Archive for the ‘Olympic National Park’ Tag

Golden Hour on the Olympic Coast   6 comments

On the way to the intended sunset spot, I had to stop & shoot this sea stack. 50 mm., 1/80 sec. @ f/10, ISO 200, handheld.

On the way to the intended sunset spot, I had to stop & shoot this sea stack. 50 mm., 1/80 sec. @ f/10, ISO 200, handheld.

Sometimes I follow up the previous week’s Friday Foto Talk post with one that relates in some way to the topic.  So this post is an extension to Using Foregrounds Judiciously.  It’s an example of how I go about using foregrounds, and in general how I often shoot landscapes (it’s not how most do it).

EXAMPLE – Golden Hour on the Olympic Coast:  

A few days ago I was at Rialto Beach on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington.  You may have seen pictures of the Olympic Coast on the web; it’s pretty popular with landscapers.  Less popular are sections of the coast away from the road that require hiking.  Backpackers are more common than serious photographers in these areas.

I scouted this one in the afternoon, hiking north along the beach to find good locations for what was looking like a great sunset.  I only took a few photos; mostly I just had fun beach-combing and exploring tide pools.  I don’t always scout ahead of time, but it’s nice when time allows.  It helps to give me ideas of how I want to portray the place.  And it’s fun!  Often I scout but then decide before golden hour to shoot somewhere else.  It’s still valuable though, since I can always return another day.

The coastline north of Rialto is spectacular and much too rugged for a road.  It has a wilderness feel, and it’s wise to take care if you decide to hike here.  Slippery rocks, rough surf, sneaker waves, and giant drift logs that can shift alarmingly under your weight are all potential dangers.

After setting up my camp just inland, I was pressed for time.  I knew where I wanted to hike to: just north of a place called Hole in the Wall (image below), but preferably a 1/2 mile or so farther.  Even though I was in a hurry, I shot along the way.The light was beautiful!  I didn’t take time with a tripod, but it wasn’t strictly necessary with the sun still above the horizon.  These little stops meant I wasn’t going to make it any further than Hole in the Wall, and even then it would be close.

Hole in the Wall, Olympic Coast, Washington. 50 mm., 1/50 sec. @ f/11, ISO 200; hand-held.

Hole in the Wall, Olympic Coast, Washington. 50 mm., 1/50 sec. @ f/11, ISO 200; hand-held.

There is a campsite just before a headland that you have to climb up and over to get where you can shoot Hole in the Wall itself.  Some large sea stacks (formerly one single stack that collapsed several years ago) lie just off the beach there.  This spot is the most popular at Rialto (why I wanted to go further).  A few had their tripods set up, waiting for sunset.  I passed them, shooting a few quick hand-helds.  The stacks there are just too big and close for my liking, at least in silhouette shooting sunset.

From atop the headland over Hole in the Wall, Olympic Coast. 50 mm., 1/6 sec. @ f/13, ISO 50; tripod.

From atop the headland over Hole in the Wall, Olympic Coast. 50 mm., 1/6 sec. @ f/13, ISO 50; tripod.

This may seem like I’m describing a measured approach, and it would’ve been if I was a bit earlier and the sun wasn’t sinking quickly (as it always does except for higher latitudes).  Truth is I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off!

I climbed the headland and shot a few pictures from up top, looking down and out to the north (image above).  Then I stumbled down to the beach, taking a shot along the way, and still I had not gotten any close foreground.  I spotted a tide-pool that was reflecting the lovely light.  It was on a rock shelf composed of thin-bedded sedimentary rock stood on its end, forming great leading lines.  Running down there, I finally got those close-foreground shots I wanted just as the sun set.  I was actually a tad late for the peak light, more on the cusp of blue hour.  But I was just in time for images that I’m happy with, and that’s what counts.

Post-sunset with turbidite sandstone beds standing on their ends, Olympic Coast. 21 mm., 0.5 sec. @ f/11, ISO 50; tripod.

Finally some close foreground, which is turbidite sandstone beds standing on end: Olympic Coast. 21 mm., 0.5 sec. @ f/11, ISO 50; tripod.

The forest marches right up to the coast, and the big old-growth trees are eventually toppled and add to the collection of huge driftwood logs. 50 mm., 1/50 sec. @ f/11, ISO 400; hand-held.

The forest marches right up to the coast, and the big old-growth trees are eventually toppled and add to the collection of huge driftwood logs. 50 mm., 1/50 sec. @ f/11, ISO 400; hand-held.

As you can see, I try to jam in as much as possible when the light is good.  This is one reason I like to shoot alone.  Most landscapers would look at me and think “there’s a rank amateur”.  Most prefer to be already set up at one place, from which they will shoot for the entire time that light is at its peak.  They don’t miss shots like I sometimes do, but that’s because they’re not trying to get as much as I am.

Sometimes things backfire on me, but I like the variety I can get from a single “light event”.  And even well-planned shots can backfire anyway.  I do sometimes plan or visualize beforehand and stick to a plan to get a particular image.  On those occasions I try not to extemporize (much!).  But that isn’t my main modus operandi, simply because planned shots so often don’t work out.  There are too many variables at play.

This was actually shot a few days later when I returned to get further north, where many pointed sea stacks lie offshore. 70 mm., 1/4 sec. @ f/14, ISO 100; tripod.

This was actually shot a few days later when I returned to get further north, where many pointed sea stacks lie offshore. 70 mm., 1/4 sec. @ f/14, ISO 100; tripod.

To me it seems a bit old-fashioned to set up way ahead of time and stick your feet in the same place throughout the shoot.  It’s what was done in the old days with heavy large-format film gear, even glass plates if you go far enough back.  It’s also what you have to do when you’re shooting very popular compositions, just so you beat your competitors to the spot.  But digital gear is pretty darn lightweight.  So if you’re practiced at using your tripod and camera you can shoot different compositions in fairly rapid succession.  And who wants over-done shots anyway?

As you can see only one of my many shooting positions had very close foreground; the rest had either more distant foreground or middle-ground elements.  Some are just subject and sky.  I don’t always shoot like this of course.  Sometimes I like to work slower and get fewer shots, with more time to admire the moment.  But in a place like the Olympic Coast in great light, it’s tempting to make it sort of a workout.  When it goes well (like last night) I don’t feel stressed.  It’s actually sort of a rush, one that I slowly came down from walking back along the beach, the Pacific glinting in the moonlight.  Happy shooting!

Sunset captured from atop a big drift log, the foreground not very close. 50 mm., 1/5 sec. @ f/11, ISO 50; tripod.

Sunset captured from atop a big drift log, almost to my close foreground but not quite there.  50 mm., 1/5 sec. @ f/11, ISO 50; tripod.

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Friday Foto Talk: Shooting without a Tripod   19 comments

Along the Little Missouri River, North Dakota

Along the Little Missouri River, North Dakota.  Shot hand-held, 29 mm., 1/125 sec. @ f/11, ISO 250.

 

It’s Friday, yippee!  That means it’s time for Friday Foto Talk.  I’ve been out camping a lot lately so have been skipping weeks here and there.  This is the conclusion to my little series on tripod use (or non-use).    Check out the other three posts in the series.

Do you find yourself without a tripod and wish you had brought one?  Well, that’s what this post is about.  The idea of a tripod is to stabilize the camera (I know, Captain Obvious strikes again).  A good solid tripod is just the best way to stabilize a camera; it’s not the only way.

In dim light, and without a tripod (or flash), you essentially have just two choices (three if you count not shooting at all).  First, you can raise the ISO high enough that your shutter speed is fast enough to hand-hold the camera.  Or second, you can find some other way to stabilize the camera, keeping the ISO low and allowing you to blur motion (for example water).  The rest of the post is about how to put these two options into practice.

A baby grouse in North Cascades National Park, Washington.  Hand-held 100 mm., 1/160 sec. @ f/2.8, ISO 400, cropped.

A baby grouse in North Cascades National Park, Washington. Only had my 100 mm. macro lens, hand-held: 1/160 sec. @ f/2.8, ISO 400, cropped.

The first plan works pretty well in many situations, depending on the type of camera you have.  Of course, anytime you raise ISO, you need to think about noise.  Next post I’ll do a follow-up that goes into the issue of noise, ISO and you.

So you’re raising ISO and shooting unencumbered by a tripod.  This is the time to practice your hand-holding technique.  No, not that hand-holding technique.  I’m assuming you can decide on your own whether to link fingers with your girl or go with the standard palm grasp.

  • Elbows braced against the body, relaxed upright body, with legs slightly spread forming 2/3 of a tripod.  Even better, if possible make it a full tripod by bracing your hips and upper body against a tree or fence.
  • If you’re thinking of shooting from a low point of view, why not go all the way and lay on your belly with elbows forming a natural tripod.  There’s a reason marksmen choose this position for very long shots.
  • Relaxed but firm grip on the camera, other hand cradling the lens palms up.
  • Slow easy breathing, and a gentle squeeze of the shutter.  Some sort of roll the index finger across the shutter button.  Just don’t jab at it.
A bluebell, Olympic Mtns., WA.  Hand-held, 200 mm. w/Canon 500D close-up filter, 1/320 sec. @ f/9, ISO 200.

A bluebell, Olympic Mtns., WA. Hand-held, 200 mm. w/Canon 500D close-up filter, 1/320 sec. @ f/9, ISO 200.

Foggy Hurricane Ridge, Washington, this is a selfie!  Tripod, 100 mm., 1/13 sec. @ f/9, ISO 100.

Foggy Hurricane Ridge, Washington, this is a selfie! Tripod, 100 mm., 1/13 sec. @ f/9, ISO 100.

Say you don’t want to raise ISO and want to go with the second option.  For example, you’re after a smooth-blur waterfall, with sharp rocks and trees, and you don’t have a tripod.  Or you’re in the city and you want to blur the scurrying about of pedestrians or car tail-lights and keep all the surroundings sharp.

Here’s the basic procedure:

  • Set the camera up just as if it was on a tripod: shutter delay, mirror lockup, low ISO, maybe even a polarizer or neutral density filter.
  • Find a flat place to place the camera: a log, a rock, railing, or just the ground.  How high does the camera need to be?  Prop the lens up with a scarf, hat, stone or stick, anything you can find.

Be careful!  If it’s an elevated platform – rock outcrop over a river, stone wall over pavement, or a railing on a bridge – keep the strap around your neck.  Remember your camera is NOT secure when you’re doing this.

  • Either set the camera directly on your chosen pedestal or lay something in between as a cushion (see below).
  • It’s hard to keep the pedestal out of your shot (especially a wide-angle), so you may need to do some finagling to get clearance beneath and beside the lens.  I use LiveView in these situations, checking for out of focus blobs in the very-near foreground, adjusting as necessary.
  • I usually set the camera on my pack or on soft clothing, but a small bean bag is perfect for this.  You can buy them at camera outlets.  They actually have plastic pellets not beans (which absorb water), and so are light and easy to throw in your pack.
  • Finally, you’re ready to shoot as long an exposure as light will allow, with no tripod!
Barred owl, Hoh Rainforest, Olympic N.P., WA.  Tripod, 200 mm., 1.6 sec. @ f/5.6, ISO 200.

Barred owl, Hoh Rainforest, Olympic N.P., WA. Tripod, 200 mm., 1.6 sec. @ f/5.6, ISO 200.

If you practice the above techniques, you won’t allow the lack of a tripod lead to blurry photos.  You’ll move closer to becoming a complete photographer (who is, after all, a problem solver).  I’m not saying you should sell your tripod.  Just let each situation dictate whether you use a tripod or not.

Get out shooting this weekend, and, for at least one day, forget your tripod.  Practice your hand-held technique.  For each lens (and focal length) you use, find the minimum shutter speed required for a sharp picture, and in dim conditions practice raising ISO to various levels.  Find interesting places to place the camera, keeping ISO low and shooting long exposures without a tripod.  Happy shooting!

Sunset at Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge in SW Washington.  Hand-held, 30 mm., 1/40 sec. @ f/11, ISO 400.

Sunset at Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge in SW Washington. Hand-held, 30 mm., 1/40 sec. @ f/11, ISO 400.

 

Single-Image Sunday: Fog over the Trees   11 comments

Subalpine firs filter fog atop Hurricane Ridge, Olympic National Park, Washington

Subalpine firs filter fog atop Hurricane Ridge, Olympic National Park, Washington

I missed Friday Foto Talk, out camping.  The conclusion to my series on tripods will post this coming Friday.  In the meantime, here’s an image from a great time I had last week in Olympic National Park.  It was taken hand-held, no tripod.

An unusual display of fog and weather greeted me when I arrived on top of Hurricane Ridge on Washington’s northern Olympic Peninsula.  It had rained the previous couple days, though not hard, and a transition to drier weather was taking place.  The fog and low clouds that had formed over the coast of the Strait of Juan de Fuca started rising and dissipating as the air cooled toward sunset.

The stately subalpine firs that dominate the forest near tree-line on Hurricane Ridge not only were filtering the fog as it rose up the steep slopes, they seemed to be adding their own moisture (via transpiration) to the mix too.  The result was really beautiful as viewed through the low rays of the sun to the west.

As I hiked to the top of Hurricane Hill, the quick-moving fog several times enveloped me, causing me to stop and look around in wonder at the dreamy atmosphere.  I’ll post some more shots in a future post.  I was distracted so many times I barely made it to the top for sunset.  It was a memorable evening.

Single-Image Sunday: A Cool Embrace   9 comments

In the Pacific Northwest one heads to the coast in order to warm up in winter or cool down in summer.  With the Japanese Current bringing cold water from the Gulf of Alaska, this coast is often foggy.  The current also causes cold, nutrient-rich waters to well up along the coast, helping to support the region’s rich marine life.  While the cold currents nourish life in the sea, the fog they create nourishes dense forest on land.  The foggy conditions, not surprisingly, have also caused many a shipwreck over the years.  The entire Pacific NW coast is rugged and studded with lighthouses, but the north Olympic Coast in Washington is an especially big graveyard for ships.

I captured this image on my recent trip to the Olympic Peninsula.  The narrow, curvy road out to Cape Flattery runs along a rugged, forested coast facing the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Cape Flattery lies on the Makah (American Indian) Reservation.  It is the northwestern-most point of the United States (excluding Alaska).  Fog came in and out during my one-night stay out there.  I wanted to capture the primal feel of this place where rugged rainforest-clad hills meet the sea.  During summer, this kind of weather is not nearly as common as it is in winter, so I felt pretty lucky in that regard.

The rugged and wet north coast of the Olympic Peninsula in Washington faces the Strait of Juan de Fuca and is prone to foggy weather.

The rugged and wet north coast of the Olympic Peninsula in Washington faces the Strait of Juan de Fuca and is prone to foggy weather.

Hope you enjoy the picture.  Please click on it if you’re interested in purchase options.  It is copyrighted and not available for free download, sorry ’bout that.  Please contact me with any questions about this image or anything else you’re curious about.  Thanks for checking in!

Single-Image Sunday: Hurricane Ridge   6 comments

This is an image from the top of Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park in Washington state.  I have made a few trips up here, but never have I been in conditions even approaching those that gave the place its name.  It is very exposed, and I suppose if I visited during a stormy winter period, I would better appreciate the name.  But on this August morning, I made the pre-dawn hike up to Elk Mountain on the east end of the ridge.

The wind was blasting me from the west as a front moved in from the nearby Pacific Ocean.  Although it was a mild and short-lived summer weather system, up there it felt like I was back on the tundra in Alaska.  I had some trouble keeping the tripod from vibrating in the gale.  It was a bracing and very pristine feeling up there.  I really wanted to capture the feeling of being alone on top of an exposed ridge, facing a stiff wind, air as clean as it gets.  As the sun rose the wind dropped slightly and I captured this view west towards Mount Olympus.

Hurricane Ridge in dawn storm light.

Hurricane Ridge in dawn storm light.

Friday Foto Talk: A Few Lessons from the Field   14 comments

Dawn over the Olympic Mountains in Washington

Dawn over the Olympic Mountains in Washington

I’ve been running around the Olympic Peninsula in Washington over the past week chasing the light.  I’ve tried to hit places where I have never been during previous visits.  It is a very large and diverse place, covered in large part by Olympic National Park.  I will do a travel post on it very soon.  Before that I spent a few days at Mt Rainier.  I want to highlight a few lessons I’ve (re) learned that might be valuable for photographers doing trips to areas with natural wonders like this.

Reflection Lakes at Mount Rainier National Park is shrouded in morning mists.

Reflection Lakes at Mount Rainier National Park is shrouded in morning mists.

LESSONS LEARNED

      • While a planned route is good as a starting point, allowing you to maximize time and save fuel, you will likely be forced to abandon the plan if you expect to make the most of good weather conditions (i.e., good light).  Do not try to be strict about your plan.  You either chase the light, adjusting meal times, losing sleep, etc. or you miss the light.  It’s that simple.
      • Dealing with traveling companions can be tricky.  If you’re traveling with family (or really anybody who does not live and breathe photography), you will need to find a balance.  Everyone needs to have a good time and you need to get your shots.  Realize that in order to get every shot you want, you will need to travel alone.  I was solo on  this trip.  Well not truly solo, but  my dog doesn’t have a say in things and so doesn’t count.  But I was free to explore, double back, stay up late, sleep in shifts, etc.  I’m very sure that had I been traveling with someone who is more of a casual photographer, this would have been our very last trip together.
Before dawn at Mt Rainier National Park, the moon rises over Reflection Lake.

Before dawn at Mt Rainier National Park, the moon rises over Reflection Lake.

      • But even if you’re traveling solo (or with another die-hard photog.), you need to tend to that “other” person inside you.  I keep having to re-learn this for some reason.  I tend to become obsessive about the photos at times, but then remember I need to see and appreciate things too.  The pace is often different for these two approaches.  But sometimes I have the most fun when I really slow down.  This, coincidentally, is usually good for photography.

 Sometimes switching out of photographer to traveler mode reaps rewards.  On the northern Olympic Peninsula the clouds had moved in.  The light was beautiful when they came, but it promised to be gray for at least a day or two.  I thought of heading down to the rainforest for moody pictures but it was a long drive from where I was.  Instead I headed up to the NW corner of the Peninsula, Cape Flattery.  This is the northwestern-most point of the U.S. (excluding Alaska of course) and I had never been there.  My reasoning was simple and not photo-related.  Fog and mist at sunset rarely do good things for a seascape at sunset.  But I wanted to see the place.

A small waterfall in Quinalt Rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula, Washington.

A small waterfall in Quinalt Rainforest on the Olympic Peninsula, Washington.

As it happened I got great shots of the cape’s forest in thick fog.  On the way along the rugged northern coast, bordering the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the fog created beautiful patterns.  The pictures I got are not of a place that most photographers think of when they visit Olympic, but they are beautiful and evocative of the lonely atmosphere of this relatively remote area.  Another bonus was getting to meet friendly locals in one of the few small towns and visiting the Makah American Indian Reservation.

For example I doubled back and revisited a high alpine trail-head where I slept and then woke pre-dawn, hiking to a peak for sunrise.  It was bothering me that on both occasions I did not attain the perfect viewpoint for a panorama of Puget Sound and the Cascades.  So I thought of returning yet a third time, which would have involved driving back two hours late at night.  But I stopped myself, thinking it was a bit too obsessive.  A good night’s sleep along a river-bank was my reward.

Cones protect the seeds of a subalpine fir from harsh conditions on a high ridge-line at Olympic National Park.

Cones protect the seeds of a subalpine fir from harsh conditions on a high ridge-line at Olympic National Park.

      • In getting up for sunrise, plan on rising at least a half-hour earlier than you think necessary.  I have trouble getting up early.  Once I’m up it’s fine of course, but this has always been a struggle for me.  I’m a night person, so staying up late is much easier.  For dawn photography, it’s best to arrive in the area where you’ll be shooting well before the sun rises.  Use a flashlight/headlamp if you’re hiking somewhere, but try to turn it off as soon as there is enough light to see.  This will allow your eyes to get used to the low light and you will see good pre-dawn compositions much more easily.

When there are a variety of clouds in the sky and light is good, those clouds will begin lighting up at least a half hour before the sun rises.  This is often the best time to photograph in any direction.  A brightly glowing cloud bank will cast beautiful light on the landscape.  You’ll need your tripod of course.

A nice place to sleep before tackling the climb of Mount Rainier in Washington's Cascades.

A nice place to sleep before tackling the climb of Mount Rainier in Washington’s Cascades.

Two examples during my trip highlight the different experience to be had depending on exactly how you set that alarm.  The first was at the high point mentioned above.  I underestimated the time it took to hike to the top of Elk Mountain (on Hurricane Ridge), so woke about 20 minutes too late.  I knew it right as I started the 2-mile hike; color was already in the sky.  Conditions were perfect, making me feel more rushed.  The leading edge of a front was moving in from the west, not covering the mountains yet but promising truly wonderful light.  The only good part?  Hard-pumping uphill hiking will wake you up just fine when you have no time for coffee.

I had to abort and climb the ridge just short of the summit in order to catch the beautiful pre-sunrise light.  It was a good viewpoint, but not the best for the east and southeast view (which affected the panorama shot).  But perhaps the biggest negative was the fact I was I rushed setting up, knowing that I had missed the earliest good light.

The mouth of the Quillayute River in Washington is marked by large sea stacks.

The mouth of the Quillayute River in Washington is marked by large sea stacks.

The other example, at Mount Rainier National Park, illustrates the correct way to do a morning shoot.  I slept a fitful few hours near Reflection Lakes, waking before my alarm.  The stars were great so I decided to do some night shots before sunrise.  The fog moved in before sunrise.  Since I was already shooting, this didn’t disappoint me.  Instead I found some nice foggy shots of the lake.  I heard other photographers arrive up on the road but most didn’t stay long, I suppose because of the fog.

When it finally lifted there were some beautiful moments as the mountain came out.  I heard them returning, car doors slamming.  Meanwhile I was already in position by the lake, shooting away.  This is the way to do it, letting the conditions develop before your eyes rather than trying to catch them.  It allows you to experience nice moments while you’re shooting.  At Reflection Lakes, it allowed me to get into a flow, rather than the abrupt, clunky transition from driving to shooting experienced by the other photographers that morning.

Narada Falls plunges into the misty canyon of the Paradise River at Mount Rainier National Park, Washington.

Narada Falls plunges into the misty canyon of the Paradise River at Mount Rainier National Park, Washington.

      • I know this post is getting long but there is one last lesson I learned, and it was a hard one.  At Rainier, I hiked up to a subalpine meadow area on a trail that is washed out in part.  You need to hike for a couple miles along a swift glacial river across huge boulders, skirting many obstacles.  But otherwise it is a reasonable, 7-mile round-trip hike.  Since I was going for sunset light, I brought a headlamp, whose batteries I thought were fresh.  They weren’t.  Stupidly I neglected to pack spare batteries.

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After shooting in the pretty meadows, it wasn’t long hiking down in the gathering dark that my headlamp began to fail.  It went completely out just as I reached the rough part.  I fought my way to the rocky riverbank and began to stumble through the boulders.  There was no moon.  I learned that while it is impossible to walk under the trees in total darkness, it is possible to use the Milky Way as a very dim source of light.  Without it I would have been spending the night with not enough clothing to keep warm.

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After a brief period of panic, where I fell several times and bashed my knees and elbows, I calmed myself and slowed down.  Slowly I worked my way back.  But there was a section of trail to reach the dirt road (leading back to my vehicle).  I knew it would be impossible to traverse that trail, let alone find it in the dark.  So I kept going, looking for an opening.  Luckily (and I do mean lucky!) I spotted a subtle flat area through the trees.  I clambered over logs to the spot and found the only place where the dirt road approaches the river.  I finally got back to the van (and a very hungry dog) at 2 a.m.

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The sun sets in a clear sky over Lake Quinalt in Olympic National Park, Washington.

So here is the lesson if you are hiking into the wilds: pack the ten essentials in your camera pack.  This includes a small tarp plus a way to make fire (lighter & tissue or wadded newspaper).  It also includes extra batteries for your light!

And here’s one bonus lesson: don’t strap any clothing to the outside of your pack that you would be unhappy to lose.  My hands-down favorite piece of clothing is (or was) a zip-front fleece that is amazingly warm and light, with pockets that are perfect for filters.  During all the ducking under big logs, falling and stumbling it had come loose from my pack.  I went back the next day but could not find it.

I’m sure there are other lessons I learned, but it all really boils down to not sweating the small stuff, keeping things flexible and fun, and striking a balance. Thanks for reading and happy shooting!

Fog fills the valleys beneath Mount Rainier as evening arrives.

Fog fills the valleys beneath Mount Rainier as evening arrives.

Lake Crescent on the northern Olympic Peninsula is a jewel.

Lake Crescent on the northern Olympic Peninsula is a jewel.

Single-Image Sunday: Sunrise over Puget Sound   14 comments

This is an image I captured recently at sunrise from Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park, Washington.  The last two Friday Foto Talk posts focused on using reflection and this picture is a further example.  I think it shows that reflection of light and color can really add interest to an image whether you use water or something else.  In this case, a low layer of clouds and fog covers the cool waters of Puget Sound and my high viewpoint was the key.  The rising sun reflected from the cloud-tops in a very pleasing and somewhat unusual manner.  Hurricane Ridge is a great place to wake up.  You can see the northern Washington Cascades & Puget Sound (as in this image), the Olympic Mountains, the Pacific Coast, and up over Canada’s Vancouver Island.  I hope everyone is enjoying their summer!

 

Light from the rising sun fills valleys of the North Cascades and reflects off low clouds covering the waters of Puget Sound in Washington.

Light from the rising sun fills valleys of the North Cascades and reflects off low clouds covering the waters of Puget Sound in Washington.

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