Nature photographers are well acquainted with frustration; it's not unusual to walk away from a shoot empty-handed.
By managing factors within our control we try to put ourselves in the best position to make the photo. Ultimately, though, we're not running the show.
When things do work out, particularly if the situation is unexpected, I've tried to get into the habit of acknowledging the serendipity.
Working back in New Hampshire earlier this month, the conditions were less than ideal. The foliage show came very early and departed quickly. By the time I arrived, most of the best of the color was already gone in the White Mountains. Making matters even more challenging, high pressure settled in over the region. Clear skies are great for sightseeing but lousy for photography.
As mentioned last week, I was able to find pockets of color, so all was not lost - but those bland skies were not at all what I'd hoped for.
Widespread rain was in the forecast for a single day, and luckily the prediction turned out to be accurate. By that time I'd finished up in the mountains and was down in the Seacoast. With precipitation in the mix, I decided that'd be a good time to head over to the Formal Garden at Prescott Park in Portsmouth. Damp conditions don't just make foliage pop; flowers appear to be more vibrant when they're wet, too.
I've got a soft spot for that garden. My husband and I were married there, and I often ate lunch among the blooms when I worked in Portsmouth. (Interestingly, that area along the waterfront was once the site of a notorious red-light district - decades ago during the town's seedier years. Hard to imagine now.)
The Formal Garden is small but lovely, anchored by stately, mature crabapple trees and three brick fountains, and filled with thousands of annuals and perennials.
The rain kept foot traffic out so I was able to work uninterrupted.
Imagine my surprise when I popped in the next day to see the flowers were nearly all gone: work crews had removed them even though there hadn't yet been a killing frost. Beds which had just been bursting with brilliant color were now bare. Had I waited one day more, I would not have seen my garden in full bloom, and certainly wouldn't have been making pictures there.
Serendipity.
A few hours after I'd finished working in the Formal Garden, the rain had stopped and picturesque cumulus clouds filled the sky. If things held together, I'd have an opportunity to capture the sun setting behind the waterfront: an item on my shot list.
Standing on the north end of the Memorial Bridge which connects Portsmouth to Kittery, Maine, I waited as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Situated just on the other side of the pedestrian gate, which lowers when the vertical lift bridge needs to be raised for river traffic, I'd already started shooting when the siren sounded, the gate came down, and the bridge went up to let a sailboat pass underneath.
Perfect timing.
The only thing better would have been if one of the Moran tugboats had been making its way down the river heading back to the dock, but I was quite happy to have the sailboat as a foreground element in my panoramic.
Serendipity.
After a long slog up in the mountains searching for color, this had been a very good day with some happy twists of fate.
Sometimes things work out in ways you don't expect!
Next week I'll share more from Portsmouth.
In Local News
It was one year ago yesterday that our beloved Grizzly 399 was struck and killed by a driver in the Snake River Canyon south of Grand Teton National Park. I think of her often: certainly every time I'm in the north end of the park and pass by Pilgrim Creek. GTNP, still breathtakingly beautiful and one of my favorite places on earth, has not felt the same since then and probably never will again.
As one Jackson newspaper put it at the time of her death, 399 opened a portal between our world and hers. Through her, countless people around the world witnessed her exceptional mothering skills and came to understand more about her species. They learned that it's possible for humans and grizzlies to co-exist, and grizzlies are not monsters. 399 represented what is attainable when humans resolve to respect and protect grizzlies (and wolves, too). This is an important part of her legacy.
I fervently hope that she has also instilled in enough of us the understanding of how important it is that her descendents have safe places to roam freely that we never abandon these magnificent creatures.
There are far too many both in Washington and here in grizzly country (Wyoming, Idaho and Montana) who are fighting to remove protected status from the bears. Doing so would open the door to trophy hunting. If that were to happen, it would not take long before grizzlies once again disappear completely from Grand Teton National Park. That was the situation in the mid-1970s.
Reckless driving already injures and/or kills too many bears. Fatal shootings are another issue. These are typically deemed "accidental" or in "self-defense" but color me skeptical. Another of those occurred last Saturday near Island Park, Idaho when a big-game hunter killed an adult male grizzly.
To read more about the efforts to save grizzlies, follow the link: