Spring Portrait of Love

Mated pairs of Sandhill Cranes begin appearing on the Alaska Peninsula in late April, their loud calls trumpeting the arrival of spring. They depart in late summer or early fall. If they’ve been successful, a nearly full-grown offspring accompanies them on their journey back south. Note the heart-shaped red crown – a distinction that along with the fidelity mated adults show each other makes cranes a symbol of love in many cultures. Chignik Lake, May 4, 2019

One Hangin’ and Heave Ho: the Compelling Cool of Environmental-Documentary Portraits

Heave Ho
Fred Shangin, cigarette hangin’ as per, puts his back into a pot of Tanner Crabs from Castle Bay off the gulf side of the Alaska Peninsula. May 6, 2018

Going through these many thousands of photos from The Lake and beyond – while at the same time these past few days putting together a magazine piece paying tribute to a recently deceased mentor and friend from my Pennsylvania youth – I find myself recognizing that as photographers one type of image we might not capture often enough is portraits of friends. The best of these photos are often environmental-documentary portraits – my own hybrid category to describe pictures that capture the subject in an authentic act of life in a setting that tells the viewer about that person’s life. There’s an art to it… the photo that isn’t staged; that doesn’t depict the subject self-consciously looking into the lens (or self-consciously looking away from the lens); an image that captures an authentic moment rather than a pose.

For me, learning to make these types of images has been predicated on a lengthy process of growth toward freedom from my own limiting shyness. Coupled with the kind of confidence that enables a photographer to make such portraits is, I think, a necessary agreement – tacit or verbalized – that gives the photographer permission to shoot at will (with appropriate discretion).

Strictly environmental portraits are in most cases staged. In making such an image, the photographer might have the subject sit at her fly-tying table as she ties or gives the impression of tying a fly. Noticing clutter, the photographer tidies up the scene. Further compositional considerations prompt lighting manipulation – perhaps nothing more than slightly moving a lamp or opening or closing a curtain, but manipulation nonetheless. Clothing choices are given thought, a certain tilt of the subject’s head is decided upon as favorable, perhaps a few already-tied flies are placed in the foreground, a book arranged so that it’s title can be read. Images such as this have their place, but to me there’s a compelling cool in a real-time photograph – a moment frozen, captured, documented as is with no quick brush through the subject’s hair, the everyday jacket with its stains, imperfect lighting, maybe a little motion blur or grain.

And in the case of the above photograph, one hangin’.

Water Necklace

Water Necklace – Chignik River, September 18, 202

A second bear is just barely visible in the upper left of this photograph of a healthy sow that has trapped a spawning Sockeye Salmon in her forepaws beneath the water. Anytime the salmon are running from July through November, bears can be expected along the river and lake.

Little One

Little One The waters of the Alaskan Gulf near Chignik Bay provide an important nursery for Sea Otters and their pups. Rich with schools of herring, sand lance, migrating salmon and other fish, these waters on the southeast side of the Alaska Peninsula are also home to Harbor Seals, migrating Orcas and whales, and vast numbers of seabirds.

Loafin’

Close-up portrait of a Sea Otter loafing in the harbor at Seward, Alaska.
Loafin’ Sometimes Sea Otters hanging around in harbors become quite accustomed to humans. For this photograph, I got down on my belly and lowered my arms and camera over the side of a dock. Unable to look into the view finder, I let the camera’s autofocus do its job. They’re awfully cute. Seward Harbor, Alaska, 6/25/13

Coming Across an Old Friend: I Should Make More Portraits

Sam Stepanoff preparing to get in a few casts for the Chignik’s elusive Steelhead. A fellow birder, Sam helped confirm Juncos as new to The Lake and certain finches as previously uncommon or rare. The 13-apartment nesting box he made was often filled to capacity with Tree Swallows. As a subsistence angler, Sam was surely responsible for one of the greatest non-commercial distributions of salmon in North America – beach seining, smoking and canning the Chignik’s wonderful Sockeyes and sending the jarred product off to friends and family not lucky enough to live along the banks of a great salmon river. He is missed. (February 3, 2017)