Proteus
Proteus, God of the Waters
He sulked in his watery lair, perfectly still and brooding under a blue sky. A damsel fly hung in the still air like a blue thread plucked from the heavens, silent as it hovered, hunting, and zipped off in search of its next meal. His bleached bones were bedecked with grasses and small plants after laying undisturbed for so long. He, the prophetic sea-god and god of the rivers, able to change his shape, suggestive of the endless mercurial nature of water blessed with the gift of prophecy, but only granting it to those with the patience who can capture him.
This was the image I chased for two years, and in fact was the subject of the first blog I wrote.
When the COVID-19 pandemic began I finally decided that it was time to start this website. Not that I hadn't wanted to before, but working a 9-5 (or in my case a 6-4:30) didn’t necessarily lend itself well to endeavors of a side-hustle, at least not at the point when one is in their mid-forties. Post-modern Capitalism says that someone of my age should not be doing such a thing with their life. However, when the world came to a screeching halt, I went for a hike with my camera.
Devil’s Den is a hidden gem of New Hampshire, especially when there are so many places that carry the moniker thanks to the Puritans and New England Quakers. To get there is not difficult, but it’s not necessarily advertised. It’s not the kind of place where someone inevitably ends up. More often than not, someone heard about it either by word of mouth or found it accidentally on a website, then after some time wandering up the ATV road that takes you to the beginning of the trail, they spot someone, “Do you know where the Devil’s Den is?”
“As a matter of fact, I do”.
Without fail.
The small fracture cave doesn’t fail to capture interest for the hiker who is willing to venture up the rocky road on a nondescript mountainside next to Merrymeeting Lake. However, if you don’t have a vehicle with moderate clearance, you are in for a hike. I discovered this place thanks to a book “Haunted Hikes” in the mid 2000’s. Rumor has it that, at one time, a skeleton was found inside the thirty foot long cave. Where bones may have existed according to legend, there’s now broken glass, and the remains of hinges of an iron gate that used to be at the entrance, and some fading graffiti. I’ve been to the cave several times, but this wasn’t why I hauled my carcass up the road, braving the deer flies, ticks and humidity this time. I was after the sculptural, semi-submerged tree stump that rests in a pond created when beavers dammed up a small creek.
I noticed the gnarled stump for the first time back in 2020 when I needed to get out of the house during the initial quarantine. I had been sitting at home for too long, only venturing out to catch a sunny spot on the lawn on the warmer days. It had been raining more often than not, and it even snowed once, typical for northern New England for that time of year. I knew chances were small that I would run into another person if I went for a hike to Devil’s Den, my intention being to shoot the cave itself. I never even made it to the cave that day. He grabbed my attention as I slowly approached the pond. He demanded attention, but was not going to give up his secrets easily. He demanded a tribute. The water rippled around him, and the sun shifted behind a cloud. He sunk into the brooding light. I had to return, but at some undermined time.
Two years later, here I am bug bitten and sweating, but feeling easy in my body after not going for a hike for a long time. No one was parked at the trailhead, so I was pretty certain that I would have this place to myself. I could approach him once again, one on one. What sacrifices would I have to make for this encounter. I had already given blood tributes to the black flies, who were so intolerable I finally found a rocky and sunny spot where sweet fern grew, and crushing the aromatic leaves until my hands were sticky with their oils, I smeared them on my face, neck and arms. The black flies gave me space, but then the kamikaze deer flies swooped in, chasing me like a worrying hound chases a hare.
I arrived at the opening in the thick mixed forest, the air no longer smelling like hot pine. There was nearly no breeze, the beaver pond a mirror to the sky, the conditions I had been hoping for. Proteus sunned himself on the other side of the pond. I walked over slowly, reassessing where I was going to set up my camera. Two years ago my vantage point was under a group of hemlocks, mostly to protect myself from the wind, away from the edge of the pond, using a zoom lens. Today there was virtually no wind, and the water level was significantly lower, exposing more of the trunk of the stump. I felt that the sharpest lens I have would be the best choice, an f/1.4 50mm prime. I didn’t need the speed of the lens, but edge to edge this is the sharpest lens I own, with very low chromatic aberration. I chose a more side-on approach due to the exquisite reflection of the sculptural tree roots, very reminiscent of the castle from The Dark Crystal. I couldn’t believe that this composition was as effortless as it was.
In the distance, there was an odd sound breaking the stillness of the hot air. I continued shooting a few more frames. The wind was beginning to pick up, the stillness of the pond breaking his outline. A small SUV crested the hill and made it’s way down the hill toward me. They stopped. An older gentleman got out of the car, and spotted me at the water’s edge.
“Hey there!”
“Hi, can I help you"?”
“We’re looking for the Devil’s Den.” I chuckled to myself. “I'm glad to see your Toyota made it this far. You’re braver than my Subaru. It’s at the top of the next hill and the trailhead is to the left”. He thanked me, and then turned the car around and went back the way he came. The wind continued to pick up and the spell was lifted, the magic disrupted. I methodically repacked the camera and I silently thanked Proteus for the time that we had. Heading up the hill I encountered the man and his wife walking toward the trailhead. Thankfully they went no further as there was a deep rut chewed into the dirt road that they would not have been able to pass. As we went our separate ways, the chainsaw sound of approaching ATVs started grinding their way toward me. It was definitely time to leave. But, I was satisfied. I had returned to a location that I had been to previously, and the conditions were more in line with that I had originally envisioned.
The Take Away
It is always worth returning to a location that you have been to previously, especially when you have a particular set of conditions in mind. There’s an eternal struggle in landscape photography where you need to draw the line between whether or not the wait is worth sitting in one location until the conditions you envision appear. It is OK to throw in the towel after a period of time, they will come again, you just have to wait for them to present themselves. However, be prepared to offer a sacrifice to the mosquitos, black flies and deer flies. Sometimes this will appease the fickle god of the flowing waters, allowing you to capture a glimpse of their face.
I will definitely be returning to this place. I am now curious to see the mercurial face of this tree stump in other seasons, especially in the depths of winter.