Our coastside backroads are a separate place in January and February. Light is dim. Ferns grow on the bare bigleaf maples, moss wraps the stripped alders and elders and buckeyes. Yellow and orange willows accent the understory. Dogwood reds fill the hillside spaces. “Coastal scrub,” it’s called. Or “rainforest” in the canyons. It’s all a most beautiful tangle.

For me, these days are best when skies are stormy and right on the edge of pouring rain. And without too much wind, please. I love the moody light and those (literally) saturated, but otherwise quiet, colors. And though it’s sometimes a juggling act, I can work for a bit with an umbrella during a shower. If the rain and wind get heavier, I need to pack it in and dive for the truck. That’s OK. I’ve got a vegee burrito and chips from the gas-station taqueria in Pescadero. I do this so often in these months that, though I feel invisible, they call out my order to me as I walk in the door. And those are the only folks I’ll see all day.

I run the wipers now and again to clear the windshield and check the view. Still drizzling. Today’s playlist: Live Dead; our once-local hero, Neil Young; Maya de Vitry; Hawktail; Sonny Rollins.

No news, no cell signal. Just my pals, the newts.

They love this drippy weather, even more than me. Their seasonal “migrations” from burrows to streams and ponds are triggered by heavy rain. They slowly, slowly, S-L-O-W-L-Y pad across the wet, narrow road. (This is for them a celebratory pace.) First there’s one dark newt shape, then I start seeing them everywhere. And I’m driving super-slow and constantly swerving left and right to avoid them. I stop for a chat or two. Good thing no one else is driving out here.

I roll down the window and play some snatches of Prokofiev’s 6th Symphony. The newts are unmoved. (Note to self: Next time try the haunting, newt-paced Largo of Dvorak’s New World Symphony. Marching music.)

I’ve done this circuit for decades. I’m either out of ideas or really faithful. My favorite trees are all old friends, and I have my same views and turnouts. They all slowly change, like me. For many years I shot with just my 4x5 or 8x10 view cameras and transparency film—which is a real bear to expose in the canyons. Exposure is MUCH easier with digital: double or more the dynamic range, and, if things stay still, even some exposure bracketing in a pinch. It’s dark in here, and the faint and filtered light all comes drifting down from up top… but the winter sun won’t even climb above the southern ridges. Blue is the theme of the day.

EXAMPLE: My image “Bigleaf Arch & Alders,” shown at top, was made one dark, drippy January day with my Arca-Swiss 4x5 FC and a 240mm Fujinon-A lens. I added an 81B filter for some slight warming. The exposure was 8 seconds @ f45 on Fuji Velvia 50 film. I needed the small aperture because that’s a longish lens and I was seeing “through” the arching maple to the alders and understory behind, and there’s no way here to pull much more focus with camera tilts—the top branches would go soft. So it’s just a matter of some good old-fashioned depth of field and a slow speed to match. Luckily, there was no wind.

These are the colors and textures of my coastal winter. It’s a newt’s world and weather. Moss and ferns engulf the woods and mute all sound, and the day is getting even darker. Time to head home.

But first I catch a quick, wayward glimpse of my own reflection in the dirty rearview mirror. Wait. Are those ferns growing out of my own ears?

By Scott Atkinson

A Parade of Newts

Valentines

Downsizing