I’ve been shooting macro photographs for nearly 40 years, and I’m often asked if I use a flash to light the dark corners. My reply? Who needs a flash? Don’t get me wrong. Flashes have their place, and many talented photographers use either camera-mounted flashes or auxiliary strobes to achieve fine results. But there’s rarely been any room for them in the kind of nature photography which has always appealed to me. It’s simply been too much trouble to carry one, or to put one into play. And more often than not, when I have used a flash, the resulting photo is washed out and worse than if I’d not used one in the first place. Having said all of this, there are times when I have needed some extra light to illuminate tiny subjects. The answer to putting some light on the situation is to use a reflector. While purpose-built photographic reflectors can certainly be used, I tend to press into duty the kinds of things I’d have along on in my rucksack. Here are a few items I’ve used as reflectors:

 

 
There’s my ancient pale gray Stetson field hat, a dud DVD, a sheet of white paper, and an steel camping cup. I’ve also used a white umbrella, a white t-shirt, and a wooden paddle blade. The goal is to reflect brighter light onto a dimly lit object. To show how the items in the photo above compare as reflectors, I set up a simple experiment on my work table next to a window on a thinly overcast afternoon. Here’s a small white feather on a dark blue sweatshirt, in the shadow of a length of limb which has been debarked by a beaver:

 

 
The feather is visible, but details are hidden in shadow. But if I hold up my hat so that it bounces the light streaming in through the window, I can brighten the feather, as shown below:

 

 
In the pair of pictures above, the bottom one shows how the feather is illuminated by simply holding the hat in such a way that its light-colored surface reflects a gentle glow onto it. The top picture in the pair above shows the hat held at an angle to reflect the window light. Now let’s see how the white paper compares with the hat as a reflector:

 

 
Not as well. Though the paper is brighter than the hat, it doesn’t reflect as well as the hat. If the sun had been stronger, the paper would have been a better reflector. Now let’s see how the camping cup does:

 

 
The cup reflects as well as the hat, perhaps because of the multiple surfaces which can bounce the light. The DVD is the last reflector:

 

 
The DVD throws noticeable light, but it’s a blue hue, with a little red here and there. Furthermore, it’s not as diffuse as the other reflectors I tested. Here’s the white side of the DVD:

 

 
The white side of this DVD throws a colorless reflection that vies with the hat and cup for its brightness. Under some conditions, the DVD might be the best choice as a reflector, but to my mind, the hat is what I’d reach for first if I wanted to illuminate something like these Indian pipes (Monotropa uniflora) in a dark woodland.

 

 
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Macro photography opens up a whole new world. The familiar becomes extraordinary. Seemingly insignificant things blossom into view. Form, color, and contrast take on new meaning. Take a look at these pictures and see if you don’t agree.

 

 
A passing rain shower decorates trailside daisies with beads of water. Look at the patterns, the symmetry of the daisies “eye,” the tiny and larger droplets. The same shower wetted these Indian pipes deep in the woods:

 

 
A wet summer is good for the woodland fungi. A long-ago windfall is carpeted with moss and tiny orange fungi I can’t identify:

 

 
Each mushroom cap is no larger than the nail on my pinky. The turkey tail fungi in the picture below—named because they resemble the splayed tails of wild turkeys—are each about the size of a quarter.

 

 
Let’s return to the moss, which in the picture here looks like a miniature forest:

 

 
Each “tree” is no higher than about two inches. Growing in among the mosses is this reindeer lichen:

 

 
During dry conditions the lichen is brittle and spiky, but when it rains, the lichen absorbs water and becomes springy. Frogs like wet weather, too:

 

 
And so do millipedes:

 

 
This one is about as big around as a pencil, and he deliberately chomps away at fallen leaves, doing his part to maintain healthy soil by breaking down organic materials which are in turn taken up by new growth. Millipedes won’t bother you, though this one looks rather ferocious:

 

 
This slug is anything but fearsome:

 

 
Spiders don’t bother me, but I’m not the size of a small bug, either:

 

 
This stonefly exoskeleton is attached to a rock where the nymph crawled out of the water:

 

 
In a miracle of nature, an adult stonefly emerged and flew off to eat mosquitos. Here’s a damselfly sunning on the riverside bedrock nearby:

 

 
Damselflies also emerge from their nymphal stage lived in moving water. Ants are land-dwellers, though. Along the bank, ants tended their flock of aphids and like cowboys, rounded up stragglers and herded them back into the main body.

 

 
The heady perfume of sweet clover carried on the breeze, and I found it growing alongside the trail. Honey and bumble bees worked diligently to make the most of the short summer season.

 

 
A wasp on goldenrod is dusted with pollen:

 

 
Feathers mark the flight of a grouse:

 

 
But The River’s roar calls to me, and I entertain myself by photographing vegetation against a backdrop of rapids, beginning with this bough of white cedar:

 

 
The soft, feathery cedar bough contrasts with the spiky hemlock:

 

 
Delicate fern fronds are loaded with spores:

 

 
Swamp maple is turning color early:

 

 
At my feet below the falls, foam collects in calm eddies alongshore:

 

 
Upstream, where water tumbles through pools before plunging over the falls, a weathered knotted loop of polypropylene rope remains tied to a dead tree.

 

 
Through the magic of close-up photography, you can see how this synthetic rope breaks into smaller pieces but doesn’t decompose:

 

 
Backlit against the dancing waves and shadows, it’s rustically beautiful:

 

 
But it’s time to go. One last shot, not a macro, but of a calm pool reflecting the overhanging maple branches, while a frog warms on his flat rock:

 

 
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A Note to the Reader Ed, Brenna, Sergei, and Pavel have 700 miles of hard traveling ahead of them. Meanwhile, Jack has his own ideas about the best way to bring them home. Only one thing’s certain—it’s going to be one hell of a trip!

 
Our story continues…

 
Chapter Thirty-One

 
Black night had followed gray day. Rain fell steadily. A shaft of light spilled from the open door of Singing Wolf’s cabin, a lone beacon in a dark and brooding landscape. The lingering stench of exhaust and raw gasoline mingled with wood smoke and hung heavily along the riverbank.

No one noticed. Crazy Dog cut the ignition. The big outboard’s loud burble stuttered and then stopped dead. Jack didn’t wait. In two strides he had climbed the shore and was throwing his arms around Ed, slapping his back and roaring out a profane greeting: “How the hell are ya?” His deep baritone seemed to dispel all the silence of the Albany River country.

“We’re fine, Jack,” Ed replied. He grinned. “Just fine. But you’re a sight for sore eyes all the same.”

Jack stepped back and looked his friend up and down. Ed was filthy, and the stubble of a new beard covered his face, but he didn’t seem to be missing any important bits. Then Brenna shot out from the shadows and rushed forward to hug Jack, nearly knocking him off his feet in the process.

“Hold hard, there, girl!” Jack bellowed, surprised to feel tears gathering in his eyes. “I’m just a sentimental old fool,” he thought, but all he said to Brenna was “Real good to see ya!” And then he held her at arm’s length and inspected her, too.

“You’re a man of mystery, Jack,” Brenna said, returning his gaze. “How in the name of all that’s holy did you ever find us?”

Jack only laughed and kissed her cheek. “All in good time, girl,” he said. “All in good time.” Then he saw two figures standing quietly in the dark. Sergei and Pavel. He noticed their Kalashnikovs, too. Concern drove joy from his face. He turned back to Ed. “Introduce me to yer friends, will ya?” he asked, in a voice that didn’t sound at all friendly.… Read more…

 

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Hooked? A new chapter in our serial adventure novel, Trip of a Lifetime, will appear every Sunday. If you’ve missed a chapter, or if you’re coming aboard for the first time and want to catch up, just use the hot-linked title to go to the archives.

 
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A REMINDER This is a work of fiction. All the characters are figments of the imaginations. It’s NOT a paddling guide. If you’re planning a trip on the Albany River—or any other body of water, come to that—consult the most recent edition of a good guidebook and be sure you’re thoroughly familiar with all applicable regulations. While maps of Ontario show some of the waterways mentioned here, the places depicted in our story exist only in our minds—and in yours.