Augusta National

Last month, I got the opportunity to go to a practice round at The Masters. Whether or not you play golf, Augusta National is a place of wonderment. For a lifetime, I’ve been mesmerized by images of these azalea-lined, immaculate fairways. But you can’t appreciate the perfection without seeing it in person. If golf were a religion, Augusta is the grand cathedral—the men who walk vie these green hills our Gods.

The Masters patrons worship here with a reverence seen and heard only in the quiet confines of a basilica. While I’ve attended many other PGA events that were more like parties where there happened to be golf, the spectators at Augusta are reserved, save for that special birdie or eagle roar that electrifies the grounds, and extremely polite. Maybe they are paying homage to the living history here. Or maybe they are just terrified of losing a truly priceless badge forever. Masters patrons also spend an enormous amount of money on merchandise. Augusta National brilliantly refuses to sell logoed merchandise anywhere but the seven days the event is held each year. As a result, the gift shops are continually filled with fans eager to part with $75 for the cheapest golf shirt or $30 for a hat.

For those who cannot get a badge to one of the four Master’s rounds, practice round tickets are almost as golden. For me, a practice round ticket is all the more valuable because cameras are permitted, albeit with lots of rules. Shooting sports photography from behind the ropes in the middle of the day is not exactly an easy task. Invariably, I was in the wrong spot. Despite coming home with only a few keepers, I had a blast and can’t wait to shoot, and worship, in American golf’s most spectacular cathedral again.

Alien Invasion

A grotesque creature has decended, or should I say ascended, into middle Georgia. With the right light and music, Magicicada would look and sound at home pursuing Sigourney Weaver through the Nostromo. Much like the acid filled bugs in Alien, these insects have been waiting for just the right time to emerge.

Over the last three weeks, millions of 13 year cicadas have crawled out of the ground as grubs, shed their skin, and emerged as loudly singing, red-eyed, winged monsters. Unlike the late-summer annual cicadas (which actually emerge from the ground every three to five years, but are present every year), these annoying beasts emerge every 13 years (some are on a 17 year cycle). Their only goal is to mate, lay eggs in tree branches, and die. The young hatch, fall to the ground, and burrow below, not to be seen for another 13 years.

With so many of these odd creatures flying about the yard, I couldn't resist a few macro shots. As such is the case with any photo, my intent is to capture something unexpected, yet something that tells a story. These were all taken with my Sigma 105mm macro, the only lens I own that is not a Nikon. With a depth of field of less than a 1/4 inch at f2.8, shooting handheld is tricky and any breeze is a curse. While a tripod might have made focusing easier, navigating a camera through tree limbs and following the bugs made it impractical, if not impossible.