By now we all know the story: with technological advances, media mergers and shrinking markets, the job isn't what it used to be for the editorial photographer. A few years back, a magazine assignment might have meant anywhere from ten to 14 days' work. Now it's down to two or three, which means that whatever edge time once gave us is gone. There's no waiting around for the good light anymore.

But I still love telling stories in pictures. When I get an assignment I get the same rush of excitement I got when I began my career. The challenge now is to deliver better pictures in less time, and I do that by planning carefully, being creative and staying flexible. I still believe in what one of my colleagues at National Geographic once said: "The photograph doesn't happen until I get there."

Last spring an editor assigned me to photograph the crab shacks of Maryland's eastern shore. I was delighted. This would be fun, a fresh and welcome change from most of the work I'd been doing over the last decade, work that centers on global health issues and social concerns.

The only catch: I had just two days to photograph everything for the print publication, with a third day to shoot a picture story on a waterman, one of a vanishing breed who make their living bringing in crabs and other bounty from the Chesapeake Bay. This photo essay would be used in a multimedia feature on the publication's website.

The publication expected full coverage: catching crabs, of course, and local folks eating them, but also food photography and the flavor and lifestyle of that part of the Chesapeake Bay. The eastern shore of the bay is a big region. It takes about four hours to get from one end to the other, so I had to make my time count.

That's where planning came into play. After reading the writer's text, I called him. We talked at length about what he'd seen and his priorities, so I could manage my priorities if I ran short on time. Armed with a list of all the areas he mentioned, I scouted the locations online, trying to see how visual they might be. I checked weather predictions for the assignment days. I called the waterman I would cover for the photo essay and learned about his work routine—and the ferry schedule to get to the island where he lived. This last was critical: the ferry ran only once each day. I couldn't afford spending extra time on the island, and I certainly couldn't afford to hire a boat.

After collecting everything I could find on the region, I made an itinerary and checked on the locations of local hotels, though I couldn't book them in advance as I wasn't sure where my roaming through the region would find me at the end of each day.

My planning was over. I knew I had to work quickly and stay flexible.

I began at the top of the Eastern Shore, photographing a local crab shack, which turned out to be a very nice place with a deck and a marina. The shack owner was happy to have me take pictures, but he and his staff were coping with the lunch rush, so I had to shoot while the action was happening.

Instead of the light cloud cover promised by the weather forecast, I had bright sunlight, which made the people sitting under umbrellas a good stop and a half darker than the light on the surrounding deck. Out came my SB-800 to take care of that, but to make food look interesting you need directional light and that was a problem. In the crowded area I had no place to put the Speedlight, and no one who could hold it for me. Looking around, I noticed that the sunlight filtering through a large floor fan was creating an interesting pattern on a nearby table. I could see that this little bit of serendipity would give me the lighting setup I needed for my food shot. The table wasn't occupied, so I eased my way through the lunch crowd, set down my bag and got a plate of crabs from the kitchen. In the gentle blend of sun and shadow, the crabs looked enticing. Naturally occurring lighting situations like this can bring an unexpected look to a picture, yielding a pleasing result without an elaborate setup. It took me an extra hour to get the picture, so I ended up wolfing down my lunch/dinner while roaring south, trying to make up lost time.

By now it was late afternoon, and the low light was sculpting the flat terrain of the Eastern Shore, warming the textures of weatherworn houses and fields of ripening corn and wheat. The publication wanted scenic pictures, so I kept stopping to make them, knowing that a three-hour drive loomed ahead of me; and that I still had to find a motel somewhere near the ferry I'd have to catch the next morning to get over to Smith Island, a small thumb of land in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay.

Smith Island is home to the watermen, and I spent the day photographing a story on one of them. Afterward I needed to photograph a Smith Island cake—a delectable multilayer confection that's the island's signature dish. Unfortunately I'd gotten ashore late, and had to rush to make the ferry back to the mainland. I had only five minutes to shoot the cake. I decided to use the same filtering technique I'd used for the crabs, and I positioned the cake by a screen door that diffused the afternoon sun. Throughout the rest of the assignment, working quickly, I found that natural light often turned out to be the best solution.

Staying alert and open to unexpected creative solutions is one way of making the most of the shrinking assignment times we all work with nowadays. Add in some planning and a lot of energy and we can still produce pictures that make our editors—and ourselves—happy.

Karen's website at www.kasmauski.com offers a selection of her photo essays and portfolios.

Karen Kasmauski has been an NPS member since 1989.