To Be Alone - Quiet Times in the Woods or on the Water

 Recently, someone asked me, "What's your favorite thing to do?" The answer required about three or four seconds of thought; "To be alone in the Woods." In all honesty, being alone in nature (with my camera) is probably a more encompassing answer, for that is where I feel most at home and most intune with who I am as a person and a photographer.

Nature has always fascinated me. Growing up in southeastern Oklahoma as a young boy, I often found myself sitting outside in the shade of my grandparents big yard and dreaming about wild adventures. I read adventure stories, there were no DVD's or VHS videos back then, so reading was just about the only way a boy could build his imagination. One of my favorite publications was Boy's Life, the Boy Scouts magazine. It was always filled with true life adventures that came to life through the wonderful illustration that filled the pages. Oddly enough, I was never a real boy scout, I just sort of became one on my own, and I loved the BB Gun advertisements on the back of comic books. Oh my, how I wanted one of those Daisy pump BB guns. My parents never did get one for me, but I did eventually manage to own a trusty lever action Red Ryder...still have one. (Some of my fondest memories raising my two boys was when I taught them how to shoot it.)

I'd build miniature log forts and cabins using the numerous broken limbs and sticks that littered that dusty old yard. While doing so, my young mind would flow across time to imagine what it must have been like back in Daniel Boone's day. (Come Fourth of July, I'd blow them up with firecrackers.) But, the most adventurous moments of my youth came when I'd take off on my own, cross the railroad tracks behind the neighbors house, and head off through the woods and fields to eventually find the shallow running shoals where the  Poteau River split. In the imagination of a young boy, I was exploring the deepest of backcountry woods just like ole Daniel Boone did. In reality is wasn't very far. Even so, I'd sit alone for what seemed like hours, until I'd get hungry and make my way back to civilization. 

Those imaginings from way back then became ingrained into my heart and I still treasure those moments for without them, I'd not be even close to who I am today. Things have changed in a lot of ways since then, but in other ways they remain the same. That young boys adventurous spirit still lingers inside of my now older self, only now I am able to play them out for real, more or less, with my canoe, my backpack, my Jeep, and my camera. There are few outing I explore without my camera for with it, I can visually capture the essence of what it means to be alone in the quiet of the woods or canoeing across a lake with the sun setting across the way. Oddly enough, the mental images I made all those years ago are just as sharp, just as real, and just as rewarding as any photograph I've ever made...maybe even more so.

I need those simple quiet times in the woods to clear my head of all the nonsensical rhetoric that floods our world today. I often long to revisit those simpler days when I was a boy, but I understand...you can never go home again. Yet making time for a short hike and finding a quiet place to just sit awhile and listen to the wind talk to the trees or listen to moving waters as they dance across a set of shoals, or maybe watch as a swollen creek tumbles over a waterfall well, it's a good way to clear away the clutter from inside. Along the way, I'll take a photo or two just because I can. Maybe someday, someone will see one of those images and understand why the moment was important.

A Willingness to See Through the Clutter to Discover the Larger Scene

 Today the summer air temperature is hovering just below 100 degrees and the humidity not far behind. Tomorrow and the next day could easily surpass the 100 degree mark. It is August by the way, so days  like these in this part of the country do not come as much of a surprise. But, a week or so ago a hint of fall, the false fall, drifted across the landscape with cooler temperatures and pleasant days. I am so looking forward when the weather crosses a tipping point and the surge toward a new season is launched full swing. 

It's been a good summer overall. I've managed to get out a number of times with my canoe and camera and fishing rod, not nearly as much as I should have. Even so, those few outings offered a measure of relief from the daily routine. Today, avoiding the heat, I browsed through a few photos I made last winter. Sometimes doing something like that will reveal an image or two that simply jump out at me, and I ran across these two. I kept asking myself, "Why do I like these images?"

I've certainly captured better ones, but for some reason, I really like these two images. Let's take look at each one and try to dissect their qualities so I can answer that question.

Both images were taken out at one of my favorite places, Shanty Hollow Lake, on the same day a few minutes apart. On this particular day, and time of year, the lake level was much lower than normal which offered more area to explore. I stepped into the now dry lake bottom toward the upper end and walked across toward the other side. The fall leaves had dropped months before, but a few colorful ones still clung to their limbs. All the tall grasses lining the shoreline had turned brown. 

What caught my eye was the blown down river birch tree as it lay sideways across the brown grass. The tops of the grasses carried a distinctive silvery shine that slowly blended into the brown lower portions. Most the background trees provided another level of silvery contrasts and within that silvery veil I could see brilliant splashes of color. 

Part of being a good photographer is to be able to visually see a photograph before you lift the camera to your eye. Within a few steps, I was able to frame the image with my mind and simply make a few minor adjustments in composition and exposure. The detail of the woodlands behind the grass suddenly took on a fresh appearance no longer lost within the confused state of chaos that can so often ruin woodland images. There is just enough contrast here, just enough white bark, just enough splashes of color to transform a bleak winter day into a wonderful photo op.

This second image was taken from almost the same vantage point. All I did was turn to my left, walk a few yards drawing a bit closer to the water's edge. A similar kind of appeal presented itself where a stark, gray woodland revealed itself to contain wonderful contrasts of white bark, soft grassy tones, and splashes of color embedded deeper within the woods. Add into the compositional equation those soft reflections cast across the water and you a formula for a successful woodlands photo.

It is easy to overlook such simple opportunities. Finding them requires somewhat of a trained eye, but more importantly, the willingness to see beyond the ordinary and through all the clutter to focus in on the elements that define, within a smaller frame, the larger scene.

Saga of the Glass Ball: How a Rare Japanese Fishing Net Flotation Device Created Havoc

 The few years I spent in the United States Coast Guard provided me with numerous memories and adventures. Some of those adventures became iconic, somewhat demanding moments for my young adult life. Others provided a measure of comic relief that helped to define my time at Station Umpqua River. One of the most comical all started with an attempted recovery of a rare, hand blown, Japanese fishing net glass ball flotation device, an attempt that spiraled into a near disaster.

Back in 1974, glass balls were pretty rare and prized collector items. Some of them had been floating around the Pacific for decades. They are even more rare today. Back then a beachcomber could occasionally run across one as it rolled up on the beach through the surf. They ranged in size from small ones about the size of a baseball, up to larger ones as big as a basketball. Sometimes they would even retain a portion of the netting that encapsulated them. They were used to keep fishing nets afloat.

I never found one, but managed to get caught up in an incident of someone trying to retrieve one. Back then, our station still operated with a rather large and cumbersome communications system that included a bulky switchboard and a 1940's era teletype. All of the stations up and down the coast were connected via their own communication lines, Telephone Lines. This, of course, was pre-digital, pre-cell phones, pre-laptop computers, and way before Internet email was even thought of. Everything was still analog. Those Coast Guard telephone lines were serviced by technicians known as TT's or Telephone Technicians. As old as it was, it worked and worked well...most of the time.

One day two TT's drove up in their 4x4 Ford pickup. Somewhere along those communication lines there was some kind of issue they needed to check out and do some maintenance on. They checked in with us to verify that we'd be available to provide some assistance should it be required and of course we were. For them to gain access to those lines, they had to drive along beach. Well about an hour later our phone rang and it turned out to be them. They had climbed one of the line poles, tapped into the line, and dialed our station number. The conversation went something like this.

"Hey, we need a little help out here..we are...uh. sort of stuck in the sand. Can you bring your 4x4 truck down here and pull us out?"

"Yeah...I guess we can.."

"Can you sort of hurry up...we need you down here as quickly as you can get here."

Me and one or two other guys jumped into our big ole Ford 4x4 that had one of those high powered PTO (Power Take Off) winches mounted on the front bumper and headed out. A few miles down the beach we found them and what we saw caused us to wonder in amazement as to how they got themselves into the predicament they were in.

 Their truck wasn't just stuck, it was sitting on the edge of the surge and waves were washing all around it. It was buried all the way up to its frame in the sand...and the tide was coming in. Waves were already washing all around it. Their story went something along this line.

"Well, we were driving along when I saw a large glass ball roll up on one of the waves, so I told my partner to stop so I could get out and retrieve it. Well...he didn't stop, he just turned toward it and pulled up next to where it was rolling around. I jumped out, grabbed it, jumped back in and he tried to backout but stalled the truck. Before he could get it started, a big wave rolled in and flooded the engine and...well, now we're really stuck."

After we stopped rolling around on the beach laughing, we hauled the winch cable out to their truck wading thru knee deep water and hooked it to their back bumper. Problem was, they were so buried in the sand, we could not pull them out. Instead, with nothing to anchor on, we were pulling our truck toward them. We tried to pull them off by taking slack out of the line and bumping them free by backing up. No good. After several unsuccessful attempts, we got on the radio and called the station. One of the guys there drove a 4x4 Blazer with a winch and we had him come out to give us another vehicle.

By the time he arrived, the tide had rolled in a good ways and there were literally breakers crashing over the hood. We managed to hook up his winch, but even with two vehicles, we still could not break them loose. We were really in a fix. Nothing we tried worked. About that time, a third vehicle drove up and the driver got out to offer some assistance. With three vehicles using three winches, we still were unable to break them loose. By this time the tide had really rolled in, but we noticed that every time a wave hit the truck, it looked like it tried to float it a few inches. So we took a different approach. 

We had the two outer vehicles place tension on their winches, and we let out a few inches of slack with our 4x4. When a wave tried to float the stuck truck, I hit the clutch and snapped pulled in reversed. After four or five attempts we managed to pull them out of the sand and roll them up to high ground.

We towed them back to the station where the mechanics removed the carburetor and dried it out, pulled all the plugs and dried them off and blew air thru the alternator to dry it out and low and behold, the truck fired off first time. The two TT's thanked us and drove off with the glass ball in hand.

The story does not end there. A week or so later, I had to go down to the Group office down at Coos Bay for a reason I have long ago forgotten. Inside the building there were offices along the perimeter with a few cubicles in the center. As I walked thru, I ran into those two TT's and rather matter of factly asked them out loud if they had been chasing glass balls and getting stuck anytime lately. Both of them motioned for me to be quiet and not to speak about that incident especially inside the Group office...seems they never told anyone about how they got stuck and why.

From time to time, I will run across a glass ball inside an antique store. Just the sight of one of those iconic relics brings back that comical memory of how a rare Japanese fishing net flotation device created havoc for two TT's.