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Camera with a View

I am an admirer of some of the great masters of early photography. It was not only their vision that made the work great, but in many cases, the types of equipment used. They didn’t have the huge array of advanced cameras to choose from, like we do today. Things were a lot more primitive.

One of my favorite early photographers is Edward Weston. He shot with an 8×10 view camera. Can you imagine a finished 8 inch by 10 inch negative? His black and white prints are exquisite, and have a tonal quality and sharpness that is hard to describe. In 1978, I had the pleasure of attending a photography workshop in Carmel, California, where I studied under his son, Cole.

Working in 35mm, I could see the superior quality of large format photography. I examined gallery prints made by Ansel Adams, Edward Weston and his sons Brett and Cole, among others. When I got back home on the east coast, I wanted to apply some large format in my own work. View cameras are expensive. But when I saw an ad in American Photographer for a kit to build my own 4×5 view camera, I jumped at the chance. For $85, it included the lens plate, ground glass, bellows, shifts and tilts, everything except a lens. My friend Allen Jones who was attending RIT at the time, scored my Ilex Acuton 215mm lens for $250 in Rochester.

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The assembled 4×5 view camera kit, designed by architect, Les Fader

Using the finished camera became a learning experience, and I made some mistakes. There were issues with light leaks between the film holders and the camera, and sheet film developing techniques, but I eventually kinda got the hang of it. On the windy, often stormy conditions of the Outer Banks, the bulky view camera has it limitations. So I used it mainly for still life compositions around commercial fishing harbors.

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The “Edwin Jr.” derelict at Avon Harbor

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Crab Skiff at Avon Harbor

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Net Skiff, Rodanthe Creek

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Shad Boat, Rodanthe Creek

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Longhauler, Collins Gray at Rodanthe Fish House

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Knapp’s Narrows at Tilghman Island, Maryland

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Chicamacomico Winter, 1980

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A Dune near Buxton

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A Tribute to Weston

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Broken Glass, Rodanthe Creek

I made about 60 Tri-X negatives, then decided to put the camera away. It was a lot of effort to use. And as photographer Ernst Haas, once told my class, shooting with a view camera was “like carrying the cross”. In a way, that wasn’t far from the truth. Besides at the time, it didn’t quite fit my style of shooting. I never even printed most of the images.

Then a few months ago, I found some negatives stored, with silica gel, in an old ammo box. For the past month, I’ve been making prints. Some beautiful 16×20’s too. I can’t tell you what a refreshing change it is from the popular digital shooting arena. Printing in black and white again is like finding an old long lost friend. Don’t be surprised if you see some new work from this old camera.

Hurricane Bill

I can’t remember how many hurricanes have come and gone, since I’ve lived on the Outer Banks. It seems like dozens. Some of them have made direct impacts on us, while most others have had much less or no affect. One of the most reliable deterrents for these storms is a cold front moving across the country. No matter how powerful they are, tropical weather systems cannot penetrate these natural barriers. Such was the case in our most recent hurricane called Bill. The timing was right to allow the storm to stay hundreds of miles offshore. Relatively large swells were predicted well in advance, and that’s exactly what we got. On Hatteras there was no evacuation, so visitors got a good taste of high seas, Outer Banks style.

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The place was crawling with sightseers and, of course surfers. Twenty years ago, I might have been included in the surfer category, but now more in my twilight, I’m resigned to being more of a sightseer when the swells are so big. Over the years, I’ve photographed just about every storm that’s hit the island, and I still love the thrill of it.

As usual, some overwash and highway closures are expected. But in this instance, it wasn’t quite as bad as it might have been. It was nonetheless, stimulating. North Rodanthe is usually at the center of activity. By Saturday morning the S-Curve road was wet, salty and sandy, but not enough to shut down the flow of traffic.

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The northernmost house at the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge border is called “Serendipity”. It was built about 20 years ago, when there was an existing seaward dune. But this location has one of the highest erosion rates on the island… 14 to 16 feet annually. It’s really hard to believe the house is still there, although it’s been condemned because of damage, numerous times.

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In May of 2007, it was used in the movie set of the Richard Gere chick flick, Nights in Rodanthe. Tourists and movie aficionados alike have been stopping to photograph this landmark, and this event was no exception. I’ve never seen so many people storm watching from here before… ever.

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Later in the day, I waited for more favorable afternoon light and went to the Hatteras Island Fishing Pier in Rodanthe. For a buck, it’s the second best deal on the island. The first being the free ferry ride to Ocracoke, compliments of the North Carolina taxpayers.

By the time I got to the pier, the predicted cold front was also arriving. Black clouds came swirling in from the west. Everyone else out on the end of the pier had gone back to shore. The surf continued battering the pier pilings as it rocked back and forth. How can this structure survive this kind of an environment? The answer is, it doesn’t. It constantly has to be repaired and rebuilt.

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As the cold front passed, the warm muggy air was replaced by cool air and the wind picked up dramatically from the west. Rain squalls came in from the south, and before I realized it, I was standing on the end of the pier in a driving rain, continuing to take pictures, and even changing over to a small telephoto lens in the process. Dripping wet, I ran back to the protection of the pier house and watched the torrent continue.

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In an hour it stopped, and I returned to the end of the pier with a couple of other sightseers.

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Would you believe this is the same pier, exactly where Richard Gere and Diane Lane filmed one of their more romantic scenes for Nights in Rodanthe? If you do, you’d be right.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Michael Halminski Photographer

Waves, North Carolina