Frosty Phinizy Swamp

Did you know that Mother Nature is a slippery little minx when it comes to making deals?  She held off the rain and all, but icicles were not a part of the deal.  But to be quite frank, my patience has been rather short the last few days and I was beyond done with Mother Nature and her slippery crap.

So she taught me a thing or two about patience.



When I left the apartment at five after eight this morning, it was a brisk 41 degrees.  By the time I'd arrived at Phinizy Nature Park thirty minutes later, it had warmed up to a balmy 42 degrees... with a hefty breeze that made it feel about 34.  Huzzah, me, and my stubborn will to complete the mission at hand.



Anywho.





Phinizy Swamp is located just barely outside of Augusta's Olde Town, the region I conquered with the 35mm challenge a couple weeks ago.  It's also about a mile from Augusta's Utilities Department, a field full of pipes and tanks, puffing out smoke like an elderly man on a southern-style wrap-around porch toting a bb-gun and an avid interest in squirrel target practice.  Not that I have an poor attitude about it or anything.



When I pulled into the gravel drive, I was the only car in the parking lot.  Bits of trash from last weekend's 5k littered the ground, and as I stepped out of the car with my camera bag in tow, I couldn't help but flashback to the warning I'd gotten from Matt before departure - "Be careful."



It was only a fraction of a mile from the parking lot to the visitor's ... village.  But that fraction was an expanse of deserted boardwalk, creeping through an icy stretch of swamp, every step awaking a small collection of ducks, which launched off the rippling water and into the murky clouds with a chorus of protesting quacks.



With the daunting clouds, the frigid wind, the molding pools of water, the Spanish moss reaching down from the branches, and far too many hours veg'd out with horror flicks on the tube, I was on edge.





And walking into the empty horseshoe of yellow cabins, all facing a single, lonely American flag, it's snaps against itself in the wind echoing across the buildings... Well, if nothing else, it brought one of the cardinal rules of photography to the forefronts of my cortex - "Be aware of your surroundings." (TIP# 1: Be aware of your surroundings. Hyper-aware. Keep both eyes open when you can, even when focusing your camera. You never know what you're going to miss when you're so singly focused on something else.) You better believe it, I was aware.  It was 9AM, I was only twenty minutes away from the city, and I had my phone, with full signal, in my hoodie front pocket, but this place was creepy.

Less than twenty yards from the couple of herons I was stalking, I saw a pair of mossy logs floating in the water.  As it turns out, they are really logs.  But if it's any sign to my photographer's instinct, being about thirty yards from the logs, my immediate thought was "How cool would it be if I got a shot of a gator attacking that bird?"  You may be *facepalming,* but seriously, how cool would that have been?

I found lights in the research center, and poked my head in to "ask for a trail map" before I headed out. (I already had a map.  TIP #2 - Make sure someone on-site knows you're there.  Also, make sure someone who is expecting to see you later that same day is aware of where you're going.  You can never be too careful when it comes to venturing out on your own.) I'm no stranger to wildlife, having grown up as a member of a hike-friendly family, and the cold doesn't make me flee to the cozy hearth indoors (thanks to my dad's devotion to snow skiing).



I lasted just short of two hours, nixing my planned two-mile route around the wildlife reserve to settle for staying close to the visitor's center (and my car) and stalking a couple of white herons from one sector of the swamp to another.  (TIP #3: When shooting wildlife - or any subject from a distance - quickly guesstimate settings and composition and take a shot before you creep in closer and take time to perfect the photograph.  Better to take a chance and possibly catch the perfect moment than miss it hassling with stops.) Once the feeling in my fingers locked up and vacated the premises, my good sense got the better of me, and I hiked my frosty butt back to the warm safety of my car. (TIP #4: Being resistant to the elements is a necessary attribute for every photographer.  But numb fingers that are incapable of focusing or setting exposures are useless.  Keeping hand warmers in your pockets would be a plus, but once you've lost feeling, call it a day. Frostbite is a career-killer.)





Needless to say, the 3-foot perspective challenge was forgotten.  Instead, the challenge of keeping the 300mm steady while losing circulation in my hands and butt satisfied my need for advancement.



Considering I managed to stay out there for close to two hours, I'm considering it a successful trip.



And I'll plan my next trip to Phinizy when I can bring some muscle with me... Or at least some mittens.