Her name isn't Rudolf

I don't have any reindeer pictures, so this is as close as I can get.

Merry Christmas to everyone.



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Another Tetons Cabin

Just another cabin at the base of the Tetons.




Just another settler's dream.

Another Backyard View

Cunningham Cabin

Grand Tetons National Park

Just another cabin.
Just another back yard.
Yes, I wish I had lived here.
Yes, I realize how hard they had it.
No, I probably couldn't have made it.

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The Other Grand Canyon

This is the Grand Canyon, but not  the one most people think of when they hear that name.

This is the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. It's in Yellowstone National Park, and to me even though it's not as big or well known as the other one with that name, it's one of the most majestic sights I've seen.

I've been there twice, both times cold and windy, and both times magical. This view has inspired many artists over the years and it's easy to see why. The roaring river flowing through the many colored rock canyon walls isn't easy to portray with a camera or brush, but many have tried.

This one is on my list to try again. I won't get tired of this place.


By-the-way...This image was taken this last May, just after the roads were open to get to it, and just before the roads closed again for a late spring snow storm. We just caught the timing right.

Home is More Than Where You Live



Wispy Clouds Over Mormon's Row



I don't live in a fancy house. It's an old, small house near the shores of Lake Michigan. The roof leaks whenever it feels like it, and I can't keep up with the peeling paint. But it's a comfortable house.




This image is of a barn that stands just outside the boundaries of The Grand Tetons National Park in Wyoming. There's a small group of barns and other buildings still left from the days in the 1800's when the Mormon settlers built them. They’re still there for people like me to use as props for our pictures.

I wonder if the men and women who dared crossing this country looking for a better life ever thought the homes and farms they would build would last long enough to become a tourist attraction. What would they think of us leaving Michigan in the morning and taking a picture of their homes in the afternoon? I complain about the size of the airplane seats and the long lines I have to wait in at the airport. I doubt they complained even that much about their months in a wagon and the lines of mountains they had to cross.

But they made it. They built their houses and raised their families the way they wanted to, and where they wanted to. My house has been a pain to keep up with over the more than 25 years we've lived there, but it’s where we've raised our family. It's where they still come back to and it's where things feel right to me.

But I wouldn't mind this view out my back door


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Introduce Myself

"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year."

Mick Jagger said it, but you should definitely take out the wealth part and maybe some of the taste part, but for sure leave in the long, long year part. You can even give me some sympathy if you want to.

It just dawned on me that some of you don't know me or the mystical Denise that I often mention.

Here we are. This is us. Faces to go with the names.



An Exit Plan




 Les Chenaux Coastline
Michigan UP

Most of the time when I'm off looking for interesting places and things to photograph I'm alone. If you've read the last few blogs, you know that this is my favorite time; all alone with the rocks and the trees.



But sometimes it's probably not smart to do that. Often I'm in areas frequented by bears; often I'm off on a trail into the wilderness; often I tend to do things I shouldn't. The solitude is what I'm after, but I know I shouldn't be there by myself.

This image's location doesn't look that bad, but right after it was taken I fell going up the rocky bank on the way back to the truck and jammed my shoulder (I like to say I broke it for dramatic effect). It scared me enough that I immediately cut short my trip and drove the eight hours directly home.

But that's not the weird part. Ever since that fall, I've begun doing something on my trips that Denise thinks is crazy. While walking, I come up with an "exit plan". A "what if" plan. A kind of "Hansel and Gretel" plan.

But not for me, for my equipment.

I always figure I can crawl out if I have to, but not necessarily with my camera in tow. My exit plan always includes what rock I would hide the camera under; what tree I could hang my backpack in; and how would I tell someone where to find it.

I haven't figured out a good way yet. Maybe bread crumbs weren't such a bad idea after all.



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My Limit

I found out a couple of things about myself at Zion a couple of weeks ago.

Halfway to Angel's Landing

I took a hike to somewhere I've wanted to go the past two times I've been there, a hike to Angel's Landing. If you don't know the place, it's a two and a half mile hike each way that goes up almost 2,000 feet; winding it's way up and over rocks and trails that at times you can't believe they would let normal people use. They're not much into handrails in this part of the world.

Sounds bad, but that's the easy part. The real troubling part doesn't even start until the last half mile. Then it's over very narrow ledges of rock with only a chain to hang onto and that 2,000 feet on each side to the bottom.

But back to what I found......Two things.

One, that I'm getting old.
Or at least my knees are. I felt this one for more than a few days afterwards.

And two, my limit.

That last half mile was too much for me. I sat, had my lunch with the chipmunks, looked it over, but I couldn't talk myself into it. Ever since then I've had mixed feelings about it. Been kicking myself  for not trying, but been proud of myself for giving up.

Maybe that takes me back to found thing number one. I am getting older...and smarter.


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Where's the scenery?

Bryce Canyon Sunrise

Bryce Canyon.

Not much to say about Bryce. You drive up to the canyon edge and there it is. Nothing else like it.  Not anywhere.

The colors are like nowhere else I've been, and are just about impossible to portray in a picture. The light bounces around and seemingly goes right through the hoodoos.

Magic light.







And here's this pictures little side story---  
    
 On a hike into the canyon just after this image was taken, I had the dumbest question asked to me of any I've ever heard. Often people will see the tripod over my shoulder and think I'm some kind of tour guide, but this one beat them all.
A husband and wife, walking into the canyon in their Sunday best clothes and dress shoes stopped me and asked "where's the scenery?".

Honestly, some people just don't get it.

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Zion Canyon and It's Two Little Sisters

East Side Zion National Park

There are essentially three "sides" of Zion National Park. The main Zion Canyon that everybody knows and two others, the East Side and Kolob Canyon.

Everyone who visits Zion goes to the Canyon. It's the only place the shuttle buses go and it gets all of the attention. Hardly anyone goes to Kolob Canyon since it's about an hour drive to the north side of the park, and very few go to the East Side unless you're coming into the park from that direction.

On previous trips I was like that too. I honestly never heard of Kolob Canyon before this trip and had only spent a little time in the East.

This time we had more time to explore the two others and found them fascinating. They both are different worlds altogether from the main Canyon and both offer views like none other.

It's a shame they don't get more attention. They deserve it.


As a little side story, Denise and I have this little running debate on this thought---
I like to think that all things in nature have feelings; the rocks and trees and mountains and rivers and everything else. I always think of how they feel, what they are thinking. In this instance with the three parts of Zion, do the two left out sides of the Park feel jealous of their big sister, the Canyon? Or are they happy to be left alone like I am when I'm with them?
By-the-way, Denise thinks I'm crazy.

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Fought for this one

The Watchaman Over the Virgin River
Zion National Park



 Here's the one from the first night on the bridge at Zion.

The one where we were tripod-to-tripod.

The one where it wasn't that much fun to be crammed onto that one spot with all of the others.

The one where the park ranger yelled at us "if you're not touching the bridge railing, then you're blocking traffic".



But you know what...I still like it.

Special Times

We just got back from Zion National Park and it was everything I hoped for.

The weather was perfect, the crowds were small, and it was Zion.

This is the view of the Watchman, the mountain in the background, and the Virgin River from a small bridge.

It's one of the most iconic images of Zion and the one that everyone takes. I visited this spot twice on this trip, once the very first time I set up my tripod and once the very last time I set it up when this image was taken.

The first time was in the evening at sunset and there were so many tripods fighting for a spot that it spoiled the night. That's just the opposite of what I want on these trips, people instead of solitude. The absolute best times are when it's just me, alone without anyone else around, roaming the rocks and canyons, feeling like I'm the only one in the world. It happens rarely, but when it does it's the best feeling I can imagine.

Me, the rocks, an occasional beaver.
Special.

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"Find something fun"

Denise and I are off to Zion Canyon National Park next week to spend a few days in what is probably my favorite place. We haven't been there in a few years, and I've missed it.

The last time we went, Sloan (our daughter) was all set to go with us as she often does, but this time I asked Max (our middle son), if he might want to tag along. I fully expected him to say no, but his answer was "only if you can find something fun to do".

It wasn't enough that we would be at Zion, Bryce, and Grand Canyons. Not enough just to be in what many consider the most scenic part of the west. He had to have "something fun" to keep him busy.

Sloan & Max

What did I do? I made a call to an adventure guide in the little town of Springdale next to Zion and set us up with a full day trip of canyoneering. I had no clue what "canyoneering" meant, but as soon as we got to the outfitter's store and were issued full body harnesses and helmets, I knew we were in for an adventure.

We drove up into the nearby mountains and canyons in an old beat up Suburban until it couldn't go any further, got out and hiked what seemed like what was straight up the mountain for a couple of hours more, and then started our adventure down.

 The guide threw a rope over the edge of the first of many canyon faces and we repelled over them. From 50 foot drops to some that were well over 125 foot, some even into ice cold water that you had to unhook from your ropes and swim out of, we slowly worked out way through some of the most scenic canyons I had ever seen.

Here I was, a fat-and-fifty pretend adventurer doing something I never would have thought I could have done. I'm not sure what scared me more. Me hanging from a rope dangling into space or seeing my kids do it. All I know is that without Max and his sense of wonderment and daring, I would have been totally happy driving in the car looking out the window, with the occasional short hike, trying to catch what I could of the park around me.

Now I try to get out into the park more. I try to get that feeling again. I try to do what he said instead of just being the tourist. I try to walk into the woods with the beavers and the bears. I try to climb up into the arch. I try to pretend I can do more than I can, and I'm often disappointed with the final reasoning of what I can't.

But there's one thing he taught me.

I try to "find something fun".

Me over the edge

It's a Sign

Boyle Lake

Denise is out of town this week and I'm all alone and bored. I'm also feeling kind of discouraged with my photography lately. I can't seem to get in the mood, but thought tonight I would force myself to see what's out there.

Instead of just sitting around, I went for a ride to a small lake nearby to see if the leaves had turned there yet.

This is an image from that trip. It's nothing special, been done countless times before, but the trip wasn't a waste.

On the way back, I saw a saying on a church sign. I'm not sure why, but it just struck me as being odd and made the evening out better.

"Autumn Leaves but Jesus is Forever"

Max's Bryce Point



Bryce Point Sunrise

     Often when we go West our daughter Sloan goes with us, but a couple of years ago our middle son Max decided maybe he would like to go with us too.

    When we were at Bryce Canyon Max and Sloan decided they wanted to ride four-wheelers into the wilderness. While setting this up for the next day the guide told Max that if he got up the next morning and brought him a picture of the sunrise at Bryce Point, he would give him a discount on his ride.

    To my suprise when I got out of bed the next morning about 4:30, both of them jumped up and came with me (leaving Denise to fight off the mice in our cabin alone, but that's a story she'll have to tell you). This is an image of that morning.

    When we got to Bryce Point it was still pitch black and as soon as the very first light came over the mesa, I took this shot. It was still too dark to see the details in the clouds or the landscape, and this is how it turned out.
    The colors are real. It doesn't look that way, but they are. I don't know if it's the time of the day, or if it's the elevation we were at, or what made them that way. But I don't care. I like it the way it is.

   Sometimes you get lucky.

   Oh, there's a little second story to Max and this picture........The day before we were having lunch and Max and Denise got into a little squabble about something (who knows what anymore), and before it was over he threw a pickle at her (again, who knows why anymore). She was so mad at him, we had to drive into the next town (and out West that's not just around the block) to try and find her a piece of pie to calm her down. If you look REALLY close, that town is WAY OFF in the distance in this picture.
   So you see, I have two memories about this picture. Getting the kids up at 4:30 to go with me and the famous pickle fight.


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Sweet Light

There are many names for that time of day when the rising or setting sun lights up a  landscape in a special way. Most of the time you hear it called the "magic hour" or the "golden hour". There's even a technical term, alpenglow, when the sun is just below the horizon and the warm, pink glow causes the mountains to have that rarely seen illumination.

Church Rock in Kayenta, Arizona

I heard the best name for it from the world-class landscape photographer, LeRoy Dejolie, when I took a workshop with him a couple of years ago. LeRoy had his own name for it, and he claimed it only lasted 45 seconds.

Not an hour, or a few minutes, just 45 seconds.

The first time I heard him use his term, we were set up before sunrise at Church Rock in Kayenta, Arizona waiting for what until then I called the magic hour. LeRoy kept yelling at us to "wait until I tell you", and we all just stood behind our tripods like little soldiers all lined up ready to face down the charging enemy.

Then the order to fire came, "SWEET LIGHT'.

Forty five seconds later it was over.

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I don't want to ...

paint the house, or mow the lawn, or clean the garage, or do all of the other things that need to be done outside.

I want to do what I want to do. Nothing specific, just something not on the list of things that I have to do.

But the weather is changing. Within just a couple of weeks the leaves will look like this and then just a few weeks after that the snows will come.

I'll have lots of time then. Lots of time to wish I was outside painting the house or mowing the lawn.

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A Do-Over

Bryce Canyon

This is another "second chance" theme of sorts. Not necessarily a second chance at a particular image or place, but instead another chance at a visit out west.

Earlier this year, we went to the Grand Tetons National Park and Yellowstone National Park for about 10 days. Of those 10 days, it either rained or snowed about eight of them. Even though in a way it was the most relaxing vacation I had taken in years, it seemed like we were cheated.

Cheated of the scenery because the clouds were always there and cheated of just being able to get out of the car and see what we came to see.

So Denise and I decided to try again. In a few weeks we'll be going back to two of the national parks we've been to a couple of times before, Zion and Bryce Canyons.

Zion Canyon

This time maybe the weather will be on our side, but if it isn't, it still beats staying at home and dreaming of the hoodoos.

Room #37 at the Beachcomber Motel

Manistique Light

I'll start this one off by saying I think I'm fairly normal. I have a family and a job, don't drink a lot, and have never been institutionalized.

Now that I've got that disclaimer in, I have a story to tell about a stop I made in Michigan's Upper Peninsula a couple of Octobers ago.

I was roaming the UP taking fall pictures and stopped for the night in the town of Manistique. When I'm alone on trips like this, I stay in motels that, to say it kindly, have seen better days. Maybe it's because I don't want to spend the extra money, or maybe it's because some of their past charm is still hanging on, but those kind of places draw me to them. On this particular night I chose the Beachcomber Motel, just across the street from the Manistique Lighthouse.

It was a nice room. Straight out of the 60's. One double bed, small TV, pink and green bathroom, one of those pre-digital clocks where the time changes by number tabs tumbling over, and those big steel heat radiators that look like they would burn you if you even thought about getting close to them.

Nothing unusual about the night at all. I went to bed early and was having a good sleep. The only thing disturbing it was the tick-tick-tick of the radiators when they would first come on.

Then it happened. The radiator ticking woke me. I rolled over on my left side to look at the clock (it read exactly 3:33) and then I felt it.

Something, or someone, lifted up the bed covers on my right side and crawled into bed with me. I felt the covers lifting up and I felt the bed move.

I've told this story to a few people, first to Denise, and this is what they all ask, "what did you do?"

What could I do? I wanted to jump up and run for the door, but the door was on the side of the bed where my visitor was. I wanted to roll over and see what was really there, but didn't really want to know for sure. I simply only had one thing to do, lie there thinking all kinds of thoughts and listening to that tick-tick-tick of the radiator.

Thanks to that night in room number thirty-seven of the Beachcomber Motel, I have a story to tell.

(Let me refer you back to the first paragraph of the story where I claim I'm somewhat normal)

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Pickle Boats

My daughter, who was home from college in the spring, planted a garden in our backyard. Sadly, she left it to me to tend while she went away to volunteer at a camp. Not having the time to care for it, I could only salvage two lone cucumbers from all of the work she put into it.

Those two cucumbers made me think of something though. They took me back to when I was a kid.

One of the things we kept ourselves busy with was to go into the garden and take the old, yellow cucumbers; carve out the inside (somewhat like you'd do with a pumpkin on Halloween); add toothpicks for seats and masts; and make yourself a boat.

Taking those boats to the creek I talked about a few blogs ago, would keep us busy for hours sailing them down the stream and following them into the woods around the curves and over the ripples.

We didn't have a lot of money when I was a kid. We didn't have Nintendo; or eighty-seven channels on TV; or a Mall nearby we could go to. But we did have our imaginations.

And we had our pickle boats.

Second Chance Unfullfilled

Lower Falls of the Yellowstone

It seems like I talk about second chances a lot, and this is another one of those images that have a story about second chances.

The first time Denise and I were in Yellowstone National Park (when this picture was taken), I read that every day at 9:00 in the morning a rainbow can be seen at the bottom of this falls.

We got up early and drove to this overlook in anticipation of the rainbow and were the only ones there except for one plein aire artist.

The only problem was that it was COLD. After several minutes waiting, I thought we had missed the rainbow; took this shot; and went for breakfast.

We stopped there about an hour later and the artist (who hung in there despite the cold wind) told us "sure missed a nice rainbow".

I kicked myself for leaving and promised myself that if I ever got back to Yellowstone, I would see that rainbow no matter how cold it was. I needed that second chance.

One trouble with the next trip---It was this spring and we were stuck in a Memorial Day snow blizzard on the other side of the park and could never get to this side. Missed it again.

I'll probably never make it back to Yellowstone again, but if I do I'll need a second chance at my second chance.

Thirty Two

Today is Denise and my 32nd anniversary.

We've gone through a lot together.

The birth of our three kids.
The death of our parents.
Kids graduating.
Kids getting married.
And Nolan, our first grandchild.

 

This is a picture of our family that was taken during a weekend trip where we all stayed in a cabin in Northern Michigan a couple of summers ago.


We look like a rag-tag bunch, but that's us. None of us pretend to be something we're not. With us, you get what you get. That's the way we like it.

I give credit to Denise for teaching us all that. She's the glue. The strong one. The one we can all count on.

I know I don't tell her this as much as I should, but I hope she knows.

Denise, I love you.
And happy anniversary.

Spoiled

Statue of Buffalo Bill in Cody, Wyoming

The West.

We fly there; rent a car; stay in hotels; eat in a different restaurant each meal.

I can only imagine what first the Native Americans and then the European settlers had to go through each and every day just to survive.

The vastness and the harshness of the land make it difficult even with the advantages we have today.  We moan and cry when it's hot; or cold; or wet; or dry.

How did they manage? Are we just spoiled rotten? Or were they really that much tougher?

I don't know about you, but I like my hotel bed.

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Just Little Blue Flowers

Nothing fancy about this one.


Nothing serious to say. 






Just little blue flowers to look at on this nice Summer day.


(Oh, crap---I think I just wrote a poem. Denise must be getting to me.)

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I'm a Painter

I painted this.    Well, I kinda painted this.

Cody Wyoming has the best museum in the world, the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. The last time we were there, they had recently installed computers in the Whitney Gallery of Western Art that let you take pieces and parts of famous paintings and put them together in your own "painting".


As Denise and Sloan looked around the museum, I sat there like a little kid and put together several of these paintings. It was sort of odd sitting there amongst all of the paintings by Thomas Moran and the sculptures by Frederic Remington and all of the other artists, both old and new. I don't have a lick of painting skills and just sat there in awe of their skills and vision.


I'd give just about anything to be able to create something like this for real.

Today's not bad

Clingman's Dome Sunset, Great Smoky Mountain Nat. Park

Finally the heat seems to have let up a little. Today's not bad at all. It's still warm, like summer should be, but it's not one of those depressing hot humid days it's been for a couple of weeks.

I don't want to get too comfortable though.

Like the sun setting below this horizon, it'll be back.

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Tradition

Basillica of the Sacred Heart, University of Notre Dame

In my real job as a project manager for a large construction company, one of my main clients is the University of Notre Dame. I'm often on campus several times a week and can never get over the feel of the place.

The campus has a sense of it's own. It has the history of it's football team of course, but it's the look and the feel of the old buildings that always make me happy to be there.

The new work we do on campus is unlike any work we do anywhere else. All of the new buildings are designed to fit into the scheme of all of the other buildings. The trim; the doors; and the other finish work we do are like no other place we work.  They are built to last 100 years; not to be used and thrown away after only a few.

Tradition lives on in those buildings. I hope those 18 year old kids who go there appreciate what they have.

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Making Time for Art

Portion of Newspaper Rock, Southern Utah

In my last post, I considered how much time the residents of Mesa Verde had to spend just surviving. Time had to be precious to them with very little to spare.

Yet everywhere in the southwest are panels of petroglyphs with amazing representations of animals and people, and designs not easily understood.

I've heard is said that these may be maps of sort; or territorial claims; or sign posts meant for others. And then there are others who feel they may be simply just art.

I like to think of them that way. That they are art, for maybe just art's sake.

I also like to think that even then, with everything that had to be done to survive, the artist found time to express themselves on the walls. For others to see and appreciate.

Maybe that's what I'm trying to do.

You Get Out of It What You Put Into It

Long House, Mesa Verde Nat. Park

When it's too hot to paint the house or mow the lawn, I just stay inside. I watch TV or take a nap.

The people who lived in this place, Mesa Verde, didn't have that choice. They had to spend every minute of their lives just earning that life.

They had to search for water for their crops and food for their families. All I have to do is turn on the faucet or open the refrigerator. Somehow the water and food magically is always in there.

Did they respect that life more than I do because of all of the work they put into it? Did they cherish every and any moment they had?

I need to look at things differently.

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Suzi Yahzee

Suzi Yahzee

While I was in Monument Valley taking a workshop, one of the things we did was visit a Navajo weaver named Suzi Yahzee. She lived, as she has her whole life, in the middle of the park; first in a traditional hogan and now in a very modest house next to the hogan.

She had a traditional Navajo loom set up and sat in the hot sun weaving for us for almost an hour while we did our best to capture the spirit of what we saw.

When we finished there, we all went to another part of the tribal park and took pictures of Suzi's daughter Effie; dressed in traditional Navajo clothing; riding a horse; and herding sheep through the sand dunes.

I felt funny taking these images. Here were these two women putting on a show for us like they were part of a circus and here we were; happiliy snapping away. It just didn't seem right.

Effie Yahzee

When I asked our Navajo guide how old Suzi was, he said "some say she's 100 years old". She has been doing this same thing; putting on her show, since the 1930s. Her entire family depended on her getting up every day; sitting at her loom; and posing for the tourists.

This didn't make me feel any better. It made it seem ever more wrong.

Then the Navajo guide told me not to feel so bad. There's nothing else really for them to do in this place, and besides, she was charging our group $400 per hour!

Good for you, Suzi.

Wishing it was Fall

Crisp Point Lighthouse, Michigan's UP

They said it was going to be hot this week and is it ever!

Summer hasn't been my favorite time of year for some time now.

When we were kids Summer used to mean months off from school. Days to play in the woods.

Now all it means is the days are hot and there's not enough time to get things done that need to be done.


Now the best time of the year is the Fall. The days are cool and the colors are bright. Time to wrap things up and settle in for the Winter.

The Cool of the Woods

I grew up living not to far from the "woods" as we called it and the small creek running through it.  One summer when I was about 10 or 11 my brother, the neighbor kids, and I would spend almost everyday hanging around in that small tract of trees.

We would play at just about anything. Making forts; building dams in the creek; having battles.

Tremont, Great Smoky Mtn. Nat. Park, USA

Anything we could do to keep ourselves busy for the summer and keep ourselves in the cool of that woods.

Thanks Mr. Carrier

View to Peter's Island, Lake Huron, Michigan UP

This week they say it's going to be in the mid-90s all week. We shouldn't complain about the weather, but we do.

There's nothing we can do about it. We don't have many options, except one.

I'm hiding inside all this week thanks to Mr. Willis Haviland Carrier, the inventor of air conditioning

Second Chances

Here's another one that I screwed up the first time I tried to capture it properly.

The first time something was missing. It wasn't quite right. It lacked that little extra, but I didn't know what.

The next time I tried, about three years later, I knew what it was missing.

It was those little bitty yellow leaves on the rocks. Not a big deal, but they made the difference.

Sometimes you get a second chance at things.

Growth

I was recently asked to be a judge at the annual competition of the local camera club. As I sat there looking at the approximately 800 images, I saw my photographic life flashing before my eyes.

I saw all of the mistakes; all of the attempts; all of the hopes that I had made over the past years.

I entered these two images into a large juried show about seven years ago and really consider them as the first of my serious attempts into photography. Thankfully that judge must have felt sorry for me because the top one was accepted into the show. If he had thrown both of them out, I probably would have given up.

I sat there judging others and couldn't help but think of all of the work it takes to put into making special photos and how I would have felt if neither of these were judged acceptable. It was hard at times to give the images a  low grade, and I do admit that I maybe bumped them up into the next level if they were even close to deserving it. The last thing that I wanted to do was to discourage anyone from trying.

I keep these two images on the wall of our family room. Not because they're anything to admire, but because they always remind me of how far I have to go.

Every Picture

I don't remember names very good at all and I often forget other things, but I can tell you where every picture I've ever taken was located; what the weather was like; what time of day it was; and just about everything else about it.

Thousands of them.

Even the bad ones. 

I wonder why? 

This one is of the reflections in the Little River in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park on a warm Friday afternoon last October.

Alone in the Park

I often go off alone in the early mornings to find that special light that happens only at sunrise. This was taken on one of those mornings this spring in Wyoming.

I got to this bend in the Snake River just before daylight and just sat at the river's edge waiting for the first light of the day. It had rained the night before, and the mist still hung in the trees beyond the river. As the light came up, the stillness and the peacefulness of the place became something special.


When I look back at the trips we take, it's the times like this that I'll always remember.

First Light of 1-1-11

Since I'm on a roll with naming the last couple of blogs with numbers, here's another one.

I didn't feel like just laying around this past New Year's Day, so I took a ride to a place I've always had good luck finding photo opportunities at, Hocking Hills, Ohio.

I got up about 3:00 a.m. and drove through the dark, getting there just before sunrise. As I walked into the gorge that makes up a large portion of the state park, the light came up over the edge of the hillside lighting up the misty morning.

Easy to name this one.

650.1

I spent a little time yesterday going through images from our Teton's trip and came across this one that I didn't see before.


When I came across 650, the grizzly sow from the last blog, she had two cubs that were in a nearby tree. I aimed my camera at that tree, but didn't think I caught them as they kept moving up and down between the limbs.


Here's one of them peeking out, but I didn't catch the two of them together.

There's a rule that we use when we are on our trips out west that an old Indian told me. If you find it, you get to name it.

I'm claiming this one. His name is 650.1.

650 was her name

Of all the times I've been to the Western states, I've never seen a bear. Everyone who goes out there always tells me stories about the bears they've seen, but not me.

At least not until our trip this spring to the Grand Tetons National Park and Yellowstone National Park.

I was out at sunrise one morning looking for something to take pictures of, but the morning was grey and the color was bad, and I headed back to the room. While rounding a curve in the two lane road, a delivery truck was blocking most of my side of the road and I had to go into the other lane. Paying attention to the truck and the curve, I didn't see what was coming up on the driver's side of my car just a few feet outside my window.

A bear. Finally. A big one. A grizzly. And she had two newborn cubs with her climbing a nearby tree.

I set up my camera and started shooting. Before long, several other cars had stopped and a couple of park rangers came to aid in the "bear jam". I stayed there for about 45 minutes; then rushed back to pick up Denise and Sloan at our room. When we got back she was still there trying to figure out how to get her cubs down from the tree. Eventually, they came down and all of them scurried off into the trees leaving us in awe.

The rangers knew her and were waiting to see how she made it through the winter. Her name was 650; and I'm glad I met her.

Looking for a Project

I need something to push me along. A theme. A project. A juried show.

Without one, I don't seem to have the push I need to work on my photos. I just let them sit in the file and then forget about them.

This is one I found in my computer. Haven't really done anything with it, but I think it needs something. A place to show it and share it. Maybe a book on lighthouses in Michigan (but that's been done to death); maybe a book on my travels in Michigan; maybe something else.

I'm not sure which way to go, but I do know that I need a project. Any ideas?

Crisp Point Lighthouse





Crisp Point

It's time to start again

I haven't posted a blog in a very long time, and it's time to start again.

Things always seem to be more important than this, but I need to spend more time putting out my images for people to see. It's a way of forcing myself to get better.

I'm going to try and post something new at least once every other day. Some will be better than others, but at least it will make me work.

It's cold outside and I'm tired of it!

It's only the end of January, and I'm done with Winter already. I'm tired of the cold and the slipping and the sliding and the dark mornings and the grey skies and the thought that it's only half done. I want it to be over. I want it to stop.

I want it to look like this again. A sunny day. A warm day. A day with color. A day just the opposite of today.

Please make it stop.

Little River, Great Smoky Mtn. Nat. Park