In My Mind's Eye

Of course everything else wasn't grey. What do we live in...a 1940's TV show? But when I walked into that little park at the base of the cable cars, it didn't take me long to spot the flowers, in blazing pink, resting amidst the otherwise seemingly drap backdrop of the French park. Colors do that. They grab you, bring your focus to a point and won't let you go. Who says you need to shout to be noticed. At times it is the quietest thing in the room (or the park) that can steal your gaze. This is just a photo that accentuates what took place in my mind's eye.

In My Mind's Eye

Grenoble, France

I haven't done much work on Photoshop before, so this is one of my first attempts at doing so. I am just teaching myself right now as time allows, so hopefully, you followers of mine (all 2 of you), will be able to see my work improve as time goes on.

Me, Dad, and a Blue Sky

No one else really wanted to get up early that morning. Maybe it was the fact that it was vacation and you are supposed to sleep in, but my dad and I had other plans. Both being fans of photography, we knew the best light is in the morning and evening. But beyond that, I think we both knew it was the most dramatic part of the day as well. Like a symphony starting with a tap of the sun's wand on the pedestal. Then a slow addition of instruments as new corners of nature came to light with each wave of the conductor's arms. Why would we miss it for a few more hours of warmth and rest?

When we got on the road, we could see the sun was already on its way up, as if approaching the stage. So we took off up the mountain and when we realized we were high enough and the and sun was ready, we pulled off and gazed at the shadowed valley floor with the thin silver stream weaving like a serpeant toward the town below. The morning light peaked over the jagged horizon, catching a glimpse of who was willing to sacrifice their bed for the start of the show. And there we were, with no regrets for our beds, but enjoying a little father-son time...and the best show money can buy. I actually think I remember the rapping of the conductor's wand on the music stand.

The following picture is not the symphony, but two happy concert goers reveling in the brilliance of the show. And we weren't even thinking about our beds.

An Early Morning Symphony

Rocky Mountain National Park

Ignoring Us and Proud of It

I am not one for approaching wildlife or bothering them in their natural habitat. In my opinion, many injuries to animals and humans are caused each year because someone really wants a great photo or says something like, "Honey, it's alright. Move in closer. I'm sure he won't charge at you or maul your face off.". This is usually followed by screaming, running or an emergency room visit. If you care to see the idiocy in action, go to Yellowstone National Park's Wildlife Safety Video's. They remind me of the time I saw a woman walk off a trail towards a feeding bear (not good to disturb a bear while it is eating) because her camera didn't zoom in enough. It was especially intelligent since her children were with her. But I digress.

During our visit to Rocky Mountain National Park last summer, we were driving on Trail Ridge Road when we saw a congregation of onlookers taking in the majesty of a herd of elk just off the road. So what was I to do, but hop out of the car, pop on my long lense and start taking some photos. Now before I get lumped in with the people in the Yellowstone videos, I was the mandatory 25 yards away from the wildlife and also, I was definitely not the slowest person there. I am sure I could get away before the guy next to me. (Sorry buddy)

The most interesting part of the whole scene was how sublimely unaffected the elk were by our presence. I think the constant human interaction has affected different animals in different ways. The animals in the videos were frustrated by the intrusion of the human vermin on their natural habitat, but the elk I saw that day had let it all go to their heads. They knew why people were stopping. They knew they were the center of attention and, consequently, figured they had the right to give everyone the cold shoulder as they basked in the mid-morning sun. Who knew the Hollywood mentality could creep into wildlife. What happened to the good ol' days of wildlife running off at the sight of men, or at least charging them.

Trail Ridge Road, Rocky Mountain National, CO

600mm, f/5.6, 1/500 sec

Streams of Light

I enjoy photography while I am hiking. First of all, creativity seems to come a little easier for me when I am walking through woods where sound is hampered by the surrounding foliage. You can think a little more clearly and slowly than when sound is coming at you unhindered and from all sides. Another plus to the woods, is the lighting. The streams of light come down in sporadic places, ever changing as the sun progresses through the sky. So if you took a picture of the same location a few minutes apart, you would get a totally different lighting scheme to the scene. There have been plenty of shots I have missed because I didn't get my camera out quick enough. By the time I was ready, the light had shifted and the shot was gone.

In the shot below, you can see how a shaft of light has lit up my father-in-law's back while the woods just past him are completely black. I like the stark contrast of the picture and also the colors that are brought out by the direct sunlight. Thank goodness for the uneven light of the woods.

Light on the Back, Appalachian Trail, TN

Viewing Through the Canopy

I love looking at the stars. To quote Switchfoot, "when I look at the stars, I see someone else." I am not writing this to get into an evolution vs. intelligent design debate; I am simply stating the overwhelming effect of viewing the celestial bodies.

And it was no different this night, looking up at the expanse of darkness dotted with pinholes. It was the same as usual, except for the canopy of trees narrowing the viewing screen. The trees surrounding our campsite rose beside us, then leaned over top, claiming us as its inhabitants. And though I could have let it frustrate me, I actually enjoyed the combination of terrestrial and celestial creations from the same vantage point. It was as though the sky didn't want its expanse entirely revealed to us, as if it was holding back some of its treasures for another night at some other place. The trees, more than willing to fulfill the request of the stars, stood sentinel, illuminated by the campfire below.

That night, I gazed upward, through the small window allowed me. Even though I have viewed fully the array of stars in the heavens, my interests were piqued once more by the anticipation of what lay beyond those trees.

This photo was taken at Montgomery Bell State Park in Tennessee. My wife and I were enjoying the stars allowed to us and awaited another time to view the rest. (If your screen is too dark to view the stars through the canopy, try adjusting the brightness, you should be able to view them.)

18 mm, f/3.5, 30 sec

Stars Through the Canopy, Montgomery Bell State Park

Homer Spit

I could see how this landmark could be brutal at other times during the year, but at that moment, I couldn't think about the dark side of Homer Spit. The 4 1/2 mile strip of land jutting out into Kachemak Bay was breathtaking. It was more than we could have hoped for when we took the advice of a local Alaskan, "You might want to travel down to Homer. It is pretty down there." I don't know if I have ever witnessed to a bigger understatement.

We had arrived in Anchorage the afternoon before, and after a quick shower at the local university, we followed the advice of the aforementioned local and set out for Homer, AK. But we were unable to make it all the way there without needing to stop and rest. So we pulled over on the side of the road and fell asleep in our cozy Aerostar. In the lower 48, pulling over on the side of the road to sleep may have prompted a visit from the local authorities and a light shining through the window in our eyes, but there really isn't that problem up there. I guess because we were far enough from town that they didn't send the cops around to check on stopped cars. Or they figure that if you are brave enough to risk taking a nap on the side of the road, they don't want to mess with you.

In the morning, we drove a short way to the small town of Homer. It resides on Kachemak Bay nestled amidst picturesque mountains, green hills and a billowing sea. As we crested the last hill before town, we saw a sleepy town waking up to the early morning light, perched on the edge of a breathtaking, but untamed body of water. There weren't many places to go that morning, but the one spot we noticed from the top of the hill was a spit of land running out into the bay.

As we drove the slim strip of rock and earth, we noticed a small campground right on the beach. So we pulled over onto the rock parking lot and noticed a few tents spotting the landscape. We emerged from our own driveable tent to feel the blast of the autumn-like wind blowing off the bay. It would have been incredible to camp on that resolute little spit. That strip of land has seen portions of it covered by the waves and battered by the winds, but still stands, unwilling to give in. And all of this drama set against the backdrop of pristine mountains and clear skies.

We took in the scene as passers-by, unable to spare too much time in our whirlwind journey across the last frontier. We hopped back in our tent, wondering what new campsite we would step out onto next.

Table 51

In our haste to get out the door I had forgotten to pack the camping chairs. This is not a necessity, but is quite convenient, unless you have a strong desire to sit in the dirt. So, upon our arrival, we were quite relieved to see table #51. It was a nice distance from the fire pit to avoid smoke and there was ample space for camping supplies on its surface. It was exactly what we needed.

Throughout many stays at state parks around our country, I have noticed a decline in the basic care of the state park systems. One source of this issue is funding cutbacks. That leads me into a complaint I have pertaining to the Illinois State Park system. Governor Rod Blagojevich has decided to follow the example of crooked dealings and poor choices laid out for him by previous governors in his call to close state parks around Illinois.

One such park, Kickapoo State Park, is actually bringing in enough money to be entirely self-supported, but is still getting the ax due to dirty politics and irrational thought. The plan, as laid out by the governor's office, is to close the parks, build road blocks at the entrances and have policemen patrol the area. All of this would, ironically enough, cost more than keeping the parks open. Way to go, Rod!

So next time you visit a state park, be sure to take care of it and express your thanks for its existence. Or, if you are not a regular park visitor, head out and see what they have to offer. I think it will be worth you time.

This was taken at Montgomery Bell State Park in Tennessee after a blissful night's sleep under the stars. Thank goodness the Tennessee state government sees fit to waste valuable tax dollars on parks and picnic tables.

Table 51, Montgomery Bell State Park, TN

Ice on Kluane

We were looking out at an ice-covered lake, stopped in the middle of the highway and it was 3 a.m. The odd parts were it was the end of May, there were absolutely no other cars on the road, and it was as well-lit as an overcast day. We were driving up to Alaska and were making a short stop to take in the pristine and silent landscape. There were no pull-off, but the scene was too incredible to miss.

It was Kluane Lake in the Yukon territory in Canada and at 3 in the morning there was still plenty of light to see. No headlights needed. With two of our friends quietly asleep in the back of the van, Luke and I decided to walk around and take in the world around us. There was no electric hum, no traffic, simply the sound of the cool breeze blowing by our ears and the feel of the crisp air on our skin.

As we drove further north, the nights became less like nights and more like days, sometimes too bright to sleep. We continued to see more sights that captured our attention. There were more breezes that filled our ears and a continued absence of the seemingly constant electric hum that fills our lives.

As we finished our tour of Alaska and headed back south on the Alaskan highway, we passed the lake one more time. But in the span of 5 short days, we found almost all of the ice that covered Kluane Lake had melted and the arrival of summer had come full circle.

Kluane Lake, Yukon, Canada

Lights in the Evening

This entry is not going to be very poetic or introspective, but simply an explanation of one of my photos. I took this at night in our apartment complex when we lived in Dallas, TX. I enjoy nighttime settings for a couple reasons. 1) Not as many people are out and therefore, you have a little more freedom to set up a shot and not have to worry about someone walking into the frame. 2) You can do long exposures do to the limited amount of light. 3) There are different lights you can work with, all of which provide a different feel to the image. Flood lights, street lights, house lights, stars, the moon, etc.

In the photo of the tree, the last reason I just wrote really comes into play. In this image there are two different types of flood lights (fluorescent and incandescent), the lights in the sky from Dallas, and also a few apartment lights. When I took the image, I really wasn't sure how well all the lights would come together, but I liked the tree and just gave it a long exposure. Photography is simply the manipulation of light, so if there is ample light, you might as well see how it comes together.

The Complex at Night, Dallas, TX

18mm, f/8, 15 sec

The Necessary Elements

It must have taken time to become so aged. Time and determination. It had survived when so many others had not made it. It was big to say the least. Not the biggest I had ever seen, though. But it had character.

I stood there and I stared at a beautiful, gigantic tree in the middle of the park. While taking in its grandeur, I couldn't help but wonder how many other trees like this one, once dotted the park's interior before being cut down to put in paths and grass lawns for picnickers. And why had this one survived out of all of them?

But beyond this question, I wanted to be like that tree. As I said before, it had character. A thick, sturdy trunk with roots wrapped around its base. A heavy layer of bark covered the flesh of the tree like the scales of a dragon. It had been beat up and weathered; experienced storms, rain, snow, sleet, wind. There were scars telling the tales of what it had seen over the years. As I stood there, I noticed other passersby were looking at it, enjoying everything it had to show for its battle against the elements. I wanted to be like that tree. Not because I wanted to go through hardship and suffering, but because I wanted to stand up underneath them and come out on the other side still whole.

Perseverance, steadfastness, and toughness are just a few of the words one would use to describe the tree. These are all traits I would love to possess and, to some extent, do possess traces of. But it is time that brings them to fruition. At one point, this great arboreal mammoth was a sapling; a weakling who had very little chance of survival amidst the giants surrounding him. But as the years passed by, it grew, probably with a longing much like the one I possess. And in the end, it was time and determination which allowed the desire to mature and the scars to tell the tale of who the tree was.

The Tree, Stanley Park, Vancouver, British Columbia

The One That Got Away

As I have mentioned in previous posts, during college, my friends and I enjoyed taking road trips. We saw many noteworthy landmarks: Old Faithful in Yellowstone, the Golden Gate Bridge, the bright lights of Las Vegas, Downtown Manhattan. But there was one landmark that got away. The Grand Canyon.

It was on our 'West Coast' trip. We were driving straight west from Tennessee through Albuquerque and then heading north to the Grand Canyon. It was going to be our first major stop on the trip. Of all the places we had been, this by far was going to be one of the most anticipated destinations of all our journeys. But as we entered the national park boundaries, we noticed there was something wrong.

There was a thick fog in the direction of the Grand Canyon. Not just a fog you might see in the early morning before the sun burns it away, this was a fog that would stop traffic, flights, the docking of boats, you name it. But we forged ahead, thinking, "Surely it can't be this thick all the way along the canyon." Boy were we wrong. We drove along until we reached a pull out and saw a path that led onto a viewing area. As we walked closer to the edge, our hearts sank. The fog was obstructing all possible view of the canyon. It looked like we were in a blizzard it was so white. So after I took the following photo, we loaded back into the van and headed on our way, a little disappointed.

The photo that follows is not the greatest piece of photographic artwork in the world, but it is a constant reminder to me of how you can't control everything and how it doesn't always go your way. Just a side note, I did end up going back to the Grand Canyon a few years later and hiking it rim-to-rim.

A Foggy Day, The Grand Canyon

On a Dirt Road in Saskatchewan

We had been driving almost non-stop from Fairbanks, AK and we were tired of the maroon interior of the van. The stench was reaching an all-time low and our diet of trail mix was catching up to us. All of this was no surprise; after more than 9,000 miles in a van with 4 guys, the quality of life is sure to be lessened.

So a few miles past Saskatoon on a flat and deserted highway, we thought a dirt road turn-off would be worth it. Simply letting the van air out was worthwhile. So we got out of the van and ran down the road for the sheer joy of movement and could not believe the blue sky stretching for miles over the green expanse of central Canada.

I still remember the sound of the dirt and rocks beneath my feet and the breeze blowing across those northern plains. It didn't have the striking features of a mountain range nor the beauty of open water like an ocean, but there was a simple beauty found in the flatness and unobstructed view of a prairie.

Featured in the picture below is a 1993 Ford Aerostar. The exact Aerostar that carried me and my friends to 49 states during our 4 years of college. It was captured in this photo shortly before its passing at over 280,000 miles. It lived a full life.

Our Van in Saskatchewan, Just South of Saskatoon, Canada

Waking Up in Appalachia

Our cabin was right on the side of a mountain. Driving up the driveway was a thrill and nerve-racking at the same time. It was as steep as a ski slope, making part of the family queezy and the other part excited every time we revved the engine to make the climb. There were other homes within sight, but I don't remember ever seeing any neighbors. Along with the solitude of our home, there was an incredible view. Courtesy of the second-story back porch, we were able to see over the trees and across to the the next mountain. The weather, the natural beauty, the rising and falling light at the beginning and closing of the day was all visible to us.

Mornings were my favorites. My father-in-law would always beat me out of bed, but when I woke, I would sneak out of my bedroom, trying not to wake my wife. Then head down stairs, trying not to wake other family members, and fill my coffee cup. Finally, I climbed back up the stairs as silently as possible, once again attempting not to disturb the slumber of the others, as I exited onto the porch and found my father-in-law already enjoying the cool morning air.

With the early rays of the dawning sun and a warm cup of coffee, we would sometimes talk, sometimes read. There was ample time to gaze out at what the landscape wanted to give us. Providing some insight into itself that those who were part of the scene would not be able to appreciate. We were above it all and because of this, bystanders instead of participants.

This particular morning a heavy fog lay over the forest below. Obscuring our view, but enhancing it at the same time. Time slowed a bit, the fog adding something new to the landscape and providing a serene panorama to enjoy with our taste of Sumatra. So with the wind lightly blowing and the coffee steaming lazily, we chatted and discussed the finer points of life and whatever else came to mind.

Fog in Appalachia, Outside Gatlinburg, TN

Mountain Gazing

The following photo, besides being found here on my blog, can be found resting in a frame on top of my brother and his wife's television in their living room. It was a wedding gift from me to them. It wasn't entirely a surprise because they had told me they wanted some of my photography, so I printed a few of my favorite photos and put one in the frame. So there it sits, reminding me of a road trip and the vast distance between me and those mountains.

When my friends and I started road tripping during college, I had half seriously/half jokingly thrown out the idea of driving to all 49 driveable states. So during our first road trip freshman year, the idea was somewhat laughable. But as college progressed and we drove to more and more states, the idea became a possibility and then a reality.

In setting out for our final voyage, we had already seen a lot up until that point. El Capitan in the midst of a snow-covered Yosemite, the giant Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, and our nation's capital building in Washington, DC. But I don't think we really knew what to expect on our final drive up north. We had no idea about the moose, buffalo and bighorn sheep who grazed alongside the highway as if watch passing cars was watching their favorite primetime show. And we certainly didn't know about the constant and casual appearance of no-name mountains that would garnish well-known names if they were in the lower 48.

I guess that is what makes this photo so impressive to me. It wasn't a well known mountain. And even though it is quite majestic and noteworthy, as far as I know it doesn't even have a name. It is just another one of the many striking, precipices along the route to the great white north. I have to admit that while taking that last college journey, I found myself gazing absentmindedly at the mountains we drove through. They captivated my attention even when I didn't know it. It was in those moments that I wondered whether or not those who lived there even noticed them anymore. Had they become desensitized to the grandeur out their back door, or did they catch themselves gazing in wonder at them the way I did?

I love Ansel Adams and I guess this photo is my small tribute to his influence on my nature photography. Though he has left an indelible mark on my photos, I actually took this from the inside of our van as we were driving 70 mph down the road. I think he would heartily disapprove. And who knows how much better the shot could have been if I simply had gotten out of the van. Que sera, sera. I guess that's what you get when you road trip in fast forward.

No-Name Mountain, Yukon, Canada

Out of the Concrete Jungle

If I had my druthers, I would not personally choose to live in a large city. I know that some people wouldn't think of living anywhere other than a city, but not me. Now before I launch into the benefits of fresh air, rolling hills and open fields, I want to say that I am not someone who says cities should be destroyed and everyone should live out in the country. There are benefits to cities, but I would like to make a case for at least some exposure to the world outside the 'concrete jungles' of metropolitan areas.

After a time of being inundated with traffic and white noise, there is something almost otherworldly about nature. Whenever this change in scenery happens for me, I begin by noticing the complete silence of my atmosphere, wondering how I could have ever put up with the noise. And then after a little while, you begin to pick up on the little sounds around you. Almost as if your senses have had time to recover and sharpen. You hear the birds, the rustle of the leaves and the wind blowing past you. A new world, previously unnoticed is revealed little by little.

Currently, outside of my window, there is construction taking place. A jackhammer is pounding loudly away, sometimes pausing for directions to be shouted from the foreman to his workers. And I understand the necessity of this. Buildings and roads need to built and maintained, but if one's life is only filled with this, then there might be something that is lost in the noise.

The following picture was taken on the Appalachian Trail. Over tree roots, stones and an uneven, unpaved path winding along the Smoky Mountains, I never once missed the sound of traffic.

The AT, Smoky Mountain National Park