Chipola River

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Long overdue, I'm back to finish my story about the Halloween'09 Florida Panhandle River Exploration with my friend John Moran (http://www.johnmoranphoto.com/). Check out my blog, The Mighty Apalachicola River (10Dec09) which is 'part 1'.

The Dead Lakes are said to have been created when sandbars formed by the Apalachicola River blocked the mouth of one of its tributaries, the Chipola River. Many acres were flooded and thousands of trees died. The result - a broad expanse in the southern end of the Chipola River that runs for several miles - is filled with tree stumps, cypress trees, fish, and great beauty. However, boating in the Dead Lakes is treacherous due to many barely submerged stumps. We never saw another soul the whole day. And we had an amazing day on the lakes - the sky, trees, water, fall colors, sun and moon all coming together to make magic.


John's jonboat is rigged to setup his johnnypod allowing us vistas from 15 feet above the water. Wow, it was really a bird's eye view. Nature's displays kept us gawking from morning til dark... we barely found time for a nap in the shade of the swampy lakeshore in midafternoon. First there were the parhelions or sundogs. The ripples of high cirrus clouds in the blue sky fractured the sun's rays into rainbow prisms. These were stunningly beautiful with both short and long telephoto lenses, as well as the carefully shaded naked eye.




If it wasn't enough to have rainbow colors in the sky, the lake was full of brilliant fall colors against the blue water surface and grays of dead trees.




Later in the afternoon, we were searching for the right setting for the full moonrise. We found it in a twisted snag beside a living cypress. The sun would set behind us while the moon should rise in the east at about the same time. Nevermind that we would be far from the boat ramp in stump-filled waters after dark. Getting back was a nerve-racking feel-along-crawl , but SO worth it. The moonrise in this setting couldn't have been more breathtaking. And to think, the Dead Lakes were only our first day on the Chipola.

From locals at a cafe in Blountstown, we learned how to find 'Look-and-Tremble', the famous Chipola shoals. On the way, we stopped at the bridge over the river and found two other interesting images, one of a cypress on the riverbank, and the other of a long-dead garfish curled up in the sun by the parking area. As with most of our trips, John demonstrated his master-craftsman's knowledge about lighting. At this wayside park, he broke out reflectors to rake sunlight across the front of the cypress's buttressed trunk, and then again to brush bright sunshine horizontally across the garfish's bones, accentuating the texture and dramatizing the composition. Good lessons.


Here's Look & Tremble. John's idea to set up the johnnypod so we could get a higher perspective on the shoals and line up the sun in the oak. Another good lesson.
Our final journey on the Chipola was to try to find a remote spring that I had happened upon once on a kayak-camping trip in the past. John had seen my photos and wanted to bring his entire bag of lighting tricks to make a photo for a future book project. I had studied maps and Google Earth so I would "know" about where it was, but I was off by a half mile or more. We eventually found it, but not without doubts, and having to wade the boat upstream over several shoals. Here are shots from my first trip, when we first discovered this hidden spring.





In the next image, full credit goes to John for the amazing set up and lighting of the spring (well, along with Sun who contributed the pink dawn sky, and Earth, for this remarkably-sculpted vase of clear water in her crust). I do regret NOT documenting the entire production. There was a bright strobe in a specially-designed plexiglass housing attached to a long aluminum pole. This was carefully placed under a deep ledge at the bottom of the spring bowl. There were two additional flashes above water. All of these were rigged with photosensors to fire when the camera's shutter was released. The intensity of each flash had to be adjusted to put out just the right amount of light. John's image will include even more light painted (by moi, with a waterproof dive light) across the surface of the shallow ledge in front, and perhaps more painted light in the distant trees. We experimented with many techniques. (The fish in the smaller opening at the foreground was presumably happenstance. Ha.) This was a labor-intense process that involved lots of trial and error. We spent the previous afternoon, well into darkness, slept a bit on sight... and then were back at it well before dawn. The best light in the dawn sky only lasted for a few minutes, so when it really came down to it, we had to scramble to get our shots... hence, all the preparation.

Another lesson - thanks, John.

There were other adventures and images made on this leg of the journey - frogs in the palmettos and explorations of side creeks and islands... but beautiful and fun as they were, Hidden Springs was the highlight.

St. Marks Fog

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Driving to St. Marks in the pre-dawn peasoup, I wondered why I got up so early for this. The fog was so dense and wet that I doubted I'd even expose my cameras to it. But I had arranged to meet Ross and I knew he'd be there. He was. We bumbled about and laughed at ourselves for an hour or so, until there was enough light to see some vague silhouettes. Not much to look at. Then a bright red poison ivy leaf caught my attention, and while studying it for a possible composition, Ross noticed the spider webs. They were numerous and loaded with water drops. I was enthralled while working one or two with my macro lens for the next hour.












As we were about to head out (earlier than usual), I saw a fish swim to the edge of the pool and beach itself. It lay there looking at me, it's blue highlights glowing with health. In only minutes, the fisheye glazed over and all color faded as the fish died. I wondered at this death, at the knowing look in the fish's eye, at the intentional beaching. I thought about whales that beach themselves, about premature fish deaths I'd seen, impaled and gasping on sharp anhinga beaks, and the circle of life that would surely include this meaty fish lying on the beach. While still squatting there by the fish, I heard a grackle call and looked up to see it on a nearby post. Despite my musings, I didn't make the connection, but as soon as I stood and made a photo of the bird, it flew down to claim the meal on the beach. The protective fog hid the bird's banquet from circling osprey and other likely party-crashers. In that moment, everything seemed right to me. I stayed and watched for a long time.























On my way home, I was feeling pretty peaceful and mindful when, all of a sudden, I saw the swamp near the Refuge entrance in a way I'd never appreciated before.


There was a stillness in the fog, everything was glistening and drippy, and the late fall colors glowed in splendor.


I wandered the length of the wetland picking out misty compositions...






and finally ended where I began... on a colorful strand of poison ivy growing on the side of a cabbage palm.




The everchanging magic of St. Marks will forever draw me in.

The Mighty Apalachicola River

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On this full-moon-Halloween weekend, John Moran (http://www.johnmoranphoto.com/) and I headed to Apalachicola to explore some of the namesake River's tributaries, creeks and coastal marshes. Locally renowned photographer, John Sporher (http://www.forgottencoastoutdoors.com/) and his wife, Helen had offered us their delightful screen house on Scipio Creek for our sleeping comfort and base camp. Long docks into the marsh and big sky views just a minute's walk from the house offered some lovely sunrises.






Over the next few days, besides Scipio, we visited Cash Creek, Doyle Creek, Ft. Gadsden, Owl Creek, and Cesar Creek - paddling, boating, hiking and/or viewing from bridges, banks and even rooftops.

Cash Creek offered a gorgeous vista of the marsh, as well as beautiful flatwoods and meadows full of Deertongue and Goldenrod. A small green treefrog called one of these meadows home. We returned to Cash Creek three times - mid-morning, just before sunset, and another day at sunrise. That last time, following John Sporher's lead, we were there well before dawn to shoot the setting full moon and rising mist.






The Tate's Hell State Forest, Ralph G. Kendrick Dwarf Cypress Boardwalk provided a birdseye view of the dwarf cypress forest at peak fall color. I felt like a kid in a candy shop, taking in the magical light and color on the red, yellow, and green cypress needles and lilypads.








Further north upriver, we hiked the Nature Conservancy's Garden of Eden Trail through the Apalachicola Bluffs and Ravines Preserve. The plan was to be there at sunset - a challenge given that it's a rigorous 4 miles through slope forests, steepheads, and sandhills to Alum Bluff, the largest natural geological exposure in Florida.... and then the same rigor and distance out AFTER sunset. We considered backing out given the skyful of clouds, but we were at the trailhead and had always wanted to see this trail and bluff. The Alum Bluff and riverview were amazing even in the gray evening light. But then the sun broke beneath the cloud layer and shone red-orange across the land... mere moments before dropping below the horizon and fading to dusk. Wow. We were ready. (Well, almost... I had forgotten to bring an extra memory card and was down to too few shots on the one in my camera. Thanks for the loan, John.) We hightailed it out of there, hoping to be able to see the trail blazes and find our way out before it got too dark. I was glad to have my hiking poles. Here's the one shot.