Sailboat and Lighthouse, February 3, 2016, 7:14 a.m., Saint Augustine Harbor

0P1A0242mother RAW&RAW2-doctored sun and lightened-marker moved-cropped for card-medium save

I am a break-of-day photographer who lives at the edge of land in St. Augustine, Florida. Since moving here, I have become drawn to moored sailboats in our small harbors that open into the vastness of the Atlantic. My attraction is related to a notion I have of man’s boundless curiosity that has historically driven him to undertake dangerous, far-ranging seagoing adventures.

The best time to capture this mood with my camera, I have learned, is during the brief period before and after the sun rises on days of partly clear skies and gentle winds. The sun’s light is not blindingly bright then, and its position is low, horizontal to objects on the water and beneath the clouds, resulting in deepened colors, highlighted shadows, long reflections in still waters, and, when I am lucky, an arresting photo.

Fog on Matanzes Bay, February 2, 2016, 7:17 a.m.

IMG_4451mother 2 JPEG-smartlook5-cropped for card

The harbor is fog-filled this morning. Ghost ships come in and out of view on Matanzas Bay – first one boat, then another, and then the first again – as the mist swirls and meanders southward. The Bridge of Lions and the boats moored further out are but vaguely defined at best, and I begin to entertain unanswerable questions relating to existence and reality.

IMG_4450mother 2 JPEG

Seduction, January 21, 2016, 7:00 a.m.

0P1A0176motherElementsRAW-cropped-auto2lightened cropped for card-medium save

On at least one star-filled morning each month, I can be found elbow-supported, wooden-railing leaning at the end of the Lighthouse Pier where I gaze toward the sand-duned line along the southernmost end of Salt Run. There, by the light of a sun that has yet to crest those sandy ridges, night’s quiet transformation into day occurs so swiftly that my brain can but register its changes as stop motion animation: changes in the sky where yellow intrudes upon dark charcoals, diluting them into steely blues; changes that brighten and polish smooth patches of water so that channel markers and mooring floats might reflect upon their states; and changes that shear night’s veil guarding a secured ketch till the boat’s emerging beauty seduces me once again.


Freedom’s Price


Surrendering to the schooner’s inability to tack against the increasing strength of the northeast wind in the narrow channel, the captain told his first mate to turnabout just south of Porpoise Point and return to St. Augustine’s harbor. Jacques, overhearing the order, glass of wine in hand and chatting amiably with fellow passengers, silently began his calculations for jumping ship.