On November 1 at Lost Acres Vineyard in North Granby, the Granby Land Trust will be unveiling a range of new artwork featured in this years juried art competition, Places of Inspiration: Celebrating the Farmington Valley’s Natural Beauty. Among the fine works on display, you’ll find my piece “Carpenters Falls at Granby”, which features a truly exquisite waterfall found in the woodlands of the 4,800-acre McLean Game Refuge.
“Carpenters Falls at Granby” is heavy on texture and fine detail, from rough contours of water-chiseled bedrock and airy sprays of leaves to the wispy veils of the falls and the churning water below. The piece you’ll find on display is a 12″ x 18″ photographic print on Kodak Endura, matted with white-core black to 18″ x 24″ and framed with a dark-stain wood. If you’ve only seen my work on the computer screen thus far, this is a great opportunity to see how much more dramatic these pieces are in print!
For that matter, you’ll see a host of excellent works from several Connecticut artists, each of whom has found something truly inspiring in the natural splendor of the Farmington River Valley. And this isn’t just show-and-tell, folks… every piece is available for purchase.
Consider yourself invited to Places of Inspiration! And don’t worry if you can’t make the opening on November 1; you can drop by Lost Acres Vineyard anytime before December 1 and see the full display.
Lost Acres Vineyard
80 Lost Acres Road
North Granby, CT 06060
Want to know more about the Places of Inspiration show? Click here for more details from the Granby Land Trust.
When the first fresh snowfall hits the ground, I’m truly immersed in the momentum of nature towards a certain serenity that comes with cold and quiet. But the frigid air and disconcerting lack of foliage that accompanies a New England winter always tends to overstay its welcome. Then, thankfully, springtime comes along, breathing vitality back into a landscape that has laid dormant and seemingly barren for months. Indeed, Spring has always been a special time for me; a time of rebirth and revitalization after a winter that’s felt just a bit too long. But with summer having drawn to a close and colder months around the corner, I find myself a bit nostalgic for those earlier months of Spring that seem so strangely distant now. And so I offer you my latest series of fine art print releases in the hope that they will bring back memories of the joyous reawakening of nature earlier this year.
Whittemore Sanctuary
Take, for instance, the fern-laden forest understory of Whittemore Sanctuary in my piece “Whittemore Woods”. During my visit in May, this 700-acre tract of woodlands beside Lake Quassapaug in Woodbury, Connecticut truly embodied the springtime transition: that time of year when ferns are beginning to burst forth from the ground in droves, but the trees are still staging their awakening and haven’t quite filled out yet.
Originally, these woodlands were owned by a private corporation… a scenario which can too often lead to natural places vanishing in a flurry of development and subdivision when it comes time to liquify some assets. Luckily, beginning in 1965, the land was leased to the Flanders Land Trust which, at that time, was a fledgling non-profit organization bringing fresh ideals of open space preservation to western Connecticut. Who would’ve thought that by 2012, after nearly five decades of tireless work, the Flanders Land Trust would have preserved 2,000 acres of land throughout Woodbury, Middlebury, Southbury and Bethlehem? As it would happen, the trust ultimately managed to pull together the funds to buy all of the woodlands that are now Whittemore Sanctuary, ensuring that scenes like those pictured in “Whittemore Woods” will last into perpetuity.
Another of my new releases, “Down on Pine Brook”, brings us 40 miles west of Whittemore Sanctuary to the banks of Pine Brook as it wanders through the forests of Haddam Neck. Our eyes can move effortlessly through this piece, beginning with picturesque cascades in the foreground where Pine Brook struggles furiously against the resistance of boulders. On the opposite bank of the river, sunlight filters through a dense canopy and floods the crowded forest understory in green-tinted light. The course of Pine Brook recedes far into the distance, its surface punctuated by boulders and marbleized with wispy, whitewater riffles.
Over 20 acres of this intimate riverscape are preserved under the auspices of the Haddam Land Trust, another of Connecticut’s many land conservation organizations that work tirelessly to ensure that nature will have a profound presence in the Nutmeg State well into the distant future. But if we follow the waters of Pine Brook after they leave the boundaries of the land trust preserve, a larger story of cooperative land preservation reveals itself. The “Salmon River Division” of the Silvio Conte National Wildlife Refuge actually abuts Pine Brook Preserve and protects hundreds of acres of land beside Pine Brook for the remaining mile of its course, right up until it empties into the larger Salmon River. Now carrying the waters of Pine Brook, the Salmon River continues a southward journey towards the Connecticut River, first making a wide bend around the 300-acre Machimoodus State Park in East Haddam. Less than two miles further south, the Salmon River eventually empties into the Connecticut River. In this relatively small stretch of Conneticut River watershed along Pine Brook and Salmon River, we find the combined land preservation efforts of federal government, state government and a local land trust. This sort of multi-faceted approach to open space is a refreshing development, indeed. Increasingly, local land trusts have sought to acquire properties adjacent those owned by the state and federal government, or even owned by neighboring land trusts, thereby helping to create even larger unbroken tracts of open space which are ultimately more beneficial to wildlife than smaller areas fragmented by roads and neighborhoods.
George Dudley Seymour State Park
“New England Oasis”, one of my new works from Connecticut’s George Dudley Seymour State Park, brings you to the banks of Axelson Brook at the height of the springtime awakening. A lush patch of ferns and false hellebore lead you to the quiet stream side, where banks lined with moss-laden boulders meander into the depths of brilliant green woodlands.
Encompassing more than 300 acres of forest and flood plains, George Dudley Seymour State Park lies on the eastern side of the Connecticut River in Haddam. Interestingly, within a system of over a hundred Connecticut state parks and forests, it is among a small handful named explicitly after a person. George D. Seymour was born in the mid-1800’s and, while still only in his twenties, he had achieved such success as an attorney that he was able to channel some of his resources into preserving land. He even set up a foundation which has continued making contributions to open space preservation up to the present day. Through his personal contributions of land, and the on-going efforts of his trust since his passing, Seymour “acquired all or part of seven other state parks” in addition to the full acreage of the park that now bears his name.
Another of my new pieces from George Dudley Seymour State Park, titled “The Clark Ruins”, features a long-abandoned stone foundation quietly being reclaimed by nature in the misty gorge of Axelson Brook. While it’s unclear who built the old structure or exactly what purpose it served, chances are that it would’ve been familiar to the Clark family.
Comprised of three brothers, the Clark family operated a rather successful business in Connecticut producing a range of agricultural equipment from the 1870s through the early 1900s. During much of that time, the family lived on the land that is now George Dudley Seymour State Park. In those days, however, it was named “Clarkhurst” and essentially functioned as the Clark’s private estate. One can only imagine that Clarkhurst would’ve been a magnificent homestead in its hey-dey, a generous swath of land where the Clark brothers and their families could enjoy their private slice of the countryside while rising each morning to spectacular views of the Connecticut River. But those days came and went long ago. One of the brothers, Henry, ultimately bought out his siblings and became the sole owner of the land, only to pass away in 1914 and leave the property to his daughter. She tried to maintain the extensive estate, even developing it as a golf course for some time, but it seems that these efforts simply didn’t work out as planned. By the time the 1930s rolled around, the various structures on property were falling into a state of disrepair and it was clear that Clarkhurst was beginning to succumb to the rigors of time. For another three decades, the property continued to deteriorate from its former glory, changing hands at least once along the way. By 1960, the George Dudley Seymour Foundation had come to recognize the value of the property as parkland and provided funding to help the Connecticut Forest and Park Association buy the old estate grounds. And so it was that this land, once a glorious private estate over a century ago, came to be George Dudley Seymour State Park: a place of natural beauty for the enjoyment of all.
Every time I’ve visited the state park, I’ve somehow found myself entirely alone there. Sometimes, as I pause for a quiet rest along the trails, I try to imagine what this place must have been like so long ago. I try to envision the Clark brothers standing on the riverbanks of Clarkhurst in the 1880s, secure in their achievements as they overlooked the wide breadth of the Connecticut, with the sun slowly sinking behind the hills that rise from the opposite shore and the sky rendered a glowing twilight canvas of wispy pastels. How timeless must such a moment have felt to them? How solid and permanent must their modest empire have seemed? Surely, they could never have imagined that, generations later, their buildings would be reduced to crumbling foundations, their estate would be bristling with forests and meadows, and some lone photographer would walk quietly through the remains in a world that would hardly be recognizable to them. It’s precisely that nostalgic feeling that I sought to capture with “The Clark Ruins”. On one hand, a pang of regret that those things which are important to us are always fleeting. On the other hand, a sense of renewal not unlike that of the springtime… a sense that loss is part of nature’s glory and that a renewed vitality is always just around the corner.
The circular polarizing filter, oftentimes referred to simply as a “polarizer” or “CPL”, is a truly indispensable tool for nature and landscape photographers. Because the light reflected from a given surface is generally all the same wavelength, a polarizer can be used to strategically filter out those reflections. Polarizers are most widely known for their ability to filter out reflected light from the atmosphere, rendering the sky a deep shade of blue when it would otherwise appear very bright and washed-out in an exposure. In my own work, however, I’m generally using polarizers to remove glare from foliage, wet rocks, rivers, waterfalls and ponds. In each of these scenarios, the polarizer can effectively improve contrast, saturation and overall clarity and balance.
But perhaps you’ve heard the advice passed around that polarizers are to be avoided when using especially wide-angle lenses. The warning essentially states that, because lenses with a wide field-of-view can be used to frame a large portion of the landscape, the frame will possibly include multiple areas that reflect light differently. The result? A photograph with patchy polarization, producing strange, unnatural-looking blotches in your exposure. To get a better idea of exactly what can go wrong in such a scenario, I’m going to show you a couple photographs from a recent shoot at White Memorial Conservation Center, a spectacular 4,000-acre preserve in Litchfield, Connecticut.
In this exposure, which is well-balanced, I rotated the polarizer until it wasn’t filtering any reflected light.
The exposure to the right is precisely the look I was after in the early hours of the morning at this preserve. Here, the Bantam River can be seen meandering into the distance where it is eventually engulfed in mist at Little Pond on the horizon. As concerns our discussion of circular polarizers, specifically notice how the color and brightness on the river is fairly even. This photograph was taken at a focal length of approximately 18mm, so the field-of-view was relatively wide. Although I did have a polarizer on my lens while taking this shot, I rotated it such that it didn’t filter out any light; you could think of this as the “off position” of a polarizing filter. Because no reflected light was filtered out with the polarizer, you’ll notice that the surface of the Bantam River is seen reflecting the color and light of the sky above.
So, what would have happened if I decided to use the polarizer to block reflected light from the surface of the water instead? On one hand, this doesn’t seem like a bad idea in theory. Hypothetically, I could block the reflection of the sky on the surface of the Bantam River and render the water darker, making it contrast with the surrounding landscape and revealing more detail of the aquatic plant life within.
On the other hand, I would have to be able to filter all of the reflected light from the river for this concept to work. In this case, that’s pretty much impossible. When we examine the scene, a few different problems are noticed. First off, the light in this scene is fairly diffused, resulting from the low light of the pre-dawn hour coupled with the blanket of mist hugging the landscape. This causes light to scatter unpredictably and makes it tougher to filter out reflections, since they aren’t especially uniform. The second problem is the river itself, which stretches deeply into the frame. Nearer portions of the river will reflect light differently than further parts of the river because, from the perspective of your camera, they are oriented differently to the source of light (in this case, sunlight from just below the horizon was reflected by clouds). In this exposure, I rotated the polarizer so that it was filtering glare from the river’s surface. Notice the distracting and unnatural-looking effect?
The bottom-line is that these factors will hamper effective use of the polarizer, essentially making it almost impossible to evenly remove glare from the water. And just in case all of my analysis isn’t enough to convince you, take a look at the photograph to the left. From the exact same position, I spun the circular polarizer until it was removing glare from the river.
Wow… that’s not the effect we were looking for, huh? The large, dark blob in the nearer portion of the river represents the rather small section of the scene from which glare could be removed. It goes without saying that the patchy, unnatural look of the river in this exposure is anything but pleasing to the eye. Instead, it’s exceptionally distracting and disrupts the balance of the entire photograph. In truth, the shot is what I brutally refer to as one of my “throw-aways”. Had I carelessly used the polarizer for my primary series of shots that morning, I would’ve returned home only to be quite disappointed when I reviewed the RAW files on my computer.
Of course, at least one fairly reasonable argument in defense of the polarizer in this scenario might be that I didn’t rotate it to the proper position. Fair enough, I suppose. Indeed, the polarizer will have a different effect depending upon how it is spun in relation to the scene. But, in this case, further rotation of the filter makes little difference due to the same reasons I mentioned earlier. It simply moves the peculiar blob of dark water to a slightly different position on the surface of the river. Take a look at the line-up below where I’ve put the successful shot side-by-side with the previous dud and another failed shot resulting from rotating the polarizer to a different position.
This side-by-side comparison demonstrates the degree to which attempts to reduce glare with a polarizer have ultimately produced rather poor photographs. The keeper shot (above-left) was taken with the polarizer rotated until it wasn’t filtering any reflections, while the filtered shots (above-middle and above-right) show distracting blotches in the river produced by the uneven removal of glare.
Even if the difference between the unfiltered photograph (on the left) and the filtered photographs (middle and right) didn’t seem too drastic when each was viewed by itself, the contrast becomes quite apparent when they are viewed right beside each other. In the improperly filtered photographs, the eye is drawn directly to the dark blotches in the river and the images are rendered rather ineffective as pieces intended to convey the beauty of this misty morning on the Bantam River.
But don’t let this example deter you from using a polarizer. Instead, think of it as an exercise in analyzing a scene before you make shooting decisions. Although the polarizer performed poorly in this scenario on the Bantam River, it can work wonders in other circumstances. The bulk of my landscape work absolutely relies on the benefits of the circular polarizer. Furthermore, I oftentimes use a large 77mm polarizer on my super-wide-angle lens with excellent results, despite the rutted advice that “there’s no need to put a polarizer on a very wide lens”. The only catch is that it’s important to be acutely aware of how the polarizer will modify the light in a given scene and avoid using it in those instances where it will be little more than a hindrance. Admittedly, this may take a bit of practice and will probably involve some measure of trial-and-error before you start to instinctively identify those instances where the polarizer will produce undesirable results. But if you have some spare time during your next shoot, it wouldn’t hurt to produce some of your own comparisons similar to the one I’ve presented here. By experimenting with the polarizer and seeing how it reacts to different conditions and scenes, you’ll sharpen your ability to use this vital tool and make the most of your time in field.
If the title of this most recent post seems odd, you aren’t mistaken: portraits have never been my specialty. Anybody that is familiar with my work knows that I invest my time almost exclusively in landscape photography. But at least one unexpected advantage to spending so much time in the wildlands of Connecticut is that I’ve had the privilege of observing a wide cross-section of the state’s fauna. Over the past year, I’ve really started to embrace these photographic opportunities.
The most recent addition to my online galleries includes a small cavalcade of native reptiles and amphibians of Connecticut, creatures which are also found throughout much of the American Northeast. As a child, discovering creatures such as these in the woodlands and wetlands around home served to nourish my enthusiasm and curiosity for the outdoors. I’m grateful to be able to introduce you to some of these remarkable animals through my work. This is probably the closest I come to producing anything that could vaguely be called a “portrait”.
Most people are probably familiar with the term “endangered”. In common parlance, it is broadly used to refer to a species that is facing extinction, or at least a severe decline in population. But Connecticut officials actually apply this term fairly technically, as do many states throughout the nation. Only creatures that are potentially facing extinction in the very near future are classified as “endangered”. There are also two less severe, albeit equally serious, categorizations: “threatened” and “special concern”. Although law books specify definitions for these categories, it will suffice to say that “threatened” species are those which may soon become “endangered”, while “special concern” species are those which are in danger of becoming “threatened”.
The Eastern Box Turtle (Terrapene carolina carolina) is a Connecticut-listed Species of Special Concern. This may be surprising to those that live in isolated areas of the state where the Eastern Box Turtle still thrives. Unfortunately, such places are becoming more and more uncommon. While the Eastern Box Turtle may not be in any immediate danger of going extinct, biologists are warning of a potentially grim future for this woodland turtle.
Studies of the Eastern Box Turtle have revealed that most adult specimens, such as this one which I photographed in southern Connecticut (above), will spend the majority of their lives wandering only one or two acres of home territory. In short, they don’t travel too far. This habit served these turtles well for thousands of years, but makes them especially vulnerable in modern times. I think that we tend to rationalize that, when we develop small portions of land, the local wildlife will simply learn to avoid that area. But for the Eastern Box Turtle, which has such strong ties to its limited home range, the construction of an ordinary one-acre home lot can potentially mean the destruction of the animal’s entire domain.
So while the Eastern Box Turtle continues to thrive in those areas of Connecticut where development has occurred slowly, its numbers continue to decline elsewhere. As a Connecticut state-listed species though, this turtle now enjoys a certain measure of protection against careless land development, at least in those places where its presence has been confirmed.
One of the largest snakes in Connecticut, the Black Rat Snake (Elaphe obsoleta obsoleta) is among the more common serpents of woodlands and meadows. I happened upon this particular specimen (above) along Connecticut’s Metacomet Trail in mid-April, probably only a short time after it emerged from hibernation. In fact, this Black Rat Snake was rendered so sluggish and docile in its post-hibernation stupor that I was able to observe it quite freely. For nearly 30 minutes, I watched as it weaved its way through the tangled branches of a fallen tree only a couple feet away, lacking any sense of urgency to escape. Eventually it slithered to the ground and casually vanished beneath a large boulder.
This type of groggy, springtime temperament doesn’t last very long, though. By late May, I ran into another of these serpents in a rocky meadow in central Connecticut. This time around, the Black Rat Snake was not nearly so accommodating. Alertness was noticeably heightened, it was reactive to my every movement and, after only a few minutes, it grew weary of my presence and staged a lightening-quick escape into the grasses.
Gray Treefrogs (Hyla versicolor) are the only “true” treefrogs that make their home in Connecticut. Despite a slow decline in population throughout the 20th century, the Gray Treefrog remains at least stable enough that it is not currently a state-listed species. This may come as a surprise, though, because most people have actually never seen a Gray Treefrog… even those that spend a good deal of time outdoors.
Why are these frogs so elusive? The simple answer is that they spend the vast majority of their time in the trees, a behavior which could be easily inferred from their name. In the rare case that Gray Treefrogs venture to the ground, its typically by cover of night in order to breed. So although these arboreal amphibians are quite comfortable in the landscapes of Connecticut, they manage to remain out of sight and out of mind to most people.
Undoubtedly among the most commonly seen snakes in suburban neighborhoods, the Eastern Ribbon Snake (Thamnophis sauritus sauritus) is oftentimes mistaken for the closely-related Common Garter Snake. The misidentification is understandable, as both snakes grow to roughly the same proportions and possess distinct, yellow lateral stripes.
For the most part, the field guides will tell you that Eastern Ribbon Snakes live beside wetlands or ponds, feeling most comfortable in the transitional zone between water and dry land. And while that may be the case most often, I discovered this particular specimen (above) on the west-facing ledges of a traprock ridge in southern Connecticut. Naturally, one might wonder how it could possibly find drinking water in such a place; the answer was to be found in the forests towards the interior of ridge top. Although the woodlands there are rather dense, just like any lowland forest, the soil is actually quite shallow. Only about two to four feet below the soft soil lies the solid basalt of the ridge, so that any depressions in the terrain tend to accumulate springtime meltwater and year-round rain run-off. The result is that a small network of vernal pools can be found in this otherwise dry and rocky ecosystem. The Eastern Ribbon Snake routinely makes use of these pools, which occasionally even fill with water during spells of heavy rain during the summertime. As an added benefit, the pools also serve as excellent breeding habitat for various frogs and toads which ultimately provide ribbon snakes with a much-needed food source.
Wherever large swaths of land are developed in Connecticut, there’s almost always some significant impact to the plants and animals which previously had reign over the territory. Some species, such as the Wood Frog and Eastern Box Turtle, can easily vanish from the local landscape. Then there are those creatures such as the Northern Green Frog (Rana clamitans melanota), which probably comprise a larger percentage of Connecticut’s frog population these days than they ever did before the landscape was significantly developed. What accounts for this population explosion in Northern Green Frogs when so many other species are struggling just to avoid yearly declines in numbers?
Quite simply, the Northern Green Frog is supremely adaptable to all types of developed landscapes. While amphibians such as the Wood Frog require undisturbed vernal pools to survive (and will literally perish without them), the Northern Green Frog is content to make its home just about anywhere: rivers or brooks, ponds or lakesides, wetlands and even roadside ditches and storm drains. They are also just as opportunistic in their choice of food, eating nearly anything that they can capture and swallow. This remarkable flexibility means that, even as its wild habitats are tamed by development, the Northern Green Frog nonetheless fares relatively well in comparison to more disturbance-sensitive species. And wherever other species of frog begin to decline in numbers, you can bet that the infinitely versatile Northern Green Frog is itching to fill in the void.
The Northern Black Racer (Coluber constrictor constrictor), growing to sizes of between 4 and 5 feet, is one of the larger snakes of Connecticut. The name “racer”, not surprisingly, alludes to the lightning-fast escapes it stages whenever feeling threatened by an encroaching human. While these snakes are undoubtedly fast, I’m not sure that other snakes can’t attain similar speeds on the right terrain. Instead, my experience with these reptiles in the wild would seem to suggest that they are simply more skittish than other snake species that share their habitat. Thus, they are able to escape from approaching humans much faster, not only because of their speed, but also because they tend to be exceptionally weary of potential threats.
My encounter with this particular specimen (above), was a rather intriguing one for reasons that aren’t at all visible in my photograph. As I crouched only a few feet from the snake, being sure to move slowly so as not to startle it into retreat, I suddenly heard a distinct rattling sound. Now, to be clear, there was no question in my mind that this was a Northern Black Racer… a non-venomous and completely harmless snake. Yet the rattling was so peculiar, and so loud, that I actually doubted my eyes for a moment and found myself involuntarily glancing at its tail to verify that it did not possess the trademark rattle segments of the venomous Timber Rattlesnake. It did not, of course. Instead, it was rapidly beating its smooth tail on the leaf litter. Surely, I imagined, this must be some fantastic mimicry tactic in which the Northern Black Racer strikes fear into the hearts of approaching threats by posing as a rattlesnake!
The truth of the matter, however, is perhaps even more fascinating. As it turns out, this supposed “rattlesnake mimicry” is actually common among many varieties of non-venomous snake. And, rather than being an attempt at imitating a rattlesnake, researchers now believe that this behavior is very ancient and actually predates the evolution of the modern rattlesnake. Several snake species will rhythmically beat their tails on the ground in an attempt to frighten approaching threats, but only the rattlesnakes took this behavior one step further and developed a unique rattling tail structure which could amplify the sound.
To see more photography of the creatures discussed above, as well as several others, please visit Fauna of the Eastern US on my online galleries at JGCOLEMAN.COM.
Arguably Connecticut’s most famous series of waterfalls, Kent Falls is truly a marvel of cascading water and an exquisite museum of natural rock sculptures that have been carved from its marble streambed over the course of millennia. The State of Connecticut began actively pursuing the conversion of the Kent Falls area into a state park beginning in 1915, after a donation of land from the White Memorial Foundation (which, to this day, encompasses its own 4,000-acre preserve in Litchfield).
Falls Brook is tucked tightly into a towering grove of hemlock that, as the Connecticut State Park Commission noted in its 1915 report, were obtained with the “timber undamaged by cutting, which it narrowly escaped.” As can be seen in one of my latest pieces from this park, “Falls Brook Stairway” (right), the view from the foot of Kent Falls reveals a successive series of waterfalls and cascades that emerge from the shadows of conifers and descend powerfully over terraces of time-worn limestone.
Only after reaching the summit of the rocky gorge does the largest waterfall come into view. Here, Falls Brook takes its first leap into the gorge, plunging some 70 feet over sheer-walled cliffs dotted with swaying ferns and grasses and jacketed with moss. You can see these larger falls in some of earlier work from Kent Falls State Park such as “Silken Falls” and “Pristine Cascades”.
My latest piece from Oxford’s Jackson Cove, “As Winter Melts Away” (below), captures the essence of Connecticut’s wildlands as they transition from the deep-freeze of winter to the Spring revival. Cedar Mill Brook, swollen with meltwater, can be seen frantically spilling over mossy boulders on its way to Lake Zoar. Above the commotion, strings of melting icicles hang like natural jewels from fallen branches and tree trunks. For only a few fleeting minutes, the Sun was marvelously cast through one of these icicles, producing a gleaming star that foreshadows the warmer months to come.
For information about prints or licensing, head over to my landing page for “As Winter Melts Away”.
Enders State Forest, a 2,000-acre swath of woodlands in Granby and Barkhamsted, encompasses what is surely one of Connecticut’s least-known natural gems. It is here that Enders Falls can be found, a series of six majestic waterfalls formed as Enders Brook descends jagged ledges of bedrock into a deep, shadowy ravine. Each successive waterfall possesses a distinctly unique character from the last and visitors are apt to lose themselves in studying the myriad plunges, chutes, veils, horsetails and slides.
One of my latest print releases from Enders Falls, “Ice and Ferns” (above), captures plumes of water cascading into the gorge during pre-dawn twilight. Icy snow blankets the far wall of the gorge, a testament to the cool micro-climate that endures here even as temperatures begin to rise in anticipation of winter’s departure. Perhaps the most striking feature, though, is the unexpected juxtaposition of lively green ferns dancing in the breeze upon the nearest rock ledge. Known as Christmas Ferns, these resilient evergreens audaciously defy Connecticut’s harsh winters and, it is said, were once incorporated into Christmas decorations in earlier days since they were among the only leafy green plants that could be collected in December.
Peculiarly, Enders Falls has never enjoyed the same level of popular acclaim as Kent Falls, despite being arguably just as spectacular. Perhaps its because the trails along Enders Brook aren’t as well-developed as those of Kent Falls, or maybe the terrain is too rugged. It might simply be that Enders Falls, unlike its counterpart to the southwest that goes by “Kent Falls State Park”, is buried within state-owned land whose name cleverly disguises the waterfalls of Granby as no more than a “state forest”. In any case, it would seem that these very qualities which cement the obscurity of Enders Falls also make the experience and sensation of being in this remarkable place even more unexpected and impressive.
Some of my newest fine art prints come from places in Connecticut that, while surely beautiful, are nonetheless only known to a few locals and exist outside the consciousness of 99.9% of the state’s residents. These can be somewhat challenging places to find, but they also offer the potential for photographing small nooks and crannies within the state that very few have ever seen.
One of these places is the Koons Nature Preserve, a shaded ravine gurgling with cascades that flows through a quiet, 40-acre parcel of forest in Southbury, Connecticut. My piece, “Spruce Brook Twilight”, features the soothing waters of Spruce Brook as they meanders their way through angular bedrock under the bluish light of the pre-dawn hour.
About 50 miles to the northeast, in Mansfield, one finds the larger watercourse of Fishers Brook. In my piece, “Late Winter on Fishers Brook”, the rock-strewn waters can be seen coursing beneath tight stands of conifers which provided enough shade for remnants of past snows to persist beside the stream.
My latest fine art prints come to you from an exceptionally scenic stretch of the Natchaug River in the northeastern corner of Connecticut. Boulder-laden and crowded to the banks with dense forest, the Natchaug River is one of those exemplary gems of Connecticut’s wildlands. In this new series, I’ve portrayed the Natchaug River cloaked in a thick blanket of mist, accentuating the remote atmosphere and rugged beauty of these waters in a unique way that imparts both serenity and mystery.
In “Diana’s Last View”, the Natchaug River boils with whitewater while coursing beneath rocky ledges just upstream of a popular hole known as Diana’s Pool. These days, Diana’s Pool is a nice place to a launch kayaks or go fishing on the Natchaug River, but legend has it that this was the stage for a classic tragedy long ago. It is said that a woman by the name of Diana, heart-broken over a former lover, leapt from the ledges beside the Natchaug River and met her fate in the rock-strewn rapids. Another version of the tale holds that she plunged into the river only after accidentally slipping upon a puddle of her own tears. “Diana’s Last View” is a fitting addition to this legend, possessing an atmosphere that is serene and remote, but also melancholic and almost foreboding.
The wild essence of Connecticut is subtly evoked by “Natchaug Mist”, in which a stand of fog-shrouded conifers loom in the distance over the wispy rapids of the Natchaug River below. The introspective quality of this piece, as well as the others in this latest series, demanded hours of hiking along the river and composing photographs in the pouring rain. And yet, despite the oppressive conditions, I felt a peculiar kinship with the river that day. As I scrambled atop boulders in search of just the right views, I couldn’t help but notice that my wet clothes weighed heavily upon my frame and water-logged boots made each step feel labored. These days are rarely the type that we share with the forests and rivers of our home. Indeed, we tend towards communing with nature only on our own terms… whenever she happens to offer us blue skies, fluffy white clouds and t-shirt temperatures. But there’s something uniquely fulfilling about joining the trees for a chilly, sobering rain shower. It was almost if I and the trees, for just a few hours, were of a single mind… both of us silent and soaked through, but without the desire to seek shelter or escape to comfort.
I am very pleased to announce that two of my works have won awards in the 2012 Connecticut Forest & Park Association’s photography competition, a contest which seeks out imagery that is especially representative of the state’s natural landscapes, flora and fauna, trails and hikers.
Blackledge Falls in Glastonbury was the subject of my piece titled “The Falls of Blackledge”, which won 1st place in the Connecticut Wildlands category. I shot this photograph in Autumn of 2011 during my very first visit to Blackledge Falls Park and I still vividly remember the way that every facet of the environment seemed to come together perfectly to create a truly dream-like scene. It was a privilege to be in the forests of Glastonbury to see this vista unfold before my eyes!
Shooting this photograph involved using a couple filters in order to capture all of the color and detail in the landscape. For example, a circular polarizing filter was essential to bring out the warm colors of the leaves against the bold blue sky, as well as to remove distracting glare from the wet rocks beside the waterfall. But even more important was the use of a graduated neutral density filter which allowed me to hold back 3 stops of light from the brightly illuminated trees in the background. This went a long way towards balancing the exposure, allowing me to capture detail in the shadowy, moss-laden rocks without overexposing the forest and losing those deeply-saturated colors.
This next piece, titled “Life on the Nonnewaug”, won 2nd place in the Flora & Fauna category. I shot this photograph at Nonnewaug Falls in Woodbury, where the East Nonnewaug River drops about 15 feet into a shallow pool before meandering further into the woodlands. The real challenge with this photograph was being patient enough to wait for the scene to come together as I envisioned.
I had seen a couple of green frogs darting about the pool and decided that I wanted to portray them in the context of their idyllic waterfall environment. Of course, this meant that I needed one of these skittish frogs to perch in the water in a somewhat specific area of the pool and remain still for a long enough time for me compose a shot. From the start, it was clear that they weren’t interested in participating. Every time I approached them they would quickly dive towards the deeper water and surface in the shallows elsewhere along the perimeter of the pool. This went on for a couple of hours. In truth, I had just about given up and I packed all my equipment back into my bag and was making one last walk around the pool before hitting the trails.
To my surprise, one of the green frogs had surfaced in the shallow water just as I was walking by and I figured I’d give it one more shot. I slowly unpacked my gear and set my tripod up so that my camera was suspended just above the surface of the water. To my amazement, the frog sat motionless even as I delicately extended my camera to within 6″ – 8″ of his nose! I took a small series of photos with slight variations in angle and exposure before packing everything back up. Still, the frog remained motionless until I took my first step back towards the trailhead, at which point it quickly darted away to some other corner of the pool. I have a tendency sometimes to personify nature and as I made the hike back to my car, I couldn’t help but smile at the way these little amphibians had effortlessly played me for nearly two hours before finally giving in. It was as if the frog had seen me leaving and said,” Look… we were just messing with you, but you’ve been a good sport about it… I’m going to give you one shot at this… don’t mess it up!” I’d like to think that I made the most of the opportunity.
You can see both of these works, as well as many other winning photographs, online at the Connecticut Forest and Park Association’s website at ctwoodlands.org.
There’s something especially macabre about a place called “Massacre Island”. Indeed, my latest print release, “Tidepool at Massacre Island”, embodies a certain tension between the soothing and the unnerving. On one hand, this new work features the beautiful sandy shores of an island that sits amidst the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. On the other hand, you have the dark tones of pre-dawn twilight, a palette of especially cool colors and the ripples of a wind-swept tidepool which suggest anything but an idyllic day at beach. “Tidepool at Massacre Island” expresses a subtly anxious mingling of those contrasting qualities.
“Massacre Island” is actually a historical name for modern-day Dauphin Island, a small barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico just off the coast of Alabama. Connected to the mainland by a bridge, Dauphin Island has been a beloved beach hangout for many decades. The eastern end of the island even boasts a small town of the same name. But the earliest record of European visitation to the island reveals a much less inviting first impression.
In 1699, French explorers Pierre Le Moyne and Sieur D’Iberville anchored their vessels off the coast of what would one day be called ‘Alabama’ (at that time, it was part of a large swath of territory called ‘New France’). When they landed their longboats on a narrow island of more than 20 miles in length, they were aghast to discover heaps of sun-bleached bones upon the beach. Surely, they imagined, this had been the scene of a terrible slaughter and it made perfect sense to call this place Isle Du Massacre, or “Massacre Island”. Although the island was officially renamed Dauphin Island in 1707 (after the great-grandson of King Louis XIV of France), it was still popularly known as Massacre for many years. In modern times, more than 300 years later, few people have ever heard of this gorgeous place being referred to as Massacre Island… but the foreboding feeling of my latest print seems to hearken back to those earlier times when the European mind thought of North America as a place of mystery, danger and uncertainty.
In time, the French eventually learned that the supposed site of the “massacre” for which Dauphin Island was originally named had only seemed like a terrifying place because it was interpreted out of context. Shortly after the voyage of Le Moyne and D’Iberville, more Frenchmen began arriving in the area and making contact with local Native Americans. In their discussions, it became clear that the heaps of skeletons upon the beach had simply been unearthed from a burial ground by wind and waves; there had never actually been a massacre on Dauphin Island.
Central Connecticut is oftentimes thought of as a portion of the state where there is a bare minimum of natural wonders to be seen. There’s little doubt that the wide breadth of the Connecticut River, for example, must have been quite a sight to behold for Native Americans and early European settlers alike, though modern times seem to have found that mighty stretch of water crowded with civilization. However, upon visiting a place like Wadsworth Falls State Park, you might just reconsider the possibilities for finding beauty in even the most densely-populated regions of Connecticut.
Wadsworth Falls State Park straddles the border between the towns of Middletown and Middlefield and has much to offer in the way of natural splendor despite its proximity to the crowded Connecticut River Valley. Not surprisingly, Wadsworth Falls is the single most notable feature of the entire park and the landmark from which the park draws its name. Truly one of our state’s most beautiful waterfalls, Wadsworth Falls dumps the Coginchaug River down a steep, 30-foot cliff of weathered traprock.
My latest piece from Wadsworth Falls State Park, “Winter on Big Falls”, captures the essence of New England winters bundled with the raw power of the river as it crashes over the falls on its way to calmer waters downstream. Amidst a landscape enveloped in fresh snow, huge sheets of fragmented ice drift rhythmically in the current, occasionally being crushed by torrents of frigid water if they stray to closely to the falls.
“Big Falls”, if you were wondering, is something of a nickname for Wadsworth Falls. It derives from the fact that a second waterfall can be found in the interior of Wadsworth Falls State Park. Much smaller and considerably less powerful than Wadsworth Falls, this additional waterfall was at some point given the name “Little Falls”. I can only imagine that those who were familiar with both of these waterfalls needed some way to differentiate between the two, and it naturally occurred to them to refer to the duo as “Big Falls” and “Little Falls”.
If you do most of your landscape photography in the northern reaches of the world, chances are pretty good that your year has a number of distinct stages… some more anticipated than others.
“Ovens Long-Silenced • Mine Hill Preserve, Roxbury, Connecticut
Roaring Brook Nature Center, like so many other wondrous outdoor places in Connecticut, is little-known outside of the surrounding region… in this case, the Farmington River Valley. But this unique conservation land in Canton combines a learning center and small zoo with a beautiful trail system and has a lot to offer to photographers, hikers, and animal lovers alike.
My visit to the Nature Center in mid-Autumn was replete with quiet stands of conifers, expansive canopies of broadleaf forest, lively woodland streams that wind and tumble through the landscape, an idyllic waterfall that cascades over an old boulder dam and even a small meadow decked out with birdhouses. There is no doubt that Roaring Brook Nature Center is a microcosm of New England’s natural treasures; a place that is well worth visiting if, like me, you hold the character of the Connecticut landscape close to your heart. There’s a certain primal contentment to be found in this peaceful place that will follow you off the trails and tug at you to return sooner than later.
But Roaring Brook Nature Center has more than just trails… it really is a nature center, complete with a small, but remarkably interesting “zoo” that features owls, vultures, squirrels and other wildlife that can be observed and enjoyed either before or after you’ve had your fill on the trails.
I was especially impressed by an unusual, pure-white squirrel that was amongst the cavalcade. Never before had I seen such a creature and I later learned that these white squirrels are actually leucistic specimens of the common grey squirrels with which we are all familiar. Remarkably, within only a week of seeing the white squirrel on display at Roaring Brook Nature Center, I actually witnessed a wild specimen climbing down a tree during an early-morning photo shoot at a preserve in Meriden, Connecticut (an adjacent property owner in the area later confirmed that there is an entire family of these odd squirrels living in the small, 7-acre preserve). What are the odds that I would see a white squirrel for the very first time at the Roaring Brook Nature Center, only to find a wild specimen just a week later only 10 minutes from my home in Central Connecticut? Quite the coincidence, if I do say so myself! But I digress…
You’ll find that I’ve added four new fine art pieces to my online galleries featuring the forests and waters of Canton’s Roaring Brook Nature Center. The piece featured above, “Old Dish Mill Falls on Jim Brook”, is also on display as part of the Celebrating Art in Nature exhibit hosted by the Granby Land Trust at J. Brunelle Vallee Fine Art in Granby, Connecticut. I encourage you to stop by and see my work, along with a range of other exciting photographs and paintings that elaborate upon the inspiring natural beauty of the Farmington River Valley (the exhibit runs until the end of November). My framed and matted print of “Old Dish Mill Falls on Jim Brook” which is on display at the exhibition is also available for purchase, with 40% of the proceeds going to the Granby Land Trust to support the event as well as future activities of the organization.
You can be among the first to see J. G. Coleman’s print, “Old Dish Mill Falls on Jim Brook“, a fine-art landscape photograph taken at Roaring Brook Nature Center in Canton, Connecticut. The work will be on display through the month of November at J. Vallee Brunelle Fine Art & Framing in Granby, Connecticut. “Old Dish Mill Falls on Jim Brook” is only one of many works that will be on display for Celebrating Art in Nature, the 2011 Granby Land Trust Annual Juried Art Show.
Celebrating Art in Nature is a small art show that features paintings, drawings, photography and 3D works inspired by nature and landscapes of the Farmington River Valley region. The opening reception for the showing is on Thursday, November 3, 2011 between 5:00 PM and 8:00 PM.
The showing will run from November 3, 2011 through December 1, 2011 and every piece on display is available for purchase. The Granby Land Trust will receive 40% of the proceeds for every work purchased at J. Vallee Brunelle, which will help them continue to preserve Granby’s natural heritage (a portion of those proceeds will also go towards supporting the event).
