HDR Photography
Water levels in the Raquette River through Stone Valley (site of some excellent rocks) were quite high, leading to normally dry areas (like this one) overflowing with impromptu waterfalls. Surfaces and water levels in various areas didn’t want to match up, and made for a feeling like the whole river had been “assembled” out of order.
Camp Canaras has a central lodge, a merry place of varnished wood and Scotch served neat. Late at night, long after the campers are tucked in, the place takes on a ghostly, abandoned vibe.
Inside, the minor remnants of the party still remain, along with the major remnants of large animals.
Camp Canaras has some remarkable views during day and night, but especially in the morning. There’s a weird collision of action-movie-preparation scene with rustic vibe to a boathouse; the scene captures the sense of possibility for the rest of the day.
As a youth, I read tales of “wandering islands” on the backs of giant sea creatures. As the fog burned off at Camp Canaras, I couldn’t shake the illusion that the island was drifting closer. (Of course, Saranac Lake might make for a disappointingly small range to wander.)
Rainy, early-summer mornings in the Adirondacks seem to go on forever. That first step into tremendously cold water, on the other hand, is anything but foggy.
The waters of the Racquette River were high and fast when we hiked Stone Valley. There was no clambering around on this day—just standing in the refreshing spray.
I spent the early part of this week at St. Lawrence University’s Camp Canaras (like Saranac Lake spelled backwards) for a retreat. Cold and rain tamped down expectations of canoeing; instead, I had an early morning hike in the sound-dampened world of fog.
At night, the camp took on the otherworldly quiet of the Adirondacks after dark.
The end of the school year (with the mixed feelings I discussed in my last post) has arrived, so I’ve decided to dedicate this week and next to documenting the feeling of a college campus as it quiets down for the summer. When it comes time to eject from the campus bubble and head out, is there any vehicle that captures the vibe of the northeastern college student better than a rusty, ski-rack-enhanced old Saab?
The first image, with its sunset and tempting road in the background, might have been all I needed to capture the vibe of this particular Swedish sleeper, but I didn’t want to let it go without documenting the worn bumper stickers dotting the back: stickers from another school (an older sibling, or the original owner?), the current school (SPORTS!), and an assortment of ski resorts.
Though I don’t often show my photography from the people/photojournalism/street mode, I couldn’t resist this image of Mario Deslauriers and clan at the Lake Placid Grand Prix in Lake Placid, New York last summer. The dark greens and stark whites, with the bokeh’ed horse in the background, meld to a vibe that I would call “fresh.”
The narrow depth of field exaggerates an image that flashed past me in an instant while we traveled: a few children, playing in the crunchy remains of winter outside a barn. Ignoring the safety orange hat and the electrical conduit traveling up the side of the barn, and this seems like an image that could have come from any point in the past 150 years.
After dark on an empty stretch of highway, the reflective signs become hypnotic.
Traveling through the Adirondacks means passing the semi-abandoned cabins that dot the roads. I particularly liked the image of a basketball hoop hanging above a driveway entombed in three feet of snow.
There are few natural features that look colder than a rushing blackwater river when the air temperature is below 0ºF. The convergence of this little reservoir to the far-off (and equally miniature) hydroelectric station neatly contrasts the frigid setting with the optimism of twentieth-century technocrats. (The Adirondacks are dotted with an improbable number of tiny hydroelectric stations.)
I present to you a pair of photographs:
The first is from Muir Woods on the Marin Peninsula of California. That morning was rainy and the colors are rich and dark and the setting is some natural/romantic variety of Baroque. Practically overwhelming.
The second is from Stone Valley this weekend, dry and crunchy with snow, the river mostly frozen at the surface, with currents of dark water beneath. More minimal, more quiet, more subdued. But is this trail any less beautiful than the first?
Decaseconds 