Framing the Final Frontier "My Capture"

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Framing the Final Frontier Notes from Alaska Photographs and words by Marisa Marulli.

Marissa Marulli Photo by Dave Zahrobsky

Taking advantage of one of the largest tidal shifts in the world, they’re exploring the temporary underwater haven which was nothing but sand and air hours ago.

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For weeks, I’ve been held in a stagnant haze, just like the heavy humidity around me.

Sweat smudges from my hand’s movements on a red moleskin at the same time it gathers in circular containers underneath my nose. Ink glides out from the heat of this Florida day in com-bination with a ball point on acid free pages, and my mind slips…

I’m back on that Alaska road. The air is the kind of crisp which entices you to breathe more just to feel it. The mountains of the Chugach National Forest surround me, glowing head to toe. There’s a man on the side of road collecting glacial water which spills from 100 feet above. Cook Inlet is on my left. Beluga whales white as snow sneak their backs through the surface just quick enough for me to doubt my eyes.

It’s a week before my photo expedition participants arrive, and I’m double-checking a few of our locations in realtime conditions. I hop aboard the 38-foot Fera Mare I’ve secured for my group in one

of my tireless efforts to be atypical. The popularized 300-passenger cruise of the Prince William Sound just won’t do. My mission is to provide authentic immersions in far out places.

So that my scouting trip with Captain Eric

doesn’t cost what I’ve paid to charter his boat with my group, I tag along on a day of his shuttling trips. First up: shuttling four kayakers to a remote island’s Public Use Cabin.

We maneuver through the mist of Whittier, and through conversation I decode these campers as high-level executives about to cut off. Our motorboat slows and an island appears as if only for those searching through the fog around them. “This time and location next Sunday,” one yells to Eric, and just like that, they are removed from society for seven days.

Between drop offs, Eric and I plot our chart for our expedition next week. Proximity to calving glaciers, sea lions, eagles… perfect.

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Over the next few days I meet with vendors like this and confirm more locations on our schedule, and before I know it, it’s my participants’ arrival day. We kick off a comfortable orientation with wine, fresh lemonade, and appetizers in Carl’s (my Alaskan guide) gallery.

Then we discuss what the week will look like over greens from Carl’s garden, local salmon, and pork and rhubarb pie. Soon, Alaska’s thriving twilight loses in its trick to deceive us, and we return to our hotel for a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, the eight of us hop into our private vehicle and wind our way around the Turnagain Arm. As we get close to our first location, I notice the fog becoming a more present malice. I run through the backup plan process of a nature photographer. First location: distant horizon — it’d be all fog. Scratch. Second location: Maybe the valley will have staved off the fog? Move to Position #1. Third Location: forest waterfall with consistent light. Move to Position #2.

Luckily, our shuffling is perfect and all locations provide. We start with coffee cake and tea as first light falls on a lake as turquoise as the stone. As our

first shoot, I knock the beginners into Aperture Priority so they can quickly feel the accomplishment of shooting in a semi-manual mode. “Choose a wider aperture to isolate a subject in the foreground, or a smaller aperture to capture most of the scene in clarity,” I explain.

I hunt down the more advanced photographers who are off finding unique vistas. I make sure they’re getting results they want and offer ideas: focus stacking to gain extra clarity, using a tel-ephoto for compression of the scene.

Next, we hike into a forest, eating blueberries and cloudberries we pick from the bushes along the way. Our destination is a moss-

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covered waterfall which we end up sharing with Miss Alaska, Miss Teen Alaska, and a photographer. I move the beginners into Shutter Priority and have them experiment with longer shutter speeds for milky water flow, versus shorter speeds, to see every drop frozen in action.

Later, we make our way to Broad Pass to take in the peak of fall colors. I watch each participant step into different areas of the endless brush and soak in his/her own relationship with the tilted sun’s amber, crimson, and emerald glows.

At night, Carl and I keep our eyes on the Aurora, checking solar wind charts and cloud fore-casts, but I tell my participants it’s most important to look with our eyes. None of the above are promising tonight, so I call it a night knowing we have other chances.

The next morning arrives, and we begin our day in Denali National Park. After extensive conversation with park officials months ago,

we sorted a solution for bringing my group here. Denali is a unique park with its own set of regulations. We climb into an official bus — the only authorized way beyond the first 15 miles of the park entrance — and share seats

with passengers from the 3,500-person cruise boats who rode 400-person trains to get here. I notice some of these travelers are irritable and wonder if this is the most palpable experience they’ll have in Alaska. I take a moment to appreciate my mission.

Photographing in Denali is a challenge as the need to switch between lenses constantly arises; wide-angle for staggering landscapes, telephoto for wildlife sightings. I offer my participants my preferred solution: the telephoto. You will always be ready for the

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aligned with the Rule of 500s to avoid star trails. It’s dark. It’s tough. Suddenly one participant exclaims, “I’m getting the Aurora!” Sure enough our cameras picked up the Northern Lights before our eyes could. We giggle in excitement and shoot the neon green goodness with a crescent moon rising in the middle of it all.

animal sightings and can shoot the landscapes as panoramas.

The haze of our second morning burns away, and we are new members of the “30% Club” — a name which expresses the likelihood of actually seeing Mt. Denali. We happen across more miracles: a wolf sneaking across our gravel road, a rewarding hike to a herd of caribou, a moose near a braided river, and grizzlies playful as children.

Our evening unwinds in Talkeetna with dinner near a fireplace. I put everyone on the hotel’s Au-rora Wake Up Call list and check myself to no avail. My participant from Luxembourg found my expedition online after typing the words “Photographing Northern Lights.” I utter a message to Alaska under my breath, Keep working with me.

Our next day takes us to Matanuska Valley to hike on a glacier. We receive instruction on Crampons and our ground makes its way from black pebbles to thixotropic mud to ice.

As the sun begins another Alaskan-long descent, we head for our two-day stay at the retreat-worthy Inn At Whittier. After sleeping in, our charter embarks on the Prince William Sound, and I tell everyone to use high shutter speeds and continuous focus. We call in a drowning juvenile eagle and watch its rescue, photograph black bears and salmon, and hike on isolated beaches.

At dinner, our table overlooks a non-light-polluted sky. I disregard the clouds’ forecast and step outside. “It’s clear — let’s at least shoot stars!” We trek in the blistering wind and fumble around tripods. I instruct everyone to achieve focus manually and keep shutters

On one of our final days together, we fly in small planes with tundra tires to the magical and re-mote Silver Salmon Creek Lodge. Here, a bright group maintains an intelligent neutrality with wildlife. Bear biologists walk us amongst grizzlies in a situation of respect and space. Photographers come here and choose their eyes over their lenses. It makes you think of the possibilities before us.

Anchorage hosts our final lunch together, and we hug each other goodbye for now — as some leg of our group has been in touch every week since, either by liking photos in our Facebook group, or texting about policies endangering the Alaska we know.

Marisa Marulli is an explorer, photographer and journalist with a passion for connecting people to the unknown. In her guided photography expeditions throughout the world, she offers participants a space for personal and photographic shifts — with an underlying call to protect these natural places that offer us so much. To journey with her or learn more about her mission, visit www.marisamarulli.com.