I thought I’d change gears and talk about going the extra mile. What does it mean? For us, it is putting that seriously extra bit of effort into something, trying super hard, going beyond the call of duty.

This can apply to so many situations, including photography.

We use the expression “Joe Schmoe” in our workshops. We’ve all run into the Joe Schmoes of the photography world. You know, the guy who stands up, points his camera, and snaps with little regard for focal point, composition, or any of the other elements that go into making a good photograph. God forbid that he might actually turn the camera and hold it vertically! Twist it? Turn it? Yeah, right!

In the commercial world, Arnie and I regularly went the extra mile. We had to. It’s good business. Our workshops, too, and we encourage our photo workshop participants to do the same. It takes many forms, and sometimes, it involves retrieving a camera … but we’ll save that for the end, as did Paul Harvey with his famous The Rest of the Story.

A lot of getting the photograph you want is being in the right position at the right time. Often this involves a lot more than Joe Schmoe is willing to put out.

We were in Maine, an area I know well from childhood sailing days and adult explorations by the untold numbers. I had pointed out to some participants a wonderful piece of machinery whose purpose still eludes me. I was encouraging two of our group to really get in there and make something abstract out of it.

To illustrate my point, I twisted and turned my camera this way and that to get the perspective I wanted with the appropriate depth of field. Of course, the position I wanted negated any possibility of using a tripod, so I prezeled myself into a seemingly impossible position, braced myself, held my breath, let it out a tad, then squeezed the shutter, sure that I wouldn’t succeed in those fleeting few seconds as our students watched. Still, it was enough to show them what I meant, and I kept my fingers crossed that by some miracle it might be sharp. It was!

In this case, going the extra mile involved positioning myself not only for the angle I wanted, but so that I could hold the camera steadily enough at a reasonable ISO to make the shot work. Believe me, the position wasn’t an easy one, as anyone who knows me can well imagine.

Another example was one of our participants who, when given one of our assignments, found she had to go the extra mile to get in just the right position for the shot.

Note the tenacious approach, as she gripped the fence with one hand and the camera with the other! Note the feet wedged between the fence pickets to give her the purchase and height she needed. That’s going the extra mile!

Sometimes, going the extra mile entails a waiting game. On our zig-zag route out to Zion and Bryce Canyons National parks, we visited family in Idaho. We always look for new photo ops, and I thought I had found a great ghost town to visit. “Queen of the Ghost Towns” it proclaimed.

We bumped along, twisted, and turned on the tortuous 26-mile dirt road in, mostly in second gear. That gave going the extra mile a more literal meaning. Ghost, it wasn’t. The town has been steadily occupied for a very long time. In fact, buildings are regularly being repainted and spruced up for the tourist trade that braves the road in.

That said, a lot of the interiors haven’t changed in many a decade. We went into the local hotel, floors aslant, ceiling glazed by well over a century of nicotine and wood fires, and found much to interest us.

Alas, a gaggle of lady ATVers were there, too. Just as Arnie or I was ready to photograph, several bodies would grace our viewfinders or cast unwanted shadows on our subject.

Rather than give up, I must have waited close to a half hour for the shot, but it was worth it. My grandmother had a phone like this one, and as I child, I used it. I could always see whimsical or sad faces in them.

Similarly, in Zion, I wanted a shot up the Virgin River. It is a place that most visitors want to see, and as soon as one wave of visitors disappears, another one fills in the gap. Again, I needed to wait it out.

There is a point when the Alpine Glow hits the mountains, and it is gorgeous. Trying to get a clear shot is frustrating at times with all the others enjoying the same location.

I didn’t want to give up my spot in the river, as it afforded me the view I wanted. Besides, it had taken a long time to set up, make sure the tripod legs were secure in the rushing water.

Photography is all about light, and one always has to go the extra mile to make sure the light is right for the shot. I came upon this scene that instantly appealed to me.

I love old stuff, the textures, the unlikely pairings such as this one. It suited me. I savored the soft light on the old materials. It was perfect.

Again, the trouble was that people kept coming and out, standing in the doorway and blocking out the beautiful light.

The irony was that fellow visitors would respectfully wait in the doorway while our group photographed, little realizing their good intentions were actually counter-productive.

As each person came to the building, we asked them to come in. There were a lot of them! I had to wait it all out, and again, it took quite some time before I had a “clear shot.”

Sometimes capturing the light involves standing outside in a driving rainstorm that allows patches of sunlight here and there and produces a double rainbow.

It’s all for art. Never mind that you look like a drowned rat. It doesn’t matter than the camera is getting wetter than you would wish, in spite of the protective gear. After all, with the rain coming at you, there is ultimately little protection for the lens. You go the extra mile, because it is worth it. Anyone can photographed on a clear day.

We go the extra mile in helping others.

I have often been spotted lying down on the rocks, the sand, the cliff edge, etc. to help our participants get the shot they want. Arnie, who is not particularly fond of heights, has even been known to stand cliffside to help our groups.

We get down on our stomachs on the scoured, slippery rocks to help a participant refine a shot that ultimately helped get her juried into a New York gallery.

And then there is that camera. It happened in New Hampshire on the last day of New England Fall Foliage. Most of the group elected to sleep in that morning and take advantage of the charming B&Bs where they were staying. A few die-hards, however, joined us in the crisp, early morning to photograph down by the lake. The light was lovely, the reflections beautiful, and every which way one turned seemed to produce yet another photograph.

One of our group was changing lenses. It was around 6:45. No one quite knows what happened, but we heard a loud thunk against the dock, then a splash. The owner grabbed the lens while I watched the camera body sink slowly down to the bottom of the crystal-clear water by the dock. No one moved. I reached down into the lake, but it was just too deep to reach the camera.

We know of other instances of cameras taking just such a dive in similarly pristine waters, and because of the exceptional water quality, they were fine. Still, no one moved. It turns out that the owner is not a swimmer.

I quickly shed my flip-flops, two fleece jackets, and my mother’s jean shirt and jumped into the water, skirt floating like a parachute around me. I still couldn’t reach with my arms, so I gently felt around with my foot. Bingo. Wrapping my “circus toes” around the cable release, I brought the camera to the surface, glasses still on, hair not too much wetter than when I had washed it a half hour or so earlier, and handed it to the grateful owner.

I waded to the shore, clambered back on the dock, quickly put the jean shirt and two fleeces back on, slipped my feet back into the signature flip-flops, and continued with the workshop. Did I mention that it was in the 30s that morning? Farenheit, not Celcius! That said, the water was definitely warmer than the air. Also, most people don’t know that fleece and wool can keep you warm even when wet, so I was fine.

We continued to photograph, everyone wondering how I was. “No brain, no pain,” I quipped, but I really was fine. Prudently, however, I did head back to the cottage sooner than the others, so I could mostly dry out by the wood stove before the rest of the participants and guests came for final imaging time and critiques.

Thanks go to Gary, to whom I had given an assignment of making several photographs in 30 seconds. I’m not sure he kept to the real assignment, but he did capture these lakeside moments … in less than 30 seconds. And no, I didn’t catch a cold!

Check out BCPA in the News. Meanwhile …

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