Honk Honk, Here we Come! - a photo on Flickriver

            Among the Christmas cards this recent festive season were two that I knew I'd have to keep forever.  One was one designed by my daughter, on the front of which was a footprint supplied by my ten week old granddaughter,  decorated with a pair of eyes of the type you find on small stuffed toys.  The first of the new generation had arrived and on Christmas Eve the small bundle of warmth was passed around like a parcel, fussed over and cooed at and generally adored by three generations at the annual mass family gathering.  

The second card came from my son.  The front image was rather less discernible.  A complete blur in fact.  And surrounding the blur were some words, which at the top said "Dom actually saw Rudolph this Christmas," and at the bottom continued "But his camera was on the wrong settings."  I really don't know where his sense of humour come from, but rarely before had Sarcasm's arrow landed closer to the truth.  In fact on the day I first walked along the beach at Gwithian alongside my newly expecting daughter a year ago, pointing my camera at long exposures on the incoming tide as we did so, a wisp of Snipe (I'm not that clever - I had to look up the collective noun) came racing past, low across the sand.  There must have been about 25 of them.  I've never seen that many at once, neither before nor since.  It would have made for a very exciting capture, but of course I was on f11, ISO 100 in falling light with a six stop filer on, and even though I've learned my camera well enough to change the settings reasonably quickly, I'm not Clint Eastwood in A Fistful of Dollars you know.  By the time I'd even thought about it, the moment had passed.  After all, I do landscapes, not wildlife.  It happened in the same place in the summer when a flock of two hundred gulls or more all set off for Godrevy Lighthouse at exactly the same time, flying overhead as I was in the middle of a failing long exposure.

It was the same here.  Lee and I had driven into Hofn to do nothing more than mooch about and sit on the bench atop the grassy knoll by the rough parking area that looks out over the sound towards the openings between the mountains where the fingers of the massive Vatnajokull glacier make their various journeys down towards the coast.  Sitting at the bench we set up our tripods, and rattled off the odd shot on the long lens.  Nothing spectacular in truth, but one of those locations where the view is almost too grand to be able to get a good image.  To all intents and purposes, it was like a morning coffee break where you dabble at your work, but are largely idle, chatting and enjoying the breathless panorama that this viewpoint offers.  Quite how the residents of Hofn ever get anything done when they have those views to stare at I'll never really know.  

And then we became aware of a sound.  An unmistakable sound, but how long had it been hanging on the air, gradually coming towards us from the east?  And once again I was too late as a chevron of Greylag Geese flew high above us, around fifty of them honking noisily as they made their way over the sound towards the glacier.  Why hadn't I heard them and reacted more quickly?  I guess the answer is I'm not tuned into this stuff, but now I decided that more geese were inevitable as I opened my ears and waited.  Another group headed past to the north, too distant to capture an image.  Ten minutes later three more chevrons winged their paths across the glacier to the north again, mere specks on the viewfinder even at full stretch.  Maybe the moment had gone.  

And when a moment did arrive I'd still only half heartedly prepared myself for it.  The camera should have been in burst mode when this group of four chased low across the water in front of us, gradually climbing to the west on their journey to wherever.  I rattled off eight frames in the space of time in which a more competent wildlife tog would have taken fifty.  But at least they were sharp and the resolution allowed me to engage a savage crop to capture the "honk honk" moment.  That lens is very forgiving in the hands of a wildlife bungler.

The card was signed with love from Tom (my son), Rhi (his partner) an unimpressed cat and Bump.  "Bump" joined the family a week ago, as my second grandchild Alfie came kicking into the world and causing another tidal wave of family joy.  Mother and son are doing well.  Dad is wondering when Alfie will be able to kick a football for the first time, and the cat is even more unimpressed than she already was.  Life and love go on in the wider world as those geese in Iceland make their seemingly endless journeys over glacier and mountain.  If you're ever in Hofn, take an hour out and sit on the knoll.  You really can't miss it.  Better have that long lens about you while you're at it too.

Taken in: Iceland / East / Hofn (show map)

Taken on: September 14, 2022

Tags:

goose

geese

greylag

Hofn

glacier

Vatnajokull

water

water_shots

wildlife

telephoto

bird

bird in flight

birds

Canon 100-400 Mk2

wilderness « less

Sets appears in: • Around Hofn • Book - Landscape more » • Iceland 2022 • Birds « less

Groups appears in: • Iceland. • Amateurs more » • Iceland - Landscape • Photography Week • Amateur Photographer Magazine • Flickr Social « less

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark IV, f/8.0, 1/4000 sec, 400mm, ISO 800 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 5D Mark IV
Lens:	EF100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS II USM
Aperture:	f/8.0
Exposure Time:	1/4000 sec
Focal Length:	400mm
ISO:	800
Exposure Bias:	-1/3 EV
Flash:	Off, Did not fire
Exposure Program:	Aperture-priority AE
Exposure Mode:	Auto
Metering Mode:	Multi-segment
White Balance:	Manual
Color Space:	Uncalibrated
Software:	Adobe Photoshop Lightroom Classic 12.1 (Windows)
Show full info

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