Showing posts with label "Bob Cammarata". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "Bob Cammarata". Show all posts

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Bat Cave Chronicles

Bob Cammarata
Those who are regular visitors to this blog are undoubtedly already fans of Bob Cammarata's work.  He has submitted several stories and each has been exciting, beautifully written, and with some of the most gorgeous wildlife photography on the internet! 

But if you are visiting "Tales of Relentless Pursuit" for the first time, here are links to Bob's previous stories: When Mother Nature Lends a HandNext Stop Oz  , On Snake Mountain ,  Fish Tales, Part I , Fish Tales, Part II . 

Bat Cave Chronicles is the true story of one of Bob's most incredible outdoor adventures. The tale becomes more and more harrowing with every new paragraph.  Imagine yourself alone, deep in the belly of a cold, pitch-black dark, damp. guano-covered cave, when suddenly all of your well-planned lighting equipment fails you! 

This story truly tells an incredible tale of the relentless pursuit of survival, against all odds!  Get ready!
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Thanks for stopping here to see the latest post. I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. If you enjoyed this week's tale, I would greatly appreciate it if you left a comment (at the end of the post) for our author. And please email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog or anything else you'd like to share.

Also, to increase the blog's readership, sharing the link with your friends, family, and colleagues would  help a great deal.

If you have a story you would like to share on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you! Thanks again!

Michelle Alton
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Bat Cave Chronicles
By Bob Cammarata
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Author's Note:

This Tale of Relentless Pursuit is dedicated to Carolyn Fletcher…who’s persistence in persuading me to relive this memorable experience is truly appreciated. This story lacks the customary collection of back-up photos our readership has become accustomed to,  so hopefully, my veritable efforts to use words alone to illustrate a mental picture will hit their mark. I’d also like to extend a personal thanks to a friend and mentor Giff Beaton  for the use of the title photo.
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Since the dawn of recorded time, Mankind has evolved with an in-bred obsession to defy logic and reason in his infinite quest to ascertain that which makes our world tick.. Our species has been persistent…unremittingly imperiling life and limb in search of plausible resolutions to Earth’s most puzzling mysteries. We’ve probed deep into her seemingly bottomless oceans and ascended her highest peaks. We’ve even ventured so far as to hurl our rocket ships deep into the stars in an attempt to learn what intimate secrets even they might disclose.

Since it’s safe to conclude that we’re an inquisitive lot, it would stand to reason that when a photographer’s incessant tendency is to place himself and his equipment into jeopardy while in relentless pursuit of that perfect picture, he’s not acting irrationally. His behavior can be easily justified as merely an adverse by-product of an enduring evolutionary process.

It must be… “Nature’s Way."

Photo by Giff Beaton
This story begins as a road trip. It was during the winter of 2006 that this eastern “city boy” decided that it might be fun to take a few weeks off to tour the country. Since it was scheduled as an early January trip, I’d chosen a southern route to minimize any weather-related obstacles which might have impeded my journey westward.

My intended destinations were the arid deserts of the Southwest and the Canyonlands of Utah, but there were to be many planned stops along the way, including the alluring Ozark Mountains, where this harrowing adventure takes place.

 Land of Mystery
It was around daybreak on a chilly morning when I parked my Jeep at a secluded trail head in the aptly-named Lost Valley region of the Buffalo National River. The morning mountain air was cold and clean, with a crispness that mere words could never describe. It almost felt as if I could bite off a chunk of it. I paused momentarily to savor the mystical serenity of solitude before gearing up for my hike along the trail into the Ozark Wilds.

Although I’ve developed a penchant for discharging my camera shutter at just about anything that doesn’t shoot back, my primary objective that day was to explore and photograph a few caves and their inhabitants. From what I’d read about hiking these Arkansas mountains in winter, hibernating bats could be often found within the dark recesses of Ozark’s ubiquitous catalog of obscure caverns. Granted, my expertise in this arena was completely non-existent, but with a silly name like “spelunking”, cave exploration certainly seemed harmless enough to give it a try.

Inside my backpack, along with the usual arsenal of camera gear, was a fully charged, hand-held spotlight for exploring the caves. My back-up light source was one of those little head lamps I could easily clip onto the brim of my cap if the need for it arose.
In the beginning, the hike along the trail was un-eventful, but my journey eventually led into the higher elevations toward a narrow ridge teeming with captivating crags and alluring apertures. The first few caves I explored dead-ended too quickly and seemed devoid of life, but after systematically eliminating those, I finally found an interesting cavern which held promise. The access to the cave was far too narrow to accommodate the bulbous bulk of my backpack, so armed with only the spotlight and my shoulder-strapped camera, I squeezed through the tight crevasse and ventured forward.

The narrow passage eventually widened and navigation became effortless. As I probed deeper into the dark recesses of Inner Earth, I began to notice a dramatic change in the cavern’s interior climate….a balmy, incongruous contrast to the chill of the outside world.

It was around that time when I spotted my first bat clinging to the cave wall in suspended hibernation. A quick glance around revealed several more. They were fairly high up on the rocky walls and well out of the range of my 50 mm 1.2 lens…which I’d selected for its speed and low-light capabilities. As the passageway led me deeper and deeper, progressively more sleeping bats were spotted. Eventually, I found one that was positioned low enough to attempt a photograph.

Knowing that using electronic flash on these tiny, light-sensitive creatures would not be ecologically prudent, I’d planned all along to use only the peripheral light from my hand-held spotlight as illumination. Since I was using slide film, an 80-A corrective filter had to be affixed to the lens to balance the light. Even though I was using my fastest lens at its widest aperture setting, the dimness of the light source…compounded even further by the effects of the filter, necessitated a shutter speed of a full second.. Since my tripod was (foolishly) left outside, my only option was to attempt my shots hand-held.

I braced my body against the cave wall and, with one hand directing the light and the other holding the camera, I squeezed off a half-dozen,  one second exposures…hoping for at least a few cherries but expecting only the pits.

Keep Your Eyes on the Bat
Realizing that any serious photography was futile, I strapped the camera to explore further. I rounded a bend in the passage and the cave opened into a large, globular room. A rancid, musty odor permeated the senses and the ground began to ooze underfoot. I shined my light at the cave floor to discover that I was stepping on what I perceived to be piles of bat guano. A quick glance upward revealed that my supposition was correct. I’d struck the Mother Lode! The entire ceiling was peppered with hundreds of hibernating bats….maybe even thousands! They were everywhere!

My first instinct was to attempt a photograph of this astounding panorama of life, but my thoughts of photography were quickly thwarted when I had a sudden apparition of an infuriated, blood-thirsty horde of flying rodents awakening en-masse and swarming all over me. So rather than risk experiencing some form of Indiana Jones-type nightmarish scenario, I cowered quietly back out of the room and exited the cave…concluding that the wiser course of action was to let sleeping bats lie.

After re-donning the backpack, I continued further along the trail. After about a mile or so, the morning chill had dissipated and I was hiking in short sleeves. Despite the gorgeous weather conditions, there really wasn’t anything worthy of a photograph. I was contemplating turning back when I heard voices emanating from the trail behind me. Moments later, a young couple approached in full hiking apparel.

“What’cha shootin’?”, he asked…in what I perceived to be a native Arkansan dialect.

“Not much.” I replied. “I haven’t seen anything worth photographing for hours.”

“Have you been to The Cave yet?.” He asked.

I began to describe my morning encounter inside the bat cave, but he stopped me in mid-stride.

“NO…I mean the one further up this trail. It’s kind’a tough to get to, but there’s an underground waterfall that’s a real sight to see! We’re headin’ there now…You can come with us if you want.”

I thanked them for their kind invitation and tagged along behind them. We ascended the steep ridge which led to the entrance to Eden Cave. The opening in the rocks seemed wide and inviting, unlike some of the constricted cavities I’d forced my way through earlier in the day.

“Ya better leave that pack out here.” My guide said. “We’re gonna have to crawl through most of the way.”

So with spotlight in hand, and my gear lying in a heap with theirs, I followed their lead into the darkness. About a third of the way through, my guide called out, “Watch your head”, as the ceiling dropped to the point where we had to crawl forward on our hands and knees. There was water flowing around us, but thankfully, we were able to traverse the top of a flat boulder and remain dry. My knees were throbbing from crawling along the hard surface of the rocks, but the sweet sound of cascading water in the distance was getting louder.

“So how much farther IS this thing?” I inquired impatiently.

“Don’t worry.” He replied. “You’ll be able to stand up and rest in a few seconds.”
As promised, we reached the half-way point, where a vertical, cylindrical shaft permitted a brief respite. It was a tight squeeze, but the shaft allowed us to take turns standing for a few minutes to rest our aching knees.

“Just one more push, and we’re there!” He said as we dropped again to all-fours.
After what seemed an eternity, we rounded one last bend and squeezed through one final crevasse. We had finally arrived at our destination…and the spectacle was magnificent! I was so awe-struck at the scene before me that the pains of getting there were instantly forgotten.

We were standing inside a spherical underground oasis! The textured cavern walls were alive with color. From unknown origin, a perpetual cascade of crystalline beauty plunged vociferously from a hole in the 30 foot high ceiling. A collection pool at the base of the falls was fancifully adorned with lustrous, painted pebbles…brilliantly polished to perfection over eons of time. Closer inspection of the shallow pool revealed several small crawfish. They were of a species I’d never seen. Pale white in color and with pink eyes, the tiny crustaceans were fully adapted to life in the darkness.

“So, what do you think?” My new friend shouted over the strident rush of falling water.

“WOW” was the first response I could muster. “You were right. This is amazing!”

I quickly added that…“Somehow, I HAVE to get my camera equipment back here!”

Later, as we were crawling our way out, I was formulating an attack strategy and assembling a series of mental notes for my return trip. “I could easily fit my pack through here…I could drag it through there…I could keep it dry on that rock…”  …etc.
When we arrived back at the entrance, I thanked the couple for allowing me to share their secret hideaway, and they continued on their way along the trail. I stayed behind…because I was on a mission.

After first contemplating lightening the load, I decided to haul the entire pack full of photo gear into the cave so I would not regret having left something outside which might have been needed.

Despite having to drag the heavy load along most of the way, the arduous journey back to the falls seemed somehow shorter than before. As I was formulating my battle plan, the bright spotlight propped onto a ledge seemed to illuminate the cavern and waterfall perfectly for the multi-second, ambient light exposure I had intended to use. The scene definitely necessitated a wide-angle of perspective. The widest lens in my arsenal at the time was 35 mm. (I preferred a wider view, but this would have to do.) Since my camera was loaded with daylight slide film, an 80-A corrective filter was attached to the lens as before, and the camera was affixed to a compact tripod. While looking through the viewfinder, I walked around the cave seeking the perfect spot to set up the camera….but I began to become painfully aware that my wondrous cave was getting progressively darker!

I glanced toward the spotlight and was horrified to see that the once bright light had reduced to an amber glow…and it was fading fast! My thoughts of photography were immediately superseded by the terrifying realization that I was deep underground and might have to find my way out in complete darkness!

“…But how dark WAS it?” I wondered.

I turned off the dying flashlight to see if the megatons of rock surrounding me were possibly permitting a few trickles of light to filter through from the outside.

…No such luck! It was darker than the darkest night…. Blacker than black!
My heart was pounding in my chest as I muttered to myself… “Don’t panic!…You’re still OK. …THINK dammit, THINK!”

“A-HA…!” My back up flashlight was inside my pack. It was small and not very bright, but it would surely provide enough light to get me out of there.

With the last few precious lumens fading from the dying spotlight, I frantically searched for the head lamp. The entire contents of the pack were strewn about the cave floor by the time I’d found the tiny light tucked away inside one of the compartments. I sighed an audible “Thank You!”…and flipped on the switch…but nothing happened!

“OH  NO!! …Dead batteries?? How could I have been so stupid!!”

With my spotlight advancing evermore quickly toward its ultimate demise, my pulse was racing at record speed.

“…STAY CALM…don’t  panic…and  THINK  dammit, THINK!”

“A-HA!” …The headlamp takes AA batteries…and before the trip, I’d remembered to put a fresh set in my motor drive! So with the camera’s motor drive held inches away from the nearly extinguished glow from the spotlight, I fumbled with the battery compartment’s retaining screw, removed the flange, and quickly popped out two batteries. With lightning speed, I had the old ones out of the headlamp and the fresh set in their place. With fingers crossed, I flipped the switch.

NOTHING!! The headlamp, which I hadn’t used for years, was inoperable…most likely corroded from sitting idle for too long.

“OK, Cammarata…NOW you’re allowed to panic…’cause you’re SCREWED!”

Accepting the inevitable, that my only viable option was to “feel” my way out, I turned off the spotlight to conserve the precious iota of energy that remained.

“What if a REAL emergency arose?  What if I were to take a wrong turn and find myself at a dead-end?”

Another disconcerting realization came quickly to mind as I remembered that all of my expensive gear was still scattered around the cave floor and needed to be re-packed. With shaking fingers fumbling in total darkness, I started grabbing at things with both hands and jamming them into the pack. I was hoping to get through the blind panic without forgetting anything expensive, all the while, praying that I wouldn’t latch onto something icky and disgusting in the process.

Feeling confident that I’d re-packed everything, I zipped up my backpack, then, guided only by touch, I followed the round circumference of the cave’s interior wall toward the opening. Fortunately, there was only one way out. I crawled through the narrow crevasse and entered the tight passage which would lead toward the outside. The spotlight, as it turned out, was very beneficial in maintaining my course. When I started to feel disoriented or confused, I’d flip the switch on for a few brief seconds of light, albeit very dim. It was just enough to keep me on track as I literally felt my way, inch by inch, back to freedom.

The Land of the Ozarks is a diverse region of mystery and adventure. It’s a picturesque panorama abounding in grandeur and scenic splendor. My experiences in the Ozarks have taught many valuable lessons and fashioned an enduring reminiscence. What I learned most of all, is that there’s no more wondrous spectacle to behold than to catch that first glimpse of the light of day as seen from the inside looking out. While I remain consummate and resolute in my quest to try to understand Life’s mystifying riddles, I’ve vowed from that day forward to view my world only from the outside looking in.
…and leave the spelunking to the spelunkers.

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  All photography (except the title photo) by Bob Cammarata

Bob Cammarata's Biographical Sketch

I am a Maryland photographer who specializes in nature in all its forms.
For as long as I can remember, my love for the outdoors has inspired me to capture nature's beauty and intrigue. My primary interests photographically involve traveling the country and getting up close and personal with subjects in nature. My travels have taken me to every corner of the U.S. and parts of Canada but the majority of my photography occurs less than a tank of gas away.
I prefer to shoot in full-manual 100% of the time because I believe that it affords the ultimate in control and accurately represents the challenges and rewards that this great art has to offer. I’m an active member of BetterPhoto.com and a regular contributor to their Forums and Newsletters. My photos have been published in business and travel brochures, on Bugguide and other popular wildlife sites, and many have been sold as fine art prints. I’m currently working on my first book, which should be completed some time next year.

I consider photography to be the therapy which keeps one sane in a crazy world
Feel free to visit my website at www.cammphoto.com

 
Bob's Bonus Photos:

(Since this story’s visual validation is limited, I’ve opted to include a few photos from the interior of Carlsbad Caverns…New Mexico’s Hidden Jewel…and arguably, the world’s ultimate Bat Cave!)














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*** This Blog Needs Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!} If you have a story to post on this theme, or know anyone who does, contact me, please! We have zero stories on tap at the moment. Give your imagination a stretch--your story can be about any sort of Relentless Pursuit, fact, fiction, poignant, or humorous. I'd love to hear from you and work with you on your story! And we need to keep this theme going! And if you have a few moments, please stop by my website and have a look around.
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Thursday, November 17, 2011

Fish Tales...Part 2

Bob Cammarata
Even if you are already a fan of Bob Cammarata's stories
( On Snake Mountain , Next Stop OzWhen Mother Nature Lends a Hand and Fish Tales...Part 1) you are going to discover a new, fresh, and hilarious side of Bob in "Fish Tales...Part 2."

I find his writing to be like a precision tool--every word and phrase carefully chosen to produce the perfect result--and in this case, written with tongue placed firmly in cheek to create maximum enjoyment.  You won't believe the lengths he has gone to in Relentless Pursuit of "the shot!"

And even though this story is a joyful riot, I'm told (by "agent" Carolyn Fletcher) that the next one will knock your socks off!







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Thanks for stopping here to view the latest post. What do you think of  this story?  Please leave a comment below for Bob and if you have a moment email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog.

Also, I'd very much appreciate a click on the green SU icon at the bottom of this post, to recommend the blog to Stumble Upon members. It will dramatically increase the "exposure" of our authors' work.

If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography Site. Also consider forwarding the link to "Relentless" to your friends and family. Thanks again!
--
Michelle Alton
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FISH TALES…Part 2 (Anything for a Photo)
By Bob Cammarata

What do a fish, a camera, and a stick of chewing gum all have in common? The mind could easily become clouded in confusion trying to figure out how these three seemingly incongruous elements could possibly be linked together.  If I’ve piqued your interest enough to read on, the answer to this puzzling question can be found in this latest installment of Fish Tales.


If you’ve read Part 1, you know that much of what I’ve learned about photography can be attributed to my angling years, exploring and experimenting with various remote control gadgets and techniques in relentless pursuit of that perfect trophy trout or bass photo. You also learned that my infatuation was fueled by the need for action sequences to augment my “fish talks” and slide shows. Deep down within the recesses of my gut, I was also obsessed with the aspiration that one day millions of folks might be seeing one of my creations gracing the front cover of Field and Stream. Though that was a dream never realized, in looking back, it sure was fun trying.

In those days, one of the most prolific gadgets in my arsenal was my trusty Quantum Radio Slave.

Radio Slave Remote with Motor-Driven Film Camera
This versatile tool was acquired back in the late 80’s and accounted for most of my simulated action photos while fishing. With a cord linking it to my motor drive, it was possible to remotely activate the camera from up to 200 feet away.

It’s worth mentioning that a lesson painfully learned back then was that the clandestine nature of catch and release trophy trout fishing in local streams necessitated fishing alone almost all of the time.

So as one might imagine, attempting to shoot action sequences in the field while alone was truly beset with many challenges and learning experiences. Since in those days I was shooting slide film exclusively, my delete file was a large, ravenous refuse receptacle…who’s home was just to the left of my light table. (I called him “Mr. Happy”.)

The learning curve needed to be rapidly accelerated by the fact that every time my finger touched the remote trigger, it ended up costing me around 23 cents in film and processing.

Yeah,…Mr. Happy was one happy guy!

A Happy Feast
Among the many challenges incurred during what was an arduous learning process, composition was one of the easiest to overcome. (…after I’d fed “Mr. H.”. a few rolls of slides with only part of the fish showing, and/or, with my head cut off.)

I eventually learned to compose my scenes more effectively and economically by including a pre-determined, physical point of reference. If no such reference point existed, a stick was jammed into the stream bed where I would later be standing with my prized catch. As for the height issue…well, that was pretty much a guess.

Where's the Rest of my Head?

It was vital that the focus, composition and exposure were all pre-set perfectly since, if either was off by even the slightest of immeasurable margins, EVERY SHOT in the sequence would end up adding more sustenance to Mr. Happy’s insatiable appetite.

Another obstacle which needed to be addressed was the simple fact that the protracted set-up procedure had to be performed AFTER a fish was caught, so a fool-proof system had to be developed to keep the fish alive and healthy so it could be released once the brief photo session had concluded.

A small meshed laundry bag, which was carried in my fishing vest, was the perfect solution to this dilemma. After its capture, the fish was eased gently into the bag, which was then placed back into the stream.

This simple live-bag system actually served a double purpose. Not only did it permit ample time to set up everything and test-fire the remote, it allowed a larger fish a little extra time to recover from a long fight and regain its stamina before it was ultimately released into heavy current.

Released
In practice, the Radio Slave receiver would hang freely onto one of the tripod legs affixed with a little piece of Velcro. Since the trigger was so small and easy to conceal, it was common practice to hide it inside of a pocket on my fishing vest….where it could be covertly and nonchalantly activated. This system worked very well…sometimes!

Small Stream Action
The primary drawback was that one hand was always required to activate the remote trigger…leaving only one free hand to try to control a lively and slippery trout, which was usually pretty P.O.’d and intent upon escaping. More often than not, my prize catch would scoot out of my hand and disappear before I could get off a shot.

In an attempt to combat this all-too-common dilemma, I started shopping around for yet another gadget. A Wein SST Super Sound Trigger was eventually selected as the possible answer to my prayers.  With this newest remote-control unit, it would hopefully become possible to activate my camera by means other than by manually pressing a button…thus, leaving both hands free to control the action. Aside from attempting to grow another appendage, this seemed like the most practical course of action to insure that Mr. Happy’s much needed diet plan remained steadily on track.

From what I'd read, the sensitivity of the sound triggering mechanism could be easily adjusted to any level of sound from a whisper to a gunshot, and this nifty device could be accessorized to use that sound to activate a motor-driven camera.
And best of all, proudly listed among my repertoire of unique talents, is the ability to pop chewing gum in my mouth louder than any other civilized person I know. (…what can I say…. “It’s a gift”.)

So when the day finally arrived when my new sound trigger was delivered, I was that proverbial kid in the candy store as I quickly unpacked everything and installed the batteries. With everything set up at the house, and with a viscous gob of Juicy Fruit at the ready, a few “test pops” proved that the new system worked great. It would now be possible to use BOTH hands to control a slippery fish and use the gum to trigger the camera. It was perfect!

“Watch out now, Field and Stream!”

And so the new sound-triggering device and a pack of chewing gum made their way into the ever-growing list of accessories which comprised my combined, and already overloaded, fishing/photography gear bag. (Fortunately, a 5-pack of Wrigley’s didn’t weigh much.)

It was a few months later when I finally had the opportunity to implement the sound trigger for the first time in the field when I happened upon a real hammer while fishing for brown trout at one of my favorite local streams. (For the benefit of the non-fishers, the term “hammer” is commonly used to describe a  trophy catch…that Fish of a Lifetime.)

From deep within an undercut root ledge just downstream from an old rickety wooden bridge, the big brown rolled out and took a half-hearted swipe at my lure before vanishing back into the security of its lair. I estimated its weight at over 6 lbs. It was handsome male in full breeding colors and, by local standards…this was a REALLY big fish!

Before attempting another cast, I paused momentarily to fully assess the situation. This was a big trout…one of the biggest I’d ever seen locally. The autumn light was perfect and that wooden bridge surrounded by brilliant fall foliage appeared to provide the perfect background for a full-body shot of me holding this monster trout at streamside. But it would surely take two hands to handle THIS whopper!

Knowing that my new sound trigger was tucked away in my back-pack, I quietly backed up away from the behemoth’s secretive lair and hurried to get everything set up.
The camera and remote receiver were meticulously positioned onto the tripod and the scene was composed to incorporate that picturesque old bridge in the background. All of my prior “learning experiences” were being vitally tested as the aperture/shutter combination was set to insure perfect exposure. A critical focus point was pre-determined by poking a stick into the stream bed where, if premonition and providence prevailed, I would later be displaying my prized trophy.

But while assembling the camera gear and attaching the sound trigger, I noticed with dismay that my pack of gum (my “trigger”) was empty! Apparently, I’d gotten hungry on a few previous trips and had forgotten to replace the pack.

I figured…“No problem….Why can’t I just yell at the darn thing?”

So after everything was in place and all components were turned on, I gave a “test holler” near the sound trigger and was excited and relieved to hear the motor drive advance the film to the next frame. To insure that I would get at least a few good photos from this once in a lifetime session, I re-set the motor-drive to “continuous mode”. (This setting would start the motor-drive on the first sound, and the camera would continue to expose frames until a second sound turned it off.)

OK…now that everything was perfectly set, tested,  and ready to go, the only thing left was the attempt to actually CATCH this beast.

It took nearly a dozen perfectly positioned casts before the obscured trout finally rolled out of its protective root ledge to engulf my lure -- and the ensuing fight was on. The big brown was strong. It thrashed and cavorted with a fury against the pressure of my ultra-light tackle but was eventually subdued. Before long, an exhausted, but beautiful 26” trout was lying at my feet in the clear shallows. After briefly admiring this handsome specimen, I carefully eased the fish into my pre-determined position to get my photos. I kicked away the stick which was marking the position, dropped to one knee and posed photogenically, holding the big trout horizontally at the water’s edge.
I yelled a fairly loud ..“Hey..” but nothing happened.

So I tried a little louder  “…HEY”…and still nothing.

I remember chuckling to myself after briefly glancing around to make sure that there wasn’t anybody watching this inane fool kneeling in a cold creek holding a fish…and yelling at no one
.
Then I yelled louder still “…HEY ..”. But the shutter on the camera still wasn’t being activated.

I finally figured that the decibel level on the trigger was set too low, so my only viable option was to slip the fish into the live bag while I adjusted the sensitivity to a higher level.

As I was sliding the somewhat confused trout into the bag, I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. This was truly bad news, since where I’d chosen to set up was in plain view from the bridge and I had to be very discrete, so as not to reveal to any of the locals what was actually residing in this tiny, obscure creek. I quickly secured the big trout in the live bag, then cowered behind a bush…hidden from view, as I waited for the vehicle to pass.

It was a fuel truck…and a noisy one.  The truck eventually came into view and bounced raucously across that rickety wooden bridge. The racket it made was loud enough to activate the sound trigger attached to my camera which, if you remember, had been set to “continuous”….and my motor-drive immediately began gobbling film at 3.1 frames per second! I jumped from my hiding place and quickly ran over to turn it off but it was too late. Buy the time I got to where the camera was set up, an entire roll of 36 frames had been consumed. To make matters even worse, I had no back-up rolls with me that day.

After the truck had long passed, I was standing there feeling somewhat dejected, but satisfied as I realized that I was staring down with admiration at one of the biggest trout I’d ever seen! Although I’d failed to produce a single photograph to document the experience, the memory of that magnificent trout on that tiny stream will remain indelibly etched in my mind.

…especially when someone offers me a stick of gum.

--
  All photography by Bob Cammarata

Bob Cammarata's Biographical Sketch

I am a Maryland photographer who specializes in nature in all its forms.
For as long as I can remember, my love for the outdoors has inspired me to capture nature's beauty and intrigue. My primary interests photographically involve traveling the country and getting up close and personal with subjects in nature. My travels have taken me to every corner of the U.S. and parts of Canada but the majority of my photography occurs less than a tank of gas away.
I prefer to shoot in full-manual 100% of the time because I believe that it affords the ultimate in control and accurately represents the challenges and rewards that this great art has to offer. I’m an active member of BetterPhoto.com and a regular contributor to their Forums and Newsletters. My photos have been published in business and travel brochures, on Bugguide and other popular wildlife sites, and many have been sold as fine art prints. I’m currently working on my first book, which should be completed some time next year.

I consider photography to be the therapy which keeps one sane in a crazy world
Feel free to visit my website at www.cammphoto.com


Bonus Photos…A few that didn’t get away!
(Note…All of these were shot using the Radio Slave Remote and were scanned from old Kodachrome slides.)

Flyrodding on the Gunpowder River

Falling Waters

Winter Trout Fishing
               
Landing a Nice Trout
A Hefty Handful
Brown Trout Up Close
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Please Note:
*** This Blog Needs Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!} If you have a story to post on this theme, or know anyone who does, contact me, please! We have zero stories on tap at the moment. Give your imagination a stretch--your story can be about any sort of Relentless Pursuit, fact, fiction, poignant, or humorous. I'd love to hear from you and work with you on your story! We need to keep this theme going! If you have a few moments, please stop by my web site and have a look around.
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Thursday, September 22, 2011

Fish Tales - Part 1

Bob Cammarata

A frequent contributor to this blog, Bob Cammarata is a consummate Adventurer, superb wildlife photographer, and a just-plain-wonderful story teller.  So it isn't surprising at all that he can also weave a fascinating "Fish Tale!"  Here he takes you on a harrowing journey that you won't want to miss.  There are some good lessons to learn for anyone planning to emulate the guys in "A River Runs Through It!"  Last weekend I met a woman who had broken her leg in two places when she lost her footing on some slippery river rocks while fly fishing!  Enjoy this quick read and Bob's gorgeous photography as you find out how he lived to tell the story!

Here are links to Bob's previous Tales of Relentless Pursuit:  On Snake Mountain , Next Stop Oz , and When Mother Nature Lends a Hand .

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  Michelle Alton
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FISH TALES (Part 1)

“It has always been my private conviction that any man who pits his intelligence against a fish and loses, has it coming”.
--

  John Steinbeck



It’s the narrowest of bridges which separates pastime from obsession. More often than not, only the clinically trained mind can accurately discern between the two. Since my passion for nature photography originally emanated from sport fishing, it’s easy for me to draw parallels between the two.

Both involve acquired species knowledge, the incessant accumulation of expensive tools and gadgets, endless experimentation, travels to exotic locales, and a LOT of patience infused with just the right splinter of luck. Of course, both obsessions are awash with those harrowed tales of misfortune, and of missed opportunities from “…The Ones that Got Away”. So therein lies the fuel for obsession.


As the true sportsman of those earlier years, I vowed to release all of my catches to fight another day so whenever I ventured afield armed with rod and reel, a trusty pocket Instamatic camera always traveled with me so I could document the trophy fish I was releasing. (…mainly to prove to my buddies that I wasn’t just telling fish stories.)

Later, as my angling success and photography improved, I was invited to lecture at local fishing clubs and other public gatherings. To augment my slide shows with a few action sequences, that cheap point-and-shoot camera eventually mutated into a comprehensive 35 mm arsenal…complete with several motor-driven film bodies, a half-dozen lenses, teleconverters, filters, flash units, a compact tripod, and various remote triggering devices. The full pack weighed in excess of 25 lbs. and was carried on my back while wading in slippery streams or negotiating treacherous river rapids.

As one might imagine, working in and around water and slippery rocks with expensive (and heavy) photographic equipment suggested obvious challenges, so preparatory measures had to be implemented. Each photographic component was individually wrapped in a soft felt bag, then double-sealed in a  gallon-sized  Zip-Loc plastic bag. This inexpensive waterproofing system, although quite effective, made shooting “on the fly” literally impossible since it required several minutes of set-up time to find dry ground, pull everything out, then unwrap and assemble the necessary equipment for the intended shot.

But having the ability to “get in the shot” and shoot action sequences while in the field made the extra work worthwhile.

Landing a Small-Mouthed Bass

As all fishermen (and photographers) know, the last thing we want to have happened is to find ourselves lacking requisite tools in situations which cannot be duplicated. This thought was foremost in my mind early one warm summer day as I assembled my gear before venturing south toward the rivers of central Virginia. My goal was to accumulate a few action photos for an up-coming presentation on river smallmouth bass fishing, which was to be held at my local chapter of Trout Unlimited. It was crucial to avoid being many miles from home and find myself saying, “…Boy, I really wish I’d brought my (whatever) for this!”

So I packed EVERYTHING!

My river of choice that day was the Rapidan. A large tributary of the Rappahannock, the meandering Rapidan River is characterized by sporadic, raging rapids and an intermittent succession of long, boulder-strewn pools. It’s a large river, by eastern standards, and impossible to wade except during the driest months of late summer. Fortunately for me, the East was experiencing a severe drought that year so the usual strong currents of the rapids were reduced to ankle-deep trickles, which were a cinch to navigate. Despite the drought, the crystal clear pools were still too deep to  wade effectively so I was forced to remain close to the banks where I could safely walk along in waist-deep water, casting into the depths in search of my bronze-backed quarry.

Striking
A Hefty Bass
The day was progressing as expected. The wading was relatively easy, a few nice smallmouth bass had succumbed to my presentations and I was successful in getting my photos. My heavy pack was burdensome, but as mentioned before,  it was satisfying knowing that the proper tools were there when needed.

Around mid-day, I found myself half-way through a particularly long pool when I noticed that the water on my side of the riverbank was getting progressively deeper. It soon became apparent that I could wade no further upriver without the bottom of my back-pack getting wet, so I was forced to temporarily abandon the river.

This scenario had happened before, and it was usually an easy chore to climb the riverbank into the woods and walk around the deep stretch until the water was once again, shallow enough to return. …Not this time!

Here on the  Rapidan, the riverbank was a high, near-vertical expanse of slippery red clay.

Those who are familiar with river fishing on foot are aware that wet, felt soles and clay don’t "play well" together. My initial attempt at scaling the slippery slope while holding a fishing rod and wearing the heavy pack was deemed a crusade in futility. It was as if I were running in place but getting nowhere so I opted for an alternate strategy.

I removed the pack and jammed it safely into the only dry spot I could find in the crotch of a large sycamore growing along the river’s edge. The plan was to attempt to scale the muddy clay bank without being weighed down by the pack or the fishing gear. Once into the woods, I could pull the gear up the bank with a piece of rope I had stashed. (I told you that I packed everything.)

Tying one end of the rope to my belt loop, and using the trunk of the big tree as a starting point, I scurried northward toward the top of the slippery bluff. With my hands and feet working in unison, I somehow made it to the top on the very first attempt. I grabbed onto a sapling for support and noticed that the spot I’d chosen to climb out was covered in briars.

As I held on there assessing the situation, my felt-soled wading boots, now covered in mud, lost what little grip there was. I landed on my chest but somehow managed to turn over and began sliding on my butt back down toward the river, plunging vociferously into the water. When I regained my composure, I noticed that my cap had decided not to make the trip. It was waiting for me at the top of the bluff…left dangling there swinging in the breeze like some bizarre trophy amidst the prickly briars which had callously plucked it from my head.

My long time fixation never to abandon a fallen soldier was put to the ultimate test when repeated attempts to reclaim the hill were met with disastrous results…especially since now, I was soaking wet! It wasn’t long after I was completely covered in slick red mud that I decided to give up on trying to climb out of the river or re-claim the cap. My only viable option was to back-track a quarter-mile downriver where the water was shallow enough to cross to the other side.

After cleaning off as much of the slick mud as possible, I re-donned the pack, grabbed the fishing gear and began the arduous trek downriver. It was nearly an hour before I could see that the river was beginning to shallow. Eventually, I arrived at a location where I could clearly see the bottom all the way to the other side and decided that this was likely the best place to cross. The clear water was waist-high as I began the journey toward the middle of the pool and became even shallower as I progressed further.

Yeah…this was a smart move. This would be a breeze!

I was almost to the other shore when the water began to get progressively deeper. With the end so clearly in sight, it was too late to turn back. I had to keep pushing forward.
I removed the pack and balanced it on top of my head. With one hand supporting the pack and the other controlling my wading staff, I gripped my fishing rod firmly in my teeth and began inching forward.

The depth of the gin-clear water was deceptive to the eye and before long, I was in up to my chest. I figured,  “No problem! … I can do this!” When the level of the water reached my neck and began lapping at my chin I began to worry a little but, as the level seemed to be stabilizing at that depth, I pushed forward. “…This is good!…I can do this!”

The end was so close I could almost taste it.  I stood on my toes to squeeze out a few more precious inches and stepped forward…but this time, the bottom was no longer there to meet me!

I plunged under water and came up sputtering and thrashing. My arms were flailing as I gripped the backpack and attempted to swim those precious few more yards toward the shallows. Finally, the bottom was there to meet my feet and I dragged myself out of the water and onto the safety of dry ground. During the melee, I’d dropped my fishing rod but knew it could be easily retrieved later. My primary concern was for my delicate camera equipment, so I immediately pulled everything out and assessed the damages.

Miraculously,  everything survived! The Zip-Loc bags held out the water and everything inside was bone-dry. For that I was relieved but there still remained the task of retrieving the fishing rod which rested on the bottom in nearly seven feet of water. One deep breath and a dive later, I was back at the shore repacking everything for the journey back to the car.

That fateful summer day on the Rapidan River in central Virginia is a reminiscence to be treasured. Times spent in relentless pursuit of what we love is what keeps us going. We should be truly thankful for the experiences and lessons we learn along the way.
(I’m just thankful that I learned how to swim!)

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  All photographs by Bob Cammarata

Bonus Photos:
(Note: Some of these were scanned from old Kodachrome slides and are nearly 25 years old.)

Crankbait Bass


Day's End


Flyrod Bluegill


At Streamside


Flyrodding the Susquehanna


Leaping Shad

Fall Fishing on Meadow Run
Water Works
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Bob Cammarata's Bio Sketch:

I am a Maryland photographer who specializes in nature in all its forms.

For as long as I can remember, my love for the outdoors has inspired me to capture nature's beauty and intrigue. My primary interests photographically involve traveling the country and getting up close and personal with subjects in nature. My travels have taken me to every corner of the U.S. and parts of Canada but in today’s economy, it’s becoming evermore difficult to plan a road trip unless it’s all downhill!
   
I prefer to shoot in full-manual 100% of the time because I believe that it affords the ultimate in control and accurately represents the challenges and rewards that this great art has to offer.

I’m an active member of BetterPhoto.com and a regular contributor to their Forums and Newsletters. My photos have been published in business brochures and on Bugguide and other popular wildlife sites and many have been sold as fine art prints.

Lately though, I do this for fun. 

I believe photography to be the therapy which keeps one sane in a crazy world.

Feel free to visit my website at www.cammphoto.com


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Please Note:


*** This Blog Needs Your Story! *** If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me, please!  We have no stories on tap at this moment.

Stretch your imagination a little--your story can be about any sort of Relentless Pursuit--fact, fiction, poignant, humorous, or even harrowing!  I'd love to work with you on your story!  It would be wonderful if we could keep this theme going indefinitely!  Or suggest a new theme!  There have been some truly fabulous posts over the last several months. Why not add yours to the anthology?

My sincere thanks to you for stopping by.

Michelle Alton

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Thursday, June 23, 2011

On Snake Mountain

Bob Cammarata
As a wildlife photographer, Bob has become a popular contributor to "Tales of Relentless Pursuit." It is a matter of pure coincidence that this amazing snake adventure is being presented so soon after Nancy Hovey's story of how she overcame her snake phobia!  Nancy, this story will certainly test your progress!

So get ready to increase your respect for the intrepid Mr. Cammarata, as you relive with him his day of extreme adventure on Snake Mountain!  The photographs are paralyzingly good!

If you have not had the opportunity to read Bob's previous posts, here are links to them:


________________________

Thanks for stopping here to see the latest post. I'd love to know what you think of the "Relentless Pursuit" series. Please leave a comment below for the author or email me with your suggestions on what you'd like to see on this blog. Also, click the green SU icon at the bottom of this post to recommend the blog to Stumble Upon members. It will dramatically increase the "exposure" of our authors' work.

If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me. And be sure to take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you! Also, consider forwarding the link to "Relentless" to your friends and family. Thanks again!
--
Michelle Alton

________________________




If you ask any group of individuals to describe Paradise, you will likely end up getting varying responses. Some may fantasize about a leisurely stroll along a deserted tropical beach…with soft sand scrunching between tired toes as gentle ocean breezes caress the body and soul. Others may envision lounging pool-side at the Ramada at some exotic locale sipping Pina Coladas and snacking on Shrimp Cocktail while foregoing the concerns of the day. But surely, someone within the group in defining their interpretation of Paradise might mention The Garden of Eden…even though there was but one serpent there.

I call the place Snake Mountain and for good reason. Nestled in the heart of central Appalachia, it’s a foreboding place, desolate and wild, oft intimidating but I dare to consider it my own personal Paradise. This story chronicles one truly special day on the Mountain…a day which would surely have left Adam and Eve trembling in their fig leaves!

It was a warm, sunny July morning as I navigated the deserted road up toward the secluded summit of Snake Mountain where the timber rattlers call home. Locating and photographing poisonous timber rattlesnakes in their own environs represents obvious challenges. The chance of being bitten, while extremely remote,  certainly weighs heavily upon the mind but of greater concern is being able to safely navigate the treacherous, rocky terrain in which they thrive. The greatest challenge of all though is actually FINDING one…since the secretive timbers tend to spend most of their day underground or otherwise hidden from view.

My arrival time at the summit was around mid-morning and I began gearing up. High-top leather boots and a firm hiking staff would, as in previous trips, aid in navigating the rocky crags…hopefully without mishap. I’d chosen to travel light that day, with just one camera body with a 105 mm lens slung over my shoulder. Previous trips to the Mountain earlier that year and most of last year had proven uneventful so I felt hesitant to strap on my usual heavy back-pack full of gear for what would likely end up being nothing more than yet another wasted walk in the woods. But this was a new day and I set off down the trail toward one of my favorite haunts with renewed hope that today would somehow be different.

A short time later, I spotted my first rattlesnake near an old den site. This was really a great find since I hadn’t seen a rattler there in over three years. As the snake quickly uncoiled and bolted toward the entrance of the den, I hurried forward to try to get off a quick shot or two before it disappeared. In my haste, I spooked a second one which had been basking nearby and it too, quickly vanished from view. I carefully and meticulously tip-toed around the den to the other side and in doing so, nearly stepped on a third rattler. Measuring nearly four feet long, it was stretched out full-length on some rocks completely out in the open!

The sunning snake immediately reacted to my presence and flattened it’s body as if to appear even larger and more intimidating to this would-be intruder. A few tongue flicks tasted the air as the hefty rattler circled its thickened form into a defensive coil.
Now this was more like it…no wasted walk today!

From what I considered a safe distance, I was able to capture multiple frames of the energetic reptile before leaving it to go on it’s way. A short time later, I spotted a fourth rattler and realized that this was evolving into a truly special day.

My personal record of five sightings in one day occurred many years ago and it seemed apparent that I was well on my way toward shattering that long-standing record. While an extensive search of the area eventually yielded #5, my record breaker seemed an unattainable goal. With my confidence beginning to wane, I decided to search another area and hiked a long trail toward a rocky ridge I’d discovered the previous summer . Even though I’d never actually seen a rattlesnake there, the habitat contained all of the requisite “ingredients” so it certainly seemed worth a try.

Don't Tread on Me

My explorations in the new spot were rewarded early when I spotted a colorful copperhead snake tucked into a tight crevasse. It was oblivious to my presence and I was able to ease my camera in really close for a few intimate portraits. That copper was a great find and a bonus, but I was on a mission.  I left the copperhead to go about its business and set off in search of that elusive sixth rattlesnake.

Over an hour had passed and I again began to lose confidence. Exhaustion from the heat of the sun and the stress of scrambling around rocky cliffs all day was beginning to take its toll and it was becoming evermore difficult to stay focused. As my mind wandered further, I found myself finding photographic interest in the simplest of life forms that normally wouldn’t even warrant a second look. A weird looking clump of colorful moss caught my eye and I immediately began composing images in my mind’s eye.

“What could I do with this?” “Should I get low or shoot it from above?” “How would I light it?” I even ventured so far as to play with the moss with my hiking stick…feeling its texture.

It was about then that I realized that it had been a REALLY long day!
What made matters even worse was that I was so focused on that useless clump of moss that I failed to noticed that Rattler #6...the record breaker, was coiled and staring at me from five feet away!

It was a really big one too…definitely over four feet, maybe five. It was dark-phased and recently shed…a truly beautiful specimen! We seemed to react to each other at exactly the same instant and the large viper violently rattled its tail in defiance then quickly uncoiled and raced toward the sanctuary of a nearby boulder. I could still hear the big snake buzzing as it descended deeper and deeper into the bowels of Snake Mountain’s clandestine inner core. I was somewhat saddened at not having rewarded myself a single shot of so pristine a specimen but as I plotted my course back to the car, I felt satisfied in the knowledge that a record had fallen that day.

As I traversed the top of the ridge on my way back, a muffled, barely audible buzzing sound instinctively stopped me in my tracks. It was very faint and only lasted a fraction of a second. I was sure that I’d imagined it but I remained motionless as I visually scanned the surrounding area.

Right there in front of me, coiled on top of a huge boulder was another big timber rattlesnake. This was another “darkie”. It was the blackest one I’d ever seen!
And best of all, this newest discovery was completely unaware of my presence so it would be a prime photographic subject. But the handsome snake rested in a perilous position near the edge of a cliff…and since I was armed with only a 105 mm lens, I was much too far away.

I scanned the surrounding rocks to plot the least precarious course which might get me closer and to my amazement, I spotted another big snake ten feet to the left of the other one. (…since we’re still keeping score…that’s #7 and #8.)

In complete contrast, this other rattler sported the more traditional color pattern typical for the species. I momentarily abandoned my quest to get closer to “Ol’ Blackie” and realized that to effectively illustrate both color morphs, I had to somehow figure out a way to get both snakes in the same frame. …But how??

They were too far apart and the angle of perspective on my 105 mm was far too narrow. I couldn’t even back up for fear of falling off a 20 foot cliff to a certain death. Then, as if on cue, the lighter snake slowly uncoiled, crawled toward Blackie and re-coiled right next to it. This was a gift from Heaven! (…Hey, maybe this really WAS Eden?)
Now, it was simple to get both snakes in the same frame…and actually live to tell about it!

Rattlers Light and Dark Phase

…But it soon got even better!

A colorful copperhead snake obligingly emerged from a crack in the rocks directly behind the two timber rattlers and I was quick to recompose to include this newest member to join the party. I’d always known that rattlesnakes and copperheads coexist (They’ve even been known to den together in winter.) but now I have photographic proof!

Pit Vipers a"Trois

I remained with the trio for nearly an hour observing and documenting their behavior. All the while, they were totally unconcerned with my temporary intrusion into their shadowy world. In observing how the two timbers were interacting, I would have bet that they were a mated pair. Toward the end of the session, Blackie uncoiled and crawled over to a different rock from its mate. (..a lover’s spat, perhaps?) It was then that I decided to leave but before I made my way off that ridge, I spotted one final rattler.

#9 was a photogenic and feisty youngster…likely less than a year old. This was a fitting end to the perfect day.

Feisty

And so the legend of Snake Mountain lives on. Through years of exploration I’ve witnessed what was feared a declining population. Throughout their extensive range, timber rattlesnake numbers are a mere fraction of what they once were and with so few sightings in recent years, I was afraid that the “wrong element” had discovered the tiny island pockets of timbers struggling to survive in my tiny Eden nestled within the vastness of the Appalachian Wilds.

That special day along “Blackie’s Ridge” offered renewed hope for the future of the species but one must be ever vigilant and enigmatic to ensure the continued survival and prosperity of these misunderstood, often maligned members of our natural world
…As Don Henley eloquently quipped in an old Eagles song, “You call someplace Paradise…kiss it goodbye.”

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Bob's Bio:

I am a Maryland photographer who specializes in nature in all its forms. For as long as I can remember, my love for the outdoors has inspired me to capture nature's beauty and intrigue. My primary interests photographically involve traveling the country and getting up close and personal with subjects in nature. My travels have taken me to every corner of the U.S. and parts of Canada but in today’s economy, it’s becoming evermore difficult to plan a road trip unless it’s all downhill! I prefer to shoot in full-manual 100% of the time because I believe that it affords the ultimate in control and accurately represents the challenges and rewards that this great art has to offer. I’m an active member of BetterPhoto.com and a regular contributor to their Forums and Newsletters. My photos have been published in business brochures and on Bugguide and other popular wildlife sites and many have been sold as fine art prints. Lately though, I do this for fun.

I believe photography to be the therapy which keeps one sane in a crazy world.

Feel free to visit my website at http://www.cammphoto.com/ .
--
  All photos by Bob Cammarata
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Bob Cammarata's Bonus Photos

Ol' Blackie

Head to Head
A Promise for the Future
(newborn timber rattlesnakes at a den site)

"6 6 6"
                                                           
Hognose Snake

                                                                           
Northern Copperhead

Temptation


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*** I Need Your Story! *** { I'm Serious!}If you have a story to post on this theme, contact me, please! We haven't a single story on tap.  I'm working on one, but it won't be ready in time for next week. Please consider sharing your tales of Relentless Pursuit! And I'd be appreciative if you also take a look at my Photography site. I'd love to hear from you!
--
Michelle Alton
__________________________________

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