landscapes

At the North Sea (winter ed. with zeitweise.art) /  by Arne Bischoff

Introduction

October and November have been two months of photographical inspiration for me. Late October, I visited the wonderful annual nature photography festival at Lünen, hosted by the German Society For Nature Photography and home to the European Wildlife Photographer Of The Year, one of the most prestigous competitions there is, and the equally impressive membership competition, GDT Nature Photographer of the Year. I visit “Lünen” every year since quite a long time and I love everything there. The lectures, the exhibitions, the people and the meeting of old friends. And it inspires me. The word has become quite trite and trivial in the last few years, and I don’t use it lightly. I often struggle withe my own fascination for photography, more often not even taking the camera with me, but only my binoculars.

To add onto the inspiration and to learn, I went for the photographic double-feature and on a “zeitweise”-workshop directly after Lünen. Jan and Hermann of zeitweise.art have established themselves as creative pioneers in the European nature photography realm. I have been following them for quite some time now, hearing talks, bought a book and watching their Youtube. It is their collaborative, inclusive and down-to-earth approach that really got me in. Learning to see and photograph what’s in front of you rather than travelling to Antarctica. Representing what you see in an artistic way that conveys a spirit, a mood, a tone rather than hitting the holy Instagram-trifecta of sharp, close-up and colorful.

Admittedly, this is a longish introduction. But it sets a tone, too and it might help you understand the imagery on this blogpost.

At high tide, thousands of Dunlins (Calidris alpina) rest at the beaches of Baltrum.

Baltrum (An island in the Wadden Sea)

North of the German mainland lie the East Frisian Islands within the Wadden Sea. Baltrum is the smallest of the seven main islands. The whole area is entirely dependent by the tide. At low tide you could walk the ten kilometers to mainland Germany. At high tide, you feel the power of the North Sea. During bird migration, the whole Wadden Sea area is the resting place of around 12 million migratory birds. And with low temperatures and strong winds in late October, early November, there is not a lot of tourism. One up: There are no cars allowed to the island. It’s a breath of fresh air and so liberating. Baltrum was the perfect canvas for a week of nature photography.

European herring gull (Larus argentatus) with a crustacean in its beak.

Birds

When you are on an island like Baltrum during migration season, birds are a natural motive. Purple sandpipers (Calidris maritima) and Ruddy turnstones (Arenaria interpres) shelter from high tide at the north end of the island. Thousands of Dunlins, Red Knots (Calidris canutus), Eurasian curlews (Numenius arquata) and other waders doing the same at the westernmost beaches. White-tailed eagles (Haliaeetus albicilla) and different kinds of harriers hunt while small arctic songbirds like Snow buntings (Plectrophenax nivalis), Horned larks (Eremophila alpestris) or Redwings (Turdus iliacus) gather some well needed strength for their further journeys.

Waves

When at Sea, make sure to photograph waves. Large ones, small ones, fast shutter speeds, slow shutter speeds, crashing waves, calm waves. Do waves!

Scapes

Sunset over the Wadden Sea at low tide.

I usually use the term “scapes” as a more abstract form of still life. Could be a landscape, seascape, cityscape or an abstract macro. Luckily, the island was full of such visuals. Sunsets over the Wadden Sea at low tide. Abstracts of the sea or seashells.

Woodlands

Crouching birch trees, impressionistic style.

Amidst the island of Baltrum, well-hidden between the large sand dunes is a very small but beautiful forest. All the trees crouch down and low. As long as they are not growing too tall, they are protected from the wind by the larger dunes. If they grow too tall, the merciless wind takes over and bends them into even weirder shapes. And those trees lend themselves very well to some experiments with ICM-photography (intentional camera movement).

Workshop wrap-up

Me and the Dunlins. 📷 zeitweise.art | Instagram-Story

It has been a great week. The workshop-setting worked well for me. Hermann and Jan were wonderful guides, well prepared with a lot of tasks and a lot of time to be creative; great feedback, friendly, solidaric and on point - which set the tone for the whole group: collaboration is key. And it was great fun. Highly recommended!

More:
https://www.zeitweise.art/workshop
https://www.instagram.com/zeitweise.art/
https://www.youtube.com/@zeitweise

Heather 💜 /  by Arne Bischoff

I have been born in a region of Germany that is famous for its vast fields of heather. When the heather is blossoming in all its vibrant purple glory, it is really wonderful to behold. Enjoy “Lüneburg Heath”!

Seabirds in North Frisia: Where Germany ends /  by Arne Bischoff

An Arctic tern hunting over the water.

In the northwestern corner of Germany lies the province of “North Frisia”. It has a coastline with the Northern Sea of over 400 kilometres and is famous for its “Warden Sea” and Schleswig-Holstein Warden Sea National Park, the largest in Germany. Together with the neighbouring Wadden Sea national parks it is over 8.000 km² large. Around two thirds of the area is permanently under water, while one third is periodically dry. The Wadden Sea is one of the most important resting habitats of arctic birds in Europe if not the world during the annual bird migration. The neighbouring salt marshes are a large and important breeding ground.

Land of the Wadden Sea

Black-tailed godwit (Limosa limosa) in breeding plumage.

At the German coast, the North Sea has a tidal range of about three to four and a half metres. During low tide the water retracts and exposes mud flats of up to 40 kilometres width: The Wadden Sea. It is an enormously important habitat for nature and wildlife of all kinds. Hundreds of thousands of birds have their feast on marine worm, shellfish, crab and other. With high tide, when the water returns every twelve hours, all those birds are force inwards towards the shoreline and beyond into their rest places in the saltwater marshes and koog’s (a large type of polder) which makes for an unique observation and photography opportunity. And this is, why I recently went there with a group of local birdwatchers. To watch and marvel and photograph.

Birds, birds, birds

A Grey plover (Pluvialis squatarola) in breeding plumage.

Mid-May the area is a birding paradise. Waders, terns, seabirds, gulls, songbirds, birds of prey. They were there in abundance. The sheer numbers of waders, and terns but also of White-tailed eagle and Harriers was simply astonishing. This and the high number of observation spots and hides made for some unique birding, some in really close proximity, such as a Black-tailed godwit (Limosa limosa) and lots of Northern lapwings (Vanellus vanellus) right next to the street. The smaller waders such as Dunlins (Calidris alpina) and Red knots (Calidris canutus) proved a lot harder to photograph, but still beautiful to watch. Bearded reedlings (Panurus biarmicus) were feeding their young in the reeds. Warblers and skylarks were singing everywhere.

Waders, waders, waders …

From left to right:

  • Black-tailed godwit (Limosa limosa): A large, long-long-legged, long-billed shorebird which is actually breeding in the Northern Frisia region.

  • Grey plover (Pluvialis squatarola): A circum-polar arctic breeder with a striking breeding plumage of black, white and golden speckles.

  • Bar-tailed godwit (Limosa lapponica): This species holds the record for the longest non-stop flight for any birds. In August 2007, a female specimen departed on an eight-day non-stop flight from western Alaska to New Zealand: 11,680 km (7,258 mi). This female then continued a 174 day round-trip journey of 29,280 km (18,194 mi) within 20 days of flying.

  • A flock of Dunlins (Calidris alpina): One of the most common species of waders in Europe. Flying in large and spectacular formations.

  • Northern lapwings (Vanellus vanellus) do have an unmistakable flight-call. Its sound (“Ki-Witt”) lead to its German name (Kiebitz). They perform spectacular courting flights.

Terns, terns, terns

One beautiful evening, our little group was watching the high-tide resting place in a local “Koog” behind the dyke, when a member of the group pointed to a group of hunting terns (both Artic Terns; Sterna paradisaea and Common Terns; Sterna hirundo respectively) right at the far side of the levee. The scenerey was astonishing. Back-lit, with the sun causing millions of beautiful reflections in the sea. Terns are famous as blazing-fast flyers and to see them hunting so close was really impressive. I shot a lot of frames and luckily captured one or two moments when the terns caught some prey.

An Arctic tern hunting.

The best of the rest: Reedling, Warbler, Hare, and so much more!

But this was far from it. There were animals literally everywhere. Bearded reedlings (Panurus biarmicus) feeding its young. A Sedge warbler (Acrocephalus schoenobaenus) displaying right in front of me. Grey partridges (Perdix perdix) in the evening. So many sheep. A White-tailed eagle (Haliaeetus albicilla) on a fence (“Lahnung”). And a European hare (Lepus europaeus) crossing a sandbank at full speed.

A European hare (Lepus europaeus) running over a sandbank.

Rarities

During our five-day trip we even beheld some absolute rarities, such as Gull-billed tern (Sterna nilotica), Red-necked phalarope (Phalaropus lobatus), Eurasian dotterel (Eudromias morinellus), Green-winged teal (Anas carolinensis) and Ruddy duck (Oxyura jamaicensis). Of course birding is not all about rarities, but it still is nice to see them.

The Ruddy duck

Great crested grebe's courting.

A Red-necked phalarope searching for food by rotating around its own.

Northern lights

While at the North Sea, we were not only graced by bird rarities, but also by a very special solar phenomenon. Northern Germany was hit by a heavy solar storm which caused us to see Northern lights (Aurora borealis), which is extremely scarce as far south. Although the photographic sensor (in this case a quite crappy smartphone) enhanced the colours quite a bit, it was beautiful and visible to the bare eye, too.

The grand finale

For the grand finale, please enjoy all images in one large gallery. Please navigate with the left and right buttons.

Trip list

The whole trip made up for 122 species of birds. You find the whole list below (German only). A big thankyou to Christian Dienemann for keeping both track and account!

Life and death /  by Arne Bischoff

A Bluethroat (Luscinia svecica) defies the monotony of modern rapeseed fields.

Right now in late spring, the rapeseed (canola) flowering is fully on. With its vibrant yellow colors you can be forgiven to think of it of as an epitomy of life. In fact. It's death. Modern rapeseed fields are highly industrialised, highly pesticided, life-defying wastelands. Nothing else is growing in it and next to no animals flourish from it. Some Bluethroats or European Stonechats maybe. But when the vibrant yellow is gone, a brown monoculture of stems is revealed.

This is what you see in the second image. On the right side. The death side. On the left side, you see a stripe of wildflowers long past its bloom, but still full of life and food. A window in a cultural landscape still close to nature that once was. Before industrial agriculture arrived.

Left is life. Right is death. While the sun is setting.

A winter walk with the GDT /  by Arne Bischoff

The winterly Oderteich lake seen from the eastern shore.

Back in February 2022, I spent some time in the local Harz mountain range. I was out with a group of the German Society for Nature Photgraphy (GDT). The GDT is one of the most renowned nature photography organisations in the world, best know for its annual competitions European Wildlife Photographer of the Year and GDT Nature Photographer of the Year. The society is organised within regional sub groups, who go out on excursions, do exhibitions, book projects, critique images together or just share some time with like-minded spirits. And this is exactly what we did. I accompanied my friends through “my mountains”, sharing a little local knowledge and learning from much more skilled and accomplished nature photographers.

Harz mountains: Nature’s building site

The Harz mountains are a classic Mittelgebirge. Its highest summit the Brocken sits only 1,141 m above sea level but features a Scandinavian or Alpine climate. The mountain range was subject to centuries of mining which lead to the plantation and harvest of fast growing spruce monoculture. In recent years, the Harz lost nearly 75 percent of the spruce biomass to a combination of climate change, heat, drought and the bark beetle benefitting from all of it. The erstwhile dense spruce forests seem dead to a lot of people, but it is not. The local national park (Nationalpark Harz) does not intervene with natural processes and lets nature do its very own rewilding programme. Especially the standing Coarse woody debris and the open space attract a lot of pioneer species and lead to a renewed ecological succession. What many perceive as dead is actually more biological diverse and species-rich than the plantations, we learned to know as “nature” (if you are interested in an in-depth explanation, check the embedded video). Losing the spruce monoculture is actually a win for bio-diversity.

Winter photography at Oderteich

Oderteich - a barrier lake - sits at the heart of the national park. It was a quite obvious location choice. You can experience all changes of the ecological succession here. Living spruce, dying spruce, dead but standing spruce, windthrown spruce, pioneer plants such as white birch or mountain-ash; and of course the winterly lake with ice, frost, snow, open water, and mute colors in all its glory.

I know the place really well, but this visit was a true first for me. We were a group of twelve (ish) and everyone was on his or her own and together at the same time. Wandering alone or sharing ideas or thoughts and working, slowly and deliberately their crafts. I felt a little shy in the beginning and was completely unused to this style of photography, usually preferring to be a lonely wanderer with animals as my hasty subject. So I did not take a lot of images. But I learned a lot. Thank you, for the experience, my friends!

At the Baltic Sea /  by Arne Bischoff

January 2022 had it all, although it is long gone now. A new hope and a return to an old love. The beautiful Baltic Sea. A long weekend that felt like a full-on holiday brought me to the Darss peninsula in eastern Germany. A place that is as famous for its long sandy shorelines, dramatic dunes and pine forests, abundance of birds and other wildlife and its solitude in winter, as it is for overtourism in summer. It is just a good place to be.

The western beach (Weststrand) of Darss peninsula.

A walk down the shore

The Darss peninsula is a really young landscape - in geological terms: Dating back only 12,000 years to the Weichselian glaciation. Originally an island, about 1,500 years ago the growing spits attached it to the land. By the end of the 14th century it finally became a peninsula. Both the Weststrand and the Nordstrand are famous for its long beachlines and large sanddunes with dramatic woods, reed beds and marshes. The area is of international importance as rest area for migrating birds and as wintering grounds especially for arctic seabirds. Maybe even more famous are the large herds of Red deer and Wild boar in the region. And of course, it’s beautiful there.

My favorite of all birds! “Rokk, rokk!”

A feast for Crows Ravens

One long walk along the western shores revealed two Common ravens scavenging on a carcass. Given their behaviour and the time of year, they seemed to be a breeding pair.

Over a period of over an hour at least one Raven, oftentimes both, worked the cadaver with astounding stamina. They allowed me quite close - laying flat down in the sand - to take some images. Thank you very much, lovely Ravens, my favorite of all birds.

Eye-level with a Raven and a carcass.
📷 by Nicole | Instagram: Apples ‘n’ Pears Interior

Thousands and thousands of ducks

Ahead of Nordstrand thousands and thousands of ducks were bobbing up and down. Way to far for a photography, but not too far to be watched through the spotting scope. One moment, when a lifeboat left the harbor to go on a routine ride, all of it (or at least it felt like that) went up in the air at once and left me open mouthed. So many ducks: Common eiders, Common scoters, Velvet scoters, Long-tailed ducks, Northern pintails and Greater scaups were making up for the lion’s share. A Northern gannet flew by.

Adorable little Sanderlings (Calidris alba)

The shoreline had its bird-stars, too. A flock of ever so active Sanderlings went in and out, hither and tither with the incoming waves. Again, I found myself flat down in the sands. A young Black-headed gull posed beautifully in the waves. I only missed out on the Snow buntings in my back that were busy searching the wash margins for food and chose to concentrate on the more beautiful background that the sea provided.

Sanderlings in the tide.

A long craved boar pic

I am a firm believer that Wild boar are a shamefully overlooked species, when it comes to nature photography. In an Instagram post from 2021, I challenged myself and all fellow nature photographers to take more images of those amazing animals. It was only two months later that I succeeded with some images that I hold very dear. As I do the whole trip and the person, who did it with me.

They were both incredibly close and extremely well camouflaged in the reeds. It was a special moment, being as close to wild animals that are often - and falsely - touted as aggressive and dangerous. Of course, they know how to look after themselves, as Hagrid would put it. But here, they chose the distance, as it should always be with wildlife photography. They roamed the reeds along the footpaths, relying on their incredible camouflage. Focussing was difficult. But you could hear them from time to time, making wonderful swine sounds and then you could see them and all was wonderful.

A true master of camouflage.

 

Velkommen til Vassfaret /  by Arne Bischoff

Beautiful Vassfaret.

Vassfaret, southern Valdres, Norway. Fall 2021. If you want to know how I got there, maybe read my Dovrefjell disappointment first. It turned out to be luck, though.

Partisan country

This region is a gem. Vassfaret sits between Hallingdal and Hedalen in the Valdres region. The region boasts low alpine coniferous forests, heather and bog. The fjell around rises to over 1,000 metres, which is well above treeline. You find rivers and lakes in plenty down in the valleys. What makes Vassfaret so special is that it’s wild, but had centuries of cautious human activity, especially logging and timber floating. This results in a number of old an ancient footpaths - quite rare in the Scandinavian fjell, where paths are usually scarce and scattered.

It’s no wonder that Vassfaret was a hotspot of Norwegian resistance against German occupation in World War II and operational base for a guerrilla group codenamed “ELG”. The region offers plenty of cover and resources while still pretty centrally located and quite close to the Norwegian capital Oslo.

Beautiful fall

My friend Linn and I walked into Vassfaret via Hedalen and we could not have wished for a more beautiful fall hike. Striking autumnal colors, warm days, cold(ish) nights in the tent and no one else around. A pleasant change to the over-crowded Dovrefjell, I had experienced only days before. We hiked only three days, but it felt exactly how it should feel for me. Out, remote, wild. I stayed in a little hut in the region for another ten days and it’s safe to say, I will come back. Actually, by the time of writing, I already have been back. But this is yet another story.

The Muskoxen disappointment /  by Arne Bischoff

Snøhetta (2.286 m ASL) in all its snow-covered glory. The commanding summit of the area and one of the most beautiful.

It’s now one year ago that I fulfilled myself a dream I harbored for some years. I went to Dovrefjell to hike and photograph the only muskoxen (Ovibos moschatus) this side of the Atlantic or Arctic Ocean - in beautiful autumnal colours. Or so I thpught. Other than the year before, Covid did not interfere (read the 2020 story “No Muskoxen in Gränslandet” here) and off I went north.

You may have read here before that I am into trekking and long-distance hiking. This time I wanted to check the area close to the E6, the primary street between Oslo and Trondheim, first with only small gear, find or not find the muskoxen and then decide whether to stay in one place or make a hike through the area. My basecamp for the first few days that I planned to roam both sides of the street would be my car until I knew where to stay longer.

From utter joy to frustration and rage in just some hours time

A part of “my herd” resting.

All went to plan - or nothing. I found a herd with eleven animals after only six hours of hiking. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, pure happiness. I cried. I called my love at home to share my joy. It has been a rough year, but now I felt so fortunate. I was so fortunate. Me in my happy place.

The herd was about a kilometre away. I decided not to go much closer than 600 metres. Then I watched those stunning animals. I just sat and watched and waited for them to come closer. I did not want to disturb them. Only watch the herd and its behaviour in its natural environment. I did get a few half decent pictures. The autumnal colours were nothing short of phenomenal. But photography was not my focus. Watching, observing, absorbing the moment. I had plenty of time. I would come back tomorrow and stay longer. But first, I had to go back to the car. I did not dear to dream to find the herd so soon, so I had no sleeping gear with me.

Back I went. Only a few hours later, I stumbled into another herd. Well, not really. I saw it from a vantage point around 60 vertical metres above and around a kilometre away. It was still a little light. Plenty light for the binoculars. I could resume my path in the dark. I just wanted to watch the herd eat and then go to sleep. And then, I saw them. Two photographers quickly approaching the herd. Carrying their big white lenses like guns pointing straight at the poor animals.

One of the largest animals in the herd. My favourite image of the trip.

How on earth can you be so ignorant?!

The two photographers went closer and closer. 200 metres, 100, 50, 30, maybe even closer. Then, standing upright, pointing their tools down, they started photographing. Moving into the herd. I was concerned for their safety, but I felt so sorry for the animals, too. The herds behaviour clearly changed in the process. First, it stopped feeding. Then, it withdrew a bit. The animals moved closer together. Then, they formed its defensive formation. Nothing stopped the photographers.

When you enter the region, every few hundred metres you stumble over a signpost. Musk oxen. Be aware. Don’t get too close. Leave them space. Don’t get closer than 200 or 300 metres. Let the animals come to you. Common sense, you should guess. Not for those two. I was wondering if they were plain ignorant or compelled to the prospect of five minutes glory - back on Instagram. Everyone wants to show off stunning muskoxen imagery on Instagram. Me, too. I could not dismiss this thought.

Would I really want to be part of this?

A rest day, a thought day

I had no clue that muskoxen where such skilled climbers. But they are goats, aren’t they!

Next day, a storm rolled in. It was already freezing when I came, now it was raining cats and dogs, lightning and thunder. I decided to wait this storm out. It should only be a day and I found a nice campsite (Magalupe camping. Highly recommended!). I called my love again and we shared our thoughts. I really did not want to be part of this. But the very moment I would post my images, I would be. We settled on a reassuring wait and see. At least I wanted to visit “my herd” again. It was much more remote and far down into the area. Maybe this was a singular experience.

The weather forecast was fine. So I visited “my herd” again. I took the same approach. I positioned myself so that when the herd would come down the valley, it would have the chance to approach me or avoid me at own will. It did not approach me. I took some environmental shots, made lunch and waited.

Two hours later, a guide lead a group of four to the spot. They did alright, left the muskoxen be, pitched there tents, talking audibly, buzzing for excitement. A Friday. Weekend with the finest of fall weather to come. I decided to leave. I did not want to stay here with ten or 20 other photographers like in a zoo. A friend of mine has a mountain hut some hours drive away. Her and her family were there for the weekend. We wanted to do a hike together anyways. We could as well do it over there.

Like life in a zoo

On my way back to the car, I saw seven tents already pitched. Maybe they weren’t photographers at all, just regular locals or tourists like myself looking after some friluftsliv. Perfectly fine, but not for me. Not this time. I had all this preconceptions. Out alone in the wild. Like it has been so often in Norway or Sweden. But the muskoxen are superstars. They attract visitors from near and far. This part of the Dovrefjell national park is definitely not your typical bit of Scandinavian escapism.

I met the guide I had seen earlier. A very friendly, heart-warming, responsible guy. We had a good chat over a cup of coffee from our thermos. He would bring another group in later this evening, he said, and another three groups tomorrow. The autumnal season peak. Everyone wanted to see or photograph the stunning animals from primeval times now. I do not begrudge him his job. He has to make a living there. In another place and another time, I might have even dreamed of this job myself. At least he would instruct all other visitors to be responsible. All good. But I could not help, but feel like I was in a zoo.

A symphony in blue, red and cream. Bog blueberries (Vaccinium uliginosum) and lichen. Fall - the raddest of all!

Epilogue

I did not share the story of this trip or its images publicly prior to today. It did not feel right. It did not feel in line with my nature photography ethos. Maybe I am self-righteous. I am part of the problem, too. Travelling thousands of kilometres for my dream images. Sharing it all over the world. Encouraging others to do the same. Well, I am not a world famous photographer. The number of people, who read my blog or follow me on social media is small. But still. On the other hand, I did well. I did not approach or disturb the animals. No image is worth that. I let the animals decide whether to accept me or not. They did not. I took some images I hold dear. Today I share it. But I learned a lesson, too. To value each image more. And not to visit hotspots at rush hour. Be content with the roe deer in my backyard rather than chasing a dream that thousands of others chase, too. And maybe come back in winter. With a pulk. When it’s cold and harsh. When you have to earn your images.

All turned out well. I got to know a part of this beautiful land that I did not know before. But this is another story.

Thankyou N for all your support not only during this trip and being with me.

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