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| A shot only possible with a telephoto |
As far as the eye can see, there is beauty to behold. This is why, when we first reach for a camera, it is instinctual to try to fit as much scenery into the frame as humanly possible. Wide angle doesn't seem wide enough when the scale of nature is difficult to even comprehend, let alone attempt to immortalize within an image. But I've learned over the years that if I was to bring just one lens with me on a trip, it would be a telephoto lens, and in fact, the Fuji 50-230mm f/4.5-6.7 is the one I've used and enjoyed more than any other up until its untimely death this morning at around 07:45 EDT.
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| A seemingly ending wall |
I've been asked why a dedicated camera seems to recreate a moment better than a phone. Trying to capture a moment with a camera is a lot like trying to tell a friend about what they missed while they were away. Such a task can be extremely difficult being that subtle nuances often fall through the cracks. If a picture is worth 1,000 words then it's the photographers job to arrange those words into a sentence that tells a meaningful story. And that story for a landscape photographer is scale. It is our prime directive to place the viewer exactly where we stood, see exactly what we saw, and feel exactly what we felt. Any tool that can emphasize the magnitude of a scene, then, is vital to our success, and is one thing I've never seen a phone able to achieve. But what is there to do when the thing that needs to fit into frame is causing it to burst at the seams? Simple - get out the sewing kit and thread the pictures together.
Taking a panorama used to be insanely boring to me, even with my first DSLR using a wide-angle or standard lens. I understood back then that it was a method of extending the boundaries of a photo, but I felt the subject that I saw (and wanted the viewer to see) would ultimately get lost in the sea of the scene. A needle in a haystack - a black cat in a coal cellar. I changed my mind, however, after watching fine-art photographer Thomas Heaton do something that was honestly too simple for me to ever think of on my own - take a panorama at the longest focal length possible. Seeing the technique changed the way I framed every shot since. I could now pour more water into a jug that was already overflowing.
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| One frame made up of many |
Subjects that were previously hidden now sat center-stage, full of detail and life. As of writing this, I have taken over 70 panoramic telephoto compositions, and I would even go as far as to say it revitalized my love for landscape photography. Many film photographers cite the restrictiveness of the format as the reason they prefer it over digital. With film, you have a finite number of sheets you can expose, which makes both the amount of thought you have to put into the shot as well as the consequences of failure higher, thus leading to more creativity, according to those who shoot the medium. Conversely, the lack of restriction panoramas impose on the photographer coupled with the exaggerated subject scale is exactly what I find inspiring.
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| A long and fiery sunrise |
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| Expansive Vista |
Every single one of these shots that changed my view were captured with the Fuji 50-230mm lens. Over the past 5 years, it allowed me to see further than the eye could see. When I slipped on leaves still wet from the morning dew, my camera went with me. The lens connected to the ground and shattered. And just like that, I had lost my third eye. I had other lenses with me, sure, but the story I wanted to write could not be written without the reach of the 50-230. I was like an author without a pen, or a typewriter with a broken keyboard. A replacement has already been ordered, but until it arrives, I am limited to see only as far as my eyes are able to show me.
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| An entire ridge, end-to-end |