A (Belated) Birthday Essay

(partially reprinted from another site, dated 2-1-2014)

"Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing... A new Hedonism--that is what our century wants."

        -- Oscar Wilde, Picture of Dorian Gray



I noted a few columns ago that my primary pursuit in this place is to convey my sense of passion for photography and travel. It's a fundamental part of my life. Since that time I've added Montana and Wisconsin to my list of now 44 states I have visited (outside of the airport). By the end of 2014 it's highly likely I'll be at 47.

But what I have found is that it isn't the marks on the map that count. Nor is it the distance traveled.

It is the experiences those marks represent. The memories and, yes, the photographs and descriptions. But photographs cannot convey the taste of Wisconsin cheese curds, tasted fresh-at-the-source for the very first time in the small town of Ellsworth. They cannot convey the sensation of driving rapidly through the mountains and valleys of the Glacier National Park, through trees and glacial rivers and sights that command your attention. 

Of being awakened by violent yet beautiful thunder and lightning storms outside my window in Minneapolis at 2:30am.

On my birthday this year I printed the below essay on my thoughts on my life, having reached the age of 53, which at one time I would have considered "old" and on the downslope of life.


Not so much, however, when one is looking back over the intervening years -- and labeling that younger version of myself as "perhaps too young to fully understand".

I get it now, at least better than I once did.

While the below doesn't deal a whole lot with travel or photography, both are core to what I have become.

"As of 2:30-ish this afternoon, I will have completed my 53rd rotation around the sun.

This is astounding to me. Yesterday my wife Cris and I were looking at our dining room table trying to remember when we bought it. It was our first piece of truly nice decor -- Ethan Allen -- and represented a change for us. We were, at the time, freshly into our first purchased home, a large condominium in Long Beach. It was a momentous occasion, signaling that we had finally made that transition from financially struggling young couple to a more stable and comfortable one.

2014 will also see our celebration of our 29th Anniversary. 29 years. I can recall vividly the early years of our marriage wondering who we would be, what we would be like at this stage in our lives. I think we've done rather well. We have wonderful friends who add texture and feeling and perspective to our lives. We have loving families on both sides of the aisle. And we have each other.

The years have given us challenges, the majority of which we have overcome, and those things we have not yet done away with will be dealt with in time.

This time last year I was miserable in my job. Highly stressed and frustrated. And angry. Very angry. In the last twelve months I've made a transition to a rewarding position that takes me to many places and allows me to deal with interesting people and organizations. At 52 I hated my job, at 53 I love it. The adage noting the difference a year makes is exactly right. At 24 a year was a long time. No more. It's barely enough time to appreciate what we've got or those things we need to change. We cannot take those good things for granted -- things may change tomorrow for the worse -- in the same way we cannot allow ourselves to think that any situation is hopeless and insurmountable. Time changes everything.

 

Two years ago at this time I was in Las Vegas to celebrate my 51st birthday. Little did I realize just what a wrong turn that trip was going to take. Right after a sumptuous dinner with my wife, I developed a bloody nose that simply would not stop. Two hours later I was packed into an ambulance and rushed to a nearby hospital where they struggled for another three hours. It was a night of brutality. The trip ruined, with my tail tucked between my legs we came back home and the next day I went to see my doctor. Diagnosis: I had been systematically thinning my blood by heavily over-using "healthy" supplements over the course of many years -- literally starving my body of oxygen. It explained so many things which were physically wrong with me at the time. I was always short of breath…even the tiniest task wore me out. I would sweat doing the smallest of things, and hated the idea of walking even a block or so. At work I parked on the fifth floor of the parking structure, driving all the way up so as to reduce my walk to the smallest distance every day.

Upon the diagnosis I stopped the supplements. I stopped the things I was doing which caused my body so much grief. It changed my life. You do not understand, fully, what the word vitality means until you have experienced its opposite and then come back across the line. I was effectively reborn, stunned by the energy and what I could describe only as "solidity" to my physiology. I could breathe again.

In many ways the last two years have been a sort of rebirth, from a world I am not sure I would have described as requiring it, but in hindsight it was not only necessary but essential. Often we are too close to something to see what damage it is doing -- even when the damage is done with the best of intentions. This is true of not just physical damage, but emotional damage and mental damage. And in each case we have to take that step back and realize when something is not healthy for our lives, our outlook or our happiness. Ultimately only happiness is what we can have in this world. The pursuit of it is even enshrined in the American Constitution.

In order to be happy, we have to be content with our lot in life -- always seeking to improve it, but not making that improvement our sole definition of getting us to that "Happy Place". If we're not at least content with where we are, we will never achieve that contentment by getting to some other goal in the future.It's always about forward momentum, not being weighed down by things in the past or things we cannot change (fittingly, many of those unchangeables are things in the past).

I am happy where I am. At 53 I can look back and note the potholes in the road and the ruggedness of the terrain, but I am confident that my 24 year old self -- fresh from the wedding ceremony -- would be happy and relieved to find where we are at now, at more than twice his age. I have "grown older" (not old!) with a lovely woman at my side. She makes the sun rise every morning, and is with me when it sets in the evening. We have a life together that is comforting, warm and full of love.

In 53 years, I've discovered that the true secret in life is never giving up on exploring the world, never give up in loving with all of your heart, and never think that you have come to a standstill and cannot move forward.

We are blessed with a great many possibilities."

The iPad Chronicles

“For me, the camera is a sketch book, an instrument of intuition and spontaneity.” 
― Henri Cartier-Bresson






As a photographer, particularly one who travels quite a bit, I have several cameras at my disposal.

For the most part I am a Nikon aficionado, though I count a Canon video camera and a Fuji still camera as options when needed. Recently, as I discussed I a previous column, I added a new Nikon, the underwater and heavy duty AW 1, which so far has been exemplary.

Mokolele Airlines, Kailua-Kona, Hawaii

Each of my cameras have their own niche specialty and use -- and each of them has contributed in some way or form to my overall portfolio. I have my favorites for indoor shots, landscape shooting and most of the usual lighting challenges. By far the majority of shots here on the blog are from the Nikons, but an upcoming series if videos were shot using the Canon. (Though my recent underwater videos, which will be posted soon, are the AW1.)

But if you follow my posts on Twitter, or Facebook -- or any social media for that matter -- those are not the pictures you're seeing.

Those photos, used to highlight my adventures as they happen, are from my lowly iPad 2 -- which in no way shape or form can boast a VISUAL advantage. But what it does offer is immediacy. The ability to shoot something and post it online, making the iPad's images among the most timely.

Rockefeller Plaza at Christmastime

I bring it almost everywhere when I'm traveling. It's a good source of entertainment, as well as a handy tool for writing, notekeeping or other activity. This column entry, as well as others, was written on my iPad first, then transferred to the blog.

One of many US Airways flights

But what about those iPad images? Those pictures which, by and large, echo the ones I make with the more sophisticated cameras? They usually sit, under-appreciated and lonely, gathering electronic dust in my archives. A few of them --quite a few of them -- tell as much of a story as the higher resolution shots from the 'real' cameras.

I am aware, and often witness, other travelers and tourists using their iPhone or other smartphones for photography. I disagree that SLRs (those are the cameras with the big interchangeable lenses, as opposed to those which are point-and-shoots) will ever be replaced by cellphones, but recognize their use by the casual photographer. My version of the iPad is not quite even up to those cameras' resolutions, but it handles the requirements I ask of it nicely enough.

A little bistro in old town Nice, France

They aren't portfolio or gallery ready, but I must profess a fondness for these shots. They, more than the rest, really are about the everyday. The fun. The moment. A lot of martinis and airport shots, which is likely related to the fact I am at a bar in an airport when I most use the iPad. Waiting for flights, or watching the world pass by as I sit and take notes.

They're the moments in between.

And sometimes those are the moments we need to remember most, particularly when we're traveling.




Below are a handful of other examples of the iPad's adventures...

The view from our balcony in Rome

Sunset in Port Douglas, Queensland

Mount Saint Helens

The back lot at Paramount Pictures in Hollywood

Sunrise in Oakland, California

In a hot air balloon over Albuquerque

Breakfast scone and reading material, Napa Valley

Live band playing, Austin, TX

Three Sisters and a Busload of Tourists

 "I imagine you're surprised to see me here"
                            - Lincoln Hall




I typically don't think of Australia as featuring much in the way of mountains. Well, to be accurate: didn't. The age of the continent -- the oldest of the seven -- means that the eons of weathering have taken their toll and largely eroded any vast peaks of sharp escarpments. Yeah, Ayers Rock and the mountains of Queensland, but the rest of the continent is relatively flat. At least, that's what I thought.

Lincoln Rock

In truth the Blue Mountains, some 80 kilometers west of Sydney -- an hour and half by train or car -- offer stunning views and some great natural beauty. Just outside the mountaintop town of Katoomba are some of the most beautiful overlooks and adventures which I figure will appeal to both casual tourists and adventure travelers alike. I was not sure what to expect, but was happily surprised and impressed with the astounding views and ancient beauty.

There is also a spiritual side to the Blue Mountains, as many of the caves in the hills are regarded as a excellent places for The Dreaming -- the aboriginal altered consciousness in which the dreamer is in contact with the past, present and future, and all things become one. In fact, the most notable landmarks in the park is a three-pillar sandstone formation known as The Three Sisters. According to legend (or folklore), they are the daughters of the Katoomba Tribe chieftain who was worried that his daughters would be captured in a battle with his neighboring tribe -- the chieftain of that tribe had three marrying age sons. The daughters had fallen in love with those sons, but the marriage was forbidden. A battle ensued and to protect the daughters the chieftain had an elder turn them to stone. The elder was killed in the ensuing battle -- leaving no one to restore the daughters to their human form.

(We have a friend who recounts his own visit to the area a couple of decades ago in which he wandered into a cave and doesn't remember much about it until he was found, hours later, by his friends. All he can recall today is the immense feeling of peace and calm.) (CAVEAT: Unless you're an experienced hiker and woodsperson, I'm not recommending you wander off the path and get lost. NOT a good idea.)

Our first stop and effective morning agenda began just off the main highway, and down a dirt road to a spot called Lincoln's Rock, one of the best out-of-the-way viewpoints in The Blue Mountains National Park. Named for famous Australian explorer named Lincoln Hall, the first Aussie to scale Mount Everest, the rock is an open-air unguarded overlook across the Jamison Valley. It's a terrific spot which is enough off the beaten path that only small tour vans will go there, meaning it's you and handful of visitors instead of the parade of Canon-clutching herds dropped off by the megabusses to noisily interrupt both pristine views and quiet moments. (This is the power of a small-group tour. While I have no particular problem with the megabus tours when nothing else is available, if you have an option I strongly recommend finding a small group tour that leaves earlier in the day and allows for a more intimate connection with the sights and sites.)

The Three Sisters

Following the stop at Lincoln's Rock and a short break for scones and tea, we arrived at Scenic World, a great tourist little attraction jet three rides and a walk through a cliff side rainforest. The scenery is breathtaking, and as we stood looking out a flight of white birds crossed in front of the distant cliffs, generating an almost Jurassic Park vibe to the moment. Very cool, though it gave me momentary chill when some bird in the rainforest below decided to use that moment for its best velociraptor impression. (The timing was impeccable enough that in other parts of the world I might have suspected Disney Imagineers to have been behind the effect.)

At the park are three rides, and all three are strongly recommended unless you enjoy steep hikes up and out of the canyon. The first is a glass-bottom tramway that takes you from one side of the canyon to the other. It's only a minute or two in duration, and has some spectacular views, though it goes by relatively quickly. There is a road which you can take to the visitor center, but the ride is impressive, as is the view.

"Indy, Heellllp!"

For the second ride -- and an an Indiana Jones moment -- there is a short railway down the side of the mountain, which is actually a modern version of the very steep coal cart tracks once used to pull full loads up from the bottom of the canyon (where the mines were) to the trains sent back down the mountains to Sydney and other coal-hungry towns. And I genuinely mean "down the side".

The ride bills itself as the steepest railway in the world and I have no reason to think they are anything beyond exactly accurate. As the cars leave the station the track suddenly curves down like a roller coaster and plunges you into a very black tunnel for a moment before you emerge into the nearly pre-Cambrian rainforest below. It's a real shift between worlds and nicely done, though if you're prone to a fear of heights the cars have three adventure settings for the seats: completely flat, slightly angled and "whoa Mama, I'm falling!". For fun we chose the latter and managed to hold onto almost everything except a single bottle of water that went careening down into the darkness below. (We recovered it at the end. The seats are securely caged on all sides by steel fencing -- despite your fears and a lack of seat belts, you really can't fall far nor hurt yourself. There's a padded bar for your knees, and plenty of hand rungs to grab onto. Still, it's a roller-coaster-scream inducing moment if you're prone to that sort of thing.)

At the bottom of the railway --- after passing a couple of educational exhibits on the coal-mining once done in this part of the mountains -- there is a walk through the rainforest on well-maintained pathways, clearly marked with three different levels of challenge. 

The primeval views

One is a leisurely ten-minute walk through a pretty level section of pathways. The second drops down a few flights of wooden steps for a more diverse and deeper experience, and the third is for people who are in good shape for a half hour or so of steeper trails and stairways. Each offers its own rewarding experience, and all finish at the last of the rides, an old style mountains tramway that takes you back up to the visitor center. It's a well done attraction, and I would budget between an hour and an hour and a half. Well worth the diversion, though again I would caution you to get there before the megabusses -- we were down on the trail when a load of quite loud and energetic tourists came down the mine train, completely disturbing the serenity of the forest with their screams then excited chatter as they raced through the various pathways.

This is probably a good time to bring up one of my angriest pet peeves: mobs of tourists from the megabuses who act like mobs of tourists. 

In this instance we were enjoying ourselves in the quiet serenity of an amazing natural beauty. The setting is very primeval, as I've noted. Scenic World has a wonderful series of hiking trails through the rainforest on the floor of the valley. As were were casually walking along we we became aware of a lot of chattering voices on the path behind us. A lot. We paused, figuring the best way to get back to the serenity would to wait for the mob, let them pass and let their voices vanish into the distance.

Within a few moments they caught up. Some twenty people noisily talking moving down the path as a single unit. Pausing every once in a while to take photos of themselves amongst the greenery, while entirely missing the experience of the moment. To them it was a simple nature walk, perhaps something they could have had in a local park back home. Despite the periodic signposts explaining something about the plants and ecology, the only pauses in forward motion came at those moments someone wanted themselves photographed in front of a tree, or a bush. And no stop to the chattering in either case. It's a shame that they missed such a spectacular moment to simply absorb nature -- but far the worse that they were so oblivious to their surroundings that they impacted the experience for everyone else on the trails.

Tram back up from the base of the Valley

I certainly don't object to taking day tours to experience the destination...but too many of those tourists really aren't trying to internalize the adventure. It's their loss, but their discourtesy to others trying to have an adventure of their own is a very sorry state of affairs. It's likely always been that way.

Thanks for the vent. Now, back to our story.

Again, to each their own, but if you're the sort of person who believes pristine rainforests ought to be quiet and experiential spots, the sudden appearance of the madding crowd can be a bit jarring (as, undoubtedly it is for the forest's inhabitants, who likewise won't make an appearance under those circumstances).

If you're a nature buff, or simply enjoy a stunning view, I strongly recommend the Blue Mountains as a great daylong side trip from Sydney. 

Just don't be a tourist about it.



Scenic World Park - http://www.scenicworld.com.au/
For more information on explorer Lincoln Hall: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln_Hall_(Climber)

The Jamison Valley

A Matter of Influences

“We never know which lives we influence, or when, or why.”                                                  ― Stephen King 

I came to photography, as a vocation, later in life.

Early image: Child in Shadows

Looking back over the myriad of photographs I took as child and young adult, however, you can see very early signs that I might have a talent for it. Framing, subject matter, etc. Rough, but there. But it had not yet manifested itself into a passion, nor had I done much beyond aiming a camera at whatever caught my eye.

I always thought -- and this was echoed by others in my sphere -- that I would write. Short stories. Articles. Maybe a novel some day. In college I studied journalism, then moved into Broadcast Management. (My steady joke regarding my education and unrelated career these days is "I can program a television network, but very few job openings in that regard".)

But it seemed, as I was growing up, that the blank page and not the blank film was the direction in which I was headed. I had made a few shots here and there with point and shoot cameras, thinking they were pretty cool, but for the most part I identified myself with the written word.

Believing myself on the cusp of a great novel or taking the literary world by storm, I enrolled in a course at Long Beach City College, where in my first semester met and fell in with a handful of people who were destined to become lifelong friends. (The chance that a single class would yield seven good friends is pretty profound. We would, later, go on to create the Long Beach Writers' Bloc -- which now is only remotely connected with Long Beach and/or writing; but that's a story for another time.) I wanted the life I saw in films like Romancing the Stone -- a life of writing books, meeting with publishers in chic restaurant in New York City. Drinking martinis and racing off around the world on adventures for my novels.

Early image: "Father's Day"

I studied writers, I studied writing. I read. A lot. My father was a publisher. His father before him was a bookseller. It seemed natural for me to continue in that tradition.

And then one day I picked up my wife's old Pentax camera and began playing around. Just a small thing. But it was that proverbial first step on a journey. I don't remember the reason for having it with me, but one evening on my drive home from work I had the camera in the seat next to me when I noticed the sun setting along the Pacific Coast Highway in Huntington Beach. At the time my morning and evening commute was an hour or so each direction along the PCH between Long Beach and Newport Beach, twenty some-odd miles south. Not a bad part of the world if you're forced to be caught in traffic.

Something caught my eye about the scene, so I pulled over and parked, got out and walked across to the bike trail that runs along the bluff overlooking the beach, camera in hand.

Early image: "Monument"

I had, at that point, always been a visual person. My wife and others would laugh when I stopped to admire a sunset, or clouds, or the view of something which caught my eye but somehow wasn't really in anyone else's attention span. My life's memories are far more connected to visuals and experiences than to anything else. In this regard, again, it seems that the camera was the natural art form. But I was going to write.

And I think I wrote pretty well. (To be fair, I would not be subjecting you to a written part of the blog if I didn't feel I could express myself in a competent fashion. Your mileage a a reader, of course, may vary.) But something about that evening caught my attention, drawing me to look at the world differently, and instilling in me a desire to record it, to make an image to keep that scene fresh in my mind. To photograph it.

The pictures from that evening came out pretty well, I thought. They show a natural understanding of light and shadow -- I am drawn to highly contrasting images such as a silhouette -- and an appreciation for telling a story through the image. Raw, in these early images, but there nonetheless.

Film image: "Bowl in Shadows"

And so, for a few years, I piddled around in private, read a few books and tried to emulate some of the photographs from artists I respected. In particular I found myself drawn to the landscape works of Ansel Adams, and the humanistic works of Henri Cartier-Bresson. Both men represent the epitome of works in those fields of photography, and as an nascent photographer I was able to use their "eye" to begin to discover my own. By studying their images, and comparing them to my own, I was able to see the flaws in my work and use that perception to make myself better. By chasing the best, you become better yourself. 

And so I progressed, on my own, occasionally subjecting my wife, my family and my writer (and other) friends to my pictures. My wife was particularly supportive, and after a few years of working with the old Pentax and a couple of fairly cheap point and shoots, she presented me with my first SLR for a birthday in the mid-1990s, a Nikon N6006. It was an excellent choice and it became my workhorse camera for many years, traveling with us across the country and to Europe on a number of occasions.

Early image: "Houses of Parliament"

Then came the digital revolution. Not only in camera and filmwork, but printing, editing, and manipulating images. Then came the internet itself, which has had an extreme impact on so many different aspects of entertainment and art. Despite a lot of trepidation and -- honestly -- a lot of puritanical snobbery about film versus low-res digital, I picked up a relatively inexpensive Minolta S414 for a trip to Florida. Until that point the Nikon was my baby, but the images from the Minolta weren't bad, and I had to admit I liked the ability to see the image quickly and decide to reshoot, or move on.

A few years later -- working with both the digital and film cameras simultaneously -- I had the unfortunate experience of smashing my N6006 all over Route 66 in the Mojave Desert. Foolishly I put the camera down on the trunk of my car as I was shooting with the Minolta. I got into the car without thinking and drove off. As I stopped a few miles further -- to photograph the landmark Amboy Crater cinder cone, I realized what I'd done. Returning to the original spot I found, stretched across maybe twenty feet of highway, the remains of the Nikon. It was, and remains, one of the most heartbreaking moments of my photographic career. (So much so I bagged up the debris, and refused to let my wife throw it away for at least five or six years. The bag remained on the shelf above my desk, where I could remind myself of the need for care and respect of my photographic equipment.) My wife, bless her, responded to my very upset phone call by finding another Nikon N6006 on eBay and ordering it before I could even get home from the desert. I still have that camera, and likely always will.

Digital image: "Two Sisters"

But what that moment showed me was that photography had become a part of me, had become more than a hobby and allowed me a new art form I truly enjoyed creating. It was, if there was such a thing, the moment that I moved from wanting to be a writer who made photographs, to being a photographer who writes. The image, for me, is the thing.

In my years of work I have been fortunate to have met, studied from or been in touch with artists who I believe represent the very best of modern photographic creativity. 

My first "mentor" and instructor was Sierra Club photographer Craig Fucile. His works documenting the Mojave Desert and Death Valley are spectacular, and he worked with me directly and in a classroom environment to guide me and help polish my work. In fact, it was his inspiration and influence which led me to photograph Joshua Tree National Park a couple of years ago. (Sadly I've lost touch with him -- perhaps he'll see this and reach back.)

Others whose work I admire and have managed to connect with include Jean-Philippe Piter, an extraordinary fashion and lifestyle photographer with a keen eye for beauty and composition. I ran across his work in PURE St. Barth, a beautiful publication he edits and contributes to, which is readily available throughout that wonderful little Caribbean paradise. Some day I look forward to meeting him in person, but for the moment I am content to appreciate his work and every once in a while exchange notes.

Ralph Velasco is one of the very best travel photographers working right now, with an emphasis on not only the image, but the cultural background of his destinations. The "who" behind the "where". I was fortunate to take a course from him one Saturday afternoon, which helped codify things I likely knew, but had never stopped to understand. To internalize. In a way, he gave me a perspective on travel imagery in particular, which has contributed to my current approach and perspective.

Likewise Jay Dickman, a National Geographic photographer who just might be who I want to be when I grow up. I met Jay at  a National Geographic seminar of photography in West LA a couple of years back and have followed his career since. 

Digital image: "End of Day"

In a different way, Jason Little's work and portraiture drives into a more visceral realm. He tells a story with each image, and is possibly the photographic equivalent of writer Harlan Ellison. In his own way, Jason "opens a vein" every time he creates an image. He pisses me off being as good as he is at the age I was just picking up my wife's Pentax. We don't really know each other -- friends on Facebook -- but his work is inspiring.

And there are others, both peers and betters, who have worked with me and given me their support. The late George Metivier. David Rodriguez. Christine Valada.

In their own ways, each of them have had an affect upon my own work. Again, you learn from the best -- which I define as the works which make the most impact upon my sensibilities. As noted, to make we want to be better every time I grab my Nikon.

It's a far cry from picking up a pen and telling a story, but if I am successful the stories are still there and I am energized by the opportunity to make more of them in the future.

If you're at all interested in seeing some of these artists' works, here are the links. Highly recommended.

Jean-Philippe Piter:    http://jeanphilippepiter.com/

Ralph Velasco:   http://ralphvelasco.com/

Jay Dickman:   http://www.jaydickman.net/

Jason Little:   http://jasonlittlephotography.net/

PURE Magazine - http://www.purestbarth.com/