This photo was taken in the prefecture of Nagano (長野） in early May, just after rice planting, near the tiny mountain village hotspring of Takazawa　（高沢）. I had just been driving through the Utsukushigahara (美ヶ原） highlands when I received an e-mail from the office that I had to sit in on an important telephone conference.  I had to quickly come down from around 2000 meters into the valley where my cellphone would pick up the signal. I was racing — while lamenting over the fact that I would miss watching the sunrise from Utsukushigahara as the call was scheduled for around that time.

To cut time I took a shortcut — an old mountain road that I had not been on since living in Ueda (上田) in the early ’90s. I had completely forgotten how isolated this area was, how much old-world scenery it still retained. I passed by several thatched-roof  ”kayabukiyane” （茅葺屋根 ) farmhouses, several idyllic  hamlets perched over the valley and many tiered rice paddies.

Racing along, I could not help but notice over my right shoulder the scene you see here with the flowers in the foreground and the lines of seedlings being lit from behind, a little to the side. It was perfect light that brought out the fresh bright green of the “nae” （苗）.

Risking to miss my important call I quickly pulled the car over and got to work setting up my tripod and Hasselblad. A farmer sitting off to the side looked on in amusement at this foreigner frantically grappling with all his gear.

I used a 180 lens, so the issue with this shot, given that I was shooting from an angle above the paddy, was the depth of filed — the area in focus both in front of and behind the focal point. I stopped down the lens to f32, and, using the old panorama focus technique (which you can’t do on the modern Digital camera lenses!!), aligned the infinity mark of the focusing ring to the f32 mark on the aperture ring, thus bringing everything within 7 meters and infinity in focus. Perfect.

Next, metering. As I was standing in the exact same light at the subject, and there were not any challenging conditions such as clouds or nasty reflections, I used incident metering, tilting the white sphere of the meter slightly toward me to simulate the angle the the sunlight was hitting the seedlings from behind. Just to be sure, I spot metered, but it turned out the incident metering was perfect. Actually, I use incident metering quite a lot in landscape photography if the lighting conditions of where I am standing and the subject are the same. Good sunny days are easy. On overcast days, a trick I learned from a Japanese photographer is to point the white semi-sphere to the sky and then increase the reading by a stop. That always works well for me.

I took 2 or 3 shots, the last on that roll and then hurriedly started to pack my gear so I could get going again and make my call.

And then it happened.

As I always do immediately after finishing a roll of film,　I began to take the roll out of the magazine so as to have ready for the next new roll.  However, in my half excitement (“Oh, this shot is going to turn out great!”), half-haste (“My boss is going to kill me!”), I neglected to roll the film forward completely on to the pick-up spool — and as I took the film out of the magazine, I realized that I had exposed the last few shots to the sunlight! The best ones!!!

I don’t remember if that farmer was still there, but he must have been doubly amused to see this foreigner, now, just minutes later, cussing streams of all obscenities imaginable to the valley winds.

Ahh, such is life.

No choice — I quickly loaded a new film an shot the whole roll (12) just to make sure.  Camera off  the mount, tripod folded (again, in excitement and haste, fingers pinched between the metal legs and more obscenities　– what was this farmer thinking?), in the car, in gear and — vroom — racing again to get into cell phone range.

Usually, photography is a more deliberative, meditative process for me. It makes no sense to me to hurry hurry hurry to “get the shot”. Photography for me is more about the process than the end result. But sometimes, when pressed for time but you just know the shot is a winner, you throw all that away and just go for it. I prefer the more leisurely pace, but I am glad I pulled over that day. Must have made that farmer’s day, too.

This scene (click here) was taken in late November in the foothills of the Japan Alps, also known as the Kita Alps (北アルプス, meaning “North Alps”) . The location is the village is Miasa (美麻) and it’s on the road between the city of Nagano (長野) and the village of Hakuba (白馬).

Some of you will recall that Nagano was the site of the 1998 Winter Olympics; events were spread out throughout the prefecture, with slalom and snowboarding in Shigakogen (志賀高原), curling in Karuizawa (軽井沢), cross-country in Nozawa spa (野沢), skating and hockey in Nagano city, and the major downhill events as well as biathlon and ski jumping in Hakuba. I was actually working for the organizing committee at that time, responsible for the men’s ice hockey event. (I think my assignment definitely had something to do with the fact I was Canadian).

Last year, I was driving in the early afternoon on the way to the Sea of Japan from Nagano to shoot some scenes along the coast — but as I got closer to Hakuba and caught a glimpse of the white mountains against the blue sky, my heart started to race and I decided to make a detour up into the hills behind Miasa. At this slightly higher elevation (around 300 metres above the main road) I could enjoy this gorgeous view.

The mountains in the background, Kajimayarigatake (鹿島槍ヶ岳) and Goryu (五竜) are just under 3000 metres, which is why they are capped in freshly white snow — the cold Siberian winds start to whip across the sea at this time of year bringing the white stuff down at that altitude. You can’t see the lower parts of the valley from this view, but there would still be patches of green here and there. This combination of white + autumn orange + green is referred to by the Japanese as “sandankoyo” (三段紅葉), meaning “three layers of autumn colours”. Landscape photographers across Japan flock to areas where these conditions often occur, such as Niigata, Nagano, Toyama and Fukushima.

What can I say — how do you NOT take a great picture with these conditions? It is all there in front of you! I guess the main points to think about are:
- metering (of course, as always)
- desired composition (which informs choice of lens)
- and, based on composition and choice of lens, depth of field issues

As far as metering goes, the main issue here is to make sure that the scene is properly exposed so as not to burn out the white (and thus the mountains’ texture) but at the same time not underexpose and thus lose the details of the darker areas of lower part of the frame. I spot-metered the snow with my trusty hand-held Sekonic to get a feeling what I had to start with, and then took various readings on the orange and sky. Actually, being autumn, with all the orange in the foreground and the strong, unobstructed light coming from the sun from about 10 o’clock just behind my left shoulder, the brightness was evenly balanced across the entire composition. It would have been tricky in summer, for example, if the foreground had been a dark green; then, without a neutral density filter, I probably would have lost more details in the darker areas.

By the way, some of you might wonder why I start with metering before composing the shot. Actually, this is always the way I do it. I think many photographers make the mistake of painstakingly trying to compose the frame before getting a good sense of the range of light intensity in scene. You need to first determine what elements are within an acceptable range  (usually 5 stops or so for slide film, or 7 for negative film — digital, from what I can seen is also around 7 but weaker in the darker ranges) before committing to including those elements in your picture. So before I even bother to look through the viewfinder, I usually spend a few minutes spot metering with the hend-held Sekonic just to get a sense of what is going to work exposure-wise. When I met Charlie Waite, the famous English landscape photographer whom I really admire and in whose work I find a lot of inspiration, who was in Japan several years ago, one of the best tips he gave me was that one has to “see” the picture in the mind before even thinking about depressing the shutter. I think that (“instant confirmation  / gratification” digital photography aside) this is what attaining the highest level of skill in photography is all about– being able to see and predict exactly how a scene will be rendered (on film) before even taking your camera out of the bag.

So with these balanced lighting conditions, I was pretty well free to compose as I wanted. The issue with composition in this case was not to get too excited by the beauty of the scene and overly anxious to cram everything in — or, on the other hand, to slap a telephoto on and just take a tight-cropped shot of the mountains against the sky. No, too mundane.

Too much or too little — always the same challenge.

I needed some kind of focal point. I just stood there for a few minutes with my hands in my pockets, looking around, taking in the fresh air and the sun. I eventually found it in the middle of the rice paddy just below the road: the wooden racks on which harvested rice is hung to dry. To frame that in the foreground somehow with the alps in the background, I had to go with the standard 80mm lens (remember, I am shooting in 6×6 medium format).

To ensure maximum depth of field (i.e. the range within focus from front to back), I focused on the rack and stopped right down to f22 (which gave me a shutter speed of 1/60, I recall). If I had focused on the background, the foreground would have definitely gone soft, even stopped down.

Just for reference, I did experiment with other focal length lenses. I composed a few shots with the wide angle 50mm, which allowed me to get in even closer to the rack and achieve an even wider depth of field – but then the alps became too small in the background. Moreover, I increased the distance between the rack and the camera and composed with a medium telephoto (180 mm) and could achieve a similar frame, BUT then it was not possible to bring both foreground and background into focus at the same time.

Well, that’s what ended up happening, anyways:　I shot a couple of rolls of film from different angles and different focal length combinations. The more I walked around and took in the scene, the more compositions and varying themes came into my view (eye and mind). It became a great photo study of the interplay between this distinct, uniquely Japanese man-made landscape ornament, and one of the most spectacular backdrops to be found anywhere in the country.

Needless to say, I never made it to the Sea of Japan that day. A couple of hours passed before I knew it, so, with the coast still a two-hour drive away and with no chance of making it in time for the sunset, I headed for a nearby, secluded mountain outdoor hotspring (露天風呂, “rotenburo”) and relaxed in the steaming water under the fading alpine dusk light.

(For more pictures of my photography in the mountains of central Japan, please check out my gallery in the excellent ski and other winter sports website Snow Japan.)