Ice Portraits

By Erik Hogan

I was on a quest to see ice. These were the successive days of bitter cold in early January, before the first snow event. The snow became the focus of my job on the day it arrived, but working gave me the excuse to venture out in my territory to see, experience, and photograph the unfamiliar wintery conditions. Before all of that there was only the cold. Winter had not been this persistently cold here in several years, so before the snow came my intention was directed towards photographing ice.

Right now I am limited by external circumstances. My truck that I struggle to afford needs repairs that I cannot afford. It drives ok for now, but I have lost confidence in its ability to handle long distances or rough mountain roads. So, while I assess how to proceed, I look for opportunities to find original views of the natural world and intimate landscapes around me. Hence, my quest for ice.

On the morning of January 8 I went to Ben Burton Park. I thought of the Middle Oconee River that flows here. The cold that early morning was pervasive, but frost on the ground was minimal. The atmosphere had been too dry for too long. What I saw did not translate well into photographs. The river flowed by with motion that prevented any ice from forming, even along the river banks. I suppose cold is relative to what you are familiar with. This is Georgia, and our rivers do not freeze.

My second attempt to find ice came the next day. I would explore Sandy Creek Nature Center. This nature preserve encompasses wetlands and flood plains along its namesake waterway to the east and the North Oconee River at its western edge. I photographed ice there back in 2020. Maybe I would find it there again.

Sandy Creek Nature Center, December 2020

A chill spread through my house when I arose in the early morning. I clutched my mug of coffee like a life preserver as I gathered my senses in the sea of darkness before dawn. Then came the objectionable task of stepping out into the raw world outside. But I followed without hesitation the lure of deep secrets that nature might reveal.

The dawn arrived clear and utterly still. As the sun rose over the wetlands its rays lit the tips of grasses and bog vegetation. Small silent birds darted among the bare trees as I broke the stillness with boots on frozen leaves. A Canada goose cried out from Claypit Pond, just around the next hill. My gloved hands were numb, yet these geese paddle the water with bare feet and remain unvexed by the frigid temperatures.

I found the ice I was seeking. All of the shallow pools and bogs and flooded plains were frozen over. Claypit Pond, being deep and wide, was not frozen over, yet it was bordered by ice along its shores.

In cold solitary silence I studied this magic spread across the land. Ice gleamed in the reflected sunlight and time was only measured by my own heartbeat. I came to understand that this story of ice was not told in the wider landscape around me. Instead, it was a narrative of intimate small scenes. The starburst shapes of ice crystals. Leaves frozen in place. Patterns of frozen water overlaid transparently on the patterns of the surfaces below. The reflections of trees reaching down, down into the earth towards the blue sky above. And the light! The light that evokes a myriad of colors and contrasts revealing the intricate beauty of the cold. These are the stories I wanted to capture in photographs.

I often question myself as to why I do demanding things such as venturing out into the cold, climbing mountains under heavy loads, or spending extended periods of time alone, for photographs. I would certainly do some of these things just for the challenge itself, even without photography. Yet, I feel drawn to seek them even more with my camera. Then, I spend time and effort to process each photo before it is presentable. Why? Photography certainly hasn’t returned my affection with any financial rewards to speak of. The curious part is that I have no doubts about what I do. When I question myself it comes from an amused, detached perspective of wondering about the inevitable.

I’ve been reading Epictetus. Not just a quote here and there, or a passage illustrating a point, as so often comes up in articles on Stoicism life hacks. No, I am reading Discourses, slowly and deliberately, in order. Robin Waterfield’s excellent translation makes this doable, and the footnotes are critical in clarifying points that would otherwise be lost on me.

In Book II, Discourse I Epictetus discusses caution vs confidence. He urges caution regarding things in our control. These are our judgements and choices, the things we commit to and decide upon; our virtues. So, we must be guarded in what we devote our time, attention, and values towards.

Other things such as success, money, status, a truck in need of fixing, and even our own bodies and lives are not fully under our control. We become troubled when we try to control what we cannot, so all of these are ultimately indifferent to us. With our will guarded, we can boldly go out into the world and deal with these things with confidence.

Erik Hogan is an Athens police officer whose photography focuses on capturing the beauty of nature.