Tag: photography

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A Week at the Dells

By Christian Begeman

Six evenings and a day. That’s the time I set aside in the month of May to search out and photograph springtime ornaments at one of my favorite places found within 20 miles of my home. Six evenings and a day… and I wish I could have gone more. The place? The Dells of the Big Sioux River just south of Dell Rapids. The reason? To search for pretty little things to photograph. Things like wildflowers and warblers. The terrain is unique with steep cliffs, natural stairs and stony perches that help to get to eye level with our feathered friends. And to be honest, that’s really how I first came to think of the Dells as more than just a neat place where the river had cut through 40 feet of Sioux quartzite, carving an impressive canyon in the middle of the eastern South Dakota prairie.

A couple years ago, I stumbled upon the warbler migration that travels through our state in May right there at the Dells. As I was sitting on a stony perch watching for Baltimore Orioles and Northern Cardinals, I noticed a variety of birds deftly catching winged insects in the trees at my feet and eye level. These birds were new to me. I took their portraits as best I could, and discovered later that I had seen birds with names like the Magnolia Warbler, Wilson’s Warbler and Palm Warbler. I was hooked on warblers after that. This year, I saw a Blackpoll Warbler on his way from South America to Canada at the Dells, as well as a Blue-headed Vireo.

Ruby-throated hummingbirds are residents at the Dells as well. Five out of my seven times, I spotted a handsome male perched on a high branch surveying his kingdom of blooming honeysuckle and other wildflowers. The first day, he flew very near me and began to fly vigorously in a tight”u” shape while making noises with his wings. Later, I read it was his way of impressing the ladies. Turns out, there must have been one hiding in the leaves and branches and I actually spotted her a couple days later and almost on cue, the male did his”u” dance in the air again.

There are also big birds that call the Dells home. On the full day that I spent there, about mid-afternoon a Great Horned Owl started hooting from the other side of the cliffs. It wasn’t long until it flew out and perched on a branch to see what the commotion was (me). I’m sorry if I woke him from an afternoon snooze, but I’m grateful he decided to let me snap a couple photos.

Birds aren’t the only attraction for photography at the Dells. The cliffs themselves are incredible, and full of unique plants like fragile prickly pear cactus. If you have a macro lens, you could spend hours photographing the close-up details. I know because I did. I also saw three different kayakers and canoers plying the waters below, and someday would like to join them to see the view from the river level.

Six evenings and a day in May at the Dells. Not a bad way to experience spring in southeast South Dakota. I wish I could have gone more.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Spring Awakening

By Christian Begeman

There is a light spring shower outside my window as I write this column. I left it open a crack so I could enjoy the wonderful smell of the rain. There are robins and grackles squabbling on the lawn and alfalfa field to the north. This morning I witnessed the return of the vibrant male barnswallow that has been using my backdoor light fixture for a nesting spot the last few years. My two favorite seasons in South Dakota are spring and fall. I like to think of them as the transition seasons. Spring signals the arrival of life and all its beauty, while fall means life is leaving with a final flourish. Both times of year call out to a wandering photographer. But now it is time to celebrate spring once again on the prairie. Here is a brief photographic journal of how the spring of 2016 has unfolded for me.

February 27

While driving the backroads of Moody County, I noticed the tell-tale ‘V’ formation of migrating snow geese. This is among the first harbingers of spring in eastern South Dakota.

March 5

So much for signs of spring, as a light snow dusted the farmlands west of Sioux Falls. Even though the high temp was in the upper 40s the following day, the snow remained for this portrait of very winter-like South Dakota sunset.

March 12

While travelling through Badlands National Park, I spotted a brilliant blue male Mountain Bluebird as well as a Western Meadowlark bursting with song on the northeast side of the park.

March 19

The temperatures were warmer than average in early March, which caused the state flower, the pasque, to bloom earlier than normal in many areas. Snow flurries on the 19th gave me an opportunity to photograph the tough little flower adorned with snow.

March 20

The official first day of spring was cloud free and relatively warm with plenty of sunshine. National Geographic‘s online photography community called Yourshot had a spring equinox assigment to find and photograph images that illustrated spring in your part of the country. In the afternoon, I found blooming snow trillium at Newton Hills State Park south of Canton, and in the evening I photographed beautiful patches of pasqueflowers along the hillsides next to Hanson Lake in Hanson County.

March 26

Winter had one final gasp as heavy snow fell in much of southeastern South Dakota. I spent a couple hours at the Sioux Falls Outdoor Campus looking for birds dealing with the weather. As I was about to leave I spotted a lone Cedar Waxwing foraging for any remaining berries from last autumn.

April 3

A very weak rain cloud hovered on the western skyline at sunset. The result was a brilliant sky as the setting sun painted the underside of the cloud in rural Lincoln County.

April 9

On my way to visit the near ghost town of Lily in Day County, I stopped at Horseshoe Lake to see various waterfowl bobbing on the waves. I was able to capture an interesting take-off of a pair of Lesser scaup ducks.

April 17

If anyone saw me in Union Grove State Park, they may have wondered why I was kneeling or lying along the roadside. I guess finding and photographing new spring blooms will do that to a photographer. The plum thickets were just starting to pop and I found Dutchman’s Breeches, wild white violets and a few beautiful White Trout Lilies that I’d never seen before. Although abundant in the states to the east, they are quite rare in South Dakota. They also go by such names as White Fawn Lily, White Dogtooth Violet and White Adder’s Tongue.

April 20

A second day of heavy rain in the Sioux Falls area found me trying to figure out a unique way to capture an image of the much needed April showers. Oddly enough, the answer was looking right at me through the windshield of my truck. I set up my tripod in the back seat, put the macro lens on and photographed raindrops on the glass with the lights of downtown Sioux Falls as a background.

April 22, early morning

The moon was full overnight, so I headed out to an abandoned farmhouse north of Silver Lake on the Hutchinson/Turner County line to capture the”Pink Moon” before it set. The Farmer’s Almanac says it is called the Pink Moon because of the herb moss pink, or wild ground phlox, which is one of the earliest widespread flowers of the spring. Other names include the Full Sprouting Grass Moon, the Egg Moon, and among coastal tribes the Full Fish Moon, because this was the time that shad swam upstream to spawn.

April 22, early evening

After work I decided to look for signs of the annual warbler migration at Newton Hills State Park. There wasn’t much activity and I thought I was too early. Then right as I was about to leave, I noticed a pair of orange-crowned warblers deftly working a wild plum thicket in search of ants. The smell of the blossoms and beauty of the birds tell me that spring is finally here to stay.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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When Magic Awaits

By Christian Begeman

The day didn’t start well. At midnight, the moment the day turned from Thursday to Friday, March 11, the alarm in my hotel room at Oacoma went off. I’m not sure if it was accidently reset or the previous occupant thought it would be a good joke on the next guy, but needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled about it. I was planning on getting up early. Just not that early.

About 3:30 a.m., I was up again and out the door. My plan was to photograph the Milky Way with a little country church I knew about near Lower Brule. Bleary eyed and short of sleep, I arrived at the church to find that a new structure had been built right where I had planned to point the camera. Plus, there was a home about a quarter mile away with a barking dog that I had awakened. Hoping to not wake the residents, I headed farther down the road to another little chapel I knew of on the way to Fort Pierre. So far, I was 0 for 2 on the day.

Thankfully things changed when I got to Divine Infant Mission Church just off Highway 1806. It was still dark enough to photograph the Milky Way and high wispy clouds began to move in to diffuse the brighter starlight just enough to make them appear larger than actual size on the long exposures. At the first hint of light, I heard the coyotes sing their morning song to each other. The clouds grew thicker so I decided to head into the Fort Pierre National Grasslands to find something to shoot against the predawn sky.

What happened next was one of those magical South Dakota moments. As the dawn light began to paint the incoming clouds on the eastern horizon, I could hear pheasants cackle, prairie chickens boom, ducks quack and an owl call. The morning was alive all around me. At one point I looked behind me and saw a great horned owl calmly at looking me from just 30 yards away. Turns out, the barn I was using as foreground in my photos was also his home.

Farther down the road was an old, one-room schoolhouse. I stopped there to photograph the brighter colors of sunrise. It was one of those mornings when the whole sky seemed alive with a different shade of color.

The rest of the morning I hunted for country churches in western South Dakota for my Prairie Sanctuaries project. The sky was a beautiful, crisp blue with plenty of high, white clouds — perfect for black and white photography. I found a very interesting set of abandoned one-room school houses along the Wicksville road in southern Meade County that caught my eye. I can’t remember ever seeing two sitting that close together before.

Later in the day, I made my way to the Reva Gap campgrounds at Slim Buttes. I had heard from a friend that the pasqueflowers were out early this year due to the warm weather. I was able to find a handful above ground, but none had bloomed yet. Even so, the hearty little flowers are fun to find and photograph.

As the day waned, I drove to Zeona in southwestern Perkins County to visit a church I had not photographed yet. I was hoping for a signature South Dakota sunset. Things weren’t looking promising; the western sky had clouded up significantly. But then there was a break on the horizon and the sunlight started to shine through. Just as I pulled up to the church the sky turned pink, yellow and orange. It was a thrilling way to end the day. And to think, I always say that March is the hardest month of the year to take pretty pictures in South Dakota. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Into the Badlands

By Mike Heintz

Editor’s Note: The March/April 2016 issue of South Dakota Magazine features a story on an old World War II era bombing range in a portion of the Badlands. Mike Heintz, a South Dakota native now living in southern California, photographed the area in October of 2000. This is the story of his journey.

Heading out of Rapid City into the Badlands on Highway 44 can put you into another dimension. It starts when you drop down into the Cheyenne River Valley with its great stands of old cottonwoods. You might be lucky enough to catch them after the first frost when the leaves have turned. The wind won’t let them stay for long. From there, you approach the Badlands, a maze of eroded cliffs and spires carved in prehistoric times. They are aptly named for their inhospitable reality, stark beauty and threatening nature. Little has changed since the beginning. These canyons have produced a colorful and foreboding history.

Dozens of old cars litter a remote portion of the Badlands that was once used as a bombing range during World War II.

Just before I entered the park I drove through the little town of Scenic. The Longhorn Bar survived there from 1906 until just a few years ago. It may well have been the most infamous bar in South Dakota. I can’t imagine the characters that sat on those bar stools made from iron tractor seats bolted to the angle iron. The bullet holes in the walls are real. Now, the skulls hung over the porch roof are melting away and falling off the board rack to which they were tied. A piece of plywood is nailed over the front door, which has become a place to note your feelings. The old sign reads:

Long Horn Saloon

1906 Scenic So Dak 1906

Whiskey Beer Wine Soda

Tobacco Lunch Dancing

Indians Allowed Lakota Iyos Nina Upo

You can sense the Pine Ridge. It lies across the White River just south of town. It’s a huge piece of land as large as the state of Connecticut. Much of it looks as it did 200 years ago, and much has happened there since. It was created as a place to contain some of the last of the warrior tribes. This can be a lonesome road because it’s little used except by the people who live out there, or by the occasional traveler wanting to see the wilder side of South Dakota. The highway gets bumpy as it crosses into the Badlands. It’s the gumbo soil on which the road is built. It’s always changing. I passed a big prairie dog town. There has been a real effort to kill them off, but with only limited success. Most drivers in that country are on a point A to B mission. Everything in between is wasted time. To me it’s a movie that’s different every time I drive it. The landscape changes with the seasons and light.

Another 20 miles and you come to the town on Interior. A survivor of its own history, these little towns next to the rez have always been a result of the collision of culture. It’s a rough and tumble place that still buys groceries at the old Badlands Store and socializes at either the Horseshoe or Wagon Wheel Bar. They have both seen wild times. The owner of the Wagon Wheel had a pet bull named Radar that he kept out back. Many a patron found out the hard way that old Radar wasn’t an easy ride. There is a gas pump across the street in a vacant lot. You can pay for gas at the bar — a good thing to know if you’re caught on Highway 44 after dark. It’s probably the only place to get gas between Kadoka and Rapid City.

It was there that my mother and I met Ansel Woodenknife at his cafe. We were the only visitors, and as usual I struck up a conversation while trying some of his special fry bread. He mixes and packages it behind the cafe. The ingredients are based on his grandmother’s recipe. He markets Woodenknife Fry Bread Mix all around the country.

Old car bodies were arranged in a circle with a cross through the middle as targets for B-17 pilots and machine gunners from the nearby Rapid City Army Air Base.

I have been finding and photographing old abandoned vehicles all over the West for many years. I’ve felt compelled to do so out of a sense of art and history, and to do it before it’s too late. When I told Ansel about my project, he said,”I know where there are some old cars.” He said that in 1942 the then Army Air Corps seized a big piece of the Pine Ridge and turned it into a bombing range. Much of the property was confiscated and the people living there were forced to leave.

Sometime around then, many old cars were gathered and hauled out to several remote places. They were arranged in the shape of a circle with a line crossing itself in the center — a giant bull’s eye to be practice bombed. Mostly the pilots used dummy bombs filed with sand. As Ansel told the story my imagination grew.”Yes,” he said.”Those cars are still there.” We agreed that maybe someday we could go out there and find them.

The years passed by, and almost every fall when I came home from Southern California, I’d ask him about the cars. Finally, after about seven years, he said,”Let’s go tomorrow.” I met him that morning and we headed west with our pickups to get into the rez. We had to ford the White River, aptly named for the sediment it carries out of the Badlands. We drove down a little dirt road to the riverbank and he said,”Water’s too deep.” We’d have to try another time.

Three more years passed and I was visiting a friend near Silver City. I called Ansel and he said,”I’ll meet you at the station in the morning.” He had his friend Leroy with him, a very gentle older Indian who helped Ansel around the place. I first met Leroy on an earlier visit when he was loading boxes of fry bread mix into Ansel’s truck.

Most of the cars are pre-World War II models, though some have been identified as late 1940s.

I hadn’t even had a chance to get coffee before I raced out of the Hills and across the Badlands to Interior. By that time I was getting hungry and had no idea when I might get something to eat. The Badlands Standard had two gas pumps and sold a little bit of everything. We gassed up, I got my coffee and had a cheese sandwich that was frozen solid as a rock. Then we headed off to the White River.

This time he thought we could get across. I was apprehensive. The river was wide and so cloudy you couldn’t see the bottom. I watched them go first. The water was up to the bumper. I let them get clear across before I drove in. No way was I going to lose my truck”Butch” to that white water.

We set out across the raw prairie, occasionally coming to a fence that we had to follow until we found a gate. We climbed into the back of Ansel’s truck and Leroy pointed south to a distant set of hills.”See that pine tree on that hill way over there? The second hill to the right is where I saw the planes fly over when I was a kid,” he said. We headed that way. The grass was grazed down close to the ground, so we left no track. There aren’t many roads across that land and we weren’t even close to one. We drove a long way and never even saw a cow.

Then, as we crested a little hill, there they were. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I wasn’t quite prepared for what I saw. There must have been 50 or 60 cars out there, mostly in a circle about 40 feet apart. They were rusty brown with the burnt gold grass up to their hips. They were mostly of a 1930s vintage with a couple of ’40s. Some had roofs caved in, but most of them were intact. The engines were gone, so they were just shells.

Both Native and non-Native farmers were moved off their land to make way for the bombing range.

After all these years I was finally there. After a bit, Ansel said,”We’re going to go now.” It had never occurred to me that they were going to leave me out there on my own. Could I even find my way back out? Soon the boys were gone, and I was left alone in that haunted cemetery of old cars. The grass was tall and leaning over in the wind. The cars creaked and the loneliness of that place settled into my bones. It reminded me of a little graveyard.

Shooting with film is becoming a lost art. All of my work has been on Kodachrome and most of it with a hand held camera. I like my old Nikon because it’s heavy and you can hold it still. You have to wait for a moment when the wind dies down and hold your breath for each shot. A couple of hours of that can be exhausting. I knew that I was a rare visitor, and that carried a responsibility to do my best. Sometimes you know that you were chosen for a moment in time, and I think that’s what happened on that day. Some of the cars had”OST” spray-painted on them in orange. Ansel told me that meant”Oglala Sioux Tribe.”

The days grow short in late October and I knew it would soon be time to go. I didn’t know how long it would take to find my way back. I think we had come about 14 miles, and things look different when you are going the other direction. I had to find the same spot to cross the river, maybe spend the night in the truck and continue the next day. I was lucky and got back across before dark. By that time the frozen sandwich seemed like a long time ago. I stopped at the only cafe (the Woodenknife had long since closed). The girl was curious about what I was doing out there. When I told her she said,”Oh, you’re the one. Ansel called my husband this morning and asked if he knew where those cars were?”

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Fire and Ice

By Christian Begeman

It hasn’t exactly been a long, cold winter, but for a photographer who likes summer thunderstorms and night skies filled with the Milky Way and the call of nighthawks, it has been at least been a long winter. The short days are finally lengthening again, and it seems that spring is making an early push. I’m not complaining, but there is one thing about winter that I tend to miss during the high heat of summer. Sunsets come early in the evening, and the warm, fiery colors in the southwest sky contrasted with the cold, blue-toned snow and ice is one of the visually exquisite gifts of winter.

I haven’t been able to get out and shoot as much as I’d like this winter, but because the sunsets tend to happen around”quitting time,” I do occasionally chase a sunset if the mood strikes and the sky looks promising. The first few photos of this collection show the evolving colors of a sunset on a January evening in Sioux Falls.

The last few photos happened just last week as one of the most spectacular and unexpected sunset skies blazed for a few minutes over Sioux Falls. Earlier in the afternoon, the clouds looked promising for a colorful sunset. However by the time I broke free of my daily duties at around 5:45 p.m., it looked as if the sky would totally cloud over. There was still a slim opening to the sky in the southwest, so I took a chance. I gathered my gear and headed to Falls Park. As I was driving there, the sky began to bloom with color and I realized it was going to be good. But that’s when the stoplights and traffic on Cliff Avenue slowed to an agonizing crawl. I was sure that I waited too long, and now the busy Sioux Falls traffic was going to keep me from capturing anything worthwhile.

When I arrived on the east side of the park the parking lot was full. I grumbled under my breath, realizing I would have to park as far away as possible from the spot where I wanted to set up. Meanwhile the sky was turning more beautiful by the second. Once the engine was off, I grabbed my camera bag and tripod and began to half run, half slip and slide my way down the sidewalks to the overlook. Like an unknown Marvel superhero, my hands were a blur as I ripped open the bag and assembled the camera to the lens and then to the tripod. Snap! I got the first photo. Whew! Relief and joy descended down my spine, and the tension of possibly missing the shot began to melt. The sky turned orange, and then pink and purple. I shot video clips and multiple bracket shots of the falls, and it was all glorious.

The recent warm weather had caused the ice on the lower part of the falls to disappear, yet there was ice cover over the top. The resulting view and relatively warm weather (for February) along with the fiery colors in the sky really made the scene before me look like spring was breaking through Old Man Winter’s grip right before my eyes. Maybe a beginning of the end of another long, cold winter in South Dakota? I hope so.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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In Search of Frost

By Christian Begeman

Frost is a beautifully peculiar thing. The first frost of autumn often comes too early, when green tomatoes still dangle from the vines. The first hard frost on my windshield is an annoying reminder that winter is coming (along with morning scraping). In literature and poetry, frost is often equated with something mischievous (Jack Frost) or with death. Frost is also an enemy of our power companies. When accompanied by a strong wind, heavy frost can wreak havoc with power lines and power poles. And yet, I still like the phenomenon that is frost. I can’t help it. What other weather event can transform a mundane scene to a dramatic vista straight out of a fantasy novel or movie?

Frost is not particularly easy to photograph. First, the conditions have to be just right for frost to cover the landscape. There are two kinds of frost that typically do the trick. White frost forms when there is a relative humidity above 90 percent and a temperature below 18 degrees Fahrenheit (like the foggy nights in early winter we’ve experienced this year). It grows against the wind direction, since air arriving from windward has a higher humidity than leeward air. Hoar frost forms on cold, clear nights when heat radiates out to the open sky faster than it can be replaced from nearby sources, such as wind or warm objects. The name “hoar” comes from an Old English adjective meaning,”showing signs of old age,” so think of the frost as adding white hair to objects.

Since frost is white and your camera’s metering is basically trying to find the correct exposure for medium gray (not too bright or not too dark), photos of frost are often underexposed. In other words, your camera wants to make sure nothing is overexposed in the image, so it tells you to expose white frost closer to gray than white. Because of this I try to shoot around one full stop brighter than my camera’s meter suggests when shooting frost or snow.

Finally, frosty weather means it is likely very cold outside. Winter temperatures are often accompanied by bone-chilling north winds, and that means frost usually does not stick around very long. I like to shoot frost against a clear blue winter sky, but oftentimes have to settle for fog and mist because once the sky clears, Jack Frost has been chased away by winter’s winds. Fog and mist can, however, add another mystical element to your winter photos, so all is not lost. I like to find an element of color to use in frost photos if possible. Including a red barn, for example, can add a much-needed punch of color to an otherwise coldly beautiful scene. That’s the thing about winter in our great state — as dangerous and deadly as it can be, it can also be beautiful. There is probably some life lesson in there somewhere. If I were a smarter man, I might be able to work it out, but for now, I’ll just take my camera out into the elements and enjoy the beauty.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Halverson’s Skies

By John Andrews

Randy Halverson’s fields are his livelihood and his passion. By day he farms 1,300 acres of corn, wheat and milo in Lyman County. But when the sun sets, Halverson swaps his tractor for an arsenal of Canons and high tech gadgetry that produce stunning photos and videos of South Dakota’s night sky.

Halverson got his first camera as a teenager, and experimented with shooting passing storms and the solar system. He spent time as a storm chaser during the 1990s, photographing and licensing his images of thunderstorms and tornadoes. Then he discovered time-lapse photography.”I knew that out here there wasn’t much light pollution, so I thought it would work pretty well as long as the skies were clear,” he says.”I already had the cameras, so I thought I’d try it.”

In a time-lapse video, images are captured slowly. For example, a flower might take two hours to open, but you can watch the entire process in 15 seconds. Since Halverson works mostly at night, he incorporates long exposure photography into his time-lapse videos. A single image is exposed for 20 to 30 seconds, with two or three seconds between each exposure. To add motion, Halverson uses a dolly that slides the camera a quarter to half an inch between exposures. A typical night of shooting lasts three or four hours, leaving Halverson with up to 400 photographs to edit. And the fruits of one evening’s labor? About 10 seconds of a time-lapse video.

People began noticing Halverson’s work when he produced Sub Zero, a 2-minute, 43-second winter time-lapse video shot near his Kennebec farm during a brutal February cold snap. Wind chills plunged to 25 below zero, and Halverson had to regularly place his cameras and computer equipment in coolers filled with hand warmers to keep frost at bay and the electronics functioning. The starry sky, low wispy clouds racing across the horizon and frozen landscape, illuminated by the bright white light of a full moon, created an eerie scene.

Halverson’s time-lapse videos of the night sky became Internet sensations, appearing on wired.com because of their advanced technology and nationalgeographic.com for their natural beauty. At times, the attention nearly overwhelms the soft-spoken farmer.”I thought people might like it, but I didn’t think it would get as much attention as it has,” he says.”A lot of people are interested in time-lapse now, especially if you’re using dollies, where you can get the camera moving. A lot of people haven’t seen that before.”

The Milky Way has always been Halverson’s favorite subject. Most of the videos on his website show the galaxy as it skirts across the night sky between twisted corn stalks and above abandoned prairie homes. His 3-minute, 39-second Tempest Milky Way won Best Overall and Audience Choice at New Mexico’s 2011 Chronos Film Festival, a gathering of time-lapse, slow motion and stop motion photographers.

“I love the way the Milky Way looks,” he says,”but you don’t really get to see it this way with the naked eye.” Few South Dakotans have observed the night sky quite like Halverson. But as long as he roams his fields, camera in hand, more people will glimpse the heavens from a perspective seldom seen.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the January/February 2012 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Making Memories

By Christian Begeman

On my way to Selby to watch my nephews play in the high school football playoffs earlier this month, I took a side trip to Swan Creek Recreation Area on the mighty Oahe. That’s what my Uncle Jack used to call it –“The Mighty Oahe.” The last time I was at Swan Creek I was with him, and the water was so low it was one of the few places you could get a boat in on the northern part of the lake. As usual, we didn’t catch a lot of fish that day, but we enjoyed being on the water. Jack loved that lake, or more specifically, he loved catching walleye out of its waters. We didn’t get to go as often as he would have liked, but we did go enough to create many memories of fighting 5-foot swells, tangled lines and snags that seemed to take hours to undo. Every once in a while we’d catch a walleye or two to make it all worthwhile.

In late November of 2011, Uncle Jack passed away. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving. In hindsight, that could be why I took the 8-mile drive west of Akaska to see Swan Creek and the Oahe again. With normal water levels I hardly recognized it. I sat on the lake’s edge and watched a few anglers come into the dock while the sun set behind gathering clouds to the southwest. The slight wind was fresh and clean. I snapped a few photos and then drove on to the game.

November has a way of making me pause and think about those, like my uncle, who have been important in my life. Uncle Jack made his living as an artist. In my college years, I’d come home for the summers to help Dad farm, and it didn’t take long to get the call from town that Jack wanted to get together. When we didn’t go fishing, we’d often go into the Dewey and Ziebach County countrysides to scout scenes for his next painting. He had a nice camera and would often ask me to take photos of things that I normally wouldn’t think twice about — the play of light on the shoulders of a butte, or the deep shadows tucked into the folds of the creeks and waterways. It seems he also had an uncle who inspired him when he was young. I remember him saying a time or two after a particularly beautiful sunset that Uncle Orly painted that one for us in heaven.

Now that I’m older and Dad is retired, we’re the ones taking drives into the countryside when I go home to Isabel. Over the years, I’ve been able to capture some scenes that I think would have inspired Uncle Jack’s paintings. So in honor of him, I wanted to show a few of these images that remind me of him and our times together. Whether it’s the subject, like horses galloping across the prairie, or a classic South Dakota sunset, or various views of the Mighty Oahe, I think Uncle Jack would enjoy these photos, and that makes me feel good. May your Thanksgiving be filled with keeping and creating memories that your family members can cherish for many Novembers to come.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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The Spooky Side

By Christian Begeman

I’ve spent a lot of time alone wandering the back roads of South Dakota. Like many photographers, I’ve been attracted to ghost towns and abandoned structures. I’ve also spent hours in church yards next to tombstones, shooting the stars as they wheel around church steeples. There are times when I have to truly focus on what I’m doing and not let my imagination wander. If I don’t, random ghost stories float like faint apparations into my mind. And I’ve heard some good ones.

Over the last few years, I’ve been truly terrified a total of three times while shooting photos. Each instance was more about unexpected situations than anything unexplained, but as any good horror film director knows, the unexpected is what frightens the best. In my case, the unexpected was South Dakota’s wildlife.

I unknowingly stepped on a slumbering hen pheasant in tall grass along the Grand River one foggy spring morning. I don’t know whose noise was worse, the pheasant’s or mine. Later that summer, I was walking the hills above Lake Hiddenwood when I nearly stepped on a white-tail fawn hidden in the grass. When it jumped up and bounded away, I admit to letting out a sound that resembled more of a squeal than a warrior’s battle cry. The last instance happened while shooting an abandoned church in Mellette County. I walked up to the steps, slowly scanning all around for anything that might jump out. I didn’t see anything until my first step up the concrete steps. One of the largest rattlesnakes I’d seen in some time buzzed as loud as I’ve ever heard, and my heart was instantly in my throat as I fell back hollering in fear and surprise.

Because of these experiences, I’ve learned to make plenty of noise while approaching structures or places that could hide wildlife. In September, this tactic actually worked. I was stomping and talking out loud to myself while approaching an abandoned building when I started to hear scratching inside. I froze. The last thing I wanted was a rabid skunk or something worse coming out. Strangely, the scratching ascended the inside walls and soon a ghostly face was staring at me through the broken window. I had awoken three barn owls, and two them were climbing the walls to see what all the ruckus was about. I went to get my long lens from my vehicle, and the climbing owls took the opportunity to vacate the building.

It was my first time seeing barn owls. These guys are spooky. They hiss and scratch and have a very odd defensive response that I witnessed when I came back with my telephoto lens. The big female had remained inside. It bowed in my direction with its wings out, as if opening a cape, and then slowly shook its head back and forth. Then she slowly raised her head again, gave me a long look and then started bowing again. It was one of the strangest and creepiest things I’ve ever seen a wild animal do. I later read that Native Americans called them ghost owls, and I can understand why.

One doesn’t have to seek out owls to shoot photographs that fit the Halloween season. South Dakota has many abandoned structures across the countryside. I wouldn’t enter any without first getting the landowner’s permission. Shooting from the road is often all you need to capture the lonesome buildings against an expansive sky.

Capturing photos of uncommon weather phenonoma like fog or even the northern lights can also evoke strange and beautiful images. The moon in its various phases is another good subject. I like to shoot it framed with things like gnarled tree branches if possible. Another trick is to shoot in the early evening while there are still blue skies. Then, using the black and white filters in your editing software, you can turn that blue to black for a more stark rendering.

Whether you are shooting the moon, seeking owls or simply keeping your little ones safe as they empty the neighbor’s candy buckets, here’s to a safe and fun Halloween. And if you want a creepy, true Halloween story, read this from Mike Crowley’s blog about Thunder Butte. I have to stop myself from thinking about it when I’m out and alone in the South Dakota night.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls. When he’s not working at Midcontinent Communications he is often on the road photographing South Dakota’s prettiest spots. Follow Begeman on his blog.

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Searching For Color

When leaves change color, our state photographers take to the highway. We figure they are our unofficial fall foliage experts, and so we asked six photographers from around the state to tell us where they head when the leaves change. The chosen drives are unexpected foliage destinations from the buttes of Harding County to the Missouri River breaks in Charles Mix County.

“There’s roadside beauty across the entire state, from the Black Hills to Sica Hollow to the Missouri River breaks, or wherever deciduous trees congregate,” says photographer Greg Latza. “But since open prairie is my favorite subject, it stands to reason that I find my favorite foliage drives there, too.”

Autumn’s brilliant colors are treasured because of their impermanence. Some years the foliage lasts only a couple of days. Others, a couple of weeks. So don’t waste time. Choose a route from this guide, grab a map and see what the day has to offer.

Chad Coppess

Vistas Along the Missouri

A six-mile stretch of Highway 44 west of the Platte-Winner Bridge over the Missouri River provides a variety of autumn colors and big vistas. Several scenic overlooks and wide shoulders on the highway make it convenient and safe for photographers to stop and get good shots of the valleys that form the Missouri River breaks.

Cottonwoods, sumacs and cedars create a colorful tapestry cascading into the river valley. The rolling hills filled with yellows, oranges and light greens remind me of Great Smoky Mountain National Park in Tennessee, but much more compact and a lot less crowded. If a photographer is lucky, wildlife can be spotted amongst the leaves as well. Deer, turkeys, vultures and more make their home here.

Chad Coppess is the senior photographer for the S.D. Department of Tourism. He lives in Pierre with his wife, Lisa.

Greg Latza

Prairie Pigmentation

One of my favorite drives is Highway 79 between its intersections with Highways 20 and 34. While most people are heading into the Black Hills for their colorful photos, I am usually heading in the opposite direction.

Starting from the south, the prairie colors can be framed with the Black Hills or Bear Butte as a distant background element (this photo shows Bear Butte), and the contours stay lively as you pass over at least five waterways on your way toward Slim Buttes. Then these famous buttes become the backdrop, making a nice variety of potential subjects and geological formations within a beautiful 100-mile prairie drive.

If you’re in the Black Hills with a camera and some time to kill, I couldn’t think of a finer way to spend a late September morning than heading north on this route, turning west on 20 and coming back south on Highway 85, which offers similar topography on its way back to the Hills.

Greg Latza lives in Sioux Falls with his wife, Jodi. They have three children.

Johnny Sundby

Follow Nemo to Boondocks

The Black Hills are sometimes a tough place for a photographer to find fall color because we’re lacking deciduous trees except for a few groves of aspens with some birch. There are a few oaks here and there, but for the most part there isn’t a lot of color compared to other parts of the country. One of the best drives is Nemo Road from Rapid City to Boondocks restaurant (just south of Deadwood). The road follows Box Elder Creek, and besides finding some great watering holes and beautiful stretches of river, Nemo Road is full of cliffs, old barns, broken down cabins and even an old water wheel within a stone’s throw of the road.

Johnny and his wife, Stephanie, live in Rapid City with their two children.

Lisa Duncan

Rapid Creek: A Complete Spectrum of Fall Color

While most folks in the Black Hills head to Spearfish Canyon each Fall, I head toward Rimrock Highway (also known as Highway 44 West). As a temporary resident of Minnesota in the’80s, I grew fond of the oak trees in autumn for their red and orange colors. After returning to the Black Hills in’91, I was always searching for those vibrant colors. I only needed to go as far as Rapid Creek. With the brilliant sumacs I found reds and oranges, and combined with the peach colors of the birch and golden yellow of the Aspen trees, my spectrum of colors was complete.

Lisa Duncan’s love for photography grew from countless trips spent in the family station wagon gazing out the windows at the hills and plains of South Dakota. She lives outside of Rapid City.

Christian Begeman

Seldom Traveled Roads

Last fall I was in Mitchell for work and we got done early, so I began to explore the James River on backroads north of town and up to Forestburg. It was a beautiful fall day and I had several hours of daylight left. I lived in Mitchell for 10 years and never really took time to explore the fall colors, even though I was often impressed by the number of trees along the James. I finally took time to do it and was rewarded with fine fall foliage views.

Christian Begeman grew up in Isabel and now lives in Sioux Falls.

Bernie Hunhoff

Badlands: Far From The Forests

Proximity to a forest would seem a prerequisite to a great fall foliage drive, but trees play second fiddle to the grasslands and sandstone buttes of South Dakota’s Badlands. Autumn’s subtle allure can be enjoyed throughout Shannon and eastern Pennington counties, but I especially recommend exploring between Highways 44 and 18. Take Hwy 33 south of Scenic past Sheep Mountain Table and descend into the White River valley, where cottonwoods, cedars and pines create a medley of color among the little bluestem and buffalograss. The foliage and few trees blend delicately with the ancient pinnacles and sand temples, especially near the milky waters of the White River, once called the Smoky Earth River by the Lakota.

Bernie Hunhoff is the editor-at-large and former publisher of South Dakota Magazine. He lives along the Missouri River in Yankton with his wife, Myrna.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2012 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.