Everglades National Park, August 1996

The sun simmers in the August sky, beating hard against the earth. It's hot, humid and beautiful. I've only seen sky this blue in clean mountain air or 100 miles out at sea...and here, in the Everglades. Floating above are puffy, cotton ball clouds. A perfect day for photographing Everglades National Park!

Clyde is beginning the adventure of photographing the Park for its 50th anniversary. Friends have warned us about coming here in the summer: "Mosquitoes! You'll be sucked dry by them!" Clyde replies, "But have you ever seen the power of a summer sky thundering across the grassy plains?"

Today we're off to capture on film that mighty rumbling across the Earth that humbles us so we dwell on the essence of God. It is no small chore.

Driving into Everglades National Park, we look for the glorious shapes and textures that make great black-and-white images. We see possibilities everywhere, but the sun's too high, the light's not right...until we see the pinelands.

The park recently had a "controlled burn" in this area to mimic the natural cycles of the ecosystem. Newly sprouted plants show off a rich, fresh green. In the center of the field are the rugged trunks of pine trees, their lacy green tops swaying in the breeze. Layers of rough, curling bark reflect the white sunlight, with the burned areas in deep shadow -- perfect black-and-white subject matter!

We stop and begin getting out Clyde's gear. He decides to capture the scene from a high viewpoint by trying out his custom 14-foot tripod for the first time. Clyde climbs the ladder to check the camera angle, which isn't right, so we adjust, pushing, stumbling and exchanging a few unpleasant words. Exasperated, we name this the "dance of the ladder."

At last we're settled in...for now. Clyde ascends for a final check, then helps me set up the tripod. After yet another trip up, he discovers that it's not right! We do our awkward dance again. Meanwhile, the clouds are packing together, forming massive thunderheads that block out the crucial sunlight. We work faster and finally get it right.

I lug over Clyde's 35-pound 11-by-14-inch Deardorf view camera. He tries to put it on the tripod while I get the lens, but the ladder is still off. We're drenched in sweat, but determined to take a picture!

We are racing the sun's disappearance behind an approaching thunderstorm. Clyde asks for his custom-made 6x10" Wisner panoramic view camera, perfect for photographing the wide vistas of the Everglades. In no time, Clyde sets up the comparatively light camera. I get his 111mm lens, shutter release cable, dark cloth, focusing loop, number 22 orange filter and light meter. After a few trips up and down the ladder, he finally gets all of his equipment together. Clyde focuses, refocuses, adjusts the f-stop to f32 at one-tenth of a second and puts in the film. Now we wait and wait as the sun peeps in and out of the clouds. We hear distant thunder. The trees are swaying much too fast for Clyde's shutter speed...everything needs to be still for a sharp image. Finally the trees settle down and Clyde takes two shots. We're done! Just as we get the last piece of gear into the van, it starts sprinkling.

The effort of using large cameras and a 14-foot tripod and ladder has made us very thirsty. We sit in the van guzzling water, enjoying the cool air and listening to the gentle music of the rain. As the sun comes out, it feels as though steam is rising from the ground...ahhh, Florida, you are such a beautiful physical experience! The sky begins to take on the dramatic beauty of summer weather in Florida with what Clyde calls "battleship clouds." All we need is a view of grass stretching into an endless horizon. The drama is there, the light is there, the beauty is there, but where is a composition? Our eyes scan the scenery rapidly for fear we will miss a beautiful opportunity. Suddenly we come upon a cypress hammock with some nicely-shaped trees in the foreground surrounded by sawgrass, with another hammock off in the distance. Sunlight hits the trees with an intense brilliance, making the scene

vibrate with life.

We run into the field with as much equipment as we can carry. Once again we're racing with a storm. Will we get everything set up and then lose the light? Or will we get this great shot? While Clyde sets up the tripod and 11X14 camera (this time on the ground!), I grab the lens, filter, shutter release, loop, light meter and dark cloth. I run back for film while Clyde focuses and adjusts. He inserts the film, waits for a moment of stillness...which comes quickly this time, and takes a shot. The air is getting cooler, the storm very close. He takes a total of four shots before the rain falls, then covers the camera with the cloth while I get a plastic bag. Just as we get the bag over the camera it begins to pour! It feels really great after the sun's heat. We leave the camera and walk back to the van to wait until the storm ends. The sun shines, the temperature rises...the humidity is once more a physical presence.

We still haven't captured the grassy plains, the true Everglades of sawgrass and water. The Pa-hay-okee Overlook may be the place we are searching for. When we finally reach the parking lot, the sky is filled from horizon to horizon with grey clouds...no place for the sun to break through. We decide to check out the boardwalk anyway. As we turn the corner, there is a beautiful rainbow -- but we don't have the camera! We wait. It doesn't disappear. We rush back to the truck. Clyde grabs his 6x10 Wisner because it's fast and easy to set up. The rainbow is still there!...But we aren't fast enough. The rainbow vanishes and a powerful gust of rain-filled wind hits us. Clyde covers the camera with the dark cloth. The wind is too strong for us to leave the camera, and it's raining too hard to take it down. I get a plastic bag for the camera and an umbrella just to keep off the chill...It's too late for it to keep us dry!

The three of us are stranded in the rain and buffeting wind on the Pa-hay-okee boardwalk -- Clyde, myself...and the camera. Lightning strikes nearby. The experience reminds me of some of the many storms we have weathered at sea. Eventually the rain settles down to a trickle. We take everything back to the van. Finally, the rain stops, the sky still dark with clouds...but the sun might burst through and create a memorable scene! We go back out once more. The grass is beautiful, the sky is dramatic, but there is no sunlight. We stop and watch anyway. It is wonderful, this beauty of our Earth...Oh, how we all take it for granted. The sun begins to set behind clouds too heavy for it to break through, so we begin walking back. Then, as we pass a cypress tree, weak sunlight makes the water droplets suspended in the needles sparkle like millions of diamonds! Clyde sets up his camera and takes one last picture. Then we head for home. P.S. Not one mosquito bite!

Cypress Knee Museum, 1983

It's hard to imagine, but when Clyde and I first came to Florida, he had no interest in swamps. Then one day in 1983 I got him to stop at Tom Gaskins' Cypress Knee Museum in Palmdale, near Fisheating Creek. Tom was delightful and invited us to walk through his cypress swamp. It was one of the most beautiful places we had ever seen, with an intimacy in the wonderful, delicate textures of ferns and other undergrowth plants. A few days later Clyde returned with his camera. At that time, he still had the mentality of a commercial photographer, believing that only color would sell; it had been many years since he had taken a picture just for the enjoyment of his own soul. For some reason that day Clyde gave in to his heart's desire and took his first black and white photo of Florida, beginning his rebirth into the mystery of why artists make certain choices. For several years, he didn't print or display the image; he thought people wouldn't be interested in pictures of

swamps, much less in black and white!

Moonrise, 1986

In the spring of 1986, our 17-year-old son Ted was killed when a drunk driver smashed into his car. Clyde dealt with his tremendous emotional pain by escaping deep into the Big Cypress National Preserve and immersing himself in his true love, black and white photography. He accessed the remote parts of the swamp on old roads built by oil companies in the 1960s and 70s before the Preserve was created. For some time, Clyde had wanted to photograph the full moon over the Everglades. He tracked the moon phases of the calendar for weeks to determine when the angle of the moon and sun would align for the best effect. The day he photographed "Moonrise," it was storming off and on continually, but he set up his new 8"x10" view camera anyway. By using a 360mm lens he could "stack" the trees while making the moon appear closer (and therefore larger). To make the grass and sky appear dark and to emphasize the trees and moon, he used a dark red filter.

Clyde attached his camera to his 10-foot ladder and looked out over the dwarf cypress trees. Finally the storm broke into a series of battleship clouds crossing the sky. The setting sun gave a low angle of light on the trees. All the elements were coming together -- the moon, the clouds, the light. It was going to be one of those perfect shots. After focusing and getting ready to take the pic-ture, he tried to shut the lens down, but it closed only halfway. It wouldn't work! He tried everything, but couldn't get it to function. So he took the lens off the camera and removed the front and back elements from the shutter. Using his fingers, he forced the shutter blades open, reassembled the lens and shut it down to f/45. From another film holder, he pulled out a dark slide to use in front of the lens as a shutter. One of the most common questions Clyde gets about "Moonrise" is, "What was the exposure?" His answer, while moving his hand up and down like a shutter, is, "About like this..."

Spring, 1997

Spring has sprung! Listening to the incredible ruckus of frogs rejoicing over the rain, I hear where some sounds and rhythms of native music originated. Two gators growl a lively discussion over their territory. Dangling down and busily munching on berries is a fox squirrel. I have never seen one of such beauty, with her rich gray color and red-brown underside, white nose, black head and healthy, furry gray tail. Spring also brings exuberant creatures many of us are repelled by...insects! They are awesome in their variety and purposes in the life of a cypress strand. The woods are alive with their sounds, their little bodies crawling on the forest floor and zooming through the air. Humming birds dip and dive through the trees while warblers sing to accompany the rest of the "music"...All this "awakening" is something most people never get to experience. We have leveled our environments for housing tracts, removing the wonderful nature that reminds us life is worth living.

Gaskin Bay, Summer 1989

Clyde wanted to photograph the lonely, primeval mangrove in the early morning light. We had spent the night in the center of the bay, north of Indian Key Pass in the Ten Thousand Islands, hoping our distance from shore would discourage the mosquitoes and "no seeums." It didn't work. They found us. That morning, we were able to get out the door only by spraying the area with Raid...forget standard insect repellent! Clyde put his equipment in the dinghy and rowed over to the tree. The receding tide was perfect: It revealed the oyster beds under the mangrove, leaving just enough reflective water. Later we heard stories of how this battle-scarred mangrove was one of the few to survive Hurricane Donna. That was the reason for its dramatic, sculptural shape; the storm had torn off its lower limbs. When Hurricane Andrew hit South Florida in 1992, it finished the job Donna started. The mangrove is no longer there.

Ochopee, 1986

One of Clyde's favorite areas on the Tamiami Trail is the grassy plain near the small town of Ochopee. He had long admired this spot on the north side of the Trail as one of the most representative of Florida's landscape: water, grass, cabbage palms, low-hanging thunder clouds...and a feeling of being able to see into eternity. He had tried photographing it in color, but was never satisfied with the results; this time he used black-and-white. There were only a few dangerous feet between him and the zooming cars. Perfect light came from the cloudless sky behind him, while in front brewed a wonderful thunderstorm. After pre-focusing his camera, Clyde extended the tripod and camera as high as they would go, aiming the camera over the grass at the horizon and trusting that the shot would come out as he envisioned. Choosing which negative to print was the most difficult part. He finally selected the one with the best balance between storm and sunlight.

Clyde liked "Ochopee" (which became one of his best-selling images) so much that he used it on the cover of his first book, Portfolio I: Landscapes of Florida. When he began photographing Florida he did it simply for the joy in it...he loved the beauty he saw, yet was ignorant of its environmental stresses. Not until years later did he understand that "Ochopee," beyond being a good photograph of Florida, had an underlying purpose, which was revealed as he became more educated about Florida's environment through conversations with people about his photographs. The "grass" in the foreground of the photograph is not sawgrass, the native sedge of the Everglades; it is the blades of cattails that grow only in "dirty" water. In contrast, sawgrass thrives in the nutrient-poor waters that once flowed here. Historically, cattails were found in small amounts throughout the Everglades downstream from bird rookeries and gator holes, where they cleaned the nutrient-rich waste of the birds and gators.

Clyde learned that massive growth of cattails indicates water quality diminished by foreign nutrients. When water is polluted, cattails multiply, rapidly creating dense vegetation; fish cannot survive; birds lose critical food sources. A healthy balance of swamp water and grassy vegetation should be dominated by sawgrass, not cattails. When Clyde realized one of his favorite pictures was of environmental damage, he considered taking it off the market. After all, he wanted to depict Florida before human impact, providing inspiration and a catalyst for those striving to reclaim natural balance and purity. A photograph of cattails wasn't in that concept! He decided to keep the image because people need to understand that environmental damage doesn't always look bad...often it is beautiful, like the "grass" in "Ochopee"...but that doesn't make it right. This photograph ended up giving Clyde the opportunity to educate people about Florida's environmental problems.

Loosescrew Sanctuary, April 1997

It's 5:30 a.m. and I slowly pull myself out of bed. I love watching the sun come up. Being awake before the world gets up and hearing the morning songs of birds is glorious, but I just don't like getting out of bed! However, today Clyde wakes me up so we can photograph our back pond before the sun rises. Most people think of Florida as having a lush, green tropical climate, but we do have our dry season every spring. Though this is a normal process in the Everglades ecosystem, it's difficult to watch the 'glades dry up. All the fish, turtles, frogs, gators and birds are gathering where there still is water. The pond near our house is so full of fish that they are gasping and flopping out onto the mud bank where birds, gators and other animals catch and eat them...or some of them. Many die, giving the Everglades that "special" odor of decay. I don't mind the smell of a few dead fish...I just hope it rains before we get a lot of them!

We have never seen our property this dry. Clyde wants to explore the mud in the back pond for some interesting photographs. He hoists his 8" x 10" view camera backpack while I grab the tripod, and off we go. As we pass the north end of the pond, "Loose Screw," our backyard gator, stares at us and then slips into the shallow water, leaving a muddy trail boiling behind him. Without water in our swamp we are entering a whole new world. We see possible images everywhere, but Clyde is headed for the very back of the property...he wants to go where its really muddy. We sink into the mud as we walk...slosh, whish, and then, as our shoes release the mud's suction, pop! When we reach the back, Clyde studies the scene and finds a place for his tripod. It is difficult setting up the camera. We don't want anything to get muddy, but mud is everywhere. By the time we get the camera set up, Clyde has sunk up to his knees and is on the verge of being permanently stuck!

Clyde tries and tries to release himself, but there is nothing to push against except more mud. He twists his legs back and forth, desperately trying to escape the suction. When he finally gets free, the area around the tripod is a soft, mushy bed of mud. Stepping back into it will result in getting stuck again. However, to get the picture, that is what he will have do! With a big sigh, Clyde sloshes back over to the tripod, waits for the mud to settle down (this is going to be a long exposure) and releases the shutter. He takes three shots before his left foot gets a "charley-horse." He is in pain, but there is no way he can rapidly get his leg out of the mud. Once again he manages to free himself. He stands on a small log, holding onto a tree so his foot can recuperate. Then so many ibis begin flying in for breakfast so fast that it is like leaves falling from the trees. They must really enjoy their food because when they eat they make a noise that sounds just like "yummmm, yummmm, yummmm!"

The birds are very busy moving around on the mud, searching for breakfast -- too active for the two-minute exposure the low light requires. We wait until they move on and then Clyde makes his way out into the mud one more time. He takes one more shot and packs up the camera. We move to another location, which is a bit easier to set up: Clyde is able to stand on a sort of floor of fallen branches. He takes four shots before the sun hits the trees and creates too much contrast for photography. It has been a beautiful morning...definitely worth getting up at 5:30 a.m.! We pack up and head back to the house to hose off the mud. That afternoon Clyde finds the time to develop the film. Out of eight photographs, six have movement caused by Clyde sinking in the mud. Fortunately, one negative from each location is sharp. We discuss the possibility of returning the next morning, but that night the rains begin and the scene no longer exists.

Shark Valley 1997

Today the afternoon clouds are building into large whipped-cream mountains. It is time to photograph. Clyde decides he wants to try for a vista of the grassy plains from the Shark Valley obser-vation tower in Everglades National Park. All these years and we've never been there! We live almost next door and it has taken us three years to see it. We have certainly missed a wonderful place. The tower overlooks the wide, shallow Shark River Slough -- one of the main water courses through the River of Grass. We gather up Clyde's gear and head east from the gallery on the Tamiami Trail. The park entrance is located along the Trail near the Miccosukee Indian Reservation. It's quite a distance from the visitor center to the tower. You can either take the tram for the approximately 15-mile round trip or ride a bike (available for rent at the park), which takes about two and a half hours.

We unload Clyde's photo equipment from the car and onto the tram for the slow, enjoyable and educational ride as the ranger explains the ecosystem of Shark Valley. The 40-foot tower is a wonderful piece of architecture -- a classic 1960s futuristic design. It replaced an old steel fire lookout. We take the camera equipment off the tram and begin the easy walk up the ramp that circles to the top of the tower. The ranger gives a little talk, lets everyone look at the view, and then they all go back down to the tram and leave the tower to us. The quiet is so intense my ears are ringing from the leftover noise of the group of people. Slowly I begin to adjust and can hear the soft sound of wind brushing through the sawgrass. It is wonderful. The view is stupendous. Stretching as far as I can see is nothing but sawgrass. On the distant horizon,

where the sawgrass meets the clouds, my soul takes wing into the eternity of a blue sky.

I am suddenly brought back to the overlook tower when Clyde asks me to find the light meter in his backpack. He has set up his 11X14 Deardorf view camera and is ready to take a picture. We spend five hours at the overlook taking pictures as the clouds form interesting compositions. In between photographs, Clyde and I lean over the rail and watch the gators, turtles and fish swim in the pond below. We are only interrupted once an hour when the tram brings another load of people. I find it strange that no one stays and just enjoys the peace, quiet, and beauty until the next tram arrives. As the evening approaches, the birds begin to fly to the trees surrounding the pond, roosting for the night. Finally, when the last tram arrives, we pack up the gear and take the ride back to the visitor center. It has been a wonderful afternoon, and as photography trips go, an easy and relaxing experience!