HDR Photography
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?
When red leaves are backlit, they seem to glow so unbelievably. HDR photography can turn this setting from charming to almost overwhelming.
On the tiny, summer-camp-esque beach beneath Lampson Falls, the detritus of the falls washes up on the sand and makes for the most pleasing geometry alongside the stratified rock and the “pointy” trees.
In the past week, I’ve explored the Adirondacks in autumn. This particular setting (just across the street from last week’s sea plane) is another irreducible representation of the glassy water, expansive sky, and intimate beaches of the region. Though we’re officially into fall, I’m pretty confident that these canoes and kayaks are going to see at least a few more weeks’ use. (Will they be dodging icebergs eventually?)
Ready to launch those kayaks and disturb the chilly mirror of a fall river in the Adirondacks? Me, neither. (Too cold and too placid.)
Driving through the Adirondacks during these first few weekends of fall, the summer vacationers are in full retreat. The rear guard hangs on for a few more weeks as the trees turn to oranges and reds, but the end is near. Even if I know rationally that the sea plane is grounded (watered?) for the night, I can’t help but imagine the plane waiting to carry away the summer’s strong survivors.
The last supermoon of the summer (such as it is) was hovering over the Adirondacks and over St. Lawrence’s sylvan campus. The interplay with the science buildings seemed appropriate.
Even better, though, was the alignment of the moon directly over the tiny tower in the Adirondacks (cell, I’m guessing?). Maybe it’s innocuous, or maybe it’s part of a plan by a mad scientist to finally control the Moon!
The arrangement of tiny plants and epic trees and enormous boulders that makes up a Japanese garden is calm and beautiful, but to see the inspirations for those geometries “in the wild,” so to speak, is so much more impressive. Big falls and gnarly roots and little streams make the “real” world just as poetic.
This past weekend, I photographed the grand prix event at the Lake Placid Horse Show. With a $75,000 pot, a lot of money was on the line. (You can see more of my photos of the competition and candids of the audience at the Plaid Horse.) This particular shot of Mario Deslauriers, one of the grand prix competitors, really caught my eye. Watching his competition, with that knowing smile, seems like the confident move of a seasoned pro. Jumper competitions are so fascinating, with competitors of all genders and ages.
This tiny island sits in Tupper Lake’s appropriately named Rock Island Bay, amid this quintessentially Adirondack-y landscape of rolling hills and coniferous trees. This particular island has always been notable to me because of the degree to which it aligns with my boyhood ideal of “where to hide out.” Swimmable, but just barely for a 10-year-old, from the shore. A tree for the barest shelter and a twig, now and then, from which to craft a fishing hook. When the day of adventures is over, a little island like this one would be just big enough for a boy-sized lean-to for my childhood self. Wouldn’t that be paradise?
Where earth meets sky at the edge of the horizon, the foothills of the Adirondacks oscillate under the autumn colors and I use increasingly baroque adjectives to describe the North Country.
On my way back from my conference in Connecticut, I drove through the Adirondacks, where winter is arriving fast. The hills were dusted with snow and all but the most tenacious leaves were carpeting the forest floor. I pulled off the road for this shot in Tupper Lake, where the grasses, placid waters, and stubbly hills matched perfectly with the dense clouds and the random distribution of sunlight. The moment felt chaotic, strange—just a bit primeval. I had a chance to do landscape photography that truly excluded any human intrusion (save the eye of the photographer himself.)
Today’s post comes courtesy of Piper J. Klemm:
A surprise dismount at the Lake Placid Horse Show led to an unexpected tour around the ring for this particular horse.
I dream of the perfect vacation house, nestled on the shores of some lonely Adirondack lake and stocked with just the right combination of boats and brews and firewood. I project this dream onto this unassuming cabin and its charming beach, nestled on the shore of Mirror Lake.
