Monthly Archives: July 2012

Christmas in July

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Since I got started on our Jasper/Calgary trip yesterday, I started going through the photos from the rest of that trip.  Perhaps because it’s been so hot and muggy these days, I felt a little like having Christmas in July.  I don’t mean one of those silly secret santa things people do in July.  I mean snow, cold, air that reminds you you’re alive every time you take a breath.  So, I dug out some photos from Jasper on Christmas Day 2009.

Jasper has an interesting tradition on Christmas Day.  All the locals (and tourists) go to Lac Beauvert by the Jasper Park Lodge and ice skate.  I suppose it only makes sense that Canadians would have a community skating event on Christmas Day.  But they don’t just skate on a bumpy old lake.  They get out a zamboni and clear a wide path all the way around the lake–a single lap is at least 1 KM.  It seemed more like many miles to me having not skated in many years, but 1 KM sounds more reasonable.  They also clear 2 areas to standard sized hockey rinks and a 3rd area for figure skating.  The figure skating area is usually empty.

We didn’t bring ice skates with us nor did we plan to skate while we were there.  We didn’t know there was any skating in Jasper until we got to know a guy who had moved there from France.  We met him by renting downhill and cross country skis from him several days in a row.  He suggested that we planned to skate on Christmas Day, told us where to rent skates, to make sure to get them the day before, and promised he would be there.  He was a very nice man.

We found the place to rent skates on Christmas Eve.  When I asked for figure skates, they tried to talk me out of them.  I assured them I could handle a toe pick.  When Pat asked for figure skates, they did talk him out of them.  Apparently real men don’t wear figure skates in Canada (or maybe anywhere?).

We headed over to the Jasper Park Lodge in time for a Christmas lunch.  We sat in a restaurant in the huge, open lobby area and looked out the enormous windows thinking we should have stayed there.  Then, we bundled up and headed out to the lake to skate.

Complete with hot chocolate and a bonfire with people toasting marshmallows for s’mores, it would have been a lovely lake scene even without the surrounding Canadian Rockies.  Throw in the Rockies and the families with dogs running beside them and children in running buggies as they skated around the lake, and it became unbelievably beautiful.  It was Normal Rockwell in the Rockies, Canadian style.

And there was the guy we met renting skis, playing hockey with his friends.

I can’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Day (well, camping in the Everglades was pretty close competition).

Not a Beach

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Unlike yesterday’s post, this one isn’t about the beach.  In fact, it’s pretty much as opposite as it gets from the beach.

Pat and I fell in love with a place called Jasper in the middle of Jasper National Park in Alberta, Canada.  After spending a week hiking in the area, we started fantasizing about living there.  We figured before we got too far with this fantasy, we should go back in the winter.

We had flown in and out of Edmonton the first time, so we thought we’d try flying in and out of Calgary this time and return to Calgary a few days before our return home so we could spend New Year’s Even there.

This was the second time we decided to travel over Christmas.  It was the first time we went somewhere where it was -15 Fahrenheit (-26 Celsius) for the high during our whole trip.  (We loved it anyway.)

By the way, if you are considering going to Jasper, I recommend flying into Calgary if it’s summer, but flying into Edmonton if it’s winter.  The drive up Icefields Parkway is beautiful in the summer, but it’s down right terrifying in the winter.  I suppose one might intuitively know that driving up a highway called “Icefields Parkway” in the middle of December could be a bad idea.

We, however, having been there in the summer to see the glaciers, assumed the name referred to the glaciers rather than the actual road.  The Toyota Camry we rented faired far better than one might expect, but we really should have been driving with chains.  It was supposed to be a 5 1/2 drive.  We were about 3 hours late getting to Jasper.

The drive back to Calgary went much better–there hadn’t been any fresh snowfall for days and we left in the morning, driving in daylight.

After spending 9 days in the snow and ice, we thought it would be nice to return to the city, thinking it would be warmer between being further South, at lower elevation, and being made of heat-holding materials.

It’s quite possible it was actually colder in Calgary.

I think it was the wind tunnel effect of all the office buildings, but it might have been psychological.  It’s hard to notice that you’re cold when you’re surrounded by incredible mountains.

We made it to the local bird sanctuary for a little bird watching in spite of the cold and a lack of binoculars.  I even managed to get a few shots.  I was fascinated by the Magpie nests at the sanctuary–they looked like multi-story condominiums.

I struggled to identify what kind of large bird of prey I got a shot of.  At the time, I assumed it was a hawk.  When I reviewed the photos again tonight, I suspect it’s actually a second year bald eagle, but will have to confirm.  I remember thinking it was extremely large for a hawk, though, so it would make sense.

Everything’s Better with a Beach

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Several years ago, we had the opportunity to attend a special event in St. Lucia.  We’d always wanted to vacation on a Caribbean island, so it seemed like a good time to go.

I’m not usually one to stay in resorts.  I prefer an experience that is less homogenized.  However, having been to Jamaica once for a work conference (yeah, I know) and having been warned not to go “off the reservation” without an appropriate escort due to issues with crime outside the resorts (I was always suspicious the risks were exaggerated to keep unsuspecting business women from taking their American dollars elsewhere), staying a resort eliminated concerns about crime.  To be fair, I didn’t do much research about St. Lucia because we were meeting a group at a resort.

I’m glad we had the resort experience.  Now I know what I’ve been missing.  It was exactly what I expected it to be–predictable, uninspired, stripped of virtually all local culture, and overall less than what it should be for the prices they charge.  It’s like going to Italy and eating at McDonald’s.

That said, who can complain about being on a gorgeous island at a luxurious resort in the middle of the Caribbean?

Small islands with a large number of inhabitants are probably not the best place to do things like backpacking.  But quite honestly, I wouldn’t know since we only walked around outside the resort once.

We saw quite a bit of the island from the back of the airport shuttle, winding around tight mountain turns to the point that I got motion sickness for the first time in my life.  Interestingly, having never been motion sick before, I interpreted the nausea I was experiencing as been intense hunger.  Maybe that’s what kept me from throwing up?

We also got a peek of the island when we went SCUBA diving.  We were shuttled to the port and then taken out to sea to dive.  I had never been diving before and only had a resort certification to dive only to 20 feet.  Unfortunately, I didn’t learn how to properly equalize and my head felt like it was going to explode.  After the first painful minutes, I finally took a deep breath and relaxed.  The pain subsided and I was truly excited.  Then, I realized all the other divers were swimming below me.  I decided to look up to see how far down I was.  When I raised my head, it popped out of the water.  I probably should have just stuck to snorkeling.

Besides the great group of people we were with and the fun we had celebrating with them, the best part of the trip was the beach.  I signed up for a yoga class on the beach one day.  That might have been the highlight of the trip–no one else signed up.  I got a private yoga lesson in a gazebo on the beach, witnessed by the rising sun and the cool sea breeze.

*Note:  Images starting with “img” are mine.  The rest were from members of the group.

Taking Lessons

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As I rode my bike home from my first day of Learn to Row, it occurred to me I’ve been taking lessons my whole life.  I began to compile a list of all the classes, workshops, lessons I’ve taken.

First, there was ballet.  This always shocks people for two reasons.  First, I am approximately 2x the size of the average ballerina in all directions.  Second, I am incredibly clumsy.  Although, I did have a guy tell me I was graceful once.  When I protested that I’m always falling, he said, “Yes, but you fall gracefully.”  Maybe I learned something.

There were summer swimming lessons, which were re-taken as an adult when I wanted to learn how to swim freestyle efficiently.  There were ice skating lessons which were also repeated in adulthood until I realized 30 is not the right time in life to learn how to jump on ice (after partially tearing an MCL in my knee).

There were gymnastics lessons.  I was exceptionally good at the uneven parallel bars for my age.  Perhaps it was because I was the only one who could reach them?

I took piano lessons and learned how to play “Happiness Is” from some Charlie Brown musical I’d never head of.  It still gets stuck in my head from time to time.  I had slightly better results when I switched to the clarinet, but having no sense of time was a problem.

I settled on horseback riding and for 4 years was pretty much dedicated to nothing but horses, paying for them, and school.  By my senior year of high school, I realized I had to choose between having a horse and going to college–my minimum wage jobs weren’t going to pay for both.  That’s about the time I managed to come up with the money for a package of skiing lessons.

In college, I took a weight lifting class and aerobics–both part of my PE requirement.  When I was a little more settled again, I started with a trainer at the gym.  Then it was nutrition classes.  I even took a cooking class, although it turned out to be a rather alternative cooking class based on the yin and yang of food.  My husband wouldn’t eat anything I prepared from there.

I took a motorcycle class and friends taught me how to water ski, bowl, and play softball.  I took a rock climbing class and eventually took up yoga classes.

Later, Pat tried to teach me to play the drums, then I resorted to learning to play a hand drum.  Still no sense of time.  I switched to trying to learn to speak German instead, but I wasn’t much better at that.

The list goes on and on.

Since coming to Chattanooga, I’ve earned my novice hang gliding pilot rating, started learning how to care for non-releasable birds of prey, gotten some informal lessons on kayaking, and gone to several photography workshops.

Jack of all trades, master of none. As I rode my bike home from my first day of Learn to Row, it occurred to me I’ve been taking lessons my whole life.  I began to compile a list of all the classes, workshops, lessons I’ve taken.

First, there was ballet.  This always shocks people for two reasons.  First, I am approximately 2x the size of the average ballerina in all directions.  Second, I am incredibly clumsy.  Although, I did have a guy tell me I was graceful once.  When I protested that I’m always falling, he said, “Yes, but you fall gracefully.”  Maybe I learned something.

There were summer swimming lessons, which were re-taken as an adult when I wanted to learn how to swim freestyle efficiently.  There were ice skating lessons which were also repeated in adulthood until I realized 30 is not the right time in life to learn how to jump on ice (after partially tearing an MCL in my knee).

There were gymnastics lessons.  I was exceptionally good at the uneven parallel bars for my age.  Perhaps it was because I was the only one who could reach them?

I took piano lessons and learned how to play “Happiness Is” from some Charlie Brown musical I’d never head of.  It still gets stuck in my head from time to time.  I had slightly better results when I switched to the clarinet, but having no sense of time was a problem.

I settled on horseback riding and for 4 years was pretty much dedicated to nothing but horses, paying for them, and school.  By my senior year of high school, I realized I had to choose between having a horse and going to college–my minimum wage jobs weren’t going to pay for both.  That’s about the time I managed to come up with the money for a package of skiing lessons.

In college, I took a weight lifting class and aerobics–both part of my PE requirement.  When I was a little more settled again, I started with a trainer at the gym.  Then it was nutrition classes.  I even took a cooking class, although it turned out to be a rather alternative cooking class based on the yin and yang of food.  My husband wouldn’t eat anything I prepared from there.

I took a motorcycle class and friends taught me how to water ski, bowl, and play softball.  I took a rock climbing class and eventually took up yoga classes.

Later, Pat tried to teach me to play the drums, then I resorted to learning to play a hand drum.  Still no sense of time.  I switched to trying to learn to speak German instead, but I wasn’t much better at that.

The list goes on and on.

Since coming to Chattanooga, I’ve earned my novice hang gliding pilot rating, started learning how to care for non-releasable birds of prey, gotten some informal lessons on kayaking, and gone to several photography workshops.

Jack of all trades, master of none.

Big Sky, No Fireworks

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This is supposed to be a post about photographing fireworks.  The gallery of photos is supposed to contain shots of glorious fireworks going off over the Lookouts’ stadium in downtown Chattanooga.

Sometimes things just don’t work out how you plan.

As my regular readers may recall, I previously went to Gibbs Gardens on a field trip with the Photographic Society of Chattanooga.  This time around, the field trip was right across the street.  In fact, it was on the very balcony of the One North Shore clubhouse that I shot from while dog sitting a few weeks ago.  But, it was intentionally scheduled on a night there would be fireworks at the Lookouts’ stadium.

Picking this evening for a photography event in the clubhouse was perfect in more ways than one.  First, the Lookouts have fireworks frequently enough that they don’t draw a crowd, so no one was going to be upset that the clubhouse was reserved like they would have been on July 3rd or at the conclusion of Riverbend.  Second, the organizer (who happened to also be my shooting buddy on the Gibbs Garden trip) somehow managed to pick a night when the clouds did really interesting things but didn’t rain out the fireworks.  And finally, it was a double header, which meant the fireworks were bigger and longer than usual.

I made arrangements with Twiggy’s parents to watch Tisen for the evening since Pat was on a road trip to Nashville.  Tisen could have a date night in one corner of the condo complex while I was busy shooting in the clubhouse in the opposite corner. Pat would pick Tisen up when he got home around 9PM.  All was set.

I wrapped up my day at the office as early as possible, slung my 5000 pounds of gear on my shoulders, got Tisen on a leash without knocking either one of us unconscious, and then we headed over to the park for a quick lap with Twiggy and her mom before I turned him over.

As a side note, carrying a backpack with 4 lenses and a full frame camera in it plus a tripod while doing a 2/3 mile walk with a dog in 95 degree weather does not leave one feeling fresh right before an evening event.

I made it to the clubhouse balcony and met a fellow photographer with the same camera.  He showed me how to use the in-camera HDR feature while I was there.  I have one image that was done using in-camera HDR, one that is not HDR, and the rest I used 5 exposures post-processed using Photomatix.  See if you can tell the difference.

Shortly after 9PM, I called Pat to find out if he had gotten Tisen yet.  It’s a good thing I did because he had completely forgotten and had just left Nashville.

I packed up my 5000 pounds of gear and, like any overly anxious parent, went down to retrieve my dog.

The Long Walk Home

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We decided we had to hike the Grinnell Glacier trail while we were in Glacier National Park in 2010.  However, given that we weren’t exactly in top hiking condition and the trail gains 1600 feet in about 3 miles, we thought we’d better take a short cut by taking the Glacier boat across Josephine Lake, cutting a little over a mile and a half off the total distance.  While the part we skipped was a flat, easy hike, I knew my knees would thank me by the time we descended the 1600 feet on our way back.

We made our way gradually up the trail.  Pat hiked in rubber boots he’d bought at the Indian Trading Post the day before.  He was wearing these boots because, for whatever reason, he hadn’t packed his hiking boots and the sudden fall of about 5 inches of snow made his running shoes impractical for hiking.  So, we’d taken a detour to the trading post and gotten him some socks and muck boots.  He said they were the most comfortable boots he’d ever hiked in.

My boots were not feeling so comfortable.  In fact, they were feeling a lot like lead weights designed for use when you need to drown someone and concrete isn’t readily available.  But, the scenery was so beautiful, it was easy to ignore my boots on the way up.

As we hiked, the sun came out, the temperature rose, the snow melted, and we worked up a sweat.  Pat stripped down to a cotton T-shirt (don’t get me started on cotton on the trail!) and shorts.  But as we made our way up higher, the temperature dropped, the wind became fierce, and the ground was once more snow covered.

People coming down the trail gave Pat looks as the passed us in fully zipped winter shells with hoods up.  I stopped to pull out my warm winter hat, put on mittens, and add a fleece under my rain jacket.  Pat kept putting off adding more layers.

When we reached the top of the trail, the wind was so strong, I had to brace myself against it to keep from losing my balance.  Pat finally pulled on a jacket.  We didn’t spend a lot of time at the top because of the bitter cold, but the entire hike was so spectacular, we didn’t feel cheated.

We had to make double-time on the way back down to catch the last boat back to the hotel.  This downhill trek was the first time I ever experienced sharp stabs of pain in my knees with every step.  By the time we got to the ferry, I could barely walk.  This was our 4th hike in 3 days (and, more problematically, also our 4th hike in about 3 months).  I would not have made it without my trekking poles.

In spite of the sore knees (which did heal for the most part), this was one of my all-time favorite hikes.

Through the Window

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Perhaps the simplicity of rhyme is what caused me to think of riding on a train today: rain-train.  Or maybe it was the sound of the water drumming on a metal roof that reminded me of our train journey from Portland, Oregon to West Glacier, Montana and back.

Whichever it was, I perused my photos from the train and was surprised to find a collection of landscape shots from our ride home.  Shot through the windows of a moving train in the low light of sunrise with a Canon 40D and the Canon 17-55mm EF-S f/2.8 lens, I’m pretty amazed I managed to get any shots at all.

Riding on the train was quite an adventure.  It seemed so easy–you hop on the train at one station and, eventually, hop off at another.  The lines were short, access to the stations were easy, and it took us right to our destination, unlike a plane.

There were a couple of down sides.  First, the 14 hours spent on the train each way.  Second, the seats were described as reclining with leg rests, so we didn’t book a bedroom.  That turned out to be a big mistake.

The reclining seats didn’t recline far enough.  The foot rests were made for someone under 4 feet tall.  On me, the footrest ended just below the knee and left my feet dangling until gravity pulled them back to Earth with the footrest jamming me in the back of the thighs.

On the way back, we managed to add a “roomette.”  It was a little private cabin for just the two of us.  We faced each other while we rode and when it was bed time, a Porter (or is that on a ship?) came and helped us convert our seats into two bunk beds with sheets and pillows.  It was pretty impressive.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure traveling by train in a sleeper car is cost effective for most locations, but it is a nice way to get to remote places.  We both got to enjoy the scenery when there was scenery.

I think it would take some time to get used to sleeping on a train, however.  Even with our flat bunk beds (which were a vast improvement over the reclining seats), the train rocked side-to-side and we were lying lengthwise to the car.  I had this constant sensation I was going to rock out of the bed.

The next morning, we woke early and headed up to the dining car.  It was one of those big, glass bubble cars that allows you to see the whole landscape.  I could have sat there all day, but we only had a couple of hours after sunrise before we arrived back in Portland.

Taking the train was low stress and allowed us to see some things we would have missed from a plane.  If time and money were not factors, I would probably always choose the train over a plane.

Down Came the Rain

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There’s been an interesting development in the weather of late.  We went from ridiculous heat and drought to rain, rain, rain.

When at last the rain came, I went from relief to disappointment to worry.  The first day, when the rain drops started, I felt myself exhale.  Finally, rain!  But, it lasted only a half an hour or so and rained so hard it seemed like of it bounced off the dry earth and rolled away in the gutters.  The steam rising off the asphalt left us in a steam bath and the temperature barely dropped.

The next day, it rained more.  The temperature dropped dramatically and the sky took on an ominous tone.  The 10-day forecast was predicting rain for all of the next 10 days.  The relief in the temperature was welcome, but when the skies unleashed a torrent of rain that caused our roof to leak and the streets to flood, I started to worry. Coincidentally, I had volunteered to lead a bird walk for beginning birders before work Wednesday morning.  I scheduled it “rain or shine”.

This meant taking Tisen for a walk before the bird walk.  I tried to get him out of bed at 6AM.  He heard the rain on the roof and just rolled his eyes at me and stuck his nose under his blanket.  Tisen is not fond of rain.  Fortunately, his dad was home and volunteered to take Tisen out later while I was on my walk.

It did rain during the walk.  In fact, it started raining about the time we started walking and then kept raining harder and harder.  No one seemed to mind except the birds–they were suspiciously absent.  Although, we did see a couple of Osprey soaring over the river.

It rained like it was never going to stop from then on out.

The following afternoon, I managed to take a break for lunch.  I looked out the window and saw it was only sprinkling, so I thought I’d better take Tisen out right away.  He grabbed Blue Dog and off we went.  By the time we got downstairs, it was pouring.  I figured we might as well go for our walk in the rain, but Tisen had to be convinced.  He took two steps out from under the overhang and turned back around and started running for the door.  I managed to get him headed back out with much coaxing.

When at last we returned home, all three of us were soaked.  As soon as I let Tisen off his leash, he went running into the house with Blue Dog in his mouth.  He carefully laid Blue Dog on a towel left on the floor from drying Tisen earlier.  I had to laugh.  Since Tisen gave the big towel to Blue Dog, I had to use the only dry dog towel left in the house, which was an old hand towel.  Poor Tisen was still wet hours later.

Feeder Birds

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Watching the Audubon Visitors’ Center is not exactly an arduous task.  In fact, the only reason it’s nice to have at least 2 people there is so that one of them can go do something else from time to time.  While visits are picking up as more and more activities are scheduled, it really isn’t like there is ever a line of people trying to check in.

As such, when I was asked to be the backup volunteer last Saturday, I took my camera along and thought I might get an opportunity to do a little shooting while I was there.

Not wanting to assume anything, I decided to come back for my camera after establishing how much help the main volunteer was likely to need.

I hopped out of the mini-van and immediately heard the plaintive cry of a red-shouldered hawk.  She was flying straight at me over the roof of the visitor’s center.  I stood there admiring her and simultaneously kicking myself for not having my camera at the ready.  She flew overhead and perched on some wires briefly.  When I started to move back towards my car, she flew off.

Now, I might have gotten a clue and grabbed my camera right then and there, but I figured that was going to be my one big sighting for the day and continued on my way into the center. And of course, I got to chatting with the other volunteer and one of the board members who stopped in and didn’t get back out to get my camera right away.

And, of course squared, as we were chatting, a family of wild turkeys suddenly appeared in the parking lot.  There were 7 chicks with two adults working there way across the parking lot.

I have a history with wild turkeys and my camera.  Whenever I see a wild turkey, I think “wild goose” and I don’t even try to chase it.  It’s just fortunate I’m shooting digital.  Otherwise, I would really resent all those shots of bushes where a turkey had been a moment before.

I did, however, learn my lesson and go get my camera.  I didn’t, however, see any more birds that were exciting.  I did, however, manage to get some shots of the birds at the feeders.  I particularly like the female house finch drinking the water that collected in the indentation in the hummingbird feeder.  Who says you have to go all out to create a water feature attractive to birds?

I also really like the hummingbird and the bee racing to the feeder.  I wish it were a better shot (not enough depth of field), but I was at least pleasantly surprised that I managed to get them both in the frame at the same time.

The titmouse peeping at me also makes me smile.  I can’t say I’ve ever seen a titmouse from quite that angle. It took me a while to remember what kind of bird it was.