Category Archives: Sight Seeing

Lessons from the Archives: Toronto

Posted by dkrashb on

This is another set of photos from my archive of the past. These were taken on a business trip to Toronto. I had gotten my PowerShot G3 a few weeks before the trip and was too excited not to bring it. I’m glad I did for several reasons.

First, it turned out to be the only trip to Toronto where I flew in on a Sunday and had time to explore downtown Toronto. I had many great photo ops as a result.

Second, I got to experiment with several challenges, which taught me why photographers use polarizing filters, tripods, and unexpected angles.

Third, and most importantly, it was the last business trip I went on with my office mate at the time, who was a great traveling companion. A dedicated family man and an all around considerate person, he had a knack for putting everyone at ease. Plus, he was up for exploration, which is always more fun with a companion than by yourself.

Sadly, he suffered a major heart attack and died at the age of 44 only a few months later. I was grateful to have a few photos of him to share with his wife.

It’s something we don’t think about much, but we often spend more time with colleagues (especially office mates) than we do with the people we love. Yet, our relationships often do not extend outside the office. As a result, all of those hours become a mystery to our families. It’s so rare to have photos of colleagues who are “work friends.”

I have chosen not to share the pictures of my former office mate, but the pleasure of seeing Toronto with such an unassuming, easy going colleague who died far too soon is one that I continue to cherish.

From a photographic perspective, I learned several things from shooting in Toronto. From the top of the CN Tower, looking down upon the world, I discovered the challenges of shooting through glass. Later, when I shared with a photographer friend how problematic the glare was, he suggested a polarizer might help.

From the bottom of the tower, I learned how changing your angle changes perspective. Shooting up the height of the CN Tower against the blue sky was a whole new view of the world, not just of the tower.

Down the walk from the tower, a giant Pileated Woodpecker statue clinging to a pole provided a whole new way to play with perspective. Already giant in its dimensions, with the sky scrapers in the background far enough away to appear tiny by comparison, the woodpecker appears to be Godzilla-sized.

That night, alone in my hotel room, I tried to shoot my first long exposure through the window. Those pictures turned out so horrible that I couldn’t include them, but that was when I first understood why my photographer friends kept telling me to get a tripod.
All in all, it was one of the best business trips I was ever on.

Squirrel!

Posted by dkrashb on

Every year, we go to Portland, Oregon to visit my father and his wife.  Every year, we discover some new and fascinating part of Oregon that makes us think about living there.

For example, I thought hiking in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park was the kind of experience that nothing on the mainland could even suggest.  As it turns out, Oregon has Lava Lands National Park.  While you can’t creep out over still crackling hot lava that’s only a couple of weeks old, you certainly can experience walking through a vast stretch of nothing but cooled lava.  Who knew?

The entire area is amazing.  The Three Sisters mountains stand watching over the lava fields, a reminder of where the lava originated from.

But an interesting reality came home to me while we explored the area:  there is something about me that attracts mosquitoes and chipmunks.  To be honest, I discovered the mosquito thing many years ago when I realized that I averaged anywhere from 5 to 10 times as many mosquito bites as the people sitting around me at a campfire.  Anytime I need to feel attractive, I just take a walk in the evening while the mosquitos are buzzing.  But, it wasn’t until we were walking around lava lands that I realized chipmunks seem to follow me wherever I go–especially when I’m carrying a camera.

To be more accurate, these are golden-mantled ground squirrels, but they look like overgrown chipmunks to a mid-westerner.

I have nothing against chipmunks.  They are extremely cute.  I was slightly embarrassed when I tried to identify a bird I kept hearing for about two years until I finally saw a chipmunk making the mysterious chirping I could never identify.  But, I don’t hold it against the chipmunks.

I appreciate their willingness to pose for me when no other wildlife dares to appear.  I particularly enjoy the range of caution these little guys display.  Some seem to be out trying to attract attention while others appear to practice careful camouflage.

They all freeze when they see me swing my lens their way.  I wonder what they think?  I suspect what they think is something like, “I wonder if I sit real still and let that woman take pictures of me if she’ll eventually throw me something to eat?”

The lava fields make for an incredible playground for the ground squirrels.  They have an infinite number of crevices to jump into, tunnels to run through, and rocks to sun on.  If it weren’t for the predators, I imagine there would be a ground squirrel on every rock, every one of them hoping for a hand out.

As it is, they appear and disappear frequently enough to demonstrate that the static field of lava pulses with life.  The rhythm of their movements becomes the heartbeat of a place that might appear dead to the casual observer.  They remind me to stop and look closely.

Come Sail Away

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I once worked with a man who told me about an airport North of Columbus where they have a sailplane club. He told me that in exchange for paying the $10 cost for the tow plane, you could fly as a guest with a member. I immediately put this on my list of things I wanted to do.

Over the years, I periodically drove by the club location. It was far enough out of the way that I probably went by it only a couple of times a year. But each time, I was always in too much of a hurry to stop and see if I could get a ride.

The years went by.

A few years ago, I learned my husband was enthusiastic about flying in a sailplane, too. After a couple of years of occasionally talking about it, we finally decided we were going to stop at the club to see if we could ride.

Nearly 20 years had passed since I had originally heard about the club. Yet, the website indicated it was still possible to take a guest ride. We took our road trip and arrived at the field, excited that at last, we were going to have this adventure.

Unfortunately, there was no one else around to participate. By this, I mean the tiny airport was so abandoned looking, I expected tumbleweeds to go blowing by. We got out, walked around, and peered through windows trying to find someone. Either the weather was bad for gliding or there was some kind of event that had taken them elsewhere. We found evidence that the airport was still active, but no sign of current activity.

It was such a let down after taking so many years to get around to stopping.

But, last June, while out in Portland, OR, I took Pat to the Mt. Hood area to go for a flight. It wasn’t quite the same as flying with a club, but it was a far grander view than a flight in Marion, Ohio would have been.

Having planned poorly, I didn’t have enough cash to pay for the ride. Poor Pat ended up paying for his own birthday present.

When it was my turn to go up, I climbed into the cockpit armed with my camera and watched as the guys rolled the sailplane out to the runway and hooked it up to the tow plane. The pilot climbed into the cockpit, sealed us up inside a plastic bubble that immediately made me feel claustrophobic, and gave the signal.

There was nothing to but take pictures. It’s not that easy to shoot from inside a plastic bubble. Although the rapidly moving air blowing through the cockpit prevented suffocation, the mid-day light bounced back at me, ruining most of my shots. A polarizer might have been helpful.

Soaring over the farmers fields below with Mt. Hood looming in the background and the Columbia River rolling by underneath made the two decade wait worth it.

What’s the Point?

Posted by dkrashb on

This evening, I realized I didn’t do anything “bloggable” on Sunday, so I was out of topics to write about.  I pondered writing about my work laptop crashing and having to get a replacement sent to my home office, but that’s pretty much the whole story in one sentence.  I could have writen about having maintenance people in the apartment installing an air duct while trying to work, or Tisen’s return to day care, or perhaps even my workout this morning.  But, let’s face it, I’m obsessed with photography and no other subject will do.

Therefore, the only solution was to go out and shoot.  However, I’m tired of going across the street to the riverfront and taking pictures of the Market Street Bridge and the Tennessee Aquarium.

One of the places near Chattanooga Pat and I have wanted to explore is Point Park.  Point Park is one of the battlefield monuments to the Civil War in the area.  It’s also known for spectacular views.

It’s located on Lookout Mountain, which would be better described as a ridge.  The point is literally just that–it’s the end of the ridge, affording views in three directions.  This was the destination I picked for tonight.  We loaded up my gear, Tisen, water, and rain gear and headed out.

When we arrived at the park entrance, a police officer pulled up in front of the gate and was pulled out a backpack.  We wondered if he was there to check to make sure that everyone in the park had purchased a pass and made sure we stopped to get ours before going in.

We wandered along the paved trail around the landscaped park area enjoying the views.  I set up my tripod and took some shots towards downtown Chattanooga, finding our building off in the distance.  The meander in the river that goes through the downtown area was fascinating.  I always knew the river bent back upon itself, but I never realized just how narrow the land in the middle gets just West of us.  Looking at it from up on the point made me realize why it’s called moccasin bend–the land mass resembles a snake’s head.

As we worked our way along slowly, several police cars squeezed by on the paved trail.  Then, an ambulance went by.  We watched them setting up a gurney and wondered if someone was injured.

As we headed down the path towards the museum on the point, we passed a large rock formation that seemed to be begging people to climb it to see the view.  I might even have been tempted myself except that the base of the rock was surrounded by a variety of medical equipment that the paramedics hadn’t yet returned to pick up.  It was fairly obvious why the ambulance was there.  We stuck to the path.

Even Tisen only went off trail once when he accidentally ducked under the rail without realizing it.

To be continued . . .

If the Boats a Rockin’

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It’s Saturday.  Marcy’s Playground comes to mind every time I say that.  With “It’s Saturday” running as the soundtrack in my head, I start gathering up the stuff I will take with me on our kayaking trip today.  We have signed up for an Outdoor Chattanooga outing kayaking at the Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge.  The Sandhill Crane is migrating through the area and it’s an opportunity to see (hopefully) thousands of them up close.

I, of course, want to shoot.  I’ve never tried to shoot from a kayak before–it will be interesting.  But, I have gone to great pains to make sure I can keep my camera dry when not shooting.  I purchased a Pelican waterproof box and carefully sculpted the foam in the box to hold my camera safely.  I’m not quite clear on where I will put this special box so that I can get the camera in and out without rolling the boat, but we’ll worry about that when we get there.

Pat is convinced that we will be going into the river today.  In spite of the fact that we will be in a sea kayak (much more stable than river kayaks) and that we will be in a tandem (even more stable), Pat is sure we are going to roll.  He bases this assuredness on past experience.  We were once on a tandem sea kayak in the Caribbean sitting perfectly still and I (at least, he thinks it was me) managed to flip up.  I contend that it was him, or the ocean, or the wind.  But I have to admit that my track record is at least pretty good circumstantial evidence against me.

However, it’s December and it’s not exactly a warm day with a high expected in the mid-40’s.  I’m pretty determined that we are not going in the river.  I find myself somewhat superstitious about this, however.  I take the approach of fully preparing for a dip in cold water as a measure of ensuring that it doesn’t happen.  It’s the theory of, “If you don’t want it to rain, carry an umbrella and put off washing your car.”

As I dress for our adventure, I choose carefully.  Under Armour tights, hiking pants, rain pants, Under Armour top, wool pullover, fleece, rain jacket.  Each under layer dries quickly and retains heat even when wet.  The waterproof top layer will protect me from splashes and help retain heat as well.  I hate being cold.  I also pick out a goofy hat.  The wind is pretty strong out there and it will only be worse on the water.  I want to be comfortable more than I want to look good.

Satisfied that my camera is well-protected and my clothes will keep me warm even if we fall in, we load up and head on out.  We have a bag with a change of dry clothes so we won’t have to ride home wet in the worst case.  We also have both of our day packs with a bladder of water each and big lunches, two pairs of binoculars, and my waterproof box.  For people who have been downsizing for years, we manage to look like pack mules every time we go somewhere.

We arrive at the park where we’re meeting for the tour.  One of the guides has a Newfoundland dog.  When we walk up, the dog leans against me, laying the weight of his head against my belly.  I rub his big old head and think for the millionth time how much I miss our dogs.

When everyone is ready to go, we load all of our crap and ourselves into the van and head on down the road.  By the time we get to the refuge, I think my body temperature is over 100 and I’m stripping off layers.  As soon as we get out of the van, I am quickly putting them back on.

Everyone gets settled in their boats, adjusting foot pedals and positioning their stuff.  One of the guides, Terry, helps Pat lash my waterproof box to the top of the kayak in front of me so I can easily get my camera in and out.  This is a good thing–I couldn’t figure out how I was going to get the thing in and out of the tiny space for my legs.

Before we get started, Pat has troubles with the rudder and while a guide is helping him sort it out, I spot a juvenile Bald Eagle soaring overhead.

We paddle our way across the main channel and then head along the shore of the refuge, trying not to get close enough to scare the birds.  A large white bird is standing on the shore ahead of us.  It turns out it’s a White Pelican, not a typical bird for the area.  We were hoping for Whooping Cranes, which migrate through Hiwassee every winter, but no such luck.  The pelican decides to take off as we approach, but manages to fly at an angle so that he has his back to us the entire time.  I’m frustrated by my shots.

As I shoot the White Pelican, I see a cluster of Sandhill Cranes standing on the shore behind the flight of the pelican.  There are only a dozen or so gathered there, but we can hear what must be hundreds of Sandhill Cranes gabbing away at one another.  They are an impossibly loud bird whose voice can carry a mile or more.

Across the channel we spot a group of smaller white birds floating on the water.  Someone says they are ring-billed gulls, but I don’t get a close enough look to decide if I agree.  I’m busy looking at the grassy bank above them.  Pat asks me if the bank is covered in Sandhill Cranes.  Unfortunately, the kayak won’t hold still and we bob up and down as I try to look through my binoculars.  For a moment I am convinced they are cows, then I realize I’ve misjudged the distance (and therefore the size).  They are Sandhill Cranes after all.  I blush at having thought they were cows.

We continue on our way, seeing many Great Blue Heron, Double-Crested Cormorants, Coots, possibly Lesser Scaups, and Bald Eagles.  I’m not as familiar with water birds, so I don’t even attempt to identify the gulls that fly by.

We make our way around the island, paddling ferociously against the current until we get around the tip of the island and start floating back with the current.  As we complete the trip, three more bald eagles appear and a group of cranes fly by.  It’s hard to believe we’ve been out on the water for nearly 3 hours.  Even more unbelievable, we never fell in!

When I click through my photos, I have to laugh out loud.  If I scroll through fast enough that the shots are movie-like, I feel like I’m back in the boat again.  The rocking of the boat is capture in the movement of my subject in the frame from one shot to the next.  I can’t tell on the small LCD if anything is in focus or not, but I hope my fast shutter made up for all the motion in the boat.

Sassafras Falls

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s our third day in the Smokies for the long holiday.  We take the same approach that we took yesterday–wake up slowly, lay around until hunger kicks in, throw something on and go to breakfast.  Then, we return to our room to choose today’s hike.  It’s a little cooler today and overcast.  Visibility is supposed to be poor.  The weather calls for clouds, but no rain.  We get out the guide in our room and I ask Pat if he’s up for a 9 mile hike.  There is a trail to a waterfalls nearby that’s supposed to be a nice easy walk. Neither one of us is up for a big physical challenge this weekend, still recovering from pulled muscles on the hang gliding training hills.

Much of the drive is alongside a stream that rolls and tumbles over rocks, creating white water.  There is trout fishing in this stream, a good sign that the water is clean.  I am too busy watching the scenery to be a lot of help navigating, but I interrupt gazing out the side window long enough to check the directions when Pat gets confused about a turn.  We manage to make it back to the trailhead with only one wrong turn.

We start up the trail as a light rain blows in, misting my face gently as we walk into the wind.  The trail used to be a railroad track, but was converted to a trail long before “rails-to-trails” meant bike trails.  As we start out, the climb is gradual, the trail is wide and flat, and we have no troubles finding our way.  We take our time.  We have 6 hours of daylight and emergency flashlights in our day packs.  If we need 6 hours to go 9 miles, we can take 6 hours.

After a short distance, we enter what feels like a maze of Rhododendron.  The enormous shrubs on either side of the trail loom large, daring us to go off the path.  Pat and I both have flashbacks to our first backpacking trip together at Otter Creek Wilderness in Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia.  It was early in the spring–so early, it snowed our first night.  When it wasn’t snowing it was raining.  When we started out, the trail looked more like a stream than a trail.  Unfortunately, it rained so hard that after a while, there were hundreds of mini-streams all around us and we couldn’t tell which one was the trail.  We ended up bushwacking our way through giant Rhododendrons.  Each shrub was like a giant octopus, its twisting arms grabbing hold of our backpacks as we tried to belly crawl underneath.  I had visions of us being found weeks later, captured in the arms of giant greenery, suspended above the ground and frozen in postures of horror.  I’ve never felt quite the same about Rhododenrons ever since.

Thankfully, today they remain on the side of the trail, clearly demarcating where we are and are not supposed to be.  As a side benefit, because they keep their giant waxy leaves, they provide good hiding places when nature calls.  That doesn’t make me feel significantly better about them, however.

After about 3 miles of enjoying the view of the stream through the Rhododendrons, which has gotten steadily further below us, we arrive at a stream crossing in front of us.  We contemplate the best place to cross.  The water is high and moving fast.  These are dangerous circumstances for a water crossing; we want to find a safe route to ensure we don’t end up washed downstream.

I pick a route and make my way across.  In my hiking boots, I’m nervous about sticking to the wet rocks covered in moss.  It’s easy to lose footing and get caught in the current.  I make it OK with only one scary moment when I teeter on a rock waving my arms until I leap for the next rock and manage to land with firm footing.  Pat follows the route I took, probably figuring that if I can make it safely across, anyone can.

As we finish up our crossing, two dogs suddenly appear on the side of the creek we just left.  They are followed shortly by a family with a young daughter and teenage son.  They shout across the stream to us asking if this is the way to the falls, wanting to make sure they really needed to cross the stream before they decide whether or not to risk it.  As they contemplate, one of their dogs jumps in and is soon headed downstream in the rapids.  I run along the stream until I find a place that has an opening in the trees with an easy launch in and out of the water.  The dog hears me calling him and is able to swim over to the shore, climbing out and shaking every drop of water in his fur onto me.  My face and pants are dripping wet, but the dog is safe.  He runs back to his family who is now starting to cross.  As Pat and I walk away, we see the dog poised on the bank, about to jump back into the water and the family calling to him frantically to keep him from heading downstream a second time.  I imagine him thinking body surfing is great fun.

The next part of the trail gets steeper, narrower, rockier, and more overgrown.  We spot a faded sign after about 500 yards and make the turn to Sassafras Falls.  It’s supposed to go to the bottom of the falls, so we are surprised that it climbs even more sharply.

Now, the trail is on the edge of a drop off.  I do not have such a good track record when it comes to walking alongside cliffs.  Pat warns me that he’s not going to be able to catch me today (having grabbed me by the back of the pants in time to prevent me from falling to my death on more than one occasion).  Fortunately, this is not really a cliff and, when I look at it, if I were to fall, I would probably break a bone at worst.  Having broken quite a few bones and healed eventually, this thought is oddly reassuring.  Not worrying about falling helps me stay on the trail and I avoid any incidents.

We make it to the falls and spend some time looking at the water crashing over the rocks with surprising force for a relatively small mountain stream.  It’s a beautiful falls, although I’d like to be able to back off from it so I can take in as a whole a little better.  We are so on top of it that I almost feel like I need the glasses I wear when I’m at the computer to fully appreciate it.

After I attempt to get some shots, we find a nice grouping of rocks to sit on and eat our lunch.  The rocks are moss covered, which makes them padded if slightly damp.  We sit facing the falls, enjoying our private table as we unwrap our sandwiches provided by the lodge.

We move at a much faster pace on the way back with most of the trail being downhill.  We do lose time trying to find a different place to cross the stream than the way we came over.  Our first route looks much more difficult from this direction.  It’s hard to explain how that happens–maybe it’s just an optical illusion–or maybe it a matter of stepping up vs stepping down depending on which direction you’re going.  In any case, we revisit our buschwacking-through-rhododendrons skills as we make our way along the stream, looking for a safe crossing point.

Pat finds a fallen tree and decides we should cross there.  I follow after he makes it safely, but have trouble not worrying about the camera around my neck.  If I fall in here, it’s deep and it won’t just be my feet that get wet.  I end up sitting on the log about halfway across and scooting forward until there is a branch sticking up that I can hold onto for balance.

We make it across the stream, back to the car, and even back to the lodge safely.  When we get out of the car, I stand and wait while Pat gathers some additional gear that he needs to bring into the hotel.  As I stand there, I hear the loud call of the Pileated Woodpecker.  My camera is around my neck still, although I have only my wide-angle lens with me, having opted to leave my other choices back in our room.  I spot the bird on a tree not too far away.  I decide to try to sneak up on him in the hope of getting a decent shot.  I do manage to sneak up closer, but not close enough to get a good shot before I make him too nervous and he flies away.  The brilliant red crest on his head practically looks neon in the light of dusk.

When the woodpeck flies away, he makes a giant arch around the parking lot and then flies over a deck where another guest is sitting.  We walk over and ask if she saw where he landed.  It turned out she never saw the bird that flew right over her and directly into her line of sight.  Given the size of a Pileated woodpecker, we are both (silently) amazed that someone could miss something like that.  She, however, seems nonplussed.  It makes me wonder how many birds have flown over my head that I never saw.

The sun setting behind the mountains tells us it’s time to go inside, clean up, and go to dinner.  We head on in, although we are in no hurry.  We have all evening.

A Little Gratitude

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It’s Thanksgiving Day.  And today, I am full of thanks.  I remember reading once that it’s easy to be grateful when things are going well, but the trick is to be grateful when they’re not.  Fortunately or unfortunately, as the case may be, this is an easy year to be grateful.  I count my blessings as we make our way from Chattanooga to the Smokies, where we will spend the long weekend.

We arrive at the lodge right around 1PM.  The Thanksgiving buffet has just started.  We get checked in, drop a few things off in our room, and then head to the dining room.  We walk down the buffet table checking out each dish, trying to decide what to leave room for and what to skip.  The inn keeper tells us there’s a menu printed on the table that lists all the dishes.  I laugh and tell him that would be great if I’d brought my reading glasses.  He laughs and we continue to peek at the food.  In the end, the preview was a wasted effort on my part.  The only dish I skip is the salad.  I take at least a small spoonful of everything else.  I will try it all and be grateful for the chance to try something new.

At least, that was my intention.  My swelling gratitude trips a little when I take a mouthful of whipped sweet potatoes and discover pieces of celery hiding in the mix.  A personal favorite complicated by an unexpected flavor.  I have to pause and figure out what I’m eating.  When I realize there is celery in my potatoes, I am both shocked and relieved. After all, celery is edible and I like it, but it is a surprising ingredient in sweet potatoes.  I return to gratitude and enjoy selecting the next bite of food.

In the background, a large family eating their Thanksgiving dinner together joins hands and one of the men at the table says a long and loud prayer.  I suddenly feel like an eavesdropper overhearing a private conversation.  It somehow feels wrong to me to hear this family sharing their form of gratitude.

My own sense of gratitude is a bit strained.  I refocus on the food, which is wonderful if different.  I think about the fact that I didn’t have to cook, we didn’t have to drive very far, we have a comfortable place to stay, and, best of all, we’re in the middle of the Smokies with a spectacular view.  If we had family or friends with us now, that would be the only thing that would make it more perfect.  But part of me feels like we’re missing the most important thing.  Then, I decide that instead of missing them, I will think of each of them.  I hold each family member and each friend in my mind for a moment, feeling gratitude for their presence in my life.  It’s a centering experience, reminding me of what’s important to me and how much I have to be grateful for.

When we finish eating, we go outside to take in the view.  We take a slow stroll in our city clothes along a short path to the Sunrise Viewpoint.  We pause to sit in a porch swing hung along the way.  We sit and talk over a leaf blower, a workman approaches, clearing all the leaves off the path.  He turns off the blower when he sees us, but we tell him to go ahead and finish his work.  He removes the leaves from the entire length of this short trail.  Given that this is a dirt path through the woods, I’m a little surprised that they blow the leaves off of it.  I am wearing my favorite new boots and would prefer that they didn’t since the leaves would prevent my boots from getting muddy.  When we continue our walk, I step carefully, trying not to let my boots sink into the dirt.  I am reminded of someone recently commenting that they had a hard time imagining me roughing it.  This comment surprised me at the time, but as I imagine what I look like in my urban clothes gingerly stepping around the mud, I think to myself, “Oh what a difference a change of clothes can make!”

At the sunset point, there is a deck with adirondak chairs to sit and watch the sun come up.  There’s a lovely view of the lake and mountains below.  Even better, there’s a bell hanging from a post with a mallet to strike it with.  When I give the bell a tap, it rings out with a sound that makes you think, “Ahhh.”  If peace were a sound, this is what it would sound like.  It rings on and on in a growing sort of sigh.  I am amazed at how long it continues from one gentle tap.

We sit for a bit, but then head the opposite direction towards the sunset point.  The view is less open from the sunset point and I want to get back to the lodge so I can capture some of the end of sunset, so we hurry back, me still trying to keep my boots from getting muddy.  After shooting, we find a spot to sit and relax where there is still some sunlight that keeps us warm.  As we sit and absorb the last rays of light, a group gathers  on a deck above and starts singing hymns.  Unfortunately, while some individuals seem to have good voices, as a group, they are painful to listen to.  We decide to head inside.  We enter the warm lobby and, after dropping off my camera, head to the bar.  With a glass of wine, we sit in front of the fire and relax until it’s time for dinner.

As we sit and unwind, I think again of friends and family and how much fun it would be to have them all here now.  Well, maybe not all at once.  I have the overwhelming urge to tell them all I love them.  I end up posting on Facebook instead.  I’m sure there’s an expression for posting on Facebook when you are overly emotional and possibly a little tipsy.

After sandwiches and dessert, we retire to our room and decide we might as well go to bed.  It’s been an amazingly relaxing day.  In fact, I can’t recall having ever had such a low stress day.  Another thing to be grateful for.

But I lay in bed awake, feeling a little guilty for having this day.  I decide to call my parents, but discover I have no phone signal.  Since the lodge does have WiFi, I send them an email instead.  It’s still early enough where they are that they are probably just now eating Thanksgiving dinner anyway.  Pat sends his mom an email while I write to my dad.  I feel a little better now that we’ve at least made some contact.  Then I check my Facebook page and feel like I’ve stayed in touch with my friends all day.  i decide Facebook is another thing to be grateful for.  Then, I set aside my mobile devices, roll over, and do my best to fall asleep, feeling grateful for a warm bed.

Good Dog

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s Sunday.  No alarms, no where to be.  It’s just a nice relaxing Sunday.  Except one thing.  I feel like I was run over by a truck when I wake up.  Every muscle in my body, including all those little secret ones that I’m always surprised about when I realize I have them, is completely wrenched.  My neck hurts, my shoulders hurt, my back hurts, my hips hurt, my legs hurt, and, yes, every cotton pickin’ toe hurts.  Even my ears feel strained.

When I get out of bed, I walk like a cowboy after a month on the trail.  It’s like my knees won’t bend and I have to rock my weight back and forth from foot to foot, swinging my legs from my hip to move forward.  This is what running down a hill with a glider on my back does to me.  Who knew it was such hard work?

I get the coffee going and then, while I wait for it to brew, I do some yoga.  I end up doing a lot of yoga, trying out virtually every restorative pose I can remember, trying to ease my body back into movement.  By the time I have spent an hour doing these gently relaxing poses, I am able to walk back to the coffee maker looking a little more like I have the joints of a human being than the joints of a barbie.

I take my cup of coffee back to the couch, but instead of sitting there, I choose my office chair instead.  I have a remarkable office chair.  For my entire career, I’ve had a bad habit of slouching down into my chair and resting my head on the back of the chair.  Given that I am tall, this requires scootching my rear end all the way to the front edge of my seat and then stretching out my legs to plant my position so I don’t drop off the edge and fall onto the floor.  From behind, people think I’m sleeping.

In any case, this posture has always left me with back pain and I could never figure out why I always slip into that position when I’m not paying attention.  Well, when I bought my own office chair, I figured out why.  It’s because my neck hurts.  All these years, what I really needed was a neck rest on my chair!  Now that I have said neck rest, it gives me a place to perch my head while I’m sitting straight up.  My office chair has eased my neck pain on more than one occasion, so I give it a try again today to see if putting the weight of my head on the rest and pushing back gently against it to stretch my neck helps.

While I do this, I work on processing photos.  I might as well do something productive while I’m sitting there.  Pat got up before me and is already on the couch nursing his sore muscles.  Although, he is in far better shape today than I am.  He stopped flying early because he wanted to protect himself from pulling his hamstring again, having just recovered from the last time.  So, he did half as many flights and launched on all of them, meaning he didn’t run all the way down the hill like those of us struggling to launch did.

I resent this about him.

After having plenty of time to relax and ease ourselves into our morning in our own ways, we decide we should ride to the market today.  While I hurt, I haven’t actually pulled or torn anything, I’m just sore.  And riding a bike gently and a short distance is a great way to get blood flowing to sore muscles and ease some of the pain.  I’m totally up for that.

We make our way across the Walnut St bridge cautiously–the crowd for the Head of the Hootch is back again today, although somewhat thinner now.  We are prepared to walk our bikes if the crowd gets too thick, but we make it across still in the saddle by riding slowly and watching out for darting pedestrians.  Fortunately, there aren’t any races going under the bridge as we cross, so the darting is minimal.

At the market, we stop to talk to Lou and Eddie, the honey and candle makers we’ve met at the market several times now.  Pat has a printout of some info about a trumpet Eddie wants to sell.  He goes through what he found with him and gives him the bad news that his trumpet is not likely to sell for a lot of money.

We move on to find lunch.  We didn’t realize how late it was getting when we left for the market and after our little ride there, we’re suddenly ravenous.  We find a hot dog stand in the back corner of the market.  It’s called Good Dog, which is a restaurant located about half a block from our apartment.  We’ve eaten there once and they serve the same mustard used in the Cleveland Indians stadium.

We each order a couple of dogs and while they cook, I get into a conversation with the owner.  They are from Akron, Ohio and the owner used to go to watch the Cleveland Indians with her grandparents.  She saw an article about how the mustard on the hot dogs there was part of what kept the Indians fans coming to the stadium even when the Indians had one of the worst records in baseball.  So, when they decided to open a restaurant that serves hot dogs, they decided to serve that mustard.

When our dogs are ready, we say our good-byes after getting directions on where to buy beer.  We didn’t realize they always sell beer at the market, not just during Oktoberfest, but there are only a couple of vendors rather than a bunch.  As we make our way towards the beer, we pause to take a bite of our dogs.  My teeth pierce the skin of the dog and juice squirts out a good 3 feet.  I laugh.  As I chew my mouthful, I’m impressed.  “Good dog!” I say.

We drink our beers and finish our dogs slowly, wandering around and checking out the vendors who are there today.  Some of the same photographers are there, including one that prints the photos on fabric so they look like a photo-painting.  I do not like this look.  As Pat says, “It should be on black velvet.”

We visit the produce vendors next and pick up some watercress, radishes, tarragon, and lettuce.  We’ve decided we’ll make my favorite salad with the first three ingredients, although we will have to supplement with a few items from the grocery store.

Having eaten, wandered, and purchased everything we could use, we decide to head on home.  The crowd on the Walnut St Bridge has grown slightly, but we’re still able to make it safely through without walking our bikes.  We get home, unload our groceries, and collapse on the couch.  Having loosened some of the kinks out of my body, I’m now completely ready for an afternoon nap.  Ahh.  It’s the life of a good dog.

Halloween Moon

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s 5AM on Monday morning.  The horizon gives no sign that the sun will rise again today.  I have to remind myself that the sun isn’t rising until nearly 8AM these days.  I have not yet adjusted to the fact that daylight savings doesn’t end until November–although I wish it didn’t end at all, preferring the extra light at the end of the day.  I have three hours before Pat will be up and ready for our morning walk.  That means plenty of time to “putter.”

Although I am not a morning person (or maybe because), I like to have time alone in the morning to do the things that I never think about once my day starts.  Having been able to sleep until 6AM fairly regularly of late, I’ve lost about 2 hours of putter time, although the extra hours of sleep are welcome.  Today, after taking care of the most urgent work emails, I empty the dishwasher and refill it.  I scrub the counters, stove top, and sink, trying not to make so much noise that I wake Pat.  Then I take my laptop and sit outside, writing my blog, checking Facebook, doing the things that I think take 10 minutes each, but can erode hours on the clock before I realize it.

I watch the clock on my computer carefully today and stop myself when it gets to be 7:30AM.  I check in with Pat to see if he’s awake and if he wants to walk today.  Getting an affirmative, I finish my coffee and get myself cleaned up and dressed.  I am ready to walk out the door 10 minutes early.  I try to find something to do while Pat finishes his morning routine.  I make the mistake of logging into work’s instant messaging and answering more emails from my laptop.  Before long, Pat is waiting for me.

But, I tear myself away, taking my phone in case I can’t stand not checking email again, and we head out the door for a quick walk along the waterfront, our preferred way of starting the day.  The sun is just now easing it’s way over the hills to the North.  The first rays shoot across the Tennessee River at a steep angle.  The mist blowing around just above the water is so dense, it looks like a frozen tundra with snow blowing across it.  I try to get a shot of this with my iPhone, but the effect is lost.  Always a conundrum–to bring the camera or not to bring the camera–today I kick myself for being lazy.

We continue our walk and the mist breaks up gradually and disappears as if it’s melting in the increasing light.  The water reflects like a mirror, setting off the swirling remnants of mist perfectly.  I could stand and stare at the changing scene  forever, but I do have a day job and we haven’t had breakfast yet.

We take a turn at the Walnut St Bridge and head towards a local coffee shop that serves bagels with smoked salmon for breakfast.  It’s quick and healthy, although not cheap.  We sit inside, but at a table that faces the windows that overlook Coolidge Park.  It’s a view of trees, mostly, but it’s still nice.

We head back to the apartment via the shortest route, now, since it’s already 8:30 AM and the flow of incoming emails is getting difficult to keep up with from my phone.  We walk between the buildings to get back to Frazier St, following the footsteps of a toddler we had seen the other day.  He had run out from between the buildings towards the street.  We might not have noticed him except that his mother, still out of sight from our vantage point, screamed like someone getting stabbed in an effort to stop him in his tracked.  Her ploy worked–he froze in place.

We continue down the sidewalk past the shop with novelties in its window.  The Librarian Action Figure we laughed about a few weeks ago is long gone.  She, and all the other familiar objects, have been replaced with a halloween display.  We are reminded that in spite of all the weekend Halloween events, today is the actual day.  We discuss whether there will be any need for candy at our apartment.  Deciding that trick or treaters probably don’t wander up and down our busy street and, even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to get in our building after 6PM, we agree not to buy candy.

Part of me is happy about this descision–for 10 years we lived in a “haunted” ravine in Columbus where the only kids that came were teenagers trying to frighten one another.  Yet, for 10 years, I bought halloween candy “just in case.”  This led to many binges and regrets.  So, I am happy I will not be tempted by bags of candies hanging around the house.  At the same time, I am sorry that I will miss my fix this year and have nothing to gorge on.

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays.  Between costumes and candy, what’s not to like?  Even as a young adult, I used to decorate my work area with extensive halloween decorations and take candy into the office for co-workers.  First I gave up costumes, going only to a 1/2 dozen costume parties in the past 20 years, and none in the last 10.  Then I gave up the decorations.  Now, it seems I have given up the candy, too.

A father with his son appears beside us at an intersection.  His son is wearing an eagle costume.  When the light turns green and the father gives the OK to cross, the son flaps his way across the street.  I smile, but I am struck by a sudden sense of loss.  While this boy looks forward to parading in his costume with his classmates and collecting gobs of candy, I look forward to getting through a few hundred emails.  Why is it that being an adult so often seems to suck all the imagination and sparkle out of life?

We return home with me suddenly craving mini Kit Kat bars.  At the end of the day, I watch out the windows to see if there are any trick-or-treaters in the streets.  My co-workers are begging off early because they have to go hand out candy, but I see not a single child in costume.  As the sun sets and the moon rises, I get out my camera and set aside my nostalgia for Halloween.  Tonight, I will focus on shooting the Halloween moon.

Cloudland Canyon

Posted by dkrashb on

Before we left this morning to watch the hang gliding, I did a little research on Cloudland Canyon, a park we keep passing signs for between going out to the hang gliding park and my bike trip to Chickamauga Battlefields a few weeks ago. I try to talk Pat into planning a hike there while we’re out that way when I see that it’s supposed to be one of the more scenic places to hike in the US. I find a short, 2-mile round trip trail and think I might have a shot at talking Pat into that one, but when I mention that it has about 1600 steps because it goes down to the base of a waterfall, he vetoes immediately. Unfortunately, the hamstring he pulled the last time we went hang gliding is still giving him troubles and he doesn’t want to risk pulling it again when we have our next hang gliding lesson scheduled next weekend.

However, after realizing there aren’t going to be any mountain launches today at the hang gliding park and seeing all that there is to see there today, we decide to make a detour to Cloudlands Canyon and walk out to whatever overlooks are convenient from the parking lot. I suggest that there may not be any, but Pat laughs at this. “We’re Americans. We always have to have a view accessible from the parking lot–think of all the people that won’t walk to see a view!” I have to agree. There are a lot of people who go to a lot of really beautiful places in this country without ever realizing that hiking to even more beautiful places is a possibility.

The park is a state park, it turns out. And it costs $5 to enter. I guess that’s the downsize of going to a park that’s listed as a top 10 destination. We drive in and find the first overlook. I decide to take my camera with me as the leaves are beautiful and the sun is getting lower in the sky, making for better lighting than my hang gliding shots earlier today. Pat takes my still-assembled tripod out of the back of the car and carries it over his shoulder. The legs are still extended and it hangs out far behind him.

As we cross through the grassy area on the path between the parking lot and the overlook, we pass amongst a group of teenagers playing a game of tag or something. They appear to be Mennonites or a more relaxed derivation–the girls all wear skirts with heavy stockings and have a cap covering their buns, but they have less of a uniform look than the Mennonites I’ve seen in the past. The boys could be mistaken for mainstream boys from their attire, although they don’t seem to be wearing anything with logos. They are so intent on their game that one of the boys nearly knocks his teeth out on my tripod–Pat moves it out of his way just in time.

We make it to the overlook without injuring anyone and I set up my gear. It’s an amazing view from here. I had no idea that Northern Georgia has such incredible terrain. The canyon is deep and rocky, but sill mostly tree covered. The fall colors are far brighter than I expected to see in Georgia as well. Unfortunately, the setting sun creates deep shadows that contrast sharply with the brightly lit parts of the canyon and I struggle to capture just how amazing this canyon looks with my camera. After doing my best, we return to the car and, once again, the same boy nearly knocks his forehead into the end of the tripod. I suggest to Pat we need one of those orange flags used when driving with something hanging out of the back of the car. He suggests that the boy just needs to start paying attention to where he’s going.

We drive further down and find another parking lot at the far end where we can walk to the next overlook. There are fewer people here and we make it to the overlook unimpeded. A couple stands at the railing of the overlook trying to take a picture of themselves. I help out by taking a shot of the two of them. They hand me their cell phone and I take a picture for them. It’s kind of funny to have someone hand you a cell phone and ask you to take their picture, but I guess it’s common enough these days that it won’t be funny much longer.

The view from this side is just as beautiful, although there are fewer red trees on the slope across from us. We can hear a waterfall in the background. Stairs continue down from the overlook and I wonder if this is the trailhead for the walk to the waterfall I’ve read about. However, we are not prepared to hike–I’m wearing a pair of Italian boots comfortable for walking around in, but not safe for steep descents to waterfalls–and I don’t even broach the subject with Pat. Instead, I enjoy finding different angles to experiment with and shoot away.

Before we leave, I decide to take advantage of having the tripod and set up a shot of the two of us. Using the delay on my shutter, I give myself 10 seconds to get from behind the camera to in front of it. It takes two tries and using some flash because we’re back lit, but it’s kind of fun to actually have a record of me having been there instead of only having shots of everyone else.

Next, we walk along a paved path that takes us up to one more overlook. Here, a family is trying to get a group picture and they’re taking turns shooting. When they see me, they ask if I can take a shot for them. The mother hands me the camera. I think it might be a Canon Rebel, but I’m not sure. It’s considerably smaller than my old 40D and the lens on it seems miniaturized somehow. In any case, they tell me it’s all set and I just have to push the button. I compose and shoot, but the family is backlit and the exposure is set for them, overexposing the entire picture. I show it to the daughter (who appears to own the camera) and she changes a few settings and hands it back to me. She really needs some fill flash to get a good shot, but I decide not to comment. I take the shot again and ask her to see if it’s OK for her. She likes it, so I move on to set up out of their way so I can shoot the canyon.

While I’m shooting, the father of the family apparently stepped in dog poop left behind by an earlier visitor. He leaves along with one daughter to go remove poop from his shoes. The remaining mess on the rocks stinks something awful. The mother and daughter remain and the daughter seems to be playing model while her mother shoots using the daughter’s camera. I’m a bit confused because the daughter has to keep setting up the shots that her mother takes, and from her comments, she seems to want to learn how to shoot. However, one of the reasons why I’m rarely in my own shots is because composing the shot is the part I like best about shooting. To me, the composition is the most important thing that a photographer can individualize. While I suppose that’s not strictly true, it’s the part I understand enough to individualize. In any case, it’s not something I like to hand off to someone else to do.

I work my way around the rail of the overlook, avoiding the dog poop in the process. As I am finishing up with my final round of shots, another man joins the group on the rock and starts up a conversation with the daughter and mother. When they leave, he starts talking to me. He asks me what my intentions are with my photography. While this seems like an impertinent question for a stranger to ask, Pat happens to have asked me the same question on the way over to the park. I inform the stranger of this as a response rather than answering his question. But he probes further. When I say my intention is to get better at it, he dismisses this as vague. Finally, I tell him that I publish some of my shots on my blog. This somehow satisfies him, but he won’t stop talking.

I make all the physical signs of wanting to leave possible. I remove my camera from the tripod and hang it around my neck, I compact my tripod into its smallest form. I stand there holding my equipment with a lean towards the stairs, indicating he should start moving. He stands there between me and the steps like a wall. I take a step forward and he simply turns like a weathervane to maintain eye contact. I am at a loss. I finally interrupt his diatribe about his father and say I need to move on before I lose the light. He follows us up the stairs, still talking. When we get to the top, I start to go right and the man goes right. Then Pat steps back and says, “Honey, the car is this way.” Fortunately, the man continues off the other way instead of changing his mind, but I have now lost the opportunity to go shoot from the last overlook. Oh well, I have more photos than I can process anyway and we will be back another day.

We drive home in the fading light and I get home in time to do a little more shooting from the balcony. It’s funny how once I get on a roll, I don’t want to stop. Maybe that’s where the expression “get on a roll” comes from–back when photographers used rolls of film?