Making Magic in New Locations. One Tantrum, Three Lessons.

“I am so pissed off right now. These things are a god d@#%*d nightmare”
– Curtis Jones, Abraham Lake, AB.

Catching water becoming ice along the shores of beautiful Abraham Lake, Alberta Canada.

I know I’m in a foul mood. I can tell because I’m intentionally seeking out ways to make things worse. Like a petulant five-year-old, who is refused a new toy and so proceeds to spitefully destroy a toy they already own; the meltdown is predictably on pace. I was well into my grump fest before we even hopped in the car four hours prior, but I was committed to seeing this through. By the end of the day, something had to break. My attitude or my luck. I’m tits deep in some unholy bramble of a roadside demon bush, I’ve lost a boot and my tripod refuses to lock in place – as if luck cares which way I peel out of this hot mess. With the sun setting over Abraham Lake I think to myself, “you only have yourself to blame”, and there is true freedom in this realisation.

We had made our way to Rocky Mountain House for a client shoot. Having never explored the area we decided to tack on a couple of days of outdoor photography. Abraham Lake and Crescent Falls had been on my hit list for years. Dreams of Disney waterfalls and magical frozen lake bubbles in textbook pastel light had me giddy and eager to shrug off the shoulder season funk I had slipped into as November rolled in. The creative slump of landscape photography can level you at any time, but the weeks leading up to the end of November had taken a toll on me. Unmotivated, unconnected and uninspired. I was an over-caffeinated steamy heap of self-loathing. Now don’t get me wrong, I can rock pyjama bottoms and a neckbeard with the best of them but I was getting extra squirrelly. The outdoors was calling and I needed to shake things up. I know myself. I know that time outside is time invested in making Curtis whole again. The formula is simple, a trip to the mountains would be perfect.

With the client shoot wrapped we headed to our accommodations. A local ranch, complete with horses, Texas longhorns and a private cabin in the woods. Bags dropped and a few quick hellos to the more curious four-legged staff, we headed out to scout for the afternoon. I have a few practices I like to adhere to when exploring new areas for photography. Not quite rules but guidelines that over time have helped keep me from getting too attached to an idea or a specific vision. Think of them as a simple way to take the pressure off yourself to create great work right out of the gate. That kind of self-imposed expectation can have you in a proper tantrum before you even get your camera out of the bag. It goes something like this;

1. Never make the image the point of the trip. If all the value you derive from the experience is wrapped up in creating great photographs, you’ll be disappointed often. By simply being outside more you increase your chances of getting better images.

2. Sometimes in landscape pursuits no matter what you choose, you choose wrong. A quick roadside stop, or continue over the next hill? Shoot amazing light right now or get to your location for what little light is left? No matter what you choose, and inevitably you will be forced to, once you’ve decided, leave it at that. Regret is gasoline on the dumpster fire of self-pity.

3. Give yourself a win. Draw on the fundamentals of good outdoor photography. Interesting light, simple compositions, leading lines, s-curves, beautiful subjects. Don’t be in a rush to over analyse the scene. Take a few “solid” shots and I guarantee you’ll feel better. With some nice images in the bag, pull up your pants and get to work creating something more unique, more intentional.

Like I said, simple guidelines. I left for this trip with a vision of how it was meant to be. It would cure my funk, help get my groove back, unlock the creative genie and have me humming annoying catchy pop songs in public spaces. I had hitched my self-worth and the value of this trip to the concept that the photographs I would produce could make me feel better. Guideline one broken.

We arrived at the falls a little late, with just enough time to scout it we decided to forego shooting to make better use of the sunset and move along to Abraham Lake and the famous methane bubbles. Having never been, I arrogantly made the mistake of not properly researching the location – The lake was open water. Beautiful turquoise water as far as I could see. Where were all the beautiful glass ice, the frozen bubbles, the intricate patterns? “We left the falls for this?” Cue the disappointment. Bye-bye guideline number two.

“Want to stop?”

“I don’t know, what difference does it make? There’s no rush to get anywhere now.” (I can barely stomach myself as I sit here writing this).

“Let’s keep going then, you never know what’s just up ahead!”

“No, let’s stop. Might as well make a go of something.” (I’m an asshat)

And so, we stopped and I got to work capturing what I thought was the much-recommended Preachers Point (I’ve since learned it was not). Low to the water, multiple exposures focused stacked, ND filters with motion blur and polarised foreground to boot. With the light fading and my patience well past tested, I whispered a few choice four-letter words to the camera gods, packed my gear and slumped into the car.

“How did it go? Get anything you like?”

“Nothing, I kept dropping my filter and the waves were constantly splashing the lens. I think I screwed up the focus stack, they all look soft.”

“At least the light was pretty!”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point. Light can be pretty anywhere. I was trying for something special.”

Guideline number three, down the crapper, and with that, day one was over. Back to the cabin, food, and a good night sleep before trying it all over again in the morning. Once in cell range I quickly discovered that I had not placed us in the right location for the bubbles. Hope restored, tomorrow all would be better. Completely missing an opportunity to reflect and grow, I shoved all my disappointment deeper down, turned a blind eye and signed over the fate of my happiness to the uncaring chaos of the universe one more time.

5:00 AM I’m awake. I can’t sleep, sunrise is hours away but perhaps the sky is clear? Maybe just a small peek outside, a taste of the morning that awaits us. Listening to the soft rise and fall of my slumbering partner, I respectfully decided to leave the lights off. Like a drunk chimpanzee, I bulldoze my way through the standard road trip security system of gear, winter clothes and Sobey’s bags. In the darkness, in my Calvin Kleins, I swing open the front door. Late November sucker punches my exposed torso with a healthy dose spindrift. Shit; snow. The only thing that my brief research revealed about shooting ice at Abraham Lake is that snow cover can sometimes blanket the much sought after methane bubbles. Before me stands another opportunity to revisit my guidelines, check my ego and build a healthy outlook for the day that lies ahead. Naturally, I double down on team misery. I will go back to the lake, not to make the best of a beautiful day in the mountains but to prove once and for all that the universe is against me. It is in this moment, standing in my underwear, freezing mountain wind rocketing up my undercarriage that I complete the transition to the dark side. I am a man-child at the peak of self-pity, on the verge of a tantrum, watch me soar.

Back at the lake, we confirm, the snow has indeed covered the now correctly located Preacher’s Point. The light is flat, snow is getting heavier and I am not happy, but I do feel vindicated. Reeking of self-riotous entitlement, I am eager to pass the blame. Landscape photography wants me to fail. I’m at a low point, but I can go lower. Deciding to rub salt in the wound I stop the car one last time. A small cove I noticed the day before had some interesting reflections that caught my eye, perhaps I can steal a few pretty abstracts from the gaping maw of complete trip failure. Hopping out I immediately see that my wonderful reflections were not meant to be. Overnight the small cove had frozen and snow covered the reflective pool.

“Screw it!!”

“How long should I wait before coming to look for your angry little self?”

“Twenty minutes should be enough time to ruin this shot.”

“Alright, have fun!”

So here I am. Ass backwards in a ditch, camera strap snaked around my body, branches threatening to choke me out, down one winter boot, and toddler angry. No matter how much I like to think that I’m immune to the temptations of the dark side of ego, I am not. My fall was well underway before I ever reached the mountains. I was restless, cagy, and unfocused in my work. Given plenty of opportunities to reset the rules and get back on track, I consistently made bad decisions. Self-harming, lazy, and childish decisions. At my lowest, literally fighting with the environment I finally find peace. “I only have myself to blame.” So simple. Feeling the weight finally lift, I plant my feet, lock the tripod and reflect on the scene before me. Two frames later, the camera is packed (even the bag feels lighter) and I’m heading back to the car. Funny, I never noticed that perfectly clear path on the way down. Smiling, I think to myself It’s a win, I’ll take it.