Weekend Warblers on a Budget
Used Nikon D7100. Used Nikkor 55–300. Used thousands of actuations. Used tens of thousands of miles in my used ’05 sedan. Used to the experience. Used to the actions. Not used to the things.
But First…
Yes, there was a time in my life when I genuinely believed that I’d grow up to become a professional fine art photographer. Of course, at that point, things hadn’t quite panned out according to my loftier boyhood aspirations––I no longer dreamt of the NBA or the X Games––and my late high school rock band, though they were “so close to making it,” had been grievously foiled by creative differences. But nonetheless, despite my general sense of impracticality, and despite my faltering GPA, I’d been accepted into a small private college where I began my first semester a photography major––not just any photography major, though, and certainly not an aspiring events photographer or a portrait photographer or a photojournalist. More of a silent and hopeful photography major, who dreamt of taking the world by storm with cleverly sandwiched negatives and macro abstracts accompanied by the odd dabbling in free verse poetry (i.e. Cory Zanker: Darkroom Guru and Casual Disciple of the Arts).
By the second semester, I’d talked myself out of the photography major and into the more pragmatic path of an English degree with a Philosophy minor––it seemed, at last, that I would reel in my expectations and fix my attention towards more attainable goals, like, say, authoring the next great American novel. Naturally, I stumbled through graduation woefully unprepared for the world of business and landed a full time position as customer service representative for Chicken Out Rotisserie.
Now, having more recently spent the past four years establishing a practical career within my intended field (editing/publishing, that is, not poultry sales), the artsy idealist on my shoulder still whispers in my ear. On its day, the business of project management and digital publishing can be totally fulfilling, but still those dubious dreams keep edging into frame, and I keep seeking out “photography for the photographer” with every moment that can be spared for the cause––so often, in fact, that it feels close to a second career. In the past two years, I’ve practically doubled up my working hours as a “bird photographer” in the evenings and weekends, chasing leads on rare sightings, gathering a modest following on Instagram, and pitching my best images to anyone with eyes or ears.
But, alas, here’s the cynical voice of reason, speaking the moderate perspective that I’ve misplaced for so many years: It’s 2016, and the landscape of photography has evolved, and true photographers require a true breakage of the bank, in order to acquire the best camera, the best lenses, the best flashes and tripods, and camera bags and keychains and merchandise, and the best assemblage of various other ad hoc, expensively-purchased material things, am I right?
I sure hope not. Because, if that’s the case, then what have I really achieved here with my lowly used Nikon D7100 ($600) and a used zoom ($300) with no more than 300 mm of focal length? What is it all worth, for less than $1,000?
My equipment is what most bird photographers or wildlife photographers would consider to be “entry-level” or “intermediate.” Today’s “professional” Nikon cameras (body only) cost up to six times what I paid for my entire set-up. And there’s something of an indeterminate growth in the prices of telephoto lenses, with those costs ranging about as high as the cost of a Toyota Camry. Yes, someday, it would be nice to upgrade my equipment. But, you know what? I’m okay. In the modern era of photography, you can still produce excellent images with (relatively) cheap equipment!
Now, that’s not to say that you should expect to profit from selling those images. But perhaps the excessive commitment to my strictly budgeted hobby-photography endeavor has amounted to something of an upfront investment. I’ve put in the time, the money, the effort, the solo weekend camping trips, the vacations-turned-operations, the mapping of secret spots, the repeated attempts to out-maneuver the “skulkiest” of birds in poorly lit thickets and ravines. And perhaps now the first step towards capitalizing on some of those efforts is to open up and share a few tips with someone new. So, I’ll tell you what it takes, and you’ll buy a print or help me find a job, yeah? No really, let’s network, communicate, collaborate, and see what happens (I’ve been writing a lot of cover letters lately).
Luck
For starters, consider this a disclaimer: despite the extent of the efforts noted above and the tips noted below, there are the occasional strokes of dumb luck that will contradict everything in your plan. I spent the better part of one Saturday searching for the perfect shot of a Northern Parula, to no avail. The trails were buzzing, but the lighting was poor and the birds were shy. The next day, I needed only to step out of my car in the parking lot and take a couple soft steps forward for the image shown above.
Resources
Bird photography, and especially migratory bird photography, does require some homework. The birds shown here migrate up from the tropics of the Caribbean, Central America, or South America, each spring, and they depart for their return trips in the Fall. I began said homework with shamelessly simple google searches like “maryland, warblers” and basically just clicked around on the web for a few hours after work each night, but here’s a handful of links to save you the time and avoid unwanted google hits, because those are the worst.
Identification: Sites like the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s All About Birds are excellent resources for the beginner, who’s just looking to browse the surface level. Learning the songs is an absolute must, and an app like Audubon’s Birds of North America is especially helpful for confirming which song is which in the field.
Leads: Sites like Cornell’s eBird and the American Birding Association are stocked full of user-submitted data that will point you in the direction of recent bird sightings and hotspots. Find your state’s ABA Birding News, and keep an eye on the updates. Check Cornell’s BirdCast predictions for timing of migration.
Flying Solo
Know when to take the trip alone. If you’re on a limited budget, which equates to less focal length and/or less margin for error, there will be times when you find yourself kneeled and waiting for an extended period of time, and maybe your friends didn’t sign up to go sit in the woods staring at a bush.
Working Remote
Just as your friends didn’t sign up to go sit in the woods staring at a bush, other hikers didn’t sign up to trip over your backpack when you’re sitting in the woods staring at a bush. Depending on how serious you are about getting that perfect shot, consider seeking out trails with less foot traffic.
Of course, there are heavily visited city parks, like Central Park in New York or Patterson Park in Baltimore, where you’re likely to find an array of rare birds passing through each spring or fall. But don’t count on the same opportunities or the same rewards when you’re creeping through the city park with an entry-level zoom.
Photography or Documentation?
It’s difficult not to feel sentimental about an image when you’ve spent all summer looking for that shot. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve posted some ugly, noisy duds, because I felt so proud of myself just for finding the damn bird. So I recommend choosing different sites to share different sorts of images. If you’re just looking to document a rare siting, then maybe you can post it to a local birding group on Facebook or add it to your checklist on eBird. Culling down your photos for an online portfolio is another matter. If there’s ever a time to forget everything that you know about birds, it’s when you’re choosing your “best photos” (or when you’re on a first date).
Opt Outside
Right, I suppose we’ll wrap this up briefly and with a bow, something along the lines of “get out there and make it happen!” In the plainest of terms, let’s just look at it this way: the world of photography can be financially intimidating, but I can be dense and relentless. And maybe I don’t need to sell my car to buy a new lens; maybe there’s still some craft or trade that’s more valuable than the equipment. Maybe mastering bird photography involves spending more time outside, hiking all of the trails, following every lead, getting there first, staking it out, committing yourself to the cause. But, at the moment, I have one less day to write a dozen more cover letters.
