"Squall" by Leonora Speyer

The squall sweeps grey-winged across the obliterated hills,

And the startled lake seems to run before it;

From the wood comes a clamor of leaves,

Tugging at the twigs,

Pouring from the branches,

And suddenly the birds are still.

Thunder crumples the sky,

Lightning tears at it.

And now the rain!

The rain--thudding--implacable--

The wind, reveling in the confusion of great pines!

And a silver sifting of light,

A coolness;

A sense of summer anger passing,

Of summer gentleness creeping nearer--

Penitent, tearful,

Forgiven!

1927. Public Domain.

Trout Lake Report: Buck Tiger

Circumstances allow you to get to the lake much earlier than usual. It will be a full 8 hours on the water. You haven't done that for awhile. You think you can handle it.

You launch at the north end. You like it here.

You've tied up a quasi-hopper especially for the day.

You work the shoreline through the wind and waves.

The hopper claims its first victim.

Storm clouds are building in the west.

You think the storm will slip off to the north and miss you.

Over by the inlet you find lots of eager fish. They're small, but they nail that hopper.

Where you usually kick across the lake to the other side, you keep on going. You plan to explore the entire west bank.

That first storm may be slipping off to the north, but it looks like another one may be hard on its heels.

You decide to put your jacket on, just in case.

Five minutes later you hear the rumble of thunder and the first raindrops begin to fall.

You've been drifting a muddler behind you, and a nice Rainbow tries to make off with it. It's a treat to net a fish like this.

The rain is coming down harder, and the thunder is getting closer--which means the lightning is, too.

You come up on a little shooting stand. You've passed this thing by for years. Today you decide to shelter in it while the lightning passes over.

It's a perfect retreat. You break out the thermos, pour yourself a cup of hot coffee, and kick back.

The sun breaks through the clouds briefly. The rain slows. The thunder grumbles into the distance. Time to go.

You launch and start down the shoreline again.

Two minutes later another storm rolls over the ridge and begins to dump its rain on you.

A new round of lightning and thunder begins. You pull over and wait it out. When the lightning has moved on you do the same.

You fish all the way down to the Drake tree, then turn and begin to work your way back.

The wind backs off and the lake begins to settle down. Scattered rises begin to bloom out in open water.

There are lots of bugs.

You kick out into open water and drift the muddler through the riffles. You get a bump, a swirl, and then a hook up.

You make your way back toward the inlet. It looks like the storms are over.

As has become your habit, you first explore the willows on either side of the inlet before casting into the inlet channel. On the second cast something jumps the muddler as soon as it lands. You raise up, expecting another fingerling, and feel weight, blessed weight. Then a wonderful, jerky pull. It's a good fish at last. No, not a Brown. A Tiger. Beauty.

The primal order is restored. The cosmos is once more aligned.

You wonder what other surprises might be in store for you. You find two more beautiful little Rainbows.

In the twilight, you kick slowly across open water toward the take out area.

The wind finally backs off for good, and the water calms. You see fish rising just off the take out. You tie on some 5X and begin casting a little caddis. It's just you and the bats.

And a photobombing fish.

When it's too dark to see the fly, you make one more cast and begin stripping in. You get a grab. You think it's a little fish, but it suddenly pulls hard--real hard--and is gone. Just like that. That's one for another day.

On the drive home you round a bend, and there's the full moon right in front of you. When you get home you get the good camera and the tripod and get a shot.

The July full moon is the Buck Moon. Most people who know that are probably thinking about buck deer. You're thinking about that big, beautiful buck Tiger.

Vorticity

Wowza.

Vorticity (4K) from Mike Olbinski on Vimeo.
Blu-Ray discs available here: http://www.mikeolbinski.com/shop/
Song by Kerry Muzzy: "Found" (Available on iTunes (http://bit.ly/MO_TM3) and Amazon (http://bit.ly/Found_KM) - please support him!)
Follow me: mikeolbinski.com / twitter.com/mikeolbinski / facebook.com/mikeolbinskiphotography / instagram.com/mikeolbinski
BTS Footage: https://www.youtube.com/user/MikeOlbinski/videos (Subscribe!)
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Blood. Sweat. Tears. Joy. That's what this spring was for me. The miles, the grind, the failing, the epic days missed, the lack of sleep, the jubilation, the friendships strengthened, and the time away from my family. And when the chasing was all done...wondering, was worth it all?

Heck yeah it was.

I had three goals this spring: Get a tornado on time-lapse, capture the best footage I possibly could, and chase as much as my schedule would allow. That ended up totalling 18 chase days. 20,000 miles driven. Almost 60,000 time-lapse frames shot. Nine total states. Hours and hours and hours of editing. All between April 15th and June 15th.

And the tornado? Not only did I get one, but I got six more. On April 15th, the very first day out, I saw two tornadoes in the Texas Panhandle. May 9th was Wynnewood and Sulphur in Oklahoma (both in this film), as well as Trinidad on June 13th in Colorado. And while most tornadoes will be obvious in the film, you'll have to use a keen eye to spot the first two, which appear at 2:08 and 2:13. The Wynnewood tornado, which you will see at the very end of the film, was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I was so focused on keeping up with the storm that day, that I barely realized that I had captured what I'd been working so hard to get. I texted my wife a few photos and simply said "Baby I did it". It wasn't until she responded "Babe, it's beautiful. I'm so happy for you" that I completely lost it - live stream going on in the truck, people watching, and tears streaming down my face.

But that's how much this spring meant to me, and how hard I was going. Most of the time exhausted. My typical routine would be to leave Phoenix sometime in late afternoon, drive all night, sleep an hour or two in the truck and then chase the next few days. And then drive home all night again. I did whatever I could to to minimize the time away from my family. Heck, I once even shot a wedding all day, left the venue, and drove all night to chase. I didn't want to miss anything this spring.

What's awesome to me is that some of my best stuff came from marginal days, where it took some effort and crazy luck to get sick storm structures. Those were the surprises - amazing clips worthy of the final product despite the chase day starting out subpar. Combined together with everything else, I think it's some of my best footage to date!

Technical note...this film marks the first time I used my Canon 5DSR and 11-24 for time-lapse, which I bought right before the spring started (Thank you Martin Heck for the help!). I'm not 100% sure of course, but I believe the tornadoes in the film may be some of the first ever captured in 8K resolution. The 50 megapixels that camera offers was huge for being able to zoom into certain shots and still maintain fantastic quality and sharpness. Couldn't be happier with that beast. I also used my trusty 5D3 for the tighter shots, with the 35mm, 50mm or 135mm.

I have to mention Kerry Muzzey here...he has surpassed being kind to me. This is the 3rd or 4th time he's donated a song to one of my projects and I'm forever grateful. His music is powerful, haunting at times, and always, always perfect for the story I want to tell. This year I knew right away that "Found" was the song I would use. Please visit the links above to support his work!

There are a lot of names to thank which are listed at the end of the film. I owe them all so much for helping me this spring. Nowcasting, making me turn around when I was headed to Montana, teaching me about forecasting, helping me choose the right new camera, editing input, and just being good friends. I am very blessed to have some amazing people around me!

Most of all to my wife, Jina. She knows...every year I'm gone longer. I'm sure next year could be worse. But through it all, even when it's really tough, she's always right behind me. Making things work when I'm away. There are never enough words to cover how amazing she is. But she knows and I know - this film wouldn't happen without her.

I think that's about it! Thanks to everyone for the kind words of support all year. I truly hope you enjoy this one! On to Monsoon 3!
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Technical Details:

Captured with A CANON 5DSR, CANON 5D3, Canon 11-24mm f/4, 16-35mm, 35mm, 50mm, 135mm
Processed using Lightroom, LR Timelapse, After Effects and Premiere Pro

Most clips available in 8K resolution, as well as 4K.

Stormscapes 3

Wow.

Stormscapes 3 from Nicolaus Wegner on Vimeo.

From the creator:

Stormscapes 3 is for those that enjoy the visual aspect of our beautifully unique Blue Marble’s fascinating weather, or those wishing to experience elemental nature in some of its most surreal and chaotic forms. Particularly focusing on severe weather located in the northern high plains region (and adjacent ranges) of the USA. This video showcases a variety of supercells and other rotating storms, spooky night based mesoscale convective systems, atmospheric optics such as rainbows and crepuscular rays, various forms of lightning, and even a rare Shirley Basin, Wyoming tornado.

I highly recommend a good set of speakers or headphones. There is a lot of deeper bass in the track, which adds to the overall feel I was going for. You’ll miss out without it. Especially during the transition from day to night.

If you suffer from any negative photosensitive reactions to strobing or flashing lights, it might be advisable to skip the night focused lightning sequences of Stormscapes 3. They are…intense…welcome to mother nature’s dance party (it’s even crazier in person). The last two minutes are almost nothing but lightning sequences. Stop watching immediately if it becomes too much for you.

Henry's Fork Report: Sixth Day

I woke up early. The sixth day of fishing lay before me. I had remarked to John on the second day that four days was not long enough for a fishing trip. At our age it takes four days just to get warmed up. Now, six days in, I was feeling good, and I was eager to return to the Henry's.

I drove the fifty miles to the campground, reserved our site for the night, and went to the Ranch. I was back on the Back Channel, and everything looked in fine shape. It had been a cold night--there had been frost on the van when I awoke--and it was still cool and breezy. But the sun seemed to be working its way out of the clouds, and I anticipated a good morning.

I watched and waited and waded, and then did it all over again. The hatch was not happening. The water was at the perfect level again after the dam release, flowing at the perfect rate, but it was devoid of insects--and rises.

While I waited, the wind picked up, and the clouds thickened. Instead of getting warmer, it got colder. I was wearing layers, but I was getting cold. In my optimism, I had left my rain jacket back in the van. So I gave up on the Back Channel and hiked out. It was time for a change of plans.

I drove to the Last Chance stretch. I pulled up to a section upstream from the observation platform. It gave me a good view of the river from the van. Nothing happening here, either. Except for the weather. In the time I had taken to get here the clouds had socked in the valley and started spitting rain.

And then it opened up: wind, thunder and lightning, and sleet.

It stopped after awhile, but soon another squall blew through. Then more. I was snug and dry in the van. Now and then I'd get out and walk up and down the bank to see if I could detect any rises. Nothing happening.

I dozed off for awhile. When I woke up I took a long look at the river. I thought I was seeing rises. I got out of the van and took a closer look. The river was covered with PMD's. And fish were rising all over the place.

I waded out. The current on this stretch is much faster and stronger than on the Back Channel. It seemed like everything began to happen at super speed. I began to target risers with a little PMD dry. The casts were short and into the wind, and the drift was fast, with furious mending and stripping of line to get longer drifts.

Amazingly, I got a hook up. I never cease to be amazed how a fish can find your fly in the midst of so many fast-moving naturals. This was a small fish. I wondered if they were all small fish.

Then I looked again and began to see big heads coming up, and big fish porpoising. I don't think you can see them in this photo, but trust me, they're there.

I went for one of the porpoisers, and after a few drifts got another hook up. Amazing. This one took longer to get to the net, using the current expertly to avoid capture. What a beauty. I wanted to take time to admire it, but the fever was building in me. There were fish rising all around. No time to waste.

I targeted another riser, and hooked up again, This was a heavier fish. It took longer to get to the net. But before I could scoop it up the fly popped out. So it goes. No time to grieve. Get that next cast out.

It seemed that the fish were now aware of my presence. They would be rising in a pod, holding their positions, until I began to cast to one. That would put them down for a few seconds while they moved upstream, or drifted downstream. I would dutifully follow them, trying to sneak up on them before they knew I was there.

I hooked up again, another good fish, and again, after a long struggle, I got him close only to have the fly pop out. I wondered if I was rushing the play--easy to do when there are still so many fish rising all around you waiting to be caught.

I checked the fly--still good. It's a little CDC PMD pattern tied by Rene Harrop. Killer.

I kept fishing but kept my eye on the weather. Another storm was blowing in on the cold wind. Lightning flashed and thunder grumbled. I finally gave in, waded out, and sought refuge in the van. I started it up and turned the heater on high.

The storm blew over and I waded through the puddles and back into the river.

My fears were relieved when I saw the river was still covered with PMD's. I went back to work.

I found a steady riser and began to show him the fly. The light was lower now, and I couldn't see the fly as well as before. Each time I saw the fish rise I raised up on the rod. That happened two or three times. And then I raised up and hooked him. Amazing!

This was a nice fish. I took my time with him, trying not to horse him, and trying to work the angles to lessen the pull of the current. It took me two harrowing tries before I got him in the net.

I was lucky. I got him literally by the skin of his teeth. The fly fell out in my hand when I went to unhook him.

The sun came out then, to salute my good luck, or as a benediction to the afternoon.

I was feeling good, even with the cold wind blowing. That was the fish that made the whole trip. Even if I didn't catch another, I was content. But that's when I decided for sure to stay around for one more day on the Henry's.

I kept fishing. I missed some takes, and it seemed I was having to chase the fish farther. Then I thought I began seeing Callibaetis mixed in with the PMD's.

I clipped the PMD off and tied on a big, bushy Adams left over from previous years.I crept up on a pod of good fish and cast to the lead fish. I could see this fly, and it drifted past the first fish, and a second fish came up on it. I raised up and hooked him. He ran sideways for a few feet, then with a deft roll threw the fly.

I targeted another fish that I had watched porpoise in place for awhile. It took five drifts, but I finally put it over him, and he came up and grabbed the Adams. As soon as he felt the hook he came straight up out of the water. I had to look up to see him, and I can see him still, hanging there in the evening light. When he came down with a big splash the fly had come out.

Things slowed down then. I was cold and tired and happy. I went back to the van to warm up. I stayed around, and got out a couple of times to walk the bank, hoping for one more riser. But the event was over.

And what an event. It's what you hope for, and what you feel privileged to have been a part of for one brief moment of magic on the Henry's Fork.