Most people visit Lake Superior's north shore during the heat of summer and the brilliance of autumn, but those who can tolerate a little bit of arctic air and snow get to experience a truly exquisite winter treat! All of the images featured here were captured within about a 24 hour period.

"Stoney Point Gold"

The image above was captured on Stoney Point, just south of the village of Knife River. This little fishing cabin on Stoney Point has withstood the test of time, having been exposed to Lake Superior's elements for many decades. It is a testament to the rustic nature of Lake Superior's fishing past.

I've been to this location a few times and have always wanted to capture this historic cabin in the right conditions. All of the elements I was seeking came together last weekend.

 "Stoney Point Dusk"

This image was captured about 15 minutes later that evening as the sun set and the clouds took on magical pink and purple hues. You can even see a sun pillar and snow shower in the distance toward Duluth.

One important lesson I've learned over the years regarding photographing sunrises or sunsets is to stay around until it's completely over (or arrive early enough in the case of sunrises). Sometimes, you just don't know what will transpire!


When it gets bitter cold, Lake Superior gives off steam — literally. On calm, subzero nights, this steam rises from the lake and hovers there until it is burned off by the sun's heat or wind carries it away. The steam occurs when the surface temperature of the lake is much warmer than the temperature of the ambient air above it. This is analogous to how boiling water creates steam by being much warmer than the air above.

It was around -10°F when I captured this image on the shore of Lake Superior at Brighton Beach in Duluth. The lake was a bit too calm for my liking, but with a little luck, one relatively large wave rolled in and allowed me to make the image I wanted.

Every 10th of November, Split Rock Lighthouse's beacon, as most Split Rock aficionados know, is lighted in memorial of the loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the Great Lakes ore freighter that became a victim of Lake Superior's wrath on that day in 1975. All 29 aboard were never seen again.

I've stood on these shores on many a November 10th evenings in recent years and the weather on this year's anniversary most closely resembled what I imagine the conditions were like on that fateful day in 1975. Cold, wind-blown rain and mist accompanied several foot rollers crashing into the rocky shore.

Photographing in these conditions is, not surprisingly, also difficult. In between the inevitable episodes of cold mist gathering on the front of my lens, I managed to capture the rare combination of a lighted Split Rock and a rough Lake Superior.

It was thirty-six years ago on November 10 when a large iron ore freighter encountered a fierce November storm on Lake Superior and, despite modern technology, succumbed to its ravages. This ship, of course, was the Edmund Fitzgerald. The freighter and its 29 crew members were later immortalized in Gordon Lightfoot's song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. While visitors congregated near the lighthouse on this evening for a variety of reasons, I think most, at least in the backs of their minds, gave some thought to the true reasons behind this beacon lighting and the lighthouse itself.

Indeed, photography was the primary motivator that brought me to the lighthouse on this evening. But, it wasn't the beacon lighting itself that piqued my interest this year. I was anticipating what would have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to photograph, in ideal lighting, the full moon rising from behind the lighthouse on the very night the beacon is lighted every year. My hopes were obscured by a low deck of clouds that refused to part to show the heavenly orb's conjunction with Split Rock's lantern.

A full moon on any given night of the year occurs, on average, about once every 30 years. Thus, a November 10th full moon is a relatively rare occurrence. Often, however, the night before the day of a full moon is suitable (and sometimes preferred) for landscape photography containing the moon. Nevertheless, in examining moonrise times and positions for November 10ths spanning the next 125 years, I have found no future opportunities to photograph the full moon rising from directly behind the lighthouse under good lighting conditions during the beacon lighting events. A handful of full moons on or near November 10 will occur over this period, but none of them will be nearly as ideal, in both azimuth and timing, as this year's would have been if not for the clouds.

Without the moon visible, I took an unusually minimal approach to my photography - I clicked the shutter only twelve times during the entire evening. The photograph you see here is one of them, made near the spot I captured my iconic image, Lunar Light at Full Power, about two years ago. It is not the stereotypical view of the lighthouse overlooking an expansive Lake Superior. I like this composition for the conifers on the rocky point, giving the lighthouse setting a more isolated, northwoods feel.

Was I disappointed in not seeing the full moon on that evening? Of course. But then, in trying to keep the context in mind, I reached into the back of my mind and remembered the real reason I was there. The 29 men aboard the Fitzgerald that fateful night 36 years ago missed so much more.

The beacon will be lit just after 4:30 PM this Thursday, immediately following the commemoration ceremony.

Little Two Harbors, of course, will become a temporary tripod village as eager photographers try to capture the lighthouse in its illuminated glory.

On November 10 each year, the staff and visitors at Split Rock Lighthouse observe the tragic loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald and its 29 crew members aboard with a special beacon lighting ceremony. The 35 years that have passed since that fateful 1975 storm may seem like a long time, but the relative recency of its sinking has immortalized its place as one of the best known Great Lakes shipwrecks.

The ceremony also commemorates the loss of all vessels on the Great Lakes, a handful of which brought Split Rock Lighthouse into its very existence. Even as modern technology has obsoleted the lighthouse, it remains a symbol of the great efforts to ensure the safety of maritime travel.

This is the sixth consecutive year that I have photographed the beacon on November 10. The weather was mild compared with most years, but the wind was blowing hard and sent waves splashing over the rocky shore, some of those reaching my feet. That said, the agitated waters on this evening did not remotely resemble the stormy seas of November 10, 1975. We can only imagine . . .