More of what the night holds

Al Denelsbeck

Last year at some point I purchased a couple of surveillance-type video cameras, units that can offer both live views and semi-autonomous recording. Only one is weatherproof, however, and it relies on a network cable, so the applications are a little limited. Nonetheless, I use it for monitoring areas in the yard that are likely to show something interesting – for instance, the frog activity in the backyard pond, or trying to see what kind of wildlife has been visiting. I have coupled the camera with a freeware program that will start recording when motion is detected in certain portions of the frame, defined at will.

You might think this could be set so that false readings are minimized, and it’s kind of true, but not exactly. Moths, for instance, are common enough throughout the area at night that I seem to have a false trigger (and thus a brief video clip produced,) roughly every 10-15 minutes. The cameras have their own infra-red illumination, which is handy (necessary, actually,) but all it takes is a moth within about three or four meters passing through the motion zones. If I let the program run overnight, I usually have dozens of clips to pore through in the morning, with very little of even passing interest.

Worse, however, is a simple trait: spiders balloon all over the place at night, throwing a strand of webbing into the breeze like a parachute and letting it carry them to new locations. Which means, in very short order, that no matter where I put the camera, it will be sporting at least a few web strands by morning. And if the spider decides to spin a web in front of the lens, well, I might have over seventy clips collected by sunrise:


As impressive as the size of that arachnid might seem, it’s only because it’s extremely close to the lens, which also explains the focus and heinous overexposure. To better illustrate, here’s the culprit in a normal photo; the entire front of the camera is roughly 5cm across.

unidentified spider perched in front of infra-red video camera lens
The staccato frame rate is courtesy of the program I believe, not ideal but sufficient for the purpose. But it’s also a product of the low-light sensitivity of the camera, producing just four or five frames a second in darkness rather than 20-30 in the day. At times, I would like it to be higher, such as when it appears a bat has crossed the field of view, but that would take a much more expensive camera.

Yesterday, when there was compelling evidence that a bluebird nest box in the yard was possibly playing host to a flying squirrel nest again, I set the camera up to try and confirm this. Flying squirrels are nocturnal, so the IR camera is a necessity. The initial setup was aimed just a little lower that optimal, and definitely a bit cockeyed – the camera is intended to mount to a wall or post, and does not possess anything useful like a tripod mount. Another spider happened along and, apparently aware that it was being monitored, offered a bit of direct communication, the punk:


You might take this to mean that arachnids are more intelligent than we give them credit for, but then you have to consider the nature of the communiqué and realize that insect-brained is probably pretty accurate. Or bird-brained.

As I was typing this post, I got another alert as something hurtled past right in front of the camera. Now, I have a clip which almost certainly contains a bat, but I’m not exactly sure about this one, so I’ll let you judge.


And here’s a screen capture of the crucial frame – still not detailed enough to be sure, but from the speed and flight behavior, I’m inclined to say it’s a bat myself.

screen capture from IR camera showing very close pass of something, possibly a bat
By the way, someone might speculate that I’d actually captured a flying squirrel in flight, but they’re gliders, and highly unlikely to be able to pull this kind of maneuver.

Now the next bit, and this is the problem with not having much time to post. I recorded this audio clip several nights back and had it about half-prepared to put up, then forgot about it entirely. But one quiet evening I started hearing familiar noises outside, and went out with the little audio recorder to see what I could capture. The sounds were of a pair of barred owls (Strix varia) getting territorial nearby, and while I suspected there were a few hundred meters away near the big pond, it turns out they were in the neighbor’s yard only about thirty meters off. Despite this, and despite my ability creep closer (while remaining out in the road – I probably should have chosen different wording there,) the audio was very weak and had to be amplified significantly, which also amplified the recorder noise and the interstate traffic. But you still get a good example of their “monkey calls.”

Barred owls arguing

I believe they eventually caught sight of me, none too challenging for owls of course, and when the calls hadn’t issued for a couple of minutes I chanced shining a flashlight in the direction I’d been hearing them, seeing nothing. Only a minute or so later, I heard them resuming the calls from a greater distance. At some point I hope to snag some photos, but unless I catch them right at dusk, we’re talking flash photos from a notable distance, pushing the limits of even my most powerful flash unit. So we’ll just have to see what happens, both in regards to any owls and especially with capturing any images or video of the flying squirrels. You know where to find me.

The days of yore, part four

Al Denelsbeck

It’s only been two and a half years since the last days of yore, I know – I apologize for banging them so close together like this…

An SLR (single lens reflex) camera is a great thing. In a nutshell, what you see is what you get, since as you aim the camera, you’re looking through the same lens that takes the photo. Sure, it increases the size and complication of the camera body a little bit, but the benefits greatly outweigh this. Imagine trying to frame an image properly if you couldn’t see through the 300mm lens, and were trying to estimate focus and framing based on a tiny rectangle marked within the ‘normal’ view of the camera, without the magnification of the telephoto lens.

Argus C3 rangefinder "brick"At one time, this was actually the case. Before SLRs, we had rangefinder cameras, and you didn’t focus through the lens that took the photo, but through a viewfinder lens above the film box. Seen here is an Argus C3, and to focus, you had to look through a peephole on the back of the camera that came out through those little rectangles near the top of the camera (also, through a round window that forms the center of the ‘rangefinder’ dial at upper left.) With the magic of a semi-silvered mirror and a couple of lenses, you could see a dual image of the subject that would resolve into a single image when the focus was proper. I would explain how this works but it’s not immediately germane to the topic. What is germane is that, since you were not focusing through the lens that captured the shot, it was possible to take photos while the lens cap was still on and never realize it – this was, in fact, a standing joke in the fifties and sixties. My first 35mm camera was a rangefinder (not this one,) and I only forgot the lens cap once…

images of the surface of Venus from Soviet probes Venera 13 and 14Now we come to the early eighties – 1981, to be precise. What was then the Soviet Union had launched a series of probes to orbit and eventually land on the surface of Venus – with varying success. Some crashed, some failed. The primary difficulty was, Venus is wickedly hot – like, 460°c (860°f) at the surface. Aluminum melts at those temperatures, and while you can construct a probe of better materials than aluminum, it still has to have delicate electronics within, and eventually the heat penetrates to the interior and shit stops working. And during the journey through space and the descent through the upper atmosphere, the cameras have to be protected – you can’t just have the lens poking out there.

Venera probes 9 and 10 had two cameras each, but only one of each sent back photos; the lens cover for the second camera was flawed and would not release, and they did not include a little robotic arm to jiggle the damn things. Veneras 11 and 12 were worse: both sets of lens caps stayed in place, and no photos were sent back to Earth. So, for Venera probes 13 and 14, they redesigned the covers to ensure that they would eject free from the lens ports.

The results you see here: nice color images of the surface of Venus, taken in the few hours that the probes were operational (they were intended to last just thirty minutes, but both continued transmitting info for much longer than designed.) Venera 13’s view is at top, and 14’s below. In the upper image, that’s not a broken Native Venusian bowl in the image, but the probe’s own lens cap sitting where it had ejected from the port. Yes, I know they make those little cap-keeper leashes, but that’s tourist stuff, and the Soviets wanted to look more professional. The arm to the left of each frame is the soil compressibility tester.

In fact, if you look close at the bottom frame, you’ll see where the lens cover for Venera 14 ended up. That’s it, sitting right smack underneath the compressibility arm – the probe sent back information on the density of its own lens cap. Sometimes you just can’t win. But at least they got the pics this time.

I imagine the info from the compressibility test came back before the photos, leading the scientists to believe that the surface was remarkably hard (the lens covers were titanium,) before the images explained the results. Then, I imagine the Russian expletives uttered when the photos came up on the screens – I think I personally would have tried sending commands to bang that arm up and down a few times just to bounce the cap out of the way (or simply vent some frustration.)

I don’t want to give the wrong impression; I have a lot of respect for the Soviet/Russian space program and the accomplishments that they’ve achieved, as we find ourselves at the anniversary of the first human in space: Yuri Gagarin went into orbit on April 12th, 1961, only fifty-six years ago. In fact, I don’t even like nationalistic demarcations, since this isn’t a competition; while too many of the politicians and citizens viewed it that way, the scientists and engineers were more concerned with how than with who. And that’s the way it should be – scientific advancement benefits us as a race, at the very least, but even more so as a planet. Ego should always take a (distant) back seat to progress and problem-solving.

What the night holds

Al Denelsbeck

Spring is being a little tease this year, flirting with us for a few days before mock-coyly disappearing, leaving us with her ugly sister Near-Freezing Temperature, who doesn’t even have a good personality. From time to time the conditions seem like the good shooting season has finally arrived, but I’ve been stung often enough that I don’t really believe it anymore; it’s like being back in high school.

Nonetheless, on a few different nights recently, more interesting things could be found than during the days, so I managed to get a little shooting in. The first on the list is a goal of mine, but I haven’t actually achieved it yet – this is only evidence that I missed, yet again.

magnolia green jumping spider Lyssomanes viridis in later stage of molting
Aiming a flashlight up from underneath the leaves of the low gardenia bushes, I was presented with an odd silhouette against the backlit leaf, and was obligated to contort myself below for a detail shot, as much as I could get given the nearby leaves that would be disturbed by getting any closer. Still, I was able to photograph our old friend, the magnolia green jumping spider (Lyssomanes viridis) during a molt – the legs have recently been drawn free of the old exoskeleton while the tip of the abdomen is still attached; its head is to the right. My goal, of course, is to catch this as a sequence from the very beginning, with the chitin splitting along the back and the first emergence, something that has yet eluded me. But this might be very difficult, since any arthropod that feels it is imminent may be alarmed by my presence and avoid putting itself into such a vulnerable position. Every time that I thought it might be about to happen with other subjects and waited around patiently, nothing came of it.

Magnolia green jumping spider Lyssomanes viridis in final stage of molting
When I had returned a little later, the spider was in a slightly more natural position, but still not done with the process and obviously waiting for its chitin to harden. Between the two pics you might be able to make out the hints of the protective shelter of web strands that encloses it; magnolia greens are wandering ambush spiders, not using a web for capturing prey, but they still construct shelters for molting and egg clusters.

On another, much wetter evening less than two meters away, a different nocturnal rover was found, this one a juvenile Copes grey treefrog (Hyla chrysoscelis.) It occurred to me this year that the fence around the backyard might actually confuse the treefrogs, which leave their winter shelters down close to the ground and make their way further up trees come spring, but the fence doesn’t really go that high, and they find themselves having to locate another “tree” that actually climbs a proper distance.

Copes grey treefrog Hyla chrysoscelis perched on fence edge
While I can often draw close to the treefrogs, night or day, to do detail shots, this one seemed very aware of my presence and was shifting to avoid me. But it also seemed to figure out the fence puzzle, since shortly after being spotted it jumped across to a nearby oak, where the camouflage coloration had the best effect. It took me a bit to spot it even when I knew it had to be close. Bear in mind that its body length is less than 3cm (he says defensively.)

Copes grey treefrog Hyla chrysoscelis on wet oak bark
Later on, when I found a green treefrog (Hyla cinerea) on the crossbar of the fence, I moved it to the trunk of the nearby sycamore tree – after the brief portrait session, naturally. Priorities.

green treefrog Hyla cinerea perhaps confused by fence
On the same wet night, a short distance away by the pond, I spotted something I don’t see too often, a salamander. Given the condition of my hands as soon as I’d managed to capture it, I have to say this is a slimy salamander (Plethodon glutinosus,) an appropriate name no matter which you use, though since there are apparently 13 subspecies another modifier is warranted; I’m just not going to tell you what it is, and let you figure it out on your own…

slimy salamander Plethodon glutinosus peering over leaf
[If you do, let me know, because telling them apart is tricky.] So, here’s the challenge, one that I encounter frequently enough that I’m trying to improve my technique: subjects such as this are too spooky to photograph easily, and generally go for cover the moment they feel threatened – that usually means under immediately available leaves, which is why I captured it in the first place rather than photographing it where found like the frogs and spider. Any ‘studio’ shot needs to look plausible and realistic, while still preventing the subject from scampering off or simply hiding within the plausible realistic setting. For these shots, it meant a deep plastic bowl intended to place potted plants within for water retention, and a single layers of leaves carefully arranged to cover all of the plastic. The salamander still had to be coaxed out into the open from time to time, as well as towards the center of the bowl so the sides wouldn’t show in the frames. This one was somewhat more cooperative than some subjects that I’ve tackled in the same conditions, but the session still took a while.

What I didn’t alter was the lighting, which was a mistake. Such shiny dark subjects work best with a large diffuse light source, such as bounce flash from a white ceiling (or overcast skies,) while I was still using the latest macro rig, which wasn’t large enough to spread out over the subject as much as needed. The sharp bright spots really don’t work, and I’ll have to try a different lighting system, which I’ll illustrate if it works as intended.

slimy salamander Plethodon glutinosus in setting showing stray hair
Some of the shots had to be discarded because the bowl was showing, in one way or another, and technically it shows in these frames too, underneath the leaf at lower right, but it’s subtle enough that I’m not worried about it. The hair just above that point was unacceptable though, a hazard with home studios, especially if you have cats – the salamander was kind enough to hold still as I carefully snaked my hand up close and plucked away the hair. Considering that it was about the size of my finger (the salamander, not the hair you doofus,) this was notable patience indeed.

possible long-legged sac yellow sac spider Cheiracanthium on white azalea blossomA few nights earlier when the white azaleas had first come into bloom, I scouted around a few of the blossoms looking to see if any spiders could be found – because I know what I’m doing. One of the blooms did indeed sport a very small specimen, what is quite possibly a long-legged sac spider, often called yellow sac spider (genus Cheiracanthium.) Yellow sacs have a reputation as being a dangerous spider, as in, with a strong enough venom to make humans sick – not as big a reputation as black widows and brown recluses, but the folklore is there. And folklore is all that it might be; with all the work that’s been done in entomology and biology, there remains doubt that the bite has the effects attributed to it, especially the necrosis so often reported. Regardless, I’m not at all bothered by the presence of such minuscule spiders; it would take a very specific set of circumstances to be in a position to be bitten without actually crushing the spider in the first place, and given the large number of this genus within the US, we’d be much more certain of the properties if this could occur easily.

A few nights later, the same post-rain evening when I was pursing the frogs and salamander, I found an azalea bloom artfully dripping with water, and did a quick fartsy shot. I didn’t realize at the time that it was the same blossom, or at least, another that the spider had moved to.

wet white azalea blossom with bonus long-legged sac yellow sac spider Cheiracanthium
What do you mean, “Where’s the spider?” Right up there at the base of the stamens, upper left. Geeezzz…

I close with another green treefrog, quite likely the same one seen in this post (the one in blue,) this time perched on the flexible downspout that connects the gutters to that same rainbarrel. The frog seems to have a noticeable gut on it, but it might simply be trying to maintain good contact with the uneven surface. Or maybe it had an especially lucrative night bugwise. I’m not judging.

green treefrog Hyla cinerea on flexible downspout

Sunday slide 15

Al Denelsbeck

I’m having a really hard time getting my shit together right now, with very little free time, and I cannot predict when this is going to change – let’s just say I haven’t abandoned the blog, and will be back into a more regular posting schedule sometime soon.

For now, a sleepy ocelot (Leopardus pardalis) at the zoo.

sleeping ocelot Leopardus pardalis closeup

Sunday slides 14

Al Denelsbeck

snow blowing from branches against blue sky
Winter, 2008. Heavy snows tend to be rare events in North Carolina, and unlike the northern states we virtually never see a long period of them. This one was heavier than expected, thick and wet, and liberally covered everything, but the following day dawned bright and, not warm, but at least it got a start on clearing the snow from the asphalt surfaces of the road. Relieved from work by the conditions, I wandered out through the woods behind my place looking for something photogenic that wouldn’t require me risking my light sports car on questionable roads. I did that shit in New York and it’s one of the principle reasons why I left

The gusting wind would occasionally shift significant patches of snow from the branches, creating new mini-storms that would dump it across my hat and camera bag, and at one point I aimed the camera skyward to capture the clusters of flakes in motion. It was a rare set of conditions, since it’s not often that you have the bright light and blue sky to capture moving snow against, as you might imagine. An aperture of f22 on the Sigma 24-135mm allowed the motion to be seen without producing noticeable blur from camera shake – I would estimate the shutter speed around 1/15 to 1/30 second. Had I not captured a couple of distinctive individual clumps that provided short streaks against the sky, they might have been mistaken for thin cirrus clouds, so I got kinda lucky with the composition.

thick-piled snow on dense forest
The nature of the thick wet flakes falling with no breeze at all (during the storm at least) meant the snow piled high on the branches, picturesque but able to be dislodged easily, and I had to routinely stow the camera away that day to keep it dry from the snow constantly falling from the trees, sweeping it away every time I found a scene that I liked. After an hour, I looked like I’d been caught in a blizzard with snow even collected on my shoulders, much less the hat brim, and I’d had to clean the camera off multiple times. But that was little hardship for a collection of interesting photos. And I didn’t even have to travel for them.

March abstract is here, and it brought a friend

Al Denelsbeck

pine pollen eddy on Jordan Lake
I pretty much knew this was going to be the month-end abstract as soon as I took it – with the caveat, of course, that I might find something better afterward, but here it is, so you have a tiny insight into my photography outings. I don’t suppose this is too hard to figure out, but it’s pine season here and the fucking pollen gets all over everything, and it floats. So lakes and puddles and even stream edges get decorated with the stuff for a few weeks, and in the case here, it gives a good indication of how water is shifting even when no currents or even breezes are evident.

More abstract, perhaps, is the scale, since there’s nothing to provide a reference. If I’d brought a toy boat with me I could have had a lot of fun with you, but somehow I forgot to pack one in the bag (I know, I know, after all my admonishments to be prepared.) Suffice to say this is at my feet at 26mm focal length, and my foot might have just spanned the gap between the shore and the rock.

partially-submerged pine branches on waterAs I was preparing this post, I was trying to remember what I’d posted for February, and eventually came to the conclusion that I had never done a month-end abstract for February – don’t know how that one got past. Though I have some idea, because I shot almost nothing in February, and so as I was attempting to rectify my oversight, I was finding very little to use that was taken within the month. I found a couple that weren’t bad in my folders, but they were taken in either January or March, and I was determined, for no particular reason, to stay within February. So here we are, continuing a theme of sorts, since this is a pine branch replete with cones, partially submerged in the pond. It’s not a pretty picture, it’s just a little stark and confusing, but the sky color came out well.

A couple of small notes about the silhouette and exposure. Had I wanted to bring out the detail of the branches instead of making them this dark, I could always have rejected what the camera considered a good exposure and brightened it up with exposure compensation – but that would have bleached out the sky, weakening the colors which are the strong point of the image; the cloud would have lost all texture on its own. So the other option is fill-flash, firing off the flash even though the exposure was fine. It would have had absolutely no effect on the water reflections and the color therein, but it would have illuminated this side of the branches and brought out their detail. In such cases, it can help to have a camera and flash unit that can do flash-exposure compensation. Left to its own devices (heh!) a camera using any variation of TTL flash exposure will try to match flash power output to the ambient light, to make it look “natural,” but in this case that exposure could be up for grabs, since the meter is going to read the bright sky overall, and might not even register the branches. It might not fire at all, “believing” that no flash is needed, or it might pour out a lot of power to try and spark a reaction from the exposure meter and end up over-illuminating them. With flash-exposure compensation, you can tell the camera to put out more or less light than it “thinks” it needs. Without such an option, you can usually force the flash to fire anyway, and reduce the light as needed by partially covering the flash head with your fingers, or tilting the head up away from a direct line to provide only partial lighting. It might take a few attempts to get the right result, but in some cases (something more interesting than these branches, at least,) it can be worth the effort.

One more thing: don’t trust the LCD on the back of the camera to show you how well the exposure worked. They’re notoriously unreliable for judging exposure, able to make the image seem brighter or darker than it really is, partially from the brightness settings, partially from ambient light, and mostly because their initial gamma setting is both unknown and unalterable (at least in every case I’ve seen.) So, bracket, even when it looks good in the LCD.

Sunday slide 13

Al Denelsbeck

The Indeterminate Mr Bugg, who hasn’t been posting jack the past several weeks, actually said he was thinking of stealing my Sunday slide topic for his own blog, an entertaining idea since he shoots only digital and doesn’t even have a film camera. I don’t think he has the guts to go through with it, to be honest with you…

For this one we go back just a few years, to a Florida trip that occurred in the early days of the blog. With that as the only clue, I present the image to allow you to try and figure it out.

West Indian manatee Trichechus manatus Florida manatee closeup
So, The Girlfriend and I had a couple of goals for this particular trip and I, as the experienced yet brief Florida resident, was the one who was supposed to try and bring them about. The first day we’d spent driving down and crashed in Gainesville, so the following day we cut across near the gulf coast and started working our way down through the warm springs area, because that’s where you find one of our goals most often (though all of my own experiences with it took place on the opposite side of the state.) Choosing a likely spot, I did indeed manage to point out a real, wild appearance of the species, but it was a fairly typical distant peek, which is unremarkable to say the least. Navigating a short distance away to another inlet produced not the faintest sign. It was time for lunch at this point, so we grabbed something quickly and started heading further south.

Almost immediately, we happened across the Homosassa Springs Wildlife State Park, appearing incongruously alongside Rt 41 in a rather urbanized area. Figuring it was worth a quick look, we popped in and opted to take the short riverboat tour, heading out in the shadow of a neighboring motel and the bathers by the pool, not exactly what you’d expect. But Florida is like that, too touristy in many areas yet immediately leading into something exotic that, by all rights, should not exist so close to the interstates and snow cone stands. The boat ride netted no small number of waterfowl and at times appeared like a jungle cruise, but shortly we were dropped off at the other end of the channel and the main part of the park, which consisted of a small zoo-like section and the springs themselves.

Northern Florida sits atop a huge area of subterranean caverns, which serve as the drainage of the Okefenokee Swamp on the border of Georgia. In countless locations, these caverns open up to the surface as springs, which maintain a perpetual temperature of roughly 22°c (72°f.) They eventually carry out as rivers to the Gulf of Mexico, but the steady temperature attracts West Indian manatees (Trichechus manatus,) which will often follow the river to its spring source and hang out there when the weather and gulf waters have turned cold. In the case of Homosassa, one particular spring had been cordoned off and turned into a rehabilitation center for injured manatees, with a viewing area both above and below the water, and a small grandstand where people could view the periodic feedings.

We found ourselves at the side of this area as one specimen drifted up to the edge of the water, anticipating the introduction of herbage (mostly different kinds of lettuce and freshwater plants) that serve as their food. From a distance of no more than three meters, we watched and photographed the huge blob as it languished in the shallows, which led to a memorable exchange that we still relate to anyone rash enough to let us.

The Girlfriend was standing at the railing, hovering directly over the manatee with camera raised, motionless, waiting. After a bit, I finally inquired what she was anticipating from the somnolent and near-motionless mammal.

“I’m waiting for it to open its eyes,” she told me.

“They are open,” I pointed out, not without amusement. And they’re open in this pic, as abstract as it is – that’s one eye showing just right of center frame, the dark dimple in that textured skin. The manatee is just beneath the surface of the water with its nostrils projecting above, since they’re air-breathers like dolphins and sea lions, and the water level can just barely be discerned by the color difference in the skin. Manatees don’t need big eyes – they barely need eyes at all – but they’re certainly proportionally much smaller for the head and body size than most mammals. It was an honest misimpression, but a funny one.

I’m back baby!

Al Denelsbeck

sunset glow behind bare treeYou should read that title in Bender’s voice, and if I have to explain that, well… let’s just say I’m disappointed in you.

Regardless, what it means is, after a long dry spell where photography was almost nonexistent and even meaningless philosophical posts just weren’t happening, I finally started to get back into the swing of things yesterday, with nice weather and something to shoot. Even a student outing the other day didn’t net anything remarkable (even by my standards,) but I might be starting to make up for it now. We’d had some early warm weather that provoked some of the trees to bud out, then a cold snap that made them regret it, actually causing some of the leaves to wilt a bit – call it an Indian winter if you will. Now, perhaps, spring proper is starting.

You couldn’t tell it from the tree I used for this sunset shot, but that’s okay with me – I think it works better with the bare branches. I thought we might get some serious colors as the sun went down, but this is about the extent of it; you just can’t predict things like that, or at least I can’t. The sky might look promising, then peter out right before the sun goes down, or maybe the sun will get blocked by distant clouds which prevents it from illuminating the high-altitude clouds. The best you can do is be prepared and hope.

However, while I was over at the pond ready to take advantage of the conditions if they panned out, I found my second snake of the year; the first was a little worm snake in the driveway, but this one was a bit more impressive.

Northern water snake Nerodia sipedon basking at edge of pond
This northern water snake (Nerodia sipedon) never even twitched as I drew close, and I suspect it was fast asleep; without eyelids, there’s no solid indication, but the behavior is often a clue. Coiled where it could catch the late afternoon sun, it was likely warming itself up in preparation for the evening hunt, even though it seems like it’s been doing just fine in the food department. At the widest part of the body it was perhaps 6cm across – not quite the thickness of a wrist, but close enough to give that impression, while overall length was likely less than a meter. They don’t have ears but are good about picking up vibrations from the ground, though I’ve long been in the habit of walking softly when I’m out shooting, so it remained undisturbed as I knelt down just inside striking distance. I wasn’t concerned; should it feel threatened, it was far more likely to hurtle into the pond immediately behind it than take a shot at me, but I’ve been bitten by them before anyway.

During the day while working in the yard, I had spotted some portential subjects and vowed to come back at nightfall when I could tackle them with dedication. One of which, another magnolia green jumping spider, had wandered off and couldn’t be found, but in its place I present this unidentified wasp just chillin’ on the gardenia bush.

unidentified wasp on gardenia leaf with pine pollen
It is that season, the time when the pollen from the longneedle pines gets all over everything, visible here at greater magnification than normal; most times it appears as dust at best. Even though we’d gotten rid of a couple of the pines in the yard last year, there are still way too many in the immediate area to even see a reduction in the chartreuse patina so typical of North Carolina for a couple of weeks. More indications of this will be along shortly.

In the afternoon I had also found two green treefrogs lurking in the downspout stubs left in place when the flow had been diverted into the rain barrels, and knew they would venture out in the evening. One of them had disappeared entirely, but another had shown up nearby, so I had two to work with.

green treefrog Hyla cinerea perched on downspout
I’d achieved similar photos last year, which might be the last time I’d seen them (it’s likely these are a couple of the same frogs from that post,) and I’d remarked then that I was pleased to see them making their homes in the yard. Last spring had been heralded, at least as far as I was concerned, by the reappearance of the Copes grey treefrogs, but this year it’s the green treefrogs (Hyla cinerea) that serve as the indication. Well, a combination, actually, but I get ahead of myself.

green treefrog Hyla cinerea posed on rain barrel
As I was just leaning in and locking focus, this one had lifted a foreleg and swiped something from its eye (probably pollen,) and I just missed getting that shot, which would have been more dynamic than I usually see and photograph them. The pose is still nice, but there’s only so many times you can shoot it, you know? And it would have been better, from a nature photographer’s perspective, to have it on something more natural-looking than the brilliant blue barrel…

Going around the front of the house, the black rainbarrel also sported a frog, this time a Copes grey treefrog (Hyla chrysoscelis.) Crouching low in the residual water on the top gave it a distorted, flattened appearance, and unlike the green treefrogs (who didn’t seem to care,) this one was well aware of my presence and crouched even lower to try and escape attention.

Copes grey treefrog Hyla chrysoscelis trying to be unobtrusive atop rain barrel
Returning some twenty minutes later, this one had scampered off, perhaps into the neighboring bush where there was plenty of cover. As I type this early the next morning, it’s still 14°c (57°f) out there, so perhaps these frogs are still able to stir up something to eat.

unidentified small purple flower
I probably should know what this is – it was likely planted by us, and I might even have featured pics of the same species previously here, but right now I can’t remember and am not going to bother looking for it. Suffice to say that a handful of flowers have peeked out this season, but these had almost escaped my attention. As I went in to do some detail shots (this is still at night, by the way, though the flash gave it a daylight appearance,) I noticed something subtle on one of the blooms, which is the final indication that things are now going Al’s way, because we’re not only talking bugs, but icky predatory behavior.

unidentified crab spider with hoverfly prey atop purple blossom
This crab spider knew what it was doing, finding a choice flower as it came into bloom and lying in wait. The unlucky hoverfly was only about 6mm in length, so you know I’m going in close for this, which gave a curious impression of a loving embrace, an illicit and forbidden interspecies romance taking place in the still of the night. Okay, I probably need to get out more.

And I should be now, because these are my signs of spring, and I can finally start posting more pics. Whether I will or not shall remain to be seen…

Sunday slide 12

Al Denelsbeck

Bathers at Looking Glass Falls
So, there are a couple of common facets of scenic photography which can be a little (or very) discouraging. The first is that, with any truly dramatic bit of landscape, chances are it’s been done many times over – it’s probably why you even know to go there in the first place. So not only is it somewhat trite to shoot yet again, chances are some other photographer has done a much better job of it than you will; there’s even a bit of photographer’s slang about the idea: ‘tripod holes,’ meaning shooting from the exact same position as so many others that you’re wearing holes into the ground from the tripods. And if you have to travel to get there, you might have a limited amount of time to visit the site and do your stuff; the light might be bad, or water flow is less than ideal, or foliage conditions not up to snuff [what the hell does that even mean, anyway?] Most of the best photos aren’t about the landscape itself, the geography and vistas and all that, but dependent on the conditions and timing, and if you’re not there when they’re optimal, it’s much harder to produce something exciting.

And then there’s the popularity, especially if it’s easy to get to or particularly well known. In such cases, you then have to contend with what someone else might be doing, including being in your shot, or with the amount of trash that’s been left behind, or just the necessities of tourist attractions that really don’t add to the impact, like fences and signs and souvenir shops. When you see the empty and serene images of places like Stonehenge, such things were taken in extremely specific conditions, sometimes even with assistance from local authorities to keep everyone else out of the frame long enough to get the ‘lonely’ shot.

Looking Glass Falls in Brevard is one of the most popular waterfalls in North Carolina, featured in countless publications about the state. Moreover, you can practically drive right up to it – it’s actually visible from the road, and it’s a short walk down from the parking area to the overlook, which was only a dozen meters behind me and to the left when I took this image. I was standing in the river downstream, purposefully out away from the other tourists – but there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about the teenagers cavorting in the shallow pool at the base of the falls. The further back I got, the more people would be coming into the image. And yes, I imagine that they felt the same way about me, despite my efforts to stay off to the side and out of the way.

And the light wasn’t really what I wanted, being a bit too flat, but I also suspect this batch of film wasn’t up to spec. It happens sometimes. Another pair of things that can’t easily be corrected when you are making one stop during a weekend trip.

The curious thing about this one is the very narrow range of settings that I must have used – remember, it’s a slide so I don’t have the luxury of referring to the EXIF info, and wasn’t taking notes. The shutter speed was slow enough to blur the water and even produce a bit of motion from the foreground leaves in the breeze coming off the falls themselves, but not so slow that the bathers are obviously moving. I can’t recall if I timed the shot for a moment of inactivity from them, or just happened to catch it, but it’s a curious juxtaposition if you stop to think about it.

The Girlfriend was with me on this trip, and stayed up on the overlook while I was working the stream below, which gave her the opportunity to hear what others were saying behind my back. A few gossiping tourists were betting that I was going to slip and dunk myself and my gear in the water, taking obvious delight in the prospect, but she kept quiet and didn’t bother to challenge their assumptions, and I was happy to disappoint them.

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