View allAll Photos Tagged methodical
- Thomas Mann.
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In my balcony garden, I have had great success with a plant commonly known as the African Daisy or osteospermum. They come in a variety of colors and shapes and the one I have is the more common purple colored flowering plant that I picked up from our local garden shop. Being in LA the plant displays its very vivid flowers throughout the year and requires very little watering. Over the years I have noticed that the flowers of the plant are very reactive to the sun and in the winter months will only go full blossom while the sun is shining on them. I also noticed that if it rains for a couple of days at a stretch the flowers tend to change their color to a burnt orange color tone before wilting away. The gradation of these two colors on the flower is often spectacular but as you can imagine this is quite a rare occurrence in LA.
So, when it rained for almost a whole week, I had hope and my African Daisy delivered. I also decided to check the usage of a new gadget I acquired quite cheaply called the macro slider. This image is a stacked focus image of over 15 images that were stacked using Helicon Focus software. It was a painful process and I learned how methodical you must be to take a stacked macro shot of such a small subject. I am really happy about the way this turned out and by the final image. I’d love to take more images like this using the focus stacking technique.
While exploring this abandoned industrial site, I discovered these old foreman's offices painted in bright red, remnants of a work organization now long gone.
Their vibrant color contrasts sharply with the weathered white wall, telling the story of time passing, abandonment, and the memory of a place once bustling with workers' activity.
The painted numbers (28, 27, 26, 25, 24) bear witness to the methodical organization of space, recalling the rigorous structure of a workshop now frozen in silence.
My intention was to capture the melancholic beauty of these vestiges of the working world, to transform abandonment into visual poetry, and to celebrate the evocative power of places that still hold the imprint of their industrial history.
Greenhouse in the ruins of the Cornish Estate near Cold Spring, N.Y. Bits of glass remain from when the structure was methodically smashed.
If you’re ranking Hudson Valley ruins, Cornish is more varied and extensive but less spectacular than Overlook Mountain. Cornish is a much quicker and less strenuous hike, too.
When carry out inspections it's important to be methodical. I started with headdress and finished with boots.
A western honey bee, apis mellifera, browses a lupine.
No chemical sprays are used in this area thanks to the Duchy's environmental policy.
Wild Bird
Near The Gulf Of Mexico
Southwest Florida
USA
This little blue was photographed close to it's nest which was partially hidden in the shade.
From Wikipedia -
The little blue heron (Egretta caerulea) is a small heron. It breeds in the Gulf states of the US, through Central America and the Caribbean south to Peru and Uruguay. It is a resident breeder in most of its range, but some northern breeders migrate to the southeastern US or beyond in winter. There is post-breeding dispersal to well north of the nesting range, as far as the Canada–US border.
The little blue heron's breeding habitat is sub-tropical swamps. It nests in colonies, often with other herons, usually on platforms of sticks in trees or shrubs. Three to seven light blue eggs are laid. The little blue heron stalks its prey methodically in shallow water, often running as it does so. It eats fish, frogs, crustaceans, small rodents and insects.
White little blue herons often mingle with snowy egrets. The snowy egret tolerates their presence more than little blue herons in adult plumage. These young birds actually catch more fish when in the presence of the snowy egret and also gain a measure of protection from predators when they mix into flocks of white herons. It is plausible that because of these advantages, they remain white for their first year.
One of those animals I've been desperate to see for as long as I can remember. An amazing, huge, long-legged raptor who marches purposefully across the savannah, an giant avian robot stomping around as ground-dwelling critters cower in fear below, and with impassionate, methodic precision stomping to death any small mammal, lizard or snake unlucky enough to fall under its gaze. A seriously awesome bird filling a very cool niche, an example of how scary the giant predatory birds of the Pleistocene would've been.
If you would like to use any of my images please contact me at cameronwdejong@gmail.com
Exhibited in the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Phnom Penh
1975-1979 there was the torture and execution prison S-21, where an estimated 20,000 people were killed.
When new prisoners arrived, the first step was to take their photograph. Most of these pictures were taken by Nhem En, a young boy born in 1959. He had been sent to China for a seven-month course in photography by the Khmer Rouge and became the chief of six photographers at Tuol Sleng.
"He had a job to do, and he did it supremely well, under threat of death, within earshot of screams of torture: methodically photographing Khmer Rouge prisoners and producing a haunting collection of mug shots that has become the visual symbol of Cambodia’s mass killings.
“I’m just a photographer; I don’t know anything,” he said he told the newly arrived prisoners as he removed their blindfolds and adjusted the angles of their heads. But he knew, as they did not, that every one of them would be killed." www.nytimes.com/2007/10/26/world/asia/27cambo.html
Key West Harbor - un-inhabited island
Key West, Florida U.S.A. - Florida Keys
SUNSET - Autumn Light 2022 - 11/25/22
*[left-double-click for a closer-look - Home Port - afterglow]
*[last shot of long arrival sequence taken in almost darkness]
I watched her as she circled the harbor, with the very intense
sunset sky magnificently changing, minute by colorful minute.
Each shot I took of her was quite different in color and light,
constantly and methodically changing. I knew that on her
last turn to Port I would have her at the perfect spot and at
the perfect time. Fun captures. Only problem: I love them all.
*[taken aboard the "Commotion on the Ocean" Fury Catamaran
Sunset Cruise in Key West Harbor with the Cory Heydon Band]
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Key_West,_Florida
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florida_keys
"Margaritaville" - Alan Jackson & Jimmy Buffett
www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4XtBiWgXLE
"It's Five-Oclock Somewhere" - Alan Jackson & Jimmy Buffett
Migration is in full swing in Northern California. Followed this fella as he worked his way methodically along a low growing Valley Oak foraging for oak worms. He finally nabbed one for a nice meal. Photos were taken along Elk Slough, Yolo County, California.
A while back, Gee decided to explore the roads near where we live, and is methodically riding every single one of them. It's amazing what you find, and what you didn't know about your own neighbourhood.
Frequent stops are made to check where we are as we get turned around in circles so much. Also need to figure out the best way not to repeat roads in order to keep the mileage down. This ride was 33.5 miles. Not much, but could easily creep up to 50 miles.
MK-Pressor works fast and methodical. It arrives early and leaves the ground perfectly level, every inch compacted with precision. When this Quattroid is done, the site is ready for the next step.
Before the sparks fly and the skyline begins to grow, the MK-Series arrives. These Builders don’t just follow instructions — they create the cities of the future. Each unit brings a different rhythm to the worksite, from the steady churn of mixers to the precise lifts of cranes. They build with patience, coordination, and precision — because a strong city needs solid foundations.
Key West Harbor - Vivid Color Spectrum
Key West, Florida U.S.A. - The Florida Keys
SUNSET - Autumn Light 2022 - 11/25/22
*[left-double-click for a closer-look - sunset-cruise]
I watched her as she circled the harbor, with the very intense
sunset sky magnificently changing, minute by colorful minute.
Each shot I took of her was quite different in color and light,
constantly and methodically changing. I knew that on her
last turn to Port I would have her at the perfect spot and at
the perfect time. Fun captures. Only problem: I love them all.
*[taken aboard the "Commotion on the Ocean" Fury Catamaran
Sunset Cruise in Key West Harbor with the Cory Heydon Band]
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Key_West,_Florida
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florida_keys
"Margaritaville" - Alan Jackson & Jimmy Buffett
www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4XtBiWgXLE
"It's Five-Oclock Somewhere" - Alan Jackson & Jimmy Buffett
I found and photographed this Mountain Goat while travelling on the Spray Lakes Road in Alberta, Canada. He proved to be rather shy, moving steadily uphill as I attempted to approach him. I persevered, though. Rocky Mountain Sheep are commonly seen, but Mountain Goats are more difficult to find.
"The mountain goat (Oreamnos americanus) is an even-toed, hoofed mammal of the cattle family (Bovidae), derived during the ice ages from the primitive Asiatic goat-antelopes. It entered North America during the last ice age from Siberia. It is not a true goat but belongs to a tribe ancestral to sheep and goats. The mountain goat, largest and most cold-hardy species of its tribe, is widely distributed in the Canadian western mountains below the Arctic circle. Adapted to life on steep cliffs where footholds are often covered by snow or ice, it is a slow, methodical climber who prefers to move during daylight when there is good visibility. It may select resting spots for the night already in the afternoon. The mountain goats eyes are smaller than those of mountain sheep and are less widely set apart. It compensates for a narrow habitat preference with wide food habits." (Canadian Encyclopedia.)
www.fluidr.com/photos/barrentrees
Copyright © Debbie Friley Photography - All Rights Reserved
EXPLORE March 13th, 2015
Have a GREAT & RELAXING Weekend my friends & hope you get lot's of great pics if you are out clickin' : ) We are headed out in the boat for fishing and photo-ing : )
FOOD FOR THOUGHT:
"March 11, 1942, was a dark, desperate day at Corregidor. The Pacific theater of war was threatening and bleak. One island after another had been buffeted into submission. The enemy was now marching into the Philippines as confident and methodical as the star band in the Rose Bowl parade. Surrender was inevitable. The brilliant and bold soldier, Douglas MacArthur, had only three words for his comrades as he stepped into the escape boat destined for Australia: "I SHALL RETURN."
Upon arriving nine days later in the port of Adelaide, the sixty-two-year-old military statesman closed his remarks with this sentence: "I CAME THROUGH AND I SHALL RETURN."
A little over two and a half years later---October 20, 1944, to be exact---he stood once again on Philippine soil after landing safely at Leyte Island. This is what he said: "This is the voice of freedom, General MacArthur speaking. People of the Philippines: I HAVE RETURNED!"
MacArthur kept his word. His word was as good as his bond. Regardless of the odds against him, including the pressures and power of enemy strategy, he was bound and determined to make his promise good.
This rare breed of man is almost extinct. Whether an executive or an apprentice, a student or a teacher, a blue collar or white, a Christian or not---rare indeed are those who keep their word. The prevalence of the problem has caused the coining of a term painfully familiar to us in our era: credibility gap. To say that something is "credible" is to say it is "capable of being believed, trustworthy." To refer to a "gap" in such suggests a "breach or a reason for doubt."
Jurors often have reason to doubt the testimony of a witness on the stand. Parents, likewise, have reason at times to doubt their children's word (and vice versa). Citizens frequently doubt the promises of politicians, and the credibility of an employee's word is questioned by the employer. Creditors can no longer believe a debtor's verbal promise to pay, and many a mate has ample reason to doubt the word of his or her partner. This is a terrible dilemma! Precious few do what they say they will do without a reminder, a warning, or a threat. Unfortunately, this is true even among Christians.
Taste the encouragement in God's message to His people in Zephaniah 3:8-13 and chew especially His words about purified and truthful speech. Let them motivate you today to the highest standard---God's standard---of integrity.
Listen to what the Scriptures have to say about keeping your word:
Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor. (Ephesians 4:25 NIV)
And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus. (Colossians 3:17 NIV)
LORD, who may dwell in your sanctuary?
Who may live on your holy hill?
He whose walk is blameless . . .
who speaks the truth from his heart. (Psalm 15:1–2)
It is better not to vow than to make a vow and not fulfill it. (Ecclesiastes 5:5 NIV)
When a man . . . takes an oath to obligate himself by a pledge, he must not break his word but must do everything he said. (Numbers 30:2 NIV)"
Written by: Chuck Swindoll
When entering into the the Oculus at the World Trade Center from the MTA’s E Train or going to the E Train platform from the same you will notice that you appear to be walking back in time, you are actually specifically to September 11th 2001 when the original World Trade Center Twin Towers were the victims of commercial airliners used as weapons. The passageway was left entirely intact, with the orange markings from the search & rescue teams still on the doors on the left of this image, as those teams frantically and methodically checked through the known passageways for survivors. The decision was made to preserve the passageway as it was, the floor, doors and lighting fixtures all as they were on that fateful day. OM Systems Olympus OM-D EM-1 Mark III Olympus OM Systems Olympus M.Zuiko PRO 12-40 f2.8 #developportdev @gothamtomato @developphotonewsletter @omsystem.cameras #excellent_america #omsystem @bheventspace @bhphoto @adorama @tamracphoto @tiffencompany #usaprimeshot #tamractales @mpbcom @kehcamera @nycprimeshot @nybucketlist @nycurbanism #omd #olympus #olympusphotography #microfourthirds #micro43 #micro43photography #nycprimeshot @wtc
Yes, down south it's almost winter and the Andes received a lot a snow lately although what you see here is what they call the "pre-cordillera". The true Andes are behind!
Oh how I wish it would snow a little down here in the city from time to time instead of rain. I truly miss the snow but one thing is for sure, I never grow tired of this view.
..Here most Chilean friends told me my panorama would look better without the cranes but I like it like that! It gives a sense of scale and reflects how rapidly crazy Santiago is growing!
I've done other pics from my apartment without the cranes and they'll soon be gone again. Rest assure amigos!
Hell I prefer having a conversation about cranes than the smog!
About the 5D Mark III and panoramas... what's with the intense vignetting!??? Why is there vignetting when I use a full-frame "L" series lens?
I couldn't throw .CR2 straight to Ptgui.. the sky came out super patchy!! I had to run the lens correction profile in ACR first. I guess it's for the best because I have to be more methodical with panorama photography!
ps: I'm not posting much lately because I'm trying to master the "Luminance Mask" technique.. Soon!!
The Old Man and the Dog
By Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his powers.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived... But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue..
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's
troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as she read.. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed..
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said..
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed.. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article....
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .. ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
A juvenile Black-backed Woodpecker (Picoides arcticus) methodically flaking the bark off of the tree, in search for insects. Copyright © Kim Toews/All Rights Reserved.
Taken at the Toronto Necropolis, a historic cemetery circa 1850.
"American Crows are familiar over much of the continent: large, intelligent, all-black birds with hoarse, cawing voices. They are common sights in treetops, fields, and roadsides, and in habitats ranging from open woods and empty beaches to town centers. They usually feed on the ground and eat almost anything—typically earthworms, insects and other small animals, seeds, and fruit; also garbage, carrion, and chicks they rob from nests. Their flight style is unique, a patient, methodical flapping that is rarely broken up with glides."
from allaboutbirds.org
Snowdon, at 1080m, is the highest mountain in the British Isles outside of Scotland. Snowdon is to the right of the image and opposite on the left is Garnedd Ugain, a peak just 20m lower than Snowdon itself. Below are the lakes Glaslyn and Lynn Lydaw with the impressive Lliwedd ridge in the distance which we had walked the day before. The ridge in front and to the left form a horseshoe which provides not only excellent photographic opportunities but also an outstanding mountain route. Our camp location can be seen just beneath Y Lliwedd
In 2004, when I was 16, my Dad took my brother and me up our first mountains; first Cadair Idris and then Snowdon. I had recently bought my first camera, a 2MP Canon A40, which came along for the ride. Although the images were snapshots one photo has stayed with me since, a view quite similar to this looking down over Glaslyn and Lynn Lydaw and across to Snowdon and Y Lliwedd. My photography has progressed since then and for a long time it has been in the back of my mind to return to Snowdon in the winter to photograph the sunrise over the Snowdon Horseshoe.
We got up at 5am to force ourselves out of our warm sleeping bags and into the cold. Fortunately the wind had all but vanished and once we were moving we were warm enough. After packing up we headed off in the dark to the summit of Snowdon, an easyish 200m climb from where we had slept. We were on the summit an hour before sunrise and whilst Guy stayed to take his photos from the top I descended slightly to the saddle between Snowdon and Garnedd Ugain from where I had taken the first image 9 years previously. A gap on the horizon in the direction of sunrise was a clear indication that I was going to get some brief but wonderful light. I spent the next 20 minutes trying to arrange my composition, setting up my camera and making sure everything was perfect. When the light came I went through a methodical process of shooting the panorama over and over to ensure I had captured the best light. Once I was satisfied I ran down the slope to a different composition but the light had gone. As we walked off Snowdon back to the car the clouds came in again bringing the weather full circle. In all we only had 20 minutes of sunlight in Snowdonia, but it came at just the right time!
The pencil drawing had the tones to form a good base for the colour. Having blocked in the green of the grass, then the darkest tree to the right I decided I should really start working more methodically and put in the background. Not sure if my concentration is still a bit off after Covid but I kept getting distracted and working on odd spots across the drawing. Drawn with Derwent watercolour pencils on a photocopy of a pencil drawing.
I first spotted this banded argiope as the sun was coming up. She was crawling, very slowly, up from the long grass on to her web. She methodically made her way to the center of the web and turned upside down. It was almost like she was saying "I'd sure like to sleep in longer but I gotta get up so I can hang upside-down in my web all day!" Photographed in the La Crosse Blufflands.
One of the activities that I've undertaken since joining an artists co-operative is taking photos of the individual artists and profiling them on social media, to get us out into the public eye and show a little of what we're about.
This is a mosaic that I put together recently of myself and some of my work:
Andrew Wynne ~ I've been a practising artist for 34 years and have been an active member of the Knighton Lane Artists Group since October 2022.
I'm also a member of the International Batik Guild.
Having a studio space at KLA provides me with the incentive to create with more energy and focus.
The act of physically going 'out to work' alongside like minded artists provides a much needed stimulus and validation at a time when I'm now free to pursue my creative goals.
My work has evolved from representational to more spontaneous abstract imagery.
There's something about the creative process that intrigues me ....
the act of surrender to an idea, a phrase, lyrics to a song, a passing conversation as a starting point and the feeling that the work takes on a life of it's own, seeking expression through me.
Other works are more methodical such as my mosaics. My own work tends towards mandalas and the slow and laborious process of creating them is at times a meditation, literally freeing up mind space.
Other works are created in schools and community settings and have included projects with the National Trust and English Nature.
www.facebook.com/knightonlaneartistsgroup/
www.instagram.com/knightonlaneartists/
- Robert Louis Stevenson.
As a primary landscape photographer, I always enjoyed the methodical nature of landscape photography. A lot of the challenge was adapting to the conditions, but it was soon rectified with an extra time allowance. However, bird photography is a different game altogether. So far, I have not been able to find any method to the madness. Often, it's hours of inactivity followed by a few moments of panic-inducing fast action, which will test your technical skills and your camera’s capabilities.
Recently during an evening walk, we witnessed our local red-tailed hawks going bonkers. Suddenly the atmosphere was filled with a lot of threatening calls and hawk flybys. It all happened so fast. I had only a few moments to compose myself and get some images. Unfortunately, the light was pretty low, and I had the camera set up for songbirds which meant that I had pushed the shutter speed pretty high. The Hawks are not as abrupt as songbirds so that I could have used a lower shutter speed and thus lowered my iso, but it all happened so fast that making such an adjustment didn’t even enter my mind.
A small, dark heron arrayed in moody blues and purples, the Little Blue Heron is a common but inconspicuous resident of marshes and estuaries in the Southeast. They stalk shallow waters for small fish and amphibians, adopting a quiet, methodical approach that can make these gorgeous herons surprisingly easy to overlook at first glance.
Bonnet Lake Florida
Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias)
Form follows function is a principle associated with modern architecture and industrial design in the 20th Century, which states that the shape of a building or object should be predicated by or based upon its intended function or purpose. Linking the relationship between the form of an object and its intended purpose
It seems Nature has been utilizing this principle for millions of years. It's always fun to watch these majestic birds as they slowly and methodically move along the shallow waters. Once they spot their target - their long neck and spear like beak strike with amazing speed and accuracy.
side note: I actually photographed the Heron at the Fort Worth Zoo. It was not in an actual exhibit, but is native to North and Central America. This particular Heron has learned to hang out among the Zoo animals, and has become somewhat used to people, and I was happy to take advantage of the opportunity.
In the gloaming of yet another day, darkness begins to caress an empty barn that is kept company by two reminders of the swiftness of the passing of time. Pointing up at the barn is an old grain elevator that lived its last days methodically carrying square bales of hay up into the haymow. In the very bottom corner of the photo there is a partial glimpse at a newer way of handling hay, round bales. Few young men and women today know the both the agony and character building from last century that handling hay bales on a hot, humid day brought.
Some think that these birds have grown accustomed to seeing my canoe on the bayou, but I’ve spent far too little time on the bayou and they are just like every other animal that you encounter. Some are willing to stick around and keep a wary eye on the photographer while other bolt or fly away long before I ever reach for my camera. This particular Green Heron was doing a bit of preening and my extremely slow and methodical approach allowed me to get well inside of its comfort zone without departing. I wish I had an explanation, but it’s just the way it happens with each encounter and each one is different. This bayou leprechaun even turned its back on me and continued to make sure that all of those feathers were in proper working order. And no, there’s not a lot of green showing in the plumage. Photo taken on Horsepen Bayou.
DSC00429ula
Blue Jays are bold, intelligent birds that thrive in forests, woodlands, and suburban edges across eastern and central North America. They’re known for their complex social behavior, loud calls, and a surprising habit of caching acorns—an instinct that helps shape oak woodlands.
Their range stretches from southern Canada through the eastern and central United States, with some northern birds migrating while many remain year‑round. They forage on insects, nuts, seeds, and occasionally small vertebrates, often working methodically along branches or the ground.
Their adaptability, memory, and strong family bonds make them one of the most fascinating residents of North America’s mixed habitats.
Check out this new Oklahoma group.
“Stand in awe of Him, and be grateful for each and every thing that God has blessed you with."
-Robert Woeger
This girl is mine…
After driving some 55 miles of the bumpy gravel of the Teller Highway, I finally spotted a heard of Muskox grazing in a valley between two small hills. Their large brown and black profiles stood out against the surrounding greenery, allowing me to sit back about a mile away and plan my approach.
Knowing that these animals are regularly hunted under the native subsistence program, my guess was that I wouldn’t get very close. I exited my vehicle with a heart full of hope and a head full of doubt. The pressure of getting “the wall hanger shot” was much heavier that the 12lbs of camera hanging hobo stick style over my right shoulder, and the other one bouncing along my left side with every step.
I stood and watched for several minutes trying to determine if there was direction in their grazing, at it would determine how I would proceed in hopes of getting ahead of them. Some of my best photos have come from being between where my subject is, and where it wants to go. I took a few safety shots and then slowly and methodically headed out over the tundra.
As I closed the gap between us, I was able to pick out the dominant bull and a few females with juveniles at their sides. In all I counted 10, but there was noticeable movement it the taller bushes behind them, so there might have been a couple more. At no time did I get the feeling that they were about to bolt, but each one knew that I was there and were keeping at least one eye on me at all times.
As blessing go, just as my gut was telling me not to go any closer, I found a moss covered bolder to sit on, taking several dozen shots through my big lens. After securing photos of an animal encounter that I desired since the third grade, I gently laid my camera down and just sat, totally engulfed in the blessing, the gift of accomplishment.
And then a blaring interruption came, capsizing my moment of Zen…that voice inside my head that said “I wonder just how close I can get?” I decided to leave my larger gear there and slowly attempt to get closer. To my amazement, grazing continued. I noticed yet another comfortable looking bolder about 30 yards from the herd…thinking if I can make it there and they are still comfortable with my being here, this old man can be comfortable too! A win-win for everyone!
I made it to the bolder where I sat for maybe an hour taking pictures and observing a magnificent creature that I knew little to nothing about. My guess is that my timing was just a short time before the start of the rut, as the male pictured here was walking around “inspecting” the ladies by shoving his nose inside the fiber of her backside. Normally he would inspect and walk away, but on this lady, he turned towards me, flared his nostrils and did whatever that thing is called with his lower lip while shaking his head from side to side!
I don’t know if his reaction was one of excitement or disgust. I don’t know if looking in my direction had anything to do with the pop tarts and sprite (a horrible breakfast) that was surely on my breath, or if he was letting me know as a fellow bearded male that that girl was his. A few minutes later he started marking his territory by debarking a small tree and rubbing his muzzle and eyes all over it.
Looking at this capture now, the blessings of my time with this herd overwhelms my human senses to a shiver. I hoped to get a shot from a distance and yet was able to sit in comfort (a rarity) in total immersion of the moment.
I do stand in awe of God’s blessings…for that day and every day, before and since.
[15:53] Fenna DeCuir had followed him a while, cris crossing the place and eventually she walked right up to him. When she came to a halt, there was still a respectable distance between the two. Eyes narrowed as she titled her head from the right to the left, eyeing him. ''YEAH FUCKFACE BETTER DROP THAT WEAPON. WOULD HATE TO END UP SHOOTING YOU IN THE HEAD WITH IT INSTEAD OF CHOKING YOU WITH YER LARGE INTESTINE!'' she called out loud enough for the scientist to hear.
[15:56] Laurick Scarbridge just held the rifle up on his shoulder as he looked at Fenna with a quirked brow. The red head tapped the body of the rifle on the side of his head, smiling brightly as that woman blocked his path. He continued to move forward without much regard for her and leaned forward when he arrived at the first bump - leaning forward as he tilted his head, "Oh my, you. I wasn't expecting /you/ just yet. Not in this weather!" he said as the rain hit the waters that surroudned them.
[15:59] Fenna DeCuir: ''The weather, reflects my mood. It rains. I want it to be raining men.'' she paused, dark twinkle in her eyes. ''Dead men.'' she wouldnt move back as he walked closer, nor would she move towards him. Hand reached down and she unhooked the heavy chain from her thighband. Only to wrap the first couple of shackles around the knuckles of her right hand. ''Pussy.'' she said then, grinning.
[16:01] Laurick Scarbridge quirked a brow as she wrapped the chain around her hand. He glanced down at the weapon in his right hand and shrugged his shoulders as he tossed the stock rifle into the water. His hands moved to wrap around his back as he hopped over the first ridge and then continued to move toward toward Fenna with a large smile on his face, "I'm surprised you agreed to these terms, that I am. We'll see - we really will. I don't think you'll be happy with the outcome, though."
[16:05] Fenna DeCuir smirked. ''Oh, I know that. Would love to put your cock into the meatgrinder once I am done with you, too bad I have none here.'' she shrugged, nodded at the water. ''Guess the sharks will have to do the trick then..'' she moved forwards then herself, slowly. One step after the other, though this just lasted for a moment. Fenna then took a sprint, swung the heavy rusty chain through the air and would attempt to hit him right against the face. '''Lets not talk. HUH!''
[16:07] Laurick Scarbridge held his hands behind his back as Fenna advanced and continued to talk. He just smiled that large grin. For once, the red head didn't open his mouth. When Fenna came forward with the chain he actually ducked down and attempted to avoid the damage. Fenna would notice right away something off about his reflex speed. Judging by the speed which with he moved, he had some sort of augmentation in his knees .. or at least his joints. Once the chain had moved out of his range, he backed up, hopefully, before she could continue to swing once more. His right hand raised up and he tutted his finger at Fenna and winked.
[16:11] Fenna DeCuir wouldnt think of any sort of augumentation. She probably thought he was an alien and the fact that he ducked, just fueled her anger more. Expression darkened instantly, low growl was released from her throat. The tree they were standing on, got more slippery by the rain and for a moment she nearly lost balance. She jumped back though and ended up into a crouch, one hand placed in front of her while the other still had that chain. She stood up then, slowly and would indeed try to hit him again. ''FIGHT THEN ASSHOLE!!''
[16:16] Laurick Scarbridge stood up straight right after she had crouched down after the failed attack. Laurick continued to back away from Fenna as she would likely chase him down the pipeline like a crazy woman spinning a chainlink .. chain. The red head glanced behind him as he hopped back over the various ridges, just taking enough care not to trip. The winds started to pick up and almost knock him off balance as his hair was now soaked from the rain. He stopped and looked back toward Fenna to see exactly what she would do now. His balance was starting to wane with increase in the weather conditions - the pipes being incredibly slippery.
[16:22] Fenna DeCuir 's hoodie was soaked, as was her shirt. Nope, not wearing a bra. She grunted when he moved back and instantly began to chase him. Run, hop, run, hop. Using the chain as if it were a lasso. Slicing through the air as she rush over to the man. ''BUG!!'' she yelled and tried to hit him against the ear before quickly pulling back. Hit or not, she would then simply try to throw him off balance by jumping forwards in an attempt to push him down. And yes, would it work she'd go down too.
[16:24] Laurick Scarbridge the chain missed again as Laurick's head movement seemed to be rather impressive. Apparently he was good at dodging physical strikes. It was the combination that got him. Fenna's double up with the takedown had been enough to nail him. Laurick's right foot mis-stepped after he dodged the chain and when she'd thrown her shoulder into his armored abdomen his whole body lost control and his right leg collapsed. The red head's back collided with the pipeline and his radio bashed against the metal and splattered into the water beside them. The splash got into his right eye, and rolled down his cheek. He started to laugh. That same laugh that he always laughed as Fenna now had top position over him.
[16:31] Fenna DeCuir winced only briefly when the two of them found a quick way down to the pipeline. She would now straddle him, eyes rolled back a moment and she released a low feral hiss. Anger, hate those were the feelings she was most familiar with and this man seemed to just know how to trigger her. With the chain still wrapped about her knuckles she tried to throw a right hook straight for his jaw since she was still on top right now. ''DONT FUCKING LAUGH!!!'' she screamed in anger and frustration.
[16:33] Laurick Scarbridge hadn't moved to remove her from the mount position that she had on his abdomen, but he had positioned himself so it was difficult for her to move up. When she sat up and threw that right hook right to his face with the chain - it connected. The red head's cheek made a dull thudding noise, and almost immediately started to turn red. But as she started to retract her fist he sat up. He sat up and looked straight into her eyes with that strange heterochromic gaze - the large smile on his lips - and winked at her. If she'd made another aggressive movement toward him, Laurick would attempt to wrap his arms underneath of her armpits and hook his hands together to pull her down toward the ground to stifle her movements the best that he could.
[16:38] Fenna DeCuir would of course make another aggressive movement. She was Fenna after all. And Fenna was angry. Lips twitched when her first connected, but this wasn't enough. She wanted blood. She wanted alot of blood. The fact that he was smiling at her, pissed her off more. ''FIGHT YOU FUCKIN PUSSY!!'' was yelled by the woman that was nearly blinded by her rage at this point. Hand reached out for his shoulders, but felt his hands on her body then. She changed plans and now lunged forwards, attempting to ram her forehead against his nose.
[16:41] Laurick Scarbridge had competed in wrestling in his younger years and had rudimentary knowledge of the sweeping techniques still. He didn't stop Fenna from butting heads with him, his gaze was down at their legs though. Fenna would feel a shift between her knees as Laurick's abdomen region bucked up and his whole body weight shifted to his right side as he attempted to throw Fenna onto her back - it was more of a roll for him to get on top. Her head connected with his with a loud thud and another crackle. Fenna hit hard, that was for sure. Laurick would have a black eye or two and a broken nose at the very least. Blood didn't come from his nostrils after that. But something escaped from his mouth, that laugh, that same damn laugh, "Kwa hoo hoo hoo!"
[16:46] Fenna DeCuir was thrown off balance, arms swung about in his attempt to get her off him. It worked partly, though she did managed to place a hand behind her on the pipeline to keep herself up half. Her clothes were soaked, the heavy wind didn't made it easier at all. She would try to place her feet onto the rusty old surface quick, so she could push herself back to her feet..
[16:50] Laurick Scarbridge had almost immediately attempted to ram his shoulder into Fenna to shove her back against the pipeline when she'd attempted ot stand up. He may not have been the largest dog, but he was a vicious one when he got his way, and he might have had his position over Fenna at this point. The rain started to come down harder ontop of the two, the water around them splattering loudly. The large grin was still on the red head's face as the lightning flashed in the background. Blood flowed freely from either side of his lips, as his cheek where she had hit him with the chain started to turn a violet hue.
[16:53] Fenna DeCuir could have made an attempt to ram her feet against his chest when he tried to push her back. But, she did not. The faintest scent of blood distracted her, if only for a second. And that was the exact moment the man's attempt to shove her back against the pipeline worked. She grunted, would not stay still. Feet tried to kick him while hands were clawing at his face, oh yes..she had some dam sharp nails.
[16:56] Laurick Scarbridge was slow and methodical, as if the worry of Fenna or the story was the farthest thing from his mind. His full lips were grinning wide, blood running down either side of his mouth. His eyes were alight with a passion. When Fenna started to buck her legs he would move his legs to attempt to just siftle the movement by crushing his thighs to hers. Her hands, he didn't bother to stop. Her nails would dig deeply into that already damage cheek and ripped the skin easily, blood almost squirting from the wound she had inflicted. His eyes were still locked on her face as he attempted to hold Fenna by the throat with his fleshy right hand, his left hand would slowly rear back as he if were measuring her. His cheeks however would be burning if he felt pain, instead, he bled - with the smile on his face. That odd bloody smile.
[17:02] Fenna DeCuir tried to think of something else but the blood on his face. This was a task she quickly gave up. She growled at him like a hungry wolf, nails would keep trying to rip more skin over as the crimson liquor now dribbled down her fingers as well. Head was pushed back then when she felt his hand wrapping about her delicate throat. Fingers would start to move up towards his eyes while she contiued to swear and scream at him. Spanish, english words. And none of them were actually sounding nice.
[17:06] Laurick Scarbridge just started to laugh as his usually pearly white teeth showed to be covered in his own blood from his gums. When Fenna's fingers moved up to his eyes and started to push on the soft orbs - that was when Laurick finally struck out. His right hand wrapped tightly and firmly around her delicate skin - his left mechanical hand hummed violently. His shoulder jerked and the closed metal fist would come toward Fenna. If she hadn't moved .. it would come again .. and again .. and again. Until she had either dodged it or it had put her out, Laurick's left hand would attempt to violently slam into that beautiful face and put her into a dream world for a time. The rain had started to kick up around them, it was now pouring and it was hard to see anything around them except for the silouhette of the rain that formed about their bodies.
[17:16] Fenna DeCuir was too cocky to pay much attention to the hand that wrapped about her throat. She knew he couldn't choke her anyway. That fact made her grin, his blood streamed down her hand and small wrist and eyes seemed to brighten a bit. And while she was clawing at his face, his eyes and thought she had the victory of this one in her pocket.. he threw his robo hand into the mix. Now, she -was- paying attention to that hand. One hand tried to remove his from her throat, desperatly tried to wriggle her body free as he hit her over and over. Cracks could be heard here and there, split lip..and within the next moments half of her face would change colors most likely. But the blood and her anger werent exactly a good combination.. however she could not permit to frenzy here, with this scientist. Fighting herself, fighting him. It would soon become too much. She hissed ferally, eyes stared right at him before they rolled back and her hand slowly slippe off his face..
[17:21] Laurick Scarbridge still had that smile on his face. That wide bloody smile. His eyes practically alight with glee at this point. His grip on her throat grew tighter and tighter as he continued to strike her and strike her. Each hit illicited a much brighter response from Laurick's smile. It grew and grew with the amount of damage he had done to Fenna. When her hands finally slipped off his face and presumably her body started to go limp - the grip on her throat subsided. He merely held her there as she went limp. The red head tilted his head and leaned in to look at her, slowly letting her neck go from his grip - and to leave her to slump in the water unconscious and bloodied. He took in a long breath and let out another as his chest heaved now - showing the utter tiredness. He took a step away from Fenna and glanced down at the blood that now stained the dark metal of his arm. He raised the knuckles up to his lips and ran his long blood stained tongue along the metal to remove it. The Doctor moved away from Fenna's body and stepped onto the swamp grass. He leaned over and wiped at his legs and then looked up at the sky as a rain drop hit him in the face .. and many more plastered him and cleansed his face of his wounds. The red head just started to laugh.
[17:25] Fenna DeCuir was just laying there. The storm, heavy rain..the fact that she looked like she had another close encounter with a truck, it didnt matter now. Mascara stains soon covered the pale, heavily bruised flesh. It was indeed not waterproof. Big chance the storm would blow her right into the sea.. hopefully she woud wake up before sharks smelled the blood on her.
Jharia (Inde) - Nous sommes dans l’un des nombreux petits villages qui bordent les sites d’extraction du charbon. Eux-mêmes sont situés sur d’importantes réserves de cette ressource énergétique aussi naturelle que polluante. Quand la prospection charbonnière s’étend, des villages entiers doivent se déplacer. Ce qui explique que ces habitations précaires ressemblent à des bidonvilles.
Récolter le charbon illégalement n’est qu’une partie du travail. Une fois récupéré, le minerai anthracite est acheminé à pied dans les villages des mineurs illégaux. Là, il est entassé méthodiquement par les femmes et les hommes qui n’ont plus la force de récolter le charbon, pour être partiellement brûlé. Cette combustion, appelée "craquage" est destinée à fissurer le minerai pour en réduire sa densité, tout en le libérant de ses impuretés. Ce qui a pour effet d’expulser dans l’atmosphère une partie des gaz nocifs. Cette pratique n’arrange en rien les problèmes respiratoires des villageois.
Une fois cette opération de fissuration réalisée, on laisse refroidir plusieurs jours. Rendu friable, le charbon peut être aisément cassé avec de petits marteaux pour être mis en sacs avant d’être livré, à vélo, dans les boutiques ou marchés locaux.
Burning coal
Jharia (India) - We are in one of the many small villages that border the coal mining sites. They themselves are located on significant reserves of this energy resource, both natural and polluting. When coal prospecting spreads, entire villages must move.
Harvesting coal illegally is only part of the job. Once recovered, the anthracite ore is transported on foot to the villages of illegal miners. There, it is piled up methodically by women and men who no longer have the strength to harvest the charcoal, to be partially burned. This combustion, also called "cracking", is intended to crack the ore to reduce its density, while freeing it of its impurities. This has the effect of evacuating some of the harmful gases that are dispersed in the atmosphere. This practice does nothing to help the villagers' respiratory problems.
Once this cracking operation has been carried out, it is left to cool for several days. Made friable, the coal can be easily broken with small hammers to be put into bags before being delivered, by bicycle, to local shops or markets.
A male Northern Harrier rests on the ground. They are named for their coloration and slow methodical flight. The females and juveniles are brown.
ALUK TODOLO is an instrumental power trio performing Occult Rock since 2004. Their music is a methodical exploration of the powers of musical trance. Part occult black metal fend and part snide kraut menace, the band conjures rabid obsessive rhythms and abyssal disharmonic guitars, subliminal spiritualist vibrations and bizarre, magick summonings.
The band reduces psychedelic improvisation to a bare, telluric instrumentation, in which dry, spare percussion grievously mines the scrapes, shrieks and shimmer of mutated guitar and bass. The band’s sound is monolithic and stabbing, hypnotic but unpredictable, minimalist yet teeming: a dangerous, noxious coil of all things black.
Recently, I became engrossed while working under the dark cloth, on a composition in the Alpine valley. I’m methodical (i.e. slow) when making photographs with my 4x5 and did not notice the thunderstorm quickly forming over the nearby Escudilla Mountain. Before I could finish making my photograph, the skies opened up and I was running for cover.
BTW, an old fellow trying to run through tall meadow grass, with a large format camera on a tripod, takes on an inebriated Sasquatch-like quality.
Gratefully, a small 100+ year old barn was nearby and provided sanctuary. As I lamented the photograph “not made”, I noticed this scene in a dark corner. Soft light coming from a crack in the barn’s log wall helped illuminate this informal still life. An unexpected, and initially unwelcome, monsoon storm helped me discover a wonderful scene that would have otherwise eluded me. How can you not love serendipity.
Camera: Arca-Swiss 4x5, Developer: Ilford Ilfotch DDX, Exposure: ½ sec @ F/32, Film: Illford FP4+, Filter: B+W Orange MRC 040M, ISO 100, Lens: Nikon Nikkor-W 150mm f/5.6, Scan: Epson V850, SP-445 Compact 4x5 Film Processing System
Click twice on image to enlarge it.
This morning I was checking out a new location in the southern pond and I was able to get down the steep embankment and position myself almost right at the water's edge. As I sat and waited for the birds to return which I had disturbed when I first settled in, this little Wilson's Snipe poked its head out from among the bull rushes about 20 feet away. It started methodically foraging and working its way toward where I was.
I kept perfectly still and used my quiet shutter release mode and it never noticed me over the course of about 10 minutes. It eventually got so close to me that I was not able to focus my zoom lens even at the shortest focal length. At one point it looked like it was going to hop right into my open camera bag! What a wonderful gift this was to start my day!
The American White Pelican (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) is one of North America’s largest birds, with a 9-foot wingspan, they are also among the heaviest flying birds in the world. They are superb flyers and often travel long distances in large flocks by soaring. When flapping, their wingbeats are slow and methodical. American White Pelicans feed from the water’s surface, dipping their beaks into the water to catch fish and other aquatic organisms. They often upend, like a very large dabbling duck, in this process. They do not plunge-dive the way Brown Pelicans do. During the breeding season, breeding adults grow an unusual projection or horn on the upper mandible near the tip of the bill. This large American White Pelican at White Rock Lake in Dallas, Texas, works to move a catfish into position before swallowing it.
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I saw her along the fence line. I just lingered in one place. Slowly she worked her way toward me. Methodically inspecting each fence post. Sometimes perching for a moment in between. Part curious and part hunter. Tiny and totally beautiful.
The connection I felt with Joshua Tree was almost immediate. Almost too immediate, honestly, because the experiences I had entering the park were sudden, chaotic, and grand. I’ve never entered a park in such a fashion. Usually, my first hours in a national park are planned out, methodical, and subdued. Not so in Joshua Tree where I entered the park at sunset, saw the 2022 lunar eclipse, and then experienced my first earthquake. It was thrilling. I love Joshua Tree for a lot of reasons- its strange beauty, its open vastness, its overwhelming quiet and the solitude of the Mojave, but, honestly? Those first moments of frantic connection and discovery set the whole tone for my relationship with what is now one of my favorite national parks.
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#jtnpphoto2023 #myparkstory #FindYourPark @joshuatreenps @nationalparkservice @usinterior
This one has me confused because the Treecreepers I find online don't match this one's eye / ring around the eye.
Delightful to observe a small flock of these quickly and very methodically checking every limb of each tree!
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(Owl's chamber)
Someone look with suspect at people who collect things. I heard some people say that collectors are often manic people with paranoia or an obsession for order...
I don't think so. I believe that people who collect things are highly sensitive individuals who surround themselves with objects in which they have fixed memories and emotions.
I collect owls, even though my collection is all but methodical...
I would rather say that are owls that collect me..in fact I always find in y room some new little owl I don't remember I had...This is the theme of this photo that took ages to be finished!! :)
Amtrak #5 emerges from Tunnel 30 in early morning light, giving passengers an inside look at the remote fortress that is Rollins Canyon. The P42s are barely audible above the rushing waters of South Boulder Creek as they methodically continue their climb towards the Moffat Tunnel and within seconds are gone without a trace.
Black Knights on Patrol
The men and women of Task Force 3-66 are actively patrolling western Paktika province, taking the fight to the insurgents. Since assuming responsibility for the area, the Black Knights have been methodically clearing district after district to allow the provincial government to provide security and development. Western Paktika is essentially a rest stop for insurgents linked to Sirajuddin Haqqani traveling from Pakistan and continuing west. The heat, elevated terrain, and harsh landscape of Paktika province are unforgiving allies of these enemies of Afghanistan. With limited road networks the primary mode of travel here is walking. The relentless training planned and executed by the leaders of Task Force 3-66 back in Germany is now paying off.
Black Knights on Patrol
The men and women of Task Force 3-66 are actively patrolling western Paktika province, taking the fight to the insurgents. Since assuming responsibility for the area, the Black Knights have been methodically clearing district after district to allow the provincial government to provide security and development. Western Paktika is essentially a rest stop for insurgents linked to Sirajuddin Haqqani traveling from Pakistan and continuing west. The heat, elevated terrain, and harsh landscape of Paktika province are unforgiving allies of these enemies of Afghanistan. With limited road networks the primary mode of travel here is walking. The relentless training planned and executed by the leaders of Task Force 3-66 back in Germany is now paying off.
Combine harvesters were at work bringing in the late corn along Caughey Road on Big Island, Prince Edward County. Through the telephoto lens the jagged yellow stubble dissolved into a uniform canvas, providing a pleasing backdrop for this portrait of a Common Redpoll.
Since late summer a succession of northern birds have been streaming through the County heading south, triggered by the failure of the wild food crop in the boreal forest. It started with Red-breasted Nuthatches and Purple Finches in late August, followed by a wave of Pine Siskin in September. Evening Grosbeaks arrived and left in October, and now in November Common Redpolls are moving through.
Most of my time here is spent along the exposed shore of Lake Ontario - Prince Edward Point, Charwell Point, and Point Petre. When birds on the move arrive at the waters' edge, they struggle to reconcile two contradictory signals. One is the overwhelming urge to leave the north. The other is a deep reluctance to cross open water. First thing in the morning they swirl in flocks above the shoreline, repeatedly venturing out over the vast lake and then back to the safety of land. Somehow they are able to continue on, evidenced by myriad reports from US birdwatchers joyfully announcing the arrival of northern visitors.
Big Island, where this photo was taken, is well inland from Lake Ontario. The big flock of redpoll to which this individual belonged was relaxed, feeding calmly and methodically in the dry goldenrod along the road - a far cry from their near-frenzied behaviour as they confront the lake. Soon, maybe even tomorrow morning, the birds will arrive at the shore and face the crossing. This one looks ready for the challenge.
In the rugged Cross Timbers of Oklahoma, the Black-and-white Warbler (Mniotilta varia), the sole member of its genus, forages uniquely. This bark-gleaning specialist creeps methodically along trunks and limbs like a nuthatch, aided by an elongated hind claw and slightly decurved bill to probe crevices for arthropods, often before full leaf-out in spring.
Its diagnostic high-pitched song—a repetitive, thin weesy-weesy-weesy-weesy (or see-wee series)—echoes through the understory. One of the few warblers breeding in central Oklahoma, it constructs a cup nest on the ground, concealed amid leaf litter or grass tussocks at tree bases. A striking monochrome resident of these ancient ecotonal forests
Check out Oklahoma's newest group, Sooner Shutters.