"October Gale"

When I am making photographs on the North Shore in early October, my usual and primary concern is capturing the ephemeral beauty of the northern autumn.

On the afternoon of October 4th, my attention was abruptly shifted to Lake Superior's rapidly changing mood. In a matter of hours, calm waters were transformed into a fury of several-foot rollers brought on by gale-force winds in the range of 40-50 miles per hour. Winds from the southwest meant areas near Grand Marais were experiencing the brunt of this force due to the southerly-facing shoreline. Standing on the rocky shore and pummeled by spray from the violent breakers crashing ashore, I felt an incredible amount of exhilaration, being so close to Superior's wrath, as I made several exposures with my mostly plastic bag-wrapped camera.

"Lighthouse Breaker"

A few of the breakers even reached heights above Grand Marais' breakwall lighthouse. On a typical day, people can be found standing next to this lighthouse. That was not an option that afternoon.

"Stormy Evening" - Artist's Point

The stormy conditions continued that evening and into the night. As evening approached, a bit of sunshine filtered through the clouds in the distance, making for one of the most memorable scenes of the day.

With winter largely silent this year, I am glad that I maintain an archive of previously unreleased images to share, including this one from Grand Marais, MN. This image was made in January of 2011 during a winter that was quite the antithesis of the the current winter, with storm after storm pounding the region and ice-cold surf pummeling the North Shore.

With the lake temperature near freezing and everything on land well below freezing, much of the water hurled ashore quickly froze onto whatever surface it made contact with. This included the rocky shore (cleats highly recommended when exploring!) as well as any trees and shrubbery. The ice-coated landscape, by means of wind and water, was an amazing work of art, made by the force of nature through a higher authority. I am pleased to share with you a small part of this icy grandeur.

It's been quite an unusual winter so far here in Minnesota with unseasonably warm temperatures and a lack of that white stuff which half of us love and half of us hate. Photographers looking to capture classic Minnesota winter scenes have been out of luck thus far.

In contrast, in the four years I have been photographing January's full moon at Split Rock Lighthouse, the moon has never failed to make its appearance. Like clockwork, the moon slipped above the horizon, on schedule, at 4:18 PM and continued its ascent as sunlight faded. As the sun set, the eastern sky took on a pink hue that seems to be most evident on these clear winter evenings.


As daylight faded further, the pink transitioned to blue. This period of blue sky is known as the "blue hour" to photographers.

It has been a goal of mine each year to capture the moon centered directly behind the lantern of the lighthouse as it makes its trajectory. This is somewhat challenging as there is only a small window of opportunity in which this shot can be made. Once the moon is above the lighthouse, it is too late.

There is always a sense of awe in watching the full moon in the first minutes after clearing the horizon. Its apparent size seems to, at times, defy the imagination.

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.

I've spent several years traversing seemingly every nook and cranny Lake Superior's North Shore has to offer (I'm far from done!). Superior's other shore always seemed to lurk on the distant horizon, both geographically and in my itinerary. Last month, I finally ventured into parts of this new (for me) territory: Lake Superior's South Shore.

I am very lucky to be able to live relatively near one of the most beautiful regions in the country. Up and down the North Shore lie impressive and charming locations too numerable to mention. I have visited (and photographed!) many of them and still have much to explore. Yet, my North Shore excursions often seem to bring me back to this iconic landmark - Split Rock Lighthouse.

This cliff-top lighthouse has attracted the eyes of photographers since its construction 101 years ago and has become the most photographed lighthouse on the Great Lakes and perhaps one of the most photographed in the world. It's not hard to imagine why it is so alluring. Not merely a historic lighthouse upon a cliff, it also stands in the midst of a relatively remote and scenic location on Lake Superior's North Shore. The lighthouse is strikingly visible from most of the half-mile of shoreline to the immediate south, providing innumerable viewpoints. Minnesota's four seasons and the ever-changing Lake Superior provide even further opportunities to witness the various moods of this icon.

The image above was made on an April morning in which the temperature was still cold enough to form a thin layer of ice in the small puddles within the rock. The warm hues of the sunrise were subtle, yet attractive. I found myself alone while photographing this scene, as I often do in the mornings here. At a busy place such as Split Rock, mornings can sometimes be the only time of day for the contemplative photographer to consider and compose a scene without distraction. And, mornings often contain the best light of the day, too. It is scenes like these that touch my inner spirit and keep me returning again and again.

The night of the January full moon is very special for a handful of photographers who ritually gather on the shore below Split Rock Lighthouse awaiting the rise of the winter full moon. This is one of the few nights of the year that the moon can be seen rising from behind the 130-foot cliff that is the foundation of the iconic lighthouse. Unlike the moons of the other winter months, the January full moon has also been the most reliable to see here - it has not failed to appear during the last four years.

I arrived as several other photographers were already setting up, awaiting Earth's only natural satellite to break the horizon. It is sort of a photographer's reunion as many of us have come to know each other over the years through this mutual interest.

Soon, light began to filter through the clouds and the promise of seeing a stellar full moon was imminent. The thin clouds that remained in front of the moon added a nice texture to this later moonrise in which capturing the detail of the moon along with the darker landscape would have been nearly impossible. After snapping several shots, it quickly grew too dark to fully capture the essence of the evening.

With each passing year, new memories are made, and it is the simple ones like these that are most cherished. Despite winter's cold bite, the magic of a moonrise at Split Rock will always be a pleasant experience.

With a winter rife with overcast skies, obscuring the last few full moons, I was not very optimistic about the odds of catching a glimpse of the January full moon. As I made my way toward Split Rock Lighthouse from overcast Duluth, I started to see light on the horizon and, soon, clear sky.

Once at Split Rock, I quickly parked the car, grabbed my camera gear, and trudged through the snow toward the lake where, to my awe, I saw the moon rising above the cliff. Quite a few clouds remained in the sky, giving the scene an interesting texture. With lots of ice near the shore, I carefully found stable ground and snapped a few shots as the orb continued on its trajectory above the lighthouse.

These photographs were taken on the night before the full moon in which the moon rises at a time in which there remains a fair amount of ambient daylight in the landscape. I returned the following night to a later, but equally stunning, moonrise. I will post an image from that night within the next day or so. Stay tuned . . .

Morning is usually a peaceful, calm time of day along the North Shore. In late fall, however, Lake Superior is most unpredictable and very willing to flex its powerful muscles at any time of its choosing.

A moderate lake breeze in mid-November sent breaker upon breaker crashing ashore. Even at just a few feet tall, the energy contained within these swells was remarkable and formidable enough to keep me and other photographers a comfortable distance from the outermost rocks.

As the sun rose higher and clouds moved rapidly across the sky, interesting scenes developed. In this image, the rays of sunlight, or "God Beams," almost seem to be pushing the water ashore. This is quite symbolic since the Sun provides the energy for all motion on Earth, including the wind and rough seas that can be awesome to view, yet treacherous at the same time.

Most of us are truly blessed, yet many people are struggling through their own rough seas this holiday season. As you celebrate with friends and family this Christmas, please take time to remember those less fortunate.

Merry Christmas!

This is a scene that thousands of people miss every year when they visit the Twin Ports. In fact, even many frequent visitors to Duluth-Superior don't recognize this lesser-known place. This is the Superior Entry to the Twin Ports Harbor. Unlike its man-made sister, the Duluth Canal Entry, it lacks an iconic lift bridge but is the natural, original entry to the bustling harbor (although modifications have been made to support modern shipping traffic). Hotels do not line the waterfront here, and vessels often glide through this opening between Minnesota and Wisconsin Points unnoticed.

That's exactly what would have happened if I had not been there on  a balmy mid-November evening. With its cargo aboard, the Roger Blough made its way through the Superior entry and out into the big lake.I likely was the Blough's sole spectator as it departed that evening.

After the Blough exited, I remained as the sun sank below the horizon behind me, casting warm light onto the Superior Entry/Wisconsin Point Lighthouse at the end of the breakwater. The calm water within the breakwater made for nice reflections of both the Blough and lighthouse.

If you're looking for a close-up and exclusive view of boat traffic in the Twin Ports, remember to check out the "back door."

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 . . .

Grand Marais is renown for its picturesque harbor, quaint downtown, and unique "northwoods" setting. On a recent visit, I noticed a few small fishing boats in the fog-filled harbor. In this image, I captured one of these boats as its fishing couple leisurely paddled toward shore, fishing rod extended above the water. As this couple enjoyed their last few paddles on the harbor, I appreciated this juxtaposition of elements that embodies Grand Marais and makes it a special place in many people's hearts: the boaters casually traversing the foggy bay, the harbor lighthouse signifying an era now gone, the Sawtooth Mountains projecting above the harbor in the distance, and a touch of boreal forest that is prevalent in the Arrowhead region.

This scene, along with some beautiful music from an adjacent festival, made this an evening to remember!