Monthly Archives: May 2012

Gear Envy

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Continuing the Gibbs Garden field trip, my cohort and I made our way down from the Manor house back towards the main entrance in time for lunch.  Along the way, we frequently paused to shoot.

Below the Manor House, looking back up the hill, an arbor stretched across the hillside below the house, surrounded by flowers.  It was so beautiful, we had to stop to shoot.  Unfortunately, the sun was high and the house was lost in dark shadows.

As we worked our way back down, we found numerous water features.  Between natural looking creeks and man-made ponds and streams, each had a distinct character.  The bridges that accompanied them were just as varied.

It’s funny how I can look at a scene, know that the lighting is not going to allow me to get the image I want, but not be able to resist trying anyway.  I wonder if this is the difference between digital and film?  Between knowing I can just delete any bad shots and that I can do quite a bit in post processing to improve the harshness of the light, I can’t walk away without shooting.

I haven’t quite figured out how to fix bad lighting in software, though.  While I can lift the shadows and pull down the highlights and do all kinds of interesting adjustments, in the end, it’s still bad lighting.

My first impulse in dealing with harsh lighting is to reach for a polarizer.  While it can’t fix the light, it can at least remove a lot of glare.  Two things have recently changed, however.  First, I have been shooting wide angle with a lens I added a couple months ago, which requires an 82mm filter.  My polarizing filter is 77mm.   So, I had to switch lenses to my most recent addition, a 24-70mm, which takes a 77mm filter.

After switching lenses just so I could use a polarizer, the second recent change come into effect.  I now have enough gear that I need two bags.  This has created a whole new problem.  I only brought one bag with me and I forgot to put my filters in it before I left.  So, I had picked a lens to fit a filter I didn’t have with me.

It seems like getting more stuff complicates photography in the same way it complicates the rest of my life.  The cost of more gear is more than the price–it also means more time organizing it, looking for it, and switching back and forth.  I think I’m about to hit my limit on wanting to further complicate my hobby.

Interestingly, the photographer I shot with at Gibbs Garden has been into photography since he was a boy.  Once film became too expensive and inconvenient, he switched to a high-end point-and-shoot with full manual control.  He carried his small, light-weight camera, a proportional tripod, and nothing else.  I was extremely envious by the time we sat down for lunch.

Field Trip

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Today, I went on my first field trip with the photography club I recently joined.  We went to Gibbs Gardens in Ball Ground, Georgia.

While it was quite a drive (2 hours), driving in this part of the country is always scenic, which makes the time pass quickly.  Today’s drive was no exception, although I did feel a bit guilty for not riding with someone else to limit gas consumption.  But, I’m having some back issues and thought I might need to leave early.  Fortunately for me, my back made it until 3:30.

Gibbs Gardens is a private garden created by someone who owns a landscape company and recently opened to the public (for a price).

Getting there was interesting.  As has often happened when I’ve ventured out with a group, I ended up on what seemed like remote, two-lane highways that go from 55 to 45 to 35 mph as they pass through small . . . let’s say “villages,” these places are too small to call towns.

And, another common occurrence, I inevitably find myself behind someone who wants to go at least 10 mph slower than the speed limit.  Today, I was afraid I was going to end up going 35 mph for 30 miles.  Fortunately, the very sweet looking little old lady ahead of me turned after only a few miles.

As I accelerated back to the speed limit and entered some sharp turns, I found myself wishing I’d driven our old BMW instead of the mini-van.  Let’s face it, even a bicycle would be more fun to drive than a mini-van.

When everyone arrived, we gathered and posed for a group photo and then scattered to go shoot.  Luckily, one of the guys I’d met before was company-tolerant and we ended up shooting together.  Otherwise, besides the $2 discount on the entry price by coming as a group, there wouldn’t have been any advantage to going with the group.

The one big disadvantage was that we didn’t get started until after 10AM by the time everyone arrived.  The light was already starting to get bad.  That is the one thing I would suggest to Gibbs Gardens–they should offer early or late entry to photography groups.

We headed up to the Manor House first, hoping to get to see the view of the mountain before it got hazy.  We didn’t immediately figure out where the mountain was visible from, so it was quite hazy by the time we found the view.

Regardless of the less than optimal time of day, the manor house and its surrounding gardens were amazing.  There is so much stone in the garden walls and walkways that I have to wonder how they got it all there.  The pool was so inviting, it’s a good thing we didn’t go there latter in the day–I probably would have jumped in.  I’m pretty sure they kick you out if you start swimming in the pool.

Fearless and Foolish

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When I returned to Yosemite with my husband in 2004, after spending a night up on Clouds Rest, we hiked over to Sunrise Lakes and spent a night there.

Sunrise Lakes consists of three lakes that are at different elevations on the mountain.  We hiked our way up to the top lake, eventually coming to an area that was a popular place to camp.  As we passed a group’s campsite, a young woman stepped out of a tent.  She told us her friends went on a day hike and she decided to stay behind and read.  After chatting for a bit, we continued on, hiking over a ridge and finding a spot to set up our own, much smaller camp.

After getting our site setup, we were about to take a dip in the lake when the girl from next door appeared.

“Uh. . . can I hang out with you guys for a little bit?” she asked.

As it turned out, there was a black bear in her campsite.  I insisted we go back and chase it away or it would never leave them alone.

So, we returned to her site to discover a relatively small black bear (who was actually brown) had found a bag of trash that had been left in an open bear canister.

I have to take a moment to get on a soap box here.  We had never backpacked in a park where you had to use bear canisters before.  But, when we got our permit, the ranger explained to us why we needed them and how to use them.  We followed the instructions carefully.  They were simple:

  1. Anything that has a scent must go into the bear canister.
  2. Your kitchen area must be at least 50 feet from your tent
  3. Any and all leftover food, pot scrapings, wrappers, trash, etc have scent; refer to rule 1.
  4. The bear canister must be properly closed.
  5. A properly closed bear canister can be set on the ground in the kitchen area.

Although we found evidence the next morning that a bear had come through our campsite, as the rangers promised, when it discovered all the goodies were unobtainable in our canisters, it quietly moved along without even knocking over a canister.

But, back at our neighbors’ campsite, I should have been afraid of a roughly 400 pound bear with scary claws, but, he just seemed like a bigger version of our dog.  I experienced no fear.  I led the three of us as we shouted, clapped, and threw rocks.  Between throwing and clapping, I took as many photos as I could.  I can’t say I spent a lot of time on composition.

We chased the bear away, but, unfortunately, our neighbors didn’t learn their lesson.  A13 year old in the group left a container of Gatorade in her backpack and the bear harassed them all night long.

It makes me sad to think that bear may have eventually paid the ultimate price because people couldn’t follow simple instructions.

Climbing Up the Walls

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Having made space in my photo library, I, of course, had to fill it.  I did this by importing an old archive of photos into my favorite photo management tool, Aperture.

An interesting thing happens when you import an old archive:  you watch your life flash before your eyes in the most literal of ways.

As I sat there going through time, I was reminded of many amazing things I’ve experienced in my life.  Of course, I find a starling with white tail feathers (which still eludes my camera) amazing, so I guess I’m easy to amaze.  I consider that a virtue.

Among these memories are a few moments when I was scared and not sure I could do something, but I did it anyway.  I’m sharing one of those today.

I had traveled to Yosemite with some friends I’d been training with for my first triathlon.  We went to San Francisco first where some of them (not me) did Escape from Alcatraz.  That was above my pain tolerance level.

In Yosemite, at the base of Half Dome, I stood looking up at the climb to the top of the dome and nearly didn’t attempt it.  If I am completely honest, it was only pride that motivated me to do the climb.

It’s hard to describe the climb.  I guess if you imagined people walking across a rope bridge and then imagine the bridge is vertical, hanging down the side of a mountain, and only has a floor-board every 10 feet, that would be close.

The boards are flat against the rock so you can perch and rest for as long as the people behind you will tolerate.  It’s probably not quite as vertical as it seems, but I felt like we were walking up a wall.

You are not tied to anything and you do not use any special gear.  Gloves are highly recommended, however.  If you arrive without a pair, there is a pile of gloves at the start of the climb left by those who completed it.  These are simple work gloves–nothing special.

I don’t know how long it took to complete this climb.  I just remember feeling grateful that someone slower than me was ahead of me–that gave me the time I needed to recover between resting perches.

When I made it to the top, what breath I had left was completely taken away.  There is an interesting phenomena that the harder I have to work for a view, the more amazing it is.  Part of the amazement is the sense of incredibly great fortune that I, a mere mortal of lower-than-average athleticism, am among the few to see it.

When Pat and I went to Yosemite together a couple years later, I tried to talk him into doing the climb.  That was a non-starter.  We hiked to several other views that were probably just as mind blowing, but they didn’t come with quite the same sense of elation.

*Photograph Credits:  these are not mine (in fact, I’m in 2 of them).  I’m not sure which friends took them, but I’m happy to have them.  Especially since I haven’t found my own photos from this trip–they may be in print only.

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Clutter vs. Hoar Frost

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In the process of going through old photos and clearing out the masses of virtual junk that I have collected, I am reminded both of how much I prefer a life uncluttered and how much I enjoy reliving the past.

On the topic of de-cluttering, there was a time when this referred to clearing clothes out of closets, emptying the junk drawer that collects unrecognizable objects that we’re sure we’ll need someday, selling the collection of hobbits or beanie babies, and donating excess household goods.

For us, we started the process of reducing things several years ago.  But having focused for so long on getting rid of physical items, I completely ignored the virtual ones.  My main problem, as you might guess, is photos.  As long as all my images fit on the hardware I already owned, I don’t think of it as clutter.

But having grown my capacity to over 7 TB between old devices, new devices, backup devices, and spare devices, I’m thinking it’s time to start eliminating the multiple copies of the same photo, the really bad images, the slightly different angles of the same thing, the series of 300 shots of the same person making different facial expressions–in short, the crap.

Having cleared out this virtual junk, I find the important memories and the images I’m almost proud of suddenly jumping out at me.  Just as clearing out the 4 potato mashers, the endless collection of useless appliances (useless to me since I don’t cook), and the endless odds and ends that filled our kitchen cabinets made the kitchen a place I didn’t mind hanging out in (because I could suddenly, for example, find the corkscrew when I brought home a bottle of wine), I find myself suddenly having a hard time pulling away from perusing the past.

When I stumble upon photos from one of my favorite places, Jasper, Alberta, I decide to share a few from our hike near Pyramid Lake in December of 2009.

Jasper National Park is located in what I used to think was Northern Canada–until I looked at map.  It is North of Banff, but, it turns out that’s not even far enough North to be Northern Alberta, let alone Northern Canada.

Given that the town of Jasper is located within Jasper National Park, which encompasses a pretty big chunk of the Canadian Rockies, it was far enough North (or perhaps just far enough in altitude) that the high temperature those two weeks of December was -15 degrees Fahrenheit.

When we hiked around Pyramid Lake, we discovered something I’d only read about–hoar frost.  I never actually knew what hoar frost was until after I showed some of these shots to a friend.  If Pat wouldn’t have been with me, I probably would have frozen to death because I was so fascinated with the hoar frost, I would undoubtedly have forgotten to return until it was too dark to see.

I don’t consider these images clutter.

Relapse with a Bounce

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I had to quit cold turkey.  It was tough, but after I got through the initial withdrawal, I discovered there were endless subjects to shoot besides the Chattanooga riverfront as seen from the North Shore.

The toughest step of my recovery was having to go through my photos and delete about 7000 images to free up drive space.  I think 5000 of those images were of the Chattanooga riverfront.

But then yesterday, I was walking in the park with Tisen.  I was going to go for a bike ride afterwards, but the clouds started rolling in and, well, I skipped my ride in order to shoot.  I guess we could call it a relapse.

When I started gathering up my gear, I peeked out the windows to discover a double rainbow forming in the East as the sun cruised toward the Western horizon.  I rushed to find a good view and get setup, worrying that I would miss the rainbow.

As it turned out, the brightest rainbow remained visible for the entire 45 minutes I was shooting.

The second rainbow never did get very bright–it just sort of hovered on the edge of visible.  It’s visible in the second image if you look closely.  As much as I love seeing rainbows, I find I enjoy shooting clouds more.  Perhaps because it’s difficult to get more than one perspective on a rainbow, but the clouds continually shift and create new images for you.

I’m not sure where my fascination with clouds started.  When I was a child and my family went on long road trips, if there were clouds, we would amuse ourselves by finding complex and, often, outrageous shapes in them and trying to get everyone else to see what we saw.

Every time I fly, I hope for cloud cover.  I love looking down on clouds–especially when there are thunderheads or other masses of clouds that look like some sort of special effect created by hollywood.  Of course, when I’m in a plane, I wish they were just a special effect!

As part of studying for our hang gliding rating, we learned a little bit about clouds and how they can help predict the weather–a life and death issue if you’re a good enough hang glider pilot to stay aloft for hours (my longest flight so far was about 4 minutes–makes weather changes sort of a non-issue).  We learned hang glider pilots look for big puffy cumulous clouds as a sign of thermals. From the look of things, the thermals were in full force.

I vaguely remember a dream I once had of falling through a cloud.  In my dream, the cloud was soft and warm–as if it were somehow slowing my fall.  It wasn’t the kind of fall that makes you wake up before you land; it was the kind of fall where you know you will bounce.  Perhaps I already knew that thermals were pushing back underneath?

Above Infinity

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Now that the heat has returned to Chattanooga, it seems like the perfect time to re-live part of our trip to Glacier National Park a couple years ago, where it was cool enough that it even snowed.

We started in Portland, visiting my dad, jumped on a train to Seattle where we met some friends.  Then, we went on across the continent (or so it seemed) overnight until we arrived at the tiny West Glacier train station.

Deposited at the depot so early in the morning that it wasn’t open yet, we stood on the asphalt area that served as a platform. surrounded by our rolling luggage.  We looked around in wonder.

By the time we discovered our rental car hadn’t been dropped off for us, got picked up by the rental company, and were outfitted with a four-wheel drive vehicle that was twice as big as anything I’d ever driven, we’d seen enough to be reminded why we love the Rockies.

But these Rockies seemed . . . rockier.  More rugged, bigger, bolder somehow than the Rockies of Colorado or Alberta.  But then again, I think I feel that way every time I return to the Rockies, no matter which part.

Our friends were only staying a couple of nights and then they were heading back without us.  Since they weren’t hikers, we took advantage of having a couple of non-hiking days to adjust to the altitude by doing things like driving to overlooks and walking on gentle paths around lakes.  There was an amazing amount of beauty to take in without pulling any muscles.

When we drove past a helicopter tour place, we girls were determined to get the guys on the copter.  I have often skipped helicopter tours opting to spend my money on a nice dinner with a decent bottle of wine instead.   But I always regretted skipping the helicopter tour in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.  This time, I wasn’t about to miss it.

I laugh as I remember how hesitant the guys were to join us.  I really think they wanted to save the money.  I don’t think either one regretted having spent it by the time we landed.

There is something so spectacular about mountains.  To see them from above, with clouds nestling below their peaks . . . I imagine scenes from Greek mythology of the gods having a meeting or perhaps playing chess.  If I were immortal, this is definitely where I would hang out.

I cannot logically explain the effect mountains have on me, but I think it’s a common experience.  That sense of awe, grandeur, amazement.  The sudden stillness that follows the feeling of inspiration.  Feeling part of something bigger than my imagination. Perhaps a sense of being part of something infinite–the world seems so endless from a mountain top.

I wish these few photos contained that feeling.  Unfortunately, these are very low resolution versions of the originals (which, I hope, are stored away in an archive somewhere).

Gaslight

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While we were on Maclellan Island, several of us got ahead of the rest of the group.  When we arrived at the meeting place to wait for our ride home, one of the women suddenly asked, “One of you doesn’t have a tow-headed boy on the island, do you?”

None of us did.  She explained that she had just seen a boy in a pair of plaid bermuda shorts on the path.

We all looked.  No boy.

A few seconds later, she said, “There he is!” We all turned to look.  No boy.

This repeated at least 3 times.  The boy was playing hide-and-seek.  The poor woman was sure we all thought she was crazy.

Eventually, we all saw him, but he immediately ran away.  We decided he was a wild boy.  Of course, I’m not sure how common it is for wild children to wear plaid bermuda shorts.

On the theme of unusual sightings, I continue to try to create photographic evidence of my white-tailed starling.  I have, over the course of the last few days, come to think of this bird as my own personal starling.

I have made a habit of taking my camera with a long lens every time I take Tisen to the park.  But having seen it 3 times when I couldn’t get a picture, I have yet to see it when I’ve had my camera at the ready.

I managed to get a few shots of other birds, including a cedar waxwing.  The cedar waxwing, like the wild boy, always plays hide-and-seek with me.  I feel fortunate to have gotten one in my frame at all even though it’s not a great image.

I also spot a very strange looking turtle.  I’ve seen one like it at the aquarium.  I guess I will have to go back to find out what it is.  It has a long neck and a pointed nose and a very long tail.  I couldn’t hold still enough without a tripod to get a good shot of it–it really is like some of the pictures of big foot you see!

This morning I slept in.  When I got up, poor Tisen had decided to let me sleep even though he couldn’t hold it anymore because of his medication.  We had quite a puddle.

I rushed outside with him feeling guilty that I was so late taking him out.  It was raining and Tisen really didn’t want to spend a lot of time in the rain, so he started heading on the short route we usually only take at night.  When we got to the parking lot, there, pecking at some trash from Krystal burger, was a group of starlings.  Sure enough, the white-tailed youth I’ve been hunting was among them!  And, as one might predict, I was there without even a cell phone.

Oh well.  At least I know it’s still hanging out in the neighborhood.

Secret Island

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In the Tennessee River, between the Bluff View Art District and the North Shore, there is an island.  Most people call it Maclellan Island.  The owners call it Audubon Island.  Long ago, it was Chattanooga Island. Before that, it was Ross’s Landing Island.  Whatever you call it, it’s a tough place to get to.

It’s a place I’ve wanted to see since we first came to Chattanooga.  It’s inaccessibility made it that much more desirable of a destination.  I tried a group who does kayaking tours, a business that rents paddle boards, and a water taxi service to no avail.

But finally, the Chattanooga Audubon Society is offering a tour.  Today is the big day with the Chattanooga Duck Tours providing transport.

Captain Alex takes us through downtown Chattanooga, educating us on the history of the buildings.  We had no idea that so many of them had been around since the 1800’s.  Then, we take a running dive into the river in our 1940’s DUKW vehicle, built by Rosie Riveters during WWII.  She still holds water.

We make it to McClellan Island safe and sound–and knowing a lot more about the riverfront development effort, too.

The island has 1.5 miles of trails that have been freshly groomed, but there is already poison ivy reappearing all over the trail.  Now, poison ivy is a native plant that’s good for birds and I have nothing against poison ivy.  I just don’t want to come in contact with it.  We step gingerly to avoid coming in contact, although it’s pretty much impossible.

A great-crested fly catcher sings a greeting for us, although we only catch an occasional glimpse of him flying from one tree top to the next.  We also hear a wood thrush, an Eastern towhee, and many other common birds.

Sadly, it’s hard to see anything through the dense privet, honey suckle, and vinca taking over the woods.  It makes me sad to see how devastated this tiny island is by plants that have invaded here.  Poison ivy is by far the most prolific native growing on the island, but even it is out-competed by the invasives.

The first wild-growing oak-leaf hydrangea in this county was discovered here on this tiny island just days before.  It represents a glimmer of hope that the ecosystem of this tiny green space can still be saved.  The clusters of white flowers shine through the shadows and remind us how beautiful nature, on its own, can be.

Back on the duck, we get the best view possible through fully leafed-out trees of a heron rookery.  There is also an Osprey on its nest on a platform at the end of the island.  As we come around the far side of the island, a group of double-crested cormorants perch in the trees.

I only wish we could spend more time sitting (far from poison ivy) and listening for all the birds that call this tiny sanctuary home.

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Finding Big Foot

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It all started several days ago when Tisen and I were on a typical walk.  Noisy European Starling toddlers tormented their parents, which has become a common scene of late.

On this particular day, Tisen charged a starling family grazing on a slope.  They flew away together in a little flock, just as one expects.  The adults were clearly starlings.  The juveniles were all the same shape and size.  But there was a flash of unexpected white.

I did a double and then a triple take trying to make sense of what I was seeing–it was a white tail. I have seen thousands of starlings and I have never seen one with a white tail.  I have read descriptions of starlings dozens of times and never has anyone mentioned a starling with a white tail.

But, there it was.  A bird who acts like a starling, looks like a starling, hangs out with starlings ought to be a starling.  It was the right size and shape, but what’s with the white tail?

I could not think of a single possible bird it could have been.  I began to think I had either imagined it or the bird had somehow dipped its tail in a bucket of white paint.

Then, two days later, I saw it again.  This time, it flew across the path just about 10 feet ahead of me.  I watched it whiz by, still harassing its parents, and felt certain it had to be a starling with a white tail.

I asked a knowledgable friend of mine.  She asked an ornithologist and informed me that, yes indeed, starlings do, on rare occasions, have white tails.  Unfortunately, we were having cell phone challenges and I didn’t catch the explanation.  Amazingly, I’ve not had any luck finding an explanation online.

Today, for the third time, I saw the white-tailed juvenile hanging out with its parents in the park.  This time, I got a long look at it as Tisen was too groggy to give chase.  I even managed to get out my iPhone, unlock it, and bring up the camera app before it flew away.  Unfortunately, I didn’t actually get to take a picture first!

This evening, I am on the hunt.  It’s like a quest for Big Foot, I think.  The elusive white-tailed starling lurks in the park across the street and I aim to catch it in pixels. . .

No luck tonight.  I found normal starlings galore.  And I saw song sparrows, mocking birds, brow-headed cowbirds, cliff swallows, carolina wrens, and even a downy woodpecker.  But, no white-tailed starling.

I did, however, seen another interesting thing.  A hawk was circling overhead.  When I looked at the photos enlarged, I realized it was probably a red-tailed hawk, but it has a fish in its claws.  I never saw that before, either.

Maybe a red-tailed hawk with a fish is like finding Nessy?  Big Foot, however, will have to wait for another day.