Written by Winter is still hanging on and serving up an occasional chilly mix of Siberian born winds and sporadic heavy snow showers – showers that were here last weekend and then vanished for a while, but have returned today. The snow is changing though. Gone are the small, light flakes of deep winter, now I see mostly large, moist flakes that stick to everything, but rapidly melt away at the first hint of sunshine. I call it ‘claggy’ snow (Eskimos aren’t the only people with lots of different words for snow). I love it because for a short while after each snow shower everywhere is transformed into a winter wonderland.
I’m drawn to photographing trees against a blue sky as readily as iron filings are to a magnet. It’s just something that I have to do. When I found myself among a stand of birch trees clad with claggy snow on a bright day peppered with snow showers, I knew what I would end up doing.
There is more to taking this type of photograph than simply looking up. Trying to find a composition that balances interesting bare tree canopies with patches of open sky is definitely more of an art than a science. Sometimes it will come together almost immediately, while at other times it takes a lot of walking around and neck stretching, and sometimes it doesn’t come together at all.
In this case, while looking for an interesting viewpoint, I found myself getting lower and lower. First I crouched and then I was on my knees, eventually I lay on my back. Looking up I could see that while blue sky is nice, a bit of snow falling would be better. As I lay there, and as if on-cue, a gentle gust of frigid air shook the tree tops and snow began to fall, and I started taking photographs.
Plop! A lump of snow landed on my camera lens and obliterated my view. Disappointed, I moved my camera to one side so that I could look at it and clear away the snow. Plop! Another lump landed on my spectacles, blinding me for a second time. Holding my camera in my right hand I lifted off my specs to shake them with my left. Plop! A third lump landed in my eye.
Jumping up, I de-frosted my eyeball, wiped my specs clear and dried my lens while remembering some of my mother’s wise words. ‘Son, be careful what you wish for.’
The Svartån (Black River) waters feed several lakes as it meanders south for over 60 Km, before entering Lake Mälaren and ultimately flowing east past Stockholm into the Baltic Sea. In February this is a world of white. Lakes and rivers were mostly covered in ice and these in turn were covered in snow; as were roads, building, trees and, well, everything. And it was cold. Daytime temperatures hit -11°C and the slightest breeze greedily gnawed away at whatever heat it could find. In fact the biggest challenge that we faced was definitely managing heat loss. Multiple layers of clothing helped, but standing behind a tripod in deep snow for extended periods meant that the cold was always going to win eventually.
Another challenge was managing the different aspirations of our group. Balancing the birders’ ‘seen that, let’s move on and keep warm’ motivation against the photographers’ ‘but I need to be much closer than this and want to get an interesting shot, regardless of how long it takes’ was done admirably well by 
Among other things, during this trip Daniel led us to several feeding stations that he actively maintains, which is where the best photographic opportunities were realised. One was on the southern extremity of Siberian jay distribution and another was the finest nutcracker photography site in Sweden, probably in Europe and possibly in the whole wide world. At other times, when birds were difficult to photograph, there were always endless woodlands dripping with snow to have a go at.
It was white when we arrived, it snowed every day we were there and it was white when we left. As a taster of Sweden and an experience of real winter this trip worked exceptionally well for us. Will we be back? Oh yes!
This rogue* bird is something of a local legend and has even been featured on TV. Even so, capercaillies aren’t the most well known birds, they are usually difficult to see and don’t have a place in the psyche of everyday folk, unlike more symbolic birds. I’m thinking here of birds such as the dove (a sign of peace), the puffin (clown of the sea) or a robin (the gardener’s friend) for example. However, after each of the few occasions that I’ve tried to photograph this crazy ‘caper’, I have come away with a symbolic association of my own – that a fully charged up male is akin to a psychotic nightclub doorman looking for an excuse to prove how tough he is.
Personal space is also an alien concept to this fella’ and once aware of an ‘intruder’ he is prone to charge in frighteningly close. When that happened I was more than willing to back off and try to keep a respectful distance between us, which was more difficult than I expected it to be (let me tell you, photographing this bird was no easy picnic). I was driven by an instinct no more altruistic than my own survival. Why? Because I have seen this particular bird come nightclub bouncer draw blood. Thankfully, it wasn’t mine.
Being a wearer of spectacles, my eyes are set back when I’m looking through a viewfinder, which means that even when looking forward I still have some peripheral vision. Because of this I spotted something out of the corner of my eye, movement. There it was again. At first I thought it was a chaffinch, but no. It was a hawfinch. A hawfinch! I’ve had never even seen one of these birds before, let alone photographed one.
My patience paid off. He came and went a few times, never staying for very long, but long enough for me to rattle off a few decent pictures each time. Later, Mrs. Hawfinch dropped in for a brief visit, shortly followed by Junior. Result!
This occasional blog is a tasty serving of nature and wildlife photography, with a side dish of my experiences out in the field and lightly seasoned with any random thoughts that occur to me along the way.
