Wyoming Skies

A Bar A Ranch road

I just got back from a quick trip up to Colorado and Wyoming. It was great to trade the humid swamps for sagebrush and mountains even if only for five days. Coming onto the A Bar A Ranch property felt a lot like coming home: familiar faces, beautiful landscapes, and endless food. I took full advantage of their salad bar, and I don’t mean the leafy green part, I’m talking about the bottomless vat of ranch. That’s right, it went on my pizzas, fries, tomatoes, baked potatoes, and I might have even put some on my bagels. The A-A, in more ways than just dressing, is a perfect example of wonderful excess. 

Moonlight on the North Platte River

The 13 miles of private stream and river, 250,00 acres of undeveloped land, 120 horses, herds of big horn sheep, mule deer, monster trout, and energetic people (from the South) have me on constant sensory overload.

Hannah Dillard holds the seine while Benjy Duke kicks up rocks where invertebrates hide

The first day, Hannah and I headed out with one of the head fishing guides and biolgist, Benjy Duke, to do some sampling at the sister ranches: Big Creek and State Line. 

Benjy examines the seine 

Crane flies larva and leeches… mmm…

Benjy is working on gathering data on the invertebrates and dissolved oxygen content of the water along different stretches of the North Platte River, Big Creek, Savage Creek, and Mullen Creek. The purpose is to better understand the feeding cycles of the trout and using the invertebrates as indicators for water quality, determine the overall health of the system. We got to exchange ideas and methods, as his studies are the mountainous freshwater versions of mine down in the Keys.

View from State Line Ranch with Benjy and Hannah with the Sierra Madres in the background

In my two years of working at the A-A, I never took the chance to explore the other properties so this particular trip was a big bonus for me.

Head guide Patrick Sheehy ties on a fly on the North Platte River

Benjy poses with his cutbow trout which he caught off a nymph

The following days seemed to blend together in a whirlwind of flyfishing, horseback riding, and hiking while we desperately attempted to cram every behemoth activity into our little compactable weekend. Up at dawn, to sleep by 2, rinse, and repeat. Well, maybe not so much the rinse part.

Monday morning jingle

Spencer Hirst, atop Dundee, brings in horses from pasture

I have missed the smell of horses, the tug of a fly line, the reclusiveness of no cell phones, and the crisp Wyoming breeze that nibbles at a sweaty neck. Life out here moves at a much different pace, no matter how much I rushed around gathering it all up to put in my camera. Still, you can’t blame me for trying. 

My last trout of the summer, a great note to end on. 

Palolo Hatch

Kingfish and snapper at Bud n Mary’s Marina

Islamorada has gained international recognition as the sportfishing capitol of the world. Twice a day, reports come on the radio from captains all across the Keys boasting how 8-year olds and arthritic retirees are landing fish. Lots of fish. It seems everyone down here has a glorious story about landing a monster tarpon or snook. I will go ahead and blame it on the cold snap, which killed all the fish, because I just can’t cope with the idea that I’m so remedial or unlucky as to stay in the Cub Scout status of Keys’ merit badges with my one mangrove snapper.

A palolo worm and hand-tied fly to mimic the pattern

Just last week the famous palolo worm hatch came to a close. During the full and new moon phases in May and June these guys come out of the hard coral to spawn in the ocean side of the Florida Keys. Instinctually, they head in the same direction until reaching their breeding grounds. Giant tarpon gather by the hundreds to eat these tasty little creatures and following the foodchain, so do the anglers.

Anglers on Atlantic side of the Florida Keys waiting for rolling tarpon

Pete Frezza blind casting for tarpon

Pete Frezza, a local guide and biologist, took me out to see the last leg of the palolo hatch in hopes of catching a tarpon on the fly. We poled around for a few hours along the shallow banks but the worms proved sparse and the tarpon skittish.

After the motor died, Pete push-poled us to a spot on the flats

We decided to cut our losses and head for the flats to do some bonefishing, but on the way, the engine made a clicking sound and shut off. We were stuck. A few miles from the boat ramp, poling along would have landed us home around midnight so we decided to call for a towboat.

Water abstract

A Florida Gator fan at heart, I love orange and blue anything.

While we waited, I made some images of the metallic patterns of the setting sun reflected in the water, quickly turning a disaster into a wonderful art project.

A slow stripping motion with the fly line mimics the movement of the palolo worm

Perhaps it was my fault; my karma for proudly posing with a dead tarpon in January. I obviously have no business fishing in the Florida Keys. Maybe I should just leave the saltwater angling to the pros and geriatrics.

Our rescuers, TowBoatUS

Fa-Ka-Hat-Chee

A strangler fig wrapped around a large cypress tree.

A swamp by any other name would be just as sweet, right?

No way.

A cypress dome in Big Cypress National Preserve

For the longest time I’ve dreamed about photographing the Fakahatchee Strand and Big Cypress in South Florida. Finally, two weeks ago I got to briefly test the waters, making one of many-to-come trips.

Densely packed swamps, the overwhelming epiphytic conquest, and secretive wildlife all reveal the Baroque character that is the Florida tropics.  Like Borneo, Machu Picchu, or Bora Bora, the name alone carries a reputation all its own and with it the allure of some foreign Pandora that demands exploration and inspires wonderment.

Pond apples adorned with mosses, ferns, and orchids.

The Calusa, Timucuans, and Jororo tribes had it right. All of my favorite places around Florida have names with a built-in personality and timelessness. To name a few: Kanapaha, Apalachicola, Panasoffkee, Myakka, Pithlochocoo, Alachua, and of course, the Ichetucknee.

Tillandsia and cypress trees

Cypress knee cluster 

It’s the antiquity of it all; like a lost civilization, overgrown and forgotten, you can only imagine the once wildness that was the entire state. In a few well-hidden places, little pockets of exclusive backcountry help remind me that this was what Florida must have looked like 18 million people ago. And I wonder, should the Timucuans or Calusa still be around would they be so spiritual or optimistic? What kind of name would they give our Miami or the bustling streets of Orlando? 

Halloween pennant dragonfly (Celithemis eponina) 

Wildflowers in the sawgrass prairie

Smooth, like Keith Stone – Happy Father’s Day

My dad and Belle, taking a nap on the prairie.

For Keith Stone, the ideal father’s day would probably consist of sipping whiskey with me, my mom, and my two brothers by the horseshoe pit, shooting a few rounds from the rifle followed by a midday nap in the hammock, and ending with a hearty steak and potatoes dinner. He’s a man’s man, a mustache and cowboy boots kind of man, born and raised in rural southwest Virginia. So I’m sure that when I first started running around enthusiastically chasing butterflies with my camera and becoming a frequent visitor at the botanical gardens, he wondered where he went wrong.

Butterfly orchid (Encyclia tampensis)

When I tell my dad, who mows the lawn with a pistol and owns three different chainsaws, that I just went out looking for flowers this weekend, he might wince a little, but should know that out here, it’s totally a “manly” endeavor.

If you can get past the constant discomforts of sweat, bugs, and unyielding heat, then Florida summers are actually pretty nice. Right now in the Everglades orchids of all types are in bloom. These little beauties aren’t hard to find if you know where to look. Exploring for orchids has actually become one of my favorite things to do on the weekends. The ironic thing about these very delicate and sexy flowers is that they thrive in such harsh places. Just to find one in bloom you end up traversing razor sharp grasslands filled with stinging insects until arriving at a cypress slough where you trudge through venomous snake territory and gator infested waters.

I wouldn’t go to these lengths had my dad not instilled in me an appreciation for the outdoors, that, and the thick stubborn skin of a country bumpkin.

So, happy Father’s Day! To the dad who always taught us to take advantage of each day and to always take the time to stop and smell the flowers–well, as long as no one else is watching.

Summer’s a Creepin

Everyone told me when I got to Audubon that I came at a cushy time, arriving in the temperate month of November. Now that June is around the bend I’m starting to see what they were talking about.

Adam Chasey paddling out in the Florida Bay.

Temperatures are reaching a balmy 94 degrees in the afternoons, which feels more like 105 slogging around in the humid mires of the Everglades. At our sample sites, the water around the flats could hard-boil an egg and the bays are about as refreshing as backwash. The only option for cooling down is pouring my ice-cold drinking water down my shirt, which I’m pretty sure will one day induce cardiac arrest.

I have yet to see the mosquito swarms famous for carrying off small children, but the deer flies, oh my lord the deerflies are unbearable. If mosquitoes are the infantry then the deerflies are the delta force of the bloodsucking army.  They always seem to bite the hardest when both of my hands are occupied or they’ll attack in tactical nondescript locations like the ends of toes, the shoulder blades, or right on the soft spot of my arch. To boot, they are extremely fast and difficult to kill. I loathe them with such deliberate malice but when combined with the intense heat of a cloudless sun and the stillness of everything else, my rage probably looks more like a temper tantrum from some frustrated schizophrenic. Although, I must admit that killing them occupies the greater part of my day and really gives me a sense of purpose and direction. I feel just as accomplished in crossing out items on a to-do list as when I hear the crunch of their blood-filled abdomens on my arm. A little demented? Perhaps, but I guarantee if you spend a week out here you’ll be talking trash to the lifeless deerfly bodies smashed in your hands too.

Red mangrove in the flats at Joe Bay just before a large rainstorm.

Summer in the field might mean some slight discomforts, but when four o’clock rolls around and those cumulous nimbus clouds start building on the horizon, it all seems worth it. The energy in the Florida summer sky is intoxicating especially when out on the open water or mangrove flats. There’s just a certain vulnerability and appreciation I feel when the thunderheads tower over the landscape.  May is only the beginning and I can’t wait to see what kind of fickle weather patterns ensue with the coming months, despite the bugs that come with them. 

Weekend Warriors

Garl Harrold (back center) with group in one of his secret gator holes.

After a full week of work, Saturdays usually come with a dilemma. On one hand, I have my big, beautiful, and neglected bed, while on the other an entire national park is going through some dramatic seasonal changes. Either way, it’s a win-win situation and I can easily justify one over the other, usually at the influence of weather. This weekend, I chose the Everglades.

My roommate Adam (right) with coworker Erin (center) and Wolfgang (left) 

dare the other to walk into the gator hole.

Normally I go out alone, but since Garl (of Garl’s Coastal Kayaking) had a group of paying customers to where I could hitch a ride, I decided to tag along.

You can see here how cypress domes get their names.

We went out to a few cypress domes off the beaten path and looked for snakes and owls. After only ten minutes of looking, we came upon a slight depression, which looked like the perfect hideout for water snakes. Fortunately we had three herpetologists in the group and they helped us find 6 cottonmouths in one small pile of logs.

Hiking into one of these domes can be pretty muddy.

Of course, on a branch just above these snakes sat a barred owl. 

Quill-leaf epiphyte (Tillandsia fasciculata) takes over the trunks of pond cypress in this dome.

With the return of the rains, all of the parched epiphytes are starting to perk up and fill out. Walking through the trees amongst the varieties of air plants and orchids carries the same silent awe as snorkeling a coral reef. It’s just so beautiful how every inch of livable space is occupied by something that contributes to the overall health of the ecosystem.

For sunset, we paddled out into the Bay and got to see my favorite seasonal change of all: clouds.

Down here, the afternoon storms and towering, anvil-shaped cumulous clouds are famous for appearing out of nowhere. Summer isn’t here quite yet, but when it is, I’ll be ready!

Playing the Audubon Card

Last spring I worked for the National Audubon Society at the Francis Beidler Forest Sanctuary in Harleyville, South Carolina. In the office chatter I would always pick up little tidbits about one of their sister sites, Corkscrew Swamp in Naples, Florida. One of the top grossing Audubon enterprises, Corkscrew Swamp brings visitors around a 2 mile boardwalk that weaves in and around cypress, slash pine, and marsh. I always wanted to visit, but never found the time to drive the four hours from Gainesville. This weekend, however, four of my friends and I booked two nights in one of the researchers cabins. Playing the Audubon card, we slept in air conditioned rooms, cooked full meals in the kitchen, and most importantly, were granted unlimited access to the swamp. 

Day 1:

Adam Chasey photographing Alligator Tail and Pond Cypress on the boardwalk.

Within five minutes of getting on the boardwalk we came within 6 feet of a Pileated Woodpecker

and he pecked at a tree for 15 minutes without minding our presence. 

Raccoons came and went, cutting us off on the boardwalk. 

These guys just roamed around looking for crawfish, though the water was high which made

hunting a little difficult. 

Strangler figs wrap around six hundred year old bald cypress.

A view of the boardwalk at sunset.

Alligator tail and bald cypress.

Day 2:

Adam Chasey climbing one of the strangler fig vines. In this photo he is about 30 feet off the ground.

Although invasive, these little brown anoles are fun to watch. The red pouch is call a dewlap

that the males swell in order to attract females. 

Alligator Tail detail.

Green tree frogs were everywhere this time of year!

This is another exotic invasive called water hyacinth. It’s pretty, but just to name a few things:

it clogs waterways, impedes sunlight from reaching native aquatic plants, depletes oxygen in the water,

and provides breeding grounds for mosquitoes. The park is going to spray for them next week.

Tillandsia, an epiphyte, grows everywhere here. 

Here’s the fun one. We spent forty five minutes playing with flashlights to light up this one part of the canopy

where the big dipper peeks through. We decided just to highlight the rims of the tree to draw you in more to the center. 

Fun times, although the mosquitoes and horseflies were making it a little difficult. 

Day 3

Sunrise on the marsh.

A nice fog rolled in through the slash pines just as the sun came up.

Red ant with dewdrops.

The eyed click beetle has the distinct marks on top of its head. When a bird sees this

beetle from above it appears to be a snake. 

One of the staff, Mike Knight, gave us a tour of the entire swamp property on their famous Swamp Buggy. 

We saw tons of red-shoulder hawks

Tree frog detail on alligator tail. 

Happy Mother’s Day!

Tricolor heron with chicks.

My mom always encouraged exploration. Whether living abroad or even climbing trees in the backyard, my mom cautiously embraced my curiosity. Well, more appropriately, I’d say she accepted it. My hands-on approach to the outdoors was often a topic of conversation (heated debate) at the dinner table. More than a few times I ran the risk of having my camera confiscated, as it was viewed as the end to my reckless means. As budding photographer, it proved exceedingly difficult to hide the evidence of my close encounters. So, before every family viewing, I preemptively apologized, officially pardoning myself for any worrisome images. 

The same technique endures to this day. From Ecuador I called during the coup d’état to forewarn her of the tear gas and Molotov cocktail photos that would soon be posted on the internet. In Honduras I made sure to write immediately after I rappelled down a waterfall too tall for my rope, in attempts of capturing the sunrise through a wall of water. Each time she sighed, grew a few gray hairs, and then handed the phone over to my dad so he could yell at me. I’m sure though, she was smiling to herself.  

It has always been and will always be easier to ask for forgiveness before permission; but she wouldn’t be my mom if she willingly let me throw myself to the wolves, or gators in my case. So this is a thank you to my mom, Sarah Stone, a wonderful woman who would disapprove when appropriate, but always welcome me home with loving arms when I arrived back in one piece.

I love you mom!

Off Loop Road, gators are often fed by fishermen which makes them very people-friendly.

Feeding gators, however, is a terrible idea and often makes them unpredictable and 

dangerous. I snapped this photo just before he turned back towards me and started hissing.

Garl’s Coastal Kayaking

Garl Harrold is a kayaking guide based out of Key Largo, Florida. He leads some of the most educational and adventure-packed paddling trips in South Florida. Currently he is the only guide outside of the park permitted to take guests into the Everglades. Recently, we have started talking about the possibility of combining forces and taking guests out on photography workshops based on the locations Garl targets as high wildlife or scenic zones. Covering both the Florida Bay and Everglades National Park, I think we would have plenty of opportunities send people home with a portfolio of beautiful images.

Garl Harrold paddling with his sidekick River, an Australian shepherd who helps keep all

the kayakers together. 

We stopped to watch the sunset and I climbed into a mangrove 

island. The sand flies are getting pretty bad this time of year,

but with a little grit, good things can come from patience. 

We took a trial run into the Florida Bay with some friends to see how the dynamic would work and to better understand the complications of bringing electronic gear in a kayak with novice paddlers. I’m optimistic, but then again I treat my cameras a little different than most weekend warriors.

The last light of dusk, just before heading back to the boat ramp.

We are still working out the details but if anyone were interested in something like this, we would love a chance to show you our side of the Everglades.  

Terra Firma: Home Sweet Home

I’m one of the few people down here who hasn’t quite accepted life in the Florida Keys. I refuse to buy a “Salt Life” sticker, I don’t own a pair of jorts, I haven’t memorized the happy hour specials, I still get queasy on rough seas, and I’d do anything for a nice firm oak canopy. I just wasn’t built for the ocean. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful down here, and I love the swamps and mangroves, it’s just hard not to feel a little trapped when my favorite destinations to photograph are two hours away. This weekend I drove back up to Gainesville to visit with my family and recharge my batteries.

I realized how much I miss the smell of cows, the shade and openness of a live oak hammock, and of course, my family.

My first morning back, I woke up and photographed the sunrise as I always do when coming home. 

Live Oaks receiving morning light on the perimeter of Kanapaha Prairie

I have photographed this tree hundreds of times and I never get tired of it. I liked the way

the sun and the clouds played together on this one to give the image of the “burning bush.”

This image would be impossible without high dynamic range technology. I combined three 

exposures to yield one final image so no tonality would be lost between the fog, sky, and shadows.

We live in a beautiful place, and no matter how many times I’ve roamed the prairie shooting into the rising run, I always seem to find new images.