Photographers: They say (and do) the funniest things

This image doesn't have a lot to do with the following blog entry but it's one of my favorites and I haven't yet taken an African safari so my stock of elephant photos is sadly lacking.  But I have seen and read some things today that bother me a little bit and I always like to share so here goes.

There's a lot of hoopla going around the web right now about GoDaddy CEO Bob Parsons posting a video of him shooting an elephant.  Of course the folks at PETA have chimed in and some other animal rights groups are suitably outraged and I suppose that's all well and good.  Every adult is entitled to their own opinion and if it is different than mine it doesn't really matter.  I don't expect to agree with everyone nor do I get distraught when everyone doesn't agree with me.

For the record, I couldn't care less about Mr. Parsons shooting an elephant.  If he has the money and it's not illegal, more power to him.  Last I heard, elephants weren't on any one's endangered species list.  Furthermore, there is evidence that the elephant in question was doing a great deal of damage to a small village's crops but I'm not here to debate that.  You can find all the information and more by doing a google search and form your own opinion.  I promise I won't ridicule you or respect you less regardless of what that opinion is.

What I saw today that raised my eyebrow was the reaction from the photographic community of which I consider myself a member.  The outrage and vitriol was far beyond what I'd expected to see.  One of the photographic bulletin boards I watch from time to time had a thread that, unless I miss my guess, will soon have photographers calling for Mr. Parsons to be drawn and quartered.  I'm not surprised that there was some reaction, photographers are some pretty sensitive folks for the most part.  I was, however, a bit stunned at first by the vehemence of the opinions.  Then I thought about some of the photographic sensitivity I've experienced in the past and I got a big bite of the reality sandwich.  There are 2 incidents that I've been involved with in the past that should have tempered my surprise...listen and learn.

I mentioned earlier that I watch some photographic bulletin boards online.  One of the boards, Nature Photographers Network, was a source for my first experience with the depth of feeling that some photographers have for the environment.  One of the threads was bemoaning the loss of Glen Canyon which occurred in the 1960's when the Glen Canyon dam was built on the Colorado  River creating Lake Powell.  I was just back from a houseboat trip to Lake Powell which might not have been my favorite vacation ever but is certainly top 3, and being new to the game of online bulletin boards I chimed in with my thoughts that Lake Powell was truly the Jewel of the Desert and a wonderful resource.  I added that though I would love to have seen Glen Canyon before the dam, I really felt the resulting lake is a beautiful and wondrous place. I was immediately assailed by one of the photographers on the board who dismissed my knowledge, credibility, and even my humanity for espousing such an opinion.  By stating that I enjoyed the lake I had established my credentials as a cretin of the first order.  I conducted a private e-mail exchange with the other photographer and after we both expressed our views in a much more civil manner we agreed that we will always disagree on this matter and moved on.  To this day his images and soulful essays are an inspiration to me and someday I hope I'll have the chance to buy him a cold adult beverage and discuss photography.

The second time was much more amusing because I didn't start the fireworks but was around to witness the effects of some simple differences in philosophies.  A few years ago I was at a photo seminar put on by Outdoor Photographer magazine here in Denver.  The format was to bring in 2 prominent photographers to give presentations of their work over the course of a weekend.  The first day of the seminar was conducted by David Stoecklein.  David is a wonderful photographer and if you have ever eaten at a Black Angus Steak House you've seen his work.  He is famous primarily for his images of horses and cowboys but he's also a very successful commercial photographer and part of his presentation was centered around advertising photography and some of the tricks of the trade of a working commercial shooter.

Keep in mind, there were between 100 and 150 people attending this seminar, all lured there in the hopes of learning the magic behind David's horse images and make no mistake, there was plenty of that to go around.  But he also spent some time before the lunch break talking about how he had created some of the advertising images in his portfolio.  When he came to an image he'd shot for Jeep things began to get interesting.  It was an image of a Jeep Grand Cherokee sitting on top of a seemingly impossible to climb mountaintop.  In his narrative describing the image he disclosed that (paraphrasing) "...we had to go up and cut down about 6 trees so the helicopter could set the Jeep down on top of  the hill..."  With that disclosure there was an almost audible gasp from the audience.  Six trees destroyed?  A helicopter to put the Jeep in place?  To a group of self described Nature Photographers this was akin to blasphemy.  And the amusing part?  After the lunch break, a meeting room that had been nearly filled to capacity before David's unfortunate utterance was half empty for the afternoon session. 

Yep, photographers are a sensitive bunch.  I shouldn't have been surprised.

Beisbol been berry berry good to me

There's a scene in the movie City Slickers where the 3 main characters are discussing their best day ever.  Billy Crystal's character describes his first experience attending a ballgame at Yankee Stadium with his father.  He talks about walking out of the tunnel and seeing the grass so green it nearly blinds you, the smell of cigar smoke, and how good the hot dogs tasted.  I've never been to a game at Yankee Stadium but I can relate to those feelings. 

When I was a young Bean Sprout, probably 9 or 10 years old, I can't remember exactly, my Dad loaded the family in the car and headed north to Kansas City where the Athletics were hosting the Yankees for a weekend series.  I know, I know, the A's are in Oakland now but they were originally in Kansas City.  I remember that we dropped my Mom and sisters off in downtown KC to do some shopping while Dad and I went to the game.  As nearly as I can recall it was very similar to the scene described by Billy Crystal.  What I do remember is that Mickey hit one out, Yogi hit one out, and it was the grandest sports experience of my young life.  I'd become a Yankees fan at a very early age at the insistence of Grandma Suzie who was a rabid baseball fan and I guess it rubbed off.  We were Yankee fans because of Mickey Mantle who was from Oklahoma as were my parents and Grandma.  I had no choice.  I'm still a Yankee fan, mostly because there are no other American League teams that strike my fancy and if I ever cheered for another AL team Grandma would be spinning in her grave. 

But I live in Colorado now and Colorado has the Rockies.  It's Spring Training time, 9 days till Opening Day, and I'm starting to get that old tingle.  In March, every team is a contender for the pennant, there are no losers and hope springs eternal.  Tulo and Cargo have both been signed to long term contracts, Ubaldo has 3 years left on his contract, and Todd Terrific appears to be back in form so those of us in Rockies land are very optimistic.  It's going to be a good year at Coors Field and before too long I'll be jumping on the Light Rail to Union Station then walking the 3 blocks to the ballpark.  When I walk up the stairs and onto the concourse in the left field corner the grass will be so green it will nearly blind me.  There won't be any cigar smoke but I'll definitely be assailed by the smells of cheese steak sammies, popcorn, roasted peanuts, and the hot dogs will taste better than a $25 steak.  With any luck I'll be surrounded by good friends and we'll have good conversation during the game.  I missed Spring Training this year but when I hear the crack of the bat and see Cargo park one in the second deck in right field, it won't matter. 

Is it too early to buy tickets for a Rockies/Yankees World Series?  PLAY BALL!

A Shot in the Dark

It's no secret, I'm a research junkie.  When I'm headed to a new location I spend countless hours online looking at Google Earth and Bing Maps.  I look at every image I can find of the place where I'm headed.  Usually I know what sort of conditions and subject matter I'll find before I get there and I'm rarely, if ever, surprised by what I find.  So how is it that this, one of my favorite images, came from a location I had never scouted, never researched, and never seen?  Pure Unadulterated Dumb luck!  Settle in and I'll explain.

This is an image of what I call "The Other Bear Lake."  Pretty much every photographer in Colorado knows about Bear Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park and there are always plenty of images cruising around the web of that Bear Lake.  But this is a different Bear Lake.  Yes, it's in Colorado but about 150 miles south of RMNP.  It's off the Highway of Legends between the town of Cuchara and Cuchara Pass. 

When Heather started college at Eastern New Mexico University in Roswell, we spent a lot of time traveling between Parker and Roswell.  In August of her second year, after dropping her off for the school year, Judy and I headed home and spent a night in Taos along the way.  We headed north out of Taos and came into Colorado via the San Luis Valley then across LaVeta Pass to Walsenburg where we hit I-25.  Along the way I noticed some large stands of aspens near the summit of LaVeta Pass and after a few years of going to Crested Butte every September to photograph the changing aspens I thought it might be time for a change.  I made a mental note that this area might be a nice change and a few weeks later when it was aspen time I made the decision to head south instead of west.

The extent of my research was the trip over LaVeta Pass and a few minutes online to book a cheap motel on the outskirts of Walsenburg.  I packed my gear and left work Friday night headed south for the 2 hour drive to Walsenburg.  It was dark when I got to the hotel and dark in the morning when I left for LaVeta Pass and some of the aspen groves I'd seen weeks before.  And that's where the evil Bill took over.

I don't know what I was thinking.  I have no rational explanation for it and probably never will.  My plan was to head up LaVeta Pass and spend some time shooting in one of the huge groves of aspens but when I got to the summit of the pass the truck just kept on going as if it had a mind of it's own.  Over LaVeta Pass, turn south at the town of LaVeta, and keep going south through the small town of Cuchara.  A couple of miles south of Cuchara I saw a sign pointing up a dirt road that said Bear Lake 4 miles.  At that point the truck made a quick right turn and I was off to Bear Lake. 

Now keep in mind, it was still as dark as the inside of a coal bin at midnight.  The only things I could see were trees and bushes illuminated by my headlights but I kept on driving, undaunted, towards Bear Lake.  All the time the good Bill and the evil Bill were arguing:  "Why didn't you stop on the pass, moron?  At least we know there are aspens there."  "Shut up and drive...where's your sense of adventure?"  "Yeah, but there may not even be aspens up here...all I see are pine and spruce trees."  "Show some backbone and drive...if it doesn't work out we can go to LaVeta Pass for sunset...nobody likes a whiner!"

On we went...and about 3 miles up the road a strange thing happened:  the pines and spruces gave way to aspens.  Old growth aspens!  This might actually be okay.  When I finally arrived at the parking area for Bear Lake the eastern sky was just starting lighten as it does in the 30 or 45 minutes before dawn.  I could vaguely make out the surface of the lake down the hill from where I was parked.  Then reality set in.  I had no idea if there would be any decent compositions, no clue if there were any aspens around the lake, and the cloud bank I could barely make out near the horizon was probably going to block any sunlight and make dawn a dreary boring thing.  I berated myself for breaking tradition and flying blind into this area and feeling pretty down I grabbed my tripod and backpack and headed for the lake shore.  I was here, there was no time to make it back to LaVeta Pass before sunrise, so I might as well take my lemons and make some lemonade.  What the heck...if the light is grey and flat I can shoot some intimate landscapes in the forest.

The rest is history.  I got my camera and lens on the tripod, walked a few yards up and down the shoreline to find a suitable composition, and started thinking about finding some colorful leaves to photograph when this fiasco was over.  And then the magic happened.....the cloud bank started to break up into mini clouds and the sun started tinging the edges of the clouds with pink.  The slight breeze that had been rippling the surface of the lake stopped.  Everything was dead calm and the sky exploded with color.  Amazing!  And the image at the top of this blog is the result.  A case of pure dumb luck putting me in the right place at the right time. 

I spent the next 3 or 4 hours shooting and came away with one of the most successful aspen shoots I've had in years.   Was I lucky? You bet your behind I was...but I'll take luck like this any day.  

Every Picture is a Jelly Donut

Pardon my poetic license with the title of an old Rod Stewart song (Every Picture Tells a Story, Don't It?) but we all change lyrics from time to time in order to make them fit the situation. In this case, though, I'm pretty sure the picture doesn't tell it all.

What you need to know is that the truck in the picture was traveling from right to left when the driver lost control. The vehicle left the roadway, crashed through the guardrail , hit the culvert, flipped end over end, and came to rest facing in the opposite direction. The good news is that the 22 year old driver and his 18 year old passenger walked away with minor bruises and abrasions. (seat belts really do work!)

First thought is "Holy crap! What a terrible wreck!" followed by relief that the occupants of the vehicle were okay. But as Paul Harvey says: "And now...the rest of the story!"

Special thanks to my friend Amie Isban for e-mailing this to me and as she said: 

If God isn't done with you, He isn't done with you.

If only they knew...

There is a group of people out there that I call The Oblivions.  You've seen them...at the grocery store they are the ones that stop their carts in the middle of the aisle and start reading labels.  Nobody can get around them so you're left with being rude or waiting.  They'll stand in a doorway during a conversation and be totally unaware of anyone trying to go through the door.  At the lunch counter they will have a conversation with the cashier while everyone behind them is trying to get their food and eat it within the 30 minutes allotted for lunch. 

I don't think they mean any harm.  I don't think they're even aware of what they're doing but that doesn't stop them.  Anyway, in the spirit of revisiting old blogs and essays, here is an essay I posted shortly after our Alaska cruise in 2005.  Enjoy...

The Narcissistic Fog of Oblivion

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm not always the most considerate, most rational, kindest person you've ever met. In fact, I can sometimes be a bit recalcitrant given the proper set of circumstances. But though I've recently come to be pretty comfortable with my own degree of benevolence towards my fellow man, I saw some things on our Alaska Cruise that really showed how rude and insensitive people can be. And the sad part is I don't think they even realize it.
It all started at the Vancouver airport in British Columbia and let me say that I don't blame the Canadians or any other group of people specifically. For those of you that have never flown in or out of Vancouver, it's a lovely airport. Almost on a par esthetically with our airport in Denver. And it's pretty well laid out. You come off the plane and follow the signs, which are clearly labeled, to your destination, which, in our case, was Customs. Once through customs you go to the baggage carousels to get your bags and that's when the problems begin. Vancouver is a bit smaller than DIA so there are only about 4 baggage areas which is not a problem in and of itself but to exit the area there is only 1 door. All the people from all the baggage carousels are trying to get out one skinny little door at the same time. One of the most disastrous bottlenecks I've ever seen.

Logic and common sense would dictate that if folks apply the ski lift line etiquette we may have a bit of a wait but everyone will get out quicker. But like a wise man once said, "Common sense is perhaps the least common of all commodities." Things went okay for a minute or two but when we got within 50 feet of the door, chaos took over. One would think that an extra measure of politeness would assert itself but suddenly it was every man for himself. Several times I had to excuse myself and crowd in front of someone in order to keep contact with Judy. It was madness! My first exposure in a long time to the game of Chicken. We were calm though, knowing we didn't have anywhere to go, and when our turn came we were out the door and into the fresh air. We caught the shuttle and were delivered safely to our hotel with no further mishaps.

This mentality continued to manifest itself in various forms throughout our trip and after a while we remarked on it and started having fun observing it. In Ketchikan and all the other ports it showed its head in a different guise. When a group of people are approaching you on the sidewalk and 4 of them are walking abreast taking the whole sidewalk, wouldn't you think 1 or 2 of them would speed up or drop back and line up to let another couple pass? Not happening. Many times we observed this behavior in just about every place we were from Canada Place to the boardwalk in Skagway and the sidewalks of Seward.

The first couple of times Judy and I stepped aside and let the folks pass but that got real boring real fast. Next I tried making eye contact while continuing to walk towards the oncoming foursome but that had little effect also. Finally I came upon the perfect strategy. When confronted with the choice of getting off the sidewalk to avoid collision, I merely walked up to the approaching group and stopped, forcing them to make a move to step aside or stop.

Another form of Oblivion was the groups of people that stop to visit in a manner and location that totally blocks everyone else from passing. You're left with the choice of trying to squeeze by or waiting until the conversation is through which could take several minutes. After a few waits and a few bumps I finally started alternating between saying "excuse me" in a loud voice, or clearing my throat. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't but the people were usually aware that they had blocked egress and made adjustments immediately

I don't suppose I can hope that these things will magically disappear nor do I think I even want them to. Oblivion serves 2 purposes for me. It gives us something to observe while in public places and thus amuse ourselves, and of course it makes us even more aware of these behaviors in ourselves and hopefully we can avoid being the rude Americans.


So there you are.  Do you know any Oblivions?  Are you a closet Oblivion?  Leave a comment and we can share a chuckle together.

We'll always have Lake Powell...

Not exactly sure how to start this blog.  I usually go for a cheap laugh or a catchy "hook" beginning but words fail me so I'll just start.  Today I had my 14 year old Labrador, Kahlua, euthanized.  She'd been getting more and more feeble recently and this morning after I had to carry her up the stairs to let her out I looked into her eyes and she told me it was time.  Truth be told, it was probably time some months ago but I've been selfishly putting it off.  Sorry old girl..

In an effort to avoid becoming too maudlin and depressed I've been thinking about some of the good adventures she and I had over the years and thought it might be cathartic to share them.  I hope you'll indulge me for a few minutes.

The image above is from a trip she and I made to Lake Powell in 2003.  I had a few extra vacation days and decided to spend a 4 day weekend tent camping so I loaded up the boat, tossed Kahlua in the truck and off we went.  I'll never forget that trip for several reasons but mostly because of Kahlua.  The first evening on the lake I'd found a marvelous little beach and made camp when huge houseboat full of partying 30 somethings decided they needed my camp spot more than I did.  After the usual verbal sparring during which they told me they wanted my camp spot and I politely declined to give it to them, followed by their threat to kick my butt and take it, I had Kahlua do one of her favorite tricks.  She was the most gentle lovable dog around but upon being given the command "Mean Dog" she would growl and bare her teeth.  I knew she was bluffing and it was just a trick she'd learned but the guys on the houseboat thought she was serious and none of them wanted to get chewed up so they left.  I still chuckle about it sometimes. 

In her younger days Kahlua was an amazing retriever.  Maybe too good....one summer she got really disgusted with me while fishing on my In-Laws' ranch in South Dakota.  Every time I fish there I practice catch and release unless I've been requested to supply the makings for a fish fry.  On this one particular trip Kahlua was with me and every time I released a fish she would dive in the creek and try to retrieve it.  After about a dozen tries she looked at me with a puzzled expression that said "What the bleep are you doing?  I can't fetch those things!"  And on the Lake Powell trip I eventually had to stop fishing.  Seems every time I cast a lure she would jump in and try to retrieve it.  I didn't have a doggie boarding platform for the boat so after the first 4 or 5 times of dragging her soggy butt up over the side of the boat I figured my back needed a rest.  Besides, I had visions of her actually grabbing one of the lures...the thought of a Labrador getting punctured by a bunch of treble hooks was not a pleasant one. 

She was quite the retriever though.  Once when my niece, Cathy, and her family were visiting, her son Jared spent all afternoon tossing a ball in the park and Kahlua nearly ran herself ragged fetching it.  We almost placed bets on who would tire out first.  Later, at the dinner table, Jared asked his mom "..when we get home can we get a REAL dog like Kahlua?"  I guess he wasn't so enthralled with their herd of dachsunds after playing ball with my dog.

We had some good times, me and her.  But one thing stands out above all others.  I had borrowed some display tables from my employer to have a garage sale and on Sunday afternoon I loaded them in the truck to return them and took Kahlua with me.  The business was in a less than savory part of town and I almost always saw some homeless guys in the alley or down the block but I didn't want to have the tables sit outside in my truck all night so away we went.  At the studio I backed my truck halfway into one of the rental studios and was in the process of unloading tables while Kahlua explored the new place.  I was finishing the unloading process and walked back into the studio.  I was facing away from the door and Kahlua was in front of me facing towards the door.  All of a sudden she got all puffed up...her hair was standing up and she started growling deep in her chest.  Not the playful growls she made when we played tug of war but a real mean menacing growl.  I turned around to see what she was looking at and saw one of the homeless guys standing about 10 feet away from me with a piece of pipe in his hand.  He looked at me, looked at the dog, then dropped the pipe and beat feet down the alley. 

But now she's gone..and if there's a doggie Heaven she's earned it.  Her legs will work again and she will be able to hear again.  Her eyes will be clear and bright and barking will be fun, not painful. The rabbits and pheasants will be slow and stupid. Best of all, there won't be any cats or if there are, I won't be there to stop her from chasing them.  Enjoy your rest, dear friend.  You will be missed.

Random Musings

Occasionally I write a blog when there's not really anything specific to ramble on about, simply snippets.  This is one of those occasions.  So strap in and here we go.

The picture up top is the new sled.  The Murano is dead, long live the Nitro.  15 days ago I was involved in a minor fender bender and I learned quite a few things.  Mostly, though, I learned about vehicles with airbags.  The Murano had part of the front bumper and front fender carved off.  No big deal...couple thousand bucks of body work and good as new.  But no!!!  During the crash a few wires of the wiring harness were sheared off and apparently when that happens to a vehicle with air bags it's an automatic total.  See, once the wiring is replaced there's really no way to test the air bags.  Well, no way short of running the vehicle into a wall which is sort of counter to the point. 

Anyway, after getting the check for the total I went car shopping last Saturday and ended up with the Nitro you see before you.  It's different than the Murano..(duh)...much more primitive.  Where the Murano was plush and luxurious the Nitro is spartan and functional.  No electric seats, no heated seats, not a spec of leather anywhere....radio controls are (gasp) on the radio instead of  the steering wheel and horror of horrors, there's no compass to tell me which direction I'm going and no outside temperature indicator.  But all is not lost.  I'm fairly certain I won't rip the skid plate off of the Nitro like I did the Murano and I'll have to work pretty hard to get this thing high centered like I nearly did in the Murano last year in the Badlands.  And to be honest, the Murano needed some work...new front struts, new tires, and the CVT (continuously variable transmission) was getting sketchy again.  It was replaced at 87,000 miles which was about 85,000 miles ago.  So maybe it's not all bad.  I'll know more in a few months.

I wonder:  Why is it that the "best ever rock bottom" price of a vehicle can be reduced by nearly 10% by just saying "Let me think about it until Monday."  You tell me this is your absolute best price then reduce it when I stand up to leave...what the bleep?  I hate car shopping.

And to the moron that was running the engine of a Charger inside the showroom at the Dodge dealer, I was absolutely truthful when I told you the carbon monoxide blowing in my face was giving me a headache.  Your wife may fake headaches but I don't.  Get a clue dude.

Unexpected dental work, car wreck, wedding expenses adding up, airline ticket prices doubled...all these things conspired to cause me to cancel my March trip to Phoenix for spring training and my proposed trip to photograph the Palouse region of Washington state in May.  But the good news is Erin is having her wedding in Sedona in September and I've wrapped some extra vacation time around the date so I can spend some time there and then dawdle my way home photographing some neat stuff on the way. 

Rocky Mountain Nature Photographers get together in Moab in May, Sedona in September...2 road trips for the new vehicle.  ROAD TRIP!!!!! Whoooooooooo Hooooooooo!

Speaking of Moab, if any of you are passing through there this summer take some time to check out a couple of photo shows.  In July my friend Bret Edge is having a show of his images along with the work of Guy Tal at the Visitor Center of Dead Horse Point State Park near Moab.  2 of my favorite photographers displaying their work in one place at the same time!  Bonus!  Also, Bret will be having a solo show beginning September 10 at Back of Beyond book store in Moab.  One of the best book stores on the planet and some wonderful images...another bonus!

Speaking of airline prices, what's up with Southwest!  I love Southwest and won't fly any other airline unless SW doesn't fly where I want to go.  But come on, guys...the fares from Denver to Phoenix during the month of March are double what they are in February or April.  I guess they figure what with spring break and the Rockies training in Scottsdale for the first time, they can sell tickets for as much as they want and people will buy them.  Then in April the price gets back to normal.  Freakin shameless profiteers.

Okay, that's all for now.  I've had my monthly quota of ranting and whining.  Next blog will be less rambling and more substance.