HDR Photography
Far in the distance of last Friday’s post was Mohonk Mountain House’s swimming area; I thought it deserved a closer look. The glacier-formed cliffs, tall trees, and array of wooden structures reminds me (oddly enough) of a Shinto shrine—though obviously without the spiritual aspect.
In my last post from Mohonk Mountain House, I talked about the importance of seating to develop a sense of welcoming and place. The same technique is employed outside, as well as in. This rustic love seat overlooks the lake and its swimming area on the far side.
Atop forested cliffs, the view to the porch and dock of Mohonk Mountain House has a “child’s treehouse” quality that matches well with the magical feeling of the place.
Deep night colors on the snow cliffs contrast with the warm glow of the hotel; this could be an infrared image, mapping the local temperatures.
Looking back on some of my earliest shots of the California coastline this evening: Light-leaked soft blues and golds are the colors. Is the soundtrack the jangle of surf music guitars or just the crashing of waves?
Piper‘s trip to Alberta, Canada led to some incredible images of Lake Louise. The scale of the setting is almost incomprehensible—except for the tiny canoes by the shoreline.
The composition and content of the photographs brought to mind the works of early/mid-twentieth century naturalists, and I tried to envision what their take on Piper’s work would have been:
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.”
On the rocks of Grizzly Peak, nothing resets your soul like seeing the hills and trees towering above the hazy sprawl of Oakland.
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.
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.
Foggy, miserable mornings in Berkeley are the perfect time to reminisce about the perfect Atlantic views of southern Brazil. Standing high up on the succulent-shrouded cliffs, the azure waves crashing below, the start of an afternoon storm blowing across the water, puts life in perspective.
On the same European adventure to the alpine village of Obergurgl in Tyrol, Austria, I was out for a walk when I captured this shot of a creek running near the village in the process of freezing over. The ice is interesting to look at but the semi-abandoned outbuilding on the bank. It doesn’t appear to be in active service, as evidenced by the partially ajar door, nor is there an obvious way to get down to the entrance, though perhaps without the snow and ice there’s path down the cliff face or maybe even some sort of connection to a cave in the cliff. One can only guess at what function this building does or once did serve.
Once you venture even a few miles from the suburban world of the East Bay into the hills surrounding, all sorts of weird little “model train set” vistas appear. On a rainy, gloomy day, with low cloud cover penning in the view, you could almost be forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled into a giant’s basement hobby space.
It’s great to be able to head to a beach like this, without the hustle and bustle of more accessible beaches, just to hang out and read a book to the soundtrack of the crashing waves.
Decaseconds 