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Not Your
Usual Tourist
This article appeared
in The Beacon (of Alabama), July 18, 2002. Used with
permission.
As far back as I can remember, the beach was my favorite
vacation spot, but last year I spent a few days on the NC
coast - and it has changed my outlook on vacations forever.
Originally I planned the usual beach trip; I expected to
walk the beach, build a sandcastle, play putt-putt, and buy a
new t-shirt. I asked my
photographer friend, Michael Brooks, if he would like to go.
He volunteered to come and make the trip a wildlife
and nature shoot. Excitedly, I agreed.
The first morning, under the cover of darkness, we drove to
Ocean Isle. As we crossed over the high-rise bridge, I
scanned the crowded rows of houses and saw the deep blue water
rushing towards the sand. My excitement began to rise.
As
Michael pulled cameras and tripod out of the trunk, I stared
at the sky. The smell of salt air and the gentle roar of
the surf stirred my senses, and the long for the ocean I had
not seen for several years surged within me. I rushed
towards the beach; the sun was just starting to peek
over the horizon, and a brilliant red glow filled the sky,
reflected on the thin lines of clouds.
I stood there mesmerized, not hearing Michael calling; I
was caught up in the sights, smells, and sounds as he was
yelling for me to help unload the cameras. Finally I
returned to the present, reluctantly turning my back on the
sun. But in a few moments, we were both
watching the sun play peek-a-boo through the clouds,
changing color by the split-second. We captured the progressive stages towards full day. It
wasn't until we repacked the car that I noticed how cold it
was.
We relaxed the first part of the afternoon and returned to
Ocean Isle in time to catch the sun's next show. The sun
teased us even more with his setting than he had with his
rising - the clouds pulled down like a window shade, blocking
much of the sun. Again, we had a beautiful view, but not
all we had anticipated.
Thursday morning we slept in past sunrise, resting to shoot
most of the afternoon. Michael had obtained permission
to visit Russell Lake, where we would see a number of aquatic
birds. After driving a maze of back roads, we came to a
trailer nestled in a covering of trees draped with
Spanish moss. Entering the home, we visited briefly
with Donnie Hewett, the owner of the property, who pointed proudly to framed photos
Michael had taken here years ago.
We quickly said our thanks and exited to begin our
expedition. Down a dirt road about a mile was a
bank which yielded a clear view of the lake. I soon found
that photographing wildlife is much like fishing. Years
before I often fished with my father and brother. I
recall the long periods of waiting, sitting quietly and
watching for the cork to bob; eventually I would manage
to snag a fish with my pole. I had several moments of excitement pulling my catch from the water, and
then once it was put away, I would return to the quiet
waiting and expectation.
Over the years I came to associate fishing with peace
and relaxation, a complete retreat from the world for an
afternoon. Such were my feelings this afternoon - long
periods of quiet expectation - followed by quick thrills when
a heron or ibis swooped above us. If we were quick, we
would catch the bird on film. If we failed to react in
time, we had a short disappointment, followed by more waiting.
We stayed and watched, enjoying what we saw whether we
captured
it on film or not. We packed up and said our thanks,
hurrying back to Ocean Isle in time to catch the setting of
the sun. We caught
bright slices of sun, passing through a few clouds, sliding
down smoothly, yielding shades of orange, red, and purple.
The descending sun cooperated with the water, reflecting on
the waves, and creating some special shots for us.
Friday, we rose before daylight, so we could catch ol' sol
making his brilliant entrance once more. Back on the shore, in the
chill air with sounds of the surf breaking on the sandy shore,
we witnessed a sudden sunrise. Without clouds,
the sun rose in clear glory - no obstructions
prevented us from seeing every ray of his radiance.
I had gained a little skill handling the camera,
tripod, and film. Michael could ask me to pull out a
particular lens or filter or a different speed of film.
And I didn't run off and leave him stranded like the first morning.
We drove to C.W.'s Grill where we had a light breakfast and a
full plate of conversation. Allyson Hughes, one of the
owners, had been like a second
mother to Michael and to a number of high school kids.
She remembered Michael and was delighted to see him.
Michael rose in respect and pulled out a chair for her;
her hair was now silver and she moved much slower than when he
had seen her last. She strained to look at his photos,
and he found a magnifier to make it easier. I saw a
kindness and affection between them you don't see often
nowadays, especially between generations. Together they
looked over photos from the past and caught up on lives of
people not seen in years.
That afternoon we returned to Russell Lake; on one side
of the dirt road was the lake, on the other and about a mile
back, we had a view of Shallotte Point, Ocean Isle and Holden
Beach across the intercoastal waterway.
This afternoon we had a better sense of when the birds
would move. We watched them migrate from one bank to
another, following the warmth of the sun.
Later they descended to the banks to feed. Anticipating their moves
we were better prepared to capture their beauty.
Overlooking the waterway, we decided to remain to capture the
sunset. Carefully positioning ourselves, we
studied the sky as the sun began to descend. And then, as
the sun descended and painted the clouds, all his touches
and highlights were reflected on the water below. We saw
the myriad shades and splashes of the clouds in dual vision.
Using two cameras, we changed positions and angles, racing to
capture every shot possible before darkness fell. Without a doubt, we knew we had some
terrific pictures in our hands.
Saturday, we had to leave the coast - but I was refreshed by
my vacation - not weary and exhausted as usual. I had
not been the usual tourist nor had I experienced the usual
vacation. But just as if I had been fishing, I had tales
to tell of the one that got away and I had trophies to hang on
my wall; instead of a mounted fish, I have beautiful
photos of God's handiwork, showing my appreciation of the
beauty He had laid out before us.
I am looking forward to another vacation early next year, and another wildlife shoot. I don't think I
will ever be the usual tourist again.
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