Here, for your delight, are some of those moments.

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Both parents help care for youngsters. Here, the Mama has foraged a piece of bread to bring back to the den.

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Here a scrap of fish will do for breakfast.

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Watching this little fox amuse itself--and learn important life skills--was, dare I say it, so much fun.

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I finally figured out that the fox is playing with a piece of yucca root.

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Playing is hard work!! Time to stretch those muscles! I call this Fox Yoga.

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Since the babies typically sleep during the hottest part of the day, when they emerged, be it morning or evening, they did a lot of yawning and resting before playtime.

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This ramps up the cute factor. Siblings loving on each other. How touching.

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Just a little closer, a little closer...

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That's close enough!!

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Of course, I could have chosen many more to share. But I will leave you with this one. I call it, Awwwwww.

posted by eturek at 1:35 PM

Comments [3]

(c) 2009-2010 Eve Turek & OBX Connection, all rights reserved - read 312601 times

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