Platte River, March 2026: Sunrise and Sunset

Groups of Sandhill Cranes in flight can best be seen around sunrise and sunset each day, as the birds head from their overnight roosting sites in the river to their feeding sites in the nearby fields and vice versa.  And if you don't get views of the cranes, you still get a sunrise or sunset out of the deal. :)

My first night I tried the CPNRD Alda Viewing Deck.  Cranes and humans were gathering well before the sunset, and the cranes were unfortunately choosing to roost quite a ways upriver.  So I shifted my attention from the water to the skies, looking for silhouettes of birds in flight against the colorful sky.

I love how sometimes shooting at a 90-degree angle to the setting sun can give you beautiful gradients of brightness and color.

I was so focused on the river that I almost missed the show just slightly to the north, where the sky was really ablaze and a small pond offered a brilliant reflection.

The next morning I tried the CPNRD Plautz Viewing Deck.  I was glad for some advice I received to get there 90-75 minutes before sunrise, because there was still one parking spot left when I arrived.

After a chilly wait while the sounds of the cranes grew louder, the light revealed that they were also roosting a good distance away from the deck.  So back to silhouettes against the sky it was.

Fortunately, silhouettes are cool.

Eventually I was able to capture some of the late departers still in the water.

I like the leading line provided by the river channel toward the rising sun.

That evening I tried the Fort Kearny Hike/Bike Trail Bridge.  The cranes decided to roost elsewhere, but a couple of crossing deer were a nice consolation.

Like I mentioned, even when the cranes don't cooperate you still get the sun on the horizon. Some days that's all I go out to shoot for anyway.

Back to the bridge for my final morning.  Birds had indeed roosted nearby overnight, but only close enough to hear rather than see especially well.  The sky and landscape again came to my photographic rescue.

If I want close-up shots of cranes in their roosting spots, I'm going to need to spring for a "tour."  That's just a euphemism for paying for access to a blind.  Something to consider if I decide to return in the future!

Related Links:

• Platte River, March 2026: Cranes in Flight
• Platte River, March 2026: Cranes in Corn

Platte River, March 2026: Cranes in Flight

I have had some great times in the past shooting pictures of Sandhill Cranes, both in Colorado and New Mexico.  I've always heard that if I really want to see cranes on their northern migration, I needed to go to the Platte River in Nebraska.  My Spring Break this year coincided perfectly with the projections for peak migration, when roughly half a million cranes were expected to stop over along on an 80-mile stretch of the river.  So the time for my pilgrimage had finally arrived!

Scanning the skies regularly revealed small flocks heading to or returning from the fields.

As the sun set, silhouettes presented the best opportunities.

Silhouettes were again the main attraction shortly after sunrise the next morning...

...until golden hour began in full, when warm sunlight bathed the birds flying to the fields.

I enjoyed looking for both interesting formations...

...and solo flyers.

The higher the sun rose in the sky, the more important angles became so the undersides of my subjects weren't entirely in shadow.

A crane facing the sun and angled upward was an absolute win. 

I loved both the chaos of some groups...

...and the sublime synchronization of others.

One thing I've learned over my years of photographing birds in flight is that I always wish my lens was bigger and faster.  But then I get home and process my shots, and realize that my trusty Nikkor 80-400 zoom still does just fine. :)

More to come!

Related Links:

• Monte Vista Crane Festival 2013
• Bosque del Apache NWR (2016)
• Bosque del Apache Cranes & Geese (2016)
• Bosque del Apache, December 2020: Sunrise
• Bosque del Apache, December 2020: Afternoon
• Bosque del Apache, December 2020: Evening
• Platte River, March 2026: Cranes in Corn

St. Mary's Falls, April 2024

The calendar may say spring, but winter hasn't completely released its grip on Colorado just yet.  So I made plans to capture some through my lens while I still could.  The destination: St. Mary's Falls in North Cheyenne Cañon Park.

I woke up the morning of my planned expedition to low temperatures and low visibility.  Undaunted, I made the hour drive and hit the trailhead. electing to savor the conditions rather than bemoan them.

Not sure what this bird was, but I do appreciate silhouettes.

An apparent abandoned mine distracted me for a moment, but I had a waterfall to get to so I didn't explore it extensively.

The fog and barely freezing temperatures resulted in quite a bit of frost on tree branches...

...and lower-lying vegetation.

The last half mile or so was pretty steep, so I became laser-focused on just getting to the falls.  And that focus was rewarded with precisely the sort of wintry scene I'd been hoping for. 

I had gambled that the falls would no longer be completely frozen over, and the gamble paid off. 

I soon became fascinated by the ice build-up on the surrounding trees, so I switched from trying to take in the whole scene to zooming in on smaller details.

This occupied me for quite some time.

I don't like the results zooming out to this degree quite as much for some reason.

Yeah, splitting the difference just doesn't do it for me.  Tight close-ups I like, and the full views of the falls I like.  All or nothing, I suppose.

On my descent, I stopped much more frequently to capture what I was seeing.  This frost-covered plant reminded me of a sea creature.

  

Frost spikes on a yucca caught my eye.

As did these, though again I feel like this middle-ground view is my least favorite.

I've got a pretty good idea what picture is going to be on my Christmas card this year.

I definitely appreciated how clear the trail itself was of ice and snow.  That made the journey much more manageable.

Pasqueflowers still delight me.  I don't understand the science behind them blooming in freezing weather, but I love their role as heralds of springtime in the Rockies.

I know it looks like I got down on my belly for this shot, but I'll let you -- dear blog reader -- in on the secret.  This flower was going on the side of a steep embankment along the trail.  So I was really just standing comfortably with my camera at eye level.  Still, I really like the shot.

I had passed a couple of other hikers on the trail who remarked how much they liked the spiderwebs along the trail.  I replied that I hadn't noticed them but would keep an eye out on my way back.  Turns out there were only hundreds of them, cleverly hidden a couple of feet off the trail.  Apparently I was not at my most observant at the onset of my hike.

Roughly 6 1/2 miles and 2,000 feet of elevation gain in 3:20:48, which I included my time shooting the waterfall because I forgot to pause my app.  And worth every minute!

Caddo Lake, November 2021

Having a week off for Thanksgiving always gives me a nice opportunity to head out in search of fall.  The season simply doesn't have much of a visual presence in the DFW Metroplex.  This year I decided to look in an area I'd heard good things about but not yet visited -- Caddo Lake.

I made the three-hour drive from home and stopped at the National Wildlife Refuge first.  These areas are typically feast or famine in terms of how much wildlife I actually see.  This one was a famine in that department, but at least I got to feast my eyes on some brilliant fall foliage like this American Sweetgum.

I got my first exposure to the lake's famous Bald Cypress at a picturesque boat ramp on the refuge's east end.  I knew I'd missed peak foliage thanks to photos from a week earlier I'd seen online, but the needles that remained did sport a brilliant fall orange.

I kept a wary eye out for alligators when I mucked out a bit for this shot.  The day seemed warm to me, but possibly not warm enough for cold-blooded reptiles.

After a drive around the refuge it was on to Caddo Lake State Park where I'd reserved a camping spot for the night.  I set up my tent and headed out to hike a loop featuring the park's three short trails.  I first passed Sawmill Pond and some interesting silhouettes from branches and moss.

I liked the contrast between the pond's west and east shores provided by the low afternoon sun.

That same low sun allowed the trees to cast striking shadows on the duckweed-covered pond surface.

The sun was still fortunately high enough to capture some vibrant colors.  And some of the cypress still had a decent amount of needles.

The hiking trails had their own beauty, especially all the wooden bridges sprinkled about.  The smell of the fallen leaves was also hugely uplifting.

After a pleasant if chilly night in my tent, I packed up and headed back to the pond to see what sunrise offered.  Being surrounded by hills meant that I didn't get to see much of the actual sun, but the predawn colors were still impressive.

The pond was perfectly still, which doubled the impact of the unique cypress trunks courtesy of their mirrored reflections.

I had to drive a little ways to find it, but I'm pleased to once again report that you can find fall in Texas!

Gateway Arch National Park

My final stop on my summer National Park tour was a place I honestly didn't even realize was a National Park -- Gateway Arch in St. Louis.

Having developed my love of and familiarity with National Parks out west, I share Q.T. Luong's opinion that as impressive as the arch is it doesn't fit my ideal for what a National Park should be.

National Monument, perhaps?  Sure.  But I believe a National Park should be based mainly on a location's natural scenery.  This location has none of that.

What it does have is one impressive structure that lends itself to a number of abstract shots, some of which twisted me into a bit of a pretzel as I shot them.

I did have perfect conditions -- bright sun that reflected dazzlingly off the arch, and a few interesting clouds to break up the blue sky.

This Mallard hen tried to refute my assertion that the park had no natural beauty.  A for effort.

Having a few visitors walking around for context might have been nice, but I personally enjoyed the solitude.

If the arch is still standing in a couple thousand years, and the relevant records have been lost or destroyed, will our descendants insist it must have been built by aliens?

Even though I didn't do any true "hiking," the day was warm enough that I worked up an unexpected sweat just wandering around looking for interesting compositions.

In order to get my National Park passport stamp I had to walk the full length of the underground exhibit hall below the arch.  And thanks to COVID-19 I needed a timed ticket to do so.  Fortunately with virtually no crowd I was able to walk up and get a (free) ticket on the spot.

After notching no new National Parks on my belt in 2019, I was delighted to pick up five in 2020 -- during a global pandemic, no less!