Early Winter on Lake Pend Oreille (Digital)

I went out before my father to the lake house to open the place up. He had some chores for me and would follow shortly. 

The whole area is different from two months ago when I left in the heat of early September and smoke from local fires. The first snows of winter had fallen a couple of days before and only now was the temperature edging up a degree or two above freezing. 

The highway was clear of ice and snow but with white a rime of salt. The road out to the lake was still snowpacked in the shadows under the trees. The lake is also at its lowest level. After the summer recreational season the lake level is lowered about ten feet. Along this shore it extends a rocky beach ten to 20 yards out to the waters edge. The bay is merely its forlorn bottom. Fisherman’s island can now be walked to from the road. 

Out on the water are hundreds of Western Grebes paddling around what must be shallows for feeding. The sky is overcast with low hanging thick cloud though small breaks admit some of the sun’s low angled light.

The sun now rises from some unseen new place further south as it makes its way to its new resting place at the southern end of the mountains where it would set upon in the height of summer. And this low sun casts even now a distinctly yellow color. The cloud where it is thinest transmits this warm light in the breaks between the cloud. In what one imagines must be shadows cast on the tops of the cloud only the cold blue light of the unseen azure sky illuminates the undersides of cloud giving this mix of warm and cold light. Subtle in tone and soft in texture.

Rigth now it is just a little afternoon and the sun is as high as it will get all day. Out on the water it is calm with an oily glassiness as there is not a breath of wind. Not boats to ripple its surface and the grebes and other waterfowl are mostly calm. And on this exquisitely sensual mirrored surface plays this cloud-light in little pools of reflection. Sometimes the cloud parts and admits a shaft of warm light that scatters in some unseen particles in the air to trace the thin wedge of light onto the water’s surface. Here the light beams a blinding reflection where all else is mirrored slate and warm salmon. 

Ad so it continues a breathtakingly subtle interaction of cloud, sun, and water as I drive along. I feel my pulse quicken enraptured by this sublime vision. 

The chores evolved such that I have to drive home again but endeavor to drive back out again to see if there is anything left of the light. The drive out seems to take forever but alas when I arrive again on the shore a light breeze has picked up. The sun is now further over. The sluggish clouds have moved and in some places thinned. Sill I am there and being my first winter here this trip is as much about learning as anything else. 

I park and begin to walk the shore. A flock of Canada geese are sheltering under the edge of the road and my presence alarms them as the walk-fly down the rocky beach to the shore. Out across the lake there are a few other birds but what startles me is a pair of swans winging low over the water heading to some destination to the west. Then another pair and soon it is clear this part of the lake has become a crossing for the daily movements of waterfowl as they move from one feeding ground to another. More than once a dozen of more swans sweep towards me to veer off to the south then west. 

In the distance where the Pack river enters the lake can bee seen rafts of swans, geese, grebes, and ducks feeding in the shallows. This is the source of all this abundance. 

I try and capture all this unexpected movement but am not experienced or well equipt. The birds so obvious in their flight blend with a complex background when frozen. Their rhythmic wingbeats frozen to smears of light and shadow. Perhaps though this represents the dynamic and not some idea of figures suspended above the placid lake surface.

Swans!

I am aware the sun is completing its short transit and think my other perch might find some good light. I walk back to the truck and find some interesting images of vegetation on the shore. 

The Far Shore Leading to Hope

Here I sit in this familiar pace at the roadside. Unlike summer it is cold and gray as the sun streams down pillars of light across the shore illuminating the haze. I observe and wait and sample the scenes in that obscene way that digital photography allows for no risk or serendipity. Rhythmically snapping when the light may have changed. Wondering how will I sort through a hundred photos for the day. I recall an error from last summer. I need to underexpose so that the small areas of bright light are not overdone. 

The Monarchs in light and snow.

The Far Shore

Looking back at Sandpoint.

And the light does proceed over the next hour or more. It evolves and shows more promise and creates sublime contrasts, unexpected colors and drama. It is sublime in a more crass manner than earlier in the morning. Easier to see and capture. I hear behind me cars stopping as people with their phones capture the brief sublimity. It is heartening to think that people on their way home from work or between errands will stop to fully appreciate and capture something sublime.