Walkabout

How much do you know about your neighbor? Not even in the sense of human beings, but in regards to that Chinese Witchhazel on Lincoln field. Did you know that your favorite tree to lean up and study against on those warm Autumn afternoons is in fact a Lacebark Elm which is resistant to Dutch Elm disease? We interact with our surroundings every day, often without thought. Yet isn’t it strange that despite our unconscious pull toward these natural areas, we still are oblivious to the origins of our immediate environment?

Taking the time to take photos of Brown’s campus and its surrounding neighborhoods offered me perspective on how we treat nature. Luckily, Brown was built in a way in which buildings and foliage can coexist. Though we by no means live in a completely unaffected environment, for an urban city I think Brown is situated in an ideal enclave, where grassy fields, plants and trees thrive amongst the hustle and bustle of student life.

Though photographing in late October, I noticed the trees were still in their perpetual state of summertime green and gold. I had heard locals calling this the after-affects of the “Indian summer” Rhode Island had experienced, but nevertheless found it unsettling not to see the deeper reds and orange hues I associate with Autumn. The unusual warm weather also made my photoshoot seem uncharacteristically superficial. Where were the brisk winds of Fall? The crunch of the leaves beneath my shoes? Looking around, I didn’t see anyone staring in horror at the signs of seasonal reversal all around us. Then again, we are all very busy on this campus, aren’t we?

Wandering into the unexplored neighborhood that blends with Brown’s campus, I saw much of what is depicted above: tree-lined streets with the typical colonial houses of New England. Although these households enjoy the shade these trees provide, I’ve always wondered what would happen if we gave back to the trees as well. I tried to convey in my photograph the sense of protection these Spruce and Elm trees give. It’s as if the house is being guarded by branches and leaves. I was thankful not to see any blue vinyl on the houses I passed.

Home

“I wanted to stay in this spot and drift away.”

–Eric Zamora, Wildlife Photographer

Among the vast diversity in which nature takes its form, I think what we unconsciously seek is familiarity. If the web of life consists of systems of networks, where everything is intertwined and dependent upon each other, then we as humans look for which threads we belong to. We seek out friendly landscapes, perhaps the mountains of your childhood or the cognizance of the same sandy shore you could trace by heart. When we come across these rare topographical treasures, a protective emotion overwhelms us. We want these regions to be preserved, as if all the warm affection we hold could distill that distinct area with the sharp, pristine memories in our mind. Those are the feelings that surged through me after looking at Eric Zamora’s photographs of North Cascades National Park in the Pacific Northwest.

The fact that Zamora went on the 14-day trek all by himself may seem daunting, but in some way it makes sense to me. Growing up in Portland, Oregon, I learned about the nurturing element of the wilderness from a young age. Field trips to places like Multnomah Falls in the Columbia River Gorge and the Sandy River taught me to listen to and observe every facet of nature I could take in. Summer camp was an evaluation of the senses; every hike turned into a game as to who could tread more stealthily through the soft paths of the woods. Extra points were awarded to those who didn’t disturb a single plant with their hiking boots. I distinctly remember practicing how to move deftly through the forest like a deer, only to come across a doe and her mother a few yards ahead. I discovered that being alone in nature actually leaves you in quite the opposite state. It is when you feel most vulnerable and infinitesimal that nature steps in as a counterbalance to your bewilderment. Our environment can sustain and support us, if we only let it.

Sun-dappled grassy slopes, blushing red blueberry leaves, deep emerald foliage, towering snow-tinged mountains, tree canopies, rocky cliff faces, acres of old growth—all these set against a sheer veil of cloudless blue sky simply ravishes me. Zamora’s photography enchants its viewers, leaving them wondering what mysteries lay between the fabric of the forest’s evergreen carpet. There’s a sort of lushness that draws you in, a fable-like quality in the silence of the cavernous valleys and misty hill peaks. If anything, staring at these breathtaking landscapes make me question our environmental questions.

Once while I was on the Oregon coast, I ventured to climb Neahkahnie Mountain. I’d always been in awe of the 1600 ft. mass of rock that looms above Manzanita beach which plunges into the ocean and often leaves the small town encompassed in a thick fog. Taking a trail that forks off of Highway 101, I was suddenly submerged in a realm that was cosmically other. Weaving through switchbacks, I became aware of the subtle rustlings of creatures, the flapping of bird wings, the whisper of the swaying branches. Each step seemed to invigorate me with a spiritual absolve. As for the view when I reached the top, I couldn’t tell you. Descriptions like “stunning” or “majestic” don’t do the feeling justice. Only through subjective experience can one begin to understand the intangible nature of the forest’s emotions, balance, magic.

In Zamora’s account of his trek, he notes that only a fraction of the Pacific Northwest’s original old growth remains. While on the drive back through the forests of the Oregon Coast Range, I was jolted by the acres of trees now lost to clearcutting. I wonder if those companies and loggers who practice this harvesting process had ever taken a deep breath from the top of Neahkahnie Mountain; whether they had ever really gotten lost in the forest and let the wilderness embrace them. I wonder what would change if they did.

Unexplored Depths

“The oceans are in trouble. There are some serious problems out there that I believe are not clear to many people. My hope is to continually find new ways of creating images and stories that both celebrate the sea yet also highlight environmental problems. Photography can be a powerful instrument for change.”

–Brian Skerry, National Geographic Marine Wildlife Photographer

There are certain depths we will never reach. However, with the equipment and aesthetic sense of Brian Skerry, we can begin to understand the intricacies of tropical coral reefs and the truth beneath the cores of Arctic ice we unearth. Skerry’s risk-taking within the underwater photography field has shed light upon the elusive creatures of the deep blue. Skerry’s interest in underwater environments was sparked when he first started photographing shipwrecks off the shores of New England. In 1978, he earned his SCUBA certification, which enabled him to start experimenting with underwater cameras. Now he primarily shoots for National Geographic as a marine photo-journalist. Since he works in a vastly unexplored realm of the world, Skerry encounters unprecedented difficulties in his daily work. Fortunately, the strange and wonderful phenomena he manages to capture surpass the trials and tribulations.

The pinnacle of Skerry’s work just so happens to be the one he is the most passionate about. After discovering the fact that the world’s fisheries are becoming increasingly depleted, Skerry became determined to bring the issue into harsh perspective to raise awareness. Entitled “The Global Fish Crises,” Skerry’s exposé delves into the gritty realities of our marine ecosystems, with photos ranging from magnificent Bluefin Tuna to the harvesting methods of large ships to Mako Sharks being finned. Skerry focused on the gillnets, bottom trawls and long lines where fish are captured in excessive amounts to meet human demands. He emphasizes the problem of by catch, where unwanted fish are often caught, killed and then disposed of. Skerry not only photographs the problems he sees, but writes about them as well. Having seen the horrific truth first-hand, he can depict the scene more vividly after going on assignment. He understands that humans take more than our oceans can sustain, and wants to pass that on through his photography.

One of Skerry’s assignments featured the seal-hunting problem in Canada’s Gulf of St. Lawrence. Fishermen who used to harvest cod found that the North Atlantic cod fishery has been dramatically depleted. In 2003, the Canadian government shut down the fishery. Now those fishermen are looking to other available sea creatures to sustain their livelihood, such as harp seals. Although Canada outlawed commercial hunting for whitecoat seal pups in 1987, seal-hunting is on the rise. Skerry also illuminated upon a new problem that has recently emerged: the thinning of North Atlantic ice due to warm winters. Pups rely on solid ice until they have gained enough fat to survive the harsh conditions, while female harp seals use the ice for whelping. Pup mortality rate has increased in recent years.

The issues that Skerry brings to the surface give us perspective on that which is often submerged. Though often invisible to the naked eye, the problems that our earth’s marine ecosystems are dealing with are just as crucial as our terrestrial predicaments. Underwater photography exposes human practices that are unethical and detrimental to marine biodiversity. Skerry has worked with Jacques Cousteau’s organization, the embodiment of a man who pioneered marine exploration and conservation. Skerry and Cousteau share a commonality: the devotion to defend marine environments.

Environmental Integrity

“Why do I care about it? One time out there, on one of my trips, I got to what’s wild, and I looked it in the eye. And when you feel it, I don’t think you can ever go back.”

–Nick Nichols, National Geographic Wildlife Photographer

It’s one thing to have a talent for capturing split-second encounters with a camera. It’s another to have the power to share that instant with the whole world through a medium like National Geographic. Michael “Nick” Nichols wields his photographic skill like a double-edged sword: one to translate the essence of wildness into color print, and the other to instill a sense of wonder and understanding in his audience’s imagination. When Nichols embarks on a new shoot, he is not only reporting on behalf of a journalistic magazine, but effecting change with each click of the shutter. His coverage of tigers in Bandhavgarh National Park in India and various animals in Africa for the magazine’s Megatransect wildlife survey have created reason for the establishments of parks and reserves across the world.

Nichols’ approach is unconventional: he doesn’t aim for pretty. The allure to nature is not beauty, but rather in finding the tension of wildlife. His photos often convey a sense of movement and raw, graphic energy that can only be found at the “edge of survival.” Rather than incorporating the theatrics of his fellow photographers, who often build enclosures or use technological tricks to fake a shot, Nichols shoots for days at extremely fast-paced exposure rates. He doesn’t alter the environment to craft a perfect shot. Instead, he works to find new angles and natural sources of light to depict the animals’ habitat with ingenious innovation.

A ceaseless work ethic became embedded in Nichols during his experience as an expedition photographer. He struck through to the core of the adventurous spirit as he continued shooting even in the most hopeless of conditions. Nichols strives to depict the struggle of the accompanying story through his photographs.

The photographic ethics Nichols struggles with concern the subjects he captures. He questions whether his motives and techniques to shooting Sita, a tiger in India, were valid. Invading the habitat of any animal involves putting a certain amount of pressure on that creature. Where does the photographer draw the line between shooting for the sake of making the animal’s story known and invading the animal’s privacy? Nichols doesn’t uphold the view that “getting a photograph trumps all of your other sensibilities.” Rather, his methods mirror those of his subjects: his stealthy, meticulous manner fits in seamlessly amongst the suspended whispers of the forest.

Through his work with Jane Goodall, Nichols managed to capture the subtle interactions between this compassionate human being and her primate friends. In 1995, Nichols followed her as she established the Tchimpounga Sanctuary in the Congo to help nourish starving animals. The photo below is a candid shot which tells a poignant tale: Dr. Goodall, after approaching an aggressive male chimpanzee, bowed her head and offered her hair to the animal. Nichols attributed this moment to how he and Jane “often communicate without speaking.” With the proper lighting and an artful touch, photography often has that effect.

The environment that Nichols is most comfortable with is the jungle. His exposé entitled Ndoki: The Last Place on Earth featured the elephants, chimpanzees and Babenzele pygmy peoples of Dzanga Bai in the Central African Republic. He wanted to convey the deep, mysterious greens of the rainforest, so he used a 100-speed to mix flash with natural light. Through the foliage in the pictures you can discern endangered species performing their daily rituals.

Photo Conservation

“There are as many levels of wonder in the silent beat of a butterfly wing as in the howl of a wolf.”

– Douglas H. Chadwick, biologist

Photojournalism can expose environmental problems in their starkest forms. There’s something about the power of giving words shape and color through images. Though reading about endangered tigers in India raises awareness and emphasizes a crucial issue, it is the accompanying photograph that will brand its emotive potency into the mind of the reader. Joel Sartore has asserted himself as an environmental photographer through his devotion to conserving wildlife areas. He is a founding member of both the Grassland Foundation and the International League of Conservation Photographers. His work in National Geographic focuses on endangered species and land use issues.

Sartore aims to communicate the needs of endangered species through his photographs, especially when capturing the smaller creatures that nobody has ever heard of. He recognizes that it’s the little things that drive our ecosystems, and works to illuminate upon the dichotomy between these creatures and the ever-encroaching environmental threats. Sartore’s work spans the spectrum between meticulously close-focused shots and sweeping landscapes.

The photographic depth of Sartore’s repertoire is shown through his attention to detail. His piece on minnows in the Powder River in Wyoming depicts an ecosystem threatened by coal bed methane development. The caption of the photograph emphasizes the gravity of the abysmal fate of these rainbow-scaled fish: parts of the river are now ruined with polluted water from nearby gas wells.

The Alpine oil field spreads out into the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska

Sartore exposes the effects of policy decisions through his photography. His series of panoramic images of the far North reveal the topographical impacts of the Bush administration’s drilling decisions. A seemingly beautiful mass of misty wetland is rendered tragic when juxtaposed against the oil fields which infringe upon the native waterfowl nesting grounds.

Oftentimes Sartore captures the essence of a place in a single still. This photo of a polar bear feasting on the jaws of a bowhead whale presents nature in its most raw element. The contrast of color with the bear’s stoic form seems to probe the viewer to wonder: how do our oil and gas interests outweigh the sacrifices we have to make? A seemingly simple frame can encapsulate the conscience of the environmental movement. Is nothing sacred?