Where are you Hiding?

My first task was finding my tiny subject. Given this was a maiden voyage to their territory, (a side trip to Bocas del Toros while in Panama photographing hummingbirds) I was not exactly sure what to look for.  I walked the same forest path, back and forth, without so much as a single click of the shutter. The first encounter was thanks to a naturalist that I was fortunate enough to go hiking with. He pointed out a tiny red fleck on the low branch of a tree. I had not expected them to be so tiny and bright! After this gleeful introduction, I began retracing my steps in the jungle and, suddenly, my eyes had no problem spotting several little gems.

Vegetation Jewels

Poison dart frogs do like to hang out in the leaf litter. The trick to discovering them was to keep an eye on the vegetation just below my knee and slightly off the path. Their vibrant colour is a beacon in the bush! They are very tiny beings! Imagine something the size of a regular strength Tylenol, but with itsy-bitsy, silvery-blue speckled legs. The biggest challenge was getting myself close enough. Staying dry and clean was out of the question–but that’s part of the fun! Balance is key when photographing something so small with a macro lens, in my case the Canon 100 f2.8 IS L.

When you are up close and absorbed in making an interesting image, it is very possible to falter and reach out to steady yourself. I am prone ot tipping over in these situations. This is not a good idea in the rainforest! You have no idea what might be hiding at the bottom of the grass that is clinging to your calves. Or, what might be fast asleep on the slippery moss of the tree trunk you grab onto.

Red for Toxic!

Not to mention, be careful not to touch these little guys. The skin of a poison dart frog is toxic. Interestingly, this toxicity is not present in frogs born in captivity, leading scientists to believe the toxins form from the diet they consume in the wild. Which is where they belong. These frogs certainly put me through my paces. I tried to keep up as they squeezed between entwined vines, slipped under decaying leaves or hid on the underside of wide grass blades. It requires some elaborate body contortions to get your camera into a position low enough for a capture. With these contortions, there was no relying on tripods or monopods for stability. The pre-storm skies created further challenges with light, already in short supply under the rainforest canopy. I was pushing the ISO to 6400 and using a shallow DOF, making shooting conditions less than optimal for this subject matter.

Still, I had an absolute blast mucking about and talking quietly to coax one of these little ruby-red jewels to look me in the eyes!

The post Photographing the Strawberry Poison Dart Frog appeared first on NJ Wight.

There is something very special about the hummingbird. These small, flying jewels are unlike any other birds. Like dancing light, they are delightful to watch yet maddeningly difficult to photograph! Pablo Neruda, the 1971 Nobel Prize winner for Literature, beautifully captures these tiny birds in his poem, Ode to Hummingbird.
 

Ode to Hummingbird by Pablo Neruda

The hummingbird
in flight
is a water-spark,
an incandescent drip
of American
fire,
the jungle’s
flaming resume,
a heavenly,
precise
rainbow:
the hummingbird is
an arc,
a golden
thread,
a green
bonfire!

Oh
tiny
living
lightning,
when
you hover
in the air,
you are
a body of pollen,
a feather
or hot coal,
I ask you:
What is your substance?
Perhaps during the blind age
of the Deluge,
within fertility’s
mud,
when the rose
crystallized
in an anthracite fist,
and metals matriculated
each one in
a secret gallery
perhaps then
from a wounded reptile
some fragment rolled,
a golden atom,
the last cosmic scale,
a drop of terrestrial fire
took flight,
suspending your splendor,
your iridescent,
swift sapphire.

You doze
on a nut,
fit into a diminutive blossom;
you are an arrow,
a pattern,
a coat-of-arms,
honey’s vibrato, pollen’s ray;
you are so stouthearted–
the falcon
with his black plumage
does not daunt you:
you pirouette,
a light within the light,
air within the air.
Wrapped in your wings,
you penetrate the sheath
of a quivering flower,
not fearing
that her nuptial honey
may take off your head!

From scarlet to dusty gold,
to yellow flames,
to the rare
ashen emerald,
to the orange and black velvet
of our girdle gilded by sunflowers,
to the sketch
like
amber thorns,
your Epiphany,
little supreme being,
you are a miracle,
shimmering
from torrid California
to Patagonia’s whistling,
bitter wind.
You are a sun-seed,
plumed
fire,
a miniature
flag
in flight,
a petal of silenced nations,
a syllable
of buried blood,
a feather
of an ancient heart,
submerged

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