Blogging on photojournalism, video, television news, technology, and other media issues.


Working it! One shot at a time. That's what I do. Having had a camera up to my eyes since I was 14 has made me who I am today. I've met so many people, traveled to so many places, and lived my life through various focal lengths of glass. In fact, I can't think of too many things I've done without a photographic reference coming to mind. The World Trade Centers, 1973: My first camera, a Minolta Hi-Matic, Tri-X film. Israel, 1980: Nikon F2, 105mm and 35mm, Kodachrome. The New York Stock Exchange, 1986: Nikon FM2, 300mm f 2.8 and 24mm, Fujichrome. The birth of my twin boys, 1995: Minolta CLE, Nikon FE2, Canon Sure-shot, Fujicolor. Montana, Fishing on the Yellowstone River, 2010: Canon Rebel XTi, 28mm-135mm, 10 megapixels. Occupy Wall Street, NYC, 2011: Sony PDW-510, XDCAM, Fujinon 20X lens.


If you've lived your life through photography, film, or video, then we have something in common. Or, if you're new to this passion of creating images and telling stories visually, I'd love to hear about your discoveries and your reactions to mine. It's a great time to have a camera to your eye. We're living through this fast-paced, digital revolution together. So much change, but the bottom line is still the same: Working it. From one moment to the next. One shot, one exposure at a time. Visually we communicate ideas, inform and, hopefully, touch others emotionally, all the while maintaining a level of integrity with the intended message. Let's keep the dialogue open.


Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Fishing & Photography. You Hooked?

It dawned on me recently that what I love about taking pictures and making video is the same as what I love about fishing: The element of surprise. The discovery of a new experience of something often beautiful. The feeling of "Wow, I did that!" The sense of satisfaction that all the elements come together at the right moment. When you hook a fish it might be luck. Then again, it might be that you predicted with some amount of intelligence and a lot of strategy that landing the fish was inevitable!

This is not something new. And certainly, other photographers have made this fish-photo analogy. But I find myself pursuing the ever-elusive so often that I can honestly say there's something of an addiction going on here.

Fishing and photography. It's you against the elements. The roaring river, the slippery rocks, the biting cold. Do you have the right lure, the right fly? Is it at the right depth? The right time of day? The right time of year? Have you remained out of sight or did you startle the fish?

The same is true about filming, producing, and getting your subject framed just right. Have you put your subjects at ease for an interview or portrait session? Is the lighting just right? Do you have the right microphones for the conditions that exist? Is everything in place--including you, the news gatherer? Moreover, do you have to set up hours before, laying cable, and is the generator functioning? Stand in a blizzard? No problem. Properly clothed? Of course. Endure the intense heat and humidity and blazing sunlight? Totally!

As a news photographer for broadcast television, the logistics are so much more important to success that often setting up the camera on the tripod and striking the lights are an afterthought. Similarly, on a still photo shoot, you or your editor may have spent months on the phone with your subject, or some authority granting you permission to do a shoot, helping you to ultimately gain access, clear the rights issues, etc., that when the day of the shoot finally arrives it's almost like an out-of-body experience. Is this really happening? You've spent hundreds of hours imagining how it will look; now it's time for the magic, the surprise, the moment of truth, or just plain luck that it goes your way.

And by getting the image or covering the story, you find yourself in some of the strangest situations. You might get too close to the action--more than your mother would have recommended! I remember thinking this when I was a newspaper photographer in Buffalo, New York. The city's armory was on fire. About 50 fire engines responded. The munitions stored in the National Guard's trucks were exploding through the roof. Firey embers were shooting into the sky. I was across the street in the backyard of a private home, half a block away, taking photos of the explosions, but hiding under a picnic table. It wasn't enough protection. My jacket was smoldering from the glowing-orange pieces of wood landing on me. Great pictures, but getting them required some tactical navigation.

I've staked out and stalked politicians, criminals, athletes, even priests and rabbis. I've followed doctors, clowns, stockbrokers, pole vaulters, game wardens. I've found high angles in catwalks above arenas, trading floors, and hanging out of helicopters. From minus 25 degrees in Siberia's oil fields to 125 degrees capturing molten gold bars being poured in west Africa. I haven't covered wars, but I've covered protests with bricks and spit flying over head.

Nobody ever said photojournalism--both in stills and moving images--was going to be without risks. I guess that's where I'm going with this fishing metaphor. If you have done both, you'll quickly recall where you were, and the level of fear, when you risked life and limb to get the fish--to get the picture.


I fish a lot less these days. That's because I have a son who loves to fish even more than me. So, what has happened is I've combined two loves. Well, actually, three. Fishing, photography and watching my son fish through my lens.

We've made it a point to go fishing often. Last year, we went to Montana and experienced the Madison, the Yellowstone, and the Rock Creek. But we've gone on so many fishing trips over a dozen years--deep sea, river, lake, surf casting--that if I found all the pictures and put them in one place I bet it would be make a nice collection.


It's all about the element of surprise. Revelations beneath the surface. And for those of us passionate enough, a reason for breathing.

All photographs copyright by Ken Kerbs.