Our mornings began before sunrise, when we slipped quietly from the stillness of the boat launch. As the boat drifted away from the dock, we embarked upon our daily pilgrimage into the hidden beauty of America’s bayou. We moved slowly through the blue hour, gliding into bays where the shadowed silhouettes of stately cypress trees rose like ancient guardians. The forest enveloped us, and it was impossible not to feel drawn into a world more sublime than anything one might have imagined in East Texas.
The swamps of this region had long been the stage for mystical tales—hundreds of Bigfoot sightings, whispered legends of shapeshifters—but those were not the stories we sought. We had come instead to witness and capture the quiet majesty of the changing seasons, deep in the heart of bald cypress country.
The semi-aquatic world of the bald cypress gives rise to one of America’s most unique forests, and it has always been intriguing enough to train a camera on in any season. Autumn in East Texas, however, brought on a particularly colorful transformation. In select corners of the southeastern United States, the cypress trees shift from their summer green into brilliant shades of yellow and red as they prepare to shed their foliage for the long slumber of winter. We had planned our photo tour around the typical peak of autumn colors, hoping to catch as much of the seasonal change as nature allowed. I had come to realize over the years that each season was different, shaped by the summer’s growth, the water levels, and the subtle stresses of the ecosystem—and this year was no exception.
A late-summer eruption of the native cypress looper moth had stripped many trees bare by September, leaving only pockets of green needles to turn quickly into the rusty reds of late autumn before falling earlier than expected. Yet even with these changes, the forest retained its magical beauty. In the hidden bays and quiet lakes, we had come to know from previous journeys, hulking cypress trees still stood draped in Spanish moss, their branches festooned with color. The waters remained languid and reflective, offering us the same sense of wonder that has drawn us back year after year.
With two boats as our platforms for photography, our easy-going group of eight photographers headed out each morning and each afternoon for a swamp photo session. With two daily boating photo opportunities lasting at least three hours, there was plenty of time to take it slow and explore all the autumn landscape possibilities. Early morning and late-day blue hours were always exciting, as photographers enjoyed the magical quality that the low-light hues brought to the photographic table. When the sun was higher and illuminating the trees, we took our time photographing the scenes unfolding before us, making sure to explore front, side, and, of course, backlighting.
During our photo sessions, we made sure to take the boats to as many photo locations as the water levels allowed. Each photographic location featured a mix of trees, varying in age and structure, which provided many scenic photos. Along with the various ponds, lakes, and quiet backwaters we explored, we were also given a morning of fog-shrouded cypress while exploring a local lake. Two other mornings, the temperatures cooled enough to produce just enough mist over the dark waters for us to photograph the forest with thin tendrils of mist drifting among the trees.
Change had come quickly to the bayou this year, and by the time our photo tour drew to a close, much of the colorful needles of the cypress trees had already fallen or blown into the tannic waters, leaving behind only the quiet promise of spring. As the cypress colors faded and thinned, they surrendered the stage to the vibrant understory of sweet gum and tupelo that lined the fringes of the bayou, adding their own brilliance to the shifting season.
The forest was never silent; the near-constant calls of American crows echoed through the trees, joined by the steady presence of black and turkey vultures. More cooperative subjects for our lenses included great blue herons, great egrets, and the occasional white ibis gliding overhead. This year also brought an abundance of basking map turtles, warming themselves on emergent logs, more than we had encountered on previous photo safaris.
There is something undeniably primal in the cypress forests of East Texas, a pull that beckons the us to return again and again. I left with a sense of excitement for the images captured and an eagerness to revisit these quiet waters next year, when autumn would once more welcome us with its dark swampy shadows and bursts of color around every bend in the bayou.
