A Unique View . . .
By
John Terence Turner
Stock Asylum Columnist
May 15, 2006
©
2006 John Terence Turner
Mass, momentum, iron, power. This close-up look at a ship's bow is usually
a view only seagulls enjoy. It is an example of how much work and preparation
can go into images that look simple and spontaneous. It is also an example
of what a unique aid a helicopter can be for a photographer.
 It took a helicopter flying in front of this moving ship to capture this best-selling image. ( © John Terence Turner ). |
Maybe the idea for this shot originated with the two summers I spent in the Merchant Marine in the Pacific and Caribbean during college.
I spent many nights as a lookout in a bow station on a ship like this. The lookout’s position was just behind the dark area at the top of the picture and between the two hawser holes. As lookout, my job was to stand there and scan the dark ocean for the lights of another ship, or anything else, and then alert the bridge with the telephone located under the splash shield.
The bow is the part of the ship that moves the most. Moving into the weather in a moderate sea, the bow can rise and fall ten or fifteen feet with every swell. It is like standing on a slow-moving roller-coaster, the salty tracks extending beyond the horizon.
It was from a perch like this, under starry skies, that I got to watch schools of dolphins playing tag with the bow. They sped along only inches from the onrushing iron. Diving and surfacing, the dolphins gracefully propelled themselves into the air, flying several feet at speeds faster than the ship’s, before diving back into the water with a phosphorescent splash. When it happened, it was always the highlight of my watch.
During rough weather when waves were crashing over the bow, the lookout was moved aft to the monkey bridge, just above the wheelhouse in the middle of the ship.
Each turn was for an hour and a half, followed by a turn on the bridge where I steered the ship for the same amount of time. After that, I’d go to the galley where I was on standby in case my watch-mates on lookout and wheel needed anything, like coffee or a trip to the head.
Many years later, my brief merchant-marine career long over, I found myself with an assignment to photograph three ships slightly smaller than the ones on which I worked as a teenaged Ordinary Seaman.
 Turner is securely attached to the helicopter using climbing gear. ( © John Terence Turner) |
A shipping company in Seattle had purchased some small freighters that they had refitted at a shipyard in Louisiana. They hired me to shoot them from a helicopter on Puget Sound after the refitting. The client, of course, wanted the whole ship, newly painted and looking good.
On each of three shoots I attempted to create a picture like this. On the first two there was sunshine so I couldn’t get the balanced lighting that you see in this shot. On the third shoot the skies were overcast. After I covered the client’s requirements, we flew into position to shoot the bow.
I wanted a semi-abstract shot of a bow coming at the camera. It had to be a helicopter shot. If you were to shoot from a boat you’d see its wake instead of the dark water that matches the dark shades of the hull above the waterline. If you tried to shoot from a bridge you would have very few chances to frame the image the way you want it and the angle would be much higher. More importantly, turning one of these things around for another go under the bridge is neither easy nor likely.
So I had the pilot fly sideways at deck level. I stood on the helicopter’s skids, wearing a climbing harness anchored to the chopper with climbing straps and carabiners (see picture).
 On another maritime shoot, Turner gives instructions to the pilot while shooting with his other hand. ( © John Terence Turner ) |
When I rig a harness to a helicopter, I set it up so that once I’m standing on the skid and shooting, I can lean outward from the body of the chopper, supported by two sets of climbing tubing attached to the seat stanchions inside the vehicle. If I were standing straight up, I would not be as stable as I am when I am leaning outward.
Once airborne, I step out of the helicopter onto the skid and lean forward. At that moment, there is nothing in front of me but air, and down below, the ocean. It requires a conscious act of will to believe that, when leaning forward, the straps will keep me from falling into the ocean.
Once out on the skids, I bend my knees slightly to absorb vibrations. In front of me I see only the oncoming ship. There is no doorframe to shoot through. There is nothing but the ship coming through the water. If I look down, I might see the tips of my shoes and between them, salt water.
Since the helicopter is flying at the ship’s speed, I can frame the image carefully, giving the pilot instructions of “closer” or “farther.”
For this shoot, the pilot already knew to keep me centered in front of the ship.
This picture was made with a Nikon F5 and a Nikkor 80-200AF f2.8 zoom lens. Because it was a fairly dim day, I recall the shutter speed was 1/125th of a second.
To me, it is a picture that says strength, power and momentum. There are reflections on the water and the hull and there is texture in the water and the rust on the anchor. The bow wave suggests the inexorable progress of the ship through the ocean.
It is a favorite picture because it so nearly matches what I had in my mind’s eye. This image has been a best seller.
(John Terence Turner has been shooting stock photography for 20 years. His work can be seen at Getty Images, Alamy and, of course, The Stock Asylum, where his column appears twice a month. He lives and works in Seattle, WA.)
Turner's web site can be found at: http://www.johnterenceturner.com.
For more of his images: click here.
For all of Turner's columns: click here.
