Solo Canoe Camp on Kentucky's Barren River Lake...or...How Not to Boil Water on a Campfire

Early morning fingers of air seeped into my sleeping bag via an open flap sending a chill dribbling along my neck. Reluctantly, my eyes sort of opened, one at a time.  I shivered just a little as I closed the offending flap and rolled over hoping to gain a few more minutes of sleep. Didn't matter though. I was by now all but fully awake from a near sleepless night anyway. I lay there trying to force my eyes to stay open to see what kind of morning presented itself.  I raised up on one arm and with one eye opened and one eye still closed, scanned the scene around me. The sky held a brightness that hovered above the ridge across this arm of Barren River Lake. The sun not yet up was soon to climb above that ridge and spill a brilliant light across what was now an almost perfectly calm lake. 

Just a hint of fog drifted barely two or three inches above the surface and the water seemed covered with a dull white icing. In only a few moments the icing was gone. A few swallows were darting here and there, one swooping so close to me on the ground I could hear it's wings swooshing. As always, a few fish were surfacing creating bullseye swirls with an occasional splash or two. Can't remember the last time I actually slept out under the stars with nothing covering me but, well...a sleeping bag and the night sky. A last minute spur-of-the-moment decision once I was on site.

The day before started out with all the child-like anticipation that tends to surface each time I plan a trip like this one. It was an excited anticipation born from a long stretch of relative inactivity. Had all my gear pre-packed, ready to go, some of it pre-loaded into Kris's Jeep Liberty. A couple of cross bars on the luggage rack served as a place where my canoe could ride. Normally I drive myself in my venerable '97 Wrangler, but she cannot drive that vehicle safely with it being a stick shift and all, but I needed her to drop me off and then pick me up the next day. I really do not like leaving my Wrangler sitting unattended in an isolated vacant parking area overnight, so she in her wonderful way agreed to be my spotter and picker-upper.

We got off earlier than anticipated and made the drive over and off loaded the minimal gear and said our goodbyes'. Off she went and as I was loading my canoe a sudden element of panic set in. No paddle! In my haste to load up the last minute gear that morning, I forgot to load my paddle. Luckily, I did have my phone and hoped I also had phone service. I gave her hurried quick call,

"Hey...hun...uh...I've got a really big problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Well...I sort of forgot to pack my paddle. Can you PLEEEAAASE pick it up and bring it to me."

"You're kidding!"

Well, she, to her credit, drove the thirty minutes back home, found the paddle laying where I had left it in the garage, and drove the thirty minutes back to deliver it to me thus saving the day and the trip. She is a real keeper and never once verbally complained about having to do such a thing. She just rolled her eyes and gave me a girlish giggle along with a silent 'I can't believe you did that!' look. (Frankly, I can't either.)

While waiting for her, I managed to watch from some distance a Bald Eagle swoop low to glide over the water and scoop up a fish. He was surely a gifted flyer. With paddle now in hand, I shoved off believing the snafu of the trip was behind me. Well, it was, mostly, however...things were to transpire that challenged that notion. 

My destination was a narrow band of gravel beach that formed around the edge of sweeping peninsula  about three miles or so from the boat ramp. It was a location I had discovered a couple years before and has proven itself a nice place for an overnighter or two. A short paddle for sure, but far enough to make the trip interesting and it allowed for an easy unrushed journey. Did not fish too much on the outbound leg, just wetted the line a few times along the way. 

Mostly I just wanted to get there and setup my simple camp near where an old dead oak tree reached its branches toward the sky. 

From previous trip

On a previous trip I managed to capture a nice night sky photo using the trunk and limbs as part of the composition.

It took about two hours factoring in some fishing time to get there and I discovered the old oak tree had now fallen across the gravel beach. My actual camp spot was still intact, but the large tree trunk straddled the beach making it difficult to navigate forcing me to climb over it numerous times. 

It did however, provide some very good firewood.

Did not do much through the afternoon. Fished a littled, paddled a little, took a few photos, and set up camp. I also gathered some firewood. For this trip I decided to not bring a cookstove for I was going to force myself to cook over an open fire. How much fun it would be I figured and no food tastes as good as when it has been cooked over a campfire, right! That may indeed be true, but...the work involved to do so, well, sort of makes the process a bit cumbersome. Seems like there is a lot of bending and stooping, getting up and down which over time can wear down old bones.

Later that first afternoon, my dinner bell began to ring so I figured it was time to boil some water to use with the Chicken Fajita Bowl freeze dried dinner I had planned. It's simple, no real cooking involved. All you do is pour in a cup and half of boiling water, mix, let it sit for 8 to 10 minutes and eat right out of the package. An easy and sure thing, except when you can't boil water worth a hoot.

I had also decided to keep my gear to a bare minimum on this trip and chose not to bring a coffee pot for boiling water. Instead, I was going to use that little almost worthless pot that came with my camp cook mess kit. It has a limited capacity to hold much but possesses a unlimited capacity to cause grief. Whoever designed that thing probably had never been camping himself. You cannot fill that pot with water then try to lift it onto a fire using that flimsy handle. Doing so will inevitably result in the pot tilting to one side spilling most of if not all the contents either onto the ground or into the fire. Knowing this is a hard earned, vital survival skill, so, I did have the forethought to bring one of those hand held pot clamps that grabs the edge of the pot and keeps it steady as you lift it...except for one thing...your hand comes very close to the fire and it is quite easy to get singed knuckles, which I did. Note to self...'Bring some campfire gloves.'

The fire was sparked into life rather quickly using a ferro rod and striker throwing a shower of sparks into super dry tender. As the flame rushed into life I realized my stack of firewood was just out of reach, so I stood, again, and stooped over, again, to grab an arm full. Problem was, the toe of my worn out tennis shoe canoeing shoes caught the edge of one of the larger pieces of firewood. To put it mildly, I tripped with one leg flying off in one direction and the other one rolling off a loose rock to bend, then deposit, my contorted body hitting the ground rather ungracefully. Fortunately, my fall was broken by assorted jagged rocks, sharp sticks, firewood logs, and damp, gritty sand which splattered across my face and into my mouth.

Seems my old sailor language always surfaces after doing such a thing. Anyway, I dusted off my bruised pride and gathered an armful of firewood and kindling. Once the fire had rendered down to a nice bed of hot coals, I placed the little pot in nice pocket where I hoped it would remain stable. I tried to move a few of the smoldering sticks around to distribute the heat more efficiently, when the end of one broke off and promptly fell into the uncovered pot. The water was now filled with ash and turned a milky gray. More sailor language. I tried to lift the pot off the coals using its handle and a stick but it promptly tipped over and dumped most of the contents onto the fire. More sailor language.

"Good Grief...this should not be that hard."...or something to that effect.

Well, the ordeal was not over. After stoking the fire back to life, I placed the partially filled pot back onto the coals. It needed more water so I tried to add some using my water bottle where it promptly slipped out of my hand dumping over half of its contents and tipping the pot over to dump most of its contents on the fire. A few more choice sailor words followed. 

Eventually, I finally did get the water filled pot, and fire together safely long enough to at least heat it sufficiently to use with my freeze dried food pouch. Now the food was excellent, but not unlike the definition of a two man tent which is really only useful as a one man tent, the food pouch said there were two meals inside the package. Not so. It is only enough to feed one hungry and frustrated camper. But, since I was the only one there...it worked out okay.

The lesson from all this was, that's not how to boil water on a campfire...and next time I will bring my single burner camper stove and a coffee pot. It's just a lot easier and a whole lot less messy. Campfires are for sitting around and relaxing. I love campfires, but have yet to master the technique of trouble free camp cookery.

Just before sunset the sky, although clear, became quite smokey and seemed filled with an opaque white haze. The sun, low in the sky now, lost much of its brightness and became almost like a glowing orange circle filtering through the haze that reflected off the near calm surface of the lake. My spirit needed to witness this display of calming warm light as my day had been somewhat frustrating at times.

The late part of the evening was spent reading and trying to relax my stiff back. As the day faded into darkness, I built up the fire using the bulk of the oak firewood I had cut hoping it would burn well into the night. The day was still relatively warm and I simply laid on the top of my sleeping bag at first. It felt good to stretch my back. About the time the first stars filtered through that evening haze, two groups of coyotes began to serenade the countryside. I love to hear them off in the distance. They have such an iconic sound as much a part of the outdoors as the sky and clean air itself. Off and on through the early hours of the evening they sang their song and the lake waters fell calm as the light breeze all but subsided into barely a breath. As more pinpoints of star lights began to appear, the trials of boiling water faded with the light.

I slept off and on through the evening, mostly off. An hour here, thirty minutes there I would drift off to be awakened with a nervous twitch. My mind and body fought with each other with my body saying you need to sleep, and my mind saying not until I've worked out all the details of what's spinning around inside of me. I spent a lot of time simply staring into the night sky with its splendid view of the constellations Sagittarius and Scorpius hovering low across the southern skyline. A nice meteor dashed across the sky leaving a long glowing trail to finally break apart near the end of its journey through the atmosphere. Fatigue finally won out and around 4:00 AM, I feel into a deep, much needed, sleep.

The next morning before the sun climbed above the ridge, I found myself struggling to rekindle the fire which had burned itself out through the night. With lessons learned from the previous day, I was much more careful about how I boiled the water for my morning coffee. Success is often bred from experience. The half pound of bacon I brought along soon found itself sizzling inside my cast iron skillet, and shortly after that, three of the eggs I brought found themselves being scrambled in a thin layer of the bacon grease. Truly, a breakfast fit for a weary traveler and a prime example of just how good something truly is when cooked over a campfire. By the time I broke camp, I almost repeated my first boofaw. Just as I was about to shove off, I realized I had left my paddle on the gravel beach. I laughed, shook my head in disbelief, retrieved the paddle, and began the last leg of my journey.

As I paddled and fished my way along, I eventually sighted an interesting sycamore tree growing out of solid rock near the end of a point. Beyond and around the bend the lake curved into a small protected cove. The morning light provided an interesting blend of warmth and clarity. The camera came out of its protective box and I managed to shoot a series of images that fit well within the Ansel Adams project.

I've considered myself somewhat of an accomplished canoe camper, backpacker, and in general a good outdoorsman. Sometimes, overconfidence has a way of humbling even the most accomplished of people. Certainly I was taught a valuable lesson, one I hope will somehow remind me over and over about how not to take things for granted. Check and double check, then check it again. Often the best memories are made in adversity. Not allowing adversity to ruin your outing comes with experience, and experience comes from facing challenges.

In spite of the snafu's, this was a good first outing of the new season. I plan on several more including multi-day adventures. With any luck at all, I'll learn how to boil water over a campfire before I take off again.

The Ansel Adams Project: A Tree Makes A Great Subject

 The Ansel Adams Project I am currently pursuing is continually opening my eyes to new and refreshing photo opportunities. If you study Ansel Adams photographs very much at all you will begin to realize he photographed not only the grand landscapes of the American west, but he captured numerous photos of what might seem like ordinary things most of us would probably walk right past without giving it a second look. He photographed pastures, textures of weathered fence rows, flotsam in a pond, church steeples, wave patterns, and much much more, simple ordinary daily things where he turned the subjects into works of art. One of his common subjects were trees. 

Sometimes it was a tree in full view, other times it might be its root structure, then with another composition he would photograph a single dead snag. Then for another he might isolate a single tree against the background of tall tree trunks. Trees were wonderful subjects of his, I suppose because they exhibited a character unique to their individual environments. 

Trees have been a favorite subject of mine long before I started the Ansel Adams Project. However, they were mostly random composition and I rarely thought of them within the context of black and white compositions. Once I started seeing them as subjects beyond what and how I observed on a daily basis, their beauty and subject content began to blossom into a fascinating part of nature.

The hard part is finding the right subject in the right light at the right time. Not just any tree will do. Not just any conditions will work. What I look for is actually multi-faceted. Ideally, an isolated tree offers a wider range of possibilities because I can return to it time and again during different lighting conditions. Same tree, often with completely different looks. For the most part, I look for a tree that sits on the apex of a shallow hill where the tree itself is isolated against the sky, but not always. Sometimes a tree sitting alone out in some bottoms works quite well.

These tend to make the most dramatic of compositions. If you look at Ansel Adams renditions of trees, not all of them are isolated against the sky. Many are stand alone trees, standing apart from a background wooded area or even within a wooded area. He was a master at eliminating the background clutter of a woodland so much so that his subjects always became obvious and were not lost in the cliched...can't see the forest for the trees... effect.

Trees make great subjects and when captured in dramatic light, they will often portray a part of nature we too often overlook. I love the boldness of their form and I admire how they for decades deny the elements to stand firm against what nature throws at them. 

As part of the Ansel Adams Project, they have provided a wonderful opportunity to see beyond the ordinary, to discover a visual reference of the best of what nature has to offer.

The Ansel Adams Project - Renewed for 2023

 Ansel Adams is one of the most influential photographers of all time. His work certainly has had a powerful influence on my photography. A few ago I initiated a project where I was going to concentrate on capturing black and white photographs in the Ansel Adams style. No way could I ever duplicate what he created or accomplished, but the journey that project pointed me to became one of the most enjoyable and revealing projects I've ever done.

Ever since then shooting with the intent to create a black and white image has been a mainstay for me. I love black and white. I love its power, its texture, its creative design potential, and I've learned a great deal along the way.

This spring 2023 I jump started that project and made a two part blog video while engaged in the process. Please enjoy the two attached videos where I explore capturing landscapes in the Ansel Adams style.

The Ansel Adams Project - Part 2 - Kentucky Skies

The Ansel Adams Project - Part 1 - Exploring Long Creek

The Early Days: Kodak Brownie Hawkeye and a Homemade Oatmeal Box Enlarger

 The biggest influence on the history of my photographic journey has been a limited budget. Seems I've always had to pinch and scrimp, scrounge and do without to make do with what I had. Somehow or another I managed to capture a few pictures along the way and learned a great deal about how to stretch resources well beyond what the amount should accommodate.  I also learned a great deal about photography as well.

Homemade Oatmeal Box Enlarger Diagram

I've written several times about the first camera I ever used which was a very old Kodak Nbr1 my grandparents kept in a bottom drawer. That old thing as beat up as it was, actually made surprisingly sharp and well exposed images. Later on in life my parents upgraded to a more modern version known as the Kodak Brownie Hawkeye. They had the deluxe model with an attachable flash unit. It had some nice features with look down see through viewfinder, and a long exposure switch and a classic Art-Deco styling. It was a nice little camera for the day. When I was about 13 maybe 14 years old my good friend Rocky somehow or another developed an interest in photography and started developing his own film and prints. His mom even purchased for him a starter darkroom set that included a basic enlarger plus all the necessary processing trays, a film canister along with the chemicals and photo paper. To both of us we felt like we were really uptown and he showed me how it all worked. We had a great time as I used that old Hawkeye camera to photograph our adventures.

It wasn't too long before I wanted my own darkroom...but...as I mentioned before, the luxury of owning my own enlarger just was not in my parents budget and certainly not in mine. Somehow or another they did manage to purchase for me the basic setup including trays, chemicals - developer, stop, fixer, paper, and a film developing canister. All I could manage to do were contact prints, but it was still fun. We had a unused closet just barely big enough for me to sit inside with a small shelf just wide enough to hold the trays and few other things. I used a single red Christmas tree light for the safety light.

It did not take long before I really wanted an enlarger, but they were just too expensive. A basic one back then cost about $49.00...pretty cheap by today's standards, but costly none-the-less for a budget minded family. That is when I had my first real MacGyver moment...photographically speaking; I could make my own enlarger. Why not? There really wasn't much to them. A light source, something to spread the light out evenly, something to hold the negative, and means to focus the image. Pretty simple really.

I raided my mom's kitchen for three oatmeal boxes. She only had two, so I persuaded her to buy another one, a smaller box really and she did, storing the contents in a Tupperware container and letting me have the boxes.

The two full size boxes would become the main body with the smaller box perfectly fitting inside the larger one acting as the lens holder and a slider style focus control. I made a negative holder cut out of two pieces of a cereal box that would slide between the two main body containers.

Now all I needed was a source of light, a condenser, and a lens. The light source was simple. I just used a light socket from a broken lamp and I think a 40 watt light bulb. The condenser was another problem. Even back then I understood how hot the boxes would become and that I needed the light to be diffused enough to create an evenly spread light to avoid a hot bright spot, and I also needed something to insulate the negative from the tremendous heat developed by the light bulb. I remembered out in the garage was a oversized light bulb that no longer worked. 

The bulb part of the light was much larger than a regular bulb, almost exactly the same diameter as the oatmeal box. It fit perfectly inside once I cut a hole in the top to allow the long piece to extend out. I carefully chipped out the business end of the bulb removing the contacts and the internal filaments leaving just the frosted bulb and neck with its metal twist on fitting. I cover the external parts with black paper to avoid contaminating light. I filled the large bulb with water which acted like a huge lense and spread the light out in a near perfect pattern. It also insulated the negative from the hot 40 watt bulb.

The lens was next. It just so happened I had an old BB gun rifle scope that I no longer used. The objective lens, or front lens, was a pretty good coated multi element lens which I could easily remove by unscrewing the retainer ring. It was slightly larger than a nickel...I'd guess maybe f/5.6. That lens was simply wedged into a small hole cut in the center of the bottom of the smaller oatmeal box.

I positioned the enlarger horizontally using some small pieces of wood to hold it in place...it was just easier to work with that way...and created a small easel to hold the contact paper on the adjacent wall. The first test worked beautifully...I inserted a negative. Switched on the light...and by sliding the lens holder back and forth focused the negative on the easel backing. It was beautiful!...and it cost me virtually nothing. I could easily make up to 5x7 enlargements and even tried 8x10's but my little closet darkroom just was not large enough to allow for that much required spacing.

Over the years my photographic skills and equipment have improved considerably, but those early days established a foundation from which I could build. Oddly enough, budget is still an issue and even though I would like to upgrade my equipment, I've learned to make do with what I have...and it all started back in that little closet darkroom and a homemade oatmeal box enlarger.

The 'What If...' of Nature Photography

 The stiff spring day breeze brought with it a chilly sting that found multiple ways of penetrating the thin hoodie I was wearing. It was almost warm, but not quite there...yet, but the afternoon light offered some wonderful possibilities to capture a photograph that might become something special. Thick cumulus clouds drifting on the winds, sailed along at a good clip contrasting nicely with the brilliance of the blue Kentucky sky. I thought, 'Yeah...this looks good...let's see what I can do with it.'

A couple days before I had discovered this rustic country scene where a weathered wooden fence bisected an old two track road. A few hundred yards away, that old farm road curved into a wooded patch that crowned a shallow knoll and layers of wildflowers skipped and danced in the wind across the open field and nestled against the gray fence. The light was not so great on that first day...not terrible, but I was there at the wrong time and the clouds were high and wispy creating more of a pale haze than any significant contrast. I thought to myself..."What if...I could be here later in the day and ...what if...these wispy clouds were replaced by boiling thicker cumulus clouds...just maybe this one marginal looking location might turn out to be a real opportunity." The photo I captured that first day wasn't a terrible photo. It possesses certain qualities all its own, but I knew this location had more to offer. So I returned.

I spent a good hour or so snapping images at a furious pace...too furious really. I should have slowed down and been more patient waiting for the right combination of light and shadow to develop. Nothing seemed to be working like I hoped, then I thought.."What if...I back up to the road and step more to my left to include more of the fence and the layer of wildflowers that grew in front of it...what if....Let's see what happens..."  The rest is history for that single shot, (the image at the top) captured as a beam of light floated across the distant tree lined knoll...became possibly one of my favorite...if not best...images of all time.

As part of the Ansel Adams Project, I've been seeking out local possibilities to capture landscapes in the Ansel Adams style. Not to duplicate what he created...I could never accomplish that, but to jump start my "Photo Seeing" ability, to look beyond the ordinary and visualize a scene as it would appear in black and white. In doing so, I've rediscovered what thinking through a photograph really means, and what asking myself the thought provoking question...What if?...can accomplish.

The what if question redirects your eye and your mind toward looking at a natural scene from a different perspective. Asking yourself "What if..." encourages you to look at a photographic problem through the lens of a new solution...or a least a different solution. Nature photography often demands we do so. Simply snapping images at a furious rate in hopes of capturing a single image that works can be a process in futility. Sometimes it works. Most of the time, we end up with a whole lot of average pictures that absorbs a lot of storage space.

I remember another time a few years ago when the What if question resulted in a very nice photograph. I was overlooking a field from the high corner of that field waiting for the sun to set. As it drifted toward its final moment I snapped off a few photos I thought were okay, but they were simply...okay. I thought "...what if I move over a few dozen yards..." I did and not much changed in the way of quality of the photos. I began to work my way back toward my Jeep thinking the shoot was pretty much over. On the way I passed by a single tree. The What if thought again flashed into my mind..."What if...I step a few yards past that tree and line it up with the setting sun..." As I did so, the sky exploded in depth and color and I positioned the tree to appear as though it were a part of the sunset sky. Later in post processing I again ask the What if question..."What if I make this image a mirror of itself. The results astounded me. It is perhaps one of my top two or three photos of all time and I called it..."Burning Tree."

Asking "What if..." when approaching a photo shoot, can often jump start and rekindle creative juices. It places your thought processes into a state of mind where you begin to see more than what is there. As Ansel Adams once said, you don't take a photograph...you make a photograph. That concept is one many beginner or novice photographers fail to understand. It is the essence of creative photography and asking the What if question will focus your thoughts more keenly within the realm of capturing what you feel rather than what you see.

Chasing That One Great Photograph

 I began a quest some years back to capture a single great photograph that stands apart from anything I may have taken across previous attempts. Needless to say, I'm still chasing that quest, but along the way I've learned a great deal about photography in general, and about myself more specifically. 

A few years ago I started one of the most interesting and revealing projects I've ever attempted. I called it: The Ansel Adams Project. For the better part of a full summer I chased around my home range looking for photographic opportunities that would convert well into Black and White images. It presented a challenge far greater than I anticipated, yet that challenge elevated my personal understanding about the art of photography. I began to see landscapes from a completely different perspective. Not just for their scenic value, but for values that can only be utilized emotionally. Although I officially ended the project at the end of that one summer, it never truly ended as I gained a new appreciation for the Black and White photograph. As a result, I have continued within the same mindset ever since. 

This spring I felt like I had fallen into a state of mundane mediocracy with my photography and needed something to jumpstart that drive and desire again. As a result I resurrected The Ansel Adams Project focusing more on seeking out black and white landscapes as I venture across my Kentucky home range and beyond. Oddly enough, I rediscovered the excitement of once again seeking out a creative outlet and have shifted a great deal of my photography toward Black and White.

In recent days I began to explore an obscure backroad in more detail. It is the kind of road most people would simply drive down and never take a second look at the rather ordinary scenery. Yet, the Ansel Adams Project taught me to look past the mundane and visualize the greater potential of a location no matter how ordinary. A few days ago, as I drove along that narrow road, a single location caught my attention and instinctively something inside screamed at me to stop and turn around. I spent a few minutes exploring a wide spot where a weathered old fence straddled either side of a two track road leading toward and into a wooded patch spread across a shallow hill a couple hundred yards away. The light was harsh, the sky sort of ordinary, the scene looked rather plain, but I fired off a few photographs anyway using a wide angle lens and a polarizer filter to darken the sky. First results, I discovered later, were promising, but I felt strongly this location could offer more...I just needed to be there on the right day...one filled with the right light... and covered by a more dramatic sky.

Two days later the day started off cloudless and bright. By early afternoon, puffy white clouds began to form and stack up against the deep blue of the sky. The time was about 2:30ish and I knew the light would begin to drift into a lower angle along that old road. Maybe, just maybe, I might get lucky, so I grabbed my camera gear and off I went. It's only about a 20 minute or so drive over there and when I arrived, the clouds had indeed stacked even tighter together throwing a series of dark shadow across where that weather old fence and shallow hill stood.

The sky behind the hill was bright blue and filled with fluffy clouds, but that created a problem; I had no graduated filters so either I expose for the sky and end up with too dark a landscape, or I expose for the landscape and blow out the sky. As it was somewhat windy, the clouds were on the move, so I waited...ten minutes later what I hoped would happen did indeed occur. 

The clouds moved over and waves of light began to infiltrate across the land behind the fence. Over the next hour, I took almost 300 images hoping I could capture a single photograph in the best light. I could see it in my mind as to how it might appear, I just needed nature to cooperate. As the light scampered across the landscape I would fire off in rapid succession 3 and 4 or 5 images at a time trying to time how and where the lights and shadows intersected with that treeline across the top of the hill. I moved left, then right, then forward, then back attempting to line up the best composition with the fence row and the background along with the shadows and light areas but nothing seemed to work...until I made a fateful move; I stepped to my left and back toward the edge of the road. Until then my focus had been on lining up the background with the fence row. My mistake had been that I was overlooking the foreground where a patch of wild flowers bloomed directly in front of a section of the fence.

At that moment, a cloud drifted over the area darkening the entire hillside. After a few long seconds, a gap opened in the clouds and a beam of light filled the middle and background and I fired off another series of 4 or 5 back to back photos. A quick look at the viewer and I felt like maybe, just maybe I had finally found it. All the shots were made handheld using an aperture of f/22 to obtain the greatest depth of field. That setting required a higher ISO of 400 and relatively slow shutter speed of around 100/sec, but at 18mm focal length, that was okay.

When I process a black and white photo, I will first process the color version just to see if everything falls into place. Afterwards, I use that finished color image almost like a negative when I run it through the conversion process. Much like Ansel Adams performed in the darkroom, I have developed my own dodge and burn process technique when I create a black and white image. When I finished with this one single photo out of the almost 300, I knew I had made a good one...possibly even one of the best photographs I've ever taken.

Does it qualify for that one great photo I've been chasing? Maybe, only time will tell. One thing for certain, at least in my eye, it is certainly in the running.

Zippo Lighter Moments - (A favorite from 2013)

I've written a lot of stories about hunting, fishing, camping, and photography over the years. Most of them ordinary tales about times past, or technical essays about how to do one thing or another photographically. Of all those 500+ stories within this blog, few stand apart as truly unique. One of my personal favorites was this one...I repost it here from 2013, mostly as a reminder to myself about not letting life get in the way of living. Please enjoy: Zippo Lighter Moments

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It is a subtle noise, more of a clink and less of a clunk, but distinctive and recognizable well beyond what it's simple action might otherwise dictate. A simple flicking of the shiny cover with an upward motion of the thumb activates the signature sound-clink- then a pause followed by a flick-zip that generates a stream of sparks to ignite the flame whose lighter fluid aroma drifts with the wind. 

I hadn’t heard the clink of a Zippo lighter for many years until recently, and when I did I immediately knew what it was. Upon its activation I was in a moment taken back to another time more years ago than I care to admit to. My mind jumped from scene to scene as the ghost reels of times past flickered across the faded memory screen stretched across my imagination. Each scene played out in perfect harmony as the sound of that old Zippo lighter stamped into existence dormant long-to-come moments waiting for a trigger to resurrect them back to life.

 

I can’t rightly say when I first heard a Zippo lighter sound but I can remember clearly the cold air and pipe tobacco aroma associated with the use of one special lighter. My old friend Ralph as he was accustomed doing, would flick his lighter, fire it up, and light his pipe blowing short puffs of smoke until the bowl would glow crimson red. Then he would again clink it closed.  The sweet fragrance of the pipe tobacco would softly fill the air.  

I didn’t know it at the time but those obscure moments became set in my mind by the actions and sound of him using that old Zippo. If I recall correctly he inherited the lighter from his dad so it already had a long history to it and by default those moments became part of my history. He used the pipe and the Zippo just about every place he managed to find himself, but my memories are locked more onto the hunting and fishing adventures we shared together. You see Ralph was somewhat, maybe even considerably older than the rest of us, a mentor of sorts although he would never have admitted to it. In spite of his age we the younger had a hard time keeping up with him.  

It didn’t matter how cold it was, if there was a duck hunt to be had, he’d be there. Those were the most memorable Zippo moments. We would arrive at our destination and as we scurried around trying to get rigged, he would calmly repack his pipe, flick the lighter open and fire it off. I can hear it now as clearly as then…clink…zip...puff and puff, the blue smoke wafting in the winter pre-dawn air set aglow by starlight in a film noir nostalgic moment. He did it so often we hardly paid attention to it…back then. It was just part of what he did and we got used to it...yet somehow, those images were embedded within our souls.

Sharing a canoe with Ralph was a fine pleasure that all of us relished. His pipe and Zippo lighter were always there for every fishing trip. What greater joy could there be than to see the sky aglow before daybreak, hear the muffled whine of fishing line as it twirled toward a rendezvous with a summer morning bass, and hear his Zippo clink and the subtle puffing of a lit pipe. Everything seemed to fit perfectly in sync; time, place, emotion, and moment. Our times together in a canoe were the best of times and when we were able to combine that pastime with a camping trip, they became the better of times. A hypnotic campfire that spoke of times past, old adventure stories, hilarious and near disastrous at times, told and retold brought us to joyous tears. Then without fanfare almost unheard in the background against the clutter of the evening chatter there would come that clink…followed by the scent of pipe tobacco. 

Sometimes he would be in the middle of retelling a story when he’d light up. The clink became a pause for effect moment and each pause added to the impact of the telling part. He’d hold the pipe in one hand and wave it with some kind of animated gesturing as he elaborated on his story. Sometimes he’d simply let the pipe hang from one side of his jaw and then he would talk through it. His stories would often run on an on. He could take a two minute story and bleed the moment into a full length adventure that would take half the evening to tell, and inevitably his pipe would go out…then we’d hear another clink, another pause as he reignited the tobacco...then the story would continue.

We enjoyed many rendezvous’ across years of building a reserve of memories that served us well. As Ralph aged he approached another rendezvous with life, one that collided with Multiple Myloma. In spite of his serious condition he continued to fish and get out as much as he could until he could simply no longer do so. His Zippo and pipe were there with him along the way, and when he passed he left behind a legacy of living that words can never fully define.  

What I understand now that I did not then, is for better or worse, we need to have those Zippo Lighter moments for no other reason than to lock into place what it means to be a friend. Even though he was not actively trying to teach such admirable traits, he did manage to get the point across to us without even knowing it. Yet, Ralph was more than a friend, more than a mentor, he was a maker of timeless memories and the clink of that old lighter became the stamp of approval that solidified the texture and flavor of those adventures.   

 

I harbor few regrets, but when I recently heard again the clink of a Zippo lighter, I realized that my life since Ralph left us has exhibited far too few of those moments. I do treasure the small number that were made and can only hope that a simple sound coming from a classic lighter will stir within me not only more self awareness but a greater desire to become a maker of timeless memories. And even though I do not smoke, I purchased a shiny new Zippo lighter a while back. On those melancholy days when my mind is set adrift and I forget why I enjoyed going on those adventures, I’ll flick the lid to hear that distinctive...clink...and use it as a reminder.

 

Keith

 

Ansel Adams Kind of Day

 Ansel Adams, arguably the greatest American photographer of all time, with his black and white photography style and attitude towards photography as an art form, has made a huge impact on my photography in many ways. A few years ago I embarked on a summer long photography project I dubbed "The Ansel Adams Project" where I focused much of my photographic attempts at identifying potential black and white landscape opportunities and then creating images in the style of Ansel Adams.

The Ansel Adams Project

What I learned from the Ansel Adams Project

I learned a great deal about how to construct a black and white photograph through that project and my appreciation of the complexities and flavor of black and white photography grew a great deal as a result. I suppose that project has never truly ended as I will from time to time continue in that quest to experience those Ansel Adams kind of days where the sky has transformed itself into a cobalt blue highlighted by cotton ball type clouds adrift across its expanse. Recently, another such day presented itself and as I was needing to get out of the house I spent most of that afternoon driving the local backroads of Kentucky in search of Ansel Adams style landscapes. 

All the books say the best light to shoot in is early and late, you know, that golden hour of the day when the light is soft and shadowy and generates shadows and drama. The good thing about shooting black and white style images is that you can shoot almost any time of day even during the brightest and harshish middle of the day light. Most of the time that is when you will find those puffy white clouds floating in the sky and the sky will be at its bluest. Yeah, the golden hour does offer a great deal of drama and will serve a black and white photograph well, however I would suspect that most of my black and white photos have been taken mid-day.

I rarely shoot in-camera monochrome and will 99.9% of the time shoot everything in vivid color that I convert to black and white using the Silver Efex plug-in with Photoshop Elements. Although there are a number of very good black and white conversion products available, I really like Silver Efex in that it allows for the full range of color band adjustments along with color filter effects and even the ability to select the type of film simulation, plus adjustment curves and preset options.

When I scan the backroads for potential black and white landscapes I look for several specific things that I believe lend themselves well to the black and white final image. I've already mentioned a deep blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Those two are almost a dead give away, but there are other things a well. I love to find an open field with a distant hillside bathed in shadow and sun. The contrast presented by such a setup works well in black and white. I also look for large stately trees that stand alone in a wide field. I will most always shoot from a low perspective so as to raise the tree canopy above the horizon and isolate it against the sky.

Another view I look for are reflections on water especially with the blue sky/cloud combinations and also to include old barns or stately buildings or a single tree. Many times as I drive around doing other things I will run across a location that has potential and so I make a mental note of where I saw it and try to return on another day. Large open expanses make for nice panoramic images especially if they can be photographed from an elevated location, even just a small amount of elevation gain can make a difference.

Around where I live there are large fields of crops, mostly corn, wheat, and soy. If I can find a bronze wheat field swaying in the wind on bluebird day, it is pure gold as a potential black and white photograph, especially if there is an old barn or a single tree in the middle of or near the field.

Most of the time when I shoot those blue sky days, I choose to place the horizon relatively low in the image to accent the sky and clouds, but sometimes I do just the opposite and accent the landscape. It just depends on the angle of the light and the texture of the sky. Speaking of angle and texture, I will shoot with a circular polarizer filter which helps to darken the sky and reduce glare in the clouds. Once I begin the post processing, it makes it easier to retain cloud detail and by applying a red or yellow filter during post processing, the sky can be rendered a dramatic almost black. Polariers only work within a 180 degree arch opposite the direction of the sunlight. Just use your index finger and thumb as a guide. Point your finger at the sun and extend your thumb to the side. The 180 degree arch will be outlined to either side and around your back. Anything inside the opposite 180 degrees, the polarizer does not do well.

I do love Ansel Adams kind of days. The trick is recognizing how to visually convert what you see in color into what the scene would appear as in black and white. It's not all that difficult. It just takes a little practice, but once you master the process, an Ansel Adams kind of day can open your photography up to a whole new, or maybe a return to an older style of photography.

When The Dogwoods Bloom...

 Seems I tend to struggle photographically when the Spring season arrives. Certainly, that should never happen as the natural world begins to awaken from a winter's slumber and the sun climbs higher in the sky, well, that should be motivation enough.  Even so, I often find it difficult to sustain any degree of motivation to explore and photograph this newness of life..but...when the Dogwoods bloom...

From time to time as Spring progresses, I make time to stroll across the fields behind my home. It is there I discover the first signs of what is yet to come as a myriad of small wild flowers begin to form clusters of natural bouquets scattered amongst the debris of winter. Someday I will learn all the names of these small wonders of nature. Until then, I am at peace with simply enjoying their colorful flavors. Sometimes I bend low to the ground to steal a closer look and will even snap a few photos simply because I can. Rarely do I ever do anything with those snapshots, but the process serves a purpose to get me back into the swing of being a photographer again...at least until the Dogwoods bloom.

Eventually, the trees begin to show signs of coming back to life with a few buds and first fruits of leaf formation. I am always amazed at how slow the transformation process appears. A few trees sprout sooner than others and are often subject to enduring a late season freeze. Somehow or another, they always survive and turn a brilliant green in their own time. Cherry tree blooms come early, as do other ornamental trees, but the Dogwoods hold off a spell. I suppose they instinctively know the time is not right, unlike the Redbuds whose pink and lavender blooms harbinger a sign of how the best is yet to come...that would be when the Dogwoods bloom.

Some of the Maple trees produce their helicopter seeds early, but most hold off until the their leaves are well formed before having their branches hang low with the weight of millions of winged seeds. At the slightest breeze, the sky is suddenly filled with flashes of twisting and flapping seeds as they wing their way to the ground and into my gutters which are readily clogged by their numbers. Someday I'll put gutter guards on to prevent such a thing...but not at least until after the Dogwoods bloom.

The season muddles along often with stormy weather and breezy winds shaking the landscape from its long slumber and yet the Dogwoods are not here. The sky will turn cobalt blue with nary a cloud floating across its face and the Dogwoods seem to wait for such skies as their blooms were made to reach upwards toward the blue. 

My camera may have lain mostly dormant for several months and my creative heart along with it. Even after the first tantalizing hints of a change in seasons, those dormant doldrums are slow to awaken. I may spend a few moments lost in the hopefulness of what is to come, slow to capture even the most modest of images. 

With inner stirrings biding their time...still drowsy, still not fully ready to venture forth in earnest, I wait...then as sudden as the thunder of a Spring storm...oh, the Dogwoods, they have bloomed.

CG44331 - Motor Lifeboat on the Umpqua River Bar - The Story Behind the Photo

 When I was a young man, as I have often relived on this blog, I spent four years in the United States Coast Guard most of which stationed at the Umpqua River Lifeboat Station in Winchester Bay, Oregon. It was an adventure that far surpassed any adventures I've managed to be involved in since then. It was also a time when I purchased my first 35mm camera and began to explore the world of creative photography with quality equipment, at least with what I could afford at the time. That camera was a Fujica ST701 with a 50mm f/1.8 lens plus a Vivitar 135mm f/2.8 lens. My only regret was...I wish I had taken more photos of our station's operations. This photo of the CG44331 was probably the best one.

If I remember correctly, I was shooting Kodachrome color slide film probably ASA (ISO) 25 or possibly 64, I don't rightly remember, using that Vivitar 135mm lens. The events that led up to the capturing of this image began early one foggy morning as our commanding officer Chief Boatswain Mate John Whalen decided the conditions were right for what we called Breaker Drills. 

The Umpqua River Bar can be one of the roughest bar crossings on the west coast. Over the years, there have been many vessels lost on or near this body of water where the Umpqua River spills into the Pacific Ocean. When conditions are right, multiple layers of massive breakers can form across the width of the bar which was at the time (circa 1974) bounded on the North and South by rock jetties with a training jetty a bit further inside the bar directing the river flow outwards. At its widest it spanned about 300 yards from the tip of the South Jetty to the end of the North Jetty. That training jetty has since been extended all the way to the tip of the South Jetty forming one continuous channel and river flow directing structure.

On training days, the conditions were usually moderate with a 12 to 15 foot breaker line forming across the shallower north spit and middle ground areas leaving the south entrance channel mostly clear. These kinds of conditions were suitable for realistic training without presenting a high risk level to the crews.

Fujica ST701

If I remember correctly, I was a bit late arriving on site and had to scramble across the beach to reach the black rocks at the backend of the south jetty, then make my way along the top of the jetty by hoping from boulder to boulder trying not slip and fall. The training ops were winding down as a few moments before I arrived the 331 managed to experience a 360 degree roll. The young somewhat inexperienced operator had gotten himself turned broadside to the breakers and caught one across his starboard side. Over she went, hung for a moment, then righted herself as she was designed to do without stalling the engines or flooding the interior. I did not get any photos of the rollover as it happened before I got there.

The 331 did suffer some damage losing a ring buoy and having a radio antenna break off along with having some internal gear tossed around and some bilge water and oil thrown around inside the engine room, but otherwise she was in pretty good shape. Roll overs are not how you are supposed to do it for obvious reasons. 

As the 331 made her way back toward the calmer waters deeper inside the channel and then eventually back to the station for cleanup and repairs, I snapped the original transparency image...a single moment in the history and timeline of a fine vessel and crew. Many years later, I converted it to a black and white digital image which I believe more realistically captures the drama of the moment.

The Shipwreck: An Old Sailing Schooner Wreck Helps Me Connect with History

 The Oregon coast is perhaps one of the most iconic if not scenic of coastal areas. Mostly unspoiled, long stretches of pristine beaches run almost the full length of the western edge of the state. During the few years I spent out there as a member of the U.S. Coast Guard Station Umpqua River, Winchester Bay (mid-1970's), I often strayed away from the routine of station life to walk amongst the miles of driftwood timbers cluttering the high tide mark. Those outings were attempts to satisfy another one of my many Walter Mitty dreams that never came to pass; being an adventurous archeologist, and this was way before the days of Indiana Jones.

Pacific storms often batter the Oregon coast and because of their ferocity they will reshape and gouge the beach to expose relecks from times past. Those storms over the decades tossed many ships and sailors toward a dooming encounter, to run aground, on the deceptively beautiful beaches. Close to 3000 shipwrecks dating back to 1600's are scattered along this coast. (One of the oldest was a Spanish Galleon in the late 1600's that was lost enroute to Mexico from the Philippines. No one for many years knew for sure where it was lost, but recent discoveries places it along the Oregon coast. The first documented shipwreck occurred in 1808 when the Sea Otter, a 100 ton fur trading vessel was caught in a storm and wrecked near Reedsport/Winchester Bay.) During my tenure there, as luck would have it, after one such storm, the wreck of an old wooden sailing schooner was resurrected out of its sandy grave and exposed once again to the elements. I was determined to explore it.

Internet Photo for Illustration
(courtesy Photos of the Past) 
Alpha Sailing Schooner

Too many years have passed for me to remember the name of that schooner wreck. (It might have been  the Alpha - a wooden sailing schooner run aground near the Umpqua River Bar/Winchester Bay/Reedsport area on February 3, 1907, but to be honest, I'm not sure if it was north or south of the Umpqua River Bar. Overtures to some of the historical societies in the area have proven unsuccessful in identifying the one I visited.) Regardless, I began my journey hiking down the beach one blustery day to check it out.

Back then, just south of the Umpqua River Bar, there were three parking areas, each a mile or so apart. The remains of the wreck was located a few miles further south of the last parking area and required either a hike in or a 4x4 to get there. I did not have a 4x4 then, so I set off on foot.

A dark, low hanging overcast covered the landscape, so low and foreboding it all but seemed to blend with an ocean turned heavy by a stiff Northwesterly wind. Mist from the overcast mingled with the air and joined the wind whipped moisture coming off the breakers that were rolling in just off shore. One after another the breakers tumbled in generating a constant roar as they collided with the end of the continent. 

Behind and above the beach along the Douglas Fir lined ridge, the low overcast embraced the irregular tops of the trees turning them into ghostly gray apparitions. A beautiful sight in its own right, but not exactly the best kind of day for a hike, but the kind of day where the feel and fragrance and exhilaration of the moment burns itself into a forever visual memory.

It is always chilly on the beaches of Oregon, even in summer, but I purposely underdressed because the long hike ahead of me required some effort. All I wore that day was a long sleeve cotton blue work shirt, my C.G. issued heavy field jacket, dungarees, a ball cap, and a pair of boots. The only tools I carried included my venerable Buck 110 folding knife. That knife was rather new at the time, maybe a year old and it was sharp. It had to be, and we were constantly sharpening them for we used our knives for all kinds of things from scraping paint, to whittling, to cutting heavy line, all activities that tended to dull a blade. I figured I might find some old brass or iron spikes embedded in the timbers I could dig out.

At the time,  I wasn't sure how far it was to the wreck. I wasn't even sure for what it was I was looking. I figured I'd just walk until I found it. Felt like it was a lot further than what folks said it was as my hike dragged on for what seemed like miles, and walking that far on sand is not easy. About half way down, I crossed where a small creek emptied into the ocean as it spread out into a meandering delta-like stream several tens of yards across, and in places it was several inches deep. I tried to cross, jumping here and there, tip-toeing without getting my feet wet to no avail...they got wet. Being in a constant state of chilled wetness was just part of life as a member of a C.G. Lifeboat station...and I was used to it by then.

Just above the high tide, storm surge mark, the force of the storm had carved the sand into a seven or eight foot high crumbling sand wall topped by clumps of beach grass and loose debris that ran for miles. I had timed my hike to coincide with a receding tide. Spread across the sand in front of that wall were piles upon piles of large timbers of driftwood bleached almost white from exposure. I almost turned back after a good ways because I could not find anything that looked like the wooden spars of an old sailing schooner. However, a bit further out across the beach a line of tire tracks extended the length of the beach. I figured they were from a 4x4 heading out to the wreck site...and that assumption proved correct for a short distance later I spied what appeared to be a 4x4 Blazer parked near the sandy wall.

Internet Photo (Emily Reed wreck) Similar
to the Schooner wreck debris

A short while later I lumbered onto the wreck site. It was a remarkable, but sad site. Large ship timbers extended out from the sandy wall with ribs radiating in disarray laying on the sand to either side. There was no form or shape to them, just timbers that vaguely resembled the shape of a sailing vessel.  Unfortunately, there had been so much damage done to the wreck site by souvenir hunters wielding chainsaws, it was voided as a potential archeological site. There was not much left of it, just scattered timbers here and there with a few still attached to the main spar extending out from the sand wall. A lot of the debris had been stacked into a pile of rubble. The people who drove the Blazer were friendly enough, but seemed a bit uneasy about me being there. They replaced/hid their chainsaws inside the Blazer and simply kicked the sand around looking for artifacts. More than likely they saw the stenciled C.G. Station Umpqua River across the back of my field jacket and thought I might be investigating the situation or something. Actually I was, but not in the context of what they might have thought.

Regardless, they left a few moments after I arrived and I had the place to myself. I searched the loose timbers and found one S-shaped and partially broken brass spike that had been used to hold two pieces together. After that, I found a rusted out iron spike and some broken glass. The sight had been pretty well worked over so not much was left. Eventually, I moved closer to the sand wall from where the timbers extended out, and saw what looked like the bottom of an old bottle sticking out of it.

 I brushed away the loose sand. To my dismay, an old wide mouth medicine bottle with a cork stopper still in place, rolled to the bottom of the wall. It looked like some kind of substance had dried and stuck to the inside surface. The cork was still intact, but quite fragile. I stuck the bottle inside my coat pocket. A short time later using my hands to scrape the sandy wall another bottle appeared. This time it was an old Listerine bottle, again with a cork stopper still attached. I could tell it was old because of the kind of top it had, the embossed lettering, the coloration, and the fact that air bubbles were scattered throughout the glass. There was still some kind of liquid inside, just a small amount..water I thought, and I carefully removed the cork and took a sniff. To my astonishment, it smelled like...Listerine. Go figure. My guess, both bottles were from the sickbay/medical supplies on board the schooner. (In spite of my best efforts, although I still have that first medicine bottle, I was unable to find it for a photo to be included.)

I found no other artifacts of consequence during my stay, just some loose odds and ends, broken glass, and some small pieces of wood. The evening was fast approaching and I had a long walk back, so I said farewell to this symbol of a lost era. I wish now I would have returned and spent more time there searching that sandy wall for more amazing things to discover. I still have those few pieces of history I did find, and will from time to time hold them in my hand as I recall the events of that day. The old Listerine bottle helps to date the wreck from somewhere around 1905 - 1910 which corresponds with the date (Feb 3, 1907) the Alpha ran aground.  The corks that were still in the bottles, after being exposed to the drying properties of the air, rapidly deteriorated and crumbled away. 

I suppose I have always had a fascination with history in general, and historical artifacts and the events surrounding them...I have a few other old pieces I've found over the years; old farm tools, harness fittings, things like that. I also cannot help wondering about the people involved with such places. It must have been a frightful experience to be onboard that schooner and tossed around by a storm to run aground. Not sure how many people lived or died during that dreadful encounter way back then. I can only speculate on what might have happened. All I know is those two bottles, brass and iron spikes, are part of a continuous timeline that began while the schooner was being built, to eventually end on that lonely stretch of beach. 

A single day hiking for miles along the ancient beach inserted me into the historical timeline of a sailing schooner shipwreck, a timeline that continues even today when I hold those few articles in hand. Each time I am returned to that blustery day to revisit the sights and sounds of an amazing adventure. Having done so, well...it has to be one of my best Walter Mitty adventures and discoveries of all time.

Digesting The Moment

 March is the longest of months. Seems that way because it can never decide what it wants to do. At times it throws teaser days around with abandon ushering in warm spring-like temperatures only to turn blustery and cold again with a vengeance. Gentle winds transform into a roaring tempest, then filter back into a near calm spirit. A brilliant sun can fill the landscape and encourage it with the clearest of blue skies and then clouds blow in so thick as to turn daytime into a discouraging dusk at mid-day. Blooming trees, lured into an early display of flowers, are often zapped back into a muted wrinkled state. March is indeed the longest of months, and by months end, my spirit is often in need of some lifting.

March is for me the most difficult month to stay motivated. Those teaser days lure your aspirations with anticipation, then dash them, as finicky weather tosses them back into dormancy. Even so, there are moments I force myself to pick up my camera gear and get out. The scenery is often bland this time of year, but the trick is to find a way to digest the moment. 

The other day I took an easy stroll through the woods outback and stopped at a nearby pond. There was a bit of a breeze and a chill in the air, but the woods surrounding the pond served to muffle the effects of the wind. I found a somewhat dry spot and plopped down to lean against a tree trunk. Over the next thirty minutes or so, I really did not do much, just sat quietly and watched the ripples push a few dried leaves across the pond and listened to the breeze as it reached across the tops of the still dormant trees. Only a few early season, green clusters of leafy foliage broke the mundane gray and brown prevailing color. A few birds joined me; a cardinal, a titmouse, a chickadee or two or three, and some crows added their annoying squawking to the sounds of the afternoon.

I really did not take very many photos, just a snapshot or two. Mostly, I just enjoyed the quiet...digesting the moment. After sitting for a while, I continued my stroll crossing the open area between the two patches of woods and walked along the outside edge of the far one. All the fields were filled with debris and stubble, soybeans and corn. Toward the far corner of the woods before it opened up again into another field, I crossed through the outer edge and stepped onto the wooden bridge that spanned a low swampy area. As I stood on the front edge of that bridge, some movement caught my attention to my left. At first I could not make out what it was, then it moved again about 30 feet away; a migrating woodcock. He had stopped in this thicket, as they so often do, searching for a juicy worm to eat by probing their long beak into the soft mud. I raised my camera to attempt a photo but he spooked before I could capture him. A short time later, I jumped him again a bit further down along the outer edge of the woods. I never saw him the second time until he jumped. It's amazing how well camouflaged they are.

Before long, I had made my way to the far end of the woods and angled across the back edge of the cornstubble field to the other pond. As I carelessly approached, a couple of deer trotted off through the woods. Should have known they might be there. I stopped for a few moments next to that small pond and listened to the wind again as it moved the tops of the trees and jostled a grove of cedars into activity.

I made my way back toward home, sidestepping and zig-zagging around muddy pools of standing rainwater. When I crossed over the backside of my yard I stopped for just a moment to sit in the old porch swing we have set up out there. The firepit was cluttered with debris and filled with leaves...time to clean it up and get it ready for a new season...but not today. Today I'm just digesting the moment and allowing nature to say a few things. I suppose the best way to do some digesting is simply to allow nature to hold you captive for a while. As far as that goes, nature can hold me captive anytime of year...even during the longest of months...