by Randall Derrick

     This is the first article in a series where I’ll tell the story about a special photograph, one that has a powerful effect on not only those who see it but on me as well for having taken the risks. Throughout our lives we see things that we want to remember and those of us with cameras always seem to see things we never get to photograph, for whatever reason. This series of articles are about photographs that didn’t get away.

     The first photograph I’ll talk about, Horses at Moonrise, not only has a significant effect on viewers but also seems to cause the critics to line up questions about the photographs authenticity. In this day of digital imagery, CGI (computer-generated imagery) and Photoshop software manipulation any type of visual imagery can be produced and made to look like something straight out of reality, thus any legitimate photograph that stuns can be questioned as if it’s a composite from someone’s head. Probably more now than ever, everyone is a photographer who has the potential to snap a photo that wows the public and perhaps arouses Pulitzer aspirations among the common citizens.

     A photograph I took in the early fall of 2005, Horses at Moonrise, is one of those photographs. Taken during a full moonrise just north of the Canadian River along Highway 287 on October 16, 2005 I was presented with a rare opportunity where the composition was naturally arranged, the light balance was perfect and the real-world conditions like the weather, the astronomy, and the light, were perfectly aligned in time and space. But this was not the original plan.

     I originally planned a trip north from Amarillo toward Dumas to catch a full moonrise behind the famous old ranch house that is nestled among the mesas near historic John Ray Butte along U.S. 287.

     The ranch, called Bud Crawford Ranch was established in 1899 in the last days of frontier and is well known among travelers as a scenic location. Mostly ranch land, the altitude increases slightly out of the River basin and the sandy, rolling hills are used mostly for grazing. In the spring after a good rain the chocolate daisies literally cover every square inch of the slope in a yellow blanket of color that falls into a ravine south of the old ranch house. The site is convenient for a photograph because the ranch house is tucked against a mesa to protect it from the north wind but it’s still visible from the highway. The ground slopes away from the old house and an Aermotor windmill still stands ready to pump and in most months there is an American flag snapping in the wind from a flagpole down from the house. When parked and stationary atop a small knoll directly across the highway the house is viewed from west to east and the distinct John Ray Butte is slightly off to the right, leaving a gap in perspective between the mesas. On certain days of the year, the moon rises in that particular gap in the mesas, which is about 90 º using a magnetic compass.

Bud Crawford Ranch south of Dumas, Texas      On this particular day and this particular year, the moon would rise twenty minutes before sunset. It would be full and spectacular and somewhere close to precisely 81º to 99º. That is, if the weather conditions were stable. Often in the Texas Panhandle cloud cover develops in the eastern counties because of the extra humidity in the lower elevations and obscures astronomical events above the eastern horizon near sunset.

     Right on schedule, near sunset, the sky clouded up and the moonrise was completely obscured by light cloud cover, which shot the whole idea right out of the sky. I didn’t get the shot and this is a typical scenario for outdoor photographers who depend on natural events when pre-visualizing a photograph. Once the photographer knows the layout of the land and can correlate timely astronomical events with a certain landscape layout a certain level of confidence can be gained and if conditions remain static there is a fair amount of certainty the objective can be accomplished; one just has to make the trip, be on time and make sure all the equipment is working right.

      I say all this calmly because I am recollecting events that took place almost six years ago and have gained a wealth of experience since then chasing photos, pre-visualizing the next route and simply reflecting on details of successful shoots and one’s like the Bud Crawford shoot that failed, at least in the initial phases. This is where James Cameron was right by saying that to succeed one must fail, and fail spectacularly. “Failure had to be an option in art and exploration,” he says, “because it’s a leap of faith. And no important endeavor that required innovation was done without risk. “Failure is an option, but fear is not.”

Watch the James Cameron at TED

     The key to the last six paragraphs is that they’ve taken you on a journey where we’ve planned an adventure based on a pre-visualization, made a successful trip and arrived on time and been prepared with the right equipment to get what may or may not have been a mind boggling photograph. In reality, we’ve accomplished absolutely nothing but spending time and money experiencing some level of failure. True, nothing was lost or damaged and no one was hurt and often that’s the result of long hours of planning and travel. But then again, failure may not always be the case. There is still the trip back.

     If I were to state a phrase that was most important to any photographer outside the studio, or in some other uncontrolled environment, I would say, “chance favors the prepared mind.” Some have attributed the statement to Louis Pasteur and others to Blaise Pascal. I believe that Ansel Adams repeated statement after he captured his famous Moonrise over Hernandez photograph in 1941 while returning from a less than productive trip across northern New Mexico. Adams found himself at this phenomenal intersection where all the important elements come together at the same time and the same place. Within seconds of noticing a moonrise at sunset, Adams stopped his car, got out the camera and tripod, and lacking time to get proper light readings with a light meter, which he couldn’t find, he snapped one single photograph of a moonrise behind a church with a small cemetery nearby. The sunlight lasted long enough for Adams to capture light reflecting off headstones, the wispy cirrus clouds overhead and the remainder of the scenery was well enough illuminated that the light balance was perfect. Critics say it was the best photograph of his career, and perhaps the best photograph of the twentieth century and if that is true it was because his finely tuned mind was ready for whatever challenge presented itself. His willingness to expend the extra energy to exploit his talents in a split second, flawlessly, separated him from the artists of his time.

     On October 16 of 2005, I found myself driving south on 287 toward Amarillo wondering what if the photo had materialized, and subsequently, wondering as well, why had I spent two hours and twenty or so dollars trying something that I wasn’t sure would even look good? Before I could think to turn around I spotted a small group of horses grazing atop a ridge line about a hundred yards off the east side of the road. And the moon, the Harvest Moon, a huge, round and textured disc just hanging in the sky, only recently rising above the geography, was directly behind two of the horses. The scene was perfect!

     I passed one crossover between the lanes and stepped on the throttle and sped to the last one before the bridge at the Canadian River. Now turned around, twisting through traffic only to turn in front of them to get off onto the shoulder, I was fumbling for my D100 and trying to get the 28-80mm lens off because when I did the 80-200mm was going to replace it. It would be a perfect shot and I knew it. I only had about ten minutes to get set, and without a tripod and the camera set to ISO 200 and f/4. I had to have a steady hand, meter on the moon and check the exposure and finally the composition. I fired away and got twenty-six exposures before the sun disappeared behind the western horizon. All the while, yelling, screaming, my dog Lucky barking, trying to get the second horse to raise it’s head and display some monogamy of tenderness with the horse beside it. The second horse never raised its head but I’d done all I could do. With the traffic so close I could smell diesel exhaust and hot rubber from passing 18-wheelers. But I got it.

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