Favorite photos from 2011

Not gonna lie. 2011 wasn't my favorite year, neither for racing nor for me, personally. So I wasn't particularly motivated to blog, or even put together a best-of post. But hindsight is 20/20, right? I now have a better appreciation for the races I shot last year and have decided to put together a better-late-than-never post about my top ten favorite racing shots from 2011. So here, without further ado, is my least-sucky shots from a less than stellar year.

The Factor finds a scratchin' post

 I took an impromptu trip down to Hot Springs, Arkansas to shoot the Rebel Stakes. While I was there, I stalked The Factor on the backstretch, where I discovered the gray/roan colt has quite the personality. During a bath, he started playfully shoving around his assistant trainer and used him to rub his head. I loved how this moment showed the bond between these two.

Breeders' Cup Saturday: Showtime (Part 1 of 2)

Some things need to marinate in you for quite some time before you’re able to adequately put your observations into words. At the track, it can be especially difficult for a photographer to let all of the surroundings and gravity of history soak in, because we’re hyper-focused on the action and getting the shots we need for an assignment. It’s also easier to just let our pictures tell the tale; sometimes, there are no just words to describe what it truly feels like to be within the eye of the universe.

Night racing at Churchill Downs

While the undercard races (meaning the Breeders’ Cup Juvenile Turf, Sprint, Turf Sprint, Juvenile, Mile, Dirt Mile, and Turf) all seemed to rush by in a blur for me that championship Saturday, I was able to force time to slow down for the big show long enough to catalog every moment in my memory. It’s taken me a while to want to share these thoughts and reflections, because that night, I witnessed what I believe to be one of the all-time greatest races in modern history, and being in the presence of such an overwhelming event is humbling. It also feels a little sacred, to be honest. I am so lucky to have been a part of it.

My Breeders' Cup Experience: Friday Kick-Off

This is how we roll at the Downs.

Friday morning started off with a scramble for a parking pass. Around 6am, I finally texted my boss and asked if he had an extra press parking pass, as the night before, I had come to discover I had no alternative than to take the shuttle over to Churchill from Papa John's Stadium. The lady who had given me my credentials at the Galt House had failed to tell me it was necessary to have a press parking pass to actually park with the rest of the media. (Churchill doesn’t actually have a lot for press on the grounds.) One would’ve assumed this would’ve led to her give me a parking pass out of necessity, but that wasn’t the case. She had been much more concerned about whether or not I would be attending the boot-stompin’ jamboree that night. (Which I ended up skipping after she got me tickets.) Thankfully, my boss did happen to have an extra parking pass, and so I wouldn’t be forced to schlep my gear all the way from the fan parking at Papa John’s on foot.*

*For those of you who know what Derby parking is like, it’s exactly the same for the Breeders’ Cup. All the neighborhood lawns are open for business, but I bypass that tradition in favor of actually being able to jet out of Churchill at a decent hour after the dust is settled.

When I arrived at the press parking lot at Papa John's Stadium, who should I find but my motley crew of photog friends heaving their gear out of an SUV and waiting for the shuttle. This sight was an instant relief. I was sure I'd be the only one missing the works that morning, but it seems everyone else had had their fill of works the day before. We were all in survival mode now.

My Breeders' Cup experience: Thursday shenanigans

After getting my hopes up about the Kentucky Derby, only to have them shot down, I didn't want to get excited about the Breeders' Cup. It was sort of devastating, to be told your lifelong dream-come-true is going to happen, only to find out a week before you leave on the trip that actually, there was a mistake and there wasn't enough credentials for you. (Yes, this actually happened to me.) So all the while I drove down to Louisville, I kept expecting to get a text message or a phone call breaking the news to me in the ninth hour that I wouldn't be credentialed to shoot the Breeders' Cup World Championships after all. I was almost expecting it, all the way up till I went to the Galt House Hotel to pick up my press credentials. It wasn't until I looked down at my name printed on the thick plastic card did I finally feel the pressure release and let myself believe that it really was going to happen. I was seriously about to shoot the biggest two days in racing I'd ever witnessed in my life. What was more, I was going to have a front-row seat to one of the single greatest races of my generation: the 2010 Breeders' Cup Classic, where the great Zenyatta would make her career bow.

That being said, I had prepared a little by creating a “Horse Racing Playlist” on my iPod, which consisted mostly of songs I pictured Zenyatta war-dancing to in the Classic, as well as songs that would dramatically illustrate the pounding hoofs of the field turning for home, and the angelic chorus that would sound as the big mare began to unwind her devastating late kick. So I guess a little part of me did want to believe in miracles. Thankfully, I wasn’t denied mine this time around. This playlist was my constant background music the entire Breeders' Cup, pumping me up each morning and preparing me for the the final showdown at the end of it all. By the time I was shooting the races, "Kashmir" was ingrained in my radiohead on a constant loop.

Meet my new boy, Tapizar

Official photo finish of the 2010 Travers

In December 2009, I was lucky enough to have TVG running in the background on a cold, shut-in kind of day when I happened to witness the debut of a 2-year-old at Aqueduct named Afleet Express. I was immediately impressed by his sheer talent to overcome a rollercoaster of a trip to rally from last and breeze past his rivals while still acting green in the stretch. This was a big ball of potential, and I hung on his every workout and race thereafter. If you followed horse racing in 2010, you will know then how I was rewarded with the ultimate pay-off for my loyalty: Afleet Express hung on to win the Grade I Travers by a nose to Fly Down that summer. It was one of the highlights of my year, to say the least--I was screaming like a flaming banshee, my shrieks piercing the windows of my living room and alerting the neighborhood to what they likely thought was my murder. My vocal cords were practically shredded by the time the horses galloped back from that race. I hadn't bet on that race (as I bet maybe twice a year, and only if I happen to be at the track), but I still had my $2 win ticket from my trip to Saratoga when I saw him run in the Jim Dandy, proof of my devotion.

Ghostsnapper's excellent Churchill Downs adventure: Part II

As a photographer at any racetrack, you have to learn what the rules are unless you want to get yourself in trouble. Unless there's someone at a track I know and can get the lowdown from, I have to speak with the track photographer, who has the final say on where you can go and what you can shoot. Yes, the track photographer is basically the head honcho, even though he's not your boss.

The track photographer at Churchill Downs is Reed Palmer. I, personally, had never met Reed before, nor knew what he looked like, so for the first few races on Clark day, I stood in the platform in front of the winner's circle and observed what Reed and his assistant was doing, where they were shooting, and how often. I was amazed at exactly how late they would show up to shoot each race; it wasn't until the post parade was over and the horses were entering the starting gate did they take their positions. Also, I noticed neither he nor his assistant ever went behind the inside rail because they were never out before the track was harrowed (as a rule, you are NEVER allowed to cross the main track once it's harrowed).

The funny thing about shooting at Churchill Downs is that there is no gutter or birth between the outside rail and the fans in which it's possible for the photographers to stand and take shots. Therefore, all shots taken on the grandstand side must be while the photographer is standing on the track itself or squatting beneath the outside rail. Reed and his assistant stood right against the rail, as far away from the action as they safely could; this is a welcome difference to how the photographers stand in the middle of the track at Arlington and look like they're going to either spook a horse or get mowed down at the finish line.

Two different races I tried to catch Reed without interrupting his job in the winner's circle, but he was gone in a flash each time the winners retreated. It wasn't until about the fourth race that I finally cornered him in the winner's circle and introduced myself and asked him the rules and about shooting from the inside. I found Reed to be very professional and helpful, and his rules were average enough I wasn't thrown any curve ball criteria. He said I could shoot on the inside, but I had to be about in the middle of the turf course the closer I was to the finish line; he said I could be right on the rail if I was far down, but I didn't have a mega zoom that would be necessary for such a shot. Luckily for me, I had recently acquired a ladder for such occasions.

When I shot the Hollywood Gold Cup, my photog buddy, Bob Mayberger, and I had no ladder to shoot on the inside with, and since the regulations on how far back we had to be from the rail were so strict, we had to create a makeshift platform on which to stand. This resulted in me standing on a bucket and Bob standing on a crumpling plastic crate we found in the storage area behind the tote board (along with an abandoned swan boat, but that was too big to drag out to the turf course). We propped the bucket and crate against each other so we wouldn't fall, and I almost knocked Bob off the crate when Rail Trip pulled away to his first Grade I victory and I leaped off the platform in celebration. Good times...

After I got my rules from Reed, I watched a race from the Press Box. The horses look so small coming around the final turn! I took some pictures of the race to see if I liked the angle; the 2-year-old maiden that won (Drink With Pride) drew clear by about ten lengths and made for an interesting shot all alone at the finish. After that, my very helpful husband trekked out to the car to retrieve my ladder and laptop. Having an "assistant" is very helpful in situations at the track!

Once I had my ladder, I made plans to cross the track after the next race was over when I'd have a harrow-free window. I was on the platform in front of the winner's circle when I was accosted by a security guard who had seen me all day and just got around to asking to see my credentials. Nice.

I was the first person to cross the track that day, and what a naked feeling it is to be the sole person striding across that stretch of holy ground, tromping where the Greats had trod, to duck beneath that wide inside rail to set up camp. There was a pretty large crowd on hand that day, some 20,000 for the Clark, and looking across the track at the grandstand, you feel sort of like Noah about to be swallowed by a gigantic whale.

I practiced shooting from the inside, debating over which side of the rail I should shoot the big race later that afternoon. I wasn't crazy about the position, since I'm a lover in tight close-ups, and my lens just isn't big enough for that kind of shot so far away from the rail. All my shots at Belmont taken from the inside were with the rented 300mm; how I longed for one this day! However, so far the light was much better shooting East, as all the horses were in full light and the shadows weren't a battle. Later in the day, as the sun began to move, I had to keep changing my opinion.

Shooting my first turf race at Churchill was pretty special. Being a spectator, turf races are usually the least exciting because the course is so far away from the grandstands; as a photographer, you've got the closest position in the house next to the jockeys and starters, and are right amongst the action. Race 6 was the first turf race of the day, and I used that race to get a feel for where I wanted to be for the River City Handicap on the turf that afternoon. Since the sun wasn't as appealing shooting toward it (no-brainer), I ended up shooting the River City from the inside turf rail.

I know most of this blog is gushing and gushing about how amazing it was to shoot at Churchill Downs the first time, but you have to understand, there really is no other place in the world that feels so much like hallowed ground to me. So when I first strode into the paddock with credentials, it was truly like walking into a dream. For once, I was on the other side of that white fence, and I was freely going about wherever I wanted as I pleased. I looked at the paddock numbers and thought about the horses who had stood there. It was incredible to be so close, in the realm, really, of such a landmark. If the sport of horse racing is the most beautiful in all the world, Churchill Downs is its cathedral.

Shooting the River City Handicap from the inside was definitely the best choice, even with my disadvantage in lens size; but right after that race was over, the sun moved to where it was baring down on the horses head-on. By the time Race 11 was about to begin at around 4:30pm ET, the horses would be running straight into the sunset when they came roaring toward the finish line.

All Clark day, I was all about Einstein; not just because it was scheduled to be his last race (which changed almost immediately after the race was over), but because he is such a hard-knocking champion, a more diverse horse you'll be hard-pressed to meet. So I spent the rest of the time between races deciding that if this was going to be Einstein's last race, I wanted to get the shot of Helen Pitts-Blasi saddling Einstein for the final time, for poignancy's sake. That meant I wouldn't be able to cross the track and shoot from the inside, but that turned out to be just fine, because the sun would be equal on both sides of the rail now.

For the time before the race and thereafter, I pretty much became Einstein's stalker. I waited for him in the paddock, making sure to get shots of each horse in case that horse would be the upset winner (but for some reason, Blame completely evaded me and I have no shots of him until the post parade), and when Einstein appeared, I, as well as the rest of the photographers, were glued to his every move like the paparazzi watching Brad Pitt skip along the beach. Needless to say, I got the shot of Helen saddling Einstein and then some. There wasn't a clog of congestion in the paddock, which is usually the case during the Derby, so my tunnel vision was generally free from anyone stepping in my way. It helped I wasn't bashful about getting exactly where I needed to be. What is it about the Churchill paddock that does that to me? Hmm.... must be that Louisville air!

After Einstein was saddled, and Helen gave him a lingering pat, I stood on the brink of the grass and followed the horses into the tunnel with my lens. Einstein was the last horse in line, being #14, and I followed his heels through that storied tunnel, and into the sunset washing over that golden track like a road of filigree. The shot I took at the moment Einstein stepped out of the shadows became my favorite of the day. But I'm sentimental like that.

Did I really believe Einstein would win the Clark? Honestly, I thought the odds were so stacked against him, I would've been surprised had he won after such an uncharacteristically poor performance in the Breeders' Cup Classic. After all, he was being saddled with the highest weight at 123 pounds, was in the outside post at #14, and would have to compete on a surface that although he loved, was not generally his favorite. He had lost the Stephen Foster to an unlucky trip, and thanks to his generous size, he had been too big to weave between a tight spot to get better than third.

So when I got into position a little behind the finish line on the grandstand side, squatting beneath that white rail, my heart hoped for Einstein to overcome these odds, but felt he would not be an embarrassment should he not come home a winner in his last race. As the 14-horse field broke, they embarked across that track like a flock of gigantic, powerful birds, and I felt a little intimidated practically lying like a bug on the ground out of harm's way. They thundered past, and I got my first clue that the lighting would be wonderful, and I waited to see where Einstein was in the positioning from the Jumbo-Tron.

As the horses came for home down the long Churchill stretch, I began to jerk in anticipation to get in a comfortable position. I was also trying to see where Einstein was in the herd, and I couldn't see his black face in that sun-drenched pack of horses. As they got nearer, I had to judge when I should start focusing, and by the time the horses were closing in, I had no idea where the black horse was in the standing. It wasn't until the horses came thundering past the finish line did I see Einstein, and my shutter followed him away, in third, but in the money. I didn't know who the winner was; it definitely wasn't the gray, Macho Again, and I didn't recognize the silks.

As I walked back toward the winner's circle, I saw my husband and our friend we met at the Derby, Steve, and they hailed me and were jabbering away about the outcome. I asked them who won, and when they said Blame, I started shrieking. BLAME! This was the horse I'd recently told Bob about, I'd added him to my Equibase virtual stable after seeing what a versatile horse he was, a winner over dirty and Keeneland's abhorrent Polytrack. Blame, a 3-year-old colt, won the Clark Handicap! I was very happy if Einstein couldn't win the Clark, the torch would be passed to an up-and-coming horse not so unlike the great black stallion.

When the horses returned, I was in the winner's circle and did not get to see Einstein unsaddled, but I got plenty of shots of Blame returning. It's surreal being caught up in the chaos of a race's finish. Rajiv Maragh walked by talking to Helen Pitts about how Einstein was "just so big he couldn't get through horses" and a few minutes later, Helen walked by with Bob Baffert, and I was a little star-struck, admittedly, and just smirked and tried not to look starry-eyed.

I look forward to Blame's next start; he has a promising career ahead of him, and if he is Einstein's successor, we have a fun road ahead. As for Einstein, since news broke that he will be racing in at least one more start, all I can hope for him is that he remains safe and is kept on the tracks and surfaces he thrives on. The old man deserves to hold his head high and return to the winner's circle.

I'm so thankful to have had the privilege of shooting at Churchill Downs for the first time, and like all great marvels, it is even more beautiful the closer you come to it. If I do get to shoot the Kentucky Derby next year, it will be overwhelming, but in every essence of this storied track, in every breath I take of that Kentucky air, and the red dirt it leaves on my shoes, it will feel of home.

Ghostsnapper's excellent Churchill Downs adventure: Part I

I admit that driving down Central Avenue and seeing the twin spires yesterday, I became a little emotional seeing that glorious trademark on the horizon, knowing I would be credentialed at the greatest racetrack in the world for the first time. The sun had yet to peek through the dark morning sky, which was thick with mashed-potato clouds, and the prospects of what lay ahead of me were almost too much to bear. There really is no other way to say it without being cliche: I was like a kid about to be let loose inside the world's biggest candy store.

Though it wasn't the smoothest of entrances for me into the world of a credentialed photographer at Churchill Downs (my credentials were supposed to be left for me at Gate 10, and when the employee at Gate 10 looked at me blankly and waved me inside after I inquired about them, I knew I was in for trouble), I was too enthralled with simply being there to be too bothered by my initial troubles. I arrived at the Downs at 7:40am ET and didn't end up getting my credentials until a certain Mr. Rogers arrived at work for the day, which made me a legitimate credentialed press person at approximately 9:10am ET. So in other words, it was actually a good thing I am a slug in the morning and couldn't pull myself out of bed before 6:00am ET; had I gotten there earlier, I would've had to wait even longer for people to show up to work. I'll make a mental note next time to pick them up the day before I actually want to shoot so I don't have to miss any morning action. I have to add on a side note, that the best view of the entire grounds is probably from the Press Box; there is a balcony that overlooks the track that would quickly become my favorite place to sit in the whole world if I could be a regular there.

Once I was official, I made my way around the backside and entered Gate 5 to the sacred barn area of Churchill Downs. There, I asked the security guard for a map of the barns so I would know where I was going (one of the kind security officers at the entrance had told me I could acquire a map here). The security officer at Gate 5 told me he wasn't allowed to give out maps to the barn area. OK, chalk up another point for Belmont being one of the coolest tracks in America, I thought. At Belmont, they practically give you the key to the park once you're legitimately credentialed. At every other place I'd visited thus far, this is far from the case, and you're often looked at with sidelong glances and met with a certain degree of apprehension. BUT, he did ask me if I was looking for any barn in particular and gladly pointed out where I was going and gave me directions. I looked at the detailed map on his desk and wish I had a camera in my head, or could take a picture of it with my BlackBerry while he wasn't looking, but I didn't, and had to pretend I would remember his directions as I set off to explore Churchill's backstretch.

Of course, I already knew where Rachel Alexandra had been, and I thought, was stabled at Churchill. Being her self-professed stalker, I had researched this and found it in an article online. At the time, I had no reason to believe she was not still at Churchill, for only a few days prior, the Daily Racing Form had reported that she would not be leaving the Downs until the fall meet ended. Since the meet didn't end until Saturday, I thought I had every chance to come face-to-face once again with my wonderhorse. It was almost as if her connections follow me on Twitter and knew I was coming. I didn't know this until hours after I'd circled the Asmussen barn about 10 times and got chased off by someone at Barn 38, but Rachel had been shipped out exactly a half hour before I'd woke up that same morning. Since I was in 007 mode, I thought this Hispanic worker at the Asmussen barn was feeding me lies to throw me off the trail; apparently, "no mas" really does mean "no more."

While Operation Rachel was still alive in my head, I decided to give it a break for the time-being and give Operation Einstein a try. My goal was to get a great portrait of the grand stallion on the backstretch, and I planned on stalking him all morning until I did just that. I will note that I was the only photographer or person of press on the backstretch that morning, oddly enough. I guess the horse paparazzi only converges for Triple Crown races, Breeders' Cup, or Saratoga parties. Being the only photographer on the backstretch that morning made me feel like I owed it to history to record the intimate events before the Clark; it was all up to me. Yes, I think like this all the time. I am aware I'm a bit nutty about this game. But I did get such an opportunity to record history moments after I found Helen Pitts-Blasi's barn.

As I walked down the aisle between barns, I scrutinized the regal horses looking out of their stalls, and when my eyes fell upon the final one, in the stall closest to the barn's office, I was sure I'd found Einstein just that easily. It was a tall black horse without any marking on his face. I was timid at first and asked one of the workers there if they could point out Einstein to me (just to be sure, since the horse had no bridle on). The worker called on someone from the office, who turned out to be the blacksmith, who told me that yes, I was looking at Einstein. Everyone around the Pitts barn was so kind and even seemed to want me to get good pictures of the great horse. After I'd taken a few pictures of Einstein in his stall, the smith said, "I'm going to put on his last shoes here in a moment."

Thus, I spent the better part of the morning getting hundreds of pictures of Einstein being reshod for the last time in training. I couldn't imagine a much more sentimental moment. Helen Pitts-Blasi herself showed up briefly before the shoeing begun, and I was treated to some funny anecdotes about the big horse while he was having his new sneaks fit. "He's tried mounting everything but that blockade over there," cracked the smith. He went on to joke about filling up a bus of Einstein's connections and heading over to Adena Springs to watch the stallion "break his maiden" at stud. "But you couldn't blink; it'd all be over with before you got to touch your popcorn!" This made me wonder how Einstein handled a race with Zenyatta; maybe he was too distracted by that Amazon mare to run his best in the Breeders' Cup Classic; hmm...

And then I was treated tenfold after the shoes were fit. Maybe it was because I was standing a respectful distance away and genuinely seemed interested in Einstein, snapping hundreds of photos of his hoofs being trimmed and the aluminum being hammered to a perfect shape, or maybe it's just that I was in the right place at the right time. The smith asked if I'd like one of Einstein's horseshoes. I about performed a back-flip. I'm sure my eyes bulged out of my head as I thanked him profusely and took the shining dirt-crusted horseshoe in my hand. Just another bit of evidence as to why I believe people in horse racing are some of the kindest, most gracious people you'll ever meet. The smith took another of Einstein's old horseshoes and nailed it above his stall for good luck. And then, when he was all decked out in new kicks, his handler turned Einstein around in front of me and had him pose for my camera. If I hadn't already been a huge fan of Einstein and his connections, this would've won me over instantly; instead, I was in my own kind of heaven.

After Einstein was put back in his stall, and I heard the smith remark to himself, "This is probably one of the nicest fittings I've ever done on him." It was clear that all of the people involved in this great horse have a lot of affection for him, and he will be missed once he's retired.

After Operation Einstein was completed, I decided to take one more trip around the Asmussen barn before getting a proper breakfast. Of course, Rachel wasn't there, and I couldn't help notice how stall #19, which I had seen her occupy in a photo, was conspicuously empty. I'd pretty much given up Operation Rachel at that point, but I wasn't as disappointed as I could've been; Einstein and his connections had already made my morning a rousing success. A visit to the track kitchen was next.

Like most things about Churchill Downs, the track kitchen is located in such a way as to knock you over with its perfect view of the track. I've never seen another track kitchen like it. The windows in the booths are about a foot away from a fence which separates the outside rail of the track from the building. You can sit and have a meal while watching horses thunder in front of the sprawling grandstands and twin spires in the background. For the first race on Friday's card, I stood on top of a picnic table and took a shot of a field of 2-year-olds flying down the stretch and into the final turn. It's actually one of the most majestic views to be found at the park, second to maybe the Clubhouse turn shot, and the view from the Press Box.

I left the backstretch to go practice credentialed shooting at the track for the first time. Part II to follow with my Clark experience...

Rachel and Zen prove girls rule the world

The results of the great virtual match race, plus discussion on the Rachel vs. Zenyatta debate:

Rachel and Zen prove girls rule the world

I was so excited to finally find a picture of Zenyatta doing her little Spanish walk/boxer strut for this article. For you link-a-phobes, here's the picture, author unknown:

In other news, I'm sure most of you have heard by now that Calvin Borel has been permanently taken off Mine That Bird, at least for the rest of the year. I'm a little saddened by this news, as horse racing had gotten a boost in the public spotlight with this Derby-winning team. Hopefully, any new fans who might've been recruited thanks to the hype will stick around to watch Rachel kick some tail in the remainder of her 2009 campaign.

As of yet, no jockey has yet been found to replace Borel, as trainer Chip Wooley is looking for a jock who can commit to the rest of the year, including the Breeders' Cup Classic. Mike Smith was asked, but declined because of his conflict of interest should Zenyatta face the boys for the first time in the Classic. Who would you name to replace Borel? Part of me wishes they'd call on Chantal Sutherland again, since she already knows the horse and wasn't given the opportunity to ride him in the Triple Crown. It would certainly give her career a boost to become a regular rider for the Derby winner if he stays in the same form he was in from May-June.

And in other news, Churchill Downs experienced fantastic results with their final test of night racing yesterday. I'm sad to have missed it. According to Blood-Horse, the attendance Thursday was 33,481 spectators--more than any other race day outside of the Kentucky Derby, Kentucky Oaks, or Breeders' Cup days. That means more people showed up to watch claimers than to see Horse of the Year Curlin in his comeback race from the Dubai World Cup. It seems that Churchill has struck gold here in whatever they've been doing. You can vote on whether or not you want Churchill to continue night racing as a part of the regular meet here: http://www.churchilldowns.com/ I voted "yes," because whatever is bringing in more people to the sport, we can definitely support!