A beautiful sunset as viewed from Look Rock in southeast Tennessee

For the last two months, we have had a house guest from Cape Town, South Africa staying with us.  As often as possible we have people from other parts of the world visit with us in our home or stay as guests. It’s our way of introducing our kids and ourselves to other cultures without having to travel to do so. Of course, we love to travel, too, but that’s sort of the point with this blog isn’t it?

Our guest isn’t used to seeing a lot of snow. So, during a recent cold snap, we took a drive up to the north Georgia mountains to see if the higher elevations had received at least a dusting. As it turned out, the mountains had gotten a few inches and some of the primary sights that we wanted to show him were closed. At least, the access roads to them were closed in the morning while the road crews were making their way to them.

So, we pushed on to the mountains of western North Carolina. Going over a pass at 4,000 feet or so, we finally got into the snow. That was fun, but it seemed certain that we could do better. Since we were this far north, I decided we might as well go up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and see what the snow was like there. The great thing about the Parkway is that the highest point is near its southern terminus. It’s an easy drive from Atlanta and the vistas are breathtaking. So we pushed on an made it to the beginning (or end) of the road in Cherokee. Unbelievably, it too was closed.

Now, since we were in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I decided to try our luck with the Newfound Gap Road. Surely, it wouldn’t be closed. And, it wasn’t. As we ascended we saw more and more snow on the road side. By the time we made it to 5,000 feet there was at least three or four inches on the ground. That isn’t a lot by the standards of the Rockies or the northern tier of states. Truth be told, it isn’t even a lot for the Smokies. They are high enough that it isn’t unusual to receive a foot or more of snow at the highest elevations. But, it was enough snow to have a snowball fight and enjoy the white stuff a bit.

Since we had achieved our objective, we could either go home the way we had come or we could make the loop by returning through eastern Tennessee and northwest Georgia. We decided on the latter, but agreed that we would find a proper place to view and capture the sunset. Matt was filming using his new GoPro and I had thrown my camera bag and tripod in the car.

One of my favorite spots in the Smokies is the Foothills Parkway. There are great spots to shoot sunrise and sunset with ridges of mountains as your foreground. It was obvious that a decent sunset was brewing, or at least the conditions for a decent sunset were in place. We made our way to the Look Rock viewing area and set up shop there. There were a couple of other photographers already at the viewpoint that I wanted to use. They kindly allowed me to set up my tripod behind them and gave me a clear range to shoot.

Fortunately, the sunset cooperated. As the sun sank behind the mountain in the right foreground, the clouds began to glow bright red. There was quite a bit of contrast in the scene and I used a Lee graduated neutral density filter to darken the sky a bit while holding detail in the foreground. The Lee rig looks like something that NASA would have developed. It’s a large filter holder that clamps onto a ring around the outside edge of the lens. The filters I use are either 4×4, 4×6, or a 105mm circular polarizer. It sometimes looks like I have a small pie strapped to the front of my lens.

This particular image was captured after the official sunset as are most of my favorite sunset images. At that point, there is still enough reflected light to illuminate the foreground and the clouds are often at their most colorful. I don’t recall if I was still using the graduated neutral density filter at this point, but I likely wasn’t. I did, however, stitch together five shots separated by one stop in order to capture as much shadow detail as possible while not losing any of the highlight detail in the sky and clouds. As usual, I did this with Photomatix Pro and made final tweaks in Aperture.

I have lots of shots like this one, but I never tire of shooting a Smoky Mountains sunset.

Portland Head Light and the boiling ocean beneath it in the gloom of a foggy day

One of my primary objectives on the Maine trip was to capture an iconic image of Portland Head Light. We had flown into Portland and would fly out of there as well. As it turned out, the lighthouse was only twenty minutes away from the airport. So, I would have three shots at photographing the lighthouse. I thought that would surely be enough and I certainly would get good conditions on at least one of my visits. As it turned out, I needed to learn a thing or two about the weather in coastal Maine.

On landing we headed straight to Portland Head Light in Cape Elizabeth hoping to catch a break in the weather and to capture a decent image of the lighthouse. Even though the conditions were gloomy while landing, we still took the trip over. We had no luck although we did capture a good image of the lighthouse then. As it turned out, this image was the best one of the lighthouse on the entire trip.

We returned the next morning only to find even worse conditions. It was neat to hear the foghorn and bell, smell the salty air, and experience the Maine-like conditions. It just wasn’t the photograph I had envisioned. I left disappointed but hopeful because I knew that I would have another shot at the image at the end of our trip. Surely conditions would change by then.

And conditions did change. After a deluge the following day and evening, the weather turned clear, crisp, and beautiful. We had wonderful conditions for photographing Acadia and on our way back down the coast toward Portland. But, on our last day, the weather turned against us once again. The rain moved back in and fog settled along much of the coast. The good news was that this weather system was supposed to be short-lived. The bad news was that it wasn’t supposed to lift until a few hours before our plane took off.

So, in order to have one more shot at the jealously sought after iconic image of Portland Head Light, we headed there as the last stop of our trip. We had an hour or so to kill before we had to be at the airport. The weather forecast showed that we should now be experiencing clearing skies. However, this image shows what we actually experienced. The ceiling wasn’t quite as low as it had been at the beginning of the trip, but it still wasn’t the brilliant sunrise or sunset I had hoped for. It wasn’t even a partly cloudy sky to make for an interesting background to the shot. So, I took this image from the trail on the opposite side of the lighthouse from where the original image was taken. I like the way the ocean is bubbling and boiling below. But, alas, it wasn’t the image I had hoped for.

Having squeezed out as much time as we could and not be in jeopardy of missing our flight, we left Cape Elizabeth. We made our way back to the airport, returned our rental car, checked in, and headed for the gate. Have you been to the Portland airport before? It’s a really neat small airport with modern architecture and neat artwork hanging from the ceilings. It also has huge floor to ceiling windows that allow you to take in the surrounding views. And what did I see? Yes, the elusive blue skies were lifting from the coast and beautiful sunshine began to flood the airport. We had only missed ideal conditions by an hour! I was totally bummed and more than a bit frustrated. I wanted to head back out right then and take my shot. But, I couldn’t.

All things considered, it was a brilliant trip. Maine was everything I had hoped it would be. The conditions had been as good as I could have hoped for. I had captured some amazing images – and I had a perfect excuse to return.

A weathered barn proudly displays a replica of an early American flag

The weather turned ugly the afternoon of the day we shot at Pemaquid Point Light. Our plan was to make our way back to Marshall Point Light which was sort of on our way home. The unusual thing about the Maine coast is that it takes a long time to get just about anywhere. The coast is a beautiful series of peninsulas that jut out into the Atlanta. Those peninsulas usually end in a rocky headland with a beautiful lighthouse perched somewhere on the edge.

As you can see from the map, the distance from Pemaquid Point to Marshall Point isn’t that great. But, by the time you drive all the way up one peninsula and down the next, the distance is probably four times greater than the direct water route. Because of this anomaly, we spent a week along the Maine coast and felt like we had driven the entire time. The irony is that we could have taken I-95 and driven from Portland to Bar Harbor in four hours or so. Of course, we would have missed all the beauty. It really is a different world just a few miles east of the interstate.

This picture was taken somewhere on the coast road between Pemaquid and Waldoboro. I didn’t have the GPS gizmo attached to my camera for part of the day and didn’t get the exact fix. By the way, we had a great lunch in Waldoboro. One of the best things about traveling is the need to try different food at different places. Moody’s Diner is one of those places. It’s been in the same location since the 1920s and looks it. The place has been added onto haphazardly yet the food is still delicious. It’s simple diner fare but done well. You definitely should stop in there if you are in the neighborhood.

There really isn’t anything super special about this shot. I just love the green grass contrasting with the deep red color of the barn. The weathered shingles and boards give the image some added interest. The flag is weathered and seems made to hang from the door of this old barn.

There really are millions of images that can be taken on the Maine coast. It’s a truly beautiful part of America that many people will never visit. That’s a pity, but a relief all at the same time. I know the coast is jammed with people during Maine’s short summer. But, the rest of the year is blessedly free of the mobs. Visit there sometime – but don’t tell your friends about it. It’s just our little secret.

This combination of boat, barn, and flag represents a typical scene that can be found in Maine

After spending a few hours at Pemaquid Point, we made our way back up the peninsula in order to head back toward our hotel. It was a rainy, overcast day and the plan was to pick a few carefully chosen spots in order to avoid the nasty weather.

As is often the case when the weather isn’t ideal, a scene jumped out at me as we drove by. Since we were still very near the coast, it shouldn’t have surprised me to see a boat on supports under repair. Nevertheless, it made for an interesting sight.

As I walked up and down the road a bit to find the best angle, I kept returning to this composition. The boat with the Maine registration tells me that this is a coastal scene. The red shingled barn is beautiful unto itself. The green shingles and white trim contrast beautiful with the barn siding. I especially like the white shingles that have been interwoven with the green ones in a repair job. The American flag adds a jolt of color and makes this a uniquely American scene. Boat, Barn, and Flag isn’t the most creative name for an image, but it certainly describes this one. Enjoy.

Pemaquid Point lighthouse, as reflected in a shallow tide pool, and the unique rock formation that stands between it and the ocean

Pemaquid Point Lighthouse is one of a string of many lighthouses that dot the Maine coast. Most, though, are not as scenic as Pemaquid Point.

There are a number of factors that make this lighthouse unique and visually appealing. The first and most obvious is its setting. Some lighthouses are placed into narrow openings on a rocky headland or are visible only from the sea. Pemaquid Point sits majestically on a rocky point and is visible from all angles.

The red outbuilding that sits alongside the lighthouse adds to the visual impact of the scene as well. The building is a bell house that was added to provide an audible warning in addition to the visual cue of the light itself. Given the fact that the lighthouse is located less than a hundred yards from the ocean, it’s hard to believe that its powerful light beam might not be a sufficient warning to passing ships. You can see the bell hanging from a white arm on the ocean facing side of the red bell building.

Perhaps the most unusual aspect of this scene is the rock formation that forms the foreground of the image. The rock ledges seen here extend all the way to the ocean and form beautiful leading lines toward the lighthouse. I’m no geologist, but from what I’ve read the rock ledges are primarily metamorphic with strands of igneous rock running in veins alongside the metamorphic. The igneous rock can be seen in the extreme right mid-ground while the other ledges are metamorphic.

The final unique visual element in this image is the reflection. After heavy rains or high tides, these pools appear in depressions in the rock. On calm days they make ideal tools to create reflections of the lighthouse and outbuildings. On this day I had to wait quite a bit while wind gusts passed through in order to eliminated ripples that would form in the pools.

I had hoped to capture this scene with a brilliant sunrise or sunset as the background. At the very least, I hoped to get a partly cloudy day with a mix of blue sky and interesting cloud formations. Unfortunately, on our way up the coast and back down we had leaden gray skies. Fortunately, on this day the rain held off until well after our visit allowing us to negotiate the rocks without slip sliding away (an homage to Paul Simon).

This is by no means a unique image. I’ve seen many different versions taken from this spot or another one close by on the rock ledge. However, it is one that I’m glad to have in my collection. There’s a reason that this lighthouse is visited so much. It’s scenic and deserves to be visited and photographed repeatedly.

The sunset erupted this night and is shown as viewed from Camden Hills State Park

Camden, Maine as viewed from Camden Hills State Park

As we worked our way back down the coast toward Portland, there were a few places we wanted to visit. One of those was Camden, Maine. We had stopped there briefly on our way north, but that day was overcast and rainy. We hoped for better weather on the way back south.

The whole area of the mid-Maine coast is beautiful. I have some friends who had mentioned that they stay in Camden for a week or two every summer. Until this trip, I really didn’t understand the allure of the region. After spending some time there, I can see why people would want to vacation there. There is boating, hiking, shopping, dining, and loads of other things to do. The weather in the summer must be a huge improvement over other parts of the country. With the sea breeze and northern location, summers must be very pleasant. I’m not yet convinced about winter, though. This southern boy would have a tough time with winter stretching from November through April or May.

On our way up the coast, we noticed Camden Hills State Park and Mt. Battie that looms over the village of Camden. It seemed like a great spot to take in the vista of Penobscot Bay and Camden. So, we checked it out mid-day and decided to come back in late afternoon hoping for a great sunset.

On our arrival that afternoon, we poked around looking for the best vantage point atop Mt. Battie. There is a stone tower at the summit and it didn’t take long to realize that the best point of view would be from the tower. So, we set up shop on the small platform at the top of the tower. There was probably room for six or eight people up there and we were taking up at least our share of the space with our tripods and camera gear.

As the afternoon progressed, an assortment of people made their up to the top of Mt. Battie and to the tower itself. We talked to one and all but most just moved on after a few minutes. After a while, a couple of other photographers showed up and it was clear that they were there for the sunset as well. We began to talk with them and picked up some good information about other spots to shoot and how conditions were this fall compared to normal. It turned out that our suspicion that the leaf season was running one to two weeks late was correct. Both of the locals rated the conditions around Camden as sub par. I would dearly love to be there in a year where they thought conditions were above average!

As we watched the sun move toward the horizon I began to think that sunset would be either a total bust or awesome. There was a cloud formation that was hovering overhead but was not reaching down to the horizon. It appeared that *if* the sun dropped below the cloud layer and above the horizon, the whole cloud mass could turn color brilliantly. But, the longer we waited the less I could tell if it would happen or not. I did know that if it did turn, it wouldn’t last long.

At the same time, the late afternoon light was being blocked from the landscape to the south and east. Our hope was that brilliant soft light would flood the landscape below us and create a memorable view of Camden and the bay beyond. I just hoped that we would get the beautiful sunset or the Camden shot. As we neared sunset, it became obvious that the latter would not occur. So, I settled for taking some long exposures that showed some of the lights in the town of Camden while also keeping the detail of the buildings and greens at twilight.

Then, I turned my focus to the sunset. One problem was that the hills in the distance were blocking our direct view of the horizon. I knew that we were near sunset but the scene hadn’t yet changed dramatically. However, one thing I’ve learned over the years is that the best conditions for a sunset often happen ten or twenty minutes after the sun sets. That was the case this night. Slowly, the clouds in front of us began to light up. Over the course of the next ten minutes, the show just got better and better. Ultimately, the entire cloud formation was lit up and resembled a volcano erupting from the mountains in the distance. Virtually ever cloud in the formation had some tint of color by the peak of the sunset.

The scene you see here is created from a sequence of seven images shot one stop apart for each image. The longest exposure is 1/3 of a second and the shortest is 1/200. The images were opened as RAW files in Aperture and blended using the Exposure Blending tool in Photomatix Pro. Without blending I would have lost the color in the row of trees in the foreground and the detail in the brightest clouds.

Considering some of the sunsets that we missed earlier in the trip, it was a real treat to have such a perfect one emerge at the end of our trip. This is one of my five favorite images of the entire week. Enjoy.

Early morning light on the lovely little fishing village of Stonington, Maine

Truth be told, this post is more about the trip to Stonington than it is about Stonington itself. Now, don’t get me wrong. Stonington is a lovely little fishing village, but it wasn’t all that it was built up to be. Let me explain.

Part of my research for the trip was accomplished by purchasing a couple of books on the Maine coast and Acadia National Park. The author was spot on in most of his recommendations regarding locations to visit. In fact, he was so reliable that we began to take his word as gospel. That was the case with Stonington. You see, the primary target for our trip was Acadia National Park. We wanted to make sure that we spent enough time there to ensure that we captured all of the sights properly. Everything else was secondary. Based on our dear author’s recommendation, Stonington rose to the top of the list of other sites to photograph on the Maine coast. To read his review Stonington was the be all to end all harbor on the Maine coast. The Camelot of our journey. The shining light on a hill.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. We left our hotel just outside of Acadia and began the drive to Stonington. Our plan was to make it to the harbor at daybreak and see the lobster fleet heading out for the day. Sadly, we misjudged the distance to the town and the quality of the roads. What looked to be a 30 to 45 minute trip actually took us two hours. The sunrise was indeed spectacular, but on the particular stretch of road we were on, we simply couldn’t find a vantage point to photograph it. Still, we thought, Stonington is ahead. Everything will be better when we get to Stonington.

Along the way, we saw coffee shops and bakeries that we could have stopped at to assuage our hunger and thirst. No, we can’t stop though. We must make our way to the mythical Stonington. So, on we drove through beautiful countryside and along winding roads. Finally we arrived at Stonington. There was only one problem. The sun had risen. The fleet had made its way out to sea for the day. All that was left was a lovely little village around a nice little harbor. One lonely fishing boat remained in the harbor. Had it broken down? Was its captain sick that day? We’ll never know. Fortunately, the morning light was still soft and lit the boat up nicely. The water was still calm enough that a bit of reflection remained as well. So, I got a lovely photograph for my efforts, but not the target-rich photographic environment that I had anticipated. In fact, I was disappointed. Stonington, though lovely, was not nearly as pretty as Corea or Rockport.

As I said at the beginning, the real story was the road to Stonington, not the village itself. As is frequently the case, it just means that Stonington is on my list of places to visit again in the future. Hopefully, the next visit will yield more results.

Winter Harbor LIghthouse with the glow of a beautiful sunset in the sky above

Winter Harbor Lighthouse at twilight

One of the primary reasons for our visit to the Schoodic Peninsula was the chance that we might see an epic sunset over Mt. Desert Island. Having been on top of Cadillac Mountain looking toward the peninsula at sunrise, it seemed like a different angle that might not have been captured often. So, as is often the case, I found myself scrambling toward a sunset location without really knowing where I wanted to end up. We had seen a lighthouse in the bay earlier in the day, so I had some inkling of an idea about putting the lighthouse in the foreground of an awesome sunset.

Unfortunately, we lingered too long in Corea capturing its pastoral beauty, further down the peninsula shooting crashing waves, and stopping periodically to take just “one more shot”. That’s usually the way it is when I am in some beautiful place that I have never been before. I never seem to leave enough time to shoot as much as I would like.

In any case, we were cruising down the highway watching the sunset becoming more promising by the minute. By the time we turned down the coast road, it was obvious that we would need to stop as soon as we found a decent foreground. Fortunately, the aforementioned lighthouse came into view just a couple of miles down the road. Once we found the right spot, we stopped quickly and set up the tripods. The good news was that a dynamite sunset was forming. The bad news was that it was mostly blocked by Cadillac Mountain and the truly bright colors were hovering near the horizon. We could tell that the sunset at Bass Head Light was fantastic. We were unfortunately a day early. That is where we had spent our sunset the night before and had only a slight bit of color in the sky.

So, I turned my attention to what I had available – the lighthouse. The lighthouse appears to be referred to as both the Winter Harbor Lighthouse and the Mark Island Lighthouse. Even though the truly gorgeous sky was twenty degrees or so to the south, there was still some color beginning to show near the lighthouse. I began to visualize a shot with the lighthouse on the horizon with a cherry red sky above. That never materialized. In fact, the sun set and the ambient light began to dim. But, as is often the case with sunsets, the longer I waited, the more color appeared in the sky. I decided to bracket some exposures and see if I could create a usable image of the lighthouse without totally blowing out the much brighter sky. Both of these images are a result of that process.

They are both shot at f/5.6 and varying speeds. I used my 70-200 2.8 with a 2x teleconverter which pushed my aperture to 5.6. I didn’t need that much depth of field for this shot since the lighthouse was probably a half mile away. I wish there had been enough reflected light to illuminate the lighthouse a bit more. I don’t like how dim it is in either image. I do like the composition and the sky above. My favorite of the two images is the first because of the pink, rosy sky and the slightly brighter white of the lighthouse. However, I prefer the composition of the second image even though the atmosphere rendered the clouds and the entire scene a bit too blue for my taste. I’d love to get some other opinions about which image you prefer.

These weathered rowboats form an abstract image of many different colors and patterns

As we moved from point to point of coastal Maine, there were several constants. In virtually every village we would see lobster boats, weathered houses, white steepled churches, and lighthouses. Another constant was rowboats or skiffs. Fishermen use these boats to move back and forth between their fishing boats at anchor out in the harbor and the docks near where they park their trucks or near their homes. I began to look for scenes featuring the skiffs hoping I could find a group that would represent the image I had already visualized in my mind.

Many of the docks we would see had these colorful rowboats tethered in rows or in a cluster. They reminded me of a faithful dog lying on the front porch awaiting the return of his master. If the lobster boats were out for the day, the boats would be tethered to a buoy in the harbor marking the spot where the lobster boat would return after a day at sea. If the rowboats were at the dock, it meant that the lobster boats were through for the day.

Corea, Maine was no exception. Since we were there in mid to late-afternoon, the rowboats were tied to cleats on the dock. This group of rowboats caught my eye because of the weathering apparent in the wood and fiberglass of each boat. I also like the variety of colors and the way the shadows fall along the lines of the boats. The ropes and anchor points add to the abstract nature of the image.

As I mentioned yesterday, Corea is a beautiful, unspoiled Maine fishing village. As I work back through the images I took last fall, I begin to appreciate anew just how special it is. Hopefully it stays that way until I can visit again.

A seagull surveys the pastoral scene of lobster boats in the harbor of Corea, Maine

I had visited Acadia a couple of times before, but my trips had been limited to the part of the park on Mt. Desert Island. As I researched the trip, I became intrigued by the other parts of the park, particularly the Schoodic Peninsula. So, after spending three days in the primary part of the park on Mt. Desert Island, we headed northeast to visit the 2000 acres on the mainland.

Even though the Schoodic Peninsula is part of the mainland, it feels like another island and an extension of Acadia. From what I’ve read, the peninsula feels like the rest of the park did a hundred years ago. Because Bar Harbor and Acadia are the primary draws to this part of Maine, once you get north of them, the population thins out quickly. There are other towns and sights northeast of Acadia, but they are few and far between.

Besides another part of Acadia National Park, there are several other attractions on the Schoodic Peninsula. The one that seemed most intriguing to us was the small fishing village of Corea. Even after seeing all of the other fishing villages that we had seen so far, none of them seemed to exude the true flavor of a real Maine seaside village. As we drove down the coast toward Corea, we hoped that this one might fit the bill. And, it did – in spades.

When we arrived in mid-afternoon, the lobster boats had all returned from their day of fishing. The sky was clear with just enough cumulus clouds floating through. The village of Corea surrounded the harbor and even had a perfect, white, New England church with a steeple sitting on the hill overlooking the town. Tom and I just about fell over ourselves looking for the perfect vantage point to capture it all in an image.

We arrived at the local lobster cooperative and asked the manager if we could poke around the dock a bit and take some pictures. She didn’t have a problem with that but warned us to stay on their property and not to trespass on the neighbor’s lawn. As it turned out, the neighbor had the ideal spot to view the village, but we made do nicely with what we had available.

This scene immediately presented itself. Even as we maneuvered around to put the seagull in the foreground, it stayed on its perch as if it were posing. We must have composed twenty or more images with the bird in the image. I took shots with and without our feathered friend, but I like this one the best. To me, Corea is the quintessential Maine fishing village. We had finally found what we were looking for. I’m already looking forward to going back.