Using the term “crop dusters in central California” on a search engine, and cross referencing each address with Google’s satellite photos, it was possible to find a small crop dusting outfit up north that had everything I preconceived for a great photo: yellow biplanes and a runway, next to trees or an orchard. The satellite photo actually showed 2 yellow biplanes lined up, and the orchard right up against the runway. Perfect! The people at Valley Crop Dusters, were very pleasant to talk with over the phone, and seemed quite accommodating. I explained what I wanted to do: to shoot some of their airplanes for an art photo. So far so good. “I need to do the shot at night, because I paint with light.” Still they were OK with the idea. “Lastly,” I added, “and it needs to be on a Saturday or Sunday night as I’m only visiting the area for the weekend.” Shawn, the chief pilot, mentioned that we could probably work something out. Thinking to myself, “Amazing! They are so very flexible.” Jeff, the ground crew chief, volunteered to help me, and we ultimately agreed to meet at their landing strip/hanger on Sunday night, 4:30, nine days from then.

After much anticipation, the date finally came. Waiting at the landing strip in my car, it seemed like the planned photo shoot would be a bust, as it was still raining from late afternoon. Jeff arrived shortly with a friend in tow. Jerry wanted to see how somebody can “paint with light.” Their mutual advice was to sit tight and wait. Up here, in this part of the country, weather can change quickly.

As good as their word, the rain did pass, slowly. We began the process of removing covers and tie downs from the aircraft, hooking up tow bars and collecting all the other props we wanted to put into the shot, and started transferring all this equipment and the aircraft down mid-field to a point where the plane could be backed into the trees as far as possible. All three of us worked very hard for the next 90 minutes to get everything in place before nightfall. (I need some day light to be able to compose the shot through the view finder.) On top of this, there was the added pressure of a noticeable change in the wind speed and direction. Almost simultaneously, we stopped and turned towards the wind sock. It had, indeed, shifted 90 degrees, now coming from the northwest at a good 8 knots. What looked promising 90 minutes earlier now had a much darker and more menacing character. The skies were heavy, it looked like this new front that came out of nowhere was almost upon us.

Because of the late start, logistics of a large aircraft, and, of course, technical problems with my very complex camera systems, we did not start to shoot till well after dark. As soon as I exposed the first frame, it started to sprinkle. Bummer! I felt that we had to scrub the shoot. But Jerry volunteered to climb the ladder and hold a small umbrella over the camera systems. What the hell, “are you guys OK with this?” I asked. They agreed that we had already come this far. “OK, if you guys are really up to it.” I started “painting” as Jeff opened and closed the shutter on my commands. Jerry, at the top of a very oily metal ladder was holding an umbrella at arm’s length over the cameras. (The ladder can’t be too close to the tripod for fear of bumping the camera system.) Over the next few minutes, rain began to fall. Still working the shot, I did happen to notice that Jerry didn’t quite have the umbrella centered over the camera. Being afraid that the water might catch the front element of the lens, I said, “Hold the umbrella further out. Make sure the lens doesn’t get water on the front surface.” Jerry did as requested and extended his arm an extra few inches.

Over the course of the next hour, I shot as fast as possible. Building from a moderate sprinkle to what at times felt like an absolute deluge, the scene for me, felt somewhat surreal. Several times over the course of that hour’s shooting I asked Jeff and Jerry if they were still OK with this whole situation. Each time they replied, “no problem.” Here and there, in-between exposures, I did notice these two guys huddled next to the camera, crowding above and below the ladder, and not quite under the umbrella, the whole while following my cardinal rule for night photography sessions: “ Under no circumstances touch the tripod.” ( If all these multiple exposures don’t line up with each other, they are useless.)

Eventually, it got so bad, the rain felt torrential. The only saving grace of the process was that rain drops don’t show up on film, the camera only sees what the beam from the spot light touches, not the water drops in between. Eventually, with about 90 exposures finished, we just had to stop, I couldn’t ask more of these two guys. They were volunteering, after all, and it wasn’t even their photograph. Before the session began, the agreed upon method of payment was a few prints of the finished picture, in exchange for their time, effort, and loan of an airplane.

As we were breaking the set, putting away my cameras, lights, batteries, etc. I could just hear them talking between themselves. Jerry, who had been perched atop the ladder was commenting to Jeff, that when he had to move the umbrella a little further away from himself, (in order to protect the lens) water started pouring off the back side of the umbrella, hitting the back of his head, running down his neck, along his back, and into his pants. Just catching a bit of that conversation which wasn’t meant for me to hear, really set my mind in motion. I was so focused on lighting, angles, exposures, and of course, protecting my cameras, it took a few seconds to replay in my head the last hour we all shared. Now, a more subtle understanding of what had just transpired over the last 60 minutes, began to dawn on me. During the course of this entire wet photo shoot, Jerry ( a friend of a volunteer) stood perched atop a 9 foot tall, very oily ladder, on a Sunday night, with cold water running down the back of his neck, into his pants. For one solid hour he stood up there holding that umbrella out at arms length. Not once, during that whole time, did either of these two guys mention a single word of regret or discomfort.

I used to think of myself as a “ nice guy.” If you ask any of my friends, and especially my mom, of course, they would tell you as much. Going out of my way here and there for a stranger is what we’re all supposed to do. But on that particular rainy night, I was given a true lesson in grace. Here were two guys, going out of their way--in the extreme--for a total stranger, far above and beyond any measure of just lending a hand. It was such a beautiful gesture and service that these two gentlemen had done for me. Now, because of their kindness, we all get to enjoy the finished image.

Knowing full well the answer, it’s still necessary to frame the question in my thoughts-are these series of night art shots so pretty because of my very expensive, fancy equipment, or am I so clever as a photographer? Maybe I’m really lucky with backgrounds and subjects, etc.? Or is it really the generosity and grace of strangers who, inevitably, time after time, go far out of their way to support a total stranger’s request for help?

P.S. You might think that’s the end of the story, but no. We still had to replace all the accessories back to the hanger, and tow the aircraft back to its tie-down station (all during a driving rain, of course). Well, the plane got stuck in the mud twice and broke off two of its chemical ejection nozzles that protrude below the bottom wing. Eventually, all toys borrowed were put back where we found them--somewhat the worse for wear and tear.

In the final photograph you’re looking at, the sky/clouds are real. That was the storm-front passing right overhead, just about to let go. It photographed bluish in my camera because I am exposing for tungsten lighting. If you look carefully at the close-up of the tire, you can, actually, see the very first few drops of rain on the black rubber as we began shooting.

Eric Curry