Four Days in Januaryat Yates Mill Pond Park

Day 1

Jan. 5, 2026

I didn’t start out intending to do a photo outing — much less a photo series of any sorts — when I started my 2-mile walk at Yates Mill Pond Park on Jan. 5. But it turned out that way. And the idea to develop a series evolved from images I captured in three subsequent visits in less than a week’s time.

Until Jan. 5, only one of my 14 previous visits to this park occurred in winter. Three others were in November and one was in early December. And in none of those visits, did I delve deep into the park’s woods to walk the trail. 

I’m sure the idea to take photos on my first visit this month didn’t occur to me because the forest, where the walking trail is located, was void of green vegetation, so subconsciously I must have thought that there’d be nothing substantial to shoot.

By now, you’ve probably surmised that after my visit on Jan. 5, I realized I was quite wrong. So wrong, in fact, that I returned to the park’s woods and took more pictures with my iPhone on Jan. 9 and 12 and made another visit on Jan. 11 with a DSLR (digital single-lens reflex) camera.

After the Jan. 11 visit, I figured I had photographed just about everything I was going to need or want of the woods in winter. And again I was wrong. So confident that I was finished taking pictures was I that when I embarked on my walk on Jan. 12, I had told myself I’d not have to pull out the iPhone even once over the course. But alas, I was wrong about that, too.

My friends, a forest in winter provides photographers landscape picture opportunities galore! Green vegetation — i.e., leaves and wild grass, mainly — by itself does not make or break landscape photography. I’ll share the pictures I made in a four-part series here, each post devoted to one of the four trips I made there this month. So far (wink).

And I begin with the first visit, on Jan. 5. Photos from this visit and the ones on the 9th and 12th were taken with my iPhone Pro 13, including the lead-off photo in this post. I made this at a point on the loop portion of the trail that abuts agricultural property owned and used by North Carolina State University. 

What caught my eye here is not just the expansive field, but the unusual coloring in the sky. I can’t say the iPhone captured it perfectly, but the sky does show a few layers of different colors, and that’s what I recall seeing. 

To view a full gallery of photos from this shoot, follow the link in this sentence.

Above: A gaggle of geese swimming near the shore of the small portion of the pond, the part on the north side of the pedestrian bridge, which you'll see in one of the last photos of this post. I photographed the geese above early on — as I first crossed the bridge at the start of my walk. I note that, because I also encountered them at the end of the post, at which time I took a few more pictures. And I’ll add that if you intend to stick with me for the whole series, it’d be helpful to make a mental note of the geese because I refer to them in the Jan. 11 visit as well.

A dense — and, for winter in this forest, rare — cluster of green vegetation (above), and a shot depicting the closeness of trees to the path of the trail (below). The path is covered with double boards like this in about six spots along the course because of low-lying areas of ground that stay wet or damp for a long period after a decent rain. 

A rare tree with leaves still clinging to branches (above), and two examples (below) of non-green vegetation in the forest. 

The path narrows at points because of tree roots of all sizes. Above is an example of thick and multiple roots popping up above ground with very little space for an individual to land feet on flat ground. Below are smaller but longer above-ground roots. The roots on the path, combined with its undulating course throughout, including brief root-laden portions that go uphill and downhill quickly, are a challenge to those who make the journey. But many people like that about the course. A walker or runner simply has to watch the ground studiously for the duration to avoid being surprised by an unseen root. 

Another tree with golden leaves (above) and a pedestrian bridge over a narrow stream (below). 

Above and first two photos below: Closeups of some of those golden and brown leaves. 

Above and first two photos below: Closeups of the sparse green vegetation in the woods in winter. 

More trees snug along the path (above) and, off the beaten path, a fallen trunk and its large, exposed roots (below). 

A closeup (above) of an odd-colored, textured tree trunk. Below, an expansive patch of dead grass hugging the shorelines of a creek. 

Above and first four photos below: A large number of geese from the gaggle had moved to the west shoreline of the pond’s smaller section (north end), a very short distance from the pedestrian bridge, by the time I returned to the bridge at the end of my walk. The vast majority of the pond is on the other side (south) of the bridge. The closeups of the geese show most of them grooming or fishing in the shallow water. I like the quivering water ripples in the last three photos. 

Above: A simple reflection shot, exploiting the textured water ripples. 

These few geese above (and closeup below) stuck to the east side of the north pond area. 

Above: I end this post with a shot of some pond homesteaders who camp out on driftwood in a shallow portion of the pond’s south (and larger) section. I see almost the same number of waterfowl at this very spot every time I do my walk here. It was partly because of these birds, and partly because of the geese, that when I returned on Jan. 11, I brought one of my Canon DSLR camera equipped with a Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L IS lens and a Canon EF 1.4 extender. You'll see my captures from that visit in Part III of the series. Notice the intriguing vertical reflection lines in the upper portion of the photo.

Every picture tells a story: Don't let the moment get away

Many photographers preach the importance of grabbing a potentially great photograph -- a beautiful landscape, a rare juxtaposition of subjects, whatever it may be -- when the situation presents itself. Sometimes, however, we're indisposed, or don't have quick access to gear, so we pass, rationalizing that "there'll always be another time." Only to realize, shortly after it's too late, that there really won't be another chance.

I've had experiences on both sides of the situation. One of the ones that got away still eats at me. I suppose there is a chance I could get it again, but it'll be a blue moon (or two or three) before the situation presents itself again.

It was just before dawn on a weekday about two years ago, and I was outside jogging, nearing the end of my route. As I climbed a slight hill, I noticed the moon hovering near a building that made for a beautiful photographic juxtaposition (I'm avoiding saying much more because I still cling to the hope of getting it!). It wasn't one of those cliched type shots, either. I even came up with a title for it as I maintained my steady running paces. When I got home, I could have lugged my camera and tripod back to the right spot to capture the frame; it was only about five blocks away. But, I had to get to work, I didn't want to be late, and I figured that the moon will come that way again some time. That was before I understood lunar orbital patterns, which don't repeat precisely very often.

I've been looking for the moon to align just the right way again ever since, but it hasn't happened; or, if it has, I wasn't in the vicinity to notice it. I suppose lunar orbits eventually will repeat at some point, but I'm not sure I'll ever know the wheres and whens, or get that second chance.

One opportunity I didn't let get away occurred on the morning of Saturday, Jan. 8, 2005. I opened the front door of my house to get the morning paper from the porch and noticed that one of those picture-perfect snowfalls had moved through overnight. The temperature was warm enough to enable flakes to stick to tree limbs, but cold enough not to melt them. The skies were a solid gray; dense, uni-color cloud cover through and through. I hadn't seen such an alignment of gray sky, beautiful snow and perfect temperature in a long time.

I moved quickly. Got dressed, grabbed my camera and gear, and once out the door, I snapped a few shots of the neighborhood. One of a snow-shoveling man across the street (right), his burgundy sweatpants and short-sleeve shirt and the brick on his house the only color in an image dominated by luscious snowscape, made for a nice wintry juxtaposition. Then I headed to the nearby park, where I had a field day finding beautiful, elegant, artsy images.

Most of the snow on the park's ground, including that on the walks, was still pristine, untrodden. When I reached the landscaped seating area where, in warmer months, parents often rested while children frolicked on the nearby playground equipment, I was taken by how the elements had transformed the area into a surreal, and maybe a bit haunting, work of art: the benches, tree branches and path serving as painter subjects, and the solid gray sky a muslin-like backdrop.

For the longest time after that, a long-range shot of that scene (left), taken from a path entry point, was one of my two favorites from that day's shoot. The other favorite (below) was of a row of tall, stately evergreens perfectly highlighted with white stuff -- not too much, not too little. Then a month ago, I started exploring some artsy features in my editing software, gimmicks that could transform the look of a simple photograph into a virtual painting of various styles and textures.

I tested a few "looks" on an image I hadn't considered a "favorite" previously: It depicted a snow-covered bench in the aforementioned playground seating area, flanked by flakes-covered bush branches and sidewalks. One of those "looks," which used a textured applique that made the snow pop out of the virtual canvas, I loved immediately.

That photograph is now my favorite from the shoot, and I used it for a while at the top of Photo Potpourri's s homepage. I've since swapped it out with the photo you see there now.

And, oh, I've not seen a snowfall exactly like that ever since.

To see a gallery of photos from the Jan. 8, 2005, photo shoot and other winter scenes, check out the "Winterscapes" folder at my site at SmugMug.