Bird photography challenges

Finally got out on Biscayne Bay on a beautiful, calm and mostly cloudless morning. Barely a hint of wind, it never felt too hot, although it did reach 86 degrees. Given the incoming tide all morning, it was a good time to head over to the rookery as no wading birds would be wading with the rising water levels (perigee moon effect making it stronger than usual).

This particular rookery is by far the most challenging of all the bird areas I photograph from the canoe. There are several of them (some unique to the canoe) but the greatest is the shyness of the birds. In short, they hide from me and their flight patterns are affected by my presence. Consequently I have to demonstrate extreme patience in hopes that if I sit still long enough they will forget me and come back into sight. Or I can face away from the tree island rookery and settle for only flight shots as the birds fly in and out. Even that is difficult as the birds' flight patterns are often affected by my presence.

At any rate, I try my hardest to capture the cattle egrets (mostly) in good poses and I am going for that particular shot where all the elements come together. Consider that these birds are mostly in the mangroves (unless it is a flight shot), so the elements I am looking for include the following: good lighting, frontal view of landing or take off, no mangrove leaves covering the bird in any way, sharpness, head turned enough toward camera, and enough sky background to see the bird well. With all these criteria, I rarely get "that shot".
Nevertheless, I keep trying and in the meantime, here are a few different poses of the nesting cattle egret, including one juvenile. None of these is "that shot" but they at least illustrate the busy life of a nesting cattle egret.

Mangroves and Birds

One of my favorite places to photograph wading birds is on Biscayne Bay, in calm waters and during early sunlit hours. That's when the rising sun casts a gentle glow on the browns, golds and greens of the mangroves and the reflections cover the calm shallow waters. In those waters, several species of wading birds can been seen, white ibis, tricolor, nightcrown and little blue heron, and the great white and great blue and yellow footed snowy egret. Sometimes, other types of birds show up. In the winter the gulls (ringed billed included) appear in large quantities, as they were yesterday morning.

I paddled out of the canal at the Matheson marina at 7:30. Low was about that time and the north wind was relatively calm as a paddled past the boat ramp where several powerboats were launching. Soon I could see the shallow grasses adjacent to the deep channel. Silhouetted by the sun, I noticed dozens of little bird bodies scattered about and one or two larger long neck types. I paddled around the flat to get into frontlighting on the birds and watched several hundred gulls resting and leisurely floating in the water. Among them were a handful of ibises and one or two blue herons. I found a good spot but repelled most of the birds that flew to a slightly further point from me and my boat. Some of the ibises flew away to greater distances. The birds were facing the north winds, meaning they were not facing me. Not ideal.


There were a few white ibises that were busily catching food. They made nice subjects as the wind rustled their clean white feathers. Always a favorite bird of mine to photograph, I try to capture a captivating moment, as I have so many photos of ibises in similar poses. But always looking for the one special shot, I stayed with them for awhile. A black bird landed and splashed around a bit. That was something new for me here and the lighting was very nice. I changed my compensation from white bird to black bird and rifled off a few shots before the bird flew off.


A tricolor heron came into the picture and soon, I was harrassing it all along the shoreline. If given a choice among my subjects today, it would be the tricolor heron. It offers a greater variety of movements, often times spreading its wings and shuffling around the water. Not as dynamic as the reddish egret, it does have a pattern of movement that gives you lots of variations in poses, especially at 5 fps. Like the little blue, the tricolor appeared to get use to me and got quite close. It was very challenging keeping the skinny necked bird in focus as it moved through various colors of well lit mangrove roots and darker shadows of mangrove leaves.

Eventually, the sun and water were getting too high. Content with my morning photos, I paddled into the creek where my fishermen friends had been searching for snapper. They spotted a woodstork back in there (not exactly the snapper they were looking for). I once saw 4 woodstorks on the bay, a couple years ago in December. I paddled to where they saw the bird today and although I did not find the wood stork, I did watch a racoon hustling from one mangrove root piling to another. I also spotted several yellowcrown nightherons, both adults and juvys hiding out in the roots.

So today, the main focus was on the birds surrounded by impressionist mangrove reflections. Another perfect Biscayne day.

Chokoloskee and those storm clouds: part III

Never ceasing to be beautiful and amazingly alive are the summer storm clouds that make any day on the water interesting and sometimes precarious. Despite all the clouds and rain, I didn't see one lightning bolt until I was in my car heading toward Miami. Saturday's storms never came into the bay area and simply skirted around from the south and the west side. Running parallel with the large darkness above, I paddled some after leaving the roseates and putting away the large lens. While paddling, the sun light came in, brightening the mangroves with the angry clouds hovering above. It's irresistable to me, the contrasting mangrove reflections.

The next morning was just as beautiful but in a way that allowed me to photograph the white terns and juvy pelicans at the pilings. Even with the bit of rain I got while paddling (which was a relief from the heat), there was not much wind, an unusual thing when storms come through. This was another enjoyable summer morning on Choko bay when I know my time on the water is limited.

Lovely to me, mangroves will never get tiring or boring. They, like the fauna on the water, present unique photo challenges. But you really can't photograph mangroves well enough without those clouds. Clyde Butcher understands that better than anyone. I listened to him tell of how he would go out to the Ten Thousand Islands with a boat captain and would find that the captain paid no attention at all to the clouds. It was as if Butcher had opened the captain's eyes to the Everglades. Butcher watches clouds and can read their story and never knows what the ending will be until he gets to it. He simply watches and studies, and knows that the clouds are as much a part of the mystery of the Everglades as the mangrove roots that walk on the water. He knows that those clouds are formed by the very same water and trees he photographs. He understands the necessity of those clouds and better than most, can capture what looks like a common Everglades scene and turn it into something spectacular and unique, in black and white.

Maybe color is not a bad alternative, maybe there is a way to photograph these scenes and present them in a way that makes even the most remote character pay attention. I doubt that my little photos will fascinate very many beyond myself and the few who basically feel the same way I do about the Everglades, but nevertheless, I continue to capture them, over and over and over again.

Chokoloskee and learning: part I

So much to learn, so little time. So many errors, so many uncorrected. No one is perfect, but dang, it seems that every photo I consider at the top among a batch has some defect, missing element or something not right! Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for sympathy, accolades or any form of reaction from anyone. But can the reader relate to this? If you identify your photography pasttime as anything more than a whimsy, I think you can.

While coming to terms with the fact that shooting from a canoe has several limitations and special challenges, it occurs to me that taking a hobby and seeing it evolve into a passion is wrought with cyclical highs and lows. It is during those low periods that one is closest to dropping out. I don't know why but for whatever reason, I recognize these low periods that are characterized by extreme amounts of self doubt and criticism as opportunities to achieve a higher level of sophistication. These periods are chaotic. But with the proper amount of resolve, chaos becomes order. And from order comes better photos, or at least that is what I hope for. Bring it on.

From a low period, I realized I needed to make a change to my boat. My approach toward wildlife is quiet, but sometimes that is interrupted by unintended noise coming from my boat. Because of how and where I am photographing, approaching wildlife is very difficult. My Kevlar Wenonah has aluminum gunwales and while they are practical, they are noisy. I have two serious noise issues when attempting to approach wildlife. One is from the paddle which I can set down across the aluminum gunwales/thwarts or place it on the floor with the paddle end at the bow of the boat. The other noise is from the metal carabiner that attaches the stake out pole or the anchor to the boat. When the line is pulled from the water, the carabiner is pulled out over the gunwales, which makes noise.

Finally, I came to the realization that I cannot be as astutely aware of these potential noisemakers to avoid them as I would like to be. I needed to foolproof my boat so that I would not have to think about it. I went to Home Depot and got some pipe insulation, cut them to size and attached them to the gunwales between me and the bow. I placed one on the front thwart and the bow deck thwart and got 4 T-shaped insulators for where the thwart in front of me and behind me attach to the gunwales (see photo above). Those four points are where the carabiners contact the gunwales. With the gunwales covered, I can lay the paddle across them without concern for noise. I also placed a foam pad right at the bow where the paddle is set on the floor. Finally, I have a noise-proof boat! I tested it this weekend on Chokoloskee, a notoriously difficult place to photograph birds.

There is one other learning experience I have had. To shoot acceptably sharp photos of birds, especially those in motion, I needed some light power. To get it, I have turned to two different strategies. The first is the external flash. I know a wildlife photographer who never shoots without a flash, regardless of time of day. I'm not quite at that point when it comes to flash photography, but I am seeing more uses for it. The second strategy has to do with overcoming my fear of high ISO settings. Sony is not known for low noise at high ISO, so I avoid it as much as possible, typically not going higher than 400 (on the a700 400 is fine, but with the a100, it is not). I know of another photographer (sony user) who never goes higher than 200. OK, well, let's see how far I can push the limits of this Sony camera. To my surprise, I can jump it up to 800 and not have unreasonable amount of noise. In fact, I rarely shoot under 400 now a days and often sit at 640. With the higher ISO settings, early morning shooting is much more productive and I can use faster shutter speeds without compromising light. With the flash, high sunlight or cloud cover no longer mean putting away the camera.

I had two mornings in a row on Chokoloskee Bay. Low tide was at about 7 am but with the new moon, the incoming would not take long after that to completely cover the bay. I have found that while paddling on the rivers in the backcountry and out toward the gulf, there is always a slack tide between shifts. Not on Choko Bay. Instead, water is either rushing out or rushing in, no in between. It would not take long for the tide to come up this morning, which is why I wanted on the water before sunrise.

From a canoe, I can't expect much in the way of photos at such an early phase of the sunrise. It's dark, I cannot use a tripod, and flash might work sporadically with close birds, but unlikely since the birds don't let you get that close. The sky was significantly covered in thick dark storm clouds, mostly to the west and north. It was clear where the sun would be rising, which met good lighting with interesting background, especially if white birds were involved.

And they were. I let the lens defog as I made the southerly paddle toward the bird area. The two mangrove islands butting up against the channel looked as if they were covered in snow from a distance. Of course they were white birds, primarily ibises. By the hundreds, these birds roost in concentration throught the night and promptly on cue, begin to fly off as the sun begins to rise. By 7:30 am, the trees are completely empty of birds. Today, I was sitting pretty much under their flight paths. Eventually there was enough light to try the flight shots. I sat and watched and listened. I love to hear their beating wings as they fly over so close that you could spit up and hit one. They do it with such single minded instinct that their dark brown (juvy's) or brilliant blue (adults) eyes stare straight ahead to some distant point that will serve as a landing spot for their continual quest to stop hunger.

Many of them landed among the nearby oyster bars. There are concentrated areas where many birds are snowy egrets, another area where many birds are tricolor herons and still other areas that are mostly roseate spoonbill territory. Among all of these clans are the ibises, so well numbered they are. From what I could see from the flight of birds, there must be at least a few hundred birds in those two small islands. More power to them, those Chokoloskee chickens. By the way, in great number, they do sound a lot like chickens clucking.

Anyway, I wanted to try out my new and improved stealth technique. On only one occasion each morning did I have a chance to try it. On both occasions, it was more the sight of me than the sound that kept these birds on their toes, so to speak. They lost patience with me after about 15 min or so. They would not let me approach closer than 50-60 ft before flying away. I suppose the quiet gunwales did work and bought me a little more time with these birds, but I think that the true test will be on Biscayne Bay. Biscayne birds seems less inclined to fly away to a far distance. There are too many hidden places in near Choko for these birds to go, Biscayne doesn't have that as much with 'civilization' right up against it.

Here are a couple of lucky shots of ibises in flight. Both were among several others, but I rarely have luck shooting several birds in one frame, at least to where it is worth posting. The gray background and the sweet morning light on the birds make these shots special. They are both relatively sharp. The one of the juvy will not go beyond this post because the bird is flying away from me, although I love those juvy feathers and am glad I got a shot showing most of them. The other shot is quite good, although cropped more significantly than I like, so the noise level is a bit high. Using ISO at 800 allowed me to shoot both of these at 1/800, the lowest shutter speed I can go when shooting birds in flight.

For the next post, I talk about my fun time with the sandwich terns, one of my favorite Choko subjects.

The rookery is thriving

It's been so long since I've paddled in calm waters that it felt like a brand new experience to me. The winds were nothing more than a puff of air today and the sky was cloudless as I got on the water at 7 am. The heavy fog I drove through on the Tamiami had faded quickly as I loaded the boat with mosquito netting cinched around my neck. And it was hot. By the time I got off the water at 11 am, it was 90 degrees.

With an oil invasion threatening the Florida coast, I paddled and enjoyed the pastel colors drawn by the sun on the surface of the calm bay waters. The water was clear and awesome, and I wished for one things, that the container box sent 1 mile below the surface of the water works. I thought of the birds and their future. I wanted them to fly as far away as possible, hoping that they and all the others survive this catastrophe. The gulf waters will not be the same for decades and who knows what all the damage will be. I finally let the visions of tar balls and oil sheen go and began to enjoy the moment. The quiet and peace was exactly what I needed as I paddled gently, but earnestly across the bay toward the rookery islands. The sun was rising fast and I wanted to be with the birds.

As I got closer, I noticed a mangrove island full of off-white birds. Ibises maybe, but not egrets. Ah, even better, they were roseate spoonbills, about 20 of them. I took out the camera in the hot humidity of the morning and my lens promptly fogged up. I paddled, rubbed the lens, paddled closer, rubbed the lens some more and then I dropped the lens cloth. It was exposed partially to salt water and dang if I didn't have a spare. I tried to rub the lens with the dry portion of the cloth but I only made things worse.

The pink birds were resting, not doing much else, so I thought I'd move on to the rookery before the sun got too high for flight shots. From a distance, I saw dozens of white birds intermingled with dozens of brown pelicans. The rookery appeared to be thriving. I wanted to see some baby birds in number. Sure enough, the little pelican I photographed last time was bigger and more easily defined among the mangrove canopy. Mom sat next to the baby, almost always facing away from me, but every once in awhile the baby would prop up and look my way. A little feathery dinosaur, it will be a few more weeks before it starts flying.

The great whites were in great number, and many babies were seen sticking their scraggle heads out now and then, beaks jabbing the air waiting for mom to fly in with food. The sounds of the rookery were over the top. I saw a couple pairs of baby pelicans in another tree (the lighting was no good) and they were quite active and noisy. They became the loudest among the cacaphony of bird sounds; at times they sounded like cows mooing.

The morning wore on and it got hotter. The clouds never once covered the sun, there were too few of them. For the first time since visiting the rookery this year, I was completely alone with the birds. I recorded the sounds for several minutes with my voice recorder, something I play back when at home and wishing to be at the rookery.

As always, the Everglades is full of surprises. Today, I photographed a nesting Wurdemann's heron, among all the great white egrets. A beautiful version of the great blue heron, sort of a cross between the great blue and the great white, it had a nest, but there was no sign of babies yet. If I am lucky, I may get to see them on the next visit.

I paddled back to the launch site with the voice recorder playing back the sounds of the rookery. The calmness was so different from my last visit when I paddled into 20 knot head winds. Head winds, summer storms, bugs, I don't care, bring them on. That's the Everglades, and I hope the Everglades is spared.

Tiger Key overnighter

Finally, it warmed up and we were able to get back on the water; the first time this year. We expected strong winds, especially on Sunday, so my plans to spend Sunday morning at the brown pelican rookery seemed to fade as the weekend progressed. As always, my camping and paddling trips are a challenge to bird photography. This time, I thought I could at least visit the rookery for an hour or two either on the way to Tiger or on the way back the next day. The trip to Tiger is relatively short (about 8 miles) and when coodinating the route and timing with the tides, I figured I'd have lots of time to spend with the birds. But intentions are only that.

Saturday morning started very foggy. Despite this, the warm humidity was welcomed after the long spell of cold we suffered recently. At the E. City ranger station's launch site, the smell of dead fish was prominent, as it would be on Tiger Key. The fish kill was devastating and without going into any detail, it was down right depressing to paddle and see bright shiny objects floating in the water. The first couple of times I spotted such a site I expected to head over to the object and pick out some trash from the water. As soon as I realized it was a dead fish, I just hung my head. It was sad to see them in such numbers, floating in water and hanging from the mangrove roots. In the long run, the Everglades will survive the set back; it may take years, but the fish will return. But wow, what a loss.

We expected 20-25 knot winds on Sunday so it was decided that I would visit the rookery on our way to Tiger on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, that meant that I would not arrive at the rookery no earlier than 9 am since we need to purchase our camping permit and the station does not open until 8 am. We at least had our boats loaded and ready to launch as soon as I scored the permits. I arrived at the rookery to find the brown pelicans nesting in full force. A few birds were busy flying in with branches, but mostly the birds were sitting in the canopies of several small mangrove islands situated in a shallow shoal area of the bay. On one occasion, we spotted a couple having sex. The behavior I noticed most was one partner jabbing or biting the other. Although clumsy with the huge beak and pouch, it never seemed too aggressive, more playful-like. For the most part, the birds were simply sitting among the branches. I didn't notice any nests, but they were there obviously as birds would fly in with branches.

Interesting thing I noticed about the brown pelicans is that compared to the egrets (even the smaller cattle egrets), the branches they fly in with are of a small lot. I'm guessing its difficult for them to gather branches in the first place with their beaks that are not meant to break or jab. It seemed odd to see such a large bird with a big mouth carrying a stick no longer than 12 inches.


The lighting conditions required use of the flash if I was to get any worthy shots of these birds. But, because of our tide situation, I could not stay with the birds more than 20-30 min. I had 3 paddling companions and could not be left behind. So, I did not bother to take out the flash. Instead, I increased the ISO to 800 and metered a shutter speed no faster than 1/200. This was less than optimal but I figured it was worth recording some of the behaviors and besides, I plan to visit this rookery several more times this spring.

I managed some decent shots of birds flying in with branches and the wind direction placed the bird landing at an optimal point of view for me. The only other birds near by were the cormorants mostly on their own little island. But no great whites. I wonder if they will be nesting here this year. Strange that I did not see one egret. Perhaps they begin a bit later. I did notice one frigate bird flying overhead and then land on one of the mangroves. I had never seen a frigate bird so close and not flying high overhead.


By 9:30 am we were paddling toward Russell Key pass and eventually toward the gulf to Tiger Key. We decided to camp on the north end of the island where we might enjoy the southeasterly breezes. This would help minimize the bugs. It had been over 4 years since I camped here. The high tide sandy spit was barely big enough for a few small tents but now, the large sandy embankment extended out a few hundred feet. The area for camping was large, but without shade. This turns out to be a very beautiful camping spot for both evening sunset colors over the water and a sunrise view as well.


After setting up camp, I went back out and paddled around Tiger, checking out Picnic key along the way. I noted that the west side of Tiger Key where we last camped was overtaken by dozens of black vultures feasting on the numerous dead fish washed up on shore. The sun was high overhead, so I did not plan to take photographs, I just wanted to leisurely paddle and enjoy the warmth. I noted a small bull shark and a couple of spotted rays in the water. I got back to camp and relaxed in the mid-afternoon breeze. And then I noticed an egret land in the water near the beach. It was a reddish egret! I quickly got out the telephoto and carefully walked into the water to get lined up between the sun and the bird. It continued to walk around the the sand spit and I followed it waiting for it to begin its fishing theatrics. It stayed on for about 15 min, but demonstrated its wing spread only twice, both times facing away from the camera. It managed to catch a minnow and soon, it flew off to somewhere distant.


In the evening as we ate dinner and enjoyed the sunset, I watched a flock of willets and other assorted small shorebirds flying toward the east point of the spit. I love watching these birds flying together, skimming over the water. They sparkle as they turn in unison exposing their white undersides. By now, the lighting was sweet, the water illuminated with pink and blue pastels. The birds were brilliant flying over the water so I got out the telephoto and waited for them to fly back. And they did, swirling around a few times and finally landing. If they scare off, eventually they fly back so there were several opportunities to capture them as the lighting eventually faded.


During the early morning hours while we lay in our tent, the southeast winds increased to a stiff 15 knots sustained. This would be our next morning's paddle with mostly head winds increasing to 20 knots. We left early to take advantage of the in coming tide, but by the time we reached the exposed open West Pass Bay, the winds were 15-20 knots. From that point on, the paddle was a constant drudge in my solo canoe. There would be no photography today, the waves were very choppy coming straight on.

Despite the conditions, there were some above average photo opportunities; the rookery, a frigate bird, the beautiful Tiger Key, reddish egret and the willets. My goal is to get over to the rookery as early as possible on a calm, clear day and spend some quality time with the brown pelicans. I can't wait!

9 Days Circumnavigating Whitewater Bay

In the midst of camping season, we have just completed our 9-day paddle that took us around Whitewater Bay and up into the head of the Shark River Slough (Rookery Branch area). The term "rookery branch" implies lots of birds. Historically, this is a great place for birds, fish and gators as it is where the swampy saltwater mangrove forest meets the freshwater grassy marshes of the Everglades. Shark River Slough runs the freshwater down into this area and it is here where gators normally make good homes, and by doing so, enhancing the creeks and waterways. This in turn creates an optimal place for fish and consequently birds. So you can imagine that I was excited to spend a couple days in that area.

We began our paddle from Hells Bay Trail, over to Joe River, up to Oyster Bay, crossing into Shark River all the way to Avocado Creek which leads into Rookery Branch. From there, we headed back down Shark River into the labyrinth that leads us back to Whitewater Bay, into North River and Roberts River, eventually into Lane Bay and back out to Hells Bay and the trail. This was an 8-night stay and mostly chickee camping. The chickee camping was interrupted midway with 2 nights on the Canepatch ground site (next to Rookery branch).

Since we are always on the water by 7 am, give or take, early morning photography is the best. I was able to capture the waterscapes with beautiful lighting and colors. Photographing from my canoe on such trips has some unique challenges. For instance, I am traveling with companions and more frequently than not, cannot stop long in one area for photographing. Thus, most of my photos are shot "on the fly". But, I make the best of it and take as many shots as I can with the expectation that one of them will be worth framing and many of them will help to tell the story of our trip. I do like to photograph my companions on the water. This is especially nice when the water is calm and the lighting is ideal. The reflection of the boat is sweet, as seen here:

There is one particular challenge that is constant. The mangrove shorelines typically surrounding me do not always indicate a straight horizon line. I will often line up the shot with one of the following; the mangrove canopy, the shoreline or the boat bow. But rarely will all three be horizontally parallel to one another. I think I am getting a straight shot and then will see a crooked horizon in the photo. I find that most of the time you cannot use the traditional rule of lining up the trees or shoreline with a perfect horizontal ruler. Often, I have to rotate the photo enough that my eyes are no longer fooled by the illusion and can see the scene as straight, regardless of the ruler's orientation. Look at this photo below. I lined up the right shoreline in front of the boat with the ruler and now the photo looks crooked. That's what I am talking about. The second photo is yet another example. From my perspective, the mangroves were not perfectly in front of me, and so they line up at a slight angle. I could have changed the angle of the photo to make them horizontal, but that would have placed the moon and its reflection at an angle. So, I made sure the moon and reflection were vertically lined up as they should be.



Lighting is often a challenge on a paddling trip because you frequently do not have the luxury of going in a direction that gives you optimal frontlighting. Since we are on the water early, most of my shots are taken between 7-10 am and I will mostly have to stop and turn myself or my boat to get the right lighting. After 10 or 11 am, I usually put the camera away and wait until evening to shoot from the campsite.

Another issue concerns keeping the camera dry. I don't see this so much as a challenge since I have it pretty well down to a science and feel comfortable in the boat with my camera. The pelican case is locked at all times except when to take out or put back the camera. I clean the lenses every night when at camp.

Probably the most frustrating challenge for me on these long trips is that lack of wildlife photography. Mostly, the wildlife scenes are fleeting or too far away. I see lots of birds and mammals on these trips, but only on occasion do I get opportunities for close ups. When paddling, I typically have the small lens out since the watescape shots are more abundant. Frequently, a good wildlife shot comes into view, but I will not have my telephoto lens out to shoot it. One good example is on the morning we were paddling down Roberts River. The early morning light was spectacular as we came up to an osprey nest that was positioned perfectly for photographing. I didn't see any birds, so I photographed the scene with the small lens. Within a minute, one of the osprey parents came flying in with some branches and continued to fly in circles over the nest, obviously disturbed by my presence. The lighting on the bird's wings was magnificent and of course, I did not have my telephoto out. That sort of thing happens a lot on these trips. Here's one shot I did manage the day we arrived in lane Bay:

Sunset and sunrise shots are abundant on these trips, both from the water and from the campsite. I particularly like the photo opps from the chickees because the view is often open and nicely situated for a sunrise or sunset photo. Below are two photos, the first taken from the water on Lane Bay and the second taken in the evening from the Roberts River chickee. For the chickee shot, I used the tripod.


Probably one of my favorite subjects for photographing on these trips are the clouds. Over a course of 9 days, anything can happen, weather-wise. We had two fronts pass over us and we had one day that was completely cloudless (a rare thing). Here's a shot of some storm clouds forming as we headed toward Whitewater Bay on our second day:

Lastly, we so looked forward to spending time in the Rookery Branch area. We purposely spent two nights at Canepatch, allowing us one day to explore. I imagined that I would wander off alone and find some areas with lots of wading birds during our day off. It didn't happen quite that way. First,the day was overcast. Second, the water levels are so high right now (lots of freshwater run off from the slough) that the fish, gators and birds are dispersed and mostly nowhere to be seen (somes vultures at the campsite and a few woodstorks flying overhead was about it). On this day, there was no fishing or photography. The photo below sums up my day on Rookery Branch. So it goes sometimes in the Everglades:

For this trip, here is a list of camera equipment that I brought with me:

Tripod and ball head
In the 1500 pelican case:
Sony a100 attached to 18-70mm lens
Sony a700 attached to 70-400mm lens
Extra camera batteries and extra AA batteries
Three lens clothes (once a cloth is exposed to any amount of salt water, such as from my fingers, I put it away)
Extra memory cards
Cleaning solution and lens brush/stick
In the 2100 pelican case:
External flash and better beamer
Voice recorder (to record specific places and events)

Overall, I was very pleased with the photos, they do tell a good story and show the areas where we paddled. For a day to day photo account as a slideshow, please go to this link: http://s257.photobucket.com/albums/hh202/cmierkayaker/Whitewater%20Bay%202009/?albumview=slideshow
Also, I have several photos in my pbase gallery: http://www.pbase.com/cmierkayaker/the_everglades

Biscayne Bay: High winds, high tide

November 15: It had been over a month since I was on the bay, so getting out on a day when the tide was not ideal for wading bird photography and with expected winds picking up to a stiff 10-15 knots did not seem any less appealing than a day of perfect conditions. I missed being in the canoe and I missed the bay. We launched from Deering and I thought I might see some activity despite the conditions; maybe the gulls would be hanging out at the sponge farms, maybe the bird rookery would have some activity, maybe it would just be a good day to paddle. I had no expectations. And anyway, my new Sony telephoto zoom lens was sent in for repairs, the autofocus not working. Thankfully, it is under full warranty.

I thought I would take out the Minolta 300mm today. Maybe I would find something inside a creek or maybe I could get close enough to the gulls with the 300mm. In the back of my mind I think that sometimes it is a useful exercise to take one prime lens and make the best of it. I could have taken the 1.4 TC with the 300mm lens, but decided not to bother. The Minolta is a sharp, fast lens and I thought about how successfully I photographed wading birds close up on Biscayne Bay before I had the TC attached back in 2007. Some of my best shots were taken with that single prime lens.

Today though, there would be no wading birds, the high tide was about 9 am and what a high tide it was. I couldn't figure it out since the moon was only a little over half full. The water levels were high and all the birds were treed. Some of the single birds could be seen roaming around the edge of the mangrove shoreline or flying about. I saw a handful of great blue herons, great white egrets, a juvenile yelloowcrown nighheron, kingfishers, an osprey or two, a few green herons, and several ibises. On the islands, the brown pelicans were roosting and there were several flying and diving the bay. But it was the cormorants that outnumbered everyone. They were plentiful in the island near Deering Estate and they decorated the little mangrove islands that line the channel near Chicken Key. The bird rookery was full of them and they could be seen in great number in the water near the channel.

The cormorants were taking up residence at the sponge farms but as soon as I approached, they flew off one by one. This left room for some ringed-billed gulls and royal terns that came by to perch for awhile.

At one point I passed close to the shoreline where a very large manatee was resting. I came up on it about 6 feet away when the boat scared the animal. It made a strong wake in the shallow water and quickly passed directly under my boat. Geez, that always makes my heart stop. I've said it many times and I will say it again, the only time I am afraid of tipping over is in the presence of one of these behemoths. And there it was, large as a hummer, it's grayness illuminated in the shallow water as it gracefully moved away from the strange monster that appeared out of nowhere. Once my heart settled back into sinus rhythm, I continued on watching the waters more closely.

Today was not much of a photo day, such as it is sometimes on the water. This is a tricky time of year with the high winds and fronts that can pass through on a whim. Now is the time that I spend mostly camping in the Everglades, so getting out for day trips is infrequent. Work has saddled me more than usual. When I will be out here again is difficult to say, but whenever it is, it's going to be low tide early morning and it will be where the wading birds are plentiful.

Now, I am preparing for our Thanksgiving trip, the first camping trip of the season. I will not have my Sony lens back in time for that trip, but that's fine with me. I hope to see the white pelicans, and maybe capture the group in Chokoloskee bay before heading out Rabbit Key pass. In the meantime, enjoy the few photos from this day on Biscayne Bay.