I’ve been in one of my occasional photo-funks … uninspired about what to photograph … weary of shooting the same old scenes … and feeling it particularly in my summer life at the shore.  Do I really want to shoot another sunset or that old jetty in the surf?

And then —- then something crosses my vision and I go for it and the result excites me.  I should re-read my own 2013 essay on this subject (A Photography Phunk) and get my head straight.

Well, anyway, how’s this?



It is summertime, and the livin’ is easy, and we won’t be seeing scenes like this in January (at least until I get back to Sanibel).  So, here are some more.

This was late afternoon and I wondered if the light being reflected from the bay would illuminate the chimney of the lantern.  As I brought the camera to my eye I hollered “Cue boat” and along it came.  I’m pleased with the image; the light in the lantern made the point, and I also like the coil of rope whose loose arrangement offsets the more formal nature of the image.  Artist’s Confession:  With the Spot Healing Brush I removed the Greenhead Fly that was on the chimney (well, it is summertime).



Here’s another successful “Cue boat” scene.  Yeah, another sunset but I couldn’t resist the alignment and leading line.



At the beach the beach roses (Rosa Rugosa) are still producing blooms and a sweet, subtle fragrance.  With early morning dew my camera quivers as it focuses on to them.


On the beach a couple of weeks ago I managed to enjoy my first beach nap of the season.  This entails a process:  bringing together a mound of sand for a pillow; then spreading out my towel over all; and then lying down and wriggling a bit until the sand bumps beneath are smoothed out.  Shortly after that I’m gone.  Here’s the way I described it in a summer post a few years ago:

The waves a sibilant roar.

The soft wind, a balm.

The warm sand, bumpy

But accepting.

Sleep comes.



Back in reality I recently came across this deserted hull … derelict but surrounded by a funeral spray of Queen Anne’s Lace.  In a few months it may still be surrounded in white, probably snow.  R.I.P.




Here on Long Beach Island I don’t get to see the owls or Atlantic Puffins of Ray Yeager, or the hummingbirds of Susan Chilkotowsky-Kain.  I’m pretty much stuck with these guys so I have to depend on the scenery around them.  Well, the scene says summer.



Finally, here’s one to sleep on.  A perfect conclusion for the other end of the day.




Thanks for visiting.  I feel another nap coming on but I’ll be back.



My friend, Fog, showed up again.   I haven’t seen him for about a year and a half.  He’s probably been skulking here and there but not in front of my camera until last Saturday.  That afternoon I drove to the shore for an overnight getaway.  As I left the mainland at Manahawkin  the temperature dropped and the fog appeared.  The Ocean County Sheriff’s office had been warning about this, and they were right.  I dumped Pearl at the house and headed to the beach.  Here was the scene at about 5:30.

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It was still light enough to see what was happening but the approaching mists were clearly on the way.  Just to the left of this walkway leading to the beach I was also welcomed by blooms of bayberry.  I don’t remember seeing this profusion before.  They were enjoying the moisture of the mists.

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As the evening progressed the mists crept further into the town, bringing the usual mystery, silence, and dimmed lights.  There is no motion as though the mist absorbs anything that dares move.  I wonder as I write this about the connection between the words mist and mystery.  It’s there.  Later, the view through one of the windows brings out the same feelings.

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At the docks at the foot of the street the fog had also taken charge.  Nothing moved here either except some shimmer.  Even the in-residence Purple Martins were anxious and just hanging out on their perches.

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The next morning the drive to Fred’s Diner was a matter of cleaving through the fog.  At Fred’s there was breakfast and life.  Friends reappeared,  my last view of them having been on Labor Day.  Materialization from the fog?  No, snap out of it.


After breakfast, a drive south to the tip of Holgate on the edge of the wildlife refuge.  First sight was this sentinel, also a residue of last year.

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The jetty there was taking a beating.

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Down on the sand, the swells were impressive.

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On the other side of the jetty the dampened swells provided only a modest challenge to this young boy, ready for a day on the beach and the fog be damned..

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Fog is fascinating to me.  For my earlier posts on the subject click on the blue titles below:

Fall Fog at the shore – November 2013

Fog, A Little Before Breakfast – December 2011

Fog Blog, A – Beach and bay scenes – September 2010

Foggy Fall Days at the shore – Ole October – October 2011

Fog Fix, A – July 2011 -Beach and bay scenes, Charon fishing, Pearl Street pavilion, Sandberg’s “Fog”.

Fog, Fall at the Shore – November 2013

Foggy Farewell, A farewell to Charleston Moor – November 2011



As much as I resisted the idea it was time to go home, back to my hibernaculum.  It happens every year.   I am stoic and brave  as my kids go back to their non-summer world;  I assure myself that I will just enjoy the quiet and the beauty and the cooler days and the uncrowded streets.  And I do.  But then?  Ah, but then… some signs of serious fall appear.  A morning such that I struggle over getting the gas logs pilot lit but then feel guilty about enjoying the warmth.  The mornings become too chilly to have coffee out on my little deck, and a sweat shirt feels good.  There is little activity to see on the waterway.  A visit to the beach at twilight finds only a few of the committed still waiting for the big ones.

My daughter, Sigrid, had kindly offered to drive down and help me load my car and her SUV.  I spent the day before packing things up for the move and completing my last two photo-related projects for the club.  Moving day dawned, however, with the first fog of the season.  Is that a message of “Go Home!”, or what?  I quickly unpacked the camera and went pixel gathering.

The beach certainly wasn’t inviting.

Nor was the bay.  No movement, no sound … Go Home!

Even Jonathan was sad that I was leaving.


Here’s a splendid portrait of a juvenile Green Heron resting on Bob’s boat rail.  I was only about ten feet from him and he was comfortable posing.  Took a while to identify him but my omniscient birding friend, Del, pronounced it a Green Heron and that settled it.



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Here’s a Great Blue Heron looking over some rental property on nearby Mordecai Island.















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While these cormorants squabble over landing rights on the pole.















Here’s a pair of  “Rats With Wings” shots.  The one on the left was taken after a delightful lunch at Cape May’s Lobster House.  On the right, in my back yard.

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Here’s a scene I captured in June but its mood is perfect for the end of the season.

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