javadoug
What one picture is worth.
To a nature loving optimistic photographer like myself, I often go to extremes to get that 'one-shot' that has a certain story, flair or is otherwise interesting, at least for myself. My goal is first to please myself with the adventure of obtaining a fun image, perhaps even a composition that would be enjoyed by others. And occasionally there turns out to be a few bumps along the way, and an interesting story to go along with the photo.
Such was the case this last Saturday at the wooded Harrison Hills Park near the border of four counties in Western Pennsylvania. Every Saturday morning I often hike along a scenic trail which lies at the top of a very steep ridge along the Allegheny River. At the base of the ridge are railroad tracks. I don't often see trains along there, but on this occasion, there was a train stopped right below me.
In winter the view is spectacular; off in the distance one can see the town of Freeport, and there are snow covered hills and trees as far as the eye can see if one looks up the valley. The river itself is often teaming with various forms of ducks and geese often heard, and with binoculars seen down in the distance.
On this particular day I spied a bird's nest, by my estimation most likely the nest of a Red-eyed Vireo based on the size and location in the branch of a small wild Black-Cherry tree. I decide that I'd try to get a photo of this durable nest, even though it was situated down about 15 feet from my position. The embankment there is quite steep, and against my better judgment I began to descend a little bit over the edge. There was a nice foot hold for my right leg which I decided was the best place to make pictures. I dared not go any further. I took a few photos, but my zoom was only 3x, and decided I need to get just a few inches further.
Suddenly I slipped onto my back, but yet did not slide down the ridge. My cool head told me to put the camera away, which I did, luckily, I even managed to get my glove back on my right hand. But how would I get out of this predicament? A moment later I began to slide, and slid on my back halfway down the steep ridge. Luckily, a log loomed large and I grabbed it, otherwise who knows how much further I would have gone, and to what peril.
I was able to gain my feet, inspect for damage, to which there was none, and traverse along the ridge to a place where trees with many hand holds afforded a chance for me to ascend back out of the ridge back to the path. I went back to where I had fallen and marveled at my luck. I then proceeded to place a few well laid foot prints so that anyone else coming upon the scene wouldn't worry that someone had fallen over the cliff because the tracks would have appeared to go one way only: down. I didn't want anyone to institute a search.
Perhaps some day, another photographer, in a similar situation, will think of my story, and err on the side of caution. Maybe my foolhardy escapade will have not been for naught.
What one picture is worth.
To a nature loving optimistic photographer like myself, I often go to extremes to get that 'one-shot' that has a certain story, flair or is otherwise interesting, at least for myself. My goal is first to please myself with the adventure of obtaining a fun image, perhaps even a composition that would be enjoyed by others. And occasionally there turns out to be a few bumps along the way, and an interesting story to go along with the photo.
Such was the case this last Saturday at the wooded Harrison Hills Park near the border of four counties in Western Pennsylvania. Every Saturday morning I often hike along a scenic trail which lies at the top of a very steep ridge along the Allegheny River. At the base of the ridge are railroad tracks. I don't often see trains along there, but on this occasion, there was a train stopped right below me.
In winter the view is spectacular; off in the distance one can see the town of Freeport, and there are snow covered hills and trees as far as the eye can see if one looks up the valley. The river itself is often teaming with various forms of ducks and geese often heard, and with binoculars seen down in the distance.
On this particular day I spied a bird's nest, by my estimation most likely the nest of a Red-eyed Vireo based on the size and location in the branch of a small wild Black-Cherry tree. I decide that I'd try to get a photo of this durable nest, even though it was situated down about 15 feet from my position. The embankment there is quite steep, and against my better judgment I began to descend a little bit over the edge. There was a nice foot hold for my right leg which I decided was the best place to make pictures. I dared not go any further. I took a few photos, but my zoom was only 3x, and decided I need to get just a few inches further.
Suddenly I slipped onto my back, but yet did not slide down the ridge. My cool head told me to put the camera away, which I did, luckily, I even managed to get my glove back on my right hand. But how would I get out of this predicament? A moment later I began to slide, and slid on my back halfway down the steep ridge. Luckily, a log loomed large and I grabbed it, otherwise who knows how much further I would have gone, and to what peril.
I was able to gain my feet, inspect for damage, to which there was none, and traverse along the ridge to a place where trees with many hand holds afforded a chance for me to ascend back out of the ridge back to the path. I went back to where I had fallen and marveled at my luck. I then proceeded to place a few well laid foot prints so that anyone else coming upon the scene wouldn't worry that someone had fallen over the cliff because the tracks would have appeared to go one way only: down. I didn't want anyone to institute a search.
Perhaps some day, another photographer, in a similar situation, will think of my story, and err on the side of caution. Maybe my foolhardy escapade will have not been for naught.