HDR Photography
It was a typical PNW overcast winter day when I took this shot of the Fauntleroy ferry terminal from Lincoln park in west Seattle. There’s something very characteristically “Seattle” about this whole scene for me, stirring up old happy memories for me.
Perhaps acorns scattered on the beach don’t really count as castles (as in I, II, III, and IV of the series), but the neural pathways (cliché incoming: imagination) of a six-year-old, they can be elegant abodes of elves or the landing pods of a tiny invasion force. I think they fit the theme nicely. During my trip to Connecticut last week (again, tragically bereft of my Nikon), I visited Lake Wononscopomuc, where I spent the summers (and winters) of my youth. It brought my back to the thinking of that “miniature me,” if only for a few minutes.
How do you write about a boy playing on the beach in southern Brazil without resorting to cliché? I’ll have to tackle it, in any case. Summer is ending, weekends at the beach are numbered, and I wanted to make a weekend post just to show this photograph that so effectively conveys the feeling of being the last person at the beach. Even when it’s time to go home, we can still hope for one more wave.
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.
The seaplanes dotting the shores of Long Lake offer amazing views and transportation to visitors to the aptly-named Long Lake. On this rainy Sunday afternoon, however, they were quietly bobbing by their docks. The 1960s-era motels, the float planes, the miniature beaches and vacation homes: driving through Adirondack Park is like taking a step back in time. (The complete absence of cell reception furthers the effect.)
Today’s guest post comes courtesy of Zack Mensinger.
The meetings of rivers or creeks with the ocean are high on my list of favorite things to explore. There’s so much in the meeting of those fresh and salty bodies. When that combination happens along a small beach that you can easily explore and photograph, the possibilities can be nearly endless! In this particular setting, Limekiln Creek in Big Sur meets the Pacific Ocean in a swirling mix of flowing water and waves. Watching how the waves vortex around the flowing water of the creek can be almost hypnotic. Add in the great river rocks, the changing sand, sunset backdrop, and ever-present groups of seagulls and you have a great setting for photography where the timeless nature of the earth and ocean combines with the ever-changing nature of the same setting.
There is something very odd about finding frost on driftwood, or finding a beach covered in frost. The pitting on this particular bit of driftwood, combined with the frost gives an impression of some sort of alien terrain or alien life-form.
Not far from Muir Woods, the Pacific coast cliffs of California are a starker, steeper, and foggier place than I expected. The nearly sheer cliff face, the scraggly trees hanging on for dear life, and the weather- (and person-) beaten railings make the whole place feel mythical. The fog density hit just the right soupiness on this particular day; we could just barely see and hear the waves crashing on the rocks below.
Another in my ongoing series of sand castle photographs (see I, II, and III), this shot comes from the gorgeous coast of southern Brazil. While everyone else is off playing in the surf, these two boys stayed behind on the beach to construct this complex of truly epic sand castles. (That sand castles are as wondrous and short-lived as childhood is perhaps too trite a metaphor for me to acknowledge in any way beyond the parenthetical.) I just love the universality of building sand castles on the beach–from the east coast to the west, and the from the northern hemisphere to the south, it’s a worldwide past time.
Early in the morning, before another human has arisen, in the fog and rain and the sound of crashing California surf, the cliffs of Marin are strange and alien and haunting. They stagger out of the fog, all stunted shrubs and jagged rocks and decaying 20th century gun emplacements. I’ve always rather fancied the idea that America kept expanding until they reached the end of the continent, where the cliffs and the alien landscape drove us all a bit mad.
Far along the beach, the Atlantic waves crash against Brazilian stone. The Sun has just dropped behind the horizon, and I’m standing on these steps beyond a strange little pseudo-bridge and this odd sculpture. To this day, I’m still not sure whether it’s functional, or purely decorative.
This view of the Olympics towering over Puget sound, from the community beach near where I grew up, always gets me. Just stunning.
I’ve previously spotlighted the gorgeous shades and cinematic landscape of southern Brazil, but in this particular photograph I feel I’ve captured the truly epic feel of the place. Rocky islands dot the coastline and comic book clouds drift through the gold-and-pink hued sky. I can’t imagine anything more gorgeous.
The rooms are not the only thing nice about KITP/UCSB.
UC Santa Barbara seems like paradise compared to northern California, being basically directly on the beach. On this campus the Kavli Institute for Theoretical Physics stands out as especially great. Take, for example, this room just off KITP’s library, used as overflow office space for visiting graduate student associates. It has a fantastically high ceiling and overlooks the beach. Makes it hard to get work done!
Decaseconds 