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.)

This shot (click here) at sunset of a rice paddy on a cliff overlooking the ocean was taken on the Noto Peninsula (能登半島）, which is located on the Sea of Japan in the prefecture of  Ishikawa-ken (石川県). Noto is one the most picturesque areas along the western seaboard, rich in variety of coastal and mountain scenery. Its history is also fascinating; for example, the kitamaebune (北前船) trading vessels made frequent use of ports such as Wajima (輪島) as they traveled between the Setonaikai (瀬戸内海) and Ezo (蝦夷), making the region a focus of not only commerce but also cultural exchange. Once of the most famous scenes in the region is the “senmaida” (千枚田) rice paddies. (Click here if you want to see a picture of ”senmaida” in my International University of Japan Japanese landscape photography gallery.)

The scene is in early May, which is suggested by the recently planted rice seedlings just breaking through the surface of the water. The silhouette on the far edge of to the paddy is what the harvested rice is hung on to dry in the fall. It is late in the day while driving between Wajima and Monzen (門前) — probably the best time to be driving along the west coast if you enjoy sunset and silhouette imagery, because scenes like this pop out at you endlessly. It is almost impossible to concentrate on the road; luckily the area is very remote so there is almost no traffic, and you can crawl along and take it all in.

If you roll your cursor over the image, you will see that I took this picture on my Hasselblad with an 80 mm lens. I was kind of rushing when I took this (to keep going and take in other scenery before the sun slipped behind the horizon), so I quickly set up the tripod on the edge of the paddy and hastily framed the shot looking through the finder. The way I focused, however, was not looking through the finder but by stopping the lens down to f22 and aligning the infinity mark on the focusing ring with the aperture mark. This way I could focus on the light and metering the scene properly. I use this focusing technique a lot with broad compositions and when pan-focus is appropriate.

You may be tempted to think I used a filter or played around with the colour after scanning. Not at all. The original slide looks exactly like this. Given the lighting conditions and the haze in the early evening sky, I knew that I could achieve a really saturated colour by under-exposing just a little (or, to look at it from a different point of view, by exposing for the highlights). I did this by spot metering with my hand-held meter on the surface of the rice paddy half-way between the left edge of the frame and where the sun is reflecting on the water. I double-checked my reading on several other areas of the paddy and the sky to make sure everything was within an acceptable range of brightness. If there had been less haze in the sky, there would have been more contrast between the really bright areas and the really dark areas of the scene, and I could not have achieved such even colour and detail. The conditions (for me) were perfect, actually.

It was difficult to leave this spot — it wasn’t just the beautiful view, it was also the croaking of the frogs in the rice paddy, the fresh breeze coming off the ocean and the total feeling of tranquility that made it such a special place. But other parts of the coast further south beckoned, so within 10 minutes the gear was back in the car and I was off again. This is the dilemma I face doing landscape photography in Japan — sometimes I just don’t get enough time to savor it all there on the spot — there is too much to see. Luckily, during this trip to Noto, I was camping on the shore with my brother visiting from Canada. We had several days to relax and take it all in. (It’s in Japanese, but check out this site for further scenes from Noto.)

As I mentioned in a previous post , the images I am showcasing on this site have a strong connection to themes and aspects of Japanese landscape which I have a particular passion and interest in.

First, I should mention that most of the photographs I have initially selected for the current four albums in my gallery are from an exhibition I held recently in Yokohama and Kobe. The great people at Patagonia made the exhibition possible — twenty three of my photographs were on display in two stores for most of June and early July.

The common underlying theme of all of these photos is that I took them while travelling along the ancient Japanese kaido (街道) roads in Shinshu　（信州）, Echigo （越後）, Echizen (越前) , and Echu (越中）.  (I would like to talk about the “kaido” in a later post — they are a fascinating way in which to understand better the Japanese topography, ethnology and history.

A few words about the technical aspects of the images.

These are all shot on slide film — mostly Fuji (Vevia 50 and 100, and Fortia, which appears to be available only in Japan); I sometimes use Kodak Ektachrome in winter. Generally, I do not shoot negative film, although I do have some black and white work I would like to post in the gallery at a later date.

The flip side of this as that none of the images here are digital, nor have they been digitally altered. I may need to tweak the saturation or contrast a little, but this is only to get the scans as close as possible to the orginal slides. I am against digitally altering photographs. I don’t see the point; I am trying to capture on film what moves me as I really see it with my own eyes, not create an idyllic memory of it. (More on this topic later, too…)

As a rule, I don’t use filters. The only exceptions are, depending on weather and lighting conditions, I may use a polarizer filter, a half neutral density filter, and/or if appropriate, a light-balancing filter to compensate for light-temperature related colour shift. I talk a little about my “filter philosophy” at this post. And anyways, filters get in the way of the brilliant optics of the Carl Zeiss lenses I use.

Unlike examples of my work you might find on-line elsewhere , which is mostly shot in 35 mm format, the focus of what I want to showcase here has been shot in medium format (6 x 6). The subject matter and style is subtley different, I think, than what I do in 35 mm format. I would like to talk about the interesting differences between 35mm and 6 x 6mm in a later post. For reference, I use a Hassleblad 503 cxi and three lenses: 50mm, 80mm and 180mm. I sometimes use a 2x teleconverter.

As you can see, there are four albums in the gallery, which you can move between by clicking on the little icon in the lower left hand corner (some people miss this). If you roll your cursor over the image, photo data will cascade down from the top of the image. I have not finished adding all the data, but will update as time permits.

I hope I have answered some of the questions you have been thinking about — most of the above is based on what people ask me. Feel free to submit any questions or comments you have!