Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Road Warriors
It was a last-minute trip. We hadn't made big plans, didn't create an itinerary.
We also went camping.
A couple of years ago, in the summer of 2014, DW, my daughters, and I sat in a cozy restaurant in the Hôtel du Château, in the town of Beynac, in southwestern France. Above, the town stretched upward: upon the hilltop, Château de Beynac looked down onto the Dordogne River and our campsite, Capeyrou.
It was a pleasant dinner. We were dressed up, relaxed, having enjoyed a leisurely day of kayaking and canoeing the river, starting upstream, at Vitrac, passing the small towns and châteaux that line the Périgord.
Calmly, I told my beloved family that I was having a wonderful vacation, how I loved being back in Paris, loved the beaches and towns of Normandy and Brittany, and had loved the Loire Valley. The Périgord had been surreal, and I couldn't wait to make our way to Carcassonne and, eventually, Provence.
But this evening, this very evening, would be my last night in a tent. I was done with camping.
More than three years later, DW and I were talking about a road trip and provincial parks.
I had no intention of vacationing in a tent. Those days are behind me. DW had intrigued me, however, with the idea of travelling in a camper van. Ten days later, I was on the road, driving to Joliette, Québec, to pick up a 20-foot, fully equipped camper.
Our plan was to spend a couple of days in Prince Edward County, to check out the wineries and breweries, and the town of Picton. We'd stay at Sandbanks Provincial Park, where our camper would be hooked up to running water and electricity. We had a queen-sized bunk bed, table, stove, two fridges, microwave (we never used it), toilet, and shower.
The beds were cozy. The cabin was warm and quiet. The best part was that when we were ready to move on, we unhooked our water and power, and just drove away.
We stayed at two different sites, at Sandbanks, visited two wineries: Sandbanks and Norman Hardie. We visited one brewery, Prince Eddy's Brewing, and had a nice lunch in Picton. We then rolled out, followed the St.Lawrence Seaway, east, to the Upper Canada Migratory Bird Sanctuary, where we camped right along the river. From there, we continued east, to Montreal, where we camped near Boucherville, before returning to Joliette, picking up our SUV, and heading back home.
DW and I had bikes on the back, used them to cycle around Montreal and the trails around the site near Boucherville.
"Did you enjoy camping from a van?" DW asked me when the trip was done.
"I did. I really did."
Then, the all-important question: "Would you do it again?"
"I would."
With a camper van, we've discovered a new way to travel. In the camper van, we were road warriors.
We also went camping.
A couple of years ago, in the summer of 2014, DW, my daughters, and I sat in a cozy restaurant in the Hôtel du Château, in the town of Beynac, in southwestern France. Above, the town stretched upward: upon the hilltop, Château de Beynac looked down onto the Dordogne River and our campsite, Capeyrou.
It was a pleasant dinner. We were dressed up, relaxed, having enjoyed a leisurely day of kayaking and canoeing the river, starting upstream, at Vitrac, passing the small towns and châteaux that line the Périgord.
Calmly, I told my beloved family that I was having a wonderful vacation, how I loved being back in Paris, loved the beaches and towns of Normandy and Brittany, and had loved the Loire Valley. The Périgord had been surreal, and I couldn't wait to make our way to Carcassonne and, eventually, Provence.
But this evening, this very evening, would be my last night in a tent. I was done with camping.
More than three years later, DW and I were talking about a road trip and provincial parks.
I had no intention of vacationing in a tent. Those days are behind me. DW had intrigued me, however, with the idea of travelling in a camper van. Ten days later, I was on the road, driving to Joliette, Québec, to pick up a 20-foot, fully equipped camper.
Our plan was to spend a couple of days in Prince Edward County, to check out the wineries and breweries, and the town of Picton. We'd stay at Sandbanks Provincial Park, where our camper would be hooked up to running water and electricity. We had a queen-sized bunk bed, table, stove, two fridges, microwave (we never used it), toilet, and shower.
The beds were cozy. The cabin was warm and quiet. The best part was that when we were ready to move on, we unhooked our water and power, and just drove away.
DW and I had bikes on the back, used them to cycle around Montreal and the trails around the site near Boucherville.
"Did you enjoy camping from a van?" DW asked me when the trip was done.
"I did. I really did."
Then, the all-important question: "Would you do it again?"
"I would."
With a camper van, we've discovered a new way to travel. In the camper van, we were road warriors.
Friday, November 24, 2017
Photo Friday: Kuala Lumpur
Look through your photos, I told myself, you'll find something.
I was, of course, looking through the folders of photos that I've shot over the past couple of months but had done nothing with. They're sitting in those albums, awaiting editing, looking for me to pull out a story.
I found an album with a quick photo that I captured of the Chateau Laurier, Ottawa's castle. From the angle, near the pedestrian underpass that takes you to the southwest corner of Rideau Street and Sussex Drive.
I looked at the angle of the shot and was reminded of one that I shot, more than 30 years ago, with my Minolta X-700. While this shot was near sunset, the old photo was from after dark. I tried to remember if I had scanned the photo, which was captured on E-6 film: slide.
I have several external hard drives that hold a vast number of my photos, but only one holds digitized images, captured with a device that projects negatives and slides.
I moved from the drive that held the image of this month's Chateau to a drive that I rarely access.
No such luck.
But I did come across other folders of scanned negatives, from various travels, and my eye settled on one that was labelled Malaysia.
There was one scanned image of which I'm particularly proud, which was a candid shot that captured some calm amidst the bustling crowd of Kuala Lumpur. Two barbers, plying their craft, on clients.
No one knew that I was focusing on this everyday scene, did not know that they were the subject, until I pressed the shutter release and the attached motor drive made a mechanized sound. One of the barbers looked up, away from his client and into his mirror to identify the sound. He saw me, nodded, and returned to his task without a word.
As though I was no longer there.
My work was done, but his wasn't quite ready.
Happy Friday!
I was, of course, looking through the folders of photos that I've shot over the past couple of months but had done nothing with. They're sitting in those albums, awaiting editing, looking for me to pull out a story.
I found an album with a quick photo that I captured of the Chateau Laurier, Ottawa's castle. From the angle, near the pedestrian underpass that takes you to the southwest corner of Rideau Street and Sussex Drive.
I looked at the angle of the shot and was reminded of one that I shot, more than 30 years ago, with my Minolta X-700. While this shot was near sunset, the old photo was from after dark. I tried to remember if I had scanned the photo, which was captured on E-6 film: slide.
I have several external hard drives that hold a vast number of my photos, but only one holds digitized images, captured with a device that projects negatives and slides.
I moved from the drive that held the image of this month's Chateau to a drive that I rarely access.
No such luck.
But I did come across other folders of scanned negatives, from various travels, and my eye settled on one that was labelled Malaysia.
There was one scanned image of which I'm particularly proud, which was a candid shot that captured some calm amidst the bustling crowd of Kuala Lumpur. Two barbers, plying their craft, on clients.
No one knew that I was focusing on this everyday scene, did not know that they were the subject, until I pressed the shutter release and the attached motor drive made a mechanized sound. One of the barbers looked up, away from his client and into his mirror to identify the sound. He saw me, nodded, and returned to his task without a word.
As though I was no longer there.
My work was done, but his wasn't quite ready.
Happy Friday!
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
Under The 416
There's nothing like being out at night, on a deserted road, out of sight, under an overpass, alone, vulnerable, that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
It's cold, outside, but you shiver from within.
The road had only recently been closed to all but local traffic, though there was no one who would use it, other than as a throughway. And the throughway was not an option: a smaller sign, next to the imposing Road Closed sign, read No Exit.
I turned down it, nevertheless.
I came to the overpass, beyond which a rise in the road concealed what lay ahead. I turned off my engine, but seeing that I was now in complete darkness, decided to engage the hazard lights. Orange beacons, warning somebody—should somebody come from the direction of no exit—that there was life beyond the dip, under the overpass.
I got out of the car and knew that I was completely isolated. No one could see me from the highway above. It would take a keen eye to see the blinking lights from my car, though it wasn't impossible. I knew that should a police cruiser travel along Strandherd, and should the driver look down the closed roadway, my warning lights would attract attention.
The only sounds came from above. The rasp of tires on a frozen road. The buzz echoed under the concrete that supported the cars and trucks that made their way, north and south, oblivious to the man with the tripod.
Every little sound of wind rustling what little growth protruding from the snow-covered landscape made sent my ears on edge. I looked for any signs of movement from an animal, though I knew that the chances of a coyote or other predator were remote.
But not impossible.
My images captured, I was about to pack up when one last distinct sound caught my attention: a train horn. I knew that somewhere in front of me, under the overpass, the train line led into my community. I could just make out the rails in the dim light, now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
One more shot, and then I'd be off.
Away from the dark, deserted road, when the hairs on my neck could settle down.
It's cold, outside, but you shiver from within.
The road had only recently been closed to all but local traffic, though there was no one who would use it, other than as a throughway. And the throughway was not an option: a smaller sign, next to the imposing Road Closed sign, read No Exit.
I turned down it, nevertheless.
I came to the overpass, beyond which a rise in the road concealed what lay ahead. I turned off my engine, but seeing that I was now in complete darkness, decided to engage the hazard lights. Orange beacons, warning somebody—should somebody come from the direction of no exit—that there was life beyond the dip, under the overpass.
I got out of the car and knew that I was completely isolated. No one could see me from the highway above. It would take a keen eye to see the blinking lights from my car, though it wasn't impossible. I knew that should a police cruiser travel along Strandherd, and should the driver look down the closed roadway, my warning lights would attract attention.
The only sounds came from above. The rasp of tires on a frozen road. The buzz echoed under the concrete that supported the cars and trucks that made their way, north and south, oblivious to the man with the tripod.
Every little sound of wind rustling what little growth protruding from the snow-covered landscape made sent my ears on edge. I looked for any signs of movement from an animal, though I knew that the chances of a coyote or other predator were remote.
But not impossible.
My images captured, I was about to pack up when one last distinct sound caught my attention: a train horn. I knew that somewhere in front of me, under the overpass, the train line led into my community. I could just make out the rails in the dim light, now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
One more shot, and then I'd be off.
Away from the dark, deserted road, when the hairs on my neck could settle down.
Monday, November 20, 2017
I Love Photography
More than my desire to write, over the past couple of months, has been my desire to catch the light as it reflects off the objects that are captured through my camera's lens.
And yet, as I've taken thousands of photographs in this time—indeed, the several thousand photos this year—I find that my desire to process those images has waned.
I have hundreds of unprocessed photos still stored on the data cards in my camera. I have focused on the images that make it to my Photo of the Day project, and have ignored all the others.
When I have taken the time to remove the images from my camera, they have been cataloged in hard drives and forgotten.
I need to give them some love.
Some have stories that accompany them, and those stories need to be told.
Not today.
Hopefully, though, some time, starting this week.
I need to retrieve those images, need to bring them to life, and then tell the stories.
This weekend, I gathered all of the cameras that are in my house, minus the camcorders and the smartphones that belong to DW, DD16, and DD14. Minus, also, the camera that I found in a box with darkroom equipment, that I learned belonged to a longtime friend.
I placed them in a pile, wanted to capture them in a random pattern, but found myself laying them down, gently, so that I could see them all.
I wanted to include my own smartphone, which is used as often to capture images as my D-SLR. Of course, to do that, I wouldn't have a camera in which to capture this gathering. So I used a proxy: my last smartphone, which hasn't been used since I replaced it, in March.
Both it and my current smartphone look identical. Problem solved.
Over the many decades, I've loved photography, loved the cameras that have captured all of my images. All of these cameras have done so at one time or another.
Now, it's time to refocus on the recent images I've captured, but ignored.
Stay tuned.
And yet, as I've taken thousands of photographs in this time—indeed, the several thousand photos this year—I find that my desire to process those images has waned.
I have hundreds of unprocessed photos still stored on the data cards in my camera. I have focused on the images that make it to my Photo of the Day project, and have ignored all the others.
When I have taken the time to remove the images from my camera, they have been cataloged in hard drives and forgotten.
I need to give them some love.
Some have stories that accompany them, and those stories need to be told.
Not today.
Hopefully, though, some time, starting this week.
I need to retrieve those images, need to bring them to life, and then tell the stories.
This weekend, I gathered all of the cameras that are in my house, minus the camcorders and the smartphones that belong to DW, DD16, and DD14. Minus, also, the camera that I found in a box with darkroom equipment, that I learned belonged to a longtime friend.
I placed them in a pile, wanted to capture them in a random pattern, but found myself laying them down, gently, so that I could see them all.
I wanted to include my own smartphone, which is used as often to capture images as my D-SLR. Of course, to do that, I wouldn't have a camera in which to capture this gathering. So I used a proxy: my last smartphone, which hasn't been used since I replaced it, in March.
Both it and my current smartphone look identical. Problem solved.
Over the many decades, I've loved photography, loved the cameras that have captured all of my images. All of these cameras have done so at one time or another.
Now, it's time to refocus on the recent images I've captured, but ignored.
Stay tuned.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Friday, November 10, 2017
The Return
I don't know if it was laziness or fatigue, if I felt that I wanted to focus on other aspects of my life, if it was that I simply wanted a break from writing and processing photos, or if it was a combination of all of those factors that made me walk away from The Brown Knowser.
On the writing front, I felt uninspired. I had a few ideas for posts, as I almost always do, but was tired of the flat, trite words that tend to make their way from my brain to my fingers that move over the worn keyboard. I'm not sure that I've found the inspiration to write better prose, even as I string these words together.
I don't always think about how I'm going to write before I compose those thoughts. I just let the flood of images, ideas, and random, fleeting opinions that flow without restraint.
I need to stop doing that, but I don't know that this is that time.
I was considering changing the format of The Brown Knowser. I was even going to change the name but I still like it. I enjoy saying the name of my blog to strangers, telling them that the spelling of the last word isn't what it seems to be, and seeing them smile. The name will stay.
I'm thinking of cutting back the number of posts. I don't need to publish a post five days a week if I feel that I want to take a night off or if I don't feel inspired. I don't always have to post a Where In Ottawa each month. I don't always have to post a Wordless Wednesday (though, I've taken so many photos over the past month or so that if I want to share them, that post won't go away any time soon). My Photo Friday needs a total rework or may go away, altogether. I've never had a pure format for those posts, anyway.
I've tried some new beer over the past few weeks, some that I'd like to share. But I think my Beer O'Clock reviews will be reduced to maybe once a month. We'll see.
I still haven't decided what lies ahead for The Brown Knowser, but I do know this: I want to keep it going.
I've lost a lot of followers over the past couple of months, but I'm not posting my thoughts and photos to gain high numbers. If you have followed my blog and have enjoyed it, I thank you. I hope that as I figure out a new path for this blog, I continue to give you something that you can continue to enjoy.
I haven't decided what my next post will be or when I will post it. I'm aiming for Monday or Tuesday, next week.
Cheers.
On the writing front, I felt uninspired. I had a few ideas for posts, as I almost always do, but was tired of the flat, trite words that tend to make their way from my brain to my fingers that move over the worn keyboard. I'm not sure that I've found the inspiration to write better prose, even as I string these words together.
I don't always think about how I'm going to write before I compose those thoughts. I just let the flood of images, ideas, and random, fleeting opinions that flow without restraint.
I need to stop doing that, but I don't know that this is that time.
I was considering changing the format of The Brown Knowser. I was even going to change the name but I still like it. I enjoy saying the name of my blog to strangers, telling them that the spelling of the last word isn't what it seems to be, and seeing them smile. The name will stay.
I'm thinking of cutting back the number of posts. I don't need to publish a post five days a week if I feel that I want to take a night off or if I don't feel inspired. I don't always have to post a Where In Ottawa each month. I don't always have to post a Wordless Wednesday (though, I've taken so many photos over the past month or so that if I want to share them, that post won't go away any time soon). My Photo Friday needs a total rework or may go away, altogether. I've never had a pure format for those posts, anyway.
I've tried some new beer over the past few weeks, some that I'd like to share. But I think my Beer O'Clock reviews will be reduced to maybe once a month. We'll see.
I still haven't decided what lies ahead for The Brown Knowser, but I do know this: I want to keep it going.
I've lost a lot of followers over the past couple of months, but I'm not posting my thoughts and photos to gain high numbers. If you have followed my blog and have enjoyed it, I thank you. I hope that as I figure out a new path for this blog, I continue to give you something that you can continue to enjoy.
I haven't decided what my next post will be or when I will post it. I'm aiming for Monday or Tuesday, next week.
Cheers.
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