Bison In Winter
Bison In Winter
Some photographs you dream about for years building them in your mind, hoping, but never knowing if they’ll ever come to life.
This was one of those.
Growing up in Ireland, I had been exposed to the American West long before I ever set foot here. Watching Dances with Wolves as a young boy, and later discovering Photographer William Albert Allard and his book Vanishing Breed, planted something deep in me.
Life would have me immigrate to the States in 2014 with my wife and kids and in 2018. We moved to Colorado Springs for my work. Living in such an incredible place, every free weekend became an exploration. I hiked Pikes Peak, wandered Shelf Road, marveled at the Painted Mines. It was an incredible new world, certainly a long way from the streets of cork where I grew up.
Garden of the Gods
It was during this time I heard about the bison herds out near Hartsel. I hadn’t yet ventured that way, but now it was firmly stamped onto my list. What began as a curious road trip turned into dozens of pilgrimages, camping out near Buena Vista, South Park, and Breckenridge. Yet I always returned to those herds in Hartsel.
I photographed them many times but the image I had already taken in my mind was very specific: a close, intimate portrait of a bison in winter, snow and frost clinging to its face.
When I was in college, we studied images for hours and days, we would look at various photographers throughout history such as Hanri Carter-Bresson, Robert Frank, Sebastiao Salgado, but one phrase too out and became etched in my mind was from photographer Robert Capa:
“If your photograph isn’t good enough, you’re not close enough.”
It shaped how I saw the world through a lens. Most people, when they photograph a bison, step back to include the horns, the hump, the whole animal. But I wanted more than a picture of a bison, I wanted a portrait of the west, something that let you feel it.
That day everything finally came together, it was February 9th, 2019.
It was bitterly cold. The sky was overcast, throwing down soft, diffused light like a giant natural softbox. The bison’s breath misted heavily in the freezing air, the moisture frosting into its fur. I was close, closer than most would dare (photographers reading this: please, don’t attempt shots like this without knowing the risks and having safety measures in place).
With my 85mm prime in hand, settings locked at ISO 200, f/8, 1/125 sec, I framed the shot exactly as you see it here. No cropping. No second chances.
If you look closely, you’ll see my reflection in its eye.
I could feel its breath vibrate the air around me like standing front row at an orchestra, chest rattling from the sound of the bass.
And then, in a single click, years of dreaming became reality. Bison in Winter.
This image is part of a wider collection/body of work I continue to develop, that body of work is called "A Portrait of The West"
If this image speaks to you like it does to me, you can view it in the gallery at dorphoto.com.
You can also view the collection from "A Portrait of The West" on there.
“He gives snow like wool: He scatters the frost like ashes.” Psalm 147:16
Blessings,
-Irish Dave