The winter of my discontent

Winter is the worst time for being a photographer.

Not because snow covers all the details that I'd normally want to capture. On the contrary, the smooth curves of snow blanketing ordinary objects can create a landscape to which only desert dunes can compare. The stark contrast nature throws at us begs the photographer to put in a fresh roll of Tri-X black and white film and find some untrampled snow. Or, for that matter, fresh tracks to emphasize our ability as humans to persevere in any weather.

It's also not because of the cold. Although that certainly doesn't help. Try holding a classic metal-body camera in 10 degree weather without gloves and you'll soon start wondering how long it takes to get frostbite. On the other hand (no pun intended), a pair of mittens that are nicely insulated will make it next to impossible to work the fingertip camera controls.

All that aside, the hardest part of winter photography is the all-too-short days. For many of us who are only amateur photographers, the better parts of our days are wasted trying to remain gainfully employed. In my case, I leave the house within a half hour of sunrise. The next 4 hours are spent in a windowless office, wondering if the sun is still obscured entirely by clouds, as has been the case for 24 of the past 30 days. Then I have an hour lunch spent running errands, scouting potential photo ops, and occasionally remembering to eat.

This is followed by another four windowless hours, often occupied by looking at other people's photos online for much of that time (don't tell my boss, please). At 5pm I am released, just in time to glimpse the sun as it disappears beyond the horizon.

I suppose I should look at the bright side. Things can always be worse. I could be in New Jersey right now.