Author Archives: j0jgvm89bj

A Fascination for Flight

I grew up in a Navy family that traveled to new tours of duty every couple of years. Many of those stations required transportation in propeller powered military aircraft. So my fascination for flight began at an early age. I always wanted the window seat. As a nine year old, I distinctly remember flying across the Pacific Ocean to the island of Guam. How I loved peering out of the window at the ocean and islands below!

Today I still hold that same fascination for flight with aerial photography. After Hurricane Isabel in 2003, I made seven flights over Hatteras, Ocracoke and Portsmouth Islands. I wasn’t interested in the destructive power of the storm. Instead I wanted to see and document how nature constantly shapes the Outer Banks.

Last year, parts of the beaches of our National Seashore Park were closed due to bird nesting, including the Cape Point of Hatteras Island. I’ve photographed the Point from the air before, but only with off-road vehicles on it. My intention last Summer was to fly and shoot it’s more natural, pristine state, but I procrastinated and suddenly the point was opened to traffic and I missed my chance.

This year I put it off again until July 26th when I called my good friend and pilot Dwight Burrus. Dwight and his wife Debbie operate Burrus Flying Service out of Billy Mitchell Airport in Frisco. I’ve flown in his beautiful red and white 1971 Cessna on numerous occasions, and I can’t say enough about his expertise. I tell him what I’m looking for and he takes me there, every time. It’s almost as if I’m flying the plane myself. Dwight was raised on Hatteras, and knows the coast and it’s steeped history well. I highly recommend the tours of Burrus Flying Service. Call them at (252) 986-2679 or visit the web site for more information. Tell them I sent you.

Let me show you what I saw on this latest flight, looking down on the scenery below.

cp-south Looking out to Cape Point from the south or “the hook” side.

cpnorth Looking toward the point from the north beach.

cpsoutheast3

cpsoutheast22 Looking toward the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse from over the Point.

cppond The shoreline of the pond at Cape Point.

lighthouse2 No flight is complete without a lighthouse fly-by.

isabel-inlet This is the site of the inlet that was cut by Hurricane Isabel.

marlin-club The famous Hatteras Marlin Club in Hatteras Village.

hatterasvillage The south end of Hatteras Village at the ferry terminal to Ocracoke Island.

hattsouthpoint The south point of Hatteras Island at Hatteras Inlet looking to Pamlico Sound.

ocracoke-ferry The ferry, Chicamacomico, en route to Ocracoke from Hatteras.

uscgstation The north end of Ocracoke Island at the site of the former Hatteras Inlet Coast Guard Station. The station was destroyed in storms. All that remains are the pilings. This illustrates the lack of stability of barrier island systems.

oislandbackside Ocracoke Island from the sound side.

island-marsh An island in the sound behind Ocracoke Island.

silver-lake Silver Lake surrounded by scenic Ocracoke Village.

springers-point The beautiful maritime forest at Springer’s Point on Ocracoke.

o-beach The untouched beach at Ocracoke’s South Point.

o-inlet-bar A sandbar where Ocracoke Inlet meets the Pamlico Sound.

o-inletbackridge An underwater sand ridge extending into Pamlico Sound from Ocracoke Inlet.

o-sandbar A sandbar in the Pamlico Sound near Ocracoke Inlet.

o-inletwing Dwight’s Cessna banking over Ocracoke Inlet for a shot at the untouched South Point.

o-inlet-mouth The South Point of Ocracoke in a pristine state from 1,000 feet.

Elusive Beachscapes

I’ve been struggling with photography most of my adult life. Don’t get me wrong. Making photographs has brought me a lot of satisfaction, not to mention a livelihood. But working to get better at any skill requires repetition and, pardon the pun, focus. From the very beginning, my approach was to be personally involved in the entire process from visualization, clicking the shutter, and ultimately hand-developing the print. I wasn’t formally educated as a photographer, but instead chose to deal with it on my own terms… teaching myself, getting inspired, going out and shooting, making mistakes, reshooting, printing…. making mistakes, printing again.

Take beachscapes for example. It’s a hit or miss. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve gone out in search of a great shot on the beach, only to be disappointed when editing later. Circumstances are never the same, never repeating. There are so many aspects in the equation…. the weather, the light, foreground and background, composition, not to mention the perspective that different lenses allow. It’s difficult, if not impossible to convey the reality that I feel, into a two-dimensional image. The scenery can be emotionally overwhelming. And all I can do is try to get as close as I can. It can’t be forced. It just has to happen.

dunes-storm-surf

Dunes and Storm Surf is one of my favorite shots taken in 1982. I’ve frequently used this as a model for other attempts at stormy beachscapes, but I’ve never even come close to this kind of impact. Here I learned to compress the background wave energy into the foreground, using a small telephoto lens. In this case, it was a Nikkor 135mm lens and my preferred film, Kodachrome.

A second example of bringing the wave energy close to the viewer was shot from on top of a dune at the infamous “S-Curves” north of Rodanthe. This time, the wave was actually breaking close to the dunes, so I only needed my trusty, super sharp 55mm Micro-Nikkor to make this image. Again shot on Kodachrome, I have always loved the texture and color in the foreground. This image was made in 1984, when there was still a relatively natural dune line in place. It was only a few weeks later, I was shooting huge waves generated from Hurricane Josephine from this very same vantage point. Unbeknownst to me at the time, a big one struck the base of the dune, surged upward 15 feet and engulfed me and my Nikon F2 with sea water. The camera survived somehow, but the photomic meter and viewfinder had to be replaced. This image sold very well for me, and is called Sea Oats and Storm Surf .

Most of my beachscapes are horizontally composed, but sometimes it’s good to rotate the camera 90 degrees for a vertical shot. Successful verticals can be very strong visually, so it’s always worth a try. I call this image Sea Oats and Cold Front. It was taken in 1986 when I began to experiment with Fujichrome Velvia. I used a 28mm lens for this one.

In 1991, Hurricane Bob was heading up the coast. An evacuation was executed on Hatteras Island. As I recall, it was packing winds of nearly 120 mph, and I decided to ride this one out. As I drove north in the fleeing traffic to Pea Island, the sun was setting and the leading edge of the storm clouds was beginning to close in. The sky was spectacular. As I photographed this image, the cars on highway 12 were lined bumper to bumper trying to get off the island. The eye wall of Bob ended up passing us only about 15 miles offshore, and our winds gusted to 100. The folks in New England didn’t fare as well as we did. They got slammed. This one is called Before the Storm. It was taken using my 28mm Nikkor on an F3 body and Velvia film.

October Beach is one of my more serene beachscapes. It was taken in 2004 with no film. I had entered the digital photography age in 2003. After trying to master image processing for 30 years, I had to re-teach myself the basics of imaging once again.

summer-squall

On August 8 of 2005, I peered out of my studio to see some unusually interesting cloud formations moving in from the southeast. This is also a month when the tassels on the sea oats are fresh and new. Most of the out-take photos of this scene were shot as horizontals. However I remembered my rule of turning the camera to a vertical position, and liked what I saw. This is called Summer Squall.

It always helps to have a waterspout offshore. On the morning of August 23 of 2005, I stepped out on the deck of my studio/home in Waves and saw a column of water reaching into the sky. I’ve seen this before, but never in my many years living on Hatteras was it so well presented.

For my photograph to be successful, the image has to satisfy me, nothing more. I’ve tried replicating some favorite shots, and it usually doesn’t seem to work as well as the original model. So I keep trying, and eventually something good happens.

For many years in the darkroom, and now on a computer screen, I transfer that image to a print, still another “make or break” step in the process. If I didn’t make my own prints, I’d feel like I was short changing myself. I have to complete the entire process myself, in order to be the photographer that I am.

Chesapeake Bay Skipjacks

My fascination for oysters didn’t kick in until I moved to Hatteras Island. Starting out, times were tough financially, but it was a worthwhile tradeoff for the experiences in store for me. Back then you could walk the shore of the Pamlico Sound and get all the oysters you wanted for great meal. I remember picking them with Larry Midgett and some of the other locals, and it became one of my favorite things to do.

larry1

Larry Midgett, Tim Merritt and “Big Leroy” picking some oysters in a creek in 1974. Today this creek on Hatteras Island doesn’t produce much anymore.

In the early 80’s, I began going to Easton, MD to participate in a photography exhibit at the popular Waterfowl Festival. During the show in 1981, an acquaintance that I knew through surfing the Delaware shore told me that he was dredging oysters on the Chesapeake Bay Skipjack, Stanley Norman. He invited me out for a sail, so once the festival was over, I took Trent Palmer up on his offer. The wind was light, and so was the oyster catching, but I knew right then that I wanted to spend some more time photographing the only commercial fishing boats in the United States still using sail power. The next day, I returned to Hatteras to resume my life there, still thinking about the skipjacks.

trent1

Trent Palmer out on the bowsprit of Stanley Norman furling the jib in November of 1981.

Later that winter, Trent told me about a couple of boats that had openings for crew members. So I drove to Tilghman Island to see about working on a Chesapeake Bay Skipjack. My intention as a budding photographer was to shoot some of these historical workboats under sail. The only way I could do so, was to seek employment to pay my way. I was a little nervous at first, but once I stepped aboard the Virginia W in the predawn hours, I met Tim Stearns, the owner and captain of the 1902 built skipjack. He didn’t fit the mold of what I expected from a typical sea captain. From the very beginning, he was welcoming, kind, didn’t shout at the crew, and we became very good friends. I was also impressed that this young man of small stature had bought this rotten, derelict boat, and restored it nearly singlehandedly in about a years time. It became a very seaworthy workboat and had a new life once again.

virginia-w-at-dock1

Virginia W in port at Tilghman Island rafted up to the Anna McGarvey as ice flows through Knapps Narrows. According to records at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, she was built in Oriole, Maryland in 1902, and is 44 feet in length.

virginia-w1

Captain Tim Stearns is at the helm of Virginia W near the mouth of the Choptank River.

mike1

Me the “greenhorn” after a good day of working a muddy bottom. Tim asked me to hand him my camera to take this shot. Then I reciprocated and took his picture amid 120 bushels of oysters. We had a good hard working crew, and I dredged aboard Virginia W for the better part of 2 winters, always with my waterproof Nikonos camera close by to catch those magnificent boats sailing by.

tim2

annapolis1

With the Chesapeake Bay Bridge behind us, I jumped out on the bowsprit of the Virginia W to make this photograph while we sailed into Annapolis. We spent the night on board there with 100 bushels on deck.

lee1

Leigh Hunteman handles the bow line of Virginia W to shovel out at the dock on Tilghman Island. Leigh later became the only female captain of a skipjack by running the Sigsbee.

stanley-norman1

The Stanley Norman was built in Salisbury, MD in 1902 and is 47 feet long at the waterline. Here owner/captain Ed Farley steers her over an oyster bed.

sigsbee1

Sigsbee at 47 feet was built at Deal Island in 1901. Here she pulls dredges under full sail, with Captain Wade Murphy at the helm.

kathryn1

The skipjack Kathryn at 50 feet, was built in Crisfield, Maryland in 1901. Her bottom is planked fore and aft with rounded chines, rather than the typical herring bone, hard chined bottoms of most skipjacks. Here she flies by us pulling both dredges, 4 reefs in the mainsail, with captain and owner Russell Dize at the helm.

claude-w-sommers1

After a day out on the water, Captain Darryl Larrimore guides the 42 foot Claude W. Somers back to port powered by the yawl boat. She was built in 1911. Part of the history of this skipjack is tragic. In 1977, she went to the bottom in a storm near Crisfield, taking all of the 6 crew with her.

ice1

This stern view shows the Kathryn as she follows a path cut by a state ice-breaker in order to get back to port. The temperature was 10 degrees and the ice a foot thick. My feet were still cold despite felt-lined work boots and 2 pair of socks. This was one of the last days of my experience on Chesapeake Bay Skipjacks. Thus ended my career as an oysterman.

My Nights in Rodanthe

I have spent a few thousand nights in Rodanthe. As a young man, fresh out of college, I relocated there from Northern Virginia, via Bethany Beach, Delaware where I had befriended a small group of surfers. From there I made surfing trips to Hatteras, only to disappoint myself by returning to the mundane life up north. I was at an age where I was trying to find myself. Hatteras Island seemed like a great place to do just that, and besides I could surf beautiful waves while I did my thinking.

surfer

A perfect setup on a Rodanthe sand bar, compliments of hurricane Gabrielle.

In 1973, I moved into a small house with friends, Mike and Mary Jo, along with my best surfing buddy, Louie. Our landlords were Valton and Lovie Midgett. Close by, there was a great surfing break out on the “outside bar”. An old wrecked LST stabilized the bottom for the most consistent waves. The ride was much like surfing a point break. In those days, Rodanthe was relatively untouched by development, so a handful of us were the only ones there to enjoy the bounty.

lovies

Valton and Lovie Midgett’s house.

A few months later, Louie and I moved to a trailer in the adjacent town of Waves. We rented from a local man named Luke Midgett. His family roots were deeply planted there. Our trailer was in an open field at the oceanfront. We surfed our brains out, and worked odd jobs to pay our expenses, including rent of $150 a month, split 2 ways. It was a life close to the elements, and we loved it. Today there’s nothing but rows of rental houses on the site. I lived there for almost 3 years until I relocated to Salvo, the town adjacent to Waves.

lukes

Luke’s Village

Moving from one trailer to another trailer, this next one was newer and bigger, so I reserved the largest bedroom for my first official darkroom. Thus began my humble living as a photographer, even though it was part time. I honed other skills like woodworking, commercial fishing, and waterfowl hunting to get by. All along, I was teaching myself to make color prints, doing some shows and exhibits. Things were definitely picking up. This time I rented from a lady named Barbara Midgett. To help defray living expenses, my good friend BJ moved in some time later.

BJ chopping for our preferred mode of heating. Wood was an abundant fuel source. It washed in on the beach and all we needed to do was to collect it.

After another 3 years, I found a larger house to rent in north Rodanthe. It was 1978. In the front rooms, I built a big darkroom with a gallery space next to it, then placed a sign out front on highway 12. I was open for business. Rodanthe, Waves and Salvo still was experiencing very little development. But now I was somehow able to pay most of my way with photography, and I loved taking pictures, printing and hanging them. I also loved the local people that lived there.

chicamacomico

The view from my bedroom window was the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station, decommissioned in 1954.

My friend Robin, lived in a hundred year old house across the street. He hunted, fished and surfed much as I did. Mainstream America still had not discovered Rodanthe, Waves and Salvo. Life was good and uncrowded. We experienced storms, floods and big waves. A few surfing friends came down for visits. It was a simple, yet full and rewarding life. My photography gallery was working better and better, so I began “working” full time photographing the environment around me.

robin

Robin Gerald was my alter ego.

burgess

Burgess Hooper always fished with Princess.

surfshop

Barton Decker at the original Hatteras Island Surf Shop, circa 1978.

burt

For about 5 years, I worked as a waterfowl hunting guide along side Burt Hooper. He learned the craft from his father, Ed. Here he ties off some of the 200 redhead duck decoys that I took 8 months to paint. It was gratifying to see dense flocks of waterfowl pitch in to these hunting rigs.

In 1985 I finally bought a piece of land from Miss Lillian Midgett. It was on the scenic Pamlico Sound side of the island. This is where I began plans to build my studio home. It was the beginning of the end of my nights in Rodanthe. But that is another chapter in my life.

Tribute to a Hatterasman

The first time I saw Nacie Peele was in an oil painting owned by a former employer, Alex Kotarides. Alex owned a waterfowl hunting club where I helped out in the maintenance and guiding chores. The large painting showed him mending a fishing net, and I would stand there transfixed with that image. It evoked a wonderful maritime quality and tranquility. I had heard nothing but good stories about Nacie. Ever since I moved to Hatteras Island, I was amazed at the commercial fishing way of life, and over the years, I’ve worked, using photography to document this vanishing lifestyle.

Some years later, I was shooting a magazine assignment involving Michael Peele fishing his pound net. It was a pretty day, and the fishing not particularly great. But I got my pictures, and we headed back to shore. On the way in, we spotted another fisherman working a pound net. It was Michael’s uncle Nacie, and we went over to check his catch. I was excited that this man at nearly 80 years old was still out in his skiff, pulling nets. I remember thinking to myself, here he is, a quintessential Hatterasman, the real thing. I made several more shots, and we went in.

Ever since then, I’d stop in to visit Mr. Nacie occasionally. He always remembered my name and had such a gentle, welcoming demeanor. His stories told of an interesting life, from surviving a torpedoed ship in the war, hauling in hundreds of boxes of fish from a pound net, and building boats. He did eventually stop fishing in his mid-80’s, but was still sharp and tended a magnificent vegetable garden.

Nacie passed away peacefully on January 16 not many yards away from the spot where he was born. He was 89 years of age.

Michael Halminski Photographer

Waves, North Carolina