Eve Turek's Natural Outer Banks Weblog

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EVE TUREK'S NATURAL OUTER BANKS

Thursday, April 29, 2010

On Assignment

Much of the nature photography we all enjoy—the sort that winds up in National Geographic, say, or on the Discovery Channel—was created on assignment; that is, the photographer/journalist undertook a specific project, to document this or investigate that or observe this and that and report back, through pictures or words or both, to all the rest of us. Or at least, to all the rest of us who are interested. Sometimes photographers and journalists undertake their own assignments, a self-directed project, to create a body of work that speaks to their own interests or passions and not to those of the marketplace or their editor. Such self-assignments can re-energize creative work, turn it back into play again, or send the photographer/journalist/artist in a new direction.
I’ve been thinking about being on assignment because I am: I am exhibiting later this summer with two other local photographers, Ray Matthews and Michael Halminski, and the theme of the show that is our collective assignment is weather and sky photography. Now, I love weather, and good thing, too, since I live here on the Outer Banks where we locals like to say, if you don’t like the weather, just wait a little while—it’ll change. Wind and spectacular cloud formations and glorious sunrises and sunsets, along with storms of greater and lesser magnitude give us ample opportunity to be weather-wise. I’ve done my share of photographing weather in general and the sky in particular more times than I can count, so I could have easily found photographs from the archives to exhibit for my entire entry—but what’s the fun in that? Rather, I have spent more than usual amounts of time looking skyward during the past several months, ever since the show’s organizer first approached me about the theme, and have found in the assignment new reasons to be outside and much, much more to learn.
I’ve also been thinking about the concept of self-assignments because this blog is, in large part, the result of my being influenced by two nature photographers’ self-assignments that morphed from private pursuits into larger public works, and which remain as my two favorite nature photography books. The first is True North, by Stephen Krasemann, in which he walks his way through a North Country year with camera in hand; the second is Jim Brandenburg’s Chased By The Light, in which he limited himself to exposing one frame of film per day, no more and no less, for 90 straight days, with stunning results. Both ideas—to notice everything, especially things taken for granted, and to rivet the attention on one thing, elevating it to supreme importance in the day—have somehow merged in me and help shape both my creative and spiritual outlook. To notice more and to give what seems ordinary profound importance in the now invites me to a more focused and serene life. To have as a product of that intent, images and words to share with you, my larger world, is a wonderful gift to my own heart (and I hope to yours as well).
For instance, two mornings ago, walking Mikey-dog (how grateful I am for these morning outings and how much I would miss without the need to step outside first thing every day), I spotted a spotted turtle. And it really was—I mean, the spots were obvious, and that is how this particular land turtle got its name, from the little yellow spots on its top shell, or carapace. The top of its head had little yellow polka-dots, too. It was smaller than the box turtles I sometimes see in my yard and was determined to cross our little street over to the trees and underbrush of the vacant lot there. This little turtle prefers marshes, woodland streams, bogs or wetlands, so what it was doing on Lancer Court in Colington is beyond me. Spotted turtles are semi-aquatic, which makes me wonder if what this particular one has been doing is hanging out (read, hibernating) in my tiny Pete-made, plastic-lined Home-Depot-you-can-do-it pond in our front yard for the winter. Studies show a typical individual turtle lives in an area that ranges from a little over an acre to as much as about eight acres, so I reckon my little turtle could have wandered a considerable distance as the crow flies (or the turtle crawls) looking for a mate. It is spring, after all.
I read that a large seal—perhaps the same one that has been seen, photographed, and written about from Kill Devil Hills northward this winter and spring—was beaching itself regularly up in Corolla, so I went to look for it yesterday. I did not find the seal on the beach, but later in the afternoon I saw a semi-stranded skate at the water’s edge. I have loved brushing their water wings with my fingertips at the aquarium on Roanoke Island but was at an utter loss as to how to rescue it on the beach without injuring it. I was about to try to use a piece of driftwood to sort of lever it back into the water when it began to flop itself around and drag itself seaward, much as the seal has been doing, although with less finesse. All I could do was speak out my encouragement, so I kept saying, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this. Once it reached the edge of the surf, another wave came and I thought surely it will beach the skate again. Please don’t, I asked the water. Please let it swim back into your depth. At the end, all I had to offer was my plea in that please, and it must have been enough. The skate swam away and I never saw it again although I stayed on the beach for quite some time, mostly looking up and out.
I was on the beach in the late afternoon in the first place because my weather-assignment lured me seaward. What drew my attention was an ominous cloud bank forming to the north and east. From my new cloud book I think this qualified as a supercell; it signaled a swift, cool wind shift as it moved offshore and southward. A pair of Laughing Gulls, oblivious to the cloudscape forming above and around us, courted by exchanging food morsels—very different behavior than we see most of the year, when gulls aggressively defend their own lunches from all potential takers. But, as I said earlier, it is spring, after all.
Speaking of spring, I said in my last entry or two that the pelicans are beginning to show breeding plumage now. Their spring wardrobe is dramatically different than their winter coat: first, pelicans grow a band of dark chestnut feathers (I almost wrote “fur” because it looks, well, furry) at the back of their neck. Atop their heads is a touch of yellow that deepens in hue as spring goes on. As if this wasn’t enough, the area around their eyes turns a deep pink, and the eyes themselves lighten and turn baby-blue. Finally, their pouch becomes a dark army-green. I’ve seen some birds with the dark brown neck stripe but with eyes still dark; yesterday I saw two on the wing with the lighter and brighter eye color as well. I’ll share that picture below, along with a close-up of full breeding plumage I took in Ocracoke in April two years ago so you can see all the detail of pelican spring glories yourselves.
Speaking of spring glories, the skies have been magnificent thus far this spring, and three days in a row this week featured beautiful cloud formations overhead. I will give you a sneak peek at some of what is catching my focus lately (all puns always intended).