HDR Photography
The view from atop Berkeley’s Campanile is a nostalgic one, with San Francisco and Oakland popping up in the distance above the sprawl. Walking along those broad, slightly cracked, and sun-baked pathways of Berkeley’s campus never quite felt natural, though. Can a place magnified beyond human scale feel that way?
My American town always reminds me of Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town,” and I think his comment about the play also applies to life in the North Country: “[It] should be performed without sentimentality or ponderousness–simply, dryly, and sincerely.”
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.
Early spring is a great time to be in the North Country—all of the nature, none of the mosquitoes. The latter half of that equation has shifted as we enter July.
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.
Florida doesn’t have a monopoly on white beaches, tropical plants, and dramatic sunsets, but it certainly knows how to do a classic beach scene.
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.
A lightbulb can be more than just a cliché for having an idea.
The North Country has some serious truck-lovers, and that solid sense of Northeastern populism, to boot. The bumper stickers on this particular Ford certainly embrace the North-Country-ish identity.
Advertisements for luxury products have a heavy dose of the preposterous. “When would I possibly find myself driving my Range Rover through a recreated Civil War campground, complete with observation balloon, on my way home from a Hunter Derby?” What a juxtaposition!
I also rather like the idea that lots of luxurious products (like Range Rovers and hot air balloons) are the descendants of military-issue equipment (like this observation balloon, or the original Land Rover—a vehicle heavily inspired by the Willys Jeep.)
As a scientist and educator in the 21st century, it’s difficult to overstate the role that Carl Sagan played in shaping my worldview. When I traveled to Ithaca, NY for the first time this week (for a chemistry conference, naturally), I wasn’t planning on any kind of specific pilgrimage. Nonetheless, I found myself standing on a tall bridge above a gorge, watching the lights of Ithaca and the flashes of lightning in the distant clouds.
I didn’t have my normal Nikon with me. I didn’t have my tripod with me. I made do. How often do you get to photograph lightning over Carl Sagan’s house?
(It’s the house on the right, by the way.)
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.
This weekend, I photographed the Hunter Derby at Genesee Historic Village, outside Rochester, New York. Though I’ve been to many English riding events over the years, this was the first I’ve seen in the authentic setting of rolling hills and on-course trees. (They even had a pack of hounds out on course, early on.) Perhaps the most surreal part of the weekend was seeing the period reenactors (in their historically accurate garb) next to the riders (also in heavily historically inspired gear).
Decaseconds 