Photo advice
Plan ahead, and you’re more likely to find photographic perfection,
Plan ahead and you’re more likely to find photographic perfection
Perfect is a word I rarely use. Nothing is ever truly perfect, but occasionally we enjoy something that comes close, and I had one such moment earlier this year.
March is always a busy time of year in the wildlife calendar. Many wintering birds are still on our shores, while some of the breeding species are also starting to arrive. The daylight hours begin to fill with their spring song as the males vie for territory and seek to attract a mate. The early flowering plants are making their colourful presence felt, and buds swell on the trees to change the hue of the arboreal skyline visible from my kitchen window.
Frogs, toads, and other amphibians make their way to their aquatic breeding sites; and many ponds, ditches and lakes across the country hum in the darkness with their croaks and chirping calls, before they fill with jelly-like spawn and fall silent again. The mad March Hares box in the fields at either end of the day and the Muntjac split the silence of the nocturnal woodland near my home with their eerie barking. The air starts to fill with the buzzing of bumblebees and spots of fluttering yellow appear along woodland rides and hedgerows as the Brimstone butterfly signals that spring has arrived.
But March always brings a mixture of weather. One minute we will be bathing in glorious sunshine, tempting us to believe the winter coat may shortly be hung in the cupboard. The next, those hopes are washed away in a maelstrom of low-pressure systems as they batter the British Isles with the full force of their Atlantic fury, returning the woodland paths to rivers of mud, once more.
Lakeside opportunities
As a photographer, I always try to plan my sessions to coincide with the best weather conditions, preferring the light at either end of the day to create the drama I strive for in my images. The weather on this particular morning was forecast to be glorious, with one of those still, frosty starts, a prelude to a warm early spring blue-sky day – perfect conditions for generating early morning mist over the lakes close to my home.
There are three beautiful chalk stream-fed lakes within a few miles of the house, all of which have their own character and can provide fantastic opportunities to photograph waterbirds.
I’m always in a dilemma as to which lake to visit for the dawn, and this morning was no different. Eventually I made my mind up, and scraping the frost from the car, I pointed it in my chosen direction.
Many times I’ve lamented the loss of the wildlife of my childhood with most things seemingly in sharp decline.
However, there are some species, such as the Otter, that were a mystical enigma confined to the remote parts of the Scottish river systems when I was still in short trousers. Now these animals are widespread throughout the south of England and can be found in the chalk stream and lake systems within walking distance of my home. I can’t remember how many times I’ve walked around carrying my camera with long lens attached, attempting to photograph these animals.
They frequently disappear like ghosts into the watery depths, leaving you pointing a camera at an empty expanse of water and wondering how such a big animal can perform such a proficient Houdini act. I’d never seen one of these Hampshire residents in all the time I have spent photographing their waterbirds. Comments such as “You should have been here yesterday, mate; they were playing in the water like my dogs not 15 feet from me” never helped my humour over this lack of fortune.
The Hampshire Otter
Otters were far from my thoughts as I watched the mist swirl enticingly over the water’s surface of my chosen lake, preparing itself to be illuminated in golden dawn sunlight as its shafts broke through the trees.
I scanned the lake and felt initial disappointment at the lack of birdlife. But then something breached the water in the middle of the lake – a large mammal which I knew instantly to be the elusive Hampshire Otter I’ve been longing to see. Sprawling on my belly in the mud to get a low angle through the camera’s viewfinder, I watched the tell-tale show of bubbles breaking the surface, to try to predict its next showing.
When they are hunting like this, the forays to the surface are fleeting, unless they emerge with a large prize – this animal was no different and afforded me a few brief opportunities. The light was poor, and the shot was rushed, so I managed no more than what I would term a ‘record shot’ before the apparition vanished without trace. The encounter could have lasted no more than a minute and, had I arrived a few seconds later, I would have missed it entirely.
Elated at this encounter, but disappointed at its premature conclusion, I walked through to the lake’s connected neighbour in the hope the animal had made its way through the stream network to continue its hunt for breakfast. Calling no luck, and after photographing a pair of Mallards, I retraced my steps with the intention of visiting another of the lakes before the magical dawn light evaporated the mist and with it any photographic opportunities.
As I rounded the corner at the top of the Otter lake, the sun was now breaking through the trees at the opposite end, casting golden shafts of light through the evaporating mist and lighting a watery arena in true theatrical fashion. Low and behold, the pair of resident Mute Swans had taken to this enticingly lit natural stage, treading the boards with a display of courtship. Opportunities like this are rare. To witness courting swans in such biblical light conditions is a delight to behold, and for a photographer, exciting beyond words.
For the next 15 minutes, I watched this pair through the viewfinder as they performed their courtship ballet, swimming delicately around each other, never more than a few inches apart, drinking, washing, and preening. They caressed each other gently with their entwining necks and heads, all the time drifting
slowly in and out of shafts of misted golden light. This elegant display culminated in a moment of copulation, before the couple separated with parting bows. The 2,000 images of this whole encounter now sit on my computer’s hard drive as a reminder of a truly amazing wildlife encounter. I cherish every one of them.
Photo opportunities
As my encounter with the courting swans ended, I realised that it was still early enough to visit another local lake with 30 minutes or so of acceptable light before the sun rose higher in the sky and became too harsh. My change of venue comprises a set of lakes located within quite a dense area of housing and is used as a local amenity for joggers, cyclists, dog-walkers, anglers, and parents with young children. The wildlife here has become accustomed to people and, as a result, is tolerant enough for a close approach. I prefer to work in solitude, but there are benefits to working in busier environments and putting up with regular interruptions from interested passers-by, keen to know what I’ve been photographing. Getting close to subjects that wouldn’t normally allow it makes it worth the intrusions.
As I wandered along the path on the southern edge of the far lake, a collection of waterbirds swam lazily across its mirrored top or stood idly on the bank, like sentries. I love these scenes, and photographing into the light can produce dramatic results. Something breaking the surface of the water caught my eye. I headed toward the ripples and glimpsed the rump of an Otter as it performed the same Houdini act of its cousin an hour earlier. I managed a quick shot as it disappeared beneath the surface.
Surfacing in its place was one of the many Cormorants that call the lake home. These birds have come to colonise many bodies of freshwater and are now a common sight on the lakes close to my home. But rarely do they tolerate humans, and I’ve never managed to get close enough to them in good light.
I realised that there were in fact three birds fishing at the eastern end of the lake and I could adopt a position to photograph them against the sunlight filtering in behind them. The morning remained cold enough that their breath formed clouds of mist as it spewed from their long, hooked bills, like steam from a boiling kettle. It caught the light beautifully and stood out against the shaded far bank. This contrast provided another of those scarce opportunities, which I was determined to make the most of while I enjoyed a rare moment of trust from these birds. I didn’t mind lying in another muddy puddle as they performed in front of me, sometimes too close to get all the bird in the frame.
As quickly as it had come, the moment was gone. The sun’s angle dissolved the magic in the blink of an eye – the birds also seemed to have called it a day and retired to the tops of the trees. But my memory cards were full, and I was happy as I headed home for a welcome cup of coffee. If only every morning could be so generous in its gifts.