Fickle Light
Light. It's important. People can be enlightened, their spirits brighten, they become light-hearted, and in the Age of Aquarius, we let the sunshine in. Light gives us rainbows. Light is what cameras capture, and what nature photographers are constantly seeking. In outdoor photography, we can't control the light, but we can watch for it, wait for it, and sometimes chase it. We become accustomed to its fickleness, its capricious, impish taunting, as it appears first over there, then disappears, and unpredictably appears somewhere else. Sometimes nature photography can be like a frustrating game of whack-a-mole, as you try to aim the camera where the light is going to pop up, only to see it somewhere else, for just a fleeting moment.
One evening last week, very near sundown, the sky was overcast, and I was sure the light was finished for the day. I was clearing the dinner table, when suddenly, a magical light came through the window and one glance made me say (quite literally) "Wow!" I put down the dinner dishes, lunged for my camera bag near the door, opened it up, grabbed the camera, took off the lens cap, and rushed out the door. All of this took me perhaps fifteen seconds. And there I stood, on the front porch, looking at: darkness. Nothing of interest. The magical light was gone, and the wooded peninsula off to the side of the cove was just dull gray. From the skies above, I heard Mother Nature laughing gleefully at me. I muttered something in a grumbling tone, and went back inside, thinking the show was over. I set the camera on the table, and resumed clearing the dishes. When I turned back from the kitchen sink toward the dining room .... well, you can guess. That light was back, shining on that stand of trees and the rocks of the shore. And ol' Mother Nature was cackling gleefully at me.
Again, I hustled down the two steps to the table, grabbed the camera, pulled open the door and—Nature had turned out the light again! I muttered something rather nasty, in a foreign language, and might even have let go with a fair imitation of the Charlie Brown "Argh!" Dear Mother Nature was enjoying herself at my expense.
But I've played her games before. I know what a tease she can be. I thought, "If I go back into the house, ten seconds later, that light will be back. So I'm going to wait here until either the light returns, or the sun has truly set for the night. And I did. I knew the wait wouldn't be too long, because the sun really was near the horizon off to the northwest, and chances of another beam of glory were becoming slim. But then, good ol' Mother Nature graced me with her beneficence. That light came back for one last time. It lasted only perhaps twenty or thirty seconds, but that lovely, gentle, sweet, red-gold light shone forth upon that peninsula jutting out into the bay like the prow of a ship, and I got my shot.
The Lesson: Nature is a tease. She is fickle. She loves to play games. She'll show you the light, and then close her hand and hide it. She'll move it around, like a a cat owner playing with a laser pointer, trying to get you all confused and frustrated, to make you give up. If you want to play her game, and try to catch the light, you have to endeavor to persevere, with patience, and fortitude. Oh, and learning to cuss in a foreign language helps, too.