The North American Nature Photography Association (NANPA) is a membership organization dedicated to promoting nature photography “as a medium of communication, nature appreciation, and environmental protection.”  I’ve been a member of this organization for a decade, taking advantage of its membership by attending annual seminars, enjoying inexpensive equipment insurance, and receiving guidance on ethical field practices.

One of the things that NANPA promotes is an annual Nature Photography Day on June 15.  It began Nature Photography Day to “promote the enjoyment of nature photography, and to explain how images have been used to advance the cause of conservation and protect plants, wildlife, and landscapes locally and worldwide.”  Rather than calling upon people to go to great lengths to fly or drive great distances to some dramatic, iconic location, the idea behind Nature Photography Day is to go someplace close, some place within walking, hiking or biking distance and examine the wonders of nature in our own backyard.  Fresh air and less carbon footprint that way!

Since the snow finally went away just a few weeks ago, I have been enjoying getting out and exploring the trails near my new hillside home above Rabbit Creek. The other morning, when doing my usual hour-long circuit, I noticed that the wildflowers were in crazy bloom.  Arctic lupine, bluebells, Western columbine, Narcissus-flowered anemone, forget-me-not, dwarf dogwood; all were bursting from the grasses, alders, aspen, cow parsnip, and just about every aspect of hillside and trail.  Knowing that I would be going for a hike this morning along the same route, I decided to take my camera long for the first time and capture some of this fleeting beauty.  Of course, with all of the stopping and composing, the usual hour turned into two.  But what a way to start a day.

The day is still young.  If you have a trail, park, stream, lake, coast, woods, or anything not made entirely of concrete and steel nearby you, I encourage you to get out and explore it with your camera.  Don’t be in a rush, either; take your time.  You may be surprised as to the many wonders you can discover if you give nature a chance to reveal herself to you.

I recently launched a Kickstarter campaign to collect the funds needed to complete the fieldwork for my Bristol Bay book.  The funds raised will cover approximately eight trips out to the Bristol Bay region as well as some necessary equipment purchases.  Shortly after my return from covering the Togiak herring sac roe fishery, I was contacted by a reporter from KDLG, the public radio station for Dillingham, to talk about my project and the Kickstarter effort.  Listen to the story.

Perks start for donations as small s $5, so please take the time to visit the Kickstarter campaign page and make a contribution today.  Time is running out – the deadline on the campaign is June 19, 2013.  I only receive the pledged funds if I meet my minimum goal of $20,000 by that date.  Any excess funds raised will be applied to the design and production of the book.  Thank you for your help!

Marissa Mayer, CEO of Yahoo!, kicked off a bit of a storm in the photography world at a media event yesterday. Announcing new changes in Flickr and some Yahoo acquisitions, she remarked that there were “no professional photographers anymore” but rather people of “different skill levels.”  The statement was made to justify Flickr’s elimination of the Flickr Pro level of account (don’t worry, if you had such an account prior to May 20, 2013, you will be able to keep it if you like).  You can see the video of the whole Yahoo! event here – the comments come at 46:20.

The response has been rather interesting, from outrage over the disparagement of photojournalists throughout history, to indifference (“who cares what anyone says … if I cared about respect, I would’ve become a lawyer”) to economic (“Just canceled my Flickr Pro account.”)

When it comes down to it, this statement, by the CEO of the company with one of the world’s largest online digital libraries, is further evidence of how the explosion of digital photography (and the proliferation of micro stock sites) has generally eroded appreciation for professional photographers. We live in an age where the purchase of a DSLR somehow gives someone the impression that they are now a professional photographer. 

Facebook is rife with pages set up by Joe Schmoe Photography or Jane Doe Photography, yet a review of the “company’s” images indicates that the photographer is an amateur or hobbyist at best.  Further research would likely reveal that the proprietor of the account likely does not have a business license, does not sell images online, does not maintain a physical gallery or studio, or fails to have any other combination of factors displaying the indicia of a real business.  The photographer likely does not have any formal training or is a member of any professional photography association.   I have received many requests to “Like” such photo pages, and, after reviewing the images on their wall, refused to respond to such requests.

The same goes with how the explosion of the digital age has led people to doubt that a strong, dynamic image can be real (“Pondering the question ‘Is that Photoshopped’?“) while simultaneously creating a phenomenon where people easily believe that an obviously manufactured image is somehow a “photograph.”

And since so many people have cameras and claim they are “pros,” more and more people do not question themselves first before they ask a professional photographer for free photos.  I have been asked more than once if someone could just get a download of an image so they could make a print of one of my photos on their home printer, or want a free download to use as a desktop on their computer, or want to use one of my images in their publication for free (“But, we’ll give you credit for the photo!”).  These requests suggest that, since it is so easy to take a photo these days, photos aren’t worth much. Quite the contrary, as a lot of work goes into creating spectacular images, and doing so as a business.

Part of me says, “Well, real professional photographers can still distinguish themselves by having images of superior quality, composition, lighting and all of those other things that make a strong image.” But yet, my observations on social media belie that small bit of comfort.  People are more apt to “Like” a crappy image on Facebook if it is from a location they have heard of than a far superior image from some location remote and foreign to them.  Or they will “Like” an image that is obviously a grotesquely manufactured graphic illustration, commenting “Beautiful photo!” “No, it’s not a photo!” I scream in my head.

The explosion in digitial photography has led to the diminishment of professional photographers because the consumers themselves have become so saturated with crap they don’t even know what constitutes good photography anymore.  And perhaps that is what really lies at the heart of Ms. Mayer’s comments, and at what she and other business executives expect to be at the heart of their clientele – consumers with a lot of money who are spending it on their own capacity to take images while simultaneously becoming more and more immune to an understanding of the art itself. It has become less about quality and more about quantity.  But, I suppose, with Flickr’s business model, how many photos are uploaded (and how much storage space is needed) is all that matters, not whether the art of photography – and the pros who rely on it – is being furthered in any meaningful way.

When I enlisted in the Navy in the summer of 1986, I really didn’t know much about what I wanted to do.  I thought maybe avionics would be interesting (my father, after all, had been a fire control technician in the Air Force for 20 years), but I would have to wait months for the A-School to have an opening and spend my time as a boatswain’s mate in the meantime.  No thanks.  So, I signed up as an Operations Specialist – operating radar and tactical data systems.

But months after arriving on board my first command, the U.S.S. Haleakala (AE-25), I learned of a chance to do a collateral duty as ship’s photographer.  When growing up, I had this little Kodak Instamatic X-15 camera that I took everywhere; even saved it from drowning when I fell in the creek back home on a summer adventure. I thought that learning how to be a photographer would be fun.  So, I volunteered to take on the role as Ship’s Photographer and immediately went to the base exchange to buy my first single lens reflex (SLR) camera: a Minolta X-700.  I really didn’t know anything about setting exposures and taking pictures.  Fortunately, the Navy sent me to a naval base in Yokosuka, Japan, to attend Intelligence Photography School.  In a few weeks, I learned exposure control, the basics of composition, and how to develop my own black and white film – Kodak Tech Pan 2415 film. It was also around that time I took on another complimentary collateral duty – the role of Enlisted Intelligence Assistant, which elevated my Secret clearance to Top Secret.  I would become an integral part of the intelligence gathering capacity of our ship when we encountered Soviet craft.

But my role as a photographer on the Haleakala went beyond leading the “Snoopy Team” to photograph and document encounters with Soviet aircraft and ships; it became a way of life that consumed me during my times off watch or when in port and we had “knocked off ship’s work.”  I was called upon to photograph re-enlistment ceremonies, fire drills, visiting Admirals, and whatever else was needed.  I beamed with pride to see my first photo published in the Apra Harbor Naval Station (Guam) newspaper: a shot of a Soviet AGI we had encountered out at sea.  I even photographed my first wedding, a traditional Navy wedding on the signal bridge of the ship, officiated by the ship’s Commanding Officer.

When I transferred to my second command, a Spruance Class destroyer named the U.S.S. David R. Ray (DD-971), I continued to serve as Ship’s Photographer, but in a much expanded capacity.  The David R. Ray had just completed a long drydock period to convert her forward box launchers to a new vertical launch system (VLS) to accommodate her new contingent of Tomahawk missiles.  A lengthy sea trial period followed, where we tested the Tomahawk land attack missiles (TLAMs) and Tomahawk anti-ship missiles (TASMs).  We also tested a new Rolling Airframe Missile (RAM) launching system.  And all along, part of my job was to document the testing.  It was amazing what I was capable of doing with a manual focus lens and no motor drive – just the manual crank to advance my film.  I was also tasked with taking the new post-drydock official photo of the ship – from the open door of a CH-47 Chinook helicopter.  And again, ceremonies, visitors, ports of call; all came part of my growing development as a photographer, as a photojournalist.

My passion for photography had grown so much, it lead me to the inevitable conclusion: I needed to cross-rate from Operations Specialist to Photographer’s Mate. And the timing was perfect.  It was coming time for me to re-enlist, the natural time to make the change from one rating to another. If I had stayed on as an Operations Specialist, I would have collected a re-enlistment bonus of $17,500, would have made E-6 within a year, and would only have to re-enlist for four years.  In contrast, my re-enlistment to become a Photographer’s Mate would have been a mandatory six years, I would essentially have to start all over as an E-5 (and thus greatly extend my advancement to E-6), and there would be no re-enlistment bonus.  It was an easy decision; I wanted to be a photographer full-time. But there was one catch.  Cross-rate switches from a low CREO (Career Re-Enlistment Objective) group to a high CREO group was automatic.  But crossing from a high one to a low one – that is, from Operations Specialist to Photographer’s Mate – would have required special consideration.  My Executive Officer, who despised Operations personnel, refused to submit the paperwork: “It’s a waste of the Navy’s time,” he said.  This he said to a sailor who had been selected as Junior Sailor of the Year on his first command, was awarded Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist status as a Petty Officer Third Class (unheard of in 1988), and had been awarded the Navy Achievement Medal.  “A waste of the Navy’s time.”  With that, I left the Navy, took my GI Bill, and went to college.

While I did not major in photography when I attended college after leaving the Navy, I took some classes and continued to develop as a photographer.  After college, I worked for a national portrait company as well as a local sports photography company.  I delved into nature photography as a result of working for two summers as a canoe guide in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of northern Minnesota.  And then, in Law School, I was shooting freelance for the University of Minnesota campus paper as well as being the lead photographer and photo editor for the Law School newspaper.  And then, in 1999, I moved to Alaska – more than a decade after I had volunteered to serve as Ship’s Photographer on the Haleakala.

And over the decade that followed, my photography exploded. I started my own photography business and provided photo services for many clients, from local businesses to the internationally famous Tony Robbins.  I captured portraits and preserved the wonder of weddings.  I photographed hundreds of sporting events, from every high school sport played in Anchorage, to the Iditarod and the Great Alaska Shootout, to serving as the team photographer to Alaska’s first professional football team, the Alaska Wild.

My photography work took me from the southeast of the state in Juneau to the farthest reaches north of the oil fields of the North Slope.  And along the way, I was never denied access.  I was able to acquire the necessary media credentials to photograph in the restricted areas for the Iditarod and the Great Alaska Shootout, to access military installations such as Fort Richardson and Elemendorf Air Force Base.  I was even granted access to the most restricted region of the entire state of Alaska – the oilfields of the North Slope inside the British Petroleum security zone.  I even had the pleasure of serving the Navy again, capturing crew portraits of the U.S.S. Peleliu (LHA-5) as she transited from San Diego to Pearl Harbor.

But I haven’t just had a diverse photographic career with an impressive client list, I am slowly building a strong list of publications, awards and artist residencies.

So, when the Office of the Major of Anchorage sent out an invitation for the media to attend a briefing and receive media credentials for the arrival and commissioning of the U.S.S. Anchorage (LPD-23), I jumped at the opportunity. I attended the briefing, took copious notes, collected a media briefing packet, and looked forward to having the access to document the first Navy vessel ever commissioned in my new home state.  It seemed a perfect merging of my photographic origins and where my photography has taken me – to Alaska – with great credit to the opportunity that the Navy provided me so many years ago.

And then, the Navy dropped another bowling ball on my head.  I received an email later that day from a Navy PAO (Public Affairs Officer) telling me that unless I was employed by credentialed media (like a newspaper), I would not be granted media access to the ship.  I wrote her back, told her I was a professional photographer represented by Alaska Stock – Alaska’s premiere photo stock agency – and that I was a Navy veteran who had served as a ship’s photographer.  She wrote me back, thanked me for my service, and told me I could try my luck with the other 285,000 people living in Anchorage for a shot at 4,000 tickets to have access to the commissioning ceremony.  All of the tickets were gone the first day they were available, given out at a time I was unable to even attempt to get any.

When I read the Anchorage Daily News‘ account of the commissioning ceremony, I read of the proud Navy veterans who live in Anchorage and were able to attend the ceremony.  Well, here is one proud Navy veteran who owes his career as a photographer to the Navy, and I was specifically told to stay away.  How’s that for irony – and twice in my life that the Navy has not only denied me opportunity, but denied itself the opportunity to reap the fruits of its own investment in me.  And, quite frankly, from the published photos I have seen of the Anchorage and the commissioning ceremony, the Navy would have been wise to let me come on board.

I’ve been submitting my photography to the Windland Smith Rice International Awards hosted by Nature’s Best Photography magazine for almost a decade.  I’ve had a mix of success, with several semi-final images and one photo selected as a category winner.  I have tried different ways of figuring out what images to submit, but I really have not settled on any particular method that is as successful as I would like.  So this year, I thought, “What have I got to lose?”  So, I selected 50 images to submit to my Facebook fans for a vote.  These are the 20 images that garnered the most votes, with the featured image at the top of this post gaining the most votes. There are some images that I wanted more than my fans, but, to stay true to the experiment, I am going with their will.

I also have mixed feelings about submitting some of these images as they are of iconic locations that have been done a few times.  Now, I like to think that what I have done with them – most notably the sunrise at Mesa Arch photos – have enough elements to make them stand out from other Mesa Arch photos.  But I am intrigued to see how the selection committee reacts; I often find that many of the images chosen for the exhibit are of iconic locations and that there could be more new locations selected.  So if one of the iconic locations is chosen, it will be a mixed bag: my suspicions about what they select will be proven, but I will also have been successful in having an image selected.

At the end of National Parks Week, when I have spent my busy week occupied with other thoughts, I had to force myself to slow down and think of how our National Park System has influenced my life over the years.  This is something we should all do from time to time, because it is likely we can all find a thread that the parks have woven through our personal fabric over the years.

The first unit of our National Park System I visited was Devil’s Tower National Monument in Wyoming, about a decade before Steven Spielberg made it famous in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.”  Of course, I don’t remember the visit; I was still in diapers.  But my parents took photos to commemorate the occasion.  Fortunately, I was an infant long before the digital camera boom so many potentially embarassing occurrences from my childhood were either miniminally documented or not at all.  Except for that incident with the cat food.

The first national parks I remember visiting were those situated within an hour or so of my home town of Rapid City, South Dakota: Wind Cave National Park, Jewel Cave National Monument, Mount Rushmore National Memorial and Badlands National Park. In my youth, I was fascinated with rocks and geology, so these parks were such a wonder and treat to visit, from learning about the long process of forming caverns and stalagtites (I still remember the park ranger at Wind Cave NP telling us they were formed by the same acid found in Coca Cola), or the layers and weathering the created the brilliant formations of the Badlands and revealed their paleontological treasures.  And while out exploring the southern Black Hills, scouring old mines for pegmatite phosphates, garnet, and other rock hounding wonders, it was a treat to have the faces of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln watching from a distance (several tunnels through the rocks on the road system were cut to point at Mount Rushmore).

Some of my earliest adventures as a youth or as a young man after my Navy service and college were in our national parks.  While in the Badlands as a youth, I went on one of my first solo hikes into a wilderness area and faced my first rattlesnake in the wild. Contrary to the normal reaction to such a creature, I tried to coax it out of its hiding place in a large crack in the ground. After college, I went on my first backpacking trip in Isle Royale National Park, Michigan, learning the hard way about things like breaking in hiking boots and overloading packs. But I was also introduced to the wonders of mole skin, too, and that’s a good thing.

While merely a place to explore and recreate in my earlier years, I have added an element of enjoyment to our national parks as a full adult: photography.  Somewhere in my late twenties and early thirties, I transitioned from hobbyist to serious photographer.  While my early years in the Navy and in college trained me more to be a photojournalist, my experience as a canoe guide in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in northern Minnesota compelled me to embrace nature photography.  And given the wonders of our national park units, they became a perfect venue for me to develop and grow as a nature photographer, while I also grew as a human being.

Two early trips through our national parks during this transitional period stand out, and both of them were with my friend Andrew VonBank of Minnesota.  The first, originating from the Twin Cities where we both lived at the time, included Theodore Roosevelt National Park (ND), Yellowstone National Park (WY), Grand Teton National Park (WY), Devil’s Tower (WY) and Badlands National Park (SD).  At that time, I was shooting a Nikon F100, and mixing negative and slide film.  By our next trip two years later, I had switched to using completely slide film (a major step in becoming a much better photographer), and I had been shooting much more after my move to Alaska. We met in Las Vegas, and, in the span of only two weeks, visited six national park units in Utah (Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Grand Staircase-Escalante, Canyonlands, and Arches) and the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park (AZ).  And between these two trips, along with my time in Alaska’s Denali National Park & Preserve, I started to realize that I was truly seeing the world differently. I was looking beyond the things that people tpyically stopped to photograph, and learning to see and experience wild places in a more complete and holistic way. But the trips were so whirlwind, so superficial given the vastness of the landscapes before me.

And then I discovered the Artist-in-Residence program in the National Park Service.  Administered in nearly 50 units in the system, the AIR program allows an artist to be immersed in the park, explore the landscape at their own leisure, and practice his or her art. In exchange, the artist provides two public presentations at the park during the residency and donates a piece of art either created during the residency or inspired by the residency within one year of completion of the residency.  The park provides the artist a place to stay, and in some cases, a nominal stipend for food and expenses.

Starting locally, I applied for and was accepted to serve as the Artist-in-Residence for Gates of the Arctic National Park & Preserve – the first photographer selected for the position. I spent five days in the Arctic tundra above the treeline, exploring a wide landscape and watching hundreds of caribou migrate through a valley, followed by seven days floating on the Alatna River.  I learned to slow down more, listen, smell and envision a landscape in ways I had never before imagined.  It was my first backcountry trip in the Alaskan wilderness, my first time above the Arctic Circle, my first time in Alaska’s largest mountain range, the Brooks Range. Two years later, I served as the AIR for Rocky Mountain National Park and Badlands National Park – a special treat, allowing me to go back and explore the landscape of my youth as both a photographer and an older adult.

Now, because of my life experiences and my visual approach as a photographer, visiting national parks is a very personal experience. I have developed what I feel are intimate connections with a vast land that, while our world changes and contorts all around us, have remained steadfast in their ability to provide me solace, wonder, inspiration and childlike delight. Visiting the more-often visited parks presents special challenges as an artist because I don’t want to repeat what’s been done before, but that’s a good thing.  My national parks still help me to grow and develop as a person.

So, I challenge you to think back on your life, remember the various national park units you have visited, and think about how those have shaped your life.  And if you have not already, you must watch Ken Burns’ documentary, “National Parks: America’s Best Idea.”  It took me a while to think of all the parks I have been to (see list below).  What parks have you visited?

• Lincoln Memorial, D.C.
• National Mall, D.C.
• Washington Monument, D.C.
• National World War II Memorial, D.C.
• Vietnam Veterans Memorial, D.C.
• Korean War Veterans Memorial, D.C.
• Great Smoky Mountain National Park, NC & TN
• Isle Royale National Park, MI
• Pipestone National Monument, MN
• Teddy Roosevelt National Park, ND
• Badlands National Park, SD
• Wind Cave National Park, SD
• Jewel Cave National Monument, SD
• Mount Rushmore National Memorial, SD
• Devil’s Tower National Park, WY
• Yellowstone National Park, WY
• Grand Teton National Park, WY
• Glacier National Park, MT
• Rocky Mountain National Park, CO
• Great Sand Dunes National Park & Preserve, CO
• Arches National Park, UT
• Canyonlands National Park, UT
• Capitol Reef National Park, UT
• Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, UT
• Bryce Canyon National Park, UT
• Zion National Park, UT
• Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, UT
• Grand Canyon National Park, AZ
• Natural Bridges National Monument, AZ
• White Sands National Monument, NM
• Death Valley National Park, CA
• Joshua Tree National Park, CA
• Muir Woods National Monument, CA
• Golden Gate National Recreation Area, CA
• Mount Rainier National Park, WA
• Olympic National Park, WA
• Sitka National Historic Park, AK
• Wrangell-St. Elias National Park & Preserve, AK
• Kenai Fjords National Park, AK
• Katmai National Park & Preserve, AK
• Lake Clark National Park & Preserve, AK
• Denali National Park & Preserve, AK
• Gates of the Arctic National Park & Preserve, AK
• Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park, HI
• Haleakala National Park, HI

It’s impossible to state what are my favorite national parks or images captured in them, so here is a random sample, showing the wonder and diversity that they can bring to us.  For a more complete selection, visit my National Parks gallery.

Sometimes things can take on a life of their own.  This is especially true if you are traveling with a group of photographers fresh from a sleep-deprived high of some spectacular aurora photos the night before – March 8, 2012.  With space weather forecasts suggesting another good night for aurora borealis displays, we headed out to the Kenai Peninsula.  It seemed to be the only place in our region where the clouds might be clear.

With clouds enshrouding the Turnagain Arm area, we pressed through a snow storm in Turnagain Pass, turning instead of toward Seward but down to Cooper Landing.  This small town on the Kenai Peninsula is ideally situated for landscape photography – high mountain ridges rise up on both sides of the town, which rests at Kenai Lake and the headwaters of the Kenai River.  A bridge on the Sterling Highway that crosses those headwaters marks the key launching point into the river, which also presents an opportunity to photograph the landscape in the flowing waters of the river.  Scattered clouds allowed us to view the tandem of Jupiter and Venus in the western sky, and even a bit of a green aurora glow rising up above the mountains to the north.  But before the aurora could grow and present a stronger display, the clouds rolled in.  We had come too far to turn around and head north of Anchorage – so we continued on down the highway toward Homer.

Most of the trip down to Homer was a blur for me, as I sat in and out of consciousness in the back seat of one of the two vehicles making the photo convoy. At one point I awoke to us being pulled over by Alaska State Troopers because the vehicle I was riding in had one headlight that was inoperative.

Before I knew it, we were at a well-known overlook that presents sweeping views of Kachemak Bay, the Gulf of Alaska, and the Homer Spit.  A nearly-full moon was blasting its way through a strong cloud canopy that swallowed the sky.  I captured several images, drawing upon the various tonalities in the scene and textures represented in the clouds and mountains on the far side of the bay.  After a while, we headed down to Bishop’s Beach, a public beach adorned with driftwood and rocks polished and shaped from eons of tumbling in the surf.  Surprisingly, we easily spent a couple of hours playing with low light photography, long shutter speeds, rolling surf, and various compositions of deadwood and stone. While not stellar images, it was fun to take advantage of being all the way down in Homer in the middle of the night and making the best of a cloudy night.

Shortly after 3:00 a.m., we headed back to Anchorage.  Again, I dozed through most of the four hour drive, catching glimpses of clouds, darkness and falling snow.  By the time we got back to Anchorage, the skies had opened up and the sun was shining. No aurora, but a photo adventure that ably reflected the craziness that can ensue when a group of photographers decide to head out and try to capture some nighttime magic.

It’s hard to believe that I have been listening to The Shannyn Moore Show since it first aired on KUDO 1080 in Anchorage.  Over the years, I have had occasional email, Facebook or even telephone conversations with Shannyn about everything from the aurora borealis to judicial selection in Anchorage.  But what brought me to my first face-to-face conversation with her, in her studio at KOAN 1020, a local Fox Radio affiliate, was nothing less than the greatest conservation challenge facing Alaska today – the proposed development of the Pebble Mine at the headwaters of two of the main five watersheds that contribute to the amazing Bristol Bay fishery.  I was the guest during her second hour on December 20, 2012 (you can download the Podcast for free on iTunes.)

One of the problems with the jury system is that our minds tend to fill in the blanks when we want to visualize something but don’t have all of the information.  During a mock jury experience, in a case where a driver’s speed could have been a contributing factor to the accident, the jurors assumed a speed limit based on how the streets were described – mixed residential and commercial.  No one had told them what the speed limit was.  Unfortunately for the plaintiffs in that case, the jury assumed wrong.

But some things you can get right.  Shannyn always refers to her show producer as “Chris in the Box,” which lead me to visualize that he was in a very small control room.  I got that much right.  How I pictured Chris, however, was all wrong.  How I pictured his system and how he called up bumper music or other sound materials was also all wrong – I was thinking old school to some degree, but instead, everything is pulled up on the Internet, typically through YouTube.

I also incorrectly pictured the actual studio setup, thinking more of a side-by-side orientation between host and guest; rather, I sat across a rather wide table.  It felt like a bit of a barrier so I did my best to lean in on the desk to interact more with Shannyn during the show.  The discussion was rather free-flowing, and I thought I did fairly well … until I listened to myself on the Podcast.  Oye.  Early on, a thought started to scream through my head as I listened, “State your thesis, dammit, and make a point soon!” I realized as I listened that I did not state at the outset what my photo project was, exactly, that I had come to talk about.  I got there in a rather roundabout way.  I also missed an early opportunity when Shannyn mentioned how she follows my aurora chasing on Twitter.  It would have been a great time to discuss a recent blog post I did on how social media has changed the aurora experience.  But instead, I brought it to people contacting me to see where and when I was going to watch the aurora and if they could come along.

But, Shannyn was very gracious and never let on that I was having a logorrhea problem.  She even invited me to come back again to discuss my Bristol Bay project.  With a pending trip for my last chance at winter fieldwork and the impending launch of the project website, I think it may be time to go back again soon.

Chris-in-the-Box in his box

I have been trying for a couple years to capture a good aurora borealis photo in the Portage Valley of Chugach National Forest, located just a few miles south of Girdwood, Alaska. I have always loved winter landscape photography in that valley.  It’s magnificent for sunrise photography in the winter because the sun rises right down the valley, allowing early light to hit the ridges on the north side of the valley and light up its features with pink alpenglow.  It is isolated enough from nearby artificial lighting sources to make it a great spot for nighttime photography.  Portage Creek stays open all winter, even when it is -20F outside, giving it an additional feature not readily available in other valleys. Plus, it is only a 45-minute drive from home, which is a bonus.

What makes Portage Valley great for winter landscape photography also makes it a prime location for capturing a dynamic landscape with the aurora borealis.  But it took me a few years to be in Portage Valley when the northern lights magic finally struck. The first time I went I captured a dim aurora that faded fairly quickly, leaving me to take a one-hour star trails photo that contained a dim glow of green aurora residue.  The next two times I went down specifically to capture the aurora borealis, I ended up instead with star trails photos and nothing else.  But in one of those cases, it produced a marvelous image showing the sky circling around the Northern Star. 

Then, in November of 2012, I was out there with a couple of other photographers after we captured some magnificent aurora over the Twentymile River Valley along Turnagain Arm.  While we did capture a nice aurora borealis display with some greens and vivid pinks, my picture did not turn out as I hoped because, unknown to me, my Nikon 14-24 f/2.8 AFS lens had been damaged when I dropped it the previous week, creating a distorting effect in the lens optics.  The result was an image that was sharp in the center, and out of focus and distorted around the edges.  While it is an interesting effect, it was still not what I hoped for.

Then, the Luck of the Irish finally came to my aid.  Joined by fellow photographers C.J. Kale and Nick Selway of Lava Light Galleries in Kona, Hawai’i and Nolan Nitschke of Bishop, California, we headed out on the evening of March 16 to try Portage Valley again. This time, we had more confidence due to a forecast by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) indicating it would be a KP6-level event.  We arrived at the planned location and took our time setting up as there was not even a glow in the sky. As is good practice, we set up compositions and started to test exposures and focus.  A waxing crescent moon provided enough light to give the landscape detail without being too bright in the sky. After a while, we started to notice a deep purple hue showing up in the sky.  Soon, it had spread across the whole sky.  While not visible to the naked eye, the long exposures in the camera captured them.  As the purple built, I told the other photographers that early purple in the sky like that indicated it would be a strong aurora event.

Then, the purple started to fade as a dim green glow started to develop in the space of sky in between the peaks on the ridgeline before us. Building like a slow sunrise, the green rose to the summits of the peaks and then started to spread further skyward.  Then, the green turned into a chorus line, dancing in a line on the edge of the ridge to the west. The dance line then rose above the ridge and spread out into the sky, producing spikes and undulating curtains in greens with hints of red and pink.  After a while it calmed down, and we headed up to our cars to regroup and consider moving to another location.  It started to build up a little bit, so we headed back down to the creek, took some more photos and posed for a group picture.

When we had gone up to our cars, I placed my camera bag in the back of my car, leaving me with just my camera and a 24-70mm lens on a tripod.  During the mild buildup, I took just my camera and tripod down to the creek, leaving the bag (and my 14-24mm lens) behind.  Down at the creek, the show started to build a little bit more.  At one point, I was back on the road as we had again contemplated moving to another location.  Then, with little warning, the moderate show started to erupt.  I moved down the road a little bit to get a different vantage point, with the creek in the foreground right and a spruce tree in the middle.  Part of my decision in the position related to using the tree to cover CJ, Nick and Nolan who were down at the creek.  I didn’t want to have to spend the time to remove them later in Photoshop.

But the aurora display continued to build and build, making it too large and covering too much sky to capture with just a 24mm lens.  I internatlly debated for a while running back to my car to grab my bag and my 14-24mm lens, and ultimately knew I had to do it.  So, I took the time to stop shooting, sprint about 100 yards back to my car, grab my bag, and tell my nephew Daniel, who was sitting in the car watching the reboot of “V” on the iPad, to get out and watch this amazing show. I ran back to my where my tripod waited, pulled out the lens, removed its cap and promptly dropped it, lens face first, into the snow.  Loudly cursing while I frantically used my lens cloth to clean off the lens, I managed to afix the lens to my camera just in time to position for a vertical composition of a double question-mark shaped aurora curtain forming over the spruce tree in the middle. 

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur, with all of us scrambling and changing to multiple locations to bring diversity to our compositions. A red aurora so bright it was visible to the naked eye pulsed over the south side of the valley, complimented by a split red-green corona. There were many exclamations of wonder and delight, I slightly fell into the creek after slipping on some ice (fortunately, my Baffin boots kept my feet warm and dry), and after a while, the dancing, undulating rainbow display of colors settled into a constant shimmering of white-green aurora.  When the craziness calmed down to this constant white-green overhead wash, we posed for another group photo, this time with a background sky completely full of aurora.  I took another portrait of Daniel under this brilliant sky.  By 3:00 a.m., we decided it was time to go out and explore more photo opportunities on the Turnagain Arm.

More photos from this night and other northern lights adventures can be found and purchased in my Aurora Borealis gallery.

When we order from the menu or purchase from our local grocery store, we rarely think about the process that goes into place to get that food on our plate.  I use the term “we” to refer to those of us who do not catch, shoot or gather most of our foods, like many in Bristol Bay. But knowing that story of how that food ends up at the grocery store or restaurant helps to explain how vital a successful sockeye salmon fishery is to the survival of the Bristol Bay region.

The precise steps vary from operation to operation, but in most cases, delivery of sockeye salmon to market goes something like this.  The first and most crucial step for Bristol Bay is that the Alaska Department of Fish & Game (ADF&G), after consulting the salmon return numbers, declares that there will be an “opener” for the Bristol Bay commercial sockeye salmon fishery.  ADF&G will establish a date, time and duration for the opener, as well as which districts are affected, and also identify what type of commercial opener it is – drift or set.  There are very strict rules with tough penalties if a commercial fishing crew jumps the gun on that opener.

Once the opener is underway, crews will work furiously to catch as much fish as possible during the window - sometimes only six hours at a time.  During that time, the fish are stored onboard the vessel in totes filled with ice – canneries will provide cash bonuses of a certain number of cents per pound if the fish is delivered at or below a certain temperature.  Very few fishing vessels have their own expensive CSW (chilled sea water) system, so ice is the norm.

Once the opener is closed, the skipper drives the boat to a waiting tender, typically at anchor in the mouth of a river near the district line location.  (There is at least one shore tender operator in Naknek that takes delivery from boats on the beach in the form of a truck with chilled totes.)  The tender takes delivery of the fish by lowering a crane with a hook and scale that lifts up the fish, bale by bale, and dumps the fish into the cargo hold of the tender.  As the fish is being transferred over, it is weighed and the ship’s catch is recorded.  Some canneries will have a quality control person on board the tender who tests a certain number of fish from each catch for quality and temperature.  When I was on an Ocean Beauty tender in the Ugashik District, the quality control person told me she was testing a pre-selected percentage of boats (approximately 45 vessels) and checking them for overall quality (no physical damage to the fish) and temperature (using a digital thermometer).  The observer also tagged approximately ten fish, with each tag indicating the date and time the fish was delivered, so that Ocean Beauty could then follow the fish all the way through processing to meet its own standards of how quickly the fish was processed and delivered.

Once on a tender, the salmon is chilled most often with CSW.  The amount of fish each tender can carry depends on the vessel.  I spent a couple of days on the tender Westward.  The skipper told me the Westward could carry 100 tons of fish in its lower hold, and an additional 40 tons in its uppper hold if needed.  But, it had been 5 years since the Westward had returned to port fully loaded.  It takes time to unload the catch from an opener, with dozens of boats lining up to deliver a catch that can range from 4,000 to 20,000 pounds.  Once the full opener’s catch is delivered, a tender will pull anchor and deliver its catch to the cannery – if the cannery is located on the same river.  If not, the tender waits until its replacement arrives, and then returns to port where the cannery is located.  For the more distant locations, a tender may be on station to receive salmon for up to 48 hours, and it can take several hours to return to the cannery.  For example, when I was on the Westward, I rode it from the Ocean Beauty docks in Naknek down to Ugashik, spent a couple of days on a drift boat (the F/V Chulyen), and then rode back with the Westward to Naknek.  Each way is approximately 80 nautical miles, and the cruising speed for the Westward is about 8 knots, making for about a ten-hour trip each way. 

Once back at the docks (each cannery has its own delivery dock), the salmon is delivered through large flexible tubes that suck the salmon from the cargo hold into the cannery for processing.  For the larger processers, this is an assembly-line process featuring dozens of workers, each assigned different tasks in handling the fish.  For smaller processers, like Naknek Family Fisheries, it is only a handful of people, including the owners, who individually process the fish for packaging and marketing.

Marketing and delivering to the ultimate market varies greatly, depending on size and product.  Some salmon is sold directly to consumers, while others goes through seafood wholesalers before ultimate delivery to a store or restaurant.  Again, with a smaller processor like Naknek Family Fisheries, they are able to personally handle quality, marketing and delivery. 

Then, eventually, we as the end users consume the sockeye salmon, which has undergone an amazing journey since its catch, a journey with no less drama than the lifecycle of the salmon itself.  With so many hands involved in the catching and delivery of sockeye salmon from Bristol Bay, it makes sense that so many are concerned about development of the Pebble Mine, which could put this very mainstay of Bristol Bay life in jeopardy.