| Wednesday, May 4, 2022 | | What are the chances? | When I sat down to write my last blog in early March, winter still reigned on the Outer Banks. Temperatures that day were in the mid-low 40s; Osprey nests were still empty; Tundra Swan were just leaving for their summer breeding grounds in the Artic.
Now, native and cultivated gardens are awash in color; trees and bushes are well leafed out; and not only have Osprey returned, reunited and rebuilt winter-bedraggled nests, but some females are incubating eggs. We still have to wait a couple of months before our dunes are clad in sea oats, as those grasses don’t fully emerge until the end of June or early July. Today, my weather app informs me that the temperature is in the mid-70s, we have had repeated lines of rain squalls moving through all day, some with thunder-boomers, and that pattern is forecast to “rinse and repeat” for the next several days at least. I say rinse because all this blooming has released a dust-storm of yellow pollen, and most of us would welcome a rinse-off at this point.
I’m keeping my eyes on the skies; this exact weather pattern produced, back in 2019, the most vibrant double rainbow at suppertime that I have ever photographed here.
I have written this before: nature’s rhythms ground me. I find solace in the repeated patterns of migration and emergence – with just enough variety and surprise to, well, surprise me. I’m musing on rhythm since my life’s daily rhythm and pattern has changed so much since last fall. I’ve hunted for the familiar as a sort of emotional anchor while also seeking to understand what “fresh and new” might look like and feel like. All of this ruminating fills pages in my morning journal, but predictably, I carry it with me into the field along with my lenses. So while the subjects themselves may be similar to what I have photographed in past years at this time of year, hopefully my eyes and heart can find fresh ways to portray and honor these places and their wild inhabitants.
I’m still pining for foxes, so if any regular local readers have den sites nearby, I would love an invite to come photograph. In the meantime, I’ve walked out onto Jennette’s pier several times, and received a close dolphin encounter as a reward when dear friends were here from VA, and I drove with Ray Matthews in the dark for what turned out to be a lackluster sunrise at Mattamuskeet. I used to tell Pete all the time, I have 100% chance of no photograph if I don’t go! Instead of the sunrise we envisioned, we were treated to a density of wading birds on the refuge’s wildlife loop road that prompted thoughts of Florida. I even made close images of Glossy Ibis, a bird I have seen in the region only once or twice before in the past 20 years or so!
Earlier this week, low tide coincided with afternoon light, a SW breeze, and temperatures in the low 80’s, so I took my first run of the year up to Carova. Conditions were perfect for horses on the beach—one would think. But when I pulled onto the beach (and that was dicey at the entrance, as the sand there is quite soft and deeply rutted and I bounced my way forward with my tires aired down to about 18. VERY glad I did not get stuck!), the temperature was suddenly in the mid-60s, the breeze was cool, not warm as it had been a scant few miles south, and there were hazy, foggy patches ahead—and no horses in sight by the water. A small harem grazed the dunes and even those disappeared up and over fairly quickly. I saw more Royal Terns than Sanderlings but all bird life is a treat. Eventually I parked, remembering to pull out my permit for the week, and walked the beach, picking up a few pieces of coral, heart-shaped shell fragments, and two pieces of seaglass, one of which was from a pale green bottle neck. I climbed back in the truck and glanced north one more time and there off in the distance was a small harem by the water. I drove up and made a few images but conditions truly weren’t conducive for anything special there. I was just glad to see them out and looking healthy after the winter.
But spending the time I did to walk and forage for treasures, and then watch the horses, meant that I was passing through Duck near sunset. This particular sunset did not light up the whole sky, but there was a nice band of color parallel to the sun’s actual position. And that position just happened to be at the perfect height to photograph an Osprey nest that is near our gallery. Truly, I was in the right place at the right time—just not for the image I envisioned when I started out. I thought again of Pete, and how he would always ask, when I would call and check in after leaving the 4WD area, “Well, did you get anything?” And again I thought of my mantra: 100% chance of no photo if I don’t go.
Photography gives me life lessons. Twice recently, I made a substantial effort to go to what I thought should be the right place at the right time for a special image I had in mind. And in both cases, the conditions that I based my timing upon turned out to be different and much less ideal than I would have liked. In fact, had I discerned that in advance, I likely would not have gone at all. And you will see below the treasures I would have missed.
Life happens. We know this. My challenge now, which seems to be a similar challenge to many I talk to, is to put myself smack-dab in the middle of life as it is happening, so that something good, something wondrous, something joyous and peaceful and mystical and spiritual can happen not only around me and to me but within me as well.
After all, there is 100% chance of nothing, nothing fresh and new, if I don’t.
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click for larger image | "Grace and Henry" are among the first pairs of Osprey to arrive, always in mid-March, 25 years and counting. |
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click for larger image | Henry LOVES fabric. He always decorates the nest with something special--this year, colored rope. |
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click for larger image | This is Caroline, the female at the Colington Creek Inn nest. She is laying on eggs now too. |
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click for larger image | Seeing a Glossy Ibis this close in early morning light showed off the reason behind its name: beautiful iridescence. |
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click for larger image | Here the pair has changed places. DAD is incubating, and Mom seems to be giving him a little peck to say, thanks, honey. |
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click for larger image | Canada Geese fathers are also involved with raising the young. This is Father Goose, here. |
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click for larger image | Conditions were iffy so I chose my longest lens and cropped down to show these two being affectionate. |
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posted by eturek at 5:05 PM |
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