Story of the Photo II

Story ID:	1888
Written by:	Carol J Garriott
Organization:	home/retired
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Seadrift USA
Year:	2007
Person:	Carol Garriott

If you’re still with me, I continue the Story of the Photo--friends have encouraged me to preserve, with my photos, the story of how I got it.

I'm always stalking the bird life in my beloved bay areas. I don't have a great deal of zoom on my Canon Rebel SLR, but patience can sometimes get me close enough to come up with a good shot. On a back marshy area near Indianola, I came upon a small white egret extremely intent on lunch. I watched him for awhile, letting him get used to me being so close, and when his carefully measured steps revealed a yellow foot, I realized he was a snowy egret! I focused in and held it until he lifted that yellow foot again, and got him, mirrored in the still water as well.








Trips to Hawaii have me telling everyone the place is so doggoned photogenic, you can accidentally drop your camera, and come up with a beautiful shot. Amazing scenes are at every turn, and I would often stop in the middle of a sentence with friends, and start shooting away. Once as we were walking along a park on the outskirts of Honolulu, we became entranced with the ruins of something down by the water. Rusty architecture of some sort, with lots of arched doors and windows. Of course I was smitten with the dramatic shapes and shadows, the sea gleaming beyond the openings. I had just complained that there needed to be something IN one of those openings for contrast, when one friend waved her hand to the left and cried, "Look! A sailboat is coming!" Sure enough, two bright red and white striped sails were barreling along, soon to be passing the aforementioned ruins. Having little zoom on my camera at that time, I began to run as fast as I could down the hill, hoping to get close enough to get a good shot before the sailboat streaked past. The boat disappeared from view behind part of the structure. I skidded to a stop, focused on the opening in one of the arched doors, and when the sailboat appeared, there was only time to snap one shot before it sped out of sight again. It made for a great photo (won a blue ribbon in the county fair) but it's always bothered me that it doesn't indicate the action. Well, guess you can't always have everything.




My best photos have always been taken when I'm having a great time. Since prowling around looking for photo ops is one of my favorite things, that works out well. A 4th of July weekend trip with a girl buddy to Lake Buchanan, the largest and first of the string of 7 lakes in the Texas Hill Country, set up a scenario for one of my favorite sunrises. We both wanted to experience the sunrise over this magnificent lake, with our cabin sitting on the western shore. We set our alarms very early. When it went off, we quickly hopped into shorts and tank tops, made coffee in the dark, and situated ourselves outside in the chairs while it was still quite dark. We felt compelled to whisper while we waited, not wanting to spoil the ambiance of the morning. As it began to lighten up a tad, a couple of dim shapes came out of a neighboring cabin and proceeded very quietly to load fishing gear and coolers into a boat. Their dog was casting about, for rabbits to chase no doubt, and fetched up on us, ecstatic to find someone handy to pet and scratch ears. The fishermen, ready to cast off, quietly called the dog, swinging about with a flashlight to locate him, and we suddenly found ourselves impaled in the light. They quickly snapped it off, apologizing profusely. We responded by telling him he couldn't be expected to find a couple of old ladies sitting lakeside in the dark dawn, and we all had a good laugh. As they quietly paddled out with dog aboard, the sky brightened to a vivid red, and before they were out of sight, the entire lake was bathed in crimson. It was indeed one of the most dramatic sunrises I've experienced.




I'm not above orchestrating a scene. Out-of-town visitors were being chauffered about the countryside one time as I introduced them to the birdlife in my area. We glimpsed several roseatte spoonbills in a marshy area beside the country road, unfortunately on the far side of a hedge of sorts. We parked back a bit, and I got situated. Then I instructed one friend to walk quietly and carefully up the road, on the far side away from the birds, then to come back nearer to the birds, flushing them out. It worked. I got a shot of a roseatte eastbound, with spatulate beak, pink wings, and legs tucked back in a splendid silhouette.





Another trip. Another unusual photo. We were in Corpus Christi, and climbing the observation tower to view the harbor. I noticed a drainage pipe running out the side of one step, about halfway to the top. Of course I had to scrunch down to see what the view was from there. To my astonishment, perfectly framed by the pipe, there was a guy and his tow-headed little boy fishing. I had to practically lay down on the steps to get the camera focused through the pipe. Other visitors trying to get to the top thought I had fallen! Red-faced, I explained what I was doing, but I did accept a hand up.

Of course, the story of the photos continues, and will continue as I move into digital technology. Every photo has a story. What's yours? Sorry, I couldn't help it.