Used to be,
photographing wildlife from a canoe with telephoto lenses, especially of focal lengths 400mm or greater was, at best, a
shaky proposition. Possible, if you used prime lenses and employed superb technique and auxiliary devices, e.g., a
Steadicam, that allowed you to stabilize your camera and lens and minimize camera motion. Yet, even with all this in
place, even the best of us would still trash lots of film to get one or two good (read publishable) frames. Which is
why, until recently, photographing from a canoe wasn't my preferred means of getting close to wetland, lacustrine, or
riverine wildlife, not if I could just as easily get the shot from land. Now, I not only photograph wildlife from my
canoe with impunity, I choose to. I look forward to paddling deep into the wetland or far upriver or across a lake to
seek out the otherwise inaccessible backwaters for subjects.
For the last two years, my canoe has been a fixture on
top of my Ford Ranger. It's become nearly as important as my tripod, my sac blind, or, for that matter, the truck
itself. First, auto focus lenses and, more recently, the incorporation of stabilization systems into telephoto lenses,
most notably Canon's IS technology, has transformed my canoe into an invaluable photographic accessory.
Frankly, I am not an expert canoeist, which, perhaps,
makes me more qualified to write this article than someone who knows how to skillfully shoot a class five rapids or surf
a standing wave. I can attest to the fact that you certainly do not have to be a N.O.L.S. (National Outdoor Leadership
School) graduate to safely take your expensive telephoto equipment canoeing. If you feel comfortable in a canoe by
yourself and possess basic paddling skills, i.e., if you can adeptly maneuver a canoe in calm water, you can photograph
wildlife from a canoe.
I rarely stray more than a few hundred feet from shore,
especially in large lakes where the fetch - the wave generating sweep of the wind across the lake - is sufficient to
generate white caps, and I avoid the upland sections of rivers, that is, the rapidly flowing stretches where the river
runs faster than I can. Of course, I don't paddle anywhere where, though for the moment, the water may be calm, there is
the possibility of a swell pulling itself up out of the seemingly placid water and rolling me over, notably, ocean
beaches and the shores of very large lakes, e.g. The Great Lakes and closer to home, Lake Champlain. This leaves coastal
and inland wetlands, estuaries, deltas, ponds, small lakes, reservoirs, canals, as well as a host of variations on these
marine and freshwater environments - no shortage, indeed - in which any careful photographer can confidently photograph
Nature from a canoe. I also keep a wary eye out for other boaters. If a body of water is abuzz with outboards, I tend to
move on to more serene environs. Fortunately, however, us nature photographers, ever keen to capture the early morning
light, are exposing film even before many of the motor boating anglers are on the water and we're usually discussing our
successes and failures in the local diner by the time the skiers are slicing through our favorite bays and inlets.
I have received numerous complements about my canoe from
other photographers with whom I've paddled. Which, by the way, brings up another important consideration. Know your
paddling partner. If you want to put a friend or a photo workshop or tour client in your canoe along with your camera
equipment, trust them like you would, say, your surgeon, your child car provider, your pilot. Are they awkward by
nature, do they fidget, squirm, use exaggerated gesticulations when they talk, are they excitable, nervous,
short-tempered, prone to dropping things, do they tend to throw a tantrum, or anything else for that matter when they
miss a beautiful shot? I have a friend with whom I am perfectly comfortable photographing on solid, even ground, but who
I would not put in my canoe with my camera and lenses even if he had the connections and could guarantee me the cover of
National Geographic. (Now, the cover of Nature Photographer, well, then I might consider it.)
Having a trustworthy and competent paddling partner, the
aforementioned precautions notwithstanding, especially someone who is not themselves a nature photographer but enjoys
the outdoors and, of course, your company, is an invaluable advantage. Treat them well. Buy them breakfast. Give them
prints to hang on their walls. Baby-sit their children. Marry them. If he or she is willing to paddle and move you into
position to photograph that nesting loon so you don't have to or keep you neck and neck with a family of mergansers,
trust me, it's an asset worth looking for in a spouse.
My canoe is made of fiberglass and is 15' long with a
3'midsection. It is extremely stable, has a keel to help me paddle in a straight line, accommodates my equipment
comfortably, yet is still light enough for me to lift without wrenching my back and I can portage it upwards of a mile
or two. (I am 5' 7" and 150 lbs.) In the five years I've owned it, I have never accidentally flipped it. It is perfect for its purpose.
In the canoe, I lean the Low Pro Pro Trekker AW against
the center strut in front of me. Of course, when filled, my Pro Trekker has enough weight so that I am careful to place
it in the center between the port and starboard sides of the canoe. When I'm by myself, which is 99.9% of the time for
reasons I've explained above, I choose to sit in the front, or bow seat of the canoe facing backwards. The bow seat is
placed closer to the bow than the back seat is from the stern of the canoe thus, if I sit facing the stern, the bow seat
affords me more leg room between the middle strut and the seat. I merely have to lean forward to have access to my
camera bag and there's even room to splay out my Gitzo tripod in front of me when I'm using the canoe as a floating
blind. (The stern seat is located closer to the center of balance of the canoe so that the weight of a single paddler
does not have a teeter-tauter effect and raise the bow high up out of the water. If you've spent any time in a canoe by
yourself on a breezy day, you'll know that it doesn't take much wind to turn the bow into a sail and, without sufficient
weight in the front end, this can leave you fighting, indeed in vain, to maneuver the canoe. To offset my weight, I
always carry three plastic gallon jugs which I fill with water and place in the stern before shoving off from shore. In
addition to keeping the stern on the water, they add stability.)
Call me insane, but I do not transfer my gear into a
waterproof, positively buoyant case when I bring my camera into my canoe. The more I have to fuss to get into the field,
the more I am inclined just to stay home and watch the Discovery Channel. I simply prefer to grab my Pro Trekker and go.
As my friend, Roy Toft, puts it, I enjoy a low ditz-around factor. Then again, I S.C.U.B.A. dive alone and engage in a
number of other practices Ralph Nader, not to mention my mother, would likely consider moderately to very risky. If
you're at all concerned, put your gear in a Pelican case. These are waterproof and very buoyant, even when full. If you
get one of the big models, besides keeping your camera gear safe and dry should you (Gaia forbid!) flip your canoe, the
case might even come in handy as a personal floatation device. (Though I haven't tested Pelican cases for their
lifesaving qualities myself and don't intend to, do let us know the results if you conduct your own intentional or
unintentional experiment.)
My canoe has significantly expanded my photographic
opportunities. It allows me access to otherwise inaccessible nooks and crannies of lakes and wetlands. Above all, it
offers stealth. Subjects allow me to approach them more easily and I can get closer to them from the water in a canoe
than by foot on shore. Additionally, in a canoe, I have a ready-made floating blind with which I can slip into the
shallows where motorboats can't venture, tuck into the cattails or Spartina grass and, with the help of a sac blind,
become virtually invisible. Oh, I forgot to mention the color of my canoe; it's green. Since birds, a common subject of
ours, can see color, be sure to choose a natural color for your canoe, preferably green or brown or, if available,
camouflage.
Auto focus and internally stabilized lenses have
certainly helped make canoe photography much easier. Still, a degree of risk is inherent whenever you're in a boat, in
particular a canoe, with our without your camera. You can minimize and manage that risk by getting to know your canoe
before venturing out with it fully loaded. Put on your swimsuit and play with the boat. Become familiar with it. Be
aware of its tolerances, its limitations. Capsize it. Find out how forgiving, or unforgiving it is before risking more
than just wet clothes. Then, when you're ready to take your canoe on a shoot, be careful and anticipate your movements.
Take your time. Haste and impulsive movements sink the ship. Be especially organized when loading the canoe. Place
everything you will need within comfortable reach. Get in your canoe with your camera gear and practice maneuvering the
canoe, positioning yourself in reference to a subject, paddling and composing. Taking pictures from a canoe by yourself
can be very frustrating so learn to avoid the frustration by practicing and being smart. I've learned to start upriver
from the green heron and photograph my subject as I float quietly downstream and past the complacent bird. When I have
to stay put, say, at a comfortable distance from a family of nesting osprey, or off of a sandy beach in an estuary
frequented by shorebirds feeding on horseshoe crab eggs during low tide, I use an anchor tied to the middle strut to
hold my position and minimize sway. I typically shoot wide open to keep my shutter speed up. I have even learned to
stick my tripod in the mud of a shallow wetland or set it on a drowned log and mount the camera outside of the canoe so
that I can use my Canon, 300mm F2.8 AF IS lens with stacked 1.4x & 2x extenders and mirror lockup to get publishable
photographs!
I no longer fear putting my camera gear in my canoe to
explore the edge of a lake in the Great Northern Forest or to prowl the shores of an estuary on the Atlantic coast. Nor
should you. Most of the images accompanying this article were photographed from my canoe with Canon AF IS lenses and
they clearly show that publishable images are doable by anyone with a good dose of common sense, a solid J stroke, and,
preferably, the advantage of AF, IS technology. Certainly, while photographing from a canoe without the benefit of AF IS
lenses, internally stabilized lenses is possible, I would argue the aggravation factor has always been significant,
especially with moving subjects. Now, I relish the opportunity to paddle around one more bend in the shore in the hope
of finding a subject that, on that day, could only be photographed from the vantage of a small, quiet boat on the water,
of back paddling into the cattails and feeling completely invisible, waiting, listening to the chatter of the kingfisher
and the groaning of the bullfrogs, and watching the wildlife regard me as just so much flotsam the last flood or tide
washed up. That, ultimately, is the charm of the canoe, to transport you unobtrusively into places where you cannot
tread, and then help blend you into the environment once you're there. And with today's innovative lenses, the canoe
becomes part of symbiotic relationship that offers you an irresistible capacity for photographing wildlife.
Peace, and may the light be with you.
