HDR Photography
An almost-island was hiding in the background of this photograph of Stone Valley. Most of my childhood adventures involved sorties from some kind of tree-based fortress; this formation silhouetted against the setting sun reminded me of those adventures. Or maybe just the fort from a particular film. (Even it’s neither truly secret, nor a fort.)
When chemists study water, the molecular-level view offers a lot to consider. Bulk water takes on two fluid phases and seventeen (depending on who you ask) solid phases, from a physical scientist’s perspective. That’s my normal mindset. Even when I see liquid water in a photography, however, I’m astonished to see wispy white tendrils and glassy surfaces that are all created by reflection and scattering from the same material.
Classic Stone Valley! A few minutes and meters down the trail from Monday’s image, I caught my favorite part of the hike at a great time of day. Previous trips to this this spot turned into rehearsals for navigating slippery rocks. This has turned out to be one of my favorite pieces of nature photography, but there’s more to come next Monday.
Except perhaps in winter, I’ve always hiked when the sun was high in the sky and settled in before sunset. I have always wanted, however, to capture some dramatic nature scenes with a crazy sky, so this weekend I went sunset hunting. This shot, appropriately, is from early in the night. Later in the week, I’ll be showing more of the shots as I hiked on and the sun disappeared.
If the weather is just right and recent rain has the Raquette River running high through Stone Valley, a summer hike is just the thing. A geologist would have the technical explanation of the valley’s odd geometry. The hydroelectric dam secretly controls the scene (or the water release, anyway).
The scale of the setting doesn’t really become apparent until you try to spot the tiny people (chemists and physicists, in this case) on the rocks. Bob Ross would be proud.
“Cabin” is more an aesthetic style than a humble building in the North Country. At St. Lawrence’s Camp Canaras, the cabins are large structures with complicated architectural flourishes; at midnight, they take on a Tolkeinesque vibe.
Students hike the cliffside where geological formations collide. On July 4th, let me compose an overly-ornate sentence about the season and the nation.
“Summer hiking in the North Country of America, at the edge of the Adirondacks: stripes of chlorophyll and aluminosilicate and tanninful water.”
Summer hit the North Country like a truck, ricocheting us from frosty mornings to hyperdense afternoons in the space of a single week. Out in nature, the volatile organic compounds are thick on the breeze. Even the sky is bluer. Above Lampson Falls, everything is placid.
Camping on the beach beneath the falls is grand—though less so when a thunderstorm is right around the corner. The beach shows evidence of the water readily rising.
Students bring energy and excitement to my world, so there’s no more exciting time of the year than the start of fall. Though the school year has just ended and summer is beginning, I’m already looking forward to the next season. I live in some bizarro-world version of what I remember experiencing as a boy, when I awaited the start of summer and dreaded the return of the school year.
Strange weather persisted, but living in the North Country, I always knew the truth: Winter is coming!
This photograph, from Thanksgiving 2014, looks far more like winter than anything I see out my window today.
I couldn’t resist just one more image from the foothills of the Adirondacks in this weird, gentle fall. The bright blotches of birch branches (I couldn’t help myself) and their attendant leaves stand in contrast to the mechanical, industrial aspects of the scene.
Two groups on the rail at Lake Placid Horse Show, each one crowding against their edge of the frame and leaving a notable gap between them. The subtle varieties of postures and accessories and facial expressions: Though I began with landscapes, I’ve grown to understand the appeal of photographing people.
When the water level rises in Stone Valley, the landscape gets odd, and impossible islands form where there were once minor changes in the landscape.
The water rushes through ferns and tree-roots and creates barriers in the landscape that redefine hiking for the day.
Our recent trip across Lake Champlain to Burlington, Vermont with the Mini (you can see it hiding in the bottom-right corner) included time on the ferry behind these four motorcyclists from Quebec. That medley of Ducati, Honda, KTM, and Harley-Davison, set against the backdrop of far-off sailboats and mountains, makes for a strong “adventure trip” vibe.
Backing up from grand views of public spaces in modern, urban settings, I present some photographs of small yet appealing shapes from a recent hike. I like the way these stones have carved pillars beneath them where erosion was prevented.
The living things make their own little shapes in Stone Valley, too. The moss hasn’t grown as much in the shadow of the mushroom.
Decaseconds 