Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Mississippi River Challenge - 2010

2010-07-07T10:09:00.002-05:00

Hey, it would be really cool if anyone is interested in helping my pledge goal for this year's Mississippi River Challenge! It would be even cooler if you thought about joining this incredible event yourself!!! Click HERE.

Proud Democrat - Proud Hibernian

2009-12-10T18:10:00.003-06:00

I attended the wake of an old friend's father this past weekend. I had grown up across the the street from him and our families knew each other both from the proximity of our habitations and having attending the same Catholic school.

He had a fairly big family. A wife, 2 sons and 2 daughters, alternating in male-female as the ages descended. The final two were twins and, although older than me, we grew up camping out in their back yard, playing in their back woods and, of course, building things in the sandbox behind the garage.

Their father was an American Irishman through and through and both he and his Irish wife even belonged to the Ancient Order of Hibernians. I spoke with him seldom, but will always remember him purposefully waddling down the back stairs onto the driveway, dressed in his overalls and on his way to work at 3M. He would say hello, perhaps a short word or two to my friend and then off he would go.

It was the early childhood days I most remember being there, and then again during the High School days, as me and my friend became close once again. My friend would be working out all night in his garage on one of his cars or, at times, helping me with mine.

My friend gave them some hell-raising to contend with during the High School days and then he was off to fight in the Gulf War. When my friend returned, he was different. No one could quite put their finger on it, but he was. Perhaps partially due to Gulf War Syndrome, my friend began to show signs of schizophrenia. His family would end up looking after him ever since as he faded away into somewhat of a reclusive state, once he remained faithful to his medication.

So, almost a decade had past when I learned that is father had been diagnosed with lung cancer and given 6 months to live. Three months later, he died. Before the end of his life he got in as much fishing in as possible! When he started to fade, he remained at home. The family was able to spend his very last hours, together.

The visitation was at the funeral home near the water tower that we once played in and around as kids. I approached the coffin and never saw a man that looked so much like the man I always remembered. With union and party pins upon his lapel, arms folded across this broad, round, yet diminutive frame, I knelt, made the sign of the cross and gave my last respects to the man.

After speaking to the family, who had forgotten who I was with the passage of time, I spied my old friend standing at a different part of the room. He was short like his dad and began to become round himself. I was proud of him though. To have had to contend with a crippling mental illness and yet be there around so many people.

He immediately recognized me. I shook his hand and gave him a quick squeeze about the shoulders with my arm. It was a relief for both of us, I think. I had spent many years extending my interest in correspondence, but knew that he mostly lived a solitary life and would contact me if it was healthy for him to do so. His way of speaking was slow and seemingly calculated, but he recalled old names and acquaintances with ease. He said that things had been good, he had been sticking to his medication, practiced guitar for 2 1/2 hours a day, had dinner with his folks once a week and got his sideburns and ponytail trimmed once a month. He even went out of his way to write down his name and phone number on an envelope. He rejoined his family and I made my way to see the display of his father's life.

First there was a board full of fishing pictures. Some of these were quite recent. There he was with his boat and friends holding all varieties of fish proudly in his hand. Then there were pictures of him as a little kid, in a rowboat, in his Air Force Uniform and with his parents. He had been a cook during the Korean War and there he was in his long, white, cook's uniform.

Later boards had family pictures, a letter from a proud Irish in-law, a picture of their old dog Duke, who once peed on my leg and whose doghouse we used to climb into, next to the garage. But the board that seemed to be the most proud, even more so than the Irish one, was the one that shouted: "Proud Democrat!" Upon it were campaign buttons that went back into the 1950's and pictures, bumper stickers and memorabilia that reminded you of the essence of being a DFL'er in Minnesota.

Those last images, of my friend's dad, waddling down the driveway with his overalls, his conductor's hat and lunchbox in hand, will be the ones I always think of when I think of Vern.

From Summer's End to First Snowflakes of Fall

2009-10-11T01:59:00.001-05:00

We were blessed with an almost surreal succession of weeks with beautiful weather. Days were warm, evenings cool and skies, clear. We could have done with some rain, but it was hard to complain. It was as if summer has decided to apologize for its poor showing in earlier months and gifted us with the most gorgeous of weather!

At this end it's been quite fulfilling being able to tend to my own house and parts for weeks on end. I've been most fortunate with my new pursuits and they've afforded me the chance of shooting, writing, composing and post-producing projects focused on the river valley corridor.

I've also been published in the 2010 Saint Paul Almanac! After being encouraged to submit some work and after a panel judged hundreds of entries, mine was selected. I am very proud to represent the East Side and the article pays homage to its unique story of tradition and change. After looking at it after its publication, I find it somewhat boring. But I received many compliments following a public reading a few weeks ago. Here's to St. Paul!

Some of the last weeks of summer involved taking a cruise in my dad's 69' Firebird. He's nearing completion of the restoration and it now gets a good re-paint before winter. It brought back some of the ol' days, of cruising down McKnight, past Beaver Lake, with window's down and arm out the pillar-less windows. The later rays of the sun and the purr of a tight V-8 have always made the world seem most correct.

My new truck, a 2002, crew-cab Frontier, has been everything and more than I hoped for! It sits nice and with its muted bronze and black trim, feels right at home in any post-apocalyptic zombie film. It's already seen some good sights and is my most constant companion, along with tripod, camera and gear.

The weeks have also seen some co-production with my documentary-producer cousin, delving into music, independent video production, in our true green but creatively determined form.

Now comes the cold, upon us most quickly! It settled with little advanced notice and summer soon departedin a quick wisp. Last night I stood on my front porch as the cold westerly winds brought in the the snow, it's bright flecks caught in the calcium-orange glow of the boulevard lamp post. I'm glad I dug out and brought in the elephant ears from my garden. The koi will have to come from their pond soon!

I'm returning to the days of hosting my seasonal gathering, to bring in good ol' Samhein. The cold has come, but the colors are still holding their best hues in reserve. The next few weeks should bring their highlights.

I will get these words up with more frequency. I hope whoever still reads these is having a great October!

Soon!

I.O. on iTunes!

2009-09-06T09:57:00.004-05:00

I have neglected to notify (those of you who've asked) when our music (I.O.) was available on iTunes. Well, it currently is! If you are interested, search for: I.O. - Beta. Or, you can click HERE.

For those who don't know, our music project I.O., has released a CD of ambient music. Essentially, ambient is a droney, atmospheric and, at times, melodic, music. More or less, it's good music to relax, meditate, or just have on in the background. Pieces range from the more lifting, relaxing, to the deeper chords of space. Pretty minimalistic stuff but its a nice break from having to hit arpeggios precisely! ;)

Node Records gave us a flattering review: IO.

Thanks for the interest and check us on on iTunes but know, you can listen to most of the tunes for free on our web page. www.stationio.com

Thanks!

The Next New Adventure

2009-08-23T09:44:00.009-05:00

I love to walk in the rain
Look for me when its stormy
Down some lazy lane and I'll be there

I couldn't help but have this ol' Shirley Temple tune in my head as I ran the second half of Phalen in the pouring rain. With my phone/music device tucked into my shirt and the sheets making a thorough drenching of everything I was wearing, the monsoon-like waves of water provided a happy adventure in the otherwise longest stretch of my run.

Now I'm home the Phalen route, once relegated to a once a week event, has been happening with much greater frequency. With even the shortest run I attribute a degree of pain to the experience. But Phalen, with its bobbing pinks heads of bergamot at the shoreline, weaving, rising and steeply falling hills through canopies of burr oak, cottonwood and weeping willow, landscaping that lends itself perfectly to an outdoor Shakespeare performance and regular visitors than leave caucasians in the minority, remains my favorite place of reflection and rejuvenation.

My trip through South Dakota was successful. White lasting only four long days, it felt I was there for much longer. I did see some things that left lasting impressions.

On my entrance into the northeastern segment of the state I passed through many a farm field, as was to be expected. But in the dusk, I caught the soaring daredevil-ness of a crop duster. This yellow plane, with smaller fuselage and over-sized, squared-off wings to more easily provide lift at low speeds, hugged the ground closely and pulled up sharply in joyful acrobatics. His path was running adjacent to my own, so I was able to marvel at his playfulness for a good many miles.

I was heading into the heart of the Black Hills (after some easterly shoots) during the event many of you know as Sturgis. I can't say I was looking forward to it, other than applying my old adage of "at least I can say I was in the heart of the Black Hills during Sturgis." I was thinking of the concentration of biker rallies that I had experienced in Myrtle Beach. It was much different, however, as the bikers are spread out throughout towns such as Sturgis, Hill City and Deadwood. Yes, some main drags are closed down to allow the bikers to congregate, but, for the most part, it was well organized and seldom obnoxious.

I skirted occasionally rain and experienced a very hard thunderstorm up in a cabin, in the midst of Black Hill's forest terrain. But most of the weather was gorgeous! Blue skies with white puffy clouds. The dark green hills providing a variated backdrop to the green grassy clearings and historic towns settled in the valleys.

I made the customary stop at Mount Rushmore and happy to see the old Presidents which I hadn't seen since I was a wee lad. I walked in and took my shots with camera and tripod. It wasn't long before two park rangers approached me and, seeing that I was commercial with no permit, took me into custody. There are some laws I'm aware of and some I am not. Sometimes I've shot video in places that I did not know I could not. The fact was, I was in a National Park without a permit and I needed one.

The two officers were of different molds. One had little to say, enjoyed puffing out his chest and took my identification from me to run a background check. The other, was a bit more social and I asked him a bit about how he was assigned to posts.

The other came out and notified me that I had two options. One, that he could cite me and I be on my way. Two, that I erase what was on my camera and be on my way. "When you say 'cite' do you mean I citation?," I asked. "Yep," he answered in the affirmative, "$500." So, I opted for the latter and had them watch to see that I was erasing everything after Wall Drug through Rushmore. Then, I was happily done with that and on my way!

Happy to put the camera into retirement from destination video, I yearned for elsewhere. Next, was something I had not seen since very little. At that time it was nothing more than a hole blasted through a rock. It was Crazy Horse.

As I pulled into the parking lot, the monument in the distance filled me with one of those awe-inspiring moments. True, it would be many years before it would be completed, but it was truly awesome! You could see the fully completed face of Crazy Horse and a long straight portion of blasted rock which is where it outwardly pointed arm will be. Below this was the tiny hole that I saw when I was a child. But, we should, put things into scale.

The heads of the Presidents on Mount Rushmore are 60 feet high. Crazy Horse is to be 640 feet long. Really, it will be larger than any monument ever created and the most near-immortal artifact of our existence, if you think about it. Long after buildings and other artificial structures have long succumbed to the ravages of nature, this monument will be of the few lasting records that we ever existed! It is also being built in the round, so that it will be fully cut on both sides.

The controversy is a bit concerning. Some Lakota view it as sacred ground and also point to the fact that Crazy Horse himself never wanted to be photographed. Here we are, lead by the belief of an eccentric white man, carving into the natural rock that many Native Americans hold to be sacred. Russel Means used the example of going to the Holy Land and carving into Mount Zion. Well said. Another interested tidbit is that it is taking so long to construct because they only accept private funding. So, they don't accept any public dollars even when millions have been offered.

But I found myself as much moved by this as when I stood below the Parthenon, that very hot day in Athens. And this was being done in our time, represented of American culture and achievement and was arguably the greatest monumental undertaking in world history! Can you imagine what the the greatest ancient builders would think if they could gaze upon it now?

So, yeah. It left an impression. Also very impressive was the large Native American museum that has sprung up at the site. Very large, very stimulating. After watching the ok and somewhat outdated interpretive movie, I made a quick tour. I was on my way to zooming to the exit when my eye caught something. It was like a fish-hook pulling at the lobe of my ear that made me do an abrupt about-face and head to one display in particular. The costume designer of the movie New World had donated a good portion of the costumes to the museum. I was able to get up close and softly touch the raccoon and caribou robes that Christian Bale and Collin Ferrel spent a good deal interacting with. I wasn't so much star struck as I was beauty struck, the costumes being so reflective of the uncomprable imagery of the film.

By the way, there is something they called the Volksmarch at the first week of June, where you can actually walk out along the arm of Crazy Horse. If anyone might be interested in doing that next year, please let me know!

The last shoot I had was at an old ranch that was converted into a setting for rental cabins. It had been a three shoot day, with an hour or more drive in the morning, through some of the busiest Sturgis traffic. After the shoot, I would take a direct, ten-hour drive back home.

These cabins were set at the perimeter of the expansive ranch field. They were clean, well constructed and sat up upon the rising slope that rose into the Black Hills. I took shots of the cabins and surroundings and took some nice shots of the horses.

The sky was blue, the clouds were small, white and puffy and the sun and surrounding green felt of the best days in the Shire. I stood, with my sole companion of this last year and a half in my arms - my camera and tripod. It had been a wonderful run, all of this. The chance to see so many things, so many places and be with so many people, all in an aspect where I could delve within a culture, live in it and experience it for what it really was.

As the South Dakota sun beat down upon my face, I closed my eyes. I could feel the sun of the Emerald Coast of Florida and remember those clear waves I crashed into. With no one else in sight, on a similarly beautiful day and upon an alien-like shore. The sun was also warm as I climbed upon the rocks and looked upon Palm Springs from the mountain of San Jacinto. Buttes and valleys of Sedona, cricket songs in the vegetated tunnels on Bald Head Island of South Carolina, bumping all around green-stomached in the skies over Vermillion, in a submarine under the ocean waters in Aruba, kayaking with rays jumping in the mangrove waters around me, driving white-knuckled in Colorado mountains and breaking trail downwards in my first venture in a snowmobile. From turtle hospitals to helicopter rides, curried goat to rocky mountain oysters. Getting lit with a bunch of cowboys, Aussies, Brits and Irishmen or sitting at a quiet table listening how the largest things were created from the simplest of dreams. It's all been pretty amazing stuff, it has. I am extremely grateful.

But, I open my eyes, take one last good look around and know, I'm ready to go. It's now on to the next fantastic adventure!!!

The River Challenge - Another Success!

2009-07-29T04:30:00.004-05:00

The 2009 Friend's of the Mississippi, 'Mississippi River Challenge' has been a success, for it's sixth year running! Thank you so much to all of those who helped me raise donations! Look what you did! You helped me raise $470!!! Holy balls-a-roni!

This year was a record, with 425 participants, paddling down the great Mississippi in kayaks, canoes and other various watercraft.

The weather was good to us. The first day winds were blowing strong, but as they were out of the northwest, that happened to be firm against our backs for most of the day. We did get nailed with just a bit of rain, and moaned a little about it, as we happened to be sitting in a lock and dam when it hit.

The initial stretch down from Coon Rapids is mostly forested shoreline. You start at one of the more turbid areas, with the flow of the dam waters, the shallow parts and rocks, causing one or two boats to get stuck, go broadside and tip. But from there out, it's mostly smooth sailing, as thumping of the Native American ceremonial drums disappear behind you.

Fort Snelling was its usual fun with a canoe of endless supply of Summit beer, unique and diversely palatable food and chance to room the walls, towers and take a lonely stroll down across from Pike's Island.

The second day was pretty, but always with the companion of aching muscles and general fatigue that everyone shares with camaraderie. Pulling into St. Paul is so rewarding. Pulling off onto Harriet Island, the most accommodating way stop of the trip, you grab your snackies and wolf them down as you stare across at the beautiful downtown.

From there, it gets oh so long! In fact, I find myself not being able to imagine doing this again, but quickly dispense of that thought as mere brooding fatigue. I got to see my folks near Jackson landing and my mother runs a good deal of the way down the river, as I paddle ever onward.

There was no great emergencies I had to attend to. Although, on that great long, 7+ mile stretch, the National Park Service boat lost a cushion out in the middle of the river. Begrudgingly, I paddled out to rescue it and my darn radio was not transmitting in this dead spot, so I had to wait another mile or so, wave them down and paddle back out of my route to return the thing. So, that helped to add even more mileage on an already long route.

After another stop near Pig's Eye and down that most beautiful back channel at Lion's Levee, you eventually see the inlet to your left and you are homeward bound. A good thing too, as the sport boaters were out in droves, pulling their water skiers behind them, ever so close to we, in our little plastic boats.

I am going to be recruiting friends and acquaintances for next year, I've decided. Every year at that fort I imagine how fun it would be if you guys were there with me.

There really is nothing like the Mississippi River Challenge and the Friends of the Mississippi River, preserving the very soul of our region.

To see the tally of all your great assistance, Lookie Here:

KICK BUTT CONTRIBUTORS!

Till next year, my friends, when I'm bringing you with me!

Always A New Adventure!

2009-07-24T21:34:00.002-05:00

Well, it's been quite the run! I was able to venture down the South Carolina and Georgia coast. First making some shoots in Myrtle Beach, that area mostly known for its party and biker scene, but also for its golf courses. Last time I had head north, this time it would be south, down to Hilton Head. Many remark about the beauty of this area. The main roads are densely framed by trees and busy with tourist traffic. You are much more likely to find BMW's and fancy SUV's here and the building codes make it very difficult to find a restaurant or gas station as they are tucked away in the trees, have no large signage and are constructed of muted colors.

I shot a few resorts, had a few conversations and took a glance or to out at the ocean, but was happily anticipating my next destination, Charleston.

Pulling into downtown Charleston, I head right to the address of my shoot, being a hotel located right on the convergence of the park and pier. There couldn't be a better location. From my window I could see their playful water fountain. It shot arcing streams of water from pedastels located at the outer ring, into a main pedastel in the center. It begged for people to play here. One child apiece would occupy a pedestal, getting soaked and controlling the stream as you would a giant sprinkler or hose and you could stand in the center of the circle and get soaked.

I revisted a past haunt and walked along the waterfront park and encountered the same experience as I did years ago-smiling people, relaxing on benches. I made conversation for a few and made my way into the old historic alleyways.

It's easy to pretend you are back in 1750, as not much has changed in the construction in that time and the houses are so well-maintained. To add to the unique energy of the nearing evening, a big storm approached Charleston. I watch big thunderheads moved in and heard the cracks of lightening. I stood gazing at the tallest church steeples just hoping, that I might see I nice bolt touch down. But with the coming of a hard downpour, I dodged into a restaurant.

After my shoot I was able to take in some more exploration of the old markets, watching the black women weave in Gullah style and had a convo with a potter that had recreated a glaze he found on a pottery shard at a colonial archeology site.

Then, with and hour and a half drive, I was into one of my dearest favs, Savannah. After some shooting, there was time to take in a pint and bangers and mash at a pub. I though it fitting that I spend July 3rd here, this land that remained loyal to England even after the Revolution.

After a little time back I was out again to areas a little closer to home. I made my way through central and northern Minnesota. Many of these regions I had explored in great depth last year, this time I would make may way through in a span of just over two weeks, for 23 shoots. I actually found many of the cabins quite charming and this stood in contrast to the musty beds I spent time in last year. Areas like Ottertail, Kabetogama, Nisswa, Crane Lake, Baudette and even up into Canada.

Of this stretch, it was Canada that brought the most adventure. It began with an hour and a half stop with customs. I just happened to get an immigration agent that had to cross every t and dot every i. He began by refusing to let me pass, then proceded to page through all of his binders, scrutinizing the words of NAFTA. After all that, I got in as a 'Business Visitor.'

My only shoot was about 3.5 hours over the border in Vermillion Bay. It was for a fly-in cabin resort company, that flew in Otters and Beavers float planes into the surrounding lakes.

The weather started to get crappy and the rain would not stop. Visibility was poor and winds were picking up. The people were friendly and Canucks through and through. Talking about da 'wicked' twister, 'eh' that came tru recently.

They were surprised that I was willing to go up. "You don't mind flying in rough weather?" I said I was up for it if they were. "Just so you don't shit yer pants!" But the woman behind the counter reassured me not to worry since she shit her pants in weather like this.

So, off we were up into the rainy sky. Keeping about 100 to 300 feet above the trees to keep site of the lakes and not lose ourselves in the clouds. Also important, we were trying to avoid colliding with the other planes up in the same sky. You'd the pilots let one another know where they were and you could peak and see a fellow flying about a mile away from you, at the same level.

We touched down onto at least 3 lakes, each touchdown made me more and more thankful as the pitching and rocking and dropping of the plane was making me green.

I'm actually glad I mentioned the fact to the pilot when I was on land, as he popped the only ventilation port, right near my face when we took off again. So, I kept my mind occupied with shooting and enhaled that sweet, sweet air through my nose to ward of the rubbing of my guts and perspiration and locking jaw that always proceeds you shitting yourself or puking. But, mission accomplished.

Now I am back to first do my part for the Mississippi River Challenge and then onto a week of escapades I will fill you in on a different time.

I hope your journeys, your time with your families and your summer days, treat you all well!

Mississippi River Challenge

2009-07-01T16:10:00.010-05:00

Well gang, it is that time again! Time to raise pledges for one my most beloved events, the Friends of the Mississippi River, River Challenge. It takes place on July 25 and 26th this year.

I encourage anyone who is interested to participate themselves, even if you have to come from a great distance to do it! It's possible for people of all ability levels to complete this fabulous event. You can rent a canoe or kayak if you don't have one. Whether you choose to go solo or bring along a few friends, you'll find an equal amount of enjoyment.

I'll be volunteering as a safety captain again this year. We're the ones you see with that pole flag, like the ones you used to find on fire hydrants, sticking up out of our boats. Makes us easy to spot and wave to from shore.

If you are not participating, all donations are greatly appreciated, but don't feel obliged! Your respect and stewardship of this great river is what's most important.

For donations, they can be made by clicking here:

PLEDGE NOW!!!

The Debut Release of IO

2009-06-14T22:49:00.003-05:00

WHAT?
The release of our album: IO.....BETA
WHEN?Monday evening 11pm - Still Stream Radio
MORE INFO?
StationIO

My friend Tim and I have a little debut album being released this Monday! You might remember me mentioning our music project called IO? Well, we've been picked up by a newly-formed label named Node Records who will be distributing our music on not only their site but on iTunes as well.

Our project is entitled IO, and the music on this release is considered to fall under the music genre "ambient" or "atmospheric." Some may know it as space music. It may not appeal to everyone but it is very suitable for stargazing, meditating, imagining or sleeping. ;) It can also be used as soundtrack and backing music and it has been used as such in the past. The response was much bigger than we had anticipated, but we'll see where it goes!

To explore it for yourself, check out our web site. In the midst of many other things I've been teaching myself a little web development. Just like our music, this too is a work in progress, so your patience is appreciated! You can listen to our music for free just by going to our HTML site.

A Return to Beautiful June

2009-06-14T22:21:00.004-05:00

From Branson I made my way to further shoots throughout northern Arkansas and southern Missouri. I became quite at home in the Ozarks, though you did find lake areas such as Table Rock that were popular with both fisherman and racing boats. Even in many of these areas the surrounding lush greenery enveloped clear waters. With the beautiful sun shining and active puffy clouds, it made my job most agreeable!

I met many different characters, such as a Italian-American from California that had brought her family's tradition of making and selling wine to the Ozarks. I also met a woman who not only got 4th place in the KC Royal BBQ contest for her ham, but was also struck by lightening with her entire family!

The best meal that I had was in the town of Flippin, Arkansas. It was the best Flippin meal I had. It was a Flippin potroast with a wonderful Flippin chocolate shake, right adjacent to the Flippin Pharmacy. OK, enough. But I really didn't think of the fun name until I was in the town and glanced over at a police car which noted, at the rear of the car, 'Flippin Police.'

I was able to spend some time on the rivers, taken out on the boats to get some nice shots. Turkey vultures (buzzards) were a common sight as were heron and many happy songbirds.

My return was made on up through Kansas City. It afforded me even more twisty, windy roads that remained nestled in the trees. The sky became stormy quite often and I got to witness some heavy thunderstorms in the evenings.

In KC I just had to make a stop at the infamous 'Gates BBQ.' My friend had been nice enough to, on more than one occasion, bring back some tasty sauces and rubs. So, I got me the big ol' platter and just had to clean that tray! The ham and their sweet sauce was oh so very good!

Then to the airport, for a 2 hour wait in the American Airlines cue to find out both of my flights had been canceled. But it worked out for the best, as, not only did I get home earlier, I got to fly on Midwest. They give you two wonderfully gooey chocolcate chip cookies on every flight! And although I made it to Milwaukee and was waiting for the plane to empty at 3:57pm when my flight home left at 4:05pm, I made it!!!

Back to the garden, the painted turtle that somehow found my pond and days of glorious late spring growth!

It's Been Awhile!

2009-06-07T19:55:00.009-05:00

The beauty of the Ozarks took me off guard a bit! After arriving in Oklahoma late Tuesday night, followed by a drive through a thunderstorm of wind-blown rainsheets, and a shoot in Langley, OK, I swerved into the hilly green of the Ozarks. The misty gray overcast created an eerie depth to the hills, reminding me somewhat of New Zealand.

To bring you up to speed, its been a busy run as of late. I did one all-day shoot at a property in VA. Getting around 11pm at night, for a 3.5 hour drive through rural North Carolina and on up into South-Central Virginia, my little Toyota Prius annoyed me with the glare that shines up from the dash, right into your line of vision. It was nice, however, to be able to come to a stop in the rural woods and pastures and gaze up at the beautiful stars, the electric car making no noise.

Back for just a couple of days, I was off again into Texas Hill Country. A stalwart favorite of mine, I shot a wide-spectrum of properties, my favorites always being the ranches. One of my first all-day shoots was at a very large resort that had its own airport and 3 golf courses. The people showing me about said that they get surprised when not at the resort, by the site of old people. They are so used to seeing the aged with plastic surgery that they sometimes forget the way that people are supposed to look!

The remainder of my shoots brought me all around the periphery of Austin. Yeah, I think Austin is a cool place, but when you are there, you feel like you could be anywhere. But to be so close to such interesting towns and distinctive places that surround it makes the drive two hours in any direction, well-worth the look.

One property sat above Buchanan Lake and was within a nature preserve. Many families had their dogs with them. Although it was raining on and off, the mistiness brought a coolness to the normally hot air and a coziness to the distant views.

I then stayed at my sister-in-law's place in Austin, where I learned to make Venezuelan arrapas (pretty much just a cornbread sandwich) with condiments being tunafish, mayo and guacamole and perhaps some meat and cheese. She had an arrappas-maker from Venezuela which was like a waffle iron with 4 dome-shaped depressions. You mix your cornmeal and water and make a UFO-shaped ball. Then you simply put it in the iron for around 10 minutes. Upon eating, you cut them open down the center, like a clamshell and scoop out a bit of the dough inside. Then, you put in your ingredients and make yourself a little sandwich.

Then it was to cowboy country! Bandera, Texas, the 'Cowboy Capital of the World' is an old-friend. With a tiny down-town of cowboy bars, gift shops and the local-favorite OST cafe, the pace is relaxed and people friendly. It takes about 15-20 minutes of further driving to bring you into ranch country. I got to spend extended time at a few. One in particular was a re-shoot. Last year, I had arrived just as one of the cowboys had died the previous day. This time there was no such drama other than a nice lightening storm the evening I had arrived. After grabbing a bite to eat at the OST, I drove across the pasteur. The horses looked so pretty, out in the open, with the lightening striking throughout the hilly, scrub-oaked land. I got out to take a few shots but got a little cowardly, not wanting to get struck by the lightening striking the ground all around.

The next day I had began at sunrise, to shoot the horses coming in from pasture.I had my cowboy breakfast and joined them out on the trail. They had heard and shook their head at my last 'bucking' horse-ride story and got me a nice casual mount. The guests I was riding with were mostly less experienced than me anyway, so no worries about unexpected adventures. I got some nice shots of the prettiest parts of Hill Country. My cowgirl guide had grown up riding horses with her cousins in this country.

My next shoot was a long one, but a fun one. It was a ranch that actual ran the rodeo in town. I was scheduled to shoot the Friday night rodeo the following evening. As I arrived the co-manager and I immediately went out to get shots. She was attending a wedding in Vicksburg, Mississippi the following day, and wouldn't be there for the day shoots. She hopped on her horse and I shot her as she rode down the middle of the river. The early-evening sun was breaking through the trees, over the rapids and one couldn't have asked for better shots. Shooting continued into the evening as the guests and cowboys and I made the most of the evening. Two of guests were girls from Australia, traveling the US and Canada. The other couple were Brits. We had our big ranch dinner at the ringing of the bell and then we went out back to make a fire.

A pretty impressive thunderstorm was rolling in, all around us. They hopped on the hay bales in the trailer and I jumped up in the bed of the pick-up with my camera and tripod. We drove through ranch trails and out onto farm fields. It was time to show the guests the Texas deer, which I call greyhounds, as they are so tiny. The cowboys shined the deer eating at the verge of the woods, with their lights. The darkness was ocassionaly illuminated with the flash of lightening bolts and cracking laughter of departing sobriety. There were fire flies, deer, farm fields, woods, and the crescent moon tucking in and out of the stormy clouds. I was able to get some shots of the deer when the truck came to a stop.

Then it was to the camp fire. As Willy Nelson played, lassoes were thrown, stories told and they even brought out the branding iron. After demonstrating on a few pieces of wood. The iron was dipped in white paint and all willing were branded on the butt. They had to 'mooo' and the spectators has to make the 'shishhh' sound of the branding. As cowboys, guests and videographer were indulging it made for a raucous time. Heck, with a motley group representing Britain, Australian, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi and Minnesota, what more could I wish for? But it was a long day, having shot since that morning at 7am and finishing up at 11:30pm that night. It was time for some shut-eye.

The next day there was more shooting, as always, but the excitement was in the rodeo! It had rained heavily the night before making the arena muddy and a threat to the horses. The owners were in full cowboy mode, getting rodeo ready. The sun helped to dry things out a bit and the workers did the rest. That night, the rodeo came to life. Trailer after horse trailer, pulled by many a Dodge Ram, pulled into the lot. The bulls were in their pens, and cowboys readied their gear. Many a cowgirl was riding their horse and one sweet sight struck me as very telling. It was the woman who had lead my ride the previous day, riding adjacent to her daughter, who was on her own horse, quite proudly.

I must admit that I felt a little bit of a traitor at first. Here were several of the ranches I had shot video for through the past year, all competing in the rodeo. But the awkwardness soon abated with shouts and hollers from many a cowboy, cowgirl, ranch cook and guest, calling out my name. Even the rodeo announcer walked by me stating, "Buddy, you're always working!"

So, the rodeo began with the march of the flags, barrel racing, bull riding and the like. It was something to be able to be right up with the bull and rider waiting for that gate to swing open. I got great shots, but did turn my camera away or off after one of the cowboys fell down under the bull, getting knocked unconscious.

I've seen enough rodeos in my life to wrastle with the ethical dilemma of the treatment to animals. When it comes down to it, yeah, I think that the animals are abused. But I liken it the abuse of cats and dogs, which happens on a much greater scale. I don't think most people know how to raise their dogs or cats and I see this a great form of abuse. I don't get as vocal as I would like, but the form of animal neglect I see daily greatly eclipses anything I've seen a rancher do. If we could criticize cat and dog owners as much as we do rodeos, people would see things a little differently.

Well, that was that for Texas. It is a shame that one becomes so accustomed to people speaking badly about Texas and Texans in the North. People go on and on ad nauseum. Most dangerous are the people with little experience that say the most. But I'll tell you this, in my travels, its been the Texans that have treated me with more hospitality, more appreciation and more gratitude then anyone I've ever encountered. They have a zest for life, a love of the outdoors, a sensitivity to how you are doing and seek to include you in whatever may be going on. I can apply much of this generalization to the entire south. Even as I write these words I received the weekly report from my junior videographer. I had sent him to WV, KY and TN. The south was a new experience for him. Without inquiry from me, he volunteered how wonderfully his experience with southerners contrasted from our other dealings in the NE and Midwest. No need to go on with specifics for now, but so much of what this Wisconsinite said was a 'ditto' to what I had observed for a very long time. As Louisianan Reese Witherspoon says that being brought up in the south gives one, "a sense of family and tradition" and taught her about "being conscientious about people's feelings, being polite, being responsible and never taking for granted what you have in your life." (Wikipedia!) That's that for now.

Then it was back for a few days then off to Oklahoma.

It was the experience in the Arkansas Ozarks that was really pleasant. I got to stay at some pretty nice cabins deep in the mountains. It was just me, a very cozy and clean cabin, with a deck that looked out onto mountain valleys. I actually thought they were prettier in the grey mist than the light. But there were limited bugs, an aloneness with nature and a good fire in a hearty brick fireplace. It matched many of the best experiences. The only thing missing was my pipe.

I continued shoots in such little mountain towns as Ponca, along the river of towering, sheer bluffs, and enjoyed most of the experience. I then visited the town of Eureka Springs, Arkansas. This was one of the more unique and eclectic American towns. It reminded me a bit of Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania. It existed in the extremely hilly Ozark woods and was originally the place people went to cure their ills. A Victorian town grew, full of history, artists, Unionists, homosexuals, UFO-ologists, movie stars, religious fundamentalists and everyone else you could possibly think of. It his home to an immense statue of Jesus and is the sight of an enormous Passion Play. People can be who they are. Even in the gigantic hotel I shot, built in 1886, you saw people in the most casual of dress and the man that showed me around the place was a minister and was growing a beard to be Santa Claus for Christmas.

Then, it was to Branson, MO. Now, I've asked for it, haven't I? With all my preaching about the wonderful South, this a different place entirely. I will try not to be negative, as it must be a special place for many people. But lets put it this way, just one of the billboards sum up much of what Branson has to offer. So, I close, for now, with a picture.

Flight of the Conchords

2009-05-08T17:27:00.004-05:00

"Ah, yis, yis." At the beginning of this month I was able to attend the Flight of the Conchords show at the Northrop, U of M. I had become a quick convert of this "guitar-based digi-bongo accapella-rap-funk-comedy folk duo" and subsequently apostled my like-humored friend Tim. Their sense of humor and musical collaboration in making extremely silly tunes struck the same 'Chords' as much of our own endeavors.

(If you just want to skip to a good reflection of the kind of musical humor they create, then just skip to the video at the bottom.)

Anyhoo, the Flight of the Conchords are a two-man group. They are composed of two New Zealand comedians/musicians/actors that have since become very big and whose humor has undoubtedly influenced the direction of the art. They write songs in many different genres and most all of them are parodies within themselves. They are excellent musicians and flow with one other seemlessly, especially in their conversational, signing interplay.

A nice passage from one of their 'hip hop' tunes called "Hurt Feelings": 'Now here's a little story to bring a tear to your eye, I was shopping for a wetsuit to scuba dive, but every suit I tried was too big around the thighs, and the assistant suggested I wear a ladies size! I've go hurt feelings...'

We made our approach through the rear alley of the theater and got to say hello-in-passing, to the opening comic, Eugene Mirman, who was having a cigarette out back.

There was an odd haze within the auditorium which may have been the reason the building alarm (woooot, woooot) sounded and they cleared everyone from the auditorium. But once we made our ways to the stairs, everyone was turned around and back we went.

The alarm woooted intermittently for awhile and Eugen Mirman did his stand-up. His ridiculous observations and absurdly perverse inventions can't help but make one giggle.

But then it was Jemain and Bret.

They opened with one of their newer "electronic' hits, but then assumed their stools and guitars for most of the remainder of the show. They would chat and interact and there were screens to project their expressions - a good thing, as this is a show in itself.

It seemed like many people had not heard their stories, jokes and songs before. It felt kind of nice, to hear people react with warm, genuine laughter to something they had heard for the very first time.

There were times when the crowd was supposed to do the refrain of a song, even coached on how to sing it, and they performed poorly. That kind of agitated them a tad bit and understandably so. Of course, I guess I could have sung it, having known it well. But it was the ladies part. And "I'm not going wear a ladies wetsuit, I'm a man!"

There was also some bantering with some guy that wouldn't shut up in the crowd, but he was silenced by Jemaine pretty quickly. I guess its something you have a lot of practice with when your life is a stage and you are the comedian.

The sound, lighting and video screens were great and they allowed you to catch all the important details of the show.

After the U of M crowd brought them back for their encore with a standing ovation, clapping of hands and a unison mimicking of the 'woot, woot, woot' of the alarm, our favorite Kiwis Jemain and Bret returned to the stage. They ended with a medley of their tunes and reminded us that you can go from doing commercials for L&P (best bloody soda in the world) to being on top of the world.

I could go on and on about them. But I think they are a matter of personal taste. I know people that don't care for them. Explore them on YouTube and see what you think. If you written a tune about lovin' grandma, then you're already there!

Land of Ancient Sculpture

2009-04-26T23:28:00.014-05:00

I was back in time from the Caribbean for Easter and then for the glorious table of Greek Easter, then, off again.

It was great fun, to be climbing up the big red Bell Rock! Just a few paces off of the main path and you could play on the rocks all you wanted. The ascent went pretty quick, though I did pick one of the steeper routes. When I finally came to a place that gave me some reason to contemplate, I stopped and looked down. Below a small group of 10 or so people had gathered, watching me and more than one taking pictures of me with their little cameras. Most adventurous people could easily make this climb, though, both the audience and intimidating route above gave me the first pangs of vertigo.

So, here I've been exploring Arizona and New Mexico this past week. It's neat to go from the extreme's of Caribbean humidity to this sun-baked, wind-swept land of sculpture.

Arriving in Tucson, I made an evening drive into ranch land. The next day I did shoots of galloping horses and cacti, silouetted by the distant mountains that always seemed so near. The days were in the high 90's and the winds whipped up quite strong, but the sky remained clear for the most part.

Making my way in the direction of Scottsdale, I had a chance to stop at one of the more interesting points along the way, Picacho Peak. The 1,500 foot peak stood out pinnacle-like from the surrounding flats. I pulled in and decide I would make a little climb. I always try to travel with a reserve of water and I had a full bottle of water. Half I would down to hydrate before and I would leave the rest for my return. I had my video camera and did not plan on making too long of a journey.

The heat left this path near the peak pretty much just to me! I looked at a pass and would make my way for it. It's always nice to have a goal on a hike and this would hopefully afford me the chance to see what was in the valley beyond while also getting a full experiences of the environs. I draped my shirt on my dome and paused ever so often to enjoy the immense rocks around me. There were buzzards soaring on the thermals above. As I made my way past the cactus and creosote, two A-10 Thunderbolts flew overhead. Those are such cool aircraft! They are the slow-moving, tank-busting jets that have their engines spaced out rather far apart. They looked just like those buzzards!

With a look over into the other valley, I smiled in satisfaction and made my way back. Another drive further into the park took me to where the Spanish explorers had pushed into while we were busy fighting the British during our Revolution.

Scottsdale was clean and landmarked by Camelback mountain. The resort that I was staying at had pretty cool architecture and $25 million in Native artwork. Instead of the cheesy stuff, it was the life-sized bronzes of Apache staring into the sky or making offerings to the Four Directions, etc. It was the kind of artwork that was eerie to be alone with. So, I tried to spend time with them. They gave some great photo opps, I just wish I had more time.

For eats I went to the controversial 'Pink Taco' but found it was closed. I then opted for the Wild Fish, though it was way pricey. So, I took advantage of happy hour and had a glass of cabernet, raw angus beef that you cooked yourself over a stone, and a giant plate of the best fried calimari. All for around $15. Ha! That's quite a gastronomic victory!

Being that I lose track of where I've been if I don't make daily notes of it (I'm always moving), the exact schedule somewhat escapes me. Let's see... after Scottsdale I made my way north to Sedona, but first made a stop in Flagstaff (further north). As in many a dessert location, you find an amazing drop in temperature the further up in elevation you go. In no time you are in the land of pine trees and cool (too cold, in my opinion) breezes.

Along my journey I came upon one of the most moving moments of my life. For me it was akin to the devote Catholics that get to behold the Pope for the first time and get all screamy, or the Jews who get overcome and get all kissy with the wailing wall or the astronaut that gets to look down at earth. It was seeing an Anasazi cliff-dwellin that did it for me. Now, I kept it together and didn't kiss anything or scream for the Pope, but this culture has intrigued me for some time. I've poured over pages and pages of photos of Anasazi bones, noting the tooth decay and boney growths in their eye sockets, all symptoms of this society's great dependence upon corn. Their spinal columns show a great amount of wear from heavy labor and...we'll enough of that. They are those ancient Indians that built those cool apartment buildings way up on cliffs!

I had not the chance to ever see one of these things until now and as the clock hit 4:20pm I came across the sign to Montezuma's Castle! It closed at 5pm and I knew I could make it! I zoomed in, paid and only a few hundred feet from the visitors center, the opening of the cliff began to reveal itself and, there it was! Built around 1300CE, the structure was about 70% original and intact. A multi-level brick dwelling. To keep myself from getting to weepy I turned my head from it and bit my tongue and then turned back to behold. It was like seeing Oz but if Oz were real!

The amount of engineering genius was spectacular! They had also built it facing south so that they would be cool in the summer and heated during the winter. That they went to such an extent to build this is an indication that they may have had some pretty powerful enemies. But at the height of this civilization, they abandoned these structures for some unknown reason. Anyhoo, it is pretty cool and I strongly encourage you to stop by Anasazi ruins located throughout the southwest. Oh, and why is it named Montezuma's Castle? The Spanish though the Natives of this region to ignorant to have built such a thing and so they gave credit to the Aztec ruler.

I am so, so thankful that I was able to witness this!

The next day, I dropped down into the valley of Ponderosa pines, and eventually saw the true signature of Sedona, Red Rocks. The mountains shoot up everywhere. The downtown of Sedona is full of shops. While they are clean, well organized and match the aesthic of the mountains around them, they are nonetheless shops and surge with tourists.

With a quick stop at the tourist center, prepared by suggestions a friend have given me, let's see, Bell and Cathedral Rock and Red Rock Crossing, I spoke with a guide and was on my way.

The first was Bell Rock. At first I didn't know which was bell as there were two buttes adjacent to one another. But the big one was called Courthouse Rock. I was able to climb most the way up Bell. You had a great deal of privacy up there and could look down and appreciate the land around you. It was like climbing up on a giant's shoulder. While you felt even more insignificant you also felt you were now belonged in their ancient club. These enormous rocks were now your buddies.

The red of the rock cannot be overstated. The soil was reddish powder and the buttes gave away in sheets as your feet passed over them, making you carefully consider just where you were going. There were also plenty of cacti. Man these are unforgiving! But it's the yucca that I found the scariest. This succulent, has very sharp spines at the tip of it's triangular leaves. If you were to trip and fall on one, they would pass right through you!

The wind also picked up somewhat fierce and I made my way down, on a route that was much easier than the one I had taken up.

Cathedral Rock loomed in the distance and near you could find the river of Red Rock Crossing and people cooling themselves in the icy waters. the water felt quite out of place.

Oh yes, vortexes. Some people believe that Sedona has a higher than normal concentration of vortexes, or zones that are supposed to enhance your metaphysical abilities. Twisted trees are also supposed to be a sign of these areas, or so I've been told. I saw plenty of twisted limbs. The spiral of the wood was distinctive.

Soon, I had to make my way to New Mexico. So, out of the valley and across the night time dessert. Eventually I was in Gallup, New Mexico. The following day it was all the way into Ruidoso. First I passed the Valley of Fires which was large expanses of black lava rock, looking as though the lava had cooled only days ago.

Ruidoso was at elevation and was cool and pine-laden. Here I shot and made my way back, the 3.5 hours into Alburquerque. It was not nearly as long as the 9.5 hour route from Sedona, but pretty much gave me all the driving I wanted to do for awhile.

With thoughts of home being so near, I was unfortunately denied. My first flight departed late and as I sprinted to catch my connecting plane, I arrived before the printed time of departure, only to find they had pushed off ten minutes early. No more flights back home this evening. Tomorrow. I wait for tomorrow.

From Ja-Mon to Cay-Mon

2009-04-08T21:12:00.010-05:00

The cliff divers in Negril were actually quite cool. I had been delaying my visit to Rick’s, a very popular club which was full of tourists. Some of its popularity comes from the fact that it is situated on tall cliffs which some locals dive off of. Any visitor is allowed to jump off of several, lower ledges and you see many people in their swimming suits. The majority of the establishment is a bar and restaurant that comes to life especially during sun-set.

The most colorful of divers, the Tiger, goes around with a red bucket, soliciting tips and amping up the crowd. He and a few other Jamaican divers, including some children, jumped off of heights that I would say vary from 50-80 feet high, perhaps more. The highest jump was from the top of a dead tree. They would fall, flip and plunge into the cove, surrounded by spectators and boats. At the same time, amateur tourists were free to jump into the very same cove. You just had to be careful to stay out of the way of the pros stunts.

I was happy to be pushing on and I felt that this was a good place to end my visit. I had begun my shooting on Runaway Bay, on the north-central coast of Jamaica and made my way gradually to Negril, on the far, western-end of the island.

During my stay I had many opportunities to have long conversations with the locals. Often these would take place on my hours-long drives in taxis. At my final place of lodging I also had a chance to speak with the predominately European visitors. There was a particularly high concentration of Italians and Germans staying here.

Another Jamaican staple that I found particularly good was the coffee. I miss it already. Very black and rich and excellent everyone I had it!

One unpleasant thing was the burning that seemed to occur every night. Sometimes the smell was a nice woodsmoke, but more oft than naught, the smell had a chemical tinge. It infused much of my clothing for days after. Also at night is the constant ‘gleep, gleep’ sound of some frog I’ve to identify. It had an alarm quality to it. In Negril would also be throbbing reggae bass and toasting raps of performers. It would go very late, especially if it was a good show.

I didn't find the driving 'crazy' as so many people seem to say it is. Jamaicans are actually some of the most courteous drivers I have seen. It's true some pass and buzz around and make it just before another oncoming car approaches. But you'll see most drivers be patient with one another and rarely get upset. They honk their horns a lot. This is usually to warn of their approach or to say hello to one another. They were also always very punctual.

The morning after Ricks was an early drive back to the airport in Mo’Bay. I wanted to get there early for any customs hassles. Early it was. But I was able to find a phone and a customs agent came down, checked my gear and accompanied me through the airlines check-in and security and I was soon at the gate. Hurray!

Cayman was hot and sunny. My taxi driver was a Caymanian woman with a strong Scottish accent mixed with an island sound. She drove me to where I’d be staying, the East End. Different than the western part of the island and towns like Georgetown, the East End was quiet and relaxing. The coast was hit by strong winds and seemed a mix of reefs, rocks and nice sand beaches. She pointed out where a ship once carrying rice sank on the reef. They had rice for many days after. The same thing happened with one carrying prunes, she said. We passed a ‘blowhole’ where the waves pressure shot a geyser up a hole in the rocky coastline. “Scraggadey” was how she described the rocky coast.

So, for the past few days I’ve been on the East End of this flat Caribbean island. It is full of money, nice houses and just two resorts that I’ve seen so far. The lack of congestion makes it even easier to appreciate the sun, the beaches, the green water reefs teaming with life and the relaxing pace.

I’ve been able to take in some fun adventures as well! Stingray Bay is a very popular attraction. Boats sail out to a sandy reef where you jump in water four feet deep and feed a whole gang of stingrays squid. The sound of it always bothered me. It’s just not a good practice to feed most wild animals, for many reasons. It also sounds so dang touristy. But I was to find it quite fun thing!

We first stopped for a snorkel. I shot people from the deck of the catamaran. The colors were nice and the sun cooperated for the most part. Then, I too jumped in and swam to a coral reef. Taking a big breath and diving below the water is quite fun. You glide over the coral and push your goggled face as close as you can fish. The black form of a eel caught my eye. But he just lay there in the open sand, the front of his body half tucked into the reef. He didn’t move. That is until I swam down closer to investigate. Then he swam out. I really had no desire to stick around. That’s another things about feeding creatures – they associate you with food. I’ll watch from a distance! Well, the stingray was another story, entirely.

We boated over to a shallow sand bar and the anticipating stingrays came from all over. They look like a gray kite, hovering through the water. They also give me the impression of automatic vacuum cleaners, hovering over the ground until they bump into something and then move around the obstacle. People filed in the water one by one and everyone was giddy with excitement. Several girls shrieked and clung to their mother, but another little girl looked at her mother and affirmed, “I’m not going to scream like those girls!” After I shot, I too jumped in and couldn’t help but make a b-line straight for the one the guide was holding in his arms, allowing people to handle it. As I came up, the Stingray had wandering eyes and nostrils fluttering. His gray top contrasted greatly to his white belly. I was told to slide my arms extended, straight forward. The underside could not be smoother, like slick, flappy rubber. People were told that they would get seven years good luck if they kissed it and a lifetime of good luck if they French-kissed it. So, well, you know me! Licky, licky. I tickled his proboscis nice and proper-like. Poor guy! But he was getting food out of the deal and was a big ol’ bolshy fellow!

Now, I’ve been to island after beautiful Caribbean island, twice with chances to go diving and, well, it just didn’t work out. But I was set and determined to get in a dive! Especially in this diving mecca!

And you know what? It worked! I head out for a one-tanker to a place called Grouper Grotto. Though the tarpon have now taking the place of the grouper, it’s a place of coral mazes and ‘swim throughs.’ This is where the coral creates overhangs and creates occasional tunnes. The water is reknown for its clarity. It was nothing to look down sixty feet with a clear line of sight. Our guide brought us down into the walls of coral. The large silver tarpon look at you with wide eyes and slanting up chin. They are quite a narrow fish, but very long and beautifully silver and shiny. We saw a lobster stick his head out of the coral and there were yellow striped seargeant majors.

Our guide then lead us down into our first swim-through. For this, I was in the rear. Though most swim throughs allow at least some overhead sight of the surface above, this first trench began with an actual tunnel. I have to say that I found it a bit unnerving. My first thought is on what you would do if you had to evacuate in case of an emergency. There would be no room to turn around and you could only go forward. Though, the coolness of it actually overrode the fear of it. But it was nice and snug. You did not want to touch the sandy bottom and kit up silt and you had to mind that the top of the tank did not smack the coral. You float through like an astronaut, with small kicks of your flippers and the ever-so-often wave of your hand. But proper streamline is for your arms to be folded against your belly, holding in you dive computer and hoses.

We did a few more swim-throughs. As you look up, there is nothing quite like the view. Instead of floating above the Earth, you feel as though you are floating within it, looking out. The edges of the coral, formed by miniature life, are in shadow, and through this window you see life suspended in ocean blue. The rays of sunlight are slow and bring color to even these depths. Sometimes you look down one trench and see a multitude of large fish, hanging together like a mobile above a child’s bed. In fact, there is really nothing to compare it to but that. Being a child in your crib, smiling in wonder at the shapes of animals floating magically above you. I think to be a diver is often like feeling you are finally floating in your very own mobile.

But that was that. I was more than ready to end, and happy this was a one-tank dive. After all there is so much more to explore.

The dry of the desert is calling. Time to move on. Must move on. Always moving on!

Jerkin in Negril

2009-04-03T19:29:00.012-05:00

After a few last shots of the villa I was staying in, a cab was called and I made my way out of St. Ann’s. I was a little sad to leave as I knew I was headed from a villa that was frequented by locals, in a calm district tucked in the hills, to ones that would be busy and touristy. I had also time to sit and chat with quite a few Jamaicans, learning more about the food, music, personal aspirations of the people and language of the country.

For breakfast I was prepared the Jamaician staple, Ackee and saltfish. Ackee is a fruit that grows on the trees. It pops open slightly, into thirds, exposing three black caps that cover a yellow mass inside. This mass is boiled and sauted with salted fish looking like scrambled eggs. (Ackee is poisonous if not prepared correctly). I thought it quite delicious and picking out the occasional bone made it all the more satisfying.

I had also been given insight into the language of the country, Patois. It is a mixture of English, Spanish, German and other languages and it’s what you often hear the Jamaicans speaking with one another. I’m attempting to pick some of language up, just so that I can distinguish certain elements. Most of my interaction has been with Jamaicans, so it keeps me on my toes. In asking to learn some of it I am aware of the possible connotations of sounding like, “hey black people, teach me the language you developed through 400 years of slavery so that the white man didn’t understand what you were saying. Teach this white guy that secret code.” When I’m in a cab or restaurant or passing by, a Jamaican will speak with me in English then turn to his fellow in Patois. You can see how that would make you wonder what’s going on.

Just for starters, the common greeting is “Wha-ha-um“ and when a friend is calling they pick it up and say “ha-ted” which translates to “hot head.” If something is really cool then it is “damgood” or “damn good.” Yes, they really do say “Ja-mon” as much as portrayed. And “dis” and “dat” is commonplace. Even if you can pick out a lot of these words it’s the rapid rate and their experience with the language that can leave anyone without a knowledge in the dark.

They had called a cab for me and I was now headed to Ocho Rios, a harbor town that serves the gigantic tour ships. I’ve read that you are best to avoid the town, especially when the ships are in. It just so happened a few would be.

But first the driver asked if I’d like to make stops along da way. I had agreed on a price before we made our way and I knew this would rise the more stops we made. But I also weighed this with ‘when the else will I get the chance’ so I agreed to some of the stops. Another thing is that I am often at the whim of whomever I’m with. Who knows where I could be driven? But I also know that this individual benefits by my money and any subsequent call to drive me elsewhere.

As we slowly made our way up a rough mountain road, I wondered just the heck we were going. Simultaneously, I went with the flow. We passed very poor shacks and people out on their stoops. My driver had told me about the “fire waters” in which you could light the top of the water and it was supposed to have healing powers and all of that. Sure enough, we stopped where a group of men were huddled around a shack. Out we went and I had my video camera in hand. It felt very much like National Geographic with the exception being that I had no crew! Once again, at the whims of the situation but also staying in the now, catching very unique footage and knowing that we would probably be on our way soon after.

The door of the shack opens and there are several men within, surrounding a pool of water. It must be a hot spring as I found the water warm. The men are continually hustling, pointing talking, pointing, hustling, grabbing. “Fel da wada. Heelin papatees! U kin wak tru de fier en not get bunned!”

At that, one of the gentlemen lit the top of the water with a lighter and it flamed continually. He passed his hands under the water, playing it up as amazement. “Git in de wadr! Gimee da camra. I kept the camera in hand and filmed as I stepped into the pool. With that one of the men poured the water over my legs. “Why not?’ I thought. Not many could say they did this! And if it ‘healed’ my psiorasis it would be even better! Ha.
I walked through the flames and shot as I did. They then prepared a stove over the flames and boiled water for show.

During all of this the man sold like a snake oil salesman and his accomplice acted things out in form. With a small “donation” we were on our way.

I learned later that they usually don’t take money inside as God might see that they are profiting from the secret fire. Well, I hope that didn’t jinx the flow of Earth’s gasses.

On our way down the mountain road a pregnant teen girl hailed the cab and leaned in to hustle whatever. Her language was impossible for me to follow and she had quite the lost look about her. “No school,” we asked? Almost on cue was another girl of similar age, dressed in blue school uniform, making her way down the road. Upon her face was a stern expression. Whether it was due to the girl, me, us, who knows? But I do know I’ve seen that expression several times down here. Whether it is anger, depression or just the common look, I’ve seen it quite a bit.

We made a short stop at Dunn’s River Falls, taking a view of the top. Inside were throngs of white people walking out at the top of the falls. I thought it not only looked horribly touristy but also precarious. There really wasn’t any rope and rail to keep people going over that falls.

That’s the way many things seem here. On the streets and heart of the country you see the Black Jamaicans. Peeking through a hole in the fence, into the resorts, tourist attractions and beaches, you see White people.

We finally pulled in to Ocho Rios. In the harbor you could see the bloated tourist ships. In fact, the second largest in the world was there. On the sidewalks were hustlers with necklaces in hand, hassling white tourists already wearing several necklaces previously purchased.

By now I was in need of another ATM stop. We hit one bank, waited in line, only to find they didn’t do that there. While there I saw a common Jamaican cure for congestion, sniffing rubbing alcohol. At first I thought it was ‘huffing’ but several Jamaicans have told me its common to do when they have colds. We then head to another bank. The ATM was not working, so I waited in line. I was the fourth in line and it took a full 30 minutes in that packed bank. I could have chewed my tongue off. It kept my nerves somewhat calmed that my taxi driver was in the bank. All my gear was in that car and it rakes my nerves to no end. I spoke with a Brit in the line who said it was ‘in there blood to be slow.’ I’ve heard lots of Brits say things like that. I instead liken it to bureaucracy and many a DMV and postal line I’ve been in.

I got the money and after a few stops where he dragged me in to hustle me off on other people, such as an Indian jeweler, I tackfully played it down and got the heck out. Finally, I was dropped at my place.

I secured my stuff in the room and did the obligatory footage of hell. Out into the mob! Even though I was alone and had camera in hand I blended in with any white tourist target off of the boat. At first I shot the two main shopping areas where places like Marguerittaville exist. It catered entirely to the tourist and I had to shoot this for what I did. But I must also venture into some of the outer tiers to get something real and Jamaican.

I was on a search for oxtail and curry goat, another Jamaican staple. I knew of the general area but after an unsuccessful attempt, I told a man what I was looking for and he knew right away where to go. Of course he did! This was another hustle and a mistake on my part. He took me winding down roads but signaled that it was close and I knew that it was. But I also know that I would lose this guy only by paying him off. Which I did. But inside I ordered the curried goat. I was a little unsure what was going on when I only received some broth. “Is this it,” I wondered? In fact, after slowly eating the broth, I got up to pay. I’m glad I didn’t quite leave, as the plate came. It was some slaw-like salad, peas and rice, shell-like noodles and little goat chunks on the bone covered in dark curry sauce. Very good. A gentleman saw my camera and sat with me. Of course I was skeptical, but he looked clean-cut, claimed to be a videographer, and by his knowledge-base, I could tell he was a fellow.

After a convo I departed and head back to the hub. First stopping in a fenced in art market full of stalls of carved wood and t-shirts, it was time to hide in my room.

After shoots I made a call to my first taxi driver and we took the 3 hour drive to Negril. The landscape changed and it was nice to remove myself from the congested Ocho. Not that other parts of the island are not congested! The roads are generally packed when you near towns, but the open stretches offer you a chance to look across some sugar cane fields, out at the ocean to one side or to the small houses tucked in the hillish mountains. You also see little huts marked "Beer Joints." Get it? Beer, joints!

Much of Negril was made popular in the 60’s by hippies who pitched their tents on the sand. The area that I came to was the 7 mile beach area. Many hotels/resorts/clubs sit along these white sands. I’ve heard about the beauty of this area but have come to see it as follows.

Each property extends about 400m from the road to the beach. The lodgins are far enough from the road to allow for quiet and then their restaurant and bar areas run next to the beach. The beach is only about 10 feet in width before it touches the water. The water is very clear and all looks as the Caribbean picture people are expecting.

There are certain variables. Some places are policed very nicely. There is a security guard or two that stands out in the sand, with black pants, hat and white shirt. They seem to stand there all day and intimidate the hustlers from hassling you. Then, there are places where the security sits under a tree. Here you’ll be hassled much more. Even when you have your eyes close or purposely focus away from them, you hear a “hey mon?” Hey mon? Hey mon?” This usually grows louder as they come right up to you. It’s always hustling something, depending who you are.

Some places have a chill and relaxed atmosphere, while others like to play up the 'party' feel. It is not as extreme as in Ocho though, where big party boats of college kids swing by and you hear the only Black Jamaican aboard announcing "if ye ah havin fun parteein en Jamaica eveebuddi say 'Ja Mon,' to a chorus of 'Ja Mons' hoots and hollers. At night in Ocho you will also hear the same Reggae and Ska tunes played over and over and over, ad nauseum. But even one of the chill places I was staying had their own 'Fire King!'

The ganja offers are ceaseless and they offer many different varieties. While it is illegal here, even the tour books will say to just not smoke it in public or around the police. But even they know that tourists are here to have a good time and to party. While it is tempting and a solid part of the Jamaican experience, I’m here working and so don’t indulge. But its nothing to be chatting to a guy blazing up right along the beach. In a private social setting, it would be a different story.

Negril is mostly known for the 7 mile beach, lazing on the beach, sunning on the beach, running on the beach, drinking on the beach, swimming off of the beach, jetskiing, paragliding,, glass bottom boats and diving.

Once again I received a complimentary dive offer only to discover after my shoot that they had no one else signed up to the dive that day. Once again I assembled all my gear for naught.

I had an awesome run one evening. It was a short, run, like the ones I tend to take. But it was invigorating! With Vangelis’ 1492 soundtrack in my ear all was strong and proud! After all, this was the land of the sprinter. When I got back, a man hailed me over to show me a picture that he had taken of me, with the Caribbean sun rays shooting down on the ocean. He was from New Jersey and not someone trying to sell the picture.

That night I spotted a young bellman and inquired if he was a sprinter, which he most certainly was. Just to hear I was of like blood made him excited and in offer of an immediate fist ‘pound.’ He was a footballer as well who said the two sports were beginning to run in conflict with one another.

I’ll end this ramble with some food stuff. Going from a profession of ceasless conversation to one with much solitude leaves the mind needing outlets. So, pardon me.

OK, more food stuff. Curry goat is a common thing. It usually involves chunks of goat, sometimes attached to chunks of bone, sometimes in a sea of small bone fragments, covered in delicious, dark curry sauce. As with many dishes, it is served with peas and rice, previously-formed in a cup and dumped upside-down on your plate like you see in Spanish preparations. I usually doctor this with hot sauce. Jamaican hot sauce comes in a bottle resembling the narrow, Tabasco-style bottles of the American southeast. The taste is very similar though a tad bit sweeter. It resembles the same type of temperature as Crystal or Tabasco so ample shakes don’t overpower you, even when the bottle reads ‘Very Hot.’

Jerk pork, chicken and fish are common as well. As for the jerk chicken, it doesn’t resemble the supposed dry ‘jerk chicken’ I’ve had in the states. Instead, it is a wet sauce that smothers the chicken. You can see pepper flakes in some of the sauces. Man, at times, when cooked with the skin still on, the result is the tastiest chicken flesh I’ve yet had! As for the fish, it was drier, but salty and peppery and oh so good!

Red Stripe lager beer, in that short stubby bottle is produced here and common here. Some Jamaicans say the type we get back in the states is different. But to my unsophisticated beer palate, it tastes like, beer. Many Jamaicans prefer Henneiken instead.

Lemonade, made with fresh limes, is popular, or so I’ve been told. I’ve yet to find some. One night I had fruitcake for desert. It came in the form of what looked like a piece of chocolate cake and was moist and had the hint of the flavor we associate with the fruit cake that we are familiar with.

Stay well. I have to go catch some shots of a setting sun. The next two days should be the final of this island and then it will be to the final leg in Cayman.

I hope you enjoy your weekend.

From a Fantasy Island to a Bureaucratic One

2009-03-30T20:19:00.011-05:00

I was able to spend two days and nights in one of the most stunning of places I have yet found myself! After a brief questioning and confirmation at the Beef Island customs, I was transported by taxi over the island of Tortola to Road Town and the private yacht awaiting me. In the harbor office the security woman greeted me, asked if I wanted any beverages and told me that the yacht would take off shortly. In no time at all we were laughing about food and Guyana and she was telling me of how she loved to eat chicken, bones and all, but that was not something that people did here! She told me that I would love where I was going and that they would treat me very, very well!

The big yacht plied through the Caribbean waters of latest afternoon and within 15 minutes we were approaching our landing. I went to the top deck with camera and captured our approach.

As I left the vessel I was greeted by a hostess with a packet and information that my island contact would like to have dinner with me at 7pm. The dress code was a shirt with a collar and slacks. OK. I could manage that much.

I checked into my room right off of the marina and unpacked my things. It had been a day of Aruba, Curacao, St. Maarten and Beef Island Airports, but I was very relaxed at where I was. My sigh was interrupted by a call and subsequent visit by my contact. A native of the Caribbean, he was young, professional and with a cleanly shaved head. He had been to Univeristy in the States, and what get to learning such things later, but at this point I just gave him an overview of how the shoots usually worked.

At dinner we quickly dismissed the pleasantries and soon joined in philosophical discussions and our general takes on life and success. His was a very driven and optimistic one. Long ago he had adopted the Disney motto, “If you can dream it, you can do it!” It certainly seemed as though he had achieved and would continue to achieve what he set his mind to. Instead of laughing off such statements I couldn’t agree more with him. Having lived and continuing to live a fruition of one’s dreams, I know the possibilities are endless! This island would encourage me even further!

To bring me back to earth, there was an adjacent table yelling about the sins of the democrats. Money. Yeah, I was surrounded by that. The cheapest room was $900 a night and the high profile guests stayed in the villas for $20-30,000 a night. Those people who were so loud, conservative and obnoxious I spoke with the day later. They were quite friendly but where, no surprise, from Lake Calhoun. I’m sure Garrision Keillor would make fodder of that!

The next day my contact and I drove the private island. It was mountainous and had good elevation. At the crest of the island’s different points there were villas. This is where the big movie stars and musicians would stay. I was told the names of some but I wasn’t privy of knowing the others. The views were those that actually made me shiver with goosebumps they were so remarkable. I shot and shot and shot, well-knowing I could do this forever.

You would look down into the emerald green waters that touched the beaches, while off of shore, three moored sailboats sat in the deepest blue. The water touched the white sands and palm beaches and gave you the sight of enormous waves crashing spray off of rocks and up into the sky. In the surrounding distance there were islands of all sizes and they dropped out of our line of site like the Appalachian mountains. Puffy white clouds gave texture to the sky and the sun and warm wind relaxed every bit of you.

There was no end of wonderful havens. The spa had its own windward cove and the doors opened up into the seascape. At the villa nests there were pools that meshed seamlessly into the expanding Caribbean blue hundreds of feet below and away. There an outside showers at the top of these nests, where only the eyes of the albatross may fall upon you.

The food had the same possibilities. In fact I think I tasted some of the equivalent of these sights with the freshest fruit collage for breakfast. Blueberries, strawberries, grapefruit, melons, plums, pineapple, sausage, scone, yogurt, guava juice and coffee.

On my last day I was invited to stay longer to shoot another special villa but also partake in some free diving off of Tortola out of their own private tour shop. Unfortunately, my contact misinterpreted the schedule so I missed the dive, but fear not, I still made the most of it!

The divers by the way, were characters themselves. One of them was an underwater film-maker and could not be more enthusiastic to work with me. Another was a salty Brit that had dived the world over and another was a friendly, back slapping chap that had gone to school in Bemidji.

Just near the dive shop was a beautiful sail ship that had caught my eye, with the name Simaril. The captain was another chatty fellow from Bloomington. We talked quite a bit about Tolkien and I had to shake my head at the chances of this ship, being docked right by my room.

What did I do with the two hours of play time I did have? I went to a chair, beneath a palm. Grabbing my snorkel, I entered the picturesque waters I had only filmed up to this point. It was a wee chilly at first but soon I was snorkeling outwards. The water was so clear and the bottom sandy. I dove for pieces of coral and played with a conch. I tipped him over to see if he would right himself, but no. Oh, well. I tipped him back. (Some time afterwards my contact would scold me for not bringing it in. His favorite Caribbean dish was fresh conch salad!)

Afterwards I went and laid in the chair, in the sun, underneath the palm, looking out at Deadman’s Island. Not one much able to stay in a bath nor lazing in the sun for more than 5 minutes without some action, I found it quite different here. I had a complete awareness and appreciation for the now. The picture was far too perfect and magic far too palpable to go unrealized.

My stay on that island was not only magical in the things that I saw but also in the occurrences that met me. I believe that when we see ‘signs’ they are manifestations of our own minds, or how we choose to interpret things. But after having experience after experience on that one island, I will forever hold it as re-affirming and a gift. It was a magical place. As for what ‘life-changing’ and wonderful things occurred, they will give direction to what happens in the next chapter. More on that in months to come!!!

Next it was a stay in some overly-expensive resort in Lambert Bay, Tortola. It had mean waves hitting the beach and feral cats all over the place! Then it was an early drive to Beef Island Airport, a flight to Puerto Rico and then Miami, which allowed me to use my phone and catch up with those catching up with me. Then, it was to Jamaica.

Getting there in the evening, I got my passport stamped and head to customs. When they found out that I was shooting video of resorts they asked for my paperwork. “What paperwork, I asked?” I then discovered that in Jamaica, one needed permission from the Tourist Board to shoot advertising video. While this was not what I had experienced in other countries, I soon learned that ‘Dis is not udder kuntrees!’ I then go to put all my bags up on the tables for inspection.

The woman agent was stone faced and un-yielding. I would occasionally have to ask her to repeat herself and I sometimes would misinterpret what she said, only to hear a ‘I did not teel u to pak up ur tings, put dem bak up der!!!”

As the very last travelers filtered their way out, it was but me and the agents. I ping-ponged between a few of them also keeping in mind that I needed to get to my lodging which was in Runaway Bay some 1:45 minutes away and had no idea what taxis or busses would still be running there.

To sum this up quicker for you than it was for me, I learned that my articles would be detained and that I would have to try and resolve this in the morning when the offices were open. After making an itemized list of my equipment for them I found a cab to Runaway Bay and drove through the Jamaican night which smelled of woodsmoke.

Luckily for me the villa was found by the taxi driver and my accommodations were awaiting me. In my room was some jerk chicken, guava juice, a salad and peas and rice and I ended that long day by retiring somewhere around midnight.

Early this day I awoke and spoke with the owner of the villa. She was so wonderfully helpful! She took it all in stride, happened to speak with an old school-chum at the tourist bureau and then drove me all the way back to the airport to hopefully help me claim my things. Along the way she pointed many things out – Discovery Bay where Columbus supposedly discovered Jamaica, the bauxite plant that once fueled aluminum production around the world and other things.

At the airport I checked in at one point. Then I was taken to a room to wait for a pass to re-enter the airport. There were two guys behind the glass. I had number 23. When I entered they were on number 16. This was at 10:30am. At 11am they were on number 18. My bladder, that can stand 5 ½ hour drives without emptying was ready to explode. But I couldn’t miss my chance. My eyes were also driving me crazy! I think I developed some horrible allergy that attacks my inner eyelids. They rub my contacts off and proceed to scratch at my eyes. In the morning I wake up with eyes all caked over from dried tears. Going to have to get that looked into when I get back!

Anyhoo. I got the pass! That gave me time to be escorted all the way back down, through where I was before and outside and then walked by a slow walking escorter, all the way through the security and customs, again. I had to wait and then wait some more and then wait some more with bursting bladder and scratching eyes.

But in the end, I got my stuff and that’s what’s important. I squeezed two shoots into the second half of the day and had a good dinner back at the villa. I’ve also had a chance to spend lots of time with Jamaican’s of every sort this past day and a half.

All through out I was thinking of my porch, my hammock, smoking some Ol’ Toby, while breathing in East Side air and listening to the trickle of the pond.

Being in situations like these really makes you appreciate the times you’re not! The bad times will pass. At least at some point!

Always onwards…

Mi Stima Aruba

2009-03-25T20:05:00.018-05:00

Hello again, or, as they say in Aruba bon dia!

This little island, right above Venezuela is a part of the Netherlands Antilles and has a palm-lined, white sand beach to its southwest and a desert interior. It’s quite a mix of peoples and you see a culture that while very European and American has a strong South American and African flavor. There are also large East Indian and Chinese populations as well.

The property I was videoing happened to be on the nicest stretch of the nicest beach in Aruba. This mean that there was a good deal of white sand, tall palms and many umbrellas made of palm fronds for guests to sit under. The sea is a rich blue-green and there is this persistent breeze that not only cools the heat but also lulls you into a relaxed state of being. (Even when you can’t ready your bloody monitor screen in the blinding sun!)

I happened to catch the island in flukey weather. Instead of the constant sun and 81 that the island always gets, the clouds happened to make a visit. That meant that the day involved me dodging clouds and recording when that sun would illuminate everything and then waiting when the clouds rolled over the sun once again.

The manager offered one of the cars to me so that I could explore the island. I really hadn’t anticipated this opportunity and accepted most graciously! I had a good deal of apprehension for many reasons but one must weigh these things in how rich it makes your life in the end. Indeed. Exploring the island.

So, I shot up to the northern coast to visit the California lighthouse. Yes, another lighthouse but the setting on the rocky landscape was quite something. There were lots of tourists and colorful tourbuses and people with 4-wheelers and Jeeps exploring the rocks and sand. What caught my eye mostly was the unique honey comb-like rock all around. It look absolutely unforgiving to the barefoot but helped to add unique contour to the area.

I had intended to head to park Arikok but seeing the sun coming out, shot back to the resort to shoot it in the sun. Who knows when it would come again? I made may way back. In a round-about fashion, I eventually arrived. You see, the streets don’t really seem to have names, at least none that I could see. After a few roundabouts, I found the map not so helpful. Other than understanding that 4A and 4B were the main drags I had to roam my way around with my compass, my map and ask directions. One wrong turn brought me to Madiki. Imagine that!

Shoot, shoot resort and then back to the road. This time to Park Arikok. I followed the signs here and there up into the cactus hills. I made it up to a the entrance and a sign that said the road was closed and arrows pointing in another direction. I took that route and found nothing and then repeated the whole windy process again, passing poorer looking housing and wild doggies. At the entrance again I saw a man in a hut so I asked him and he said it was closed but that I could park. He was a ranger and showed me where I could hike. With my cross, er, tripod and camera on my shoulder, I ventured into the desert. It was nice that there was absolutely no one in these late afternoon hills. I saw birds chirping, white donkeys on the hill and little lizards running through the brush. There were lots of these pointy phallic cactic shooting up into the sky. The trail also ran
around these divi-divi trees which are flagged, or, whipped by the constant Tradewinds so they all point West like a woman’s hair blowin in da wint. Then it was back again to the place.

As for this day, I found myself 120 feet underneath the ocean in one of the few tourist submarines in the world! It was cooler than I thought it would be. They shuttle you out and after about 15 minutes you watch the submarine emerge from the ocean below. Awaiting the unboarding of the previous
passengers, you await on the deck of the sub and shuffle down the stairs, facing the stairs, of course!

Below there is ample seating for over 40 people and round windows for you to gaze through. You drop down around the 50 foot mark and then eventually to 130, at one point even touching the sandy floor. But you get to see a lot of coral. I saw some of the largest coral I ever have! There were lots of fish too and I recognized grouper, 4-eyed butterfly fish and seargeant majors, but forgot many of the rest. You also get to see two ships, one being an old wooden schooner!

Back in town, Orangestad (Oranya-schtad) is a colorful area. Much of architecture is Dutch and colorful in that said fashion and there is a long market, that used to be the fish market, now converted to the selling of knick-knacks and souvenirs. This dock-side area also has open cafes as well, where I got myself some seafood soup. Across the street the mall area is full of jewelers, European cafes and the like. It’s very colorful and there are flags of many nations everywhere.

For lunch I went to one of the local favorites, the Old Fisherman. Here I had some seafood rice and a Balashi, their local beer, tangy and cold. I also asked for the hot sauce. Holy cow! This in league with the hottest hot sauces in the world! It’s called Madame Janette and made with scotch bonnet peppers which are related to habeneros. Just one dip of my rice into the sauce and I was like, ‘wow, okay, I’m done with that.’ But the meal was very good.

I finally made my way back and told myself I must at least dive into the surf to be able I said I did it. The waves were big, rolling, crashing and green blue. I grabbed my scuba mask and head out into the surf. I spent my time wading out in the swells sometimes riding with them, sometimes riding over, sometimes not paying attention and catching a breaker right on the top of the head. I watched some boarders skimming on the waves right next to the beach, played underneath them and finally rode one back to shore. After 15 minutes, that was that. My play for today.

Tomorrow I will cycle through 4 different airports on my way to Peter Island and the only resort on the island. I hope flights go well and I can make a connection to a boat taking me to the island. It’s one of those days that begin at 3:45am and end around 6pm if lucky. All part of the grand adventure I guess. Ku tur mi amor. Te aworo!

Return Through Mountain Passes

2009-02-24T23:38:00.002-06:00

Well, I'm typing this via phone, so will be short!

Breck got a bunch of snow the last day of shoots in the village. It helped to make the drive through the Vail Pass slow and a wee bit treacherous. But at least it was in the afternoon light, winds were low and the temps were high. But all commercial vehicles had chain restrictions. Passing the slow semis I thought it sounded like tank treads, with their spinning of chain covered tires. There was another accident in the opposing lane but I made it safe in town.

In Vail, I shot in the oldest property there, located at Vail's village central landmark,, the covered bridge.

Today I shot, spent time down in the village for Mardi Gras and on the morrow return through the passes for a journey homewards. Just as my body has acclimated to the elevation.

Happy Mardi Gras and don't forgive to give something up for lent! ;)

At Elevation

2009-02-22T19:48:00.014-06:00

My last property to shoot in San Antonio was a posh place that was the favorite of many celebrities. It was relatively-new and was quite dark inside. That never makes it much fun when one uses available light sources for illumination! Behind a big display case was a collection of blown glass oranges, each with the autograph and various comments made by the celebrity it was given to. There was quite the collection in there, Bill Cosby, JaRule, bands such as Tool, the Jonas Brothers and Blink 182, Marc Anthony and J-Lo. One of the very first rooms that I shot was J-Lo's favorite.

That evening I went on a little stroll through the downtown area and ended up eating down by the Riverwalk. I would explore this in more detail the following day.

The following day the sun had decided to make an appearance! It had hid from me during most of my Texas visit and now, it made this all the more merry. It improved my mood quite a bit too. So, with my 20-pound, constant companion, camera and tripod upon my shoulder, I found a convenient place to part just outside the main downtown area (by the big broadcast attenae) and head towards the Riverwalk.

My first stop was at a little Mexican square, called La Vallita that was an artist enclave. It was nice to find a cozy bit of history and stone warming in the sunlight, so near the bustle of the downtown area. Bolivar Hall, and old church and fountain seemed to be significant landmarks.

But now I continued past the the big red twisted monument, given to the US from Mexico and supposing to symbolize hands shaking in friendship. Near this is one of the stairways down to the Riverwalk, an area that is one level below the streets and through which part of the San Antonio river runs through. While the city once considered covering it as a storm sewer it now acts as the main attraction in San Antonio. This channel of mud-colored water curves through the city. All along it are walkways on each side and many shops and restaurants. There are also many popular hotels along its banks, including the one that I videoed. I even saw a cute mob of little ducklings.

I walked and shot, interviewed and did some on-camera bits - a little Rick Steve's action. I ended the visit with a tour on one of the boats that go up and down the channel. For $7.75 you get a 35-minute tour of the river. It passes under the many bridges, takes the many curves and brings you to the edges of some very big buildings. I found our Mexican tour guide to be very funny. I think I found him more funny than most others. Tough crowd! Goodbye to San Antonio, my namesake and saint of Padua, patron saint of children and lost things!

Now it was time to drive up to Austin to stay one night and shoot the next day, an historic and swanky mansion. When I pulled in there were big ol' boys smoking cigars on the front porch. I was more interested in the signs of a college town everywhere. That should mean at least once decent cafe! And, that is what I did, found myself a cafe, did some work and then retired.

The day was sunny and the shoot went well. I was excited, as the end of this shoot meant that I would be able to visit my brother now, living in Austin. So, off it was to Jollyville in no time at all!

My visit was very pleasant. My brother showed me some popular sites in the area, including a cool overlook onto Lake Austin. It appears much more like a river, this long stretch of water with a bridge crossing over it. But, in the sun and on the edge of a cliff it felt most nice. Afterward we caught up with his wife and we then visited some of her favorite haunts. There was a nice stone path in a place called the Arboretum. What I liked most was these smoothly-polished stone cows beneath a grove a trees with a sign that read "Climb at Your Own Risk." How cool! I just wished I would have climbed on them. We then went down to Lake Austin and visited the shore and eventually a bar and restaurant.

The area around the lake was accessible by everyone. However, as you looked all along the hills facing the lake you saw the enormous houses, seemingly crammed into every possible space. The rich seemed to claim this view as their own. Even in Austin it seemed to reflect much of what I saw everywhere in Texas, the lack of public land. Only 4% of Texas lands are public. Expect to see fences everywhere you go.

At the end of the night it was time to head back. We had some Compari, that strong red, Italian liquor that tastes like you are drinking concentrated citrus rinds. But my hermano's wife made a good concoction of orange juice, lime and compari. Quite civilized. ;) Then it was some down time with the bro and it just so happened he had the free trial period of cable and wouldn't you know it, Flight of the Conchords was on! Ah, sweet medicine! But I was sad. It was nice seeing my brother. But seeing him, makes me miss him.

In the morning I left as they left for work. They departed and I finished getting all my gear ready in the car. Then, as I went to start my little PT Cruiser. Nothing. What compounded issues was that I was in a little gated complex. The puzzle was going to be just how to make this work with the rental company and get to the airport on time!

But, it worked out, I was given a replacement and able to head to the airport on time for a flight to Denver.

Arriving around 5pm or so, I got my new rental, and head into the mountains. What I noticed first was the complete lack of snow in Denver. But, as I made my way out of Denver and into the mountains, the snow hit hard. The same 20+mph winds that had made my airplane landings one of the more sketchy, with the yawing of the nose back and forth, had decided to throw plenty y of snow. The traffic was packed as all of the people were headed to the slopes for the weekend.The big flakes whipped and spun and began to make me a wee bit dizzy. I stayed in that left lane and was glad to have the tail lights in front of me as visible signs of the road were gone. We went up, but mostly down in curving this way and then that, was the pattern. I put on some droney music and just tried to chill.

Sometimes a mountain tunnel would come and give you a brief reprieve from the storm, but, it would end in an almost comical end. At the end of the tunnel were multiple flashing signs and warnings such as: 'Icy Road,' 'High Winds' and 'Watch for falling rocks and animals!' Each minute closer to my destination was a better moment for me. One of the last sites was in the opposing lanes where there were the flashing lights of emergency vehicle after emergency vehicle and a backup of traffic for miles. I just need to get there!

And here, is Breckenridge. I was here shooting at this time last year but for a much longer stint. Now it is for shorter time, thankfully! The weather is has been absolutely beautiful so far! The days have been sunny and warm, skies blue, with the occasional white clouds and the mountains covered with snow. Quite a pretty site! The shoots have gone well, but busy and I look forward to wrapping them up!

Well, that is it for now. I shall check back in if able but wanted to send a cheers!

One more thing... about this time last year, from the same part of the country I am now, I gave a little recognition to the loss of one the greatest actors of our times, Heath Ledger. Tonight, he may be recognized posthumously at the Oscars. Here's to his memory and legacy!

Saddle Sore. Literally.

2009-02-17T21:38:00.012-06:00

My body is currently recovering from white-knuckle adventure astride a very fast quarter-horse. More on that shortly.

Recently, I've had some time in San Antonio. Having a few hours at my disposal I zoomed in to see the Alamo. I found it, much like most Texans and non-Texans have described it - small. But I found it to be pretty dang cool! It was once a Spanish mission, later converted into storehouse and fort. It now sits in the middle of busy downtown San Antonio, neighbored by the large Alamodome and River Walk.

The fort is surrounded by an old wall, but the front is open to view from the main drag. The courtyard has oaks providing shade and little channels of water that hold koi 3/4's the length of your arm. Entrance to the fort is free but cameras are prohibited. Once you enter, it feels much like a vault set deep beneath the earth. Years of use had long since worn-away most indications that this ever was a mission and the little antechambers have display cases of artifacts from the battle at the Alamo and other items once owned by such famous characters as Davy Crocket.

I had a tinge of excitement when I first entered. The very idea of what had occurred here and who had been present on these very grounds made this a very significant landmark. Some hold their noses in the air at the concept of this 'cradle of Texas history' but you have to be more objective. After all, think of who spent some of the very last hours of their lives here. This was a mixture of Tejanos and southern and Yankee Americans. In fact, the very first symbols to greet your eyes when cross the threshold are the state flags of New York, Massachusetts and other god-forsaken Yankee realms.

Davy Crocket, once accustomed to stars being the only roof over his head and now as comfortable as could be with his fame and notoriety, headed south, to whatever fate awaited him.

Anyhow, there is something truly American in this motley band, forming together against insurmountable odds. The word Texian once represented a lot more than is given credit to that word now!

After leaving, in fact, running, to get out of the hoard of visitors, I hopped in the car, ready to head back to my lodging to catch the setting sun for a property shoot.

The next day it was back to San Antonio and the Mission Concepcion. This is arguably the coolest mission in the city. There are about six significant missions still standing and this is one of them. Far larger than the Alamo it still maintains its status as a church. The exterior looks much the same it did 200 years ago, though lacks the geometric shapes that once adorned it. Inside is a simple interior with pews, a dome and altar. Much of the artwork present was original. And, while most of the frescoes fell away years ago, you can still see some remnants. One of them was a sun set in the ceiling above, supposed to represent a mestizo (Spanish-Indian).

Back in town I dined at Rosarios, at the fringe of downtown, so parking was not as chaotic. While it was very busy, it was well worth the little wait. The food was very good and had the Mexican staples you hoped would be on the menu.

After a few hours drive north it was into Bandera and true Texas Hill country. This was a shoot on a ranch. In fact, the only ranch to show longhorn cattle to its visitors.

Shortly after arriving, I went out on a trailer and videoed the cattle as they were being fed. News to me, both male and female longhorn cattle have horns. Male horns will tend to grow longer and get that beautiful curl in it. While the correct appearance of a longhorn is scraggly, these were plump and well fed. There was a cute little white calf, born the day before and, appropriately, named Valentine by one of the guests.

That night it was a ranch meal of brisquet, honey glazed sausage and peach cobbler.

Afterwards, I learned how to play Texas Hold 'em. Normally not much of a card-player, I thought there couldn't be a better place to learn! I did pretty good, pretty quick. Of course, I often seem to have difficulty in understanding some pretty basic concepts and, if people really wanted to, they could bend the rules against me. However, I had very good hands at the beginning, bluffed sufficiently the remainder of the game and, just as victory was in my hands, I lost to the only other guy remaining. Oh well! At least I understand the game a little now. And, I must admit, it started me thinking... You see, one of the problems with being a "True man of the North" with a gravity furnace is a $500 gas bill. Even with it set at 58 degrees. Now, if a man were to his cards right... I kid, I kid. I won't be gambling anytime soon.

The next day I did some video, ate a ranch breakfast and got ready to hit the trail. I would be going horseback riding to get some action shots. Putting my camera in my backpack and padding it up, I hopped up on my quarter-horse named Frio. I was with an outdoor group of college students from San Antonio. Some were very experienced riders and some were beginners. I was looking forward to it, but apprehensive at the same time. I had the camera to worry about and my previous boss, who could ride quite well, said it was hell to have a backpack on at a gallop. I'm really poor in the saddle at a gallop to begin with. So, this also played in my mind. When I've had a choice, I tend to pick the large horse or better yet, a Tennessee Walker. Strong, steady and good natured. This wasn't on a plantation, nor the Rocky Mountains, nor New Zealand beaches, this was cowboy land.

We made our way across the hard, limestone beds and through the scrub brush. The clop, clop of the horse hooves on that worn rock beneath us sounded like chalk against a blackboard. It has been a year of drought for hill country. The rain Bandera had seen was 7 inches in August. As many know, a hard rain in dry country is an especially bad thing, as it runs off and away. This helped to make our route particularly dry and dusty.

Whenever any open stretch appeared, the horses and lead cowgirl would set off at a gallop. I had only one horse behind me, put there because it was a bully to all the other horses. This factor plays into the next occurrence. I also had the cowboy guide back with me. A cool guy, with a big ol' cowboy mustache and a lifetime of experience 'cuttin' horses. That is, teaching horses to cut out cows. More on that a different time, maybe.

The cowboy told me that he picked Frio for me because I had the camera and that he was nice and slow. But in almost the same breath says, "Frio is the fastest horse here. So, don't let him get away from ya," in a very serious tone. He confirmed that he was slow but really fast at the same time. I could see where this was headed.

In the past, when I've come to obstacles on a horse, I was used to them taking a slow and purposeful approach. But the rule of the land here was for the horses to charged up and through. When there was a steep climb up a rocky cliff, they ran up it. When there was a gully, they ran through it. Initially, this was no big thing to me, as I knew they would need to stop eventually, unlike open stretches, when who knows when you'd stop!? And I know I'm good on a horse up a hill. You lean forward. I knew I was good on a horse when in dropped down. You lean back.

Then we came to a gully. Horse after horse ran down and out. Then mine dropped in. All of a sudden, my mind and body were in primate survival mode. I did not know what was happening at the time, but the horse was flipping out! I just felt it pitch forward and back and forward and back, and my thoughts were subsequently clouded with the camera in my backpack cracking against the back of my skull. I held onto the saddle horn and rode it out.

"I've NEVER seen him do that before! I've NEVER seen him do that before," exclaimed the cowboy. You handled that real well bud! I've never seen him do that before. Well, you can say you rode a bucking horse. Those weren't small bucks either, those were three full bucks!"

Yay. Only two more hours to go.

The ride continued with no more bucking. But we had plenty of full out gallops. At the beginning of some of these stretches the horses would weave in and out of trees and drop down into a gully, then leap up to an open stretch. It sometimes felt quite thrilling, dropping your heals, raising your butt off the saddle and dropping lower near the the horse's mane. At times, I even got my rythym and went along well.

But, the bag also slapped out of rythm at my back and, usually, my crotch receive the baseball bat blows from the saddle. That was one thing, but when you start to feel as though you are off balance and just floating out of your stirrups, it gives rise to 'whoaing' that horse down! At least, it did for me. How was I going to explain if anything happenings to the equipment? That in my backpack, that is.

Man, on those open stretches, I understand what the cowboy was talking about! My horse would be at full gallop. But, you know how it is in the movies, when people kick or whip or say something to their horse to go even faster? My horse would get whipping along, where its head would do the very rapid back and forth thing, I've only beforehand seen at that part of a movie. And I felt like an ass, getting to a part where I was whoaing it down and I knew that it was the last thing that this horse wanted to do.

Well, at least 1/5 of that 2.5 hour trip was at a gallop! And at the end he let us know that everyone had been very, very fortunate. He said they only allow people that had been with them for 3 to 4 days ride like that.

Well, I'm all about getting to the top of that mountain and taking a look around. No real desire to see it again, but I sure as hell know what it's like to be there.

Though, as excited as I was to be done, I was a little bummed that the next people to ride had showed up. The cowboy had wanted to ride with me and the other cowpokes into town, to catch a beer. Now that is more up my alley! Riding into the cowboy capital of the world to grab a beer! I suppose I would have gone with a Sarsparilla...

After finishing my shots (oh yes, at one part my and the cowboy did ride up ahead, charging through brush and rock to get a good video shot of the coming group) I bid my farewells and head began my drive up to Fredericksburg. Glad that the camera was in good shape and nursing a bloody bump that was concealed under my cap, I head out to more Hill Country.

On my way I was forced to stop and ask some friendly fire fighters for directions. Ah, I see, right on 16, left on Eckert, right on Crabapple! I always like stopping for directions when not in a hurry. You get to see some folks you normally would never interact with.

This was in the neighborhood of Enchanted Rock. That cool rocky dome that I climbed earlier this year!. After passing the unmarked entrance to the property once, I began the climb. Already I could tell this was something cool. The drive was a tan, textured surface, that must be concrete, dyed and scoured to make it look cracked and Tuscan. It wove up the hill and soon, I entered a completely different world. It was a road that weaved through a village, like a blend of southwest American and Italy. The doors were different collections of Indonesian and European and the conglomeration of styles and cultures made it difficult to pinpoint exactly where I was. Somewhere completely different. I've never been to a place like this before!

Here's the short of it. A former musican artist and a chef banded together to create their own private village. They searched the whole US until they found this precise place, atop a hill and with a view of Enchanted Rock. They began with their own home. It was a series of large tunnels, dome-arched shaped and constructed of brick. But there were strategically placed arch-shaped windows that allowed natural light in quite well. More on this unbelievable home later.

The village that they created became their resort. Almost akin to the Winchester mansion, where the widow kept building on to the property in a never-ceasing mission to keep building, building, building, this property just went on and on in the most imaginative way. The main structure was a square that surrounded an inner court yard. one side of the square was Italian fine dining. After all she was a chef and since it was an 'Italian' theme just about everyone you saw in or out of the restaurant had a glass of red wine in their hands. One side looked in at the courtyard, one side looked out at Enchanted Rock. Also built within the square were some of the guest rooms, including the one I was staying in. And, like most of the rooms, there was no lock, just a long L-shaped bolt that you slid into place. To open the wooden door you pulled at the ring hanging from the the bronzed greenman's mouth. Inside the room was cozy, with vaulted brick ceiling, antiqued wood bed, table and ornately carved dresser, housing a Sony flat screen. The shower chamber had a stone textured floor and walls the color of red rock.

Many of the other rooms, some inside the main building, some housed in separate outbuildings, had similar antiqued but artistic furnishings and most had simple latches on the doors. Atop the main building was a covered porch area with mosaic floors, iron furniture and a view out to the rock. The inner courtyard was flanked by hanging bull skulls.

There was almost no titling, no numbers denoting what anything was. It forced you to explore! As I had a whole day and a half to roam, that is exactly what I did. Working ones way down the curving drives from the restaurant you come to one of the few buildings with a sign, the Prisidio. It has a large church bell in a adobe-like bell tower and is topped with a statue of Mary. Opening up the narrow, double wooden doors, you enter see a statue of Mary and Jesus to your left, and a beautiful brick canopy, making a tunnel that drops down stairs into an altar-room. Here are rose petals covering the floor and pews facing the Christian/Pagan fireplace at the alter. The acoustics were just fabulous in the chamber! And, as you tip-toe around the petals, approach the alter and take the tunnel to your left you come to another wooden door, damp and sweating. Inside you hear the trickle trackle of a little waterfalls. Pulling open the door and voila! You are in the grotto. In this dark, humid cave, there is a pool to your left, some feet below you and stalagtites hanging from the ceiling. Here is your very own cave pool!

Now, retreating back through the chapel, lets go out and explore some more! In one off-building, you open a side door and what should it be, but a dinner theater. In actuality, it is a replication of a stage saloon in Deadwood, SD. There is a full wooden bar, with a collection of authentic spurs hanging above it, real percussion cap revolver chandaliers, giant old Western movie posters, Civil War flags, a stage and balcony area on either side. It feels like a saloon through and through and upon closer examination you realize everything is authentic. I had to stop and look at the faded flags in their frames and touch the guns that were now simple ornaments. Let's go! There's more to explore.

After passing through the small spa, the adobe-like rooms that rise up the curve of the driveway and passing a simple little shack named office, you walk on top of an underground tunnel and up the stairs to an exposed metal arch structure. You are now on top of the owner's home. You can look down into their courtyard, with its running water pond and see the arch-shaped windows that barely give you an idea of what it must look like inside. But your eyes immediately see the patter. The arch of the windows, arch of the chimneys, arch of the tunnels, arch of this giant metal structure, all mirroring the arch of the enchanted rock in the distance! There is a large spinning metal fan in this structure. You gaze at this and then back at the full-size windmill at the top of the hill. Still, more to see.

Back up to the top of the property and there is a enormous garage. You slide back another metal bar and push in the unmarked door into a room the size of a dance hall. What should be inside, you ask? The largest cap-gun collection in the world! Literally. There is stained wood and glass display case after display case housing full kits, chaps and holster sets that must have been from the 50's and before. It just goes on and on and on! You look into one little case holding dozens and dozens and imagine at the value. Here are guns with their original boxes in pristine condition. Most chaps are splayed out in museum fashion on the back of the case with their complete kits. It would be magical for a child raised in the 50's! Cowboys and girls galore.

We are not even close to being done. But I'll give you the quick to this quick version. One last room is the reception hall. Push open the door and what's inside? It's an arch-shaped hangar larger than a basketball court. It's what's on the walls that catches your eyes! Endless collections of animal heads. I should preface this by saying these people are not hunters. But, every animal you can possibly think of. And its real! Boars and crocodiles and lions and snakes and walrus and water bison and on the far wall, a complete elephant head!

Did I tell you that these people are artists and collectors? Collections of everything. Everything! And what was on the surface was a small fraction of what was below...

So, I stayed that first, through the day the next and then stayed for another night. Pampered, I was. Mostly it was the wife that I interacted with. She'd be there one moment and then disappear the next. I'd wander, get some shots, get lost, open doors I wasn't sure I was supposed to open and peak inside. And you'd see the random couple doing the same thing. Slowly sliding a latch, looking in apprehensively and then the child-like wonder pulling you inside. Everyone there was either a couple, a worker or some odd collector with a scraggly beard and tan leather cowboy hat and glasses.

I dined the first night, had lunch with the family on the second and then dinner the last night. She created a lobster-crab ravioli, wrapped in a red-green banded pasta, serving it up with a South African Shiraz. Needless to say, they knew a lot about wine too.

OK, backing up to the final and most interesting chapter. I asked her if she would like to do a little interview and she was more than willing. "Oh,let's go in the house!" I was excited at this proposition, not knowing what could lie inside.

Down we went, past a chamber of whiskey casks, and continuing down the arching tunnel and up to a giant iron door, that just made you wonder from what castle they got that! Passing through, she continued on and quite merrily told me a was free to shoot anything I'd like and take a look around. Here are a bunch of my husband's collections and through there is the Civl War room. So, instead of being rushed to go do the interview, I was left in a place dreams could seldom conjure. The room was a mixture of collections behind old, glass museum quality display cases and much of the items on top of the cases and piled in different places. There were collections of everything you could possibly imagine! To my right was a stack of spears and lances leaning in the corner, a case of chinese armor and plains Indians clothing and weapons. And the more I looked the more I realized, that this was real stuff. Heck, most of this I knew to be authentic! I tried to quicken myself but was sure to capture footage, meant only for myself and friends. No one else should see these secrets, he he! There was a stack of .58 Civil War guns, a flint lock trading rifle, mummified items from tombs, old period toys and as I kept pulling myself along I was passing along and I see a full set of armor on the floor. I knew that it was Conquistador and must be a reproduction, but still, priceless! The son came out and I talked to him about it being Conquistador and how many of Cortez's soldiers fell from their horses running away from the Aztecs and drowned in the river, wearing that very same armor. Then we passed from the room, passing a whole case of toys, WWII Nazi soldiers. A major collector item. I hadn't seen those since Greece!

After chatting with their kids, their mother took me out into further chambers of the house. I passed tons of artwork. Gieger-esque screaming mouths surrounded with feathers, fanciful paintings of circuses with floating Dodge Ramchargers, and full size face-casts. Walking into the dining room, she points at the chairs, all hide and horns and said, 'these were Teddy Roosevelts!" She then brought over a scrapbook of her sons artwork. Wonderfully detailed work of armored soldiers and ninjas and gryphons. Just as we were about to get to the interview. The cool, artist, soccer-playing kid, comes around the corner and has on the suit of armor! "Mom, isn't this awesome!" It was a site to see, how articulated the joints of that armor was. In a half question I exclaimed, "That must be a reproduction, huh?" "Oh no, we don't buy anything that is a reproduction." My gosh! That was real conquistador armor!

So, we had our interview. It was very much full of spiritual talk and dreaminess and what you think you might find on the West Coast. But fun and friendly. And, I'll tell you this, you need a belief in magic to make the things that I saw. It is the purest manifestation of dreams I had ever, ever seen. Their hearts and minds were made manifest in that world.

After a quick discussion with the husband, he was gone.

So, that was that place. Sorry for the length, but I cannot begin to explain what an incredible place this is. Absolutely, incredible!

Now, I'm back in San Antonio after a morning drive through rain and fog. I got to see quite a bit of the Riverwalk, have a burger and am staying in a posh place. Just a few hours ago I was in J-Lo's favorite room. There is quite a list of celebrity's that have stayed here! Bill Cosby, Carole Burnett, Ja Rule, Tool, Jonas Brothers and the list goes on.

Back in the Saddle Again

2009-02-12T20:49:00.015-06:00

This trip started in Dallas, the fourth largest metro area in the US.

With half a day to explore before a 3 and-a-half hour drive to the Woodlands, I had to be somewhat purposeful in where I chose to go.

The aquarium did not open until 12, so I poked around the western part of Dallas, taking some shots of the tower, or microphone, or golf ball, as some Texans refer to it. This wasn't the only unique architectural item. Everywhere you look in Dallas, there seems to be some funky geography that deserves attention. You will walk beneath an underpass and as you look up, you see an incomplete arch, framing the sharp peak of a sky scraper, off in the distance. The shapes, the contrasts between old brick and new composites and way in which light played off of all of these items (even in the gray blah of this February day) made you wonder what a good photographer could do with it all!

It was finally time for the Dallas World Aquarium. One of the biggest attractions in Dallas, it not only housed a very impressive aquarium, but a South American collection too. They were very accommodating and gave me free access to shoot inside. In the midst of a swarm of excited school children, I curved my way through the museum.

They were very smart in how they used all available space inside. There are overhangs and canopies, windowed exhibits that hold curious South American biology. You look up to the sky above and the greenery reaches up there, but instead of focusing on the glass ceiling, your eye drops with the waterfall, splattering the water 30 feet below. Once again, your eyes study the curious shapes swimming quite actively in the water below. Yes, I see curious birds, but, what the heck are those? Giant carp? They are scaled and bigger than a man. Is that a manatee. No, no, it's that peculiar South American fish known as a Pirarucu. With its giant fish scales, fat tail fin and duck-like mouth, this fish swims quite actively in the big pool below. I can't wait to see what the look like from the aquarium windows.

Passing tiny monkeys, sqwaking colorful birds, fat bird-eating tarantualas, crocodiles, anacondas, bats and a pool of the most playful otters (the children loved them the best and the otters responded back in kind) I descended excitedly into the tunnels below.

First you see the smaller aquarium tanks that display aquatic life specific to such places as Indonesia and Japan, you pass into the observation room for the South America tank. In it you see the Pirarucu fish and a big ol manatee, focused on sucking on something on the bottom popping up to the service ever so often for a breather.

Then, it was to the tunnel beneath the shark tank. How cool, to be beneath the hovering hammerheads, saw, tigersharks and rays. With the light filtering in from above, the forms of the fish were silouetted very nicely.

After a goodbye to a playful loggerhead turtle and a pacing leopard, I was heading to the West End.

The West End, is a few blocks of restaurants and shops, that preserve a Texas charm. It is also one of the main stops for the Dallas light rail. It's the area that you'll find the Dallas book repository, the place from where JFK was supposedly shot. I tried to get in for some shots but there was quite a few steps to go through for that. I suppose I should have planned for that more in advance. I think the story is so 'myth-like' especially to generations that did not live through it, that the site becomes shrouded in doubt. What is for certain is what happened on the grassy knoll. I walked down to it. Though the February grass was brown and tan, it was still interesting. It is a an area that runs parrallel to the building and drops down beneath an overpass. It has these curious pale stone bunkers, that seem almost like communist monuments, on either side.

After a failed attempt at the Arboretum, I had to make my way south, to the Woodlands.

For food, I've had a great Cajun combo the first evening in Dallas. It had shrimp creole, in a spicey red sauce, gumbo, in a brown roux with crawdads, some wonderful baked beans with chunks of ham. The cajun spices make the top of your head sweat. The type of spicey, next to salt spicey of Asian cuisine, that I like best. This was all accompanied by sweet tea, of course!

In the West End I had a small meat plate for lunch, of brisquet, ham and pulled chicken with very sweet bbq sauce and green bean casserole.

In the fancy, rich Woodlands area, so-named because of the preservation of the coniferous forests, etc., I stopped at the Sweet Tomato. This was the perfect remedy for daily road food. It mainly serves salads, soups and bakery and is buffet-style.

My path down from the Woodlands to the Houston was congested at first. I'd have to say it was more aggressive driving than I found in Boston 5pm rush-hour during the World Series! All the lanes were packed with vehicles but, thankfully, moved along. Usually, when you switch lanes and people aren't giving you leway, you can just cross the lines and they are forced to make way or suffer damage to their car. But, I find that this did not always work in Houston. I crossed the line and cruised along with no change in my opponents path so had to give it another go, with no problems, on another fellow commuter.

Many of the freeways are flanked by frontage roads full of businesses. It makes things see more congested but also gives you quicker access and a line-of-sight knowledge of what is where.

After Houston, the roads opened up and flowed through the brown, desert lands. This wasn't desert but the low shrubs were bare, the grass yellow-brown, small rivers low and mucky and the gray hung over everything.

I stopped to take a few pictures of an old abandoned house and another dilapitated building. Humoursly enough, the signage read "Chamber of Commerce." Reflective of the times, eh?

My route brought me to even flatter lands. There were abandoned ranches, convenience stores and gas stations along the way. The oil pumps were not working and I saw the sight of a newer pickup truck on some of the properties as a hopeful sign of some vibrancy. The stretches of road were very long and very straight. A perfect path for droney music playing in the car and buzzards soaring in the hard winds.

Eventually I came to the cost of Rockport, after taking a little detour through the small town of Tivoli. The fierce wind was even more so here, coming directly off of the Gulf. I checked into my place and watched the waves beat at the waters edge, within a stone's throw of my low balcony. This was not very accommodating weather for a video shoot. Perhaps things would settle by the morning.

For dinner, a cajun boil. They cover the table with paper and pour your meal right out in front of you. Potatoes, shrimp and sausage!

That evening, I threw open the window to let the sea salty wind blow at the curtains. It was a relaxing sleep.

An evening storm washed the wind away and things were bright and sunny. This shoot went perfectly and things fell into place nicely. Afterwards I shot a little bit of Rockport - the Fulton mansion, the rocky ledge the town is named after and a few birds to pay respects to birding activities to prevalent here.

Next was Cape Aransas. A few miles above Corpus Christi, this stretch of sand dune was accessible through means of a short ferry ride. There were plenty of condominium, restaurants and surf shops. If you've never seen these shops, they are often immense square buildings with a large logo and often, have a model of a large sea creature incorporated into the fascade. Such as one on this island, with the big ol' gape of a shark's mouth as an entrance.

You can drive along the shore and feel secure in doing so, seeing how much traffic has gone before you and the sight of many little cars along the beach. The chop of the waves was strong and there were people flying kites and walking along the shoreline. The channel here was full of ships. I can't remember ever seeing so many large vessels in such close proximity of one another. Out further in the gulf you can make out standing structures in the middle of the ocean. These must be oil platforms?

In all, this region felt more like southern parts of Florida than my previous experiences with Texas. But this is 'snowbird' country after all, popular with folks from places like Minnesota, Wisconsin and Nebraska.

After some property shoots today, I had a 3.5 hour drive up to San Antonio. The winds had died down a bit and I was glad to be heading away from Margueritaville and towards places a little more Texas.

My current appointment is a very large hotel with a view of the San Antonio surrounding. And what perks for the people that stay here! A knock at the door and I'm handed a covered plate. Taking it off, what should be inside but some chocolates hiding in a parafin case in the shape of Texas! A thanks to the guests staying here. I'm appreciative of these little gestures, but with a gut sick of road food and little romance in my current mode it passes as more an experience than it does excitement. Chocolates anyone?

Onwards to exploring more Hill Country, some familiar places, some new. Soon on the horizon, the Alamo!

Like True Men of the North

2009-01-16T16:10:00.002-06:00

Though it may sound like madness, there is something thrilling about an outside temperature remaining below zero for days on end. Factoring in the windchill, it is some -30 degrees outside.

For weeks now, the compacted snow and ice has left ruts down all the residential urban streets. There has been no thaw and so it cakes, compresses and turns to sheety ice in places. The street snow takes on a tan and gray, brown-sugar consistency.

But the snow everywhere else remains crisp and fresh. A brighter white than whitest bed sheet. The clear blue sky allows the purest rays of sunshine through, making shadows sharp and eyes squint. It is as you'd imagine when first opening the gates of heaven. The density of air makes sound travel well, and the metallic moan of jet engines above force down like some extraterrestrial spaceship.

You develop an enormous respect for the madness of what the weather can do and develop an arctic smugness within. Walking across the crack of snow crystals that cannot melt even under the compression of your foot, you realize that this is no different than the coldest realms on the planet.

It's an awesome daily adventure! Your mind conjures up thoughts of explorers, Inuits and even other planets. Only the brave live in such places! Only those that can live a routine in madness!

Don't get me wrong, the cold whips and seeps in through an old house. Especially one set at 58 degrees. And the dang garage door just will not descend unless coaxed down with half my weight upon it, back and forth with the up and down balance of my clicker in one hand and the door in my other. An every day, at least twice a day, routine. (Yeah, even the garage door repair guys haven't been able to figure it out.) It's also easy to think about those without homes, the mentally disabled, elderly and unprepared children, left to the monster of dark cold.

But we are lucky to know that it will pass, that even a 20 degree day shows more signs of warmth. We also know the thaw and the drip of the icicle, so, hope prevails.

So, here's to us Norsmen, taking in the air so dry and cold into our lungs! We live here and we push on but maintain a respect for what the weather can do. You have to admit, it is pretty awesome, for good or bad!

In the Shadow of Life

2009-01-06T22:07:00.004-06:00

Protesters have taken to the street throughout such countries as Britain, France, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Italy, the Netherlands, Spain and Turkey. In London alone, 10,000 people have joined together in the streets condemning the Israeli incursion in Gaza.

People like former President Jimmy Carter have long spoken out against the situation in Israel and the Occupied Territories as being synonymous with apartheid. He believes in a lasting peace in the region and continues to devote himself to the cause. He once was our President and while in office tried to remind us that we are a nation based upon the principles of human rights.

But we continue to make exceptions, call those that challenge any movement of Israel as being anti-Semtic and resign ourselves to the belief that there will always be violence and just hope the Israeli military can finally finish the job in one of these actions. Why do we contrast with so much of the world on this issue? Many Jews, Christians and Muslims protest this abuse. Why don't we? We certainly have the power to.

I apologize for the impertinence and agree that violence has come from both sides. But this is a gross miscarriage of power and legitimization of the use of violence. The actors are behaving with complete impunity, knowing they shall never have to answer for any transgression of human rights. They, of all people, should know better. This is wrong. Can we speak out? Can we exercise American disagreement with this action?

Last Days in Savannah

2008-12-09T20:36:00.008-06:00

For my final days in Savannah I performed the shoots at some pretty spectacular inns and added some more local footage as well. There was a showing of warmer weather along with the sun, but recent drizzle has signaled oncoming stormy weather.

Across from one house, converted to an inn, was Forsyth Park, the enormous park that you get a glimpse of in Forest Gump. They were having their annual Savannah Chilli Cook-Off and a teen band, Boys Like Girls were performing to a throng of kids. There were families and people with dogs all over the place. It must be the forty or so parks that make owning a dog here a common thing. But it is very normal to see dogs of all varieties, but more on the larger side.

Today I made a run over to Bonaventure Cemetery and poked along the river front in town. The cemetery is a good ten minutes outside of town. It has sandy roads and a vast expanse of tombstones of all ages. It is a neat feel with the trees stretched upwards, dangling their moss, though this time of year has somewhat muddled the colors. I wanted to head to find the grave of one of my favorite poets, Conrad Aiken. It was in 8th grade that I first memorized and recited one of his poems, 'Morning Song from Senlin.' I let my senses guide me through the cemetery, as I had no map. But in about five minutes I found it. His was a very simple grave - a bench. Evidently, he had wished for people to come and sit on his grave and enjoy a nice glass of Madeira. I almost bought some just for the cause and since it happened to be my favorite! But I could not drink the whole bottle and it would cost. So, I sat on his grave and recited his poem from the stretches of my memory. He died in 1973 and on his bench was carved, 'Cosmos Mariner Destination Unknown' and 'Give My Love to the World.' It made me feel good, sitting there, reciting his work. Though I did look over at his parents grave, both died on the same day in 1901. I then remembered it was a murder suicide.

I also made a stop at another Savannah landmark, the grave of 'Gracie.' This eight year old died just two days before Easter and was the daughter of a prominent hotel owner. She is a famous ghost and people visit her grave as their is a very accurate representation of her carved in stone.

The rain sprinkled and I made my way back into town, had lunch at Leopold's. Stratton Leopold, a movie-maker, owns the store and you can see pictures and props from his movies all over the place. I had a chicken salad sandwich and perfect chocolate shake.

I shot another property, a historic inn built in the 1870's and then went over to check into my lodging on Bay Street. "Factors Walk" is the name of the stretch of stone road that runs like a moat beneath the storefront. There is the main street level, then you walk across any number of bridges to the main building front. As you cross you can look down into the alleyway below where once wagons of cotton parked below the bridges. The 'Factor' would look down and grade and set the price for the cotton. On the river side of the building it is stepped down yet another level. This is where the paddleboats, trolley track and river walk is. There are many different restaurants where you can sit and eat and watch giant container ships or paddleboats move up and down.

After eating a mediocre dinner, I sauntered around with my camera. I paid a visit to a Greek restaurant to grab a Greek coffee and then bought a rose made out of reeds from a poor fellow. We had a friendly talk about where he was from and Savannah weather and all those things. It was nice to have a good person to share some time with.

Wanting to drag my time out as long as I could, I made a short walk into some of the town squares and past the living history I knew that I would miss and not know when I'd see again. Savannah has an equal life at night and it feels just as good walking these blocks during the darker hours.

Well, that is that. It's great to visit one of your favorite cities, but being under the auspices of work does add a different vibe to the experience. This is a place that was special ever since I first visited and know it is very much worth subsequent journeys.

To sign off this time, I will close with some of what I recited sitting upon Conrad Aiken's bench-grave:

IT is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.

Vine-leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.

It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face!—
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea...
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me....

St. Augustine to Savannah

2008-12-07T16:09:00.022-06:00

Hopefully you were able to see the unique conjunction of the moon, Venus and Saturn on December 1st. The two planets have been hanging out with one another in the southwestern sky with the coming of winter. The moon has joined them and that Monday they were particularly close. I made it to my lodging in St. Augustine just in time to catch some video of the event.

Some twenty years before the British established their first settlement at Roanoke and forty before their first permanent at Jamestown, the Spanish set foot in Florida, making St. Augustine the oldest continually inhabited settlement in United States. This is my second time down in these parts. Remember the old fort, of seashell packed brick that withstood the guns of Ogelthorpe's fleet? The narrow Spanish cobblestone streets, with second-floor balconies? This time I visited the ground that JFK called the most hallowed next to that of the Vatican. This was the place where the very first mass was held, where Admiral Menendez hoisted the first cross. Now there stands an enormous golden one and near the same grounds are a small chapel and cemetery plot.

For eats I stopped by a place called Cafe Spain. I must have beat the rush as I was the only one in there. For just ten bucks I had pork in tomato sauce, served with yellow rice.

I got a complimentary ride on a tourist trolley. I think this is a good way to get an overview of a place, then, you can go afterwards on your own to visit those places that stand out to you. One place that I had only a glimpse of last time was Flagler College. Now, after walking the grounds and having time to absorb the architecture on a sunny day, I believe to be one of the most striking institutions I have ever seen. Originally known as Ponce de Leon Hotel, it was built in 1885 by the industrialist Henry Flagler. Now it is one of the best liberal arts schools on the east coast. If you got kids or thinking of attending college yourself, do give this place a look. I was envious of the kids that got to call this place their alma mater!

The British public house that I had seen last time in the old village and hoped to visit was closed for the day. I more or less strolled around to get shots and then made my way out.

In the suburban areas of St. Augustine, which were free from both the homeless inhabitants of downtown and also any historical character, I had few shoots at Golf Resorts. In addition to the fleets of Lexus cars (would that be Lexi?) I've noticed a bumper sticker that reads 'Another Democrat for McCain - Palin.' At first I scoffed at the idea, but then I saw another such bumper sticker. These must be the last remnants of the Dixiecrats.

After a northern jaunt to Amelia Island, I made my way still further north to one of my favorite cities, Savannah, Georgia. The light rain had dissipated and the sun poked through a bit. There are many reasons why this is a favorite. But one of the reasons is that this is one of the great southern cities we did not completely destroy during the Civil War. Unlike Atlanta or Columbia, which we burnt to the ground, Savannah was given by General Sherman to President Lincoln as a Christmas gift. What this means is that the history that predates American rule still exists. You can walk down streets full of Georgian architecture. With the Live Oaks, Spanish Moss, and iron fences, you can see this place just as we once did, and imagine yourself British once again. Even after the American Revolution Georgia maintained much of its Tory sentiment. But it also recognizes foreigners Lafayette and Pulaski (who fought for the separating Americans) as some of its most revered heroes!

Another thing that is splendid about Savannah is the high degree of Southern character and atmosphere. If you've seen Forrest Gump then you have seen Savannah. Remember that bench he spends most of his time on in the movie? That is in Forsyth Park, one of the many beautiful, bench-laden parks you can find downtown. You don't really experience Savannah, nor do you really experience the South unless you sit down on one of those benches. Now, just sit and appreciate that nice breeze, tickled by the tendrils of moss, the twisted tree branches whose bark looks like the crackled top of cooling brownies, the thick green blades of Augustine grass and the sincere smiles of the passers-by. Ah, Georgia!

The weather here is chilly enough. I keep my fleece and jacket on most of the time and my nose cold enough to have a constant drizzle. The sun has made it out about half the time, but it feels of a Georgian winter. Lows are in the high 30's and highs are in the high 50's. There can be a prevailing damp chill that doesn't leave you, as you walk down the brick alleyways and under the park canopies.

The colonial cemetery is pretty special. Buried here are Revolutionary soldiers and notable individuals from Savannah's past. One striking feature is the number of broken tombstones lined up along the wall. I've heard story that this dates back from when the Union soldiers knocked them down to have room for their horses. I've yet to have this confirmed as I wish to see some proper research into this remarkable desecration.

Last night I took the walking ghost tour and listened to some pretty fun ghost stories. There was a lot of death down here. There were many cemeteries that have been built on top of. There were was one hotel, converted to a Union hospital that had body parts and deceased soldiers buried in the floorboards. It wasn't until the 1990's that they discovered some of these! There is also a lot of history here, colonial architecture with tall thin windows and dark iron gates and fences, drooping tree branches and foliage, all of which make this place perfect for a haunted experience. It is also fascinating to see how many people down here believe they have had an experience with a ghost. Well, I didn't see anything, but have to admit that I did not tempt the ghosts too much, and put minimal effort into looking through the window of one house with a particularly nasty reputation. Call me chicken? Perhaps. They say the ghosts often appear when you disrespect them. I don't go out of my way to do that!

Today was a sunny day and I ventured to Tybee Island, about 40 minutes east of Savannah. It has this great big lightouse with a prominent black band in its middle. It also has a long beach and, even though it is winter, people still visit it, bundled up in winter clothing. Many of the businesses along the pier have closed for the season. (I'll include a pic later.)

On my way back I made a brief stop at Fort Pulaski. Named for our Polish hero who protected Savannah from British attacks. It served purpose during the Civil War and had a few Confederate re-enactors showing the crowds how their equipment and guns functioned.

Tomorrow it's a compressed day of shoots and then a day or so before I return. I'll try to get you a picture of the church that appears in Forest Gump. Forsyth Park is the one where the park bench sat. It's an enormous park with a great big fountain in it's middle. I'll leave you with a picture of that.

A Beautiful Vampire Film & Wookie Cookies

2008-11-21T16:25:00.003-06:00

A Beautiful Vampire Film

Being back in town, I’ve had the chance for some cinematic escapism. I belong to an organization called the IFP which serves as a conduit for aspiring individuals in the realm of film and video. They have many great resources and also promote a wide-range of work.

Following-up on an IFP email, I was awarded with tickets to the premier of a Swedish film entitled Let the Right One In. This is a vampire film, but one that melds together the most sensitive and haunting aspects you could ever wish for in a foreign film. In the words of famed director Guillermo del Toro, it is “as delicate, haunting and poetic a film as you’re ever bound to see.”

(Just to clear things up, this is not the new Hollywood movie called Twilight!)

It involves an emotional and longing boy, picked on at school with only himself to call friend. That is until he meets the girl who moves in next door. In times he discovers the fact she is a vampire but more important to him is her true friendship. Issues of trust, love, betrayal and revenge mix into an incredible film. It’s bittersweet, as you could imagine. Set against the Swedish winter, it connects with a Minnesotan pretty well! His parents are divorced and he goes to visit his dad on occassion. There is one part where his dad is pulling him on a snow machine of some sort and his look of youthful joy is so genuine that it just cuts right into you. The actors are spectacular!

I’d advise you to watch the trailer as it hints at every beautiful element contained in this film. No, it’s not for everyone. It tends for people searching for an emotionally authentic and touching foreign film or those hoping to venture into places they haven’t gone before. Thank you to the director Tomas Alfredson for making this film! Click HERE for the movie website.

The second film experience was humorously awful! My friend is the guilty one, as he had originally introduced me to the Star Wars Christmas Special. Imagine over 20 minutes of dialogue consisting of only Chewbacca’s family grunting and howling and Princess Leia singing, and you got it! It makes you laugh and laugh it is so bad. But, it just doesn’t end! It goes on and on and on!

In addition to the Star Wars stars, Harrison Ford, Mark Hamil and Carrie Fisher, it also includes Art Carney (of the Honeymooners), Harvey Cormann and Bea Arthur! The band Jefferson Airplane has a performance and it is full of late 70’s ‘futuristic’ technology. Bad, bad, bad! To make it even more fitting, I won the grand prize of the evening, ‘The Wookie Cookbook.’

Admittance was a contribution for Toys for Tots and it did get you out and about, but it is something you only need to see once! Now on to making Wookie Cookies!

Dolphins Leap & Endeavor Awaits!

2008-11-10T21:56:00.011-06:00

The mission to find something exciting in St. Pete's area has been a success. It was actually in Madeira Bay, which is near St. Pete's Beach, but, nonetheless, I'll consider them in the same neck of the woods!

In Orlando I was able to swing through Disney Marketplace, a place I had visited in March. This time there were all sorts of artists from photographers to potters displaying their wares. This was spectacular stuff and they were so friendly and would explain how they did things. It was a great place to get ideas from some talented folks. If in Disney, swing through. Parking is free and you get the Disneyworld feel without having to pay unless you find something you like or want to partake in.

Before I left Orlando I had to stop again at the Moroccan place and get a Turkish coffee. The same cook, with his black Kangol cap on backwards greeted me happily and made me my coffee. The sun was out and it made sitting out front with the Arabic-speaking patrons all the more enjoyable. Next stop, St. Pete's and Madeira Bay.

Feeling the approach of a real nasty cold, I attempted to push it back with a hard run on the beach in the setting sun. Upon my return, intuition pulled my eyes right to an object leaping from the ocean and splashing back down. Sure enough, a few moments later it happened again! It was a baby dolphin swimming with its pod! You could see the arcing dorsal fins of the other dolphins break the water and sink back down. But that young one! He would completely leave the water, his little body flying in miniature joy, and then return nose first to his family below the waves. At least 3 separate pods could be spotted each about half a football field away from one another. Perhaps they were of one but they seemed separate.

The nearest group was a stone's-throw away and I even contemplated swimming out to them it looked like so much fun. But I contented to watch from the shore, giggling each time the little guy would breach. The occassional couple passed but seemed unaware or disinterested. Perhaps its a more common occurrence than it looked!

Within walking distance of my place was a Greek restaurant that I had to frequent at least twice. The first night I had some tzatsiki sauce, full of fresh chunks of cucumber, triangles of pita and some avgo lemno soup. I've had many varieties of this Greek lemon soup in the past. This one was like eating a warm, salty, lemon custard. My search for chicken was in vain, as it was chicken broth by itself. No tasty bits of meat. I think I'll take my mom's instead! The second night I had a plate of long, thin ziti, covered in feta, light sauce and a encrusted chunk of chicken. The talkative, East Coast Greek, smirked, "This is your second night here, it must be good," and smacked me affectionately with the menu.

Next door there was an Italian ice place. It just opened that day and the owner, from Boston, was giving this place a go. He was very friendly and enthusiastic and I made sure that I gave him some free advertising. It's easy to be partial to places like these especially when full of good people!

During my next day shoot the owner took me down to an area called John's Pass. It was a pretty marina area full of shops and restaurants, feeling more comfortable than the sun-baked concrete and pavement stretches of St. Pete's. From the dock above we saw dolphins feeding out in the harbor. He remarked that just that morning he woke up to find a manatee sauntering by his house, which was built at the tip of the harbor. "You never get sick of seeing those porpoises," he told me.

The day continued with that Florida, perpetual summer weather. It has in fact been cooler than usual, with temps getting down into the 50's at night. Nonetheless, the sun is healing and the evergreen palms and St. Augustine grass do well in slowing you down and asking you to take it in.

Now it was time to reverse direction again and head back in the direction of Orlando, to Kissimmee. The name of that city always makes me chuckle as it sounds to be like Italian English. "Kissimmee! I a-kiss-a-you!"

Today's shoot was one of pools and palms, spas and Florida-esque rooms of floral theme and mirrored walls. It's quite pleasant shooting with the way Florida's nature enhances everything. The perfect blue sky with puffy clouds, missionary style architecture and those palm trees with their jagged stepped stalks, curving to this side and that, with a sprout of this years green leaves at the top. There is usually a body of water in the midst of that shot, whether it be a pool, bay, backwater or ocean. It makes you feel good, that does.

With half a day remaining the decision was made to drive to the other coast, to the Kennedy Space Station. It is about an hour and 15 minutes away from Kissimmee. The drive is a usual, smooth, straight and uncomplicated Florida drive, though tolls cause some slight interruption. Signs are frequent reminders of where you are going and soon, you are there! The approach is one along the Challenger Memorial Parkway that sets a straight line through an expansive body of water and green, bushy hammocks which are refuges for the birds. Most of the area around the Space Center, in fact is a wildlife refuge. The security and safety concerns in human terms have had the wonderful residual affect of creating a haven for living things!

I had got there just in time! Able to make my ticket reservation while I drove there, I entered the lot to find a man in a little security vehicle wave me behind him and he found me a nice parking spot all the way at the front. I grabbed my gear, got my ticket, passed through security and boarded the last tour buses (which leave at 2:15). I started to get excited at not only my timeliness but the fact that i was about to see many wonderful things with my childhood adult eye.

The bus first brings you pass the immense Vehicle Assembly Building. This is the box that they keep the Space Shuttle Inn. It is impressive. With that circular, blue NASA badge we know so well and little specs of birds flying all around it. Those little specs aren't crows, they're giant buzzards (turkey vultures)! Unless you were told you would have no idea! This is the largest single-floor building in the world! The entire Yankee Stadium could fit on the roof with room left over for parking! The blue star-field on the U.S. flag is the size of a basketball court!

From the VAB the shuttle gets wheeled out on the Mobile Launcher Platform, carried by the tank-tracked Crawler. This moves around one mile-per-hour to the launching site some 3.4 miles away.

The bus drops you off at the observation platform. During this trip I had been bummed that I was missing seeing the launch by 3 days. But now that I was there I started to become excited, realizing that the shuttle would be at the pad! You could see the launcher some three miles away and as you climbed the multi-floor observation deck, the shuttle came more in view. I joked with another spectator that they must not have thought about the orientation of the launch pad when they built the observation deck! The only part of the shuttle you could see was the orange liquid fuel tank and the two, white solid rocket boosters. But let me tell you, it was still fantastic! Here it was! To actually see it! Equal, if not surpassing, in every way, the Parthenon, the Colliseum, any work of DaVinci or Michelangelo. Just as in those great works and individuals is something that is just so difficult to wrap your mind around! Better yet, it supersedes the individual, as it is a product of a collective of human ingenuity! Seeing an actual launch should be an American pilgrimage, taken at least once in a human lifetime. At least, witnessing some form of our propulsion beyond the binds of terra firma! So, you get the point. It's moving and it's significant!

The view from up top is actually quite pretty. You can see the tracks from the Crawler still fresh in the tan gravel. The second crawler was just across the street.

From here you are bussed to the Apollo site and as you enter the building you stand beneath the suspended and detatched segments of a Saturn V rocket. Big, big, big!

The final stop, before the end, is the Internationa Space Station. Here you can walk through several different segments and see the work of the different country's components.

The drive back was at dusk. There were these little wisps of dark clouds about ten feet off the ground, at the edge of the road, above the trees. Upon a closer look I saw they were insects of some kind. Mosquitoes? I didn't know.

Finally tonight, I had a New York Strip. This may have been my first time, I can't remember. According to our friends at Wikipedia, this is a very tender piece of meat because it's taken from a place on the cow that sees very little use. If you keep the bone attached with a piece of the Beef Tenderloin as well, then it's a T-bone/Porterhouse. This particular piece of meat had been aged six weeks. I ordered mine medium rare. Why? Cause it's tasty, yes. but in medium rare I think you find the best of the flavor range. The middle will be bloody and juicy and the meat is more cooked as you work your way out. If truly grilled then it will have some black char on the outside so you get that extreme as well. Cooking meat gives it more flavor and also makes it easier for human stomaches to digest as well as kills bacteria. But don't overcook... then again, to each their own! I'm more than ready to return home to regular diet of Ramen, pasta, carrots, coffee and juice.

Now the road has not been all sun and rainbows. I came down with some dumb harsh cold. Starting with harsh sore throat and head misery that eventually graduated into lung crap and then the regular stuff. But what you gonna do? Though I did find that those lemon Ricola are excellent for sore throat and surpressing coughs without the mediciney taste. I also got a nasty little spider bite on my inner thigh. There are lots of spiders down here! I think I got it when I was at Dinosaur World in the jungle-like woods. I wanted to do some on-camera bit but saw a giant web with spiders right where I wanted to stand. Instead of ruining their home with a stick or something, I simply pushed it to the side with my leg and did my camera stuff and then stepped out of it. As I was leaving the exit a woman remarked, "Ooh, a black widow!" I stopped to take some picks and video footage but the little guy dropped like an ace to the ground above. I don't think he was a black widow, but it was neat nonetheless. Finally, I pitted my wide angle lense. This is probably the biggest bummer of all! Fortunately, I am done with all property shoots, etc. But still, it's right in the middle of the lense and I know not what I'm going to do about it. But, things will work themselves out! Things are what you make of 'em!

For now, it's back up to Daytona we go! Kissimme! I a-kiss-a-you!

Return of the Sun in the "Sunshine State"

2008-11-06T19:26:00.007-06:00

Having been overcast, windy and often looking like rain as of late, Florida has cleared up and the sun has finally returned!

My time in Daytona was spent mainly with property shoots. It was a little exciting, being in a state so important to the outcome of the Presidential election. Campaign workers were out on the corners, holding McCain and Obama signs, until the very last hours of the polls. People wore their 'I voted' stickers and there was the same buzz in the air that was prevalent throughout the U.S. On the eve of the election the clouds finally began to break and the sun peaked through.

I was happy to be back in Florida. While the touristy beach stretches get old in a hurry, the weather feels quite healing and people are usually friendly and laid back. One sad thing is that beaches and ocean views are usually fenced off by the privately owned resorts. Depending on what town your in, these buildings can reach up some ten stories. It's only the owners, patrons and workers that get access to theses nice beaches, the public accesses tucked away here and there.

But even in the warmth of a Florida this gig can begin to get old and it becomes easier to focus on the occasional annoyances more often. But all of a sudden, you'll find yourself somewhere completely new and unexplored! Such was Tomoka State Park. Like many beachfront cities, Daytona Beach has island strips. Along one such strip, sandwiched between two rivers, is a park that preserves the oldest stand of old growth live oak in eastern Florida. Live oak trees are those enormous oaks, with octopus-like arms, usually draped in yet another strong symbol of the south, Spanish Moss.

The paved park road, like a vegetated tunnel, turned quickly into sand, with turn-offs here or there where you could picnic, fish or camp. It was not busy, this week day, and I soon found myself alone at the end. Stepping out of the car my senses charged my recently gloomy heart up quickly! There were oaks and palms and all sorts of ferns. The sandy floor helped to add to the 'soft' feel of the place. Before me was a great collage of statues. Several figures were reaching up to one strong figure at the zenith. He was a bold, fierce-looking individual, gazing out and spilling a cup down to the masses below. It had a Meso-America feel to it, somewhat Aztec-like. This made sense as it represented the Timucuan natives, whose midden-mounds of shells now create the beds of many a hammocked Florida island.

The shore was only 30 feet away on either side. You'd pass through a stand of ferns and be upon the beach, looking out at tiny palm islands standing in the river or brackish backwaters. In the spring and summer you could see manatees and dolphins here, but for now, there were some fish and heron.

Feeling charged I returned for the afternoon shoot, and then got additional sunny shots for the two previous properties before making the 3.5 hours drive to Bradenton, below St. Petersburg. I arrived after dark to discover one of the bridges was closed. After asking someone for directions I found another bridge which brought me to another island strip where I would shoot the next day.

Today the sun was out in full glory. The Gulf-side beach was caressed by bands of emerald waves and with the silouette of little tiki huts in the foreground, proved a nice video shot. Wanting to linger, but knowing that I would need to find a public beach to do that, I decided I should get going, backwards, up to Orlando.

When driving, I'll pass many things which catch the eye. Sometimes I'm pumped to explore, sometimes I just want to get where I'm going. I'm half motivated by personal interested, half by getting area footage. I passed some campers, sticking out of the ground in a series. Then, I came up to the giant dinosaurs of Dinosaur World and thought, "OK, I really should." And I did. Getting in free under the auspices of promotions, I got my shots of live-size dinosaur statues. They were clean and well-kept and the scenes were really helped by the fact that they sat in Florida, jungel-ey vegetation and were helped even further by the buzz of insects. I played with the camera and even stuck my head out of a tyrannosaurus Rex mouth, designed as a photo-op. I videoed it instead.

Finally, here comes Orlando. Once again, there's just something magic about it. Yes, it's crowded and you need money in order to participate but the air has that optimistic, summer day childhood aura. My lodging is in one of two towers, in a long room on the 8th floor, that has a balcony that looks across a lake. The puffy clouds reflect in this smooth body of water.

To end this day, some words on food. My first night was at an Italian restaurant where I went for some linguini and meatballs. But what stood out to me was the bread, a thick, doughy mass with a hard crust, accompanied with oil and vinegar, roasted garlic and olives. I had to ask how the vinegar was made, as it tasted of caramel. First, you bring some balsamic vinegar to a boil and throw in your sugar. Drizzle this on a plate, add your oil, previously soaked garlic and olives and you've the perfect bread dip. Yesterday, I had some shark. To me, it tasted like tuna, but I'm no connoisseur of either! And tonight, though trying to cut back, food becomes not only a hobby but an amphetamine. It was at a long deli/cafe. Once I saw the Moroccans out front smoking a hooka I was like, "Thank God!" Or Allah, for that matter. I had to go with the lamb kabob, or in Kiwi, kabab or in Greek, souvlaki. After the pound was served up with a tabouli-tasting salad, bread and Moroccan mint-tea (sweet), the cook came out and asked if I had enough meat. Ha! We agreed that when you find lamb you must indulge, it's hard to find, most coming from Australia or New Zealand.

The sliding door is open, Disney air is flowing off of the lake and tomorrow is a trip back down in the direction of St. Pete Beach, not my favorite by any means and I've yet to find something that sparks my interest there. That is my mission.

The New Era

2008-11-04T15:43:00.006-06:00

As I write this, I'm enjoying my free cup of Starbuck's coffee, in honor of voting in today's election. Being in Daytona, I've voted absentee some days ago.

It could be a pretty remarkable day, couldn't it? We could be voting in the first African-American President in United States history! Furthermore, we could be electing a man that more than any previous President, most represents the composite demographic of the actual American.

I think we will be able to raise our heads high with pride, once again. Instead of an age of fear and intimidation with a lock-footed goose-step, our times have forced us into an era of hope. After all, what else have we?

From an amalgamation of race, physical characteristic and namesake comes an individual of pragmatically inclusive political approach and idealistic goals. A man who has pulled together a country of such diverse opinion to common paths. It goes beyond our disgust of the past, and instead has ushered up something from our American psyche. There is no people more capable, no opportunity more present, than what is to be found now in America. What an opportunity! After all, we have always measured our greatness by surmounting the insurmountable.

Dust off the tomes and incant the pages of Eleanor and FDR! This is a nice article on how our next hopeful should emulate FDR. It will spare you from hearing me going on about it. Click HERE.

If we embraced the great Green Era, and channeled our resources into physical and intellectual pursuit of the reconstruction of our infrastructure to environmentally-sound practices, imagine! Like the Space Era, the lofty goals achieved. Like the FDR-era, transformation of unemployment, depression and doubt into jobs, housing, and hope! A flag to rally around. A common-pursuit.

So, from a person who once dismissed such banter as vague, corny and lacking substance - "we will change this country and we will change the world!"

What a time to be alive!

FDR, Seneca Wine Trail and a Glimpse of Rivendell

2008-10-23T18:41:00.019-05:00

Before I left the Poughkeepsie area of New York I took my godmother's advice and stopped at the Franklin Delano Roosevelt library. This is the first Presidential library and the only one to be used by a President during his terms in office.

You drive into a great big estate and make your first stop in the new visitor's center. Above the service desk is a large sign which shows you the different tours and prices, as well as the times at which tours take place. I found this somewhat confusing. I had about an hour before I had to head to my shoot so I chose the general fee which allowed you to walk the grounds and enter some of the buildings. The gift store was one of few that made me want to purchase things. But I thought, I could always look online at a time when I had the dough to by something.

Making my way at back, I found the separate library building. Passing the statue of FDR's head I entered the door, showed my ticket and took a long look at the President's desk. On it was an organized clutter of the things he had on his desk at one time or another. Toys, office items, many things which had a specific story and some which were mysteries.

In another room you can see his study. I has a great big painting of his mother, book shelves, furniture from the 1700's, a replica (bummer) of the Washington desk he used and one of his actual wheelchairs. He did not tend to use those available at the time. Instead, he had an actual chair converted and made sure it had a swiveling ashtray.

Downstairs you find his Phaeton. FDR used to drive people around his estate and in order to do so, a mechanic converted the pedal controls to hand controls.

Back upstairs there are many display cases housing many different aspects of both Eleanor's and Franklin's lives. You can see his leg braces, with a note of specific adjustment instructions that he sent to his doctor. There is a family history, with portraits of different predecessors, locks of his old boyhood golden hair, his children's books and a separate case with doggie things. These belonged to his dog Falla. He was quite close to this black Scottie and it accompanied him on many Presidential trips. He can see three of his collars, dishes and a little 'foot.'

One of my favorite displays was the room devoted to Eleanor Roosevelt. The most beautiful woman in American History! Well, that might be an exaggeration, but few individuals move me as much as this woman. FDR was quite fortunate to have married her. She was the one with the worldly experience and compassionate awareness that helped to influence many of FDR's decisions. She was a character of incredible learning, restless drive and boundless compassion for other people.

During her marriage she did so much for the President, including coping with his wandering ways. During WWII, while many in our nation protested the use of black pilots, she championed the cause by actually going up in a plane with one of these Tuskegee Airmen! (Important note: so effective were these P-51 "Red Tailed Devils" that they never lost a single bomber they escorted! We had the only red tail P-51, which the Woodbury father crashed and died in the same year his son died when he crashed his F-18 in Iraq. Pardon that tangental...)

When FDR died, Eleanor discovered that he had died while with his mistress. It was then she also discovered he had many secret meetings with this woman and his accomplice was their own daughter. That woman's poor tortured heart!

Well, Eleanor had close companions herself and some of these relationships were with woman. What kind of relationships these were is open to speculation, but it also shows the degree of identification she had with the human struggle. African Americans, the handicap, homosexuals, the poor and the oppressed, all had this woman as a supreme advocate.

Finally, Eleanor single-handedly championed the cause of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. This lone woman, in a sea of male world leaders, was the loudest and most outspoken leader. Even with the resistance of countries like the Soviet Union she was successful in ratifying the document. Her legacy is one which we still have fallen short of. But where is greater beacon of hope than in this woman's story!

They had a great deal on the industrial recovery act. The NIRA (from which our family got the name for our cafe/bar on 7th Street), helped jump us out of the depression. We may yet see a similar rallying cry in our current history coming from the next Presidency.

Their tombs are simple and their rose gardens were still in bloom. You can see the great view they had of the valley behind their mansion. There are statues of FDR and his friend Winston, who used to like to showcase his 'jumpsuits' to the U.S. press when he visited the estate.

There is much to see and I thank my godmother for telling me about it. It deserves much more time. And when you cross that Roosevelt bridge over the Hudson, the grand view of the valley hits you with such beautiful awe - the changing colors of leaves and the massive river, once the home of the only President to serve 4 terms in office!

Zooming up to the Finger Lakes region of New York brings you past vineyard after vineyard after vineyard. This region is perfect for the growing of the Reisling grapes and this white wine abounds.

This lakes are called "Fingers" based on the Native American creation story of the creator's hand making the long indentations. Lake Seneca is over 600 feet deep!!!

The lakes sit down in a gigantic depression. Up on either side of the lake are the vineyards, resorts and rental properties. I was shooting and staying at one of the most popular. A place that was made from a previously existing Franciscan monestery. Upon the grounds were Roman and Greek statues such as the Venus de Milo and a rear garden of gelded bushes encircling bocce ball and croquet lawns. By the pool stood large concrete urns atop pillars and the whole property looked down upon the lake.

The owners were owners of a furniture company. You cannot by a piece of this furniture for less thatn $1,000.

The room in which I was staying was furnished with this Mission Oak style. I was lucky enough to be staying in the loft. This room had a kitchen and a big living room. You took two steps up to get into the separate bed chamber and there was another stairway to the open loft. These were the tope center windows of the building.

There were many pictures of the owner with famous celebrities such as the Clintons, Wynton Marsalis, Bill Cosby and many other politicians, conductors and world celebrities. The owner was so pleasant and kind, it only helped to add the my enjoyment of the experience. I just wish I had more time there, to read a book up in the loft, consume the complimentary wine and peak out the windows, down to the garden below.

But shooting calls and I was set up for a meeting at two different wineries. This first was the most popular on the stretch and I got a quick tour of the grape vines and watched as they pressed grapes. I grabbed a bite to eat, looked down at Seneca and drove to the next brewery.

The second, while not as large, was much more friendly and informative. (When I asked the tasting room manager for a abbreviated version of the wine making process, he just looked at me with disdain and said that it was barely possible to do that on an actual tour! Thanks buddy. I'll be sure to give you a much smaller plug.) Well, at this second winery I was brought out to this fellows garden. Some of it was just for fun and ambiance. You could tell he really loved his little garden! The moonflowers which bloom at night and fill the air with fragrance! The Hyacinth pods -great big purple things which climb a structure like 'Jack and the Beanstalk!' He also had a educational example of rows of the different varieties of grapes they grew at the vineyard.

He brought me over to the fermentation tanks, great shiny things, each with a chrome-like dimpled band around them. These help to regulate the temperature and affect the fermentation process. Inside he brought me to the winery masters, at work beginning the fermentation process by hosing water on the outside of the tanks. I saw the crates of purplish foamy fermentation and filmed it while he gave me an overview.

I wish we had a full crew - videographer, talent and director. With one person all you can do is man that camera and do your best to capture video of the scene, the guide, his narration and provide feeding questions throughout the shoot. You could not have asked for a better tour, however! Friendly, action-filled, informative, well-lit and with a smooth flow.

That night I had a dinner reservations awaiting me. A harp was playing and couples were lovey-dovey and soft-spoken in the candle light. The room was converted from the chapel. I looked at the single menu and began to be overcome with fright. It was $60 a person! This way exceeded my limit. So, I was polite and ordered from the four-course menu. But with each course I choked down, my nerves made me unsettled. I knew it wouldn't be a huge deal, but still, $70 with tip at least! Who can afford this, especially in today's economy! Is this right?! Well, the liberal tendencies in me started thinking about what could be done with that money. Started thinking of the contradiction of a place once filled with Franciscans, that order who believed in living a life of poverty above all other things!

As I listened to the pluck of the harp strings and ate with the mechanical and purposeful etiquette called for by the setting, I was eventually approached by the waitress who said I was all set. The meal was compliments of the house.

I retired to my chambers. The place was beautiful. I have to say it has been my favorite yet. It was simple, beautiful and unique. I felt respected by the spirits of the place and gave them back a mutual respect tenfold. Such a room must have been the quarters of the Monsignor, or whichever head body presided there.

As I laid in bed, I left a little tiffany lamp on. It illuminated a picture labled 'Firenze' and beheld a Medieval bearded monk, at study with his head resting on his fist and gazing out at me as I slept.

I shot to yet another historic building built in the 1830's. It was a long shoot, but my room was a gigantic four post bed, draped in flowing fabric. The view was fabulous, though the weather had kicked up a nasty blowing rain and temperatures that chilled you to the bone.

I arose around four for a long drive to Oswego on Lake Ontario. It was dark, the wind and rain wipped at the car and I wondered when the heck the sun was going to rise! This was simple fishing-lodge-like property with taxidermied bears, deer and fish. It was right near 3 nuclear power plants that evidentaly go into outage frequently. The reason is that the don't seem to be able to keep people in the area due to the excessively high property tax.

After that shoot I sped back down to Canandaigua (rounding out 2,000 miles driven for this trip) in time for my next shoot only to discover they decided that they didn't want to shoot since they weren't ready. This was quite rude and there would be no guarantee that we'd be back this way any time soon. But, it gave me more time to get to the next place. This next place was in Ithaca and had actually offered to put me up for an additional night. So, I checked into another nice, but contemporary resort.

Beforehand I was able to visit Rivendell (Lord of the Rings Reference). There were a series of short steps from the parking lot that looked down and across a great chasm. On the far side was a thin band of waterfall, that fell hundreds of feet from the equal height below to the rocks below. The scene was speckled with the oranges of turning trees, the flutter of passing birds and falling leaves. You could see the final days of the elven kingdom full of beauty and a graceful sorrow like you'd see at passing of a dear friend, who's time had come. I'd never seen a falls like that.

Ithaca is a college town. With historical houses and tall scenic structures built right into the hills surrounding the lake. The downtown is a bustling center of hip college students with the 2008 fashion-styles of boot cut jeans and sneakers, scarves, off-center visored stocking caps, moppy hair, hoodies and untucked dress shirts.

I was yearning for Asian food and found perfection. It was a Korean restaurant with chopsticks already sitting on the table a wonderful menu of enticing concoctions and Asian cliental. I ordered something new to me, it's name escapes me, but it was stir-fried beef and onions in a red houses sauce. I ordered some miniature shrimp dumplings and within five minutes of placing my order, the sizzling metal plate came out, with an army of little cups of pickled onions, sautead tofu, cabbage and other such curious delicacies. Spectacularly yummy! Flavorful and spicey and it led my nose to run but I did not find the need to retreat to my water.

Within a a span of twenty minutes I had ordered and consumed the most satisfying meal in weeks and weeks. I did not feel bloated and regretful but instead was at the height of satisfaction. Leave it to such a place where you can order a complexity of tastes, be served quickly, eat with a zest and frivolity with such flavors, with the aid of chopsticks enhances, and feel like you've never been more satisfied in your life!

The following day with shoot finished, Treman Park and the surrounding falls were paid a visit and the Paleontological Museum was too.

As far as meals that are memorable, it's often the smaller, less-advertised joints that really impress. Like the duck hash at the Tree House in Kennebunkport, the salmon chowder at the Rowan Tree in York Harbor or the feast at the Asian Cuisine in Ithaca. Small espresso-serving cafes, are nice places to catch something a little more healthy and it's easy to find the best place in town by having it 'greet' you. It stands out, believe me!

There has been a lot of beauty on this trip from the heights of Arcadia in Bar Harbor, to the changing leaves alon the Kanc highway in New Hampshire, routes through Connecticut and the Hudson Valley of New York. The waterfalls in the Finger Lake region are breathtaking, one after the other. All in all, autumn is a perfect time to head out in this direction. While you risk being hit with the fast-advancing winter, the reward is in the views of surroundings you will find nowhere else.

Catching a Case of Kankamagus, Salem Gloomies & Finding Home

2008-10-18T20:26:00.009-05:00

The town of York, Maine had colonial history, a yummy cafe and a great ocean view. What more could you ask for? The cemetery was located at the site of a large massacre by the Abenaki Indians in 1691. The tombstones dated back to the early 1700's.

It was then to Chocorua, New Hampshire. The drive was into the forests to a bed and breakfast along a bend in the river along the Chocorua River. After a stay and shoot of the charming place it was off, northwards to Lincoln. I wanted to see the Kancamagus Highway, supposed to be on of the most scenic drives in America. I'm glad my aunt told me of it, otherwise I might have missed it. It dropped down along a rushing river and looked up at steep cliffs and mountainous hills.

Lake Chocourua was silent and reflected the mountaintop of its namesake. An old splintered tree stood in the foreground and a lone kayaker paddled in the remote distance. It was very much worth the drive!

The last morning in Maine began with a shoot that brought me out onto the the wave-slammed rocks of the Marginal Way. The morning had brought in some wind and sporadic rain, creating a scene I had hoped to see whilst in this northern coastal state.

I was out on a branch of sharp rock, some ten to twenty feet above the water and the rolling waves came slamming into the base, shooting spray up and over. The noise was fantastic and all I really wanted to do was stand out on the edge and let the white waters crash around me. Alas, work to do. I shot video of it but only had my phone to snap a quick pic.

I departed the gray of Ogunquit, an up-scale tourist area, just south of Kennebunkport. It was time to head to Boston, pick up my cousin, a fellow video-hound at WGBH and then, Salem.

The underground tunneling maze of Boston was a new experience for me. I had my GPS but found that it got scrambled beneath the concrete caves. With the traffic and the quickly oncoming exits I found myself having to take a second pass to get it right.

From WGBH we went in the direction of Salem. Since there was only time enough to shoot one location I thought it appropriate to shoot Salem at its busiest time of year. I may have some childhood memories of witch-related images in my head, but can't recall any specifics.

We parked the car and then poked around.

Salem is the place that was hit with witch hysteria in the early 1690's. There happened to be politics brewing between the farming and merchant class. Soon, the Revered Parris had taken sides. When accusations of witchcraft arose, trials began, resulting in the arrest and deaths of dozens, some by hanging, pressing and exposure to the elements while in jail. As fingers started pointing a little too close to those in power, the hunt came to an end. To this day researchers speculate about why the accusers did what they did. Was it moldy bread that created hallucinations or mass hysteria that drove people to believe they saw people flying and afflicting them at night? Regardless, it was one of the grossest episodes of persecution in history.

But scary skeletons and Wiccan gatherings are so much cooler than that! And where else can you wear black every day of the week and be fashionable?! You will have to pardon the sarcasm, but we felt a very nasty vibe in that town. I should begin by saying that we met some really cool and friendly people in that town on the way out! But many of our first interactions involved people being openly rude beyond the norm.

They've really capitalized on the whole 'spooky witch' thing. Many of those of the Wiccan persuasion consider this Mecca and Halloween celebrations and ghost tours are very popular.

We visited the cemetery, grabbed some food (sweet potato fries) and did shots all throughout the town. As we head out of town a hustler for a freak show saw our camera and just had to do a plug. We were more than happy to get him in the lense. He hammered a nail into his nasal cavity and my cuz pulled it out. Good stuff!

After dropping off my cousin I head out of town. Both in and out I had passed by the illuminated Fenway, where the playoffs were taking place. In addition to the tunnel I became proficient driving in Boston rush-hour. Weaving the full-size Grand Marquis in the herring bone flow of traffic felt good. Waiting through a series of red to green sequences of stoplights didn't feel so great. But one way or another, I would see Cape Cod that evening.

One thing I learned, and learned it the hard way, was how quickly the tolls sucked through available cash. I hit a toll with no cash in hand. (I had always wondered what would happen in that type of situation.) Well, the woman in the toll both gave me an envelope to fill out and in the rush I inquired to how one goes about getting an EZ pass. She procedes to tell me that you get it online and they mail it out to you and you put it on your windshield. "You have one right there!" What I didn't realize is that my rental car came equipped with the EZ Pass. You simply pull the slide towards you. This way you can ease through the toll lane and when you see a green light, continue on. I was amazed that there was no honking behind me, no angry toll worker. Sometimes you learn things the hard way. But at least now I know!

I was in Cape Cod for only an evening and the beginning of a morning. The weather was warm and moist with a breeze coming over Hyannis harbor. My lodging and appointment was right across from the docks, so the feel of the Cape was in a stone's throw.

I wanted to make Callicoon, New York following my shoot. It would be nice to explore the Cape but the five and a half hour drive would be over more quickly if I head out ASAP. Besides, the Cape needs some quality time. I was fortunate enough to spend time out there when I was little and grew up with many echoes of the region.

Callicoon is on the border of Pennsylvania and is known to sit in the 'Bocce Belt.' The place I shot seemed to accentuate that. In fact the decore did not sit so well with the manager I was working with but the Italian-American's seemed to love it!

Next, it was time to hit my birthplace. As the next day's shoot was in the vicinity, I drove to the Hudson Valley, where West Point sits along the Hudson.

I tried to enter the gate but was turned away without an appointment. I know we were able to enter when I was little, but September 11 must have changed things. I could have called ahead and schmoozed my way in like usual with the camera, but not this time. Instead, I head down to my first neighborhood, Highland Falls.

Of all the beautiful fall foliage I have seen, the Hudson Valley seemed the most beautiful. I liken the autumn drive to cruising through a bowl of Fruity Pebbles (but you may need to kick out out of few of the purple ones.) It has seemed too consistent to be real at times. It's easy to be impressed with a few clumps of nice colors mixed in with the drab. But through Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut and now New York, I have seen the fall colors at their peak of perfection.

In the Hudson Valley the mountains are almost completely covered with trees and instead of rolling, gradual rises like in the Poconos, there are sharply rising domes and series upon series of valleys and peaks. At times the rock is so shear that it exposes a gray cliff that cuts clean from the trees. The Hudson river runs through all of this.

You can look down upon West Point from the heights above. It makes you think about how important the river was in making inroads into this place and how much sense it made to build a fort here. During the American Revolution the British realized if they could take the Hudson they would have severed the head of the Revolution (New England) from the remaining colonies and the war would be over. Well, we kept Fort West Point but just barely. Washington gave command of the fort into the hands of his most trusted fellow General, Benedict Arnold. But by then Arnold had been so slighted by our government and had married a British sympathizer. Arnold let the for go to ruin and was about to hand it over to the British when his planned was discovered, just in time!

It is a sad chapter and Arnold would have likely been one of our greatest heroes had history not had taken such a different course. But the fort stayed in our hands and later became the United States Military Academy.

When Vietnam came about it just so happened my dad got stationed there. Then, I was born there. The first hands on my head were those of a Major. The ghosts of General Washington, Lee and Arnold whispered in my ear, "Remember Us!" To be near a great river and a river valley would be sated only in places such as this or the Mississippi river valley! ;)

The downtown stretch of Highland Falls has quite a few businesses across from the great big West Point Museum. Inside the museum there was wings that focused on West Point History, American Wars and the like. I had lunch in the Park restaurant. It was a popular, cozy and down-to-earth local place with a huge menu and these cool moon-shaped leather booths.

Across from me was a young female cadet and her mother. A few things really struck me, one being that old historic gray cadet uniform. Another was that it was a female. It's amazing how the male only tradition has changed within my lifetime. And finally, was how young these cadets appear. I mean, yeah, they are just out of high school. But for some reason, the fact that they are military cadets puts it into a different perspective. Then again, I am getting old. In fact, I am ten years older than my folks were when they were out here! Now if that doesn't make one feel aged!

Finally, the task of finding my first home! Through piecing together my folk's good memory and some exploring of my own I found it. They were the buildings that originally housed J.P. Morgan's horses and carriages. Ours was the carriage house. It composed of a front room with a bay window, a bedroom and a small hallway where I slept. Of course, I have no memory of any of this, but it was something pretty see. It had become run-down since my folks lived there and there was a couple that was arguing about their food stamps and stuff as they entered their apartment. But I did meet an overly friendly fellow that confirmed the location and the history and volunteered a view of his place.

There was a creek that ran beneath a bridge and over the bedrock, dropping down to the Hudson. I walked down and videoed it, spending time to listen to the sounds of the place. You could hear the trains that ran along the Hudson and the rushing of the steady stream. At the end of the road you could see the great big Hudson and the tree-topped mountains all around.

I'm sorry that I didn't have time to stop in the parts of New Hampshire where my Great Grandfather immigrated to when a teenager, but that will come another day.

Tomorrow is another shoot and then another long drive to the Finger Lakes region. But one more day closer to being back in my own home near my own river valley!

All Sail Set!

2008-10-13T21:45:00.005-05:00

An individual somewhat cringed when he heard I was headed to Old Orchard. In his opinion, it was an obnoxious place. He thought it a place like St. Pete's Beach or Fort Meyers. Need a shirt was a nice slogan?

Having visited the place I'd have to agree somewhat. I mean, it's Maine, so it has a beauty to it, no matter the level of touristy trappings. I did feel as though I was back in Florida. There was a great, long sandy beach and the motel that I stayed at didn't have much resemblance to the stylish or historic resorts that populate much of the coast. Down near the pier is a collection of beach stands and a junior version of Coney Island, that was shut down for the season.

I caught lunch at Jimmy the Greeks. My interest in the place was obvious, but as I approached the entrance some bikers cat-called at a woman's keister. Yep, I knew what kind of place this was. They might deserve some slack, being that it was near Octoberfest, but it does seem like more than one Italian and Greek joint appeals to the biker crowd. Inside, ouzo and Greek salad was about the extent of their Greek offerings. So, I had both. There's something I find yummy in that strong anise (black licorice) flavor of ouzo. And if you ever burp it up, the anise flavor is so strong that it hides any disagreeable flavor!

I shot over to the Nubble lighthouse, one of the most popular on the coast of Maine. It sat on the top of an island that was separated slightly from the shore by a channel. The sun was warm and people were enjoying the day. There was a wedding party doing their shoots, kids crawling in the rock crevices and plenty of couples sharing the moment. One had even set up their folding chairs on the rocks and were reading the paper. Most stayed in the parking lot area and gazed across, so there remained places where you could walk and enjoy some alone time.

After some more shooting, I head back for a lazy run on the Atlantic sand beach. A little Vangelis provided a perfect musical score. The moon was rising as the waves came in. I ran to catch the last rays of the setting sun.

The next day it was down to York Harbor, an inviting village of pristine colonial resorts. The inn I shot was a collection of centuries-old houses, a basement tavern designed with magnificent woodwork. You immediately felt as though you were below deck of a ship. Across the way was a park that overlooked the beaches and arching bay below. Kayakers and fishing boats set out to the waters beyond. The sun was bright and the warmth made everything alive.
I got the experience of a New England traffic jam. The two-lane route was backed up
the direction that I was going - Kennebunkport. So, instead of the projected 25 minutes, it took an hour.

Upon pulling into Kennebunkport, you immediately get the idea that this is a huge tourist attraction. I had heard beforehand that this was quite the upscale destination. It centers around a harbor area. You drive over a bridge and cross the Kennebunk river which connects to the ocean. As you look out towards the ocean side, there are fishing, recreational and tour boats anchored in the harbor. The tidal flow moves in every six hours and causes the harbor to rise and fall about 10 feet.

The downtown is packed full of shops. If you are a shopper of nick-nacks, art and clothing on the pricier end of things, you'd like this place. There are quite a few restaurants, most offering seafood specialties. But you can find some less expensive food in little shacks and some have daily specials that offer things such as pizza for around $10. There is also at least two little cafes offering coffee, muffins and the like.

I was shooting a spectrum of lodgings and took time in-between to explore. Initially, I dismissed the place as a rich-person haven. And, while it is, I was able to find some cool offering after some more poking around.

For my only day without a property shoot this trip I chose to find an activity that would highlight one of the best excursions you could find here - sailing upon a schooner!

Prior to setting sail, I focused on what I thought the most striking characteristic of Kennebunkport, the colonial houses. Since they were mostly built in the time before and after the American Revolution, they were of Georgian and Federalist design. Three to four-story houses, with shuttered windows, hipped roofs, and prominent brick chimneys. It could not be a better day, sunny and with leaves at their peak! As I overheard one gentleman exclaim, "September and October. This is why we live in New England!"

Down at the docks I boarded the schooner Eleanor, based off a 1935 design. With both aft motor and bow thrusters we spun around and motored out of the bay. We passed the Bush's large, three-engined sport boat and killed the engine once out of the river. With one captain and one crew the four sails were raised and we caught the wind. The Eleanor cut through the smooth sea. The wind was perfect. I shimmied about the deck, getting shots from the bow and beneath the masts. Other ships were out sailing in the late afternoon sun. This would be the final sail of the Eleanor for the season and I counted myself lucky to be on board.

When we returned, I said my goodbyes and head to end the day with another iconic Maine event - the eating of lobster. Having studied the paper placemat instructions that adorn many Maine tables, I felt I was prepared to dive in. I cracked the 'crusher' and 'pincer' claws and pulled out the meat. I ripped off the tail from the body, pulled off the end of the tail and pushed out that meat. Sucking the juices from the little legs I saved the 'best' for last. Opening the body exposed what some consider to be the 'delicacy' of the lobster, the tomalley. I first questioned the big blob of green cottage cheese and then slurped some of it up. Delicacy? Hmm. I think I enjoyed the meat the best. But does an amateur know?

After shoots the following day I took a short drive down the coast to view Walker's Point, where George H.W. Bush has his summer home. It is a pretty place, built in the early 1900's by the Walker family. Bush spent many summers here and several world leaders have visited. There is a pull-off which gives you a good view. You can see the flag pole flying the American and Texan flag and another I could not recognize. I admired the building, location and the little spinning windmill. It felt somewhat solemn and I imagined that no Bush residence has been a happy one as of late. I wished them the best and continued back into town for some scallops. Scallops are pronounced with an 'awl' instead of 'Al.' Scawllops. Scaaawlops.

Finally, there is a Franciscan monestery on the other side of Kennebunkport which called for a visit. Though closed I knelt below the illuminated Virgin Mary and said a few prayers. On the altar was an assorted of all kinds of offerings from guitar pics to gemstones. I had nothing to offer but instead traced some latin and Sindarin on the altar. Before the monastery stood St. Anthony and the customary baby Jesus in his arms. Saying a final goodnight to my patron saint I head back to get some sleep.

Tomorrow is Kennebunkport, York Harbor and Chocorua, New Hampshire. A busy day but its wonderful to be moving on again!

And oh, catch this, I was able to watch both the Minnesota Senatorial debate and the Wild beat the Bruins in the same evening. All the way out here in Kennebunkport!

Coastal Monarchs

2008-10-09T20:45:00.010-05:00

The morning in Camden was gray after a night of incoming clouds and rain. But the rain passed away in time for some shooting. After some calls to properties and whatnot, it was another hour and a half drive, further down the main coast.

Those first evenings near Bar Harbor were quite chilly! So, as I drop down the coast in 70 mile increments, I become very appreciative of the warmer weather! Most days have been sunny and the temperature rises through the 60's. There is a light coastal breeze and the leaves are a soft array of mustard yellows, oranges and soft reds. Sometimes you will see a blazing red maple standing out from his fellows.

The drive to Newagen (New Wagon) branches off of Coastal Route 1 and down another extending limb. Quite suddenly, you can find yourself still on a main route though it feels like you are driving down a village alleyway. Many of these towns seem to have a series of terraced levels which you can only imagine haven't changed routes much in the last 200 years. There are many little bridges over harbor channels and fishing and sail boats all around.

I stopped into a dock and grabbed a half pound of fresh, raw jumbo shrimp with some sauce. Driving further in the woods of Newagen I found a place near a leave covered pond where I pulled over and munched away.

I caught a few shots of the pond and will include one out-of-focus picture which I think looks remarkably like an impressionist painting! It sums up the fall display quite nicely! Oh, and impressionist painting are about all my camera is good for now. My lens is so covered with dirt, and growing sea salt crystals that my poor little digital camera is doing its best. The pictures may require some Photoshop! :( Plus, I neglected to bring the memory flash card for my SLR. :( Needless to say, most of my time is spent with my video camera anyway!

The shoot brought me to a stunning property on the rocky coast. The inn had been there since the 1800's. It had charm and warmth though was closing down for the season. Out on a little island near the property was a red house that the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz lived in! I was also taken on a mile-long trek through the woods to catch some shots of their nature trails.

Finally, down near the water was an metal plaque affixed to a rock, memorializing Rachel Carlson of monarch butterfly fame. I am happy to announce that even before I was aware of this, a monarch had stopped and posed for me right out on a landing. The usually fly away before I can capture them. But this one was stopping to say hello.

I ended my stay with some final shots of the waves crashing upon the coast.

Another 70 or so miles brought me down to Sebasco Estates. Mostly having a country club feel, it nonetheless offered some great shots of a setting sun across the harbor.

For dinner I forced myself to eat some fried oysters (the frying part I object to, not the oyster part) a salad and some Maine rootbeer. For dessert I had a whooppie pie, which looked like a giant round oreo. It was thin, soft chocolate cakes which encased a white, oreo-like cream. I like the root beer the best and was thankful I ate the salad.

Tomorrow brings more shoots and more driving, continuing to go further and further south.

Ba Haba

2008-10-08T19:25:00.007-05:00

I grabbed a lobster roll and drove to the top of Cadillac mountain. Now I can say I ate a lobster roll at the highest point on the entire North Atlantic seaboard! Where else can you do that but in Bar Harbor?

It was late, but I was just happy to finally be there. Timing had to be just right. I had to make the connecting flight in Detroit in order to get to Bangor just after 11pm. The Hertz rental agents will wait if they know your flight number, otherwise the shut down at 11pm and you will be out of luck for a rental.

Our plane to Detroit was delayed, but finally, we boarded. I sat and looked out the window, wishing and wishing we would just take off. I only had an hour window as it was and time was slipping away. The pilot said we would depart just as soon as everyone was seated. But the whole time I was staring out the window at the rainy fall day. To my annoyance I see that none of the baggage has yet been loaded. To compound my annoyance my tripod bag was sitting out in the rain. The baggage handler checked it with his scanner seemed confused and slowly shuffled away. A few minutes later he slowly shuffled back to the bags and walked away again. I tried to relax but was in the height of annoyance. "Ladies and gentlemen, I told you we would take off as soon as you all were seated, but it appears our luggage has not been loaded."

To make a long story short we were on our way. But I had a chance to see my camera case thrown hard, up on the conveyor belt, upside down. Not surprising, but its something you just don't want to see.

We got to Detroit. That airport has terminals that stretch onto infinity. It's a long walk but there is a long connecting tunnel that is pretty cool. It changes color while atmospheric music plays. It is a long walk and the music changes between relaxing and spooky with little warning. Kinda cool, kinda spooky.

The drive to Bangor to Bar Harbor was pretty dead. Straight out of a Stephen King novel, there were no cars and the intersections flashed with yellow warning lights.

It was late when I checked into my lodge and, finally, I crashed.

Cut to the chase!

I woke worn but was made chipper by the immense sunny view of the harbor from my window. My video shoot even made me exclaim aloud, I was so impressed! Shades of dark blue, interupted by rocky, tree-covered islands and finger-like projections from the shore. You could see boats both at sail and anchor in the harbor.

After my two shoots I head downtown. Bar Harbor had a slight colonial-port-feel. I parked near a church, walked by the 1790's cemetery and through the central park. People were chatting on benches and laying on the grass with their dogs. There was a tall bronze fountain and central gazeebo. It made you feel relaxed and happy.

Stepping out into Main street, the sidewalks were packed with tourists, many of them Germans. As the streets drop down into the harbor area above which is a hill, with another fountain and a grand view of the boats in the bay. There were more people relaxing. A group with three cute corgis, another group of young Dasistglubinheimenschlaufkens and many older couples. In the harbor there was a great big cruise ship in the distance. Nearer, were many sail ships at anchor. The view was relaxing but I had not much time. I needed some lobster, to summit the mountain and make the two hour drive to Camden!

I grabbed a lobster roll at a deli. Take a hot dog bun, slap on some mayonaise, pack it with fresh lobster and there you got a lobster roll.

Acadia national park takes up most of Mount Desert Island, upon which sits Bar Harbor. The drive to peak of Cadillac winds up the mountain with many pull-offs to view the sights on either side. The higher you go, the more and more enticing it was! Once at the top, the view not only looks down into Bar Harbor, now dwarfed by the sea and land around it, but also the many different lakes and channels all throughout the Island.

On the way off the island I gazed longingly at the ferry station to Nova Scotia. That would come, a different day. But the drive impressed the character of Maine's cost. It's like the area above Duluth times 10. Meaning that, the blue waters are very similar to those of the immense Superior. The shoreline share that hard, dark and sharp lava rock feel and the trees, while greatly deciduous, give you a far-north touch. But the topography varies greatly. There are sharp rises and deep valleys, over which many bridges pass - some from days past some with impressive modern engineering. There are old forts,colonial buildings and fleets of sail ships. While the sidewalks can be congested and the two-lane roads often turn to traffic jam, there are many places where you are alone on the road to stare out at the coast or appreciate the tall, white, church steeples.

The final stop of the day is Camden. Another harbor, more church steeples and hilly roads. I walked downtown as the evening came in. Most buildings were a-glow and warm inside, an inviting contrast to the cool late-fall weather outside. I first went down to the harbor, to see wooden lobster pots and smell old fish. There was a falls dropping behind the town and into the harbor. It made you think of the mill or water wheel that could have been place there. Perhaps it was, years ago.

Well, walking up and down the alleyways, with the close-packed storefronts, rectangular windows with wooden panes and hanging store sign above, takes you to a place straight out of a Robert Louis Stephenson novel. You can hear ship bells and bozun whistles and the drunken songs of sailors a-whorin.' The many different whalers and fisherman, from ports around the world had walked these same places hundreds of years ago.

Those thoughts put in the mood for some ale and victuals. Into a chowder house for some fish stew and ale made with Maine blueberries. A good way to end a day on the coast of Maine!

The Perfect Autumn Day

2008-10-07T14:14:00.002-05:00

Occasionally, conditions are just perfect. The sun warms the day, but still, there is a touch of autumn chill in the air. Neither rain nor wind has yet knocked the leaves off the trees and all the creatures are still busy in preparation for the coming winter.

This past Saturday was such a day. Blessed to live in such a perfect place, where the change of each season is accompanied with its own specific overture. As the day neared its end, we sauntered across the hilly, grassland dunes down to a back channel of the Mississippi and the woods around it.

Following the swoop of blue jays from tree to tree and watching the golden sky turn a crisp purple were both reminders of why this place is so magical. I can't think of anything more wonderful.

Some Kiwi Levity

2008-09-26T16:54:00.001-05:00

On the road, I do my best to keep my spirits up. Not a day should go by that I do not force myself into tears with something I think is funny. Well, I discovered this New Zealand (Kiwi) duo on HBO awhile back. They were semi-famous in New Zealand but huge in Australia, Britain and the U.S. You can even get there Grammy Award-winning CD at Target. Well, here's a little gift that should put a smile on your face. Especially, if you took French in school. There humor is usually quite cheeky (perhaps too much for some) but they have become two of my constant companions. Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce to you, Flight of the Conchords. Click HERE to watch the video.

Gettysburg - The Last Full Measure

2008-09-26T16:31:00.011-05:00

I had made this run years back, but now I did it alone. In the same place where 215 of my fellow Minnesotans had fallen! If you are a Minnesotan, than this is one pilgrimage you must take at least once in your life - the 1st Minnesota Regimental Monument in Gettysburg.

The battlefield of Gettysburg is much the same as it was the day before the battle, with the exception of the military presence. Basically, it's all Pennsylvania farmland. The only structures that you see are the occasional gigantic barn, small wooden or brick farmhouse and thousands of monuments, plaques and statues.

You can go online or into the brand new visitors center (which is brand new and phenomenal!) to get your park map of the Gettysburg battlefield. I chose to make the drive myself, but the possibilities abound. You can hire your own guide to go with you in your car, pick up an audio tour to listen to in your car, go on a tour bus, ride a horse with a guide as you listen to a tour on headphones or participate in a class or school group.

I had taught in detail about this specific battle for 10 years. It wasn't so much that I believed I knew it all (God, I'd love to learn every last detail there was about this battle), it was more that I wanted to go on my own place, saunter in the oddest of places and, of course, get some footage for work.

As you drive your car down the paved roads, you go at a slow pace, and when you wish to stop, pull over and park on the right-side of the road.

You begin by passing behind the Confederate lines. Here you see plaques which denote where each state regiment was posted. The southerners looked out across flat farm fields for most of the most part. Their far right flank, however, disappeared in the woods and boulders leading up to Big and Little Round Top.

The battle took place mostly south of downtown Gettysburg. The Union had a defensive position on higher ground to the east and the south was expected to attack from their lower position to the west, moving east.

Now, I could spend forever talking about this battle in detail, and bore most to tears, but will try to sum it up as I did in the video.

So, why is Gettysburg, July 1-3, 1863 such a big deal? Well, for one, this was the first major engagement on northern soil. Most battles had taken place in the south, devastating much of it. (This is one reason that even today, southerners have more of a memory of this war than does the north.) The war was growing increasingly unpopular in the north. In a war that was supposed to last only a few weeks, it had now turned into years. General Lee realized he only had to have one significant victory in the north and the people would sue for peace.

Second, the scale of this battle was unlike any other. Approximately, 170,000 American soldiers took part in this battle. More than 51,000 would become casualties. These were all Americans, willing to die for what they believed in.

Third, this was the turning point of the war. General Lee realized it was all or nothing. They could no longer play the cat and mouse game they were playing. They were not trying to take over the north, nor remain separate, but defend their right to exist as they so chose. The south was weakening and the northern public opinion waning. One would have to break first and this battle would determine it.

The battlefield is huge and you could spend forever describing that too. Instead, I'll focus on three definitive episodes.

On day two of the battle, with no overly successful advance of the south, Major General Sickles decided to do something against orders. He stretched out or left flank so bad that a hole developed. The south had their chance. Advancing up the difficult, rocky terrain of Little Round Top, nothing much stood in the way but the 20th Maine, with the school teacher Chamberlain in command. They were down to their very last bullets and then, they lead a downhill charge with bayonets, driving the Confederates back and saving our Union flank!

Sickle's movement caused problems in the center of our battle line as well.

Oh, and the story of Sickle's is interesting as well. He shot and killed the son of Francis Scott Key (who wrote the Star Spangled Banner) across the steps of the U.S. Capitol and was the first person to succesfully use the temporary insanity defense in court. He also left his pregnant wife at home while he went to England and introduce his prostitute campanion to Queen Victoria. Read up on him for more.

Anyhoo, a hole appeared in our line, General Hancock looked down to see no one except 262 Minnesotans laying down in wait. He ordered them to take on the Confederates (six times their numbers). Without questions the Minnesotan, formed up, shoulder to shoulder and ran at the double-quick. As each man fell, the Minnesotans would close back together, shoulder to shoulder. The Confederates were forced into retreat, giving the North time to fix the hole. The Minnesotans had saved the North from certain defeat, with the cost of 215 casualties. This still stands as the largest regimental loss in a single engagement in U.S. history!

Finally, on day three, the south realized it had to do something dramatic. Time was running out. Thus formed Pickett's Charge. Over 12,000 Confederates marched across the battlefield. Torn to pieces by Union artillery and then rifle-fire, still they came on! Some would make it to the low stone wall and cross over. (A hole in the line defended by remaining Minnesotans). This dramatic event was known as the "High Water Mark" of the Confederacy. The remainder of the war saw the Confederacy sink back into defensive and retreating position.

General Lee would later see no reason to continue. (He, by the way was offered command of the Union forces by Lincoln, detested slavery and disagreed with the south braking away. But first and foremost, Robert E. Lee was a Virginian!) He would later surrender.

A final battle note: President Lincoln would give the Gettysburg Address, "Four score and seven years ago," at a place where now stands the cemetery. A bust of his head stands where he gave his speech. His address took two minutes. The guy that opened for him spoke for two hours.

Well, perhaps I should end it. I don't know if this history helps anyone!

But I poked around, hid behind the boulders at Little Round Top, ran where the 1st Minnesota charged the Rebs, stepped over the wall at Pickett's Charge, stood where Robert Lee did and poked around in some woods.

It's a sombering place. Yeah, I suppose it can become boring with so much to see. But I find that if you focus on stuff that's important to you, like the place where your fellow statesmen fought, it can become more important to you.

Just think of that hole in the Union line that all observers could see! That mass of gray moving to split the north in half. When all of a sudden a small blue form amassed, charging into insermountable odds! Yeah, that was us, if you call yourself a Minnesotan! First state to offer troops to Lincoln and who developed a reputation of running forward whilst others ran away.

The Mollies, Hershey Chocolate and Civil War Haunts

2008-09-24T22:21:00.003-05:00

Expecting the town of Jim Thorpe to be much like any other of the Poconos villages, I was really struck by how unique it was. It is located further south, in another nook of the mountains. What hit me first was looking at it from above, the steeples and building rooftops standing out from the trees.

(On a quite bizarre and humorous note - I spotted a church advertisement decorated with a cross and reading: "Let's Nail Down a Date, 10:30 Sunday." Ouch! Interesting play on words?)

I pulled down into the village, and noticed immediately, the rich preservation of the architecture and compact layout of the town. The main road rose up a steep hill and carved its way up the mountain. The sun was just coming over the mountain and hitting the myriad of colors and angles that have stood there for more than a century.

My shoot was at one of the town's most historic landmarks, the Inn at Jim Thorpe. This was a haunted building and has been featured on many TV shows and the like. Most of my shooting time is being alone in rooms and other parts of properties. It's shoots like these where it becomes very cool. Alone in old rooms and less visited parts of historic structures.

Well, no ghosties for me, but I did have time to chat with a few housekeepers and the like. It's the experiences of the more skeptical that are more intriguing. Such as a businessman who was a regular customer, feeling someone sitting on his bed and then seeing the sheet covering him lift up and off. As is the case with many a ghost incidence, objects will be moved from one place to another.

Jim Thorpe was named after the phenomenal Native American athlete Jim Thorpe who was stripped of his Olympic medal when it was discovered he had played pro. But later, the U.S. re-accepted him and this town agreed to take his name as their own.

It was formally known as Mauch Chunk and was the home to the Molly Maguires. This band of Irishman fought for the rights of miners and in doing so killed people. The leaders were hanged but now stand as martyrs for basic human rights. The Hibernian society holds them in special regard. Sean Connery and Richard Harris stared in a movie that brought them to the forefront of American pop culture and conciousness. Parts of the film were actually thought in Jim Thorpe. it's totally worth the watch if you've the time! I visited the old jail where they were held and hanged. Bummed that it was closed, I peaked around the old structure and took a few shots.

The town was alive with workers making restoration repairs, train tours down at the tracks and small shops open along the the rising road. The tripod and camera gets heavy on such long jaunts but it all is well worth it.

After eating a fab sandwich at a little cafe and chatting to the owner, who was complaining about some nuts burning shrubs in the back of the buildings, I took off. My hopes were to hit Hershey Pennsylvania before 4pm.

Further south I drove and entered Hershey. I was literally salivating, the thought of creamy milk chocolate streams running through my mind. All at once you are in the town and the factory, with its twin smokestacks and large factory building, giving the impression you are in Wonkaville. I drove down Cocoa and Chocolate Ave. and finally found the tour.

Somewhat like a combination of Chucky Cheese and Disney, the tour is now a ride through scenes of animated singing cows and reproductions of the chocolate making process. Disappointed that that was all it was, I was happy to find the chocolate store before closing. Though not the same as swimming in a stream of chocolate, a candy bar or two or three is some consolation. And yes, you can actually smell chocolate in the air all around downtown Hershey!

I had sushi and spoke with the owner who was actually from Vietnam. After a good meal and conversation I took off. It then dawned upon me, to my horror, that I had forgotten to pay!!! So, zooming back to the restaurant, feeling like the biggest schmuck in the world, I apologized and paid my bill. :(

Today the shoot went quick and smooth and I drove south through the Mason-Dixon line and back into Pennsylvania and into Fairfield, near Gettysburg. This is hilly farmland and the land of the Civil War (the northernmost points , that is.) Old barns and houses that had stood since the time of the war make you happy that they are still standing!

To end the day I head to downtown Gettysburg for the ghost tour. I'd been to the battlefield but never the town. I have to say that the town is as striking as the field. Other than the cars you could have been in 1863. The night dark helped to darken the mood and make it perfect for the tour. But it still feels alive and comfortable for a night-time stroll.

In many of the windows of the old row houses were little candle lights. Each building that has stood since the time of the engagement had little metal plaque and there were a lot of those! Our tour brought us to stories of the Civil War soldiers that still roam the old buildings. In fact, I'll leave a little picture of one house in particular that had many sightings. Even during one of the tours, people had evidentally watched sightings happen before their eyes. Who knows? But it is a fun way to see the old historic town!

Tomorrow will see a whole day devoted to Gettysburg, visiting that most haunted place in the U.S. Having seen over 51,000 casualties in three days, if ghosts haunt anywhere that seems to be an appropriate place.

Happy Autumn!

2008-09-22T21:22:00.008-05:00

A happy first day of Autumn to all, from the land of the Poconos. The air has been crisp, clean and cool during the evening but the temperature rising up to the pleasant 70's during the day.

The sun has been a frequent visitor. However, an autumn fog pays a visit ever so often in the early morning. It drapes itself heavy on the mountain and there are even large white circles on some of the highways to act as reference points in spacing yourself from the car in front of you. As noted before, the roads are very zig-zaggy and 'Y' intersections common. It's tough being at a stop sign, craning your neck to see if a car may be coming, when the intersection is shaped like a Greek lower-case lamda 'λ.' I'll often spot a tricky curve or hidden turn off and search for a memorial marker off the side of the road. They seem to be a relatively common thing on these twisty routes.

Many of the Poconos towns are like little versions of Stillwater, Minnesota. Built on the Delaware or smaller versions of it, small villages focused on milling or tanning sprung up.

I've had a chance to poke around after or between shoots and take in what I can. The Italian influence if very noticeable. Within most towns, at least half of the restaurants are owned by and serve, Italian food. So, I've been taking full advantage of every joint I can find. In Hawley one night, I went into the sleepy town and visited such an establishment. I ordered some spaghetti and meatballs. The feel was cozy and simple, with at least three old couples eating and the owners going back and forth between the kitchen and a table with their family members at it. That is quite a common scene in most these Italian joints. I find great comfort in stuffing my face with spaghetti and meatballs and watching the families interact.

In Milford, a town notable for its Victorian architecture, I visited a famous 'pork' shop called Fretta's. Boy oh boy! The meat hung from everywhere! I was given samples of the capicola and salivated over their cheese, marinated artichokes, peppers, mushrooms, olives, and dry goods. They originated in Little Italy and were known originally as a 'pork shop' since they immigrated into communities that were mainly Jewish and Irish before them.

It's funny to talk to these folk, with their New York, New Jersey and Philly accents and attitudes. As I listen to them go on and on and on and start to realize that, damn! This is what it must be like for my friends when I ramble on and on and don't shut the hell up! It is such a cultural thing. You need to get a German, Irishman or Norweigan liquored up before they start to sound like a dago! Oh, and by the way, when I looked up the derragatory term 'dago' being used for the name of a sandwich... The very first reference was to a story done by Minnesota Public Radio. And where did they visit? Yarussos! So, lots of wonderful Italian food and people around here. I will miss that quite a bit when I leave here.

Hawley, Miford and oh yes, Honesdale. A longer stretch of town which bore similarities to the others, but with pointier church steeples. Just one block off the main drag there were three tall churches, each in succession of one another. As with all of these towns, its very pretty to see the church steeple or cornices of old buildings against the tree covered mountains in the background. Calling them hills would be more appropriate, since that is what they look like. But they are beautiful.

As far as wildlife, there is a lot of oppossum roadkill. Squirrles love playing in the trees and its common to hear the screech, screech of a hawk. Deer are plentiful and the Fall Web Worm, a type of catepillar, builds webby masses in many of the leafy trees. Inside you see the little wormies, curled leaves and scat.

The woods are lush and gorgeous. Just tonight I took a little stroll in a fruitless search for the remains of the French-Indian War Fort Hyndshaw. The walk was along the ridge of a bluff. The setting sun made orange the trees and foliage and the high branches raised the ceiling of the canopy to decent heights. White-tail deer sprung through the ferns and the chill brought a certain stillness. There was maple, ash, hickory, birch, oak and other trees I was clueless about. Vinca grows quite freely on the bed of the woods.

Delaware Water Gap is the name of the town and location where the river cuts through the Poconos mountains. A glacier once split them in two and the rock is left exposed. You look over at New Jersey and see a jagged cliff face rising many hundreds of feet upwards.

Above Delaware Water Gap is a small village called Shawnee. Here you can find the Shawnee Inn (haunted), where once Jackie Gleason played golf. He would also frequent a locals pool-hall in the village as well. Lucile Ball, Eisenhower and Bob Hope made visits and Mr. Green Jeans, from Captain Kangaroo once lived there. At the top of the village was the old Presbyterian Church and graveyard, with graves going back into the 1700's. They had a puzzle of how they were going to fit the church in the graveyard and decided they would just incorporate them into the tombstone. I searched, and was able to find a tombstone of a French-Indian War Vet!

I've made a visit to the Poconos Indian Museum. It was quite basic and very low budget. But, I will admit that it was one of the best museums I've been in. You had tape recorder on which you pushed the play button and walked through the small hallways. The information was clear, well-researched and concise, the displays excellent at interpreting information and the artifact collection superb. They also had a medicinal listing of plants once used and cites for their research. The Linape were tricked by settlers in a deal called the "Walking Purchase" which is worth looking up.

This blog is infrequent, jumbled and rushed as I've been spending any down time planning and managing. With another guy on the road to manage in addition to myself, I've been able to structure the show and also orchestrate some of what is happening back at headquarters as well. Just last night I had to plot my next journey of Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and New York, all of which I'm doing in October. The other guy I'm sending to the Adirondacks and Catskills. So, autumn will be spent in a place that will be wonderful to experience autumn! In other words, its been hectic but exciting, in a way.

I'll be heading down to the haunted Jim Thorpe Inn tomorrow and then down to Fairfield and Gettysburg (speaking of haunted places) along the border and then shooting back up to the Poconos. Yo-yo style!

Here's to Rick Wright, the PInk Floyd keyboardist that passed away last week and now has joined the Great Gig in the Sky.

Must run now, but I hope to catch you soon!

Picking My Nose in the Poconos

2008-09-17T21:27:00.007-05:00

Looking down from the prop-driven airplane, we were flying low, giving one a nice view of the Pennsylvania landscape from Philadelphia to Scranton. The low, soft mountains are almost completely covered in trees. It looked like the head of broccoli below. Occasionally, you will see a break caused by the checker-board green of farmlands, the snakey dark lines of rivers, and paths made by powerline swaths. At the top of many of these mountains spun the vanes of white windmills. The blades, like so many toothpicks, drew power from the windy perch.

Automatically upgraded to a Ford Explorer (I won't complain!) I popped off to the village of Waymart.

The roads through these low mountains seem to be mostly narrow two-lanes. They weave and drop and rise through the many forests. Pennsylvania, meaning "Penn's Woods" was given to William Penn by Charles II. As I wound my way through the deciduous haven, the name began to have a bit more significance.

I can't overstate the number of farms you see along the way. Old barns, painted the color of iron-base red, sit snug in hidden valleys. Rows of stone fences, picked from the fields decades ago, corale small herds of cattle or horses. Houses have been built in similar niches and fields of goldenrod have reclaimed older farm fields.

It is beautiful. The sun warmed the scene and the lack of busy traffic made me feel like I had some private time to take it in. Save the animals, it made me feel like I was all alone. The problem? The problem was the fact that the road was narrow and there was no good place to pull off. Most of my search was in vain. I saw so many places that I had to go explore, but no good place to venture off from!

Honesdale was where I found the most civilization. This small town was the county seat and had much of the old, late 1800's architecture you want in a nostalgic place. I decided to go eat at Elegante, one of many Italian-American joints you find out here. The veal and pepper sandwich hit the spot. Capicola, veal, and peppers seem pretty common on the menus out here. You don't see 'dagos,' a fact one my Italian friends from Philly once noted. The mystery remains = why do Italian joints in the midwest and some places elsewhere, use the derogatory term for the respective Italian sandwich?

Tuesday, with shoots being done, I stopped at Lake Wallypaupak. The shoreline was full of loose rock, much of it the blue stone so famous in this region. People had made piles of precariously placed rocks upon the beach. This neo-lithic gesture seemed appropriate in a land once inhabited by the Delaware Indians.

As my lodging Monday evening consisted of yet another musty house, it helped to sour the mood a tad bit. It didn't help that they had neglected to put sheets on the beds either. However, Tuesday's abode sits on the opposite side of that spectrum.

Built as a mountain-escape by millionaire Joseph Hirshhorn, when the rest of the country was living through the depression, this French-style manor sits atop the mountains. Usually a place for honeymooners and the like, the view is one of an Appalachian valley below.

It was refreshing to check in, sip a glass of golden Madeira (a sweet wine made popular during the colonial period) and gaze out at the Appalachian valley below.

The current owner told me how Hirshorn made inroads for the Jewish community in the region. As many of the establishments did not serve Jews, his children would pick Huckleberries in the surrounding woods and sell them to the inhabitants below. The proceeds would then go back to the Jewish community. Would could all learn a lot from that take on a crummy deal. When life gives you Huckleberries...

The evening before the shoot I had decided to take dinner. I sat alone outside as the chill mountain air moved in. I was given a creamy peach and ginger potage, compliments of the chef. It was fresh and peachy and I relished each miniature spoonful. After my salad I was given a light sorbet to cleanse the palate. With my duck I had the light house red wine. As far as the duck, the presentation was very nice. The medalions splayed out like a deck of cards and covered with sweet sauce. The vegetables were equally artistic. The taste? Umm, the duck was like a fatty, crusty pork covered in grape jelly. Imagine that and you'll now how it tasted. The night grew cold and I returned to my fireplace.

The morning shoot was bright and sunny. A more beautiful day could not be asked for. I left that Hirshorn chateau (his art collection once displayed there now resides in the Smithsonian, anyoo...) and head to Skytop.

Skytop Lodge is of equal stature but on a larger scale. This mighty lodge resembles something out of Rhode Island or better yet, a little Versailles. It dates back to the 20's and has an immense ground and gardens. An American estate house.

The shoot lasted forever, but I was able to dawdle on the green before the lodge. I remarked at the fact that their was high occupancy but no other people on the grounds. The flowers in the gardens were kept company by busy bees and the flap of Monarch butterflies.

After a sub par Italian dinner in the valley below, I returned to the lower level of the lodge for a chocolate malt. The girl behind the counter shared some of the lodges ghost stories. The ambiance could not be better! Here we were in the basement of the lodge, in the 'Tea Room' which was nothing more than a little ice cream bar and small shop, up a few steps and extending down into a narrow room. The lower level ran the entire span of the lodge containing a billards room, a bar, many adjacent curious rooms and at the furthest end, through winding corridors, the 20's style swimming pool.

She mentioned being with the manager at closing and hearing a loud woman's sigh in the very room they were standing. The night auditor reports receiving calls from the attic and from the library, immediately across the way. There are ghosts that have favorite seats in the dining room and a perpetually cold spot there as well. Most stories concern room 409.

After our chat I decided to head to spooky places. Down a basement corridor I stared at old photographs mounted on the walls and the longer I stayed, the more I realized I had hightened my senses. I'm sure I could imagine up any ghost at that point. But I went up staircases and down hallways. This was very reminiscent of the Shining. I ran in to no one until I went up to room 409. I small-talked to relieve our mutual anxiety as I passed. It must of been an employee, turning the beds down. I kicked myself for not asking to see the inside of the room!

So, those are the stories thus far from the Poconos. Look for your some of your own ghost stories this week!

The Famous Fish Boil!

2008-08-26T12:20:00.006-05:00

Having someone to converse with makes it more difficult to update blogs, but I'll try to recap things best I can.

Our shoots continue to go well and the people in Door County have been very nice, for the most part. The days have have been idyllic, with temperature highs reaching the mid-70's. The peninsula is quite pretty. The western edge is known to be more touristy, with shops and harbors and plenty of resorts. The eastern side is more natural, quiet and spread-out.

There are nice parks which highlight the sand dunes and limestone cliff faces. Eagle Tower is a fire tower which rises about 75 feet and from which you can see the expansive Lake Michigan and harbor towns such as Ephraim, in the distance. It was from Cana Lighthouse that I saw the best view. The day was both sunny and windy, so the light reflected from the blue water that was chopped up in the wind. Another fun thing was doing in on camera with my camera man below, doing a slow zoom to me in the tower, looking down, doing an intro bit. We'll see how that looks on the editing floor. Once again, something you can't do with only one dude.

At the White Gull Inn we took in our first authentic fish boil. Our host was more than pumped for a little on-camera time as he was once a cameraman himself! The early evening was beautiful. I had time to interview him on camera and he couldn't be better for the part. He kept his eye contact on me and not the the cameraman throughout the interview, was thorough and engaging with his answers and kept the same volume of voice through the whole process.

The fish boil originated with the Scandinavian immigrants who cooked the whitefish by boiling them in water and salt. This was the perfect way to feed large groups of people quickly.

His process was simple but clearly required wisdom. The big pot was boiling upon a hardwood-fed flame. At the right time, he placed a net (a big straining pot) into the pot and then dumped in the red potatoes. One special thing to Tom's process is that he takes a hot potato from the boil and places it directly into his hand and tests it. (People afterwards come up to him and ask him "did I just see you place a hot potato in your hand?!") After a bit of time and a 'dash' of salt he dumps the chopped up fish into a net. For closers, he ends the boil up splashing a bunch of kerosene on the flame. This ignites in a big fire ball forcing the fish oils over the side and into the flame, thereby ridding the water of 'fishy-tasting' properties. As an aside to me, he remarked how that process was actually getting rid of all those healthy fish oils society currently clamors for!

That was it: potatoes, fish and salt. He said some throw in onions and carrots, but not him. This way the taste of the fish remains.

Inside we stood in line and were able to scoop up the fish and potatoes and add butter and lemon, if we so desired. We were shown how to debone our fish. I added lemon to my fish and found it possible to have seconds! The lemon was the way to go! For dessert, was a beautiful piece of cherry pie, that special Door County tradition.

I don't quite understand anyone's aversion to a fish boil and have questioned a few locals about it. Some say that they think some tourists aren't used to fish prepared that way or that the fact that they have to dig out the bones makes them uncomfortable. As far as taste, there really isn't a better way to preserve it. No thick greasy batters or fried coatings, just fish and salt. That flame up was pretty dang cool too!

Here's to Boil Master Tom, his fabulous work and accommodation of our coverage!

One of our last ventures was a small sail out into Bailey's Harbor to watch the sun set. We were in a twin masted feather merchant. A small vessel, piloted by a carpenter. It was relaxing and a beautiful way close our visit to Door County.

Well, it sounds like our adventure was mostly about food. To some extent, it was. But Door County is a nice getaway. Whether you like to peek into shops such as the one which sells only British-related items or quality hand-crafted art made by artists of the area, hike near the wave-crashed sea shore, catch a sail out in the harbor, peak from the lighthouses or rest on the beach, Door County has that kind of feel. It's touristy and a bit upscale, but also relaxing.

An Introduction to Door County

2008-08-22T22:24:00.003-05:00

When it comes to Door County, I've heard comparisons made to Cape Cod. I've also heard one regular call it the Caribbean of the Great Lakes. From what I have seen, I would have to agree with both of these. Being a collection of small harbor towns, running up the peninsula, the county has the airs of the upscale. While the entry point at Sturgeon Bay does have some industrial feel with shipyards and cranes, most of the locations are well groomed for the tastes of the yachtsman and fine boutique shopper.

Along the roads you will see a mix of rich forests and farmland. Many orchards, with outlet markets, offer cherry-related products of all sorts. Cherry wines, jams and candies can be sampled and purchased at the outlets or in many of the shops in town. The towns themselves usually have a cafe or two, a confectionery, yard art shops and an historic structure or two. You should also search for a custard shop and inquire into their favorite restaurants.

So far, we've eaten at some pretty cool places. Al Johnson's is the Swedish restaurant with the grass roof and the goats on top of it. The menu offers Swedish specialities, pancake being one of them. We shared the herring appetizer and I went for the Swedish meatball sandwich. The opening bread plate was served with red lingon berry preserves. Oh man was that tremendous! Speaking of lingon berries, you hear them often referenced in Scandinavian cooking shows and served up in Swedish and Noreweigan communities. Having had them, I will be looking for them even harder from now on. The lingon berry juice has become a new favorite. Similar to cranberry juice but without the overpowering tartness, it is sweet and refreshing!

At Custard's Last Stand I went for a small bowl of vanilla custard, degrees better than the best ice cream, I think. In Ephraim, the 'capital' of Door County, Wilson's restaurant presents burgers and a wide range of specialty ice cream desserts. The burger was great, the home made root beer better and the Wilson's Special sundae the best! With the turning of many a patron head came the tall glass, floating in all its gorgeousness and gorgeousity. A glowing amber butterscotch, beneath layers of vanilla ice cream, marshmallow, fudge, vanilla ice cream and marshmallow, with a cherry on top! Oh so yummy and one of their cheapest ice cream offerings.

At the Chef's Hat I went for a penne pasta with andouille sausage. Mushrooms, green and red peppers, pine nuts, gorgonzolla and more, bathed in olive oil.

Other than food, we've shot some footage around the county. There are many lighthouses in the area, but the Cana Lighthouse had to be the best. Tall, white and appearing to be bolted together in many ribbed segments, this tower is what you think of when you hear the word 'lighthouse.' In Bailey's Harbor we spoke with some girls kite boarding and got some on-camera time. At Peninsula State Park, we climbed the 75 foot wood fire tower to take a panoramic view of Door County. The sun had burned off most of the mist of that day, but their still remained a brief haze, mixing fairly good visibility with an ethereal atmosphere. Some boats zoomed in the vast waters of Lake Michigan below and in the distance, but most was open and blue. You could see many of the towns, such as Ephraim, in the distance and points and islands as well. At the horizon there was nothing but water.

Training is going pretty well. It's odd to be giving some pointers but having no shooting responsibilities. I've almost as much anxiousness to get this over as I did when I was being trained in. I have to get used to tolerating the quirks and messiness of another individual and have encouraged myself to let much flow as it goes. We've been able to do on camera stuff that is impossible with only one person. This set-up is really what should be done when you have a host in front of the camera. The Canadian Les Stroud (Survivorman) is about the only talent that shoots himself.

On to more shoots in Door County. We'll make our way to a fish boil and I'll let you know how the next days go! I'll also get some of the pictures up when I've a good connection to the internet. Ta!

Minocqua to Door County

2008-08-20T21:37:00.000-05:00

After stopping back in the cities to pick up the new trainee videographer, it was off to Minocqua, WI. The northeast region brought us closer to habitation and creature comforts that were often missing in my Hayward jaunt. Worth mentioning is a place called Paul Bunyan's Cook Shack. Standing in front of the restaurant is a great big cut-out of Bunyan, thumb up and casting his flat face skywards. The closer you get to the sign the more you are aware of how huge it is. Impressive and makes you want to go in and feast.

We did some quick video (it's great to have a camera man instead of shooting yourself) and then head in. It was family style: ribs, mashed potatoes, chicken and gravy, corn on the cob and alfredo. It's all you can eat and I had to order some more chicken and gravy. Salty, gravy, chicken, yum!

On our way to Door County, that sliver that juts up like a horn on northeastern Wisconsin, we stopped in Green Bay. We made our way right to Lambeau field. As you enter Green Bay it becomes evident pretty quickly that you are in the Holy Land of Wisconsin. The field complex is enormous and as we parked in the lot, we spotted the Packers practicing in the field across the way. It's quite a community-feel going on in Packerland. Fans are everywhere and the athletes make themselves quite accessible. At the exit gate from the practice field you can watch a Packer tradition as kids offer up their bikes to the football stars and they bike to the stadium with the kids running behind them, carrying their big buddy's helmet.

Even though not really a football fan, it was pretty inspiring, seeing not only how committed the fans were, but how welcoming the establishment was. I was even able to let go of the natural allergy to Packers, coming from the land of the Vikings. We did a few spots on the stairs leading up to the entry way. Beforehand, I had put my small digital camera down on a ledge. Four minutes later I turn around to see it gone. Certain that it was stolen, I almost didn't bother checking in to lost and found. But, to my surprise, someone had turned it in to a security guard. In a manner of minutes! Thanking my luck, and the very polite guard and customer service, I had my small camera back in my hands.

We then checked out the Packer Hall of Fame. All in all it was very much worth the time on this sunny day!

Now we are in Door County!

On The Road Again

2008-08-15T16:13:00.011-05:00

Friends, I apologize for the lapse in writing. My shoots in northern Wisconsin have offered minimal opportunities for accessing internet or phone coverage. Luckily, there is a free WiFi cafe in Hayward.

Chetek, Spooner, Hayward, Drummond, and similar surrounding towns are where I find myself as of late. The shoots have gone well, the weather has been a mix of rain and beautiful sun and I've taken in sites that are a mix of local and tourist flavor. Where to begin...?

After shooting in Chetek I had a chance to swing into the town of Spooner. Like the surrounding communities, it is a haven for resorters. The many lakes are famous to fishermen. The result is a shotgun-spread of resorts nestled throughout the shorelines of Wisconsin. The most iconic of all fish in this region appears to be the Muskie. As Hayward boasts the largest Muskie ever caught, weighing in at 67 some pounds (and which I just took a gander at in the Mocassin bar), you can find the grand-daddy of all fish statues at the National Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame.

But I have a small connection to Spooner, as its where my Italian side settled after immigrating through Canada. Like many immigrants, the Italians found employment in the railroads and the Railroad Memories Museum is a testament to this bygone era. I've heard stories of my father's childhood. From the floor heating vent he'd listen to his grandparents Italian voices floating up from below. Each morning the relatives would stop in for coffee on their way to work in the rail yards. He remembers his grandma regularly giving food to the homeless wanderers and heard tell of his grandpa shooting the kitchen table when he had had a bit too much to drink.

I decided to eat at Nick's instead of Tony's and to come back to explore in more depth on Friday.

The Hayward shoots have brought me all around! Each resort seems to be about half an hour from Hayward and from each other. Like one owner put it, "five minutes by water, 20 minutes by road." The resorts run the full gamut, from simple, ramshackle structures, to bed and breakfasts in the sturdiest of log construction. Many families are proud of the tradition which they carry on. Some boast that their families have owned the properties since the 20's and uphold certain values, forgotten by the newer owners. Regardless, I have learned a bit from all of them and find the perspectives fascinating.

As I was adrift with one owner on the lake before his property he told me his perspective on the muskie 'craze.' He said he didn't care for it at all. He mentioned that the muskie were a weaker fish and you do them no service by catching them. When you pull them from the water, he said, their insides rip and gravity pulls them down. Besides, why not catch a fish you eat? To the Indians, he said, this sport fishing is like playing with your food. I met another woman, proud of her leadership in the Quiet Lakes Association. They try to promote a speed limit no greater than 10 miles per hour, shun the use of jet-skis and take special pride at the non-existence of invasive species in their waters.

Many encounters I have from a duty to civility and politeness. Though I'd often rather be tucked away in the woods or roaming by myself after a day of social interaction, sometimes its just thrust upon you like anything else. After one longer shoot, being driven through hemlock groves supposedly 500 years old, on a property with a golf course in addition to its lodging ammenities, I found myself invited to dinner. They were expecting their other lodge guests as well. As it ended up, it was just the owners and I! I got to hear about their boarding school experiences, British background (told in a British accent), and the politics of the area. What did I have for dinner? As I couldn't decide between beef strouganof and quail, they gave me both!

Now for some Hayward details. I've had dinner at Coopers, a very good local diner across from the more famous pizza joint called Coops. The Muskie Capital brewery and restaurant is something worth checking out. I got a Belgium Trippel with my chicken parmagiana. Wow, that's the equivalent of about 3 beers, isn't it? I've been able to sample some local diary in the form of an ice cream cone or two. I've also eaten at the very first Famous Daves! Dave Anderson, who came from the Lac Court Oreilles reservation, established the restaurant in mid-nineties. Since then, he became the head of the Bureau of Indian Affairs and has had great success with his restaurant chain. A true local success story!

The downtown area of Hayward is full of the typical tourist shops. The Celtic shop is somewhat unique. The lumberjack village has a good pancake joint and is set in a little log village of other shops. I remember taking fly-fishing lessons with my aunt there, a few years back. The National Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame is worth a visit if only to stand in the mouth of that great big fish. You really will chuckle and get excited when you first see it. Unlike many a fish statue, it is kept up quite well and even shines in the sun. There are many display cases of fishing-related items throughout.

If you want to see that world-record muskie, then you head to the main downtown drag and enter the bar called Mocassins. In addition to the taxidermied fish you'll also see stuffed racoons, foxes and beavers having a grand ol' time playing cards and boxing. Heck, if they would of known they would be having that much fun being dead and stuffed...

I also stopped at the Al Capone Hideout in Couderay. (What's up with naming the town that? Isn't it supposed to be Court Oreilles?) Al Capone once retreated to this house. Today it is well-maintained and the grounds are beautiful, overlooking the lake below. The trees were no so well grown way back in the 20's, but you can imagine what it was like during the high-tide of his reign. A tour guide brings you around and hokey narration is played through speakers at different parts of the tour, but its cool to look around and think of this as Al Capone's home away from home. Some things I found unique were the pump-house down by the lake and an odd mystery structure. Apparently, Al Capone feared fires and wanted to be sure they would have sufficent response should such a think occur. The mystery structure, was this small brick cell, set within a larger brick structure. The cell had a roof, but the larger building did not. To this day, they don't know its purpose but they call it the 'jail.' It's worth a tour, but you'll see what I mean by the hokeyness and its a bummer you can't take any pics inside! I also found the old International truck they used to bring booze down from Canada in. I would imagine this is the same that my great grandfather would use when running for Yarusso?

On a more bizarre note, I made another visit to the ER. As you may remember, last time I was hit with the nasty symptoms of Lymes disease. The antibiotic seemed to wipe out my symptoms and all was well again. The very day I left for this journey by thumb felt as though it had been hit with a hammer. It was enough to keep me up at night and make we wonder just what was going on. I decided I would just monitor it and hope it went away. As days progressed, the pain remained and numbness began to overtake my hands. My thoughts contemplated the advanced neurological symptoms of Lymes and I began to worry more. I decided, if on the next day symptoms did not improve, I would go to urgent care to save me the cost of the ER and the like.

That late afternoon, I had myself a little nap. When I awoke, I discovered that my arms and legs were numb, my muscles in pain and numbness was spreading to my face. That made me more concerned. As I had no phone coverage, was in a cabin remote to the main lodge and worried about my ability to drive myself somewhere, I thought it best to do something. I cursed the amount of money the ER would cost, but after encouragement from a friend, I went in.

To make a long, frustrating, experience short. They didn't find anything and did not know what could be causing it. The blood test did show that I had Lymes but that all indications were that I was healthy. They wanted to perscribe a muscle relaxant but I thought that unnecessary.

How are things now? Things appear to be much better. The pain is gone though some weakness remains. The hand does that shaky think when you lift your coffee cup to your mouth, but most odd symptoms appear to fade by the day. What was it? Well, either a pinched nerve or a brain tumor I would gather. Unless there is something inside the ol' brainbox amiss, I really think it must be some pinched nerve.

No need to worry, this just appears to be a hassle. I'm in a great frame of mind and my thoughts dwell upon working for myself, as me own boss! Any projects you'd like done? Independent contractor sounds good to me!

I'll be swinging into town briefly to pick up a new videographer. I'll be training him in next week. It will be nice to see my garden albeit briefly.

I hope your days find you well. For our northern hemisphere peoples comes the turn of the leaf and the clear nights. For our southern hemisphere cousins, the promise of warm winds and brightening skies.

P.S. I've been able to stay my first night and (will be spending) the upcoming night at my aunt's cabin. It offers a great amount of peace from the social and musty-tinged evenings of late. Here's a shot of the prayer flags...

Another FMR Note...

2008-08-07T11:58:00.002-05:00

As there were certain rewards for pledges raised, I received notice that I was eligible for a gift. From the list, I grabbed some Minnesota Twins tickets. Since y'all pledged I believe the tickets are yours! I apologize to friends out of state, but those in-state, I'll let you know specifics as soon as I get them.

The Challenge a Success - A Special Thanks to My Supporters!

2008-07-31T12:16:00.005-05:00

At the time I first began writing this, I felt as though there was a swell of water beneath me, rising me up then easing me down. I was on land, but still feeling the movement of 44 miles of river.

It was a grand affair! Approximately 350 paddlers participated in this year's Mississippi River Challenge. Commencing at Coon Rapids Dam and ending at Grey Cloud Island, kayaks and canoes (and even one stand-up paddle boarder) had good weather conditions and a safe route before them. We had no one capsize or take on serious injury and other than some sunburn and minor dehydration, everyone had a happy and fulfilling experience.

On Friday we dropped our boats off at the dam. I received the safety briefing from Whitney, got my radio, flag and 'Safety Captain' T. The next day we head to Grey Cloud island where we dropped off our vehicles. Buses then shuttled us back to Coon Rapids and we gave the participants the safety briefing. It was pretty basic stuff, but important nonetheless. Our basic procedure for assisting tips in the river is to have them stay with their boat and account for everyone, then a safety captain would tow them ashore where they can empty water, reassemble, etc. There would be nothing fancy as their is assistance from both Coast Guard and Sheriff's Dept. Rarely do people tip over! We give them reminders of the route and basic regulations, and tell them how to operate in the locks. Easy stuff.

As in the past, there was an Ojibwe drum ceremony which takes place as people are shoving off. Years past, we'd wait until the ceremony was over. But, as that got lengthy, it now runs concurrently with the push-off.

We were spaced about one safety captain to 18, or so, boats. There were 12 captains, so it gives you an estimate of number of different vessels. The mood was upbeat and fun.

Both of the two days was broken up into 3 rest-stops. At each, groups would come in and would be assisted by volunteers who helped land the boats. Stops would include things like bananas, yogurt, nature bars, a bagel chunk and various salt snacks. Beverage was either water or gatorade (a wee less savory in mix-form).

Waste was cut to an amazing minimum. There were no bottled water and most people brought their own bottle. Cups, plates and utensils were all starch-based and therefor compostable. It would make you pause, coming to dump your refuse and placing 90% of it in the 'Compost' bin! You look at the nearly empty trash can and marvel at the conservation being done.

The day was sunny and got quite warm. We carried some extra water bottles to distribute to those people in need. I had to make sure I stayed hydrated as well. As mentioned in past blogs, the antibiotic I am taking for Lyme's Disease has made me particularly sensitive to the sun, which is a new experience. The back of my hands began to hurt and feel as though they are being baked by radiation. I slobbed on some sun screen to prevent further damage, but especially beneath my fingernails, it felt as though I was being baked by a heat lamp and was burning.

Below Coon Rapids dam we had found shallow, rocky patches, with currents whipping around. But once you had cleared them, the Mississippi maintained an adequate depth. The shoreline was steep in many places and although there were trees and some rock outcroppings, the Minneapolis waterline is one that more reminds you of industry and human manipulation of the river than it does with coexistence. The St. Anthony and Ford Parkway dams are neat experiences, though. You let your intentions be known to the lockmaster, herd the boats inside, the doors shut and water empties as you drop the 50 feet to the lower level. As the doors open downstream, you can see spectators on the overlooking catwalks above, waving and taking pictures. People usually act in haste at this point and we do our best to cause some obstruction to regulate the flow.

People behaved well. There was one moment, before we were about to entire St. Anthony lock, that became a tad bit alarming. As we herded boats to the far right, in order to enter the lock and prevent getting hung up on the falls, I noticed that there were some picture takers, floating far to river left. They were taking pictures of the big Grain Belt sign and seemed oblivious to the fact that the falls were approaching. I gave them some time but made my way their way. Once patience was worn and danger drew closer I sprinted my boat out towards them and repeated "Stay to the right. Stay to the right," until they complied. Not a big deal, I just wondered how close I could safely take my own boat towards them if they did get hung up.

Another special moment was crossing under the new 35W bridge. Last year's event occurred only 2 weeks after the tragic collapse. This year, however, we were able to pass beneath this concrete behemoth. There were large arches, above and you could see some debris at the foundations below. Workers were everywhere. I was most curious about the great wooden beams at the top of the supports which either held workers or framed the new concrete.

The day ended at Fort Snelling. Looking very forward to reaching the last stop of the day, I rounded the bend, and above the tree-encrusted bluffs, sat the old fort.

Once you ascend the long and steep paved path, a little tent village can be seen. This houses first aid, food, massage and information from other non-profits. I was anxious to get things going so jumped in the gear truck the first it arrived to empty out the bags of 350 persons. It was my own form of massage after paddling for 22 miles.

In a tradition I've set for myself, I was first to set up tent on the parade grounds. In this selfish act I declare my territory and encourage others to set up in this historical locale, instead of outside the fort walls! At some time, I would hope at least one of you would join me!

There were many familiar faces. Some people I know from the event of past year's, some from non-profit work, some from other past chapters of life. I met a few new folks this year and had a good time hanging out with them. Some odds and ends that learned from such folk... One guy, who just completed a 61-day paddle of the entire Mississippi, said of the 221 bridges that cross the river, over 100 of them are in Minnesota! Neat, huh? In another conversation I learned more about beer. India Pale Ale's were created by England so that the beer would last for long voyages. Normally, beer became skunky after such long voyages. However, by upping the alcohol content and increasing aroma and bitterness with hops, the beer arrived tasty, thus beginning a successful history of export. I should do something with the 3 different varieties of hops that I grow! If you are a brewer and would like to use them, by all means, help yourself!

Everyone had a wrist-band with 5 tags. One for dinner, 3 for beer or root beer and one for a root beer float. Summit provided a canoe full of beer once again.

A band played beneath the dinner tent. The frontman joked "that he had a special prize for anyone not wearing any REI products or Keens." That was pretty good! I was guilty of both. Oh, how far I've fallen! After dinner, speeches were made, the sponsors, such as Great River Energy, were applauded, prices were given and the band continued on.

Most people collapsed into their tents as soon as the band wrapped up. With the exception of some drunken revelers, the night became silent.

For the second and last day, I ended up as number 2. This was cool, in that I got to go at a much quicker clip (the fast folk always push to the front) and finish earlier, but it also meant that I had less time to rest. Being that lunch arrived a little late, I had to tuck my sandwich in my cockpit and paddle on.

The second day is the prettier one and it is so wonderful to hear even Minneapolis folk talk about how much better the St. Paul waterline is than the one in Minneapolis. The downtown is pressed up to the river, with buildings that appear adhered to the cliff face. The tannish color of the building materials also gives St. Paul a more natural reflection of its surrounding. Minneapolis appears to force itself upon its surrounding whereas St. Paul seems to co-habitate with it.

Nature is the real star of the second day. Just downriver from downtown St. Paul, you pass the tannish-white bluffs of Mounds Park and descend to banks of mostly green trees and shrubs. Once you pass Pig's Eye Island you have birds of every sort populating the refuge. Egrets, herons, eagles, pelicans, cormorants, hawks and gulls soar from tree to tree and in the air currents.

We had only a few barges pass us. They are large and slow and easy to steer clear of. It's the recreational power boaters that cause the most annoyance. Often oblivious to the wake they create they will zoom by and sometimes weave between our boats only to later get scolded by the Coast Guard.

Lion's Levee is arguably the most beautiful stretch of the Mississippi throughout the Twin Cities. This back channel saves you from the large open pool of wind, barges and recreational boaters of the main channel and give you a peaceful moment to reflect. The water appears still and the banks are at times only 10 feet away on either side. To your left, a base of sedimentary rock, weathered dark gray and black rises some ten feet and then the earth and trees above that another 10, giving you a close, tunnel-like feel. Herons squawk and your paddle strokes break flat, brown water. Coming out of the channel you can see a large shelf that sticks about ten feet out and trees grow on top of it. For fun you can pass beneath it and think 'what if this ledge gave way right now?' The flag that stuck up from my boat scraped the ceiling overhead.

The last stretch is always the toughest. Every one is fatigued and the little aches you've had grow into larger ones. My old pitching neck nerve comes back to me at this point and my seat-back wears into me. I remind myself that I felt this way last year and I'll feel this way next. But soon, you see the entrance into the Grey Cloud channel. I took the place of the safety captain ahead and directed boaters, so they would not miss the turn and continue down the river. Man, that would suck! At this point, you just want to get it done.

In time you round the bend and see the beach of the aggregate company. Volunteers are cheering and you feel silly at their applause. You straighten up your shoulders, provide a stronger stroke and act as though you've paddle with such deliberation the entire way. Five last paddle strokes and you hear the scrape of sand beneath your hull. Popping of your spray skirt, stepping into the water and, with assistance, carrying your boat to shore, you realize you've completed this great trek, once again.

Thanks so much for all of your support and your donations. This event has become an annual pilgrimage for me and has become a spiritual journey. Coming off of Lyme's Disease and the weariness of the road, I dreamt of home and hammock. But your support has helped me take the path all the more healing. Your donations go to a cause I dearly love and to people doing good work.

Thanks again all. I've whispered your names to the river.

Morning Discovery

2008-07-22T23:11:00.003-05:00

Today started with an early drive down the misty, weavy Gunflint Trail. At one point, some inner voice told me to pull over and get a shot. In doing so, I almost skidded to a stop. I pulled to a safe position, so cars would miss me in the fog. Yanking out my cameras, I pointed my lense into a clearing, took a shot, and then noticed…there were two moose right before me! A mother and calf, munching on root bulbs. The mother would shake the water from her head and, in doing so, her ears would make a loud flapping noise similar to a dog's! I was but feet from them. The calf was cautious but the mother seemed to care most about the bulbs!

Ely Wrap-Op

I wrapped up my time in Ely with the first nice hotel-like stay of this trip. I was at the Grand Ely Lodge. The shoot of the day was at the North American Bear Center. This facility is brand new and does well in providing information about all the American bears. The layout is similar to something students would make - arial font on 8 x 11 1/2 paper, and pictures, posted to a black backdrop. There are several stuffed bears and props such as a Duluth pack and bear-proof trash receptacles. In the back there is an enclosed viewing area which is the home to a few black bears. There was one, about a year old, visible to everyone. It pounced up the tree with the greatest of ease, its movements resembling those of a primate. I knew they were good climbers, just not how dang fast they could jump up a tree!

Here are some last thoughts on Ely... Getting to spend some time with the town and people was a new experience. Like many, I normally visit this town only as a way-stop to the BWCA. But if you have the time, the International Wolf Center, Dorothy Molter museum and North American Bear Center are worth visiting. If you did the mine tour in Soudan as well, along with some walks and views of nature, the trip alone would be more than worth it. In town you have many different restaurants and shops.

Wise Guys pizza is some of the best I've had and the place is very inviting and fresh feeling. The owners originally ran the one in Centerville and have closed that to be up in Ely. Nice people and great pizza. Oh yeah, they have great ice cream cones too. And hot dogs... The Chocolate Mouse is the hip fancy place. As with everywhere, you can wear your hat and BW's clothes, but expect to look at the menu and say, "Hmm, this is expensive." My wild rice encrusted walley was good, and presentation would make the kinda folks that care for that kinda stuff happy. I can understand it as a treat, but the atmosphere was busy and that's often what I like to pay for as well - place to enjoy a meal and feel at ease. Busy, very busy. Vertin's cafe is a perfect cafe. Waitresses that have the seasoned look of life, good prices and the types of items you hope to see on the menu. It was also a place to be immersed in the local people. I watched an interacial family come visit grandma at work. So rich was the reunion, that you knew you were watching love incarnate. One of the pre-adolescent children was so enamored with being with grandma once again that he stayed with her as they rest went to town. I would not find that at the Chocolate Mouse.

Briton's cafe has a home-town feel as well and you might want to stop by the Ely steakhouse if you like steak. I found myself picking sinew out of my teeth for the next day or so. The Boathouse Brewery had great food! The soup and chicken I had tasted of all fresh ingredients. It's more noisy, but boy is the food good! And if you should consume anything, make it a Dorothy Molter root beer. You can find it at most convenience stores and most assuredly at the museum. Evidently, a friend of her's told me that her root beer could taste downright nasty sometimes! But the one currently sold is quite good and proceeds go to the museum and the localite causes which they support.

Grand Marais and the Gunflint Trail

Leaving Ely, I drove about 2 hours to Grand Marais, only to ascend back up the Gunflint Trail another hour. Most of my next shoots would be at this remote arm, tickling the underside of Canada, dotted with resorts and access points to the BWCA.

After shoots, I would make the hour plus drive out of the Gunflint in order to get phone coverage in Grand Marais. Here I check messages, etc., etc.

{Lots of Minnesotans are familiar with these places and have their own experiences, I’m just going to provide my own. ;) }

This first day Grand Marais was shrouded in thick fog. You could see only about a block and the call of gulls could be heard. This town is packed with art galleries and art shops. The Best Donuts shop is always hopping and cycling people through. You’ve got a giant walleye sticking out of the roof of the Beaver House. The Cook County Co-Op is small but has organic bins, fresh produce and a good organic coffee that only costs a buck. The Crooked Spoon has expensive but good food and the atmosphere is relaxed. Sven and Ole’s has great pizza, but expect to pay for it. They have different events that will bring the cost down and it’s also has a cult status. In my opinion, if you are going to grab something to eat, go to Blue Water Café. Good prices, good food, simple and Minnesotan.

Most of my shoots were on the Gunflint Trail - some 1h and a half in. Many lodges access BWCA entry points. It is remote = no phone, internet or TV. Trails end café offers simple options but the Center is much more happening and full of resorters, student workers, BW’s adventurers and locals. They’ll over daily specials such as fish, ribs, etc. You can also choose to eat at one of the resorts.

The weather has been rainy and cool. For most shoots nature's breath has put a stop to the rain and pushed cloud's aside only to close together and pour afterwards.

Past two months have been akin to lodging in someone's basement. Many lodges have that damp, moldy feeling that makes you look forward to when you get to leave again. Of course, there are cool aspects. Some individual lodges or cottages put you right along a northwoods lake. I was able to take a canoe around a Poplar lake on an overcast afternoon, casting my rod around an island. I had placed a big ol' rock in the bow to provide more ballast and prevent the wind from having to much of its own way. After a modified plyometrics workout I jumped off the dock and into the cool, black water. At night I was able to make a good fire, have my pipe and live in that realm so particular to the boreal border.

Being able to have time alone around nature, shooting video without constraints, has been the most soothing part of this expedition. It has helped to alleviate much of the redundancy that repetitive assignments, moldy lodgings and road weariness has brought on. For destination footage I spent time in the Cascade State Park, following the flow of the water. To be alone with the camera really allows me an intimate relationship with my surroundings.To do as the Blacklock's or Brandenberg get to do would be quite rewarding.

Driving 3+ hours every day is actually something I look quite forward too. In fact, my face often sours if I look down at the GPS and there is less than an hour until my destination. The homewards journey may be an exception to this rule.

Split Rock Day

Today I did a great interview at the Split Rock Lighthouse. The interpreter, donned in his old lighthouse keeper uniform, had worked there for 26 years! He gave me the overview and then took me up to the lens. The wheel still needed to be cranked every 2 hours to raise the weights which spun the lights. It was 7 quarts of mercury that was still used in place of ball bearings, upon which the mirror turned. The day was so clear and bright that the sun made many spectrums all around the house. It was the wreck of the Madeira (a ship that I dove with my dad a few years back) that prompted the light house to build. One man jumped ashore to the rocks, hoisted the others over with a rope, but one went down clinging to the mast, later to get crushed between the ship and the rocks.

I spent some more time below the house, looking back at the house in the “post-card” shot.

My next trip was to Palisade Head. I have kicked myself for never having visited this in the past! Man, is the absolute best view of the North Shore or what?! It’s an absolute must. The beautiful day made visibility the best ever. Crisp dark blue water, teased slightly by the wind, blue skies and bright sun. The octagonally-cooled lava pillars caused much of the rock to develop fissures. So, it felt even more precarious, to be at the edge of this immense cliff, 300 feet above the water, and imagine if one of these slabs decided to leave the face of the cliff. Quite exhilarating! I took plenty of shots and sat, taking it in for a bit.

Well, I’ll get this out. This blog is a bit messier, lacks pictures and feels rushed. Internet access is hard to come by and I want to throw something out there. I apologize for the form! And I'll get pics out there at some point!

Licked by a Wolf!

2008-07-17T18:23:00.004-05:00

There he was, slobbering my hand with his tongue, covering it with dirt and beaver tail. This would had been a dream come true in my days of wolf-worship and today, I think it was just as special.

The International Wolf Center has been celebrating the birth of its two new pups, Aidan and Denali. Even Hollywood celebrities have made a visit as of late. They welcomed my visit and asked me to join the behind-the-scenes tour.

The tour would be a session in the kennel area, where the two pups are being acclimated to the Center world. Lori Schmidt, Wolf Curator, gave an informative presentation on what needs to be done with the pups.

There was a three tier bleacher, with Center members in the little crowd. Lori was on the other side of a slight metal fence that was chest-high and there were 2 other attendants with her. Behind the kennel was the higher main enclosure with the adult wolves occasionally coming for a closer look.

The three pups were being acclimated to life in a people/wolf world. Whether it was the sound of a weed-whipper, someone accidentally kicking a bucket near them, knowing to assume a subservient posture in the presence of a human or that the sliding kennel door was not a threat, these little guys were adjusting. Human males are naturally more intimidating. So, efforts are made to expose them to routine episodes with guys.

The Center was special in that it had 3 different subspecies of Wolf living together: Great Plains (that’s what we got and you could add the outdated term Timberwolf to this mix), Artic and Rocky Mountain and, with the addition of pups, two age groups.

The two pups were hanging out on a blanket and cushion, chewing on a beaver tail and deer leg. They seemed pretty relaxed and just lay there most the time, until Lori made a wolf call to the pack. The little guys were up and running around and in the woods behind you heard the pack howl together. They had many different vocalizations. You could hear the ‘howl’ that everyone has heard before, but you could also hear odd vibratos and yelps of sorts, all coalescing in a yearning song.

After clearing the pen, Lori introduced the most aged of the wolves. A wolf that she believed would not be around for too much longer. In came in the old butter-scotch speckled girl, with tail tucked in and looking about as she did her paces. She would later become a bit more lively.

In their dog-like appearance, fluffy coat and humorous mannerisms, you want to give these guys a hug, the puppies especially (I’ve heard that it is the close-set eyes of the young of many mammals that bring out an instinctive nurturing drive)! But if you respect canis lupus then you know, these guys are wild animals, not pets. They should be viewed not as a big cuddly toy, but as majestic carnivores as comfortable with ripping out the throat of an animal as they are in licking their paw. Give them wide berth if you really love them!

I had actually been invited to the very front from the get go, being with camera and all. So, you can imagine what a supreme great thrill it was, to be pressed against the fence with arms and camera hanging over and canis lupus entering the pen! Not wanting to give neither wolf or curator cause of concern I was initially cautious, but saw that there was no protest whatsoever coming from either side. So, I was able to be a bit more intimate with these canines. Lori told us though old, this wolf still had bite! One day as she was trying to get the wolf up and she if she was ok, she softly brushed her with a warm pop can. The wolf turned and crushed the closed can in an instant. Hmm, my arm was in brushing distance of her head!

At the end the pups were let back in and one of them comes right up to my hand and gives me a great big ol’ lick!

The Root Beer Lady
Next door to the International Wolf Center is the Dorothy Molter Museum. The last person to live in the area now known as the Boundary Waters, this ‘Root Beer Lady,’ became internationally reknown in her epic struggle against big government and champion of the little guy, er, woman.

For most people she was admired as that old lady who lived in the woods, portaged two Duluth packs and carried her motor in her hands. She brewed root beer and if you were passing through, you could buy one. (The limit was 2.) She was known for her humor and her saying “KwitUrBelliAkin!”

Her cabin and much of her belongings were taken out, piece by piece, upon her death in 1986. Today you can receive a tour and buy yourself some root beer.

In talking to one of the curators afterwards, who had been a friend of Dorothy, you get an interesting view of the situation. It seems that many of the memories left behind are of the government telling the people of Ely how to live their lives. Dorothy was very resistant and refused to aquiese to the government’s demands when the canoe area was being created. Eventually, she knew she had to give in.

It really seemed to come down to the people of Ely wanting to use their region in a way that allows them to survive. Whether it has been the removal of citizen’s houses from the canoe area, shutting down roads and ending motor usage on the lakes, groups have rallied around these issues. They have seen much of the government drive to preserve the environment as intrusion upon their way of life. There seems to be a much greater harmony in Ely as of late, but it does help to widen one’s perspective a little bit. After all, these are people that live here!

“A Scary Night”

2008-07-16T21:42:00.004-05:00

This newspaper headline reflects the weather this region has seen as of late. Many a thunderstorm has been swinging through the area. The recent article was referring to the wind damage and several tornadoes which had swept the Iron Range.

I had a chance to be alone with a few different cells that crossed Burntside. I was on the southern shore, the cells crossed the north. The sun was setting. This was a perfect recipe for observation.

Setting up the HD camera on one tripod and my SLR on another, I was standing at the end of the boat landing.

The clouds danced in swirls, doubling back into themselves in smoky whisps. The colors were mostly gray and purple and lightning repeatedly struck the ground. The storms stretched east leaving a long tapering tail that still wreathed in severe updrafts.

I let the camera run for many minutes. Later I will make a time lapse. I then shot individual swirls and areas where lightening seemed to be most dramatic.

There was the occasional spinning tentacle trying to touch ground. You could hear the rush of wind across the lake, gust across the water and crash into the trees on my shore. I felt the electric surge of excitement and new it was time to throw the gear and myself into the safety in the car and coast back to my cottage.

It should make for some great footage on an HDTV!