Moyer - Winter Tale
In February 2010, a legendary blizzard swept through Pittsburgh, leaving behind a snowfall across the region that was dubbed "Snowmaggedon." As the three feet plus of powder suffocated the city overnight, I seized the chance to capture the moment. I began an unforgettable journey to photograph a nearby restored stream that I knew would be transformed into an idyllic postcard. The streets were impassable, and the city had shut down for three solid days.
My cozy apartment stood under the canopy of snow-laden branches. Pittsburgh, accustomed to occasional winter storms, had been thrust into the realm of winter dreams. Excitement surged across my chest as I donned sunglasses, my Woolrich down coat, and sturdy Wellingtons normally used to shoot the stream in springtime. I was ready to head out into the day with my digital camera.
The short journey to the stream in the city’s park, typically taking five minutes, turned into an odyssey. The dense snowpack created a daunting landscape that tested my every step. Undeterred, I pressed on, driven by my vision to enshrine frosty serenity.
The restored stream, usually my tranquil sanctuary, now lay beneath pristine virgin layers. The sycamores piled with fluff, created a setting out of Currier and Ives. As I framed my shot, witnessing nature's silent artistry through the lens was breathtaking. I had nailed the essence of the storm, the magic of Snowmaggedon.
As I trudged my way home, the toll of the trek began to set in. My once-eager steps turned into a weary march through the waist-deep sea of white. My wellies felt like anchors, and the weight of my down coat seemed heavier with every step. My legs wobbled and threatened to give out, my lungs were burning, and steaming beads of sweat were rolling down my temples.
Exhausted and oblivious to the time, I pressed on, each step fueled by my desire to capture a scene that would soon be only a memory. This was a struggle against the elements, a showdown with the very storm that had transformed the watery landscape into a living Monet masterpiece. I had struggled before, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I began to have hallucinations of pioneering Arctic explorers who perished and beleaguered soldiers in the Ardennes Forest, the Battle of the Bulge. Aware of the historical weight of such moments, I pressed forward, knowing that I had to make it back home not only for my own well-being but also to upload the captured image to my computer. Only then could I share this once-in-a-lifetime vision with the world.
Was I dehydrated? Having a heart attack?
As I neared home, I found solace in a neighbor on our unplowed street. Desperate for a sense of the hour, I asked, What time is it?
The church bells down the block rang three times. Her mouth curled wryly, It's 3 pm.
Five hours had elapsed since my winter epic began, an eternity for me.
The photograph became a testament to the pain artists endure to record fleeting beauty. My shot was used to illustrate the cover of a local magazine. Most agreed— it was worth every damn step. My Winter Tale was etched in the snowy landscapes of Pittsburgh and in my soul. I was now a seasoned photographer.
Wow, what an experience - the stream photo is stunning!