Thick moisture hangs ponderously in the air, weighing everything down, from ochre-colored fern underfoot to dark green branches of pine trees. The ground is soaked, my protection tarp covered with beads of precipitation, and clouds envelop the hilltops, completely obscuring them from view. Despite being a very gloomy and rainy autumn day, there is a sense that change is in the air, and it is precisely these moments in nature, on the edge of transition between one state and another, that something special can happen. Another hour of brushing off drops of my jacket and taking away strays of soaked hair from my face, anticipating where that cloud will break and where the ray of sun will hit. Of course, you can’t know for sure, but this is the enigmatic balance of it all. As a photographer, you try to predict your environment, but nature always brings in its corrections.
A fellow photographer walks up to me and gives a slight nod toward my camera. Photographers are a great bunch, always mindful not to disturb another working photographer. Still, acknowledgments of rare gear, coupled with perhaps a few questions, are also a staple of the encounters in the field.