
It’s been longer than I planned since my last set of posts, and I actually had something else intended this weekend that didn’t work out – basically, my telescope was way the hell out of collimation. For a reflecting scope to work properly, the mirrors have to be precisely aligned, otherwise you can’t get properly sharp images. It’s still not up to snuff, so I’m leaving that photographic project as a post for another day. I’m digging in my archives for this one.
You might have already guessed by now that I’m fond of photographic experiments. I purchased a used camera kit from someone a while back, and included with it was a Metz Mecablitz 40MZ 3i strobe unit, or a “flash” in the common tongue. And in figuring out what the flash was capable of, I found it had a neat little option: firing off a rapid string of light bursts like a strobe light. With an appropriately long shutter speed and dark conditions, this meant I could use the flash to produce a string of individual images of a moving subject all on the same frame. The very brief duration of each burst of light (probably somewhere between 1/1,000 and 1/10,000 of a second) would “freeze” most subjects and allow for a succession of its progress as it moved, like motion picture frames all combined together. Neat!
Last summer, as I was down at Jordan Lake taking a chance on seeing the Space Shuttle Endeavour cut across the sky (the launch was bumped), I quickly realized the dark night sky was simply bursting with activity, in the form of insects, bats, and one probable nighthawk that cut so close alongside my ear I heard the burr of wings. And suddenly I remembered the flash. Hey, all I needed to do was fire it off as I saw a bat passing, and try to have decent focus!
Yeah, right. There’s only so much power a flash unit can put out, especially if it’s trying to fire off 16 bursts without recharging. That means going for a wide aperture to let in as much light as possible to even get an image, and that means the focus range is very narrow. Not the best thing when going after incredibly fast-moving flying critters that you haven’t even gotten a decent look at, much less a chance to focus. So, the only thing I could really do was take a stab at a focus distance and hope for good luck.
Now, despite what you might think looking at these two images, I actually consider myself lucky to have gotten anything. Sure, I would have liked better, but to capture something really worthwhile I’d probably need to control the conditions a bit better. However, I captured something, I think, more than intended. If you look closely at the top image (and this is a full resolution crop from the original frame,) you’ll notice that the shapes and colors seem to alternate a bit. You would certainly expect a flying subject to be in different positions for each burst, but color and size? What I think I might have caught here was a bat pursuing a moth, right before (or at) capture. I’m open for other explanations – the detail obviously isn’t overwhelming. But it certainly seems to be two different critters there, at different distances from the camera – the smaller one is sharper, and has more mothlike wings.
One other frame, at right, was also successful, to a small degree anyway, and this looks far more like a bat. Again, not in the focus range, but at least I got it better in the frame. The strange background is 16 successive images of the nearby tree, while not holding the camera steady (hey, it was bad enough even trying to see a bat in the dark, there was no way I’d get one to swoop nicely through the frame while the camera was on a tripod.)
Perhaps someday, I’ll tackle the project of getting a good photo, or sequence, of a bat on the wing. But the preparations necessary to increase the odds beyond blind luck are extensive, and I’ll get into that in detail in another post. Or, I could simply shoot madly for long periods of time in the hopes that at least one will come out great, but that’s hardly an efficient way of doing it. This brings us into one of the debating points about nature photography: staging shots. That might even turn out to be more than one post, but not right now. Stay tuned.




















































In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been doing little more than experimenting. One a foggy night recently, I went out to try and accomplish one of the images I’ve planned for just such conditions. As is often the case with these experiments, they didn’t come out quite as intended, meaning I’ll have to try again when we get a nice nighttime fog. But something else that I tried on a lark came out reasonably well, I think, though perhaps not as strongly at this size. I’ve been toying with posting it to some ghost forums just to see how much it can stir up – and how few can actually figure out that it’s a simple, and common, photographic effect. Technically, not a double-exposure, since it’s only one long exposure, but when your model (in this case me) isn’t in position for the entire exposure, a certain amount of light shows “through.”
As I was about to sit down to work on something tonight, it began pouring outside, and since we’ve had some nice warm weather recently, the frogs have come back out – someplace not far outside my window a treefrog started calling. I went outside with a pair of flashlights but still didn’t find it (little bugger got nervous as I got close and stopped calling,) but I did find a ladybug in not-so-typical conditions. I didn’t stay out long because it was raining too hard to do much photography, and both my jacket and the light camera bag are drying out now.
Oh, yeah, the contest! Anyway, this one has much more reasonable terms, so even though I have plenty in stock, I also started looking for potential shots that would fit their criteria better. Along the way, I was experimenting again, this time with infrared. I’ve talked about infrared on the site 
Obviously, if the patterns of this little guy were randomly distributed, rather than so distinctive, it would have an even better form of camouflage. But to do this, the Hox genes would have to be very selectively inactive – enough to allow for color patterns to be asymmetrical, but not enough to produce six legs on one side and two on the other. That’s a very specific mutation. Moreover, for natural selection to favor it, it would have to generate some advantage (or, be common enough to carry while otherwise not being disadvantageous – neutral traits can continue too.) While we might think that asymmetry would help a lot towards not being recognized by predators, there isn’t much evidence that many predators are likely to recognize symmetry as a telltale. The color and the fuzzy shape may be enough. However, there are some other factors too. Many birds can see a much wider range of colors than we can, so even asymmetry might be a very minor factor against not matching the shade of lichens very closely. And this says nothing for how effective those little spines might be (I didn’t try to handle it,) or its scent or taste. So perhaps asymmetry simply didn’t have enough selective pressures to evolve.
Some species do display some asymmetry though, albeit limited. Here, a northern copperhead (Agkistrodon contortrix mokeson) displays some mismatching patterns at the spine, and apparently the southern subspecies (A. c. contortrix) can display patterns that don’t even connect at the spine. Now, here’s something interesting, because it seems it’s not a common trait among the other variants in other parts of the US, just among A. c. contortrix in the southeast. I haven’t found that anyone has studied this to determine why this might be (grad students, feel free to use this suggestion, just remember me when the book royalties come in,) so I can only speculate. But the predatory species of birds would be different between a copperhead and an Euclea, and it’s possible that a species of raptor in the southeast might have better eyes for asymmetry than other raptors where the other subspecies of copperhead can be found. Or this might be way off the mark, and it’s actually influenced by diet or habitat. Myself, I favor blaming the longneedle pines.
Last night, as I was going to bed, I noticed the light pouring through the blinds was pretty bright, indicating that the sky had cleared and the nearly-full moon was out. Naturally, with a full snowfield, I couldn’t let this pass, but the roads were too treacherous, so I stuck around and did my photography locally. As I’ve said earlier, the full moon can provide a lot of light, if you let the exposure out long enough – this one is three minutes at ISO 100, f8, slightly brightened in post-processing. I like how the sparkles showed up.
Earlier today, I got out and chased a few shots as well. An important thing to remember as you’re doing snow (or beach) shots is that the camera meter wants to make the scene an “average” brightness. When you have snow or bright sand and water, the camera will darken this down to middle tones if you let it, so always adjust to overexpose the shot. It’s called, “exposure compensation,” and for snow, generally 2/3 to 1 full stop is useful, depending on what you’re after. Bleaching out the snow to pure white destroys the details. So unless you’re just using it for a setting, I’d recommend keeping it bright but not white. This shot is 2/3 over-exposed from what the camera calculated, metered from the snow in the foreground. Unfortunately, at this size it doesn’t carry the details as well, so you can just make out that the rabbit trail continues on the other side of that broad shadow.