Tag Archives: landscape photography

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).

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.

It Bears Repeating

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The Tennessee Aquarium not only offers a diverse collection of aquatic life, but they also have these fantastic river cruises.  Pat and I took the 3-hour tour (but the weather didn’t get rough) last September.  It was such a great experience, we decided to do the 2-hour version with Pat’s family during their recent visit.

In my mind, there would be a cool breeze blowing across the river that would somehow wipe the 106 degree heat away and leave us feeling cool and refreshed.  Or, worst case, we’d be in a cool air conditioned cabin.

Allow me to mention that when we took the sunset tour in September, it was about 30 degrees cooler and it was, well, sunset.  Between the extra 30 degrees and the very direct sunlight during the brightest part of the day shining through a mostly glass-enclosed cabin, the A/C had a little trouble keeping up.  Oh, wait, I forgot to mention that in September, there were 13 of us on the cruise.  This time around, there were about 70 people sitting together sweating.

The circumstances kept us from regretting that it was only a 2 hour cruise, at least.

On the plus side, we had a knowledgable and hysterical guide.  He kept us all laughing in spite of the heat–he may have missed his calling as a stand-up comic.  We also learned quite a bit–I think I’ve now been on enough of these tours and to enough historic sites that the history of Chattanooga is finally starting to sink in.

We also saw a lot of Osprey–something we didn’t see in September.  I was so excited by the Osprey that I stood up on the deck the entire time we were allowed up there regardless of feeling like a slowly frying egg.  There was enough of a breeze at first to prevent the sweat from pooling and dripping.  But then we turned around and the breeze died.  Everyone went below except for me a couple of die hards.  I felt bad for the woman sitting next to me when I finally returned to the cabin–I’m pretty sure my deodorant failed.

My photos also failed.  Between the extraordinarily bright sun (one of my friends recently asked if we were still the 3rd rock from the sun–I think she’s onto something) and the moving boat, I can’t say I got any really great shots.  I really wish I had one of the two Osprey chicks both fully visible, but I was shooting between people’s heads to get the shots I did get.  I’m thinking about starting an etiquette blog for photographers where I can offer my advice on tough questions such as “when is it OK to knock over a dozen tourists because they keep passing in front of your lens while a nest of Osprey is in full view?”

I suppose I will have to go on a private cruise if I want really good shots.

New Sight

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Ever since our first weekend visit to Chattanooga a year and a half ago, I have wanted to peruse the Hunter Museum of American Art.  The building itself has appeared in many of my photos.  Perched high on the bluff overlooking the Tennessee River next to the Walnut Street Bridge, it’s a place I have walked around many, many times.

I just haven’t made it inside.

But, with temperatures rising into the 100’s in time for Pat’s family to arrive in Chattanooga and an enticing exhibit called Sound and Vision:  Monumental Rock and Roll Photography, it was clearly time to go.

I would love to have access to shoot the interior of Hunter Museum when no one is there.  As it was, tripod-less and hurried, I didn’t do the architecture justice.  Photos of the photos were not permitted, but it’s just as well.  The photos in the exhibit should not be reproduced by taking crappy pictures of them hanging on the wall.

I wanted to spend hours absorbing each of them.  So many of the muscians I had come to know and love were so artfully captured.  I wanted to know why.  Why was each image so uniquely powerful?  I looked at each photo going through a portrait photographer’s checklist:  eyes lit well, subject framed with rule of thirds, soft light, subject fills frame, etc, etc.  Every image violated at least one if not many of the “rules” of portraiture.  I’ve suspected as much.  If you want an interesting portrait, you’ve got to do something different.  I can’t wait to go back when I can sit and absorb some more.

We moved on through the permanent exhibits in the museum, including those in the historic mansion portion of this building.  Once again, I wish I had the opportunity to do the architecture justice.  I’m not always a fan of deconstructivist architecture (except for the inherent irony in the term), but somehow the juxtaposition of the historic mansion against the ultra-modern section works.  Apparently the ultra modern section was designed by a student of Frank Gehry (according to an employee of the museum).  There is certainly a resemblance in the style.

Later that night, we went up to Lookout Mountain to celebrate Pat’s 50th birthday.  I’m now married to a 50 year old.  It bothers him, not me.  Pat’s sister was supposed to join us, but having missed her flight from Denver, she didn’t arrive until after dinner.  We took Pat’s parents to Point Park before she arrived and then ended up back there again first thing the next morning.

An interesting comparison in the photos (at least to me):  I was shooting with my 16-35mm lens in the evening shots and with my 100-400mm the next morning.  I managed to get a shot of our building at 400mm.  It doesn’t make a very good image with the morning haze, but it still blows my mind that we can see our building from Point Park.

Off the Wagon

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After a long hiatus from shooting the Chattanooga riverfront, I had another relapse.  We’ve gone through this together before.  Usually, it’s amazing clouds that pull me off the wagon and cause a relapse.  This time, it was the chance at a new angle.

As you may have seen in earlier posts, we were dog sitting Twiggy for several weeks.  That included access to Twiggy’s clubhouse which has an amazing view.  So, when the sky started doing interesting things, how could I resist?

I went out on the 7th floor balcony and was immediately reminded I’m afraid of heights.  I can shoot from our 4th floor balcony without so much as a quiver, but our balcony is even with the building.  The clubhouse balcony, in contrast, was not only 3 stories higher, but it also jutted out from the building.  Why do I find overhangs so much scarier?  It makes no sense.  I compensated by staying back from the rail.

This made taking advantage of the level built into my camera to keep my shots straight more challenging.  I love that feature–especially when shooting a scene with as many hills and angles as the riverfront.  Imagine a tripod with a camera setup so the camera lens is hanging over the edge of the railing.  Then imagine the photographer trying to stay 3 feet back from the tripod at all times.  I was never so grateful for my freakishly long arms.

Each time I struggled, got frustrated, and took a step forward, I would suddenly see the ground out of the corner of my eye and get dizzy.  I still managed to get the camera positioned before the sun set.

I was tempted to try the in-camera HDR capabilities for the first time.  There were two things that stopped me.  First, I didn’t have the manual with me.  Second, I really would have had to get close to the camera to try to figure it out from the menus.  I decided today wasn’t the day.

Instead, I took a series of 5 exposures so I could play with my HDR post-processing software again.  Something I haven’t done in a long time.  I don’t know if my eye is changing or if I’m getting better at using the software, but I am starting to like the HDR processed images more.  Not ready to say I want to use HDR post-processing all the time, but it is nice to be able to see both the sky and the ground closer to how I saw them in reality.

That said, I really like the first two shots in the gallery, which are not HDR processed.  They were taken when it was still pretty light out and the camera did pretty well with the dynamic range all on its own.  Also, I do not like the HDR processed shots from later in the series–something funky happens with the oranges.  But some of the HDR processed shots in between are interesting to me.