This is our cook at the White Wolf Lake Hunting Camp a few miles south of the Arctic Circle in the Northwest Territory. In the morning, she would tell me how many lake trout to catch for dinner that night. The lake is ice-free for only a few months of the year making the water very cold. We wore float suits whenever we went out in boats. Photograph was taken with film in September, 2006.
A 30 second exposure made the choppy Pacific look almost mellow at Patricks Point.
On most trips after I’ve been away from home for three weeks, I just want to get home. Not so in Uganda in 1994. Within a day of this picture, I was ten feet away from a silverback mountain gorilla. Within a few days, I was at Entebbe Airport. Within a week or so, I was married at Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. Within five years, everyone in this camp was butchered with machetes by Rwandan rebels.
We were in Zimbabwe, Botswana, and Uganda. Would I go back to where the cheetahs, lions, giraffes, and elephants roamed? Probably not. Would I go back to Uganda? In a heartbeat. I found the people to be more relaxed, more social, and gracious. My memories of Uganda are of beauty and the lush environment. This was the most real place I’ve ever been.
Was out shooting with my new 3rd hand Sony A7 with Leica 50mm Summicron. Seems a shame to use such wonderful equipment and generate abstracts from the images. But if you saw how butt-ugly these rockfaces were, you’d thank me.
Just sayin’ …
Last week, Steve and I went out 299 to Willow Creek. Just this side of WC is a campground with a nice creek running through it. We’d just had a big storm and this was one of the results.
Yesterday, Pam and I headed out to Redwood Creek. Lots of alder, fir, spruce, and redwood. There’s more water flowing in Redwood Creek than Mad River. OK, weren’t rivers supposed to be larger than creeks?
“Murmuring out of its myriad leaves,
Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high,
Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs—out of its foot-thick bark,
That chant of the seasons and time—chant, not of the past only, but the future.”
— Walt Whitman
Well, there you go …
This bike was alongside docked houseboats at the Bassin de l’Arsenal near the Seine south of Bastille. It looked forlorn with one flat tire and the other missing.
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