The Shot: Little Blue Heron

Oddly enough, the SC Aquarium provided two of my favorite aviary shots, while my adventures in aquatic life didn't prove to be so fruitful.  Lesson: Never assume that what you think you'll be shooting is what you'll come away with at the end of the day.

After spending time in the lobby with Liberty, I made may way through the galleries, learning about the Southeast Appalachian Watershed.  The Aquarium was arranged as a journey from the Upstate of South Carolina and its mountain streams down towards its coastal plain with its rivers and eddies.

Waterfowl in the aviary

Halfway through the exhibits is the aviary, which looks out over the Harbor.  Nearly three stories in height, the aviary is home to native coastal birds along with tanks hosting fish, crabs, and other crustaceans.  Herons, ducks, cranes, and songbirds flit about in the greenery, a few boldly venturing towards their visitors, but most remaining elusive in their perching. 

One of these elusive residents was a little blue heron.  I've been fortunate enough to see many great blue herons in the wild, but I'd never seen this smaller, darker cousin.  The deep color of its feathers contrasted with the bright grass in which it was hiding.  It stood mostly still, but every now and then took a moment to smooth its feathers, as if preparing for a close-up.

I steadied myself on the edge of the tank, perched on the ledge most likely meant to provide smaller and younger visitors with a better vantage point of the feathered residents of the exhibit.  Between my lack of a tripod and the fidgeting of my subject, I burned through a lot of shots that were never seen by anyone else.  Animals and children are two of the toughest subjects to capture, given their tendencies towards unpredictable movement, but this is where digital photography scores a major advantage over film.

As in many cases, patience is a virtue when waiting for the perfect shot - all that time eventually pays off:

Little Blue Heron; South Carolina Aquarium, Charleston, SC

The Collections: New Additions

New pieces have been added to Place, Architecture, and People.  Please use the links to the right to explore the collections.

The Series: Bees & Butterflies

Some of the best things in life are things we stumble into rather than explicitly seek.  For me, I count many things in this category, including my majors in college, but one of the more fruitful has become a favorite subject of mine: bees and butterflies.

As a child, I was petrified of bees - to this day, I am still wary of hornets - and adored chasing after butterflies in my grandmother's backyard.  As I've grown older, I continue to be fascinated by their movement, the sheer physics of their flight, and their drive and intent in moving methodically from flower to flower in pursuit of that next great hit of pollen. 

Their variety in color and size seems limitless, especially when combined with the vibrant colors of the flowers they frequent.  The delicacy of their movement across the petals and amongst the stamen of the blooms betrays something beyond pure instinct and approaching intelligence.

One of the most special moments I've had was while I was driving the Blue Ridge Parkway between Asheville and Marion in western North Carolina.  I pulled over at each overlook to take in the spectacular views, but at one of the stops, I was more captivated by the flock of monarchs that was gathering around a patch of yellow flowers.  There were at least twenty, perhaps more, of the butterflies, all flitting about from flower to flower, intent on their mission.  I had and would spend most of the afternoon gaping at the rolling peaks of the Appalachians, but for this time, I was mesmerized by these creatures.




The intersection of flowers and the creatures that pollinate them also offers an opportunity to capture nature at its most pure: the connection forged between species for mutual benefit and continuation of life. Their flight patterns seem almost a dance with the wind, an invisible partner as they carry on their mission in our gardens and across the fields.

The Tips: Patience for a Grasshopper

Good things come to those who wait.

Patience is a virtue.

These adages ring true in a variety of situations, especially when you find yourself with a camera in your hands.  Capturing wildlife is tough: critters fidget.  Even a seemingly simple shot of a flower can be difficult on a windy day.  

Be aware of your physical limitations, whether imposed by you or your environment.  That perfect angle for that perfect shot may lead you to scramble over the rocks of a riverbank to get into position, but more often than not, you'll find yourself trying to hold perfectly still, hoping your subject does the same.

Monarch; Tryon Palace, New Bern, NC

A few weeks ago, I found myself engaged in a dance with a monarch, willing it to come around that milkweed at just the right angle, to open its wings at just the right time.  What I wanted and what Nature allowed me to have were two different things; you have to make peace with that concept.

It can be frustrating.  It can even be painful when crouching in a flowerbed with a trick knee.  But in the end, like with all things we love, it's worth it.  

 

Grasshopper; Roanoke River, Weldon, NC

The Shot: Liberty

I've always had a fascination with aquariums.  For me, they are some of the greatest examples of making tourism educational. When I find myself in a coastal city, this is the second thing I look for (the first being public beach access, of course).  

Over the past few years, I've spent a fair amount of time in the Upstate of South Carolina, visiting friends and family.  However, 2008 provided a chance to travel to the opposite end of I-26 for two days in Charleston.  At the end of my too-brief trip, I spent a morning at the South Carolina Aquarium.  Situated on Charleston Harbor between the Port of Charleston and the departure point for tours of Fort Sumter, the Aquarium is home to over 6,000 plants and animals.  The exhibits are arranged to take you on a journey from the Upstate's mountain steams down to the rivers of the piedmont and finally into the coastal plain's eddies.  


The atrium of the Aquarium grants access to the exhibit halls and to the classroom facilities.  When I was there, the atrium was also home to a rescued bald eagle.  No longer able to fly, she had been rehabilitated and would now be part of the Aquarium's educational programs.  Each winter, bald eagles descend upon the Quad Cities, nesting along the Mississippi River and its locks and dams.  Because of this, I'd seen these eagles before, but never one that was merely feet away from me.

Standing there, I thought of Ben Franklin and his fabled advocacy for the wild turkey as a symbol for America.  The bald eagle is a formidable raptor.  Her talons and beak were still every bit the predator's tools that they were when she lived and hunted in the wild.  Her enclosure included a small waterfall and pool in which she splashed and played, as if she knew that she was somewhere that she would be taken care of and could finally relax in her surroundings.  This combination of the forceful and the beautiful seemed a living embodiment of the contradiction that is our country.  Founders, thank you.


The Aquarium sponsored a contest to name her; the winning entry was Liberty: