July 4, 2019
Osprey rising
Osprey rising

Spraying water everywhere, the Osprey rises from the river like some prehistoric wraith, emanating from a vortex of roiling ripples.  Its wing primaries are blurry and ephemeral as they row the air in the soft, low light of dawn.  In its talons is a trout, still struggling, as predator and prey emerge together from one’s element into the other’s, bound now by the circle of life, only the eyes with beautiful golden irises in sharp focus reflecting their intensity in the frenetic chaos of survival.

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One of the best bird photographers in North America, with hundreds of published photos to his credit, has a folder with his best 100 images which he calls the “family jewels.”  Understanding his mindset, I’ve copied his idea and have my own family jewels folder, basically once-in-a-lifetime shots, backed up on two hard drives kept in separate fireproof safes.  I recently picked ten of these images to submit to a photo contest, and after I sent them off I realized that seven of those chosen show water in one form or another, yet only three portray birds that actually live in that element and might be considered water birds.

If you live in Arizona, if you’re a farmer who’s ever lost crops, if you’re an athlete whose performance has been affected by dehydration, you’ve lived the cliché, “water is life.”  On a more granular level, though, for birders, even those who don’t carry a camera, and for photographers, even those who aren’t birders, water is one of the three basic elements along with light and sky.

Some avian families live in the water, others make a living on the water, and almost all come to the water periodically to drink.  An old adage says there are only two kinds of birds, those that are predators and those that are prey, but in reality most birds are both at various times and in varying circumstances.  Predator and prey alike must come to water, yet water enhances both the birding and the photography experience in so many ways beyond simply attracting wildlife.

Originally, when early man ate birds and collected their eggs to eat, “bird” was a noun, but when birding became a thing to do, “bird” evolved into a verb.  Water was just a noun once too, when we drank it, worshipped it for our crops, and cleansed our bodies in it.  But with the coming of photography, birding, and the conjunction of the two, water too has evolved.  Water is an adjective now, modifying where, why, and how the binoculars find birds and the camera finds beauty.

Water reflects light and sky.  Water implies depth and distance.  Water takes form and function.  Water can be a drop of morning dew or a splatter of monsoon downpour.  Water is a puddle or a torrent.  Water moves.  Or not.  Water is calming.  Or not.  Water may be life, but it also adds life to bird observations and camera captures.  Water is both dynamic and dramatic.  It adds nuance to natural history and action to behavior.  There’s a reason why, as both birder and photographer, walking a boardwalk or sitting by a waterhole are my two favorite things to do, and they should be yours too.

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The loon is right there. Just the bird and the water--a Pacific Loon in breeding plumage, at eye level and so close the water droplets on its face and forehead are in sharp focus.  The bird is resting in an ice pool, the still foreground water and the foggy background sky monochromatic.  The plumage is black and white and shades of gray, the only color the subtle green highlights in the dark throat patch and the shocking ruby eye.  The scene is both serene and surreal, a perfect microcosm of the bird’s stark and frigid watery world.
Pacific Loon, ice pool
Pacific Loon, ice pool
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