Mystery in the Dark

Lights on termite mound, Pantanal, Brazil

Never believe the conventional wisdom. When we spotted these striking lights on a termite mound on our last night in the Pantanal, we were told they were caused the termites themselves, on just one or two nights a year. (I'd never heard of bioluminescent termites before, but what do I know...?)  But why?  Not for mating, like fireflies, surely. There was no Google handy out there, so I had to wait until I got home to investigate further.  And wouldn't you know it - the story was much more interesting.
The green lights we saw were the glowing abdomens of Pyrophorus, or click beetle, larvae which burrow into the edges of termite mounds and use the lights to attract other insects - as prey.  Apparently some of these glowing beetles are found in the US, in Texas and Florida.
This was a 30-second exposure at ISO 2000, so there is little depth of field, and a fair amount of noise. But it was good enough to at least capture this rarely-seen behavior - and learn a new story.

Nikon D3, with 24-70mm lens

Back from the Heat

Giant Armadillo emerging from Burrow, Pantanal, Brazil

Finally home from a month-long sojourn in Brazil, and to be honest, I'm glad to be out of the heat. It is heading into summer in the southern hemisphere and on the dusty plains of the Pantanal, it was over 100 every day with stifling humidity. Seattle, by contrast, is delightfully cool, breezy and HOME.

It was a complex trip, working in several different biomes including the Amazon, but our major concentration was the endangered species of the Pantanal. Although this fellow coming out of his burrow looks a bit like the common Texan 9-banded armadillo, this is actually a Giant Armadillo, one of the rarest and least-known large mammals in the Neotropics. I had never seen one before - and after I took this - I had STILL never seen one.  Welcome to the world of camera traps.

The photo was made with an elaborate camera trap system I employed every night at what appeared to be occupied burrows. This was the first image taken on the first of 9 consecutive nights, and it is still my favorite.  It is an intimate look at a very rare animal (this is one of the first-ever wild shots of this behavior) looking untroubled and at ease.

It is not obvious but these animals are big: over  3 feet in length and weighing upwards of 60  pounds. They sleep up to 18 hours a day and emerge only at night - facts which help explain why even people who have lived their entire lives in the Pantanal have never seen one.

As is often the case, a week spent trying to get pictures of these secretive animals was just long enough to teach me how hard it would be to really tell their story. But I did get some ideas, and with some equipment refinements, I hope to be able to get deeper into the project when I go back next year.

Until then, I will post some more images from Brazil in the coming week or two.

Nikon D300, 18-200mm lens, Camera-trap

Heading South

Anhinga with Catfish, Pantanal, Brazil

I was in a small boat on the Rio Pixaim in central Brazil when I spotted this anhinga struggling with a small fish along the edge of the creek. It was the middle of the day, a time when I rarely even bother taking pictures, but the bird was swimming along the edge of the shadows and was illuminated by the reflected light off the midday water. The result was this surprisingly soft light on a bird I have never really worked with before.

The challenge here was keeping the bird in focus: with that thin neck, my camera kept missing the focus point and locking onto the background. Yes, I have a lot of shots of  nice crisp leaves - and a very blurry anhinga. Happiy, I got this one to work.

I leave later this week for a month in Brazil, where I will be photographing in 3 distinct ecosystems: the coastal cloud forest, the southern Amazon, and the Pantanal wetlands, where this was taken several years ago. As usual, I will be concentrating my efforts on threatened species, which, in the dwindling habitats all over Brazil, will likely be almost every animal I am likely to see.

Nikon D2X and 300mm lens

Another View

St. Helens Sunset

This was one of the last shots I took of Mt. St. Helens this week as the sun set into the haze to the west. It was as much color as I would get this night - and although I was annoyed that the light wasn't clearer, it looks nice enough here.
This is a syndrome common to photographers; rather than enjoying the moment or accepting reality, we tend to think that we've blown it, that the light sucks, that there aren't enough clouds.  Hey, photographers are never satisfied. Seeking perfection, we dwell on the inevitable flaws.
Because this is not far from my home, I console myself by thinking, "I can always go back and try again." And yes, if I had unlimited time, and money, I could keep trying until I got something truly transcendent.  But few of us have that kind of time, or money - and we're talking helicopter time here - so I may have content myself with what I have.

Nikon D3, 24-70mm lens

Return to St. Helens

Crater and Shadow, Mt. St. Helens

For some reason, I have been obsessed about Mt. St. Helens. In my last two posts, I talked about how the weather has frustrated several attempts to get the shots I wanted of this iconic mountain. Well, I had almost given up...when I saw a helicopter for hire. Yes, it was expensive, but really the only feasible way to get the shots I wanted, so I arranged a flight at sunset last night.
It was hazier than I would have liked, the light less crisp and saturated than normal, but the clouds that had toyed with the peak all day finally dissipated at sunset - so I had a clear view of the crater. Yes, the low light meant I couldn't capture the steaming lava dome on the crater floor, but it gave me the long shadow which I love - so it's a trade-off.  (Speaking of the shadow, notice how it makes it look as though the mountain still has a top!)
Having seen the mountain erupt in 1980, and flown over it just afterwards, this was a kind of home-coming. Spectacular.

Nikon D3, 17-35mm lens

Fog Race

Steam rises from Lava Dome above fog-shrouded crater,  Mt. St. Helens

As I mentioned in my last post, I spent three days trying to get pictures of Mt. St. Helens, especially in the evening, but every day had the same maddening weather pattern: cloudy in the morning, clear at mid-day, and then a rising fog in the evening. Definitely not weather to gladden the heart of a landscape photographer!  After two evenings sitting in the fog, with no view at all of the mountain, the third day promised a break in the cycle; the mountain was clear all afternoon and it looked like, for once, I might get a sunset.  Then this band of clouds began to form and started rising up the slope.  I was forced to shoot quickly, before the crater disappeared completely.

With such a long horizontal scene, I decided to create a digital panoramic using 3 or 4 single images, stitched together in the computer after the fact. Not bad, but I had dreams of much more.  I'll be back.

Nikon D3, 70-200mm lens : Stitched panorama

Lousy Weather above? Go Underground...

Ape Cave lava tube, Mt. St. Helens

I spent the last 3 days trying to get some decent light on Mt. St. Helens. The truth be told, it never happened: each day it would clear for a few hours in the afternoon, then cloud up again as the evening - and nice light - came and went.  Three days in a row.  Maybe I'll try again when this weather pattern moves on through.

I filled the middle of the day with exploring the area, and on one memorable morning, I hiked into one of the most astonishing underground passageways I have ever seen.  It is a lava tube, although it is so perfectly formed that it could double as a man-made highway tunnel. Lava tubes are rare in this part of the world, where the volcanos tend to explode rather than extrude flowing lava. Yet Ape Cave  is one of the longest lave tubes in the US - more than two miles long.

(Science note : lava tubes are created by very fluid lava that cools and hardens at the edges, allowing the lava inside to continue flowing inside, forming a stone tube. When the lava stops, it drains out the bottom end, leaving this remarkably uniform tunnel.)

I spent several hours in the cave, trying to sort out how best to photograph it - finally settling on the use of two flashes - one on the camera/tripod and the other in my hands. 30-second exposures allowed me time to position myself in front of the light-colored wall (where I would best show up in silhouette) and fire off a few flashes manually. It was a case of trial and error - mostly error - to get what I wanted. In a perfect world, I would have had a third flash (and a model?) in the far distant bend of the cave, but I'm content with this.

An amazing place.

Nikon D3, 17-35mm lens, 2 Nikon SB-800 flashes