Laysan Albatross taking-off, Frigatebird male displays red pouch for female, and Green Sea Turtles

The plane touches down at 10pm. It’s dark outside the windows of the Gulfstream jet that just brought us here. We exit the plane into a darkness occasionally interrupted by headlights of vehicles, a fire truck, and flashlights in the hands of those awaiting us. It reminds me of a scene from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. We’re escorted to golf carts as others unload our baggage behind us. German and I have just landed on Midway Atoll in the northwestern Hawaiian Islands. The darkness is disorienting but it isn’t long before we see legions of small birds soaring in the skies above us. Sounds surround us in the darkness: whistles, clacks, something that resembles applause, and even Woody Woodpecker. Meanwhile, birds swarm closer to the vehicle, attracted by the headlights. It’s cold and windy, with a hint of moisture in the air. For an atoll that’s primarily a seabird nesting colony (with an estimated 3-5 million birds), it doesn’t smell that bad!

Black-footed Albatross in coursthip ritual and Laysan Albatross in flight 

Laysan Albatross nestling

The next morning we awoke to quite a sight, albatross were everywhere: outside the front door, in gardens, on runways, surrounding buildings, in fields and on beaches. They were the source of all the amazing sounds we heard the night before. Pairs were performing courtship dances while standing near brown, fuzzy chicks in shallow nests. Thousands of albatross filled the air like bees buzzing around a hive.

Curious Laysan Albatross and Laysan Albatross adult feeding squid to nestling

The waters around Midway are truly amazing, the turquoise and blue colors are deeply saturated while beaches are almost white. As you might expect, birds are the dominant life form. Albatross, terns, boobies, frigatebirds, and petrels spend most of their life at sea but return each season for nesting. Most of these birds evolved without land-based predators and have no fear of humans. As a result, visitors can get up close and personal. Laysan and Black-footed Albatross are the most numerous. There are several endangered species living on Midway as well. We were very fortunate to see Monk Seal, Laysan Duck, Green Sea Turtle, and Short-tailed Albatross.

Midway is probably most famous for its role in U.S. history. The atoll served as a military base during WWII and the Cold War. Runways and military buildings cover the atoll, but nature is slowly taking back the land. Old buildings are beginning to decay while plants are pushing their way up through the pavement. The atoll is now preserved as a National Wildlife Refuge. Why do these ruined buildings remain? It’s because the cost of removing them is simply too high. Government money is used for the most important things, like habitat and wildlife management.

Refuge personnel fight invasive species and work to provide the right kind of habitat for animals. They also work to keep beaches clean from garbage that floats in with the tide. Most of this garbage is from products made of plastic. While walking through the Albatross rookeries, you will occasionally come upon a small mound of plastic: colorful bottle caps, cigarette lighters, toys, and fishing gear. If you look closely, you’ll also see bones and fragments of feathers. Adult albatross are eating plastic and it’s killing them. Chicks are also fed plastic items. It fills up their bellies and they mistakenly feel full. In the end, they slowly die of starvation because they no longer beg for food from a parent. I left Midway with a much stronger resolve to minimize my use of plastic and recycle everything possible. One afternoon, German and I found a chick with fishing line wrapped around its foot. Our guide asked us to remove it. The little albatross snapped at hands and eventually threw squid up on German. The smell lingered on his hands for days. But, that’s the cost of saving one small life!

We spent 6 days on Midway and left knowing what a really special place it is, not only for its amazing wildlife but also because of the dedicated people who live there. They were all truly kind and generous, each with a passion for their work on the refuge. Volunteers were equally enthusiastic. Thank you to all of them for providing us with such a great experience!

© 2012, Laura Crawford Williams. All rights reserved.

Striated Caracara, Imperial Cormorant, and Juvenile Elephant Seal

As I write this, it’s summer in December and I’m in the Falkland Islands. German and I are sitting along a stretch of beach on Sea Lion Island. The sand is white and the water Caribbean blue. You might assume that white beaches and clear blue water could equal swimsuits and pina coladas, but not here! It’s very cold and extremely windy. We’re in the land of penguins, albatross, and elephant seals...

Despite the weather, something amazing is happening in front of us. A large male Southern Sea Lion is swimming up and down the shoreline, hunting Gentoo Penguins. Hundreds of Gentoos are swimming just beyond the shallows, waiting to come inland. They know the sea lion is here and that he’s waiting to snatch them. Last night, we watched him catch seven penguins. This is an amazingly sad experience, but exciting at the same time. You find yourself praying that the penguins escape but then fanatically photographing the moment when they’re caught. It’s an extremely violent moment and I find myself feeling those hopelessly conflicted feelings again.

To me, the Falkland Islands are a magical place, despite its brutal beauty. This is my second visit. I love it because it's one of the few locations where you can wander among wildlife unhindered: trusted that you will respect the animals and enjoy the gift of solitude in wilderness. 

The animals in the Falklands are unafraid on land. They evolved without many land predators and are trusting to a fault.  Penguins are especially curious. If you sit near a colony and remain somewhat still, they will come to greet you - each sideways glance a prelude to closer inspection. This is true of many of the animals, birds and mammals alike. The islands themselves are mostly treeless. Native shrubs like the compact Diddle-Dee and the fountain-like Tussock Grass dominate the landscape. The terrain is rolling. There are unique geographical features called ‘rock runs’ that flow down from the top of higher hills. Tall, sharp cliffs also rise from the sea.

One of my favorite locations is on Saunders Island at a place called the Rookery. There’s a large Rockhopper Penguin colony that stretches high upon the hill. Near the colony is a fresh water spring. All day long, the Rockhoppers walk, run, or hop to the spring, hunched over like little old men with big pink feet. The nails at the end of each toe allow them to climb up steep rocks in order to come to an area where fresh water drips like a waterfall. It’s known as the ‘penguin shower’ and is a must see location if you ever visit. Penguins stand in line as they wait for their turn in the shower. If a penguin takes too long cleaning up, waiting penguins gang up upon them and they are chased away so that others may take their turn. We witness very human behavior in a similarly human situation.

The idea of traveling through the Falklands with German, a 42-year-old ex-marine corps Argentinean was intriguing to me. I didn’t know what to expect.  German had never been to the Falklands and he was only a child when the Falklands War began. Argentine history is branded with scars from this war. The same is true for people in the Falklands. I visited the Falklands in 2005 and was surprised at that time to hear so many stories about the war, personal stories from the locals I met along the way. For some, there was a great deal of resentment and unhealed emotional scars. For others, it was simply a sad situation. However, there’s no way to escape the history. Evidence of the war is hard to ignore in the Falklands. Thousands of acres are still filled with land mines. British as well as Argentine war memorials and cemeteries are on all major islands. The crashed remains of helicopters and other aircraft can still be seen. Impact craters gouge the landscape near battlefield trenches that still contain rotting ponchos. Locals are more than happy to relate their experiences, whether you ask them to or not. I think all that we saw and heard relating to the war touched German more strongly than he’d imagined. For me, it was an incredible learning experience. One of those moments that give perspective and appreciation for your own life situation.  Still, the point of this adventure and of this blog is not to focus on the Falklands War. It’s to celebrate the beauty of the islands and their endemic species.

It was a great time of year to be in the Falklands. Most waterfowl were paired-off and escorting newly hatched, buoyant balls of fluff. Chicks were everywhere. Ruddy-headed Geese, Upland Geese, Kelp Geese, Falkland Flightless Steamerducks, Crested Ducks, and White-tufted Grebes were all herding around newly hatched babies. Gentoo and Rockhopper Penguin eggs began hatching during our second week, while Rufus–chested Dotterals, Black-browed Albatross, and Oystercatchers mostly were sitting on eggs. We also saw Dolphin Gulls and Arctic Terns gathering nesting material in preparation for their own nesting season.

I applaud the people of the Falkland Islands for managing to keep tourism small and controlled. This could easily become a location similar to the Galapagos Islands. Too many people require too many restrictions. The Falklands tourism board intentionally works to keep tourist numbers regulated so that visitors are able to have a unique and special experience. Most people I talked with want that balance. On each island, I was told that the goal is to provide a quiet, intimate experience without crowds or too many regulations. I hope they’re able to keep this balance.

Unfortunately, money and conservation are often at odds. Cruise ships have begun coming, bringing 300 people at a time to walk freely among penguin colonies. Eventually, it will be too much and most of the locals are afraid of this. History shows us that the temptation of money is strong. I hope that the people living in the Falkland Islands prove that to be wrong!

© 2012, Laura Crawford Williams

Even the most serious birders often ignore this waddling family of birds. To children ducks are funny birds to be chased, hunters look at them as targets, and to most other people ducks are the amusing birds you feed at the park when pigeons aren’t around. They waddle awkwardly and the most common ones quack. (There’s really no way to make a quack sound graceful.) Ducks make us laugh. Even their courtship displays make me giggle. They flip their heads, raise their butts, and kick water up with their feet. You can watch multiple males as they circle around a female doing all of the above. To a girl-duck this is sexy. To the rest of us, it‘s simply comical. But, when taken seriously, ducks are also beautiful. The patterns and colors of feathers can compete with the best work from graphic designers and modern artists. They’re also extremely skittish, which makes them difficult to photograph. They don’t like humans getting too close. This article describes what I’ve learned about photographing wild ducks and other waterfowl.    

First, let me say that the easiest way to photograph ducks is to go to a public park where they are used to human presence. This is a great way to get good shots of a variety of species and a great place to practice. Boat docks are also a good place to go, again because the birds are used to humans being nearby. But, I prefer photographing wild ducks in wild locations and that’s what this article is about.      

 In search of...   

For me, truly wild ducks need to be photographed from a blind. But, first you have to find them. You have to do some fieldwork and find a location where the ducks come to feed in the morning and evening. Small ponds and farm fields are excellent places to start. Ask farmers or refuge managers where you can find flocks of waterfowl. Once you have your location, it’s time to observe the birds from a distance. This takes a little patience and a pair of binoculars. Visit the location at least one morning and afternoon. What birds are there? Where are they consistently hanging out - on the shore, near a specific food source, on a fallen branch or island? Is it the same location each morning and evening? Where is the sun? Will it be better to shoot at sunrise or sunset? Start looking for a place to put your blind (make sure you have permission to do so). Find one that faces a clean or interesting background with the sun behind you.  

When setting up the blind, do it when the birds aren’t around. I use small, one-person bivy tents that I’ve adapted for photography. They keep me low to the ground so I can shoot looking eye to eye, not looking down. These tents also resist wind and are easy to set-up and transport. Ducks may be afraid of a blind at first, but should get comfortable with it quickly. If they do not, remove the blind immediately. When I shoot in ponds, I like to add a nice looking log in the water, off to one side. Birds often climb up on it after feeding and begin to preen. This provides you an opportunity to photograph a different behavior. Before leaving, I c lean my setting a little bit, removing sticks and debris in front of the blind.   

While scouting your blind location, you should make a list of the birds you see. Bring your field guide and try to identify each species while out in the field. Chances are that with ducks will also be geese, shorebirds, or other waterfowl. Once you get home, do a little homework. Learn about various behaviors you might see like ceremonial drinking, breeding displays, bonding gestures, or threat displays. Books like Stokes Guide to Bird Behavior or Sibley's Guide to Bird Life and Behavior will give you clear and succinct descriptions that prepare you. Take as much knowledge as you can with you into the blind. You will take better and more interesting pictures.  

Don’t stress the animals 

Go into the blind before the birds arrive. I prefer to shoot ducks in the mornings so I go into the blind well before sunrise. W hen you’re finished shooting, only leave the blind once the ducks are gone! Don’t stress or scare them. It won’t help them or your photography! 

When inside the blind for the first time, start slowly. In the beginning, ducks may be afraid of your movements or the sound of your camera. Move very slowly and start by taking only a few images every so often. Stop once the birds look nervous and let them relax and return to feeding before beginning again. Eventually, they will accept your movements and the sounds of the camera. I find movement to be the most intimidating for them. Sound doesn’t seem to bother them as much.    

 The elements can trick you

Let’s say you’ve done everything perfectly, you enter the blind only to find that for some reason the birds didn’t come back. There are two elements that can change your plans. Very windy days can be a problem. I find the birds are more skittish with high winds. Perhaps they can’t hear impending danger as well or maybe raptors have an advantage with the wind speed. I’m not sure. But, the most difficult (and often surprising) obstacle is the moon. When the moon is very bright on a mostly clear sky, ducks will change their pattern and feed at night. So, be aware of the weather and phases of the moon as you plan your days in the blind.

Don’t forget to catch the action

My best advice is to go for action, interaction, and behavior shots! If you did your homework you should know what species you’re looking at and what some of their more common behaviors will be. Often times, a sound or movement precedes an interesting behavior. Listen, watch, and have fun!

Summary:

·      Don’t stress the animals, always respect them.

·      Ask locals in rural areas where birds go to feed mornings and evenings.

·      Observe from a distance before deciding how to begin.

·      Look for a ‘feature’ where ducks repeatedly visit (log, localized food source).

·      Ask permission to set-up a blind.

·      Place blind when the birds aren’t around.

·      Place blind with sun to your back and facing the most pleasing background.

·      Clean your ‘setting’ a little (don't go crazy).

·      Add a perch or log nearby to maximize shooting opportunities.

·      Identify the birds you'll be shooting; learn behaviors beforehand.

·      Never enter or exit the blind while birds are around.

·      Remove a blind that causes birds to change behavior.

·      Watch for weather related elements that can change feeding habits.

·      In the blind, start slowly, let birds get comfortable with your movements.

·      Shoot action and interaction, not only portraits.

© 2011, Laura Crawford Williams. All Rights Reserved.

September 2011

I’m sitting on a 71 foot sailing vessel called the Ocean Light II. It’s raining, as it has been for days. The temperature averages about 50F, but it seems colder because of the humidity and wind. I keep a cup of hot tea nearby mainly to warm my hands. We’re sailing along British Columbia’s mid-coast. On shore, in the Great Bear Rainforest, Spruce, Cedar, Pine, and Crabapple populate one of the largest remaining remnants of coastal temperate rainforest. The bright greens, yellows, and reds are especially vibrant in the rain. The deep water we’re sailing through is cold, dark green, and extremely clear.

   What we’re doing

The target of this adventure is to photograph the rare Kermode Bear, otherwise known as the Spirit Bear. Spirit Bears are a white color phase of the Black Bear. They have dark eyes and cream-colored fur because of a recessive gene that prevents their coats from turning black. Biologists estimate there are around 400 living on different islands in the Great Bear Rainforest. They are a special part of a complex ecosystem that includes Salmon, Herring, Humpback Whales, Orca, Wolves, Deer, Bald Eagles, Harbor Seals, and Grizzly Bears. Fortunately, the Canadian government has chosen to protect the Spirit Bear, even though hunting of Grizzly and Black Bear is rampant. Still, there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to find them, so we’re hoping for the best.

I traveled by floatplane from Prince Rupert to Hartley Bay. This is where I met the Ocean Light II. From there we traveled southeast toward Gribbell Island, where we hoped to see the Spirit Bear. Along the way, we saw migrating Pink Salmon and agile Harbor Seals swimming in the clear water around us. We also found several Humpback Whales as well as a pod of Orcas. Most of these marine mammals were elusive, but a few allowed us to see them up close. One Orca passed directly under our boat with a Halibut in her mouth. Her baby was close beside her.

The first encounter

We arrived at our destination by early evening the first day. It was raining, but we went to shore and hiked about one mile into the forest. I was excited. This would be my first experience with bears of any color and I didn’t have long to wait. The first bear we found was fishing at the edge of Riordan Creek. She was a Black Bear and a very patient hunter. Pink Salmon were running up the creek to spawn and could be seen swimming and splashing around her. Each time she caught a fish she would retreat into the forest to eat it. She did this many times as we sat quietly watching her. Once the sun had set, we headed back to the boat …and there he was. A male Spirit Bear came wandering up the creek directly in front of us. We saw him only briefly in the fading light, but now we were excited. We’d just confirmed that at least one Spirit Bear was in the area.

The following morning, we left early. I was settling in along the edge of the creek when the bushes in front of me began to rustle. Something was walking almost silently through the forest. It felt like the scene in Jurassic Park when all you could see was the grass waving as the dinosaurs moved closer. I was nervous, but I trusted our guide and didn’t move. That’s when a Black Bear came out of the forest with two cubs behind her. I’ve been told that a mother with cubs is the most dangerous kind of bear: black, white, or brown. My nervousness increased. I expected her to be aggressive, but what actually happened was quite the opposite. She was unconcerned with our presence. In fact, she barely acknowledged our being there. She walked directly to a shallow pool and began fishing for salmon as her cubs played nearby. She stayed with us for about an hour and then disappeared into the forest. I began to move around, drying my camera and checking my images. That’s when I heard our guide make a strange sound. I looked up and saw a male Spirit Bear directly ahead. I had been so focused on the mother bear that I didn’t see his approach. 

Over the next two days, we photographed two different Spirit Bears and several Black Bears. At one point, we had seven bears fishing all around us in the rain. Some bears had special hunting techniques. One female preferred to stand under the shade of a fallen tree and wait for the salmon to seek refuge underneath. Another rested in the middle of the creek with his weight on his elbows. He held his mouth open just over the rapids and waited. Others seemed to splash around aimlessly. For me, it was an amazing experience, simply spending time with the bears as they fished and interacted with one another. I was truly grateful to them for willingly accepting us into their world, if only for a little while.

In August this year, National Geographic featured a story about Spirit Bears and the amazing wilderness in which they live. They describe the various threats to this fragile ecosystem, such as the Northern Gateway Tar Sands Pipeline project. The proposed pipeline would stretch 700 miles across western Canada to a port in the heart of the Great Bear Rainforest. From there, the refined oil would then be shipped to China, Japan, and perhaps California. Logging is another concern. The Spirit Bear is threatened because much of its home range has already been logged. The loss of big trees means the loss of dens for protection during winter hibernation. Logging also exacerbates erosion problems as well as fragmentation of habitat and health of river systems that support a crucial food source, salmon. Take a look at Nat Geo’s article if you haven’t already or visit http://www.pacificwild.org/ for more information about conservation of species on Canada’s Pacific coast. It is a truly wild and pristine location worthy of protection.

 The beginning

I don’t know how to tell this story. I’ve tried to write it many times. The reason for my difficulty is emotional: a mixture of anxiety, desire, frustration, and failure. This is a sad story.

The story begins on a small estancia in Northeastern Argentina, where German and I met two captive jaguars: Sinbad and Simone. It was a chance meeting, not planned or expected. Before living in captivity, Sinbad and Simone were considered problem jaguars accused of killing livestock on nearby estancias. Problem jaguars are killed in Argentina, despite the fact that it’s illegal. Keeping jaguars in captivity without the proper qualifications is also illegal, so the man who trapped and kept them was also breaking the law.  He did it to save their lives, but what’s the lesser of two evils: to kill the jaguars or cage them? In the beginning, the answer was very clear to me, but now I’m not so sure.

The first visit

Jaguars are impressively powerful and I had a surprisingly strong emotional reaction to their size, strength, and demeanor. This is brutal beauty at it’s finest. Sinbad looked rather healthy but Simone was throwing up in her cage. I do not condone photography of captive animals, especially animals kept in conditions and circumstances such as Sinbad and Simone. (I will photograph rehabilitated animals that are no longer able to return to the wild.) But, repeated offers to donate time, materials, and money to improve the cats living conditions were wholeheartedly refused. The only answer I could find was to document the situation and then find a way to use the images to help them.

 I spent the most time with Sinbad. He was very calm and accepting, even when I was very close. I watched his behavior carefully, slowly working my way closer and closer and staying low to the ground. By the end, I was using a macro lens as Sinbad lounged patiently against the bars. My surprise came when the keeper that had caged and cared for Sinbad for over a decade came near the enclosure. Sinbad’s demeanor changed completely. He growled, hissed, and roared while pacing. The difference in behavior was startling; I realized I'd been naïve to be so close. Sinbad’s giant paws had no trouble squeezing through cage bars in order to scratch his taunting keeper. 

There’s a blurry line between what we feel we must do and what we believe is the right thing to do in a situation like this. Perhaps my choices could have been better. We did not walk away and declare true feelings of outrage or tragic sadness for the conditions and treatment of these animals. In my mind, the best interest of the animals superseded stating our dislike of the situation. We were being as friendly as necessary to convince the keeper to accept our help.

The second visit

Not satisfied that we had done all we could, we returned 2 weeks after our first visit. Again we were refused. The keeper was convinced that if he made things better for the cats, the government would “take his farm” and “exploit the jaguars”. We were frustrated and defeated, but we gave him money and he promised to get better food and health care for the cats.  Around the same time, German and I were beginning our photo tour business. Conservation education is an important part of our mission statement and we agreed that Sinbad was a perfect choice for our logo. Sinbad was to be our ambassador and he remains so today.

4 months later

While having dinner with a friend in Corrientes, one guest began telling the story of a hermit who lived with jaguars in the jungle of the Northeast. Guess who? The tale had taken a tragic spin after Sinbad killed the keepers’ brother when opening the cage to feed him. Afterward, Sinbad didn’t run away. He stayed in his cage with the door wide open. He had lived in captivity for so many years freedom was no longer a consideration. We asked what had happened to the cats but no one seemed to know. We finally found a newspaper article on the Internet, but it said only that the government confiscated the cats. It didn’t say where they had been taken.

1 week later

While walking through a small airport in the Northeast, a security guard stopped German for having a utility knife on his belt. The guard asked German to put it in the car and escorted him to the parking lot to do so. Upon seeing our company logo (with Sinbad in the middle), the guard mentioned his work with a local wildlife facility that had just received two new jaguars: Sinbad and Simone! Within a few days, we met the guard at a government owned rehabilitation facility and visited our old friends. It was one of the most depressing days in my life. The cats were caged in a small building that stood in the bright, hot sunlight. The cement walls were 5 feet tall and without windows. Only bars at the top allowed a view down into the cats’ separate compartments. I thought they had lived in the worst conditions before, but I was wrong. Both cats looked sick. Sinbad had lost weight and seemed diminished. Simone looked worse. Her tail was swollen with infection and her eyes cloudy. She was lying on her side and would only raise her head to look up. She had always been aggressive, constantly growling and pacing in the past. Now, she didn’t move beyond tossing her head for an occasional halfhearted growl. I saw scraps of meat but no water around them. The cages were very small, dirty, hot, and barren. I got up on German’s shoulders and began taking pictures down into the cages. Both cats were extremely lethargic and unresponsive. A worker confirmed that the cats had been drugged, but wouldn’t say why.

Two days later

A client was coming to travel with us for 3 weeks and we’d arranged for him to photograph raptors at a privately owned wildlife rehabilitation center. This center is extremely well equipped and has the very best veterinary care. On our tour of the center, the manager showed us enclosures set-up specifically for jaguars. But, the cages were empty. We were excited and talked about Sinbad and Simone. She knew of them and had been trying to get them moved to her facility, but political muscle was keeping this from happening. The man in charge of the government wildlife facility was standing in the way.

The end of the story?

There is so much more to this story, but the summary is that despite the obvious benefits of the privately owned facility, all attempts to move the cats have failed. I ask that anyone who feels they can be more successful at changing the mind of self-serving politicians, please contact me and teach me what can be done. We’ve tried, our friends have tried, but we’ve been told that by fighting we are putting ourselves at risk. So, I’m walking a fine line into unknown territory. Is there a way to make the remaining years of these unfortunate animals a little better? In the beginning, I thought ‘alive and caged’ was better than dead. After this experience, I can no longer say that with conviction.

© 2011, Laura Crawford Williams

When German approached me about doing a scouting trip to northern Argentina, I was skeptical. My mind played images of barren desert landscapes with little wildlife to be seen. Yes, I’d seen colorful photos of mountains and giant cacti that were very nice, but not really “my thing”. I resisted his idea for over a year. At about the same time, I met an old friend at a photography conference. He teaches photo workshops in the States and had just begun to explore some international destinations. His name is Corey Hilz and he specializes in nature as well as travel photography. We had talked in the past about co-leading a photography tour somewhere in Argentina. I mentioned the possibility of visiting several different areas, including the north. After a little more discussion, some research, and gentle prodding from German we agreed that in June 2011 we would explore Tucuman, Jujuy, and Salta in Northern Argentina. We just returned from that scouting trip and I’m happy to say that I was wrong, completely. The area was full of life, color, and variety. It is a truly amazing place. 

The landscape

Our goal was to explore the Calchaquies Valley and the Quebrada de Humahuaca, narrow valleys once used by Inca as trade and transportation routes. While it’s true that this is a semi-desert region, that’s far from all we saw. I was completely surprised by the variety of landscape in such a small area: mountains, desert, salt flats, high plains, volcanoes, and lush valleys. We went from 1000 (3281 feet) to 4895 (16,059 feet) meters above sea level. We saw the altiplano (high plains) to the North and vast salt flats of the Puna to the West. (The Puna is a high altitude plateau at an average of 4000 meters or 13,123 feet above sea level.) The landscape was constantly changing around us and the colors of each were amazing. It's true that we focused on landscapes more than I normally do. And, it’s also true that I’ve never taken so many pictures of colorful patterns on the mountainside. But, the colors were stunning, the culture unique, and the landscapes far from similar. It was a trip that literally celebrated color, truly vivid color from the grasses, mountains, and slat flats to the adobe homes, artisan markets, and clothing worn by the locals. 

The people

Each little town had its own charm and the people were truly unique; everyone was kind and friendly and the food was delicious. We had original dishes like Humita and the best tamales I’ve ever eaten. The people in these areas have adapted to some of the most extreme climatic conditions. Their heritage comes from pre-Hispanic times and they hold firmly to traditions and rituals passed down through generations. Interestingly enough, we also found ourselves fascinated by the variety and beauty of primitive graveyards in the most rural as well as more urban locations. Yes, these are poverty stricken places, but it’s different from the poverty you witness in more urbanized locations. The people survive from the land. Homes are built from clay/mud bricks and the skeletons of the Cardones cactus. Many depend on goats for their livelihood.

One afternoon, while passing near the town of Payogasta, we found the road blocked by an old woman herding goats along the dirt road. The goats were all hobbled, their feet tied closely together so they couldn’t run. The woman walked slowly and with a walking stick. We stopped to talk with her and asked permission to take her picture. She was sharp, wanting to know each of our names, sometimes repeating them over and over after being introduced. She asked lots of questions about our travels. Her name was Torres and she was 89 years old. We shared cookies and good conversation before saying goodbye and asking if we could visit her again in the future. She said she would be happy to see us, but we couldn’t bring the same car and pointed to our Frontera logo on the side. This was a little strange and there was a pregnant pause filled with confusion until she explained. Our Frontera logo contains a picture of Jaguar. Torres felt the logo was bad luck; it could attract large cats like the Puma that roamed in her area. That’s a problem for her because Puma eat goats. So, on our next visit…no logo and no cats!

The wildlife

While landscape and cultural photo opportunities took precedence, there was a surprising amount of wildlife. The most common animal we saw was the Vicuña, most similar in look to the Guanaco and related to the Llama. They were very curious, craning their necks from side to side as they stopped to check us out. We also found Llamas. While some were domesticated and often decorated with colorful pompons for celebrations, others were wild and roaming the high plains. Llamas are great because they always seem to be smiling at you. Like Dolphins, their faces just look happy which is only exaggerated when their ears are decorated with pompons. Toward the end of the trip the bird photographer (me) was finally given a treat. We found Flamingos in the salt flats, their pink colors blending perfectly with the colorful mountains surrounding them. But, my favorite subjects were three Red-legged Seriemas in Salta. (Seriemas are long-legged birds related to rails and bustards.) They visited the freshly mown grass around my hotel looking for bugs and other tidbits. They even found a poor, sick Clay-colored Robin and promptly made a meal of it. Unfortunately, we never saw any Puma. Sorry Torres, the logo didn’t work!

I don’t know why I havn't noticed before, but guess what? Mountains don’t run away. You find them and then wait for the great light, no worries. They will still be there later. No tracking, chasing, crawling, sneaking, or sitting in cramped blinds for hours. For me, this was a vacation and the photo opportunities just never stopped! There were times where Corey and I were completely confused about which way to turn our cameras.

If you’d like to see snow-capped mountains that resemble Georgia O’Keefe paintings, places that look like Santa Fe or the Badlands on steroids, truly original cultures that still hold to ancient traditions, quaint colorful villages, friendly people, extinct volcanoes, vast salt flats, and bright yellow grasslands...all while eating amazing food (without crowds of other tourists), then go to Northern Argentina!

Corey, German, and I will be taking a group of between 8-10 people in June 2012. Send me an email if you're interested!

© 2011, Laura Crawford Williams

This is the very delayed update about our trip to Iceland and the excitement with Grimsvotn Volcano. Unfortunately, the ending really isn’t that exciting. In the end, we were able to get on the first plane out of Hofn, 5 days after the eruption. We even made it to our international plane on time. Overall, it was a great trip but difficult as well. The weather was severe the entire time, not just post volcano. It was cold, wet, and windy - to the extreme. Locals told us it was unusual weather for Spring. But, we shot every day and survived the elements. I’ve posted a gallery of images from the rest of the trip below.

© 2011, Laura Crawford Williams

Forces of Nature

May 21, 2011

German and I had just returned from a long day of shooting around Vatnajokull National Park in Iceland. We were very tired and agreed to take the rest of the day off. Since the beginning of our trip, we’ve been plagued with above average rainfall and below average temperatures. I read that Iceland was relatively nice in May. Temperatures were said to average around 45F, the sun shines 20 hours a day, and fewer tourists this time of year. The reality was that we didn’t see the sun for 10 days and it rained constantly. There was sleet, ice, and snow on the roads and an overall average of 32F.  (Thank goodness for 4-wheel drive.) However, on Saturday evening the clouds floated away, the wind stopped, and the sun magically appeared. No rest for the weary. It was time to go back out and take advantage of the light. The mountains and glaciers were beautiful. Iceberg lagoons were icy blue while gulls, kittiwakes, and eiders fished all around them. As the sun finally began to fade, we headed back to the hotel cold and hungry…that’s when the real action began. 

We were staying in the town of Skaftafel situated below the Skeidararjokull Glacier. This hotel sits inconveniently below the Grimsvotn volcano.  German was in the lobby around 7pm when he heard someone say that the volcano had erupted. He knocked on my door, I changed back into cold weather clothing, and we joined hotel staff and guests in the parking lot. From our vantage point it was difficult to see anything spectacular. We could just see the tip of the ash cloud rising into the sky but it quickly turned into an unimpressive blue smudge across the mountaintops. Employees said it was a small eruption and not to be concerned. The staff returned to work and tourists drove away in rental cars to get a better view. It was a gorgeous evening, so we followed and took a few pictures. On the way back, we talked with a policeman. He said not to be worried and mentioned that the bridge to Reykjavik had been closed. We hoped it would be open by morning, since we needed to cross it in order to return to the airport. Apparently, melted snow from the eruption can cause flash flooding and this bridge had been wiped out before.

May 22, 2011

It was 5am Sunday morning when German knocked on my door again. He was standing in the hall, still wearing his pajamas, telling me to look out of my window. I opened the curtains and saw nothing. It was pitch black where I should have seen light. That’s when I heard the low rumbling, small earthquakes caused by the eruption. We went to the lobby to ask why people weren’t leaving. The staff had no answer but casually handed us two facemasks left by police earlier in the morning. We thanked them, bought 3 large bottles of water, and immediately checked out! Once outside, it was hard to see. Ash was blowing like heavy snow directly into our faces and was covering the car. What had been a 1 ½ hour drive the previous day, took us 3 in the ash. For the first 40 minutes, we could barely see the road. I can’t describe how black it was. Eventually, we began to see the sun through a grey and tan haze. The wind was blowing drifts of ash across the road. Whenever they hit the car, we were totally blind. If it weren’t for the reflective road indicators and the fact that we were the only car on the road, it coud have been a bigger problem. We had no idea what we were doing.

When we first saw the light.

The scenery around us.

Ash trailing behind us.

I’d make a terrible journalist. I didn’t even think to document ash covered vehicles and black roads in the darkness. We were really more interested in getting out of this mess than we were of taking pictures. Only when we literally “saw the light” did we begin to look around. The once snow-covered mountains had turned pale brown and the icy blue lagoon was now beige with black icebergs. But, with each kilometer the sun got brighter. Outside the cloud it was a beautiful sunny day. 

Mountain tops with freshly fallen snow were now being covered by the ash.

Coming out of the darkness.

We reached a hotel at 7am and promptly arranged to buy tickets at a small airport on a 4pm flight to Reykjavik. Our international flight was on Thursday, but we decided it was better to leave the country early and avoid the post-volcanic mayhem. This was wishful thinking. By that time, the volcanic plume was 12 miles into the sky and all international and domestic flights were cancelled. So, we checked into the hotel.

Since no one knew when the bridge would re-open we went to plan B - to circumnavigate the country in the opposite direction from the volcano. This would be a 24-hour drive with no stopping. But, nature changed our plans again. There was a snowstorm in the mountains to the north and the roads were impassible.

May 23, 2011

Plan C was to drive a couple of hours north to Eglisstadir, a town with a larger airport. We left around 10am with a caravan of hotel guests behind us. We turned back forty minutes later after the wind nearly blew us off the road. Rocks were falling from slopes above us and spreading across the roadways. Even waterfalls were blowing upward. After our return to the hotel, we learned the tunnel we had passed through twice this morning, was now closed because of the wind. At this point it was gusting to 86 km/hour. Some cars were blown off the road and others had windows explode while driving. By 3pm, we were told a plane would be coming to the local airport at 5pm. By 5pm, the time was changed to 8pm. By 7:30pm, we received a call that the plane had been cancelled. Unbelievable! The plane was rescheduled for 9am the following morning.

May 24, 2011

By 7:30am the plane was cancelled again. The wind is still howling outside. It’s now 9:30am and we were just told that the plane might come at noon. Hope is fading fast and frustration pervasive throughout our newly formed family of hotel refugees. The truth is no one knows when the snow will melt, how long the volcano will erupt, where the ash cloud will drift, or how long the wind will blow. What we’ve learned is that you must give in, bend with the wind, and laugh in the face of frustration. Everybody knows…you just can’t fight Mother Nature!

Copyright 2011, Laura Crawford Williams

  Where we are

The Frontera team is sitting on top of a sandy cliff under the rusty and neglected Punta Norte lighthouse. As the sun rises, the wind is blowing at 70 km/h and my eyes are filling with sand beneath my sunglasses. We’re looking across the Atlantic Ocean off the north end of the Valdes Peninsula in Argentina.  No one is talking because it's impossible to hear in this wind. Three Southern Sea Lion colonies of mothers and pups are settled along the 8 km coastline below us. We’ve been waiting here for 8-10 hours a day for over 4 days. We’re cold and tired but remain hopeful that the infamous Orcas of the Valdes Peninsula will arrive at any moment. German watches the water as he holds a radio to his ear waiting to hear that the Orcas have been spotted and are headed our way. 

Nature can be heartless and the spectacle we’re waiting to witness is certainly no exception. Twenty-three Orcas, or Killer Whales, come to hunt sea lions here each year between February and April. This in itself is not unusual, what is unusual is how they do it. The Valdes Orcas are the only Orcas in the world that rush out of the sea, intentionally stranding themselves on the beach, in order to catch prey. Both the BBC and National Geographic have beautiful footage of this natural phenomenon, but we’ve come to see and photograph it for ourselves. It is extremely difficult to do.   

The hunter and the hunted

The key to this amazing event is the baby sea lion. At this time of year, small “nurseries” of baby sea lions play in the shallow surf close to the shore. They’re very young, just learning how to swim and unaware of danger. Even their mothers are slow to warn and protect them as the Orcas begin the approach. Orcas may hunt alone or collaboratively. For example, one Orca will attack in plain view while another lays sideways in shallow water nearby (hiding its dorsal fin) waiting to ambush panicked pups. Once a pup is caught, it’s dragged from shore and shared with the entire group. Only ten of the twenty-three Orcas around Valdes hunt in this unique way; however, you can watch young Orcas being taught to do the same and the number of hunters is slowly increasing.

Sometimes after catching a pup, the Orcas will play with it. They slap it around with their tails like a game of pup tennis before sharing it as a meal. As I mentioned before, nature can be heartless. For me, the most difficult part is watching the mothers look for their pups after a kill. They call and search the shoreline without rest. Despite the cruelty, watching Orcas work and play collaboratively is an amazing experience. In a strange way, you feel honored to be such an intimate witness. I suppose it’s hard to imagine for those who’ve not experienced it.

Why it happens

No one really knows how or why the Valdes Orcas developed this intentional stranding technique. Perhaps they’ve been doing this for generations, perhaps not. Some people say it may have developed when humans were allowed to kill sea lions in Argentina. Thousands were killed until the mid twentieth century. Perhaps the Orcas were forced to find a new way to access their prey at this time, instead of abandoning a traditional hunting ground altogether.

Orcaholics

Orca groupies return each year hoping to be lucky enough to see the Orcas hunt for the first time or perhaps one more time. Most of these people are obsessive and have an amazing amount of patience. You can wait for days and never be lucky enough to see it. Last year, we waited 88 hours during 10 days before spending one beautiful sunset watching multiple attacks only meters away. This year we were fairly lucky and witnessed a few attacks from a distance on the very first day. Unfortunately, at the time of this writing, the Orcas have disappeared again. Here we are sitting under the lighthouse cold, anxious, and uncomfortable. So, my brain begins to wonder, why are we so crazy about these Orcas?

This is our 3rd year coming to watch the Orcas hunt and we‘ve made many friends in those years. This year we've met people from France, Israel, Germany, Argentina, Italy, and the US. It's an international migration: a worldwide pilgrimage taken by those who are inspired by the beauty, intelligence, and power of the Orcas.  If you’re lucky enough to see them hunt, teach, play, and communicate, you feel a connection to a community of animals behaving in very human ways. They exhibit both the best and the worst of human behavior, and it's hauntingly familiar. Perhaps one difference between Orcas and humans is that we have the choice to avoid the worst, but they must survive and so instinct rules even as intelligence grows. I’m not completely sure why the Orcaholics suffer so much just to be here, but somehow it is truly addictive. I’m not a mother but maybe it’s like childbirth, the wonder of it all makes you forget the pain!

© 2011, Laura Cawford Williams. All rights reserved. *Thank you to Nicolas Schuhler and Guillaume Blanchard for additional photos.

For information on Punta Norte Research visit http://www.pnor.org/en/.

 New Zealand is a country of stunning and diverse natural beauty: rugged mountains, tall fiords, pristine lakes, raging rivers, pristine beaches, and active volcanic features. It also holds some of the most unique flora and fauna in the world. German and I were lucky to have visited New Zealand this February. We did a little scouting for future Frontera trips, visited with family friends, and of course did a little photography.

We flew from Los Angeles to Wellington and then took the Interislander Ferry to the South Island. For the first 8 days we simply drove through the country exploring places like Kaikoura, Christchurch, Hokitika, Fox Glacier, Queenstown, and Milford Sound. (We were in Christchurch only 7 days before their latest earthquake and later learned that the hotel we stayed in was destroyed. We are so very sad for the tragedy experienced by this beautiful city.)

I think Kaikoura, a quaint little town on the eastern coast, was my favorite location during this part of the trip. Although the weather was awful and our whale watching adventure was cancelled, we were able to photograph sea birds in the rain on the north side of the peninsula. There were Wandering, Royal, Salvin’s, White-capped, Buller’s, and Northern Albatross. We also saw Northern Giant Petrels, White-chinned and Westland Petrels, Cape Pigeons, as well as Red-billed and Black-backed Gulls. The low rolling hills at sunrise made for beautiful photographic backgrounds.

During our last week in New Zealand we visited friends that manage a sheep ranch in Moeraki, a small fishing village on the east coast. We spent most of our last days exploring the coastline along this property. While shooting from a blind we photographed New Zealand Fur Seals, Bronze phase Stewart Island Shag, and black phase Variable Oystercatchers.

The most exciting subjects were the Yellow-eyed Penguins. We couldn't help but laugh as they humorously slid up the pebble beach when emerging from the water. Once out of the water, they shuffled up a well-worn path and stopped to preen before heading into thick forest and brush. Yellow-eyed penguins are an endangered species. Their numbers are declining because of food shortages, loss of breeding habitat, predation by introduced mammals, and gill net entanglement. The numbers hover at an estimated 2,000 breeding pairs.

On our last afternoon in the field, we were given a departing surprise. As we waited in our blind, a large grey form came lumbering out of the surf. As the shape moved closer, it became clear that this was a male Southern Elephant Seal. He had big eyes and a large arched nose. I’ve photographed Elephant Seals in Argentina, but this one was bigger and coming much closer. Because the back of the blind was partly open, he was watching us carefully. With each incoming wave he pushed farther on shore, raising his head and showing his teeth.

As he moved nearer, I’ll admit I became nervous. There were no females, but it was breeding season in Argentina and we didn’t know how aggressive he might be. Unfortunately, the only way for us to get out of the cove was to move up the bank directly in front of him. These guys are big but I’ve seen them move very fast. Despite his happy looking face and big bright eyes, we decided to stay very low and still. Eventually, the sun began to set and we had no choice but to make our way toward him. I moved first, crawling very low and slowly. (It was very nice of German to agree to be "the bait" if there was any problem.) I made it about 4 feet when this huge animal turned and ran directly back into the water. I don’t think my 120 lbs. have ever scared something so large.

The moral of the story: half the battle for interesting pictures is patience and just being there.

© 2011, Laura Cawford Williams. All rights reserved.