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New Mexico Recharge

     I spent last week with a friend of mine at his cabin in northern New Mexico. He goes out there every year to recharge his batteries and soak in the beauty and quiet of this part of the country.  This year, he was kind enough to extend me an invitation to join him, something he has generously done for others in the past.  Although I  had the opportunity to visit this part of the state some years ago, this was the first time I was able to really explore and appreciate the richness of its natural beauty and experience the diversity of its varied cultures.

I had actually driven right by my friend's cabin years ago and didn't know it. When I showed him the photos I had taken on my return, he almost fell over when I produced one of the Church of Christ located about half a mile from his cabin.  Making it all the more amazing, is the fact that his cabin is a bit removed from the beaten path, located in the small lakeside town of Eagle Nest. Built in the early fifties, the cabin was always intended as strictly a summer getaway.  It has no insulation, so even the early September nights required a couple of blankets on the bed.

My friend is also a photographer (a damn good one), so there was no discussion of how we would fill up all those hours in the day.  Knowing the territory well, having made the same trip for the past ten years, he acted as resident guide, taking me to all the most photogenic spots, places he'd undoubtedly been to many times before.  Regardless, he still managed to find new subjects to focus his camera on.  The key to being a good photographer, is the ability to find a good image just about anywhere.  You don't necessarily need to be surrounded by a beautiful landscape or a gorgeous vista.  That's not to say it doesn't help, but it's certainly not essential.  The challenge is to create something meaningful with what you are given.  

San Antonio Church, Black Lake

In seven days, we traveled from Eagle Nest to Taos and on to Ghost Ranch near Abiquiu.   We got a personal tour of the Philmont Scout Ranch near Cimarron from the director of the Ernest Thompson Seton Museum, which is located there.   The land was a gift of the wealthy oil magnate and wilderness enthusiast Waite Phillips.  It encompasses more than 200 square miles and is the ultimate destination of Boy and Girl Scouts, providing a site for high-adventure training.  Scouts spend two weeks hiking and camping and trying out their survival skills in one of several areas like fishing, rock climbing, mining, horsemanship, etc.  During our SUV tour, on what had to be the roughest, most bone-shaking mountain road I have ever been on, we encountered a total of eight bears, as well as several deer, elk, grouse and various other smaller critters.

                                                      
Fish Camp, Philmont Scout Ranch

The nearby town of Cimarron is home to the infamous St. James Hotel, witness to at least 26 murders during the territory's more violent past.  A less formidable place near the St. James was a shop called The Outfitter, which catered to mountain men, as the sign out front prominently stated.  Clearly, neither my friend nor I, could ever be confused with mountain men, but since he had been in the shop before, I figured there might be something inside worth a look-see.  The place was a combination leather goods, antique and junk shop all rolled into one unique establishment.  The proprietor, a woman named Shirley, was eager to engage us in conversation and ascertain just where we were from, because it was obvious that we were not from those parts.  She pointed out several items she thought we might be interested in, but in the end, we purchased little.  I did, however, come away with a beautiful vintage black and white portrait of a woman taken in a Connecticut studio sometime around the turn of the century.  I loved the contented and relaxed expression on the woman of obvious means. The posing and lighting were impeccable.

                                           

                                                                                   

Abiquiu afforded us the chance to get in some hiking, and to train our lenses on the same beautifully varicolored cliffs and mesas that convinced artist Georgia O'Keeffe to make her home here at Ghost Ranch in 1940.  My buddy and I hiked the Kitchen Mesa Trail and, although we didn't make it to the top of the mesa, we really never intended to. Carrying several pounds of camera gear will tend to temper the ambitions of the most ardent nature lover.  As bad as I felt toting a 35mm camera, lenses and tripod, all I had to do to feel a bit better, was to look over at my friend who was lugging a 5x7 field camera, lenses, film holders and tripod.  For some reason, though, he didn't seem to be struggling half as much as I was.  I think it had something to do with his conditioning with respect to the thinner air at our 6500 foot elevation.  It was either that, or his odd regimen of eating crackers with almond butter and avocado for breakfast.  Yuk!  Just give me one of those stomach churning chili burritos everyone is so fond of around here, thanks very much.

Kitchen Mesa Trail, Ghost Ranch, Abiquiu

During the course of a week, we made several trips to Taos.  There weren't many destinations south of Eagle Nest that did not take us through that town.  Having photographed there previously, I decided to pass up the historic pueblo this time, but I did want to get a shot of the backside of the San Francisco de Asis, the adobe church rendered so exquisitely by Georgia O'Keeffe, Ansel Adams, Paul Strand and others.  I had photographed other sides of the church before, but the rear elevation, which is the most interesting, was always obscured by cars parked in the adjacent lot.  Early one morning on our way to Ghost Ranch, we drove by just to see if we could get a clear shot.  As luck would have it, there was not a car in sight.  What a break!  My luck held as the sun was just breaking out from behind the clouds, providing soft shadows to the buttressed exterior, and a flock of birds was just taking flight.

San Francisco de Asis

Perhaps it was a case for saving the best for last, or maybe it just worked out that way, when we found ourselves on the High Road to Taos on the last day.  For us, the road began in Taos and wound its way down to Santa Fe.  We got on the road and worked our way past Penasco, Las Trampas, Truchas and finally to Chimayo.  After the previous day's fairly strenuous hike of Kitchen Mesa, it was good to be able to drive where we wanted to go, and then hop out of the car for a picture when we needed to.  Between stops, we enjoyed spectacular views  of the Rio Grande Valley and the Carson National Forest.  Most of the towns we passed by were established in the 1600s and 1700s, long before New Mexico became a territory of the United States.  Each town's most prominent structure was a church or mission.  Our first stop, at Truchas, brought us to the Mission Church of the Holy Rosary (1764).  Just outside the church, an elderly woman chopped wood with a hand axe in preparation for the hard, cold winter fast approaching.  The scene provided one more reminder of the unique challenges most people have to endure who live in this part of the country. 

People tend to make do here.  Houses are modest and simple.  The vehicles they drive could have all qualified for the recent Cash for Clunkers government program.  There are abandoned cars, trucks and buses everywhere.  Once they're no longer drivable, many vehicles are put to use for a purpose never originally intended.  Car hoods are made into road signs or used to catch water for a make-shift horse trough.  After a while, deserted cars become almost a natural part of the landscape. In an odd way, they often provide just the perfect element to complement a photograph.

Continuing on, we passed through several smaller towns before arriving at Chimayo, famous for its community of traditional weaving studios.  Despite the number of tourists and worshipers, I attempted to photograph the Santuario de Chimayo, a legendary church which is one of the most visited chapels in the West.  El Santuario de Chimayo is known (at least locally) as the "Lourdes of America."  The crucifix, found at the site by a friar in 1810, is thought to have healing properties and hundreds of discarded crutches and braces piled in the sacristy attest to that fact.  The holy dirt, or sacred sand pit, found in the "pocito" (well) is also thought to have curative powers if rubbed on an afflicted part of the body.  

El Santuario de Chimayo

A sudden afternoon storm cut short my chance to fully photograph the mission and, since no photography was permitted inside, we decided to push on.  This was the southern most stop for us on the highway, so we then backtracked and headed north taking in the beauty of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains once more.  We had bypassed the town of Las Trampas on our way down, knowing a stop here could easily kill the entire day, but with a little time left on the return trip, we decided to stop.  The San Jose de Gracia Catholic Church is located in Las Trampas.  It has often been photographed, but perhaps never so artfully as by Ansel Adams in 1951.  Since my friend had photographed the church many times before, he dropped me off here while he went to photograph something else a few miles away.  In the course of the hour that it took to photograph the church, the light constantly changed.  It shifted, intensified and diminished, then brightened again.  After a week in northern New Mexico, I was just becoming accustomed to these repeating patterns.  The days usually started bright and clear and we would pray for clouds to fill in the boring sky.  By afternoon, our prayers were answered, and then some.  By late in the afternoon, we cursed ourselves for wishing too loud as the clouds rolled in, often blocking out the sun entirely.  Exercising a bit of patience, we knew that if we just waited, things might improve, which they usually did, resulting in dramatic skies with good light and soft shadows.

San Jose de Gracia Catholic Church, Las Trampas

As I was packing up my gear, undoubtedly the oddest sight all week had to be of the two Belgian tourists who rode by the church on Segways.  Are Segways highway legal in New Mexico, I had to wonder.  I approached one young man to find out and he told me that he is handicapped.  Because of that fact, he is permitted to drive the two-wheel conveyance on U.S. highways.  After all, he explained, a Segway is only a bit wider than a bicycle and goes about the same speed.  Actually, the second Belgian was a cameraman who was filming the expedition for European television.  They hoped it would bring attention to the handicapped and how obstacles can be overcome by using technology.  The subject of the documentary admitted that they had both been stopped many times by state troopers along the way, but once they explained the purpose of their well-intentioned project, they were usually just told to be careful and to keep within the speed limit.  He admitted that the joke was wearing thin by now and they still had many miles to go before reaching their final destination.
 

The next morning, it was a long ride to the airport and the flight home.  The week had gone by all too fast.   One good thing about being a photographer though, you get to bring your memories back with you.   

A Slice of Life

It came to me the other day, that I ought to digitize and preserve some of my favorite black and white images from when I was a staff photographer for the Huntsville Times. After over twenty years, I had amassed a sizable collection of bracketed reject negatives of some of the images that I thought were significant in some way. It may have been the historic aspect of the event or the notoriety of the subject that compelled me to hang on to a particular negative.

Some images, like this one below, were retained, not for any reason other than the fact that I liked them very much. This one was shot over 30 years ago. I came upon these four boys sitting outside a rural convenience store, eating popsicles. I asked if I could take their photo for the paper, and of course they said “sure thing mister.” Those were the days, before you had to hunt down the parents and ask their permission. I liked the fact that they resisted the impulse to mug the camera, smile and make funny faces, which is what most boys that age typically will do. They were a serious bunch, or maybe they were just concentrating on eating those popsicles. I remember that it was one of the hottest days of the year, so who could blame them. My editor never ran the picture though. He said that the boys looked too mean, too sinister. He wanted a happy summer's day feature photo, not one where the subjects looked like juvenile delinquents ready to knock over a liqueur store.

I can't help but wonder where they all are today.

Ocoee Offerings

Sometimes it's good to just get away from it all. That's what I did this past weekend when I had suggested to my son, Brian, that we spend a weekend together. We had not had a father-son outing in many years, so we decided this might be a good summer to reconnect. Brian lives in Atlanta, so he doesn't get to participate in as many of the family events like his sisters do, who live close by. We all regret it, and wish he lived closer, but that's life.

Brian checks out the scenery from a campground overlook.

We settled on the idea of going whitewater rafting down the Ocoee River in Tennessee. We chose the Ocoee for two reasons. The first was that the Ocoee is approximately equidistant from Huntsville and Atlanta, and secondly, Brian missed out on a similar rafting trip two years ago with his sisters and brother-in-law. So, this was his chance to even the score. This trip, however, would include not only rafting the middle portion of the Ocoee River, but also the upper section where the 1996 Olympic kayaking competition was held.




In an effort to keep costs down and add to the outdoor experience, we planned to tent camp. I chose the Chilhowee campground, even though it is a bit off the beaten track. Located a few miles from Benton Tennessee, we had to drive seven miles up a steep and twisting road, until we arrived at the top of the mountain and the campground. Views from the several scenic lookouts along the way are fantastic, when it's clear. Unfortunately for us, we had only one day of clear skies during our four day outing. The campground is very isolated and private, but it lacks any kind of camp store, so if you've forgotten anything, you're just SOL. There wasn't even an ice machine, so when we needed ice, we had to drive 24 miles, round trip, to get it. Despite these limitations, the campground did include a beautiful spring-fed lake for swimming, along with a sandy beach for sunbathers. There are several hiking trails of varying lengths and difficulties. Our plans to hike one of the trails had to be canceled, due to all the rain we had to endure.

Youngsters enjoy diving into McKamey Lake at Chilhowee Campground.

Camping in the rain, especially tent camping, calls for a certain mixture of dedication, resolve, humor and stupidity. I mean, you really have to enjoy it, to put up with a constant state of being wet. As much as you try to keep things high and dry, it's a losing battle. A two-mil thick nylon tent is really no match for what Mother Nature can throw at you. You can always surrender to the relatively comfort of the family sedan, but that's really a wimpy way of dealing with the situation. Just deal with it, learn from it, and vow never to go camping again.


Fortunately, Saturday dawned clear and bright once the morning fog had burned off. After almost two days of solid rain, we were grateful for the break, even though we knew that we would probably not dry out anytime soon, since we planned on spending the day in a rubber raft on a raging river. We were scheduled for a mid-afternoon launch time, but our rafting company was running late, so we really didn't hit the water until almost 3:30. If we were beginning to feel a bit lethargic from the delay, that first wave of water that hit us, definitely woke us up. I don't have any idea what the water temperature was, but even for August, it was pretty chilly, and it just got colder as the afternoon turned to early evening.





One of the hundreds of rafts that float the Ocoee each day.

Part of having a successful raft trip down the Ocoee, is the luck of being assigned a good guide. You want one who is experienced, obviously, but who also demonstrates that he enjoys what he is doing. He's one who doesn't take unnecessary chances, but still wants to do whatever he can to make the trip exciting and memorable. Our raft had only four rowers, instead of the customary six, due to the fact that our group was the last to be assigned a guide. We were sort of the leftovers. That proved to be both an advantage and a disadvantage. The lightness of the raft would mean that we were less likely to get stuck on a shallow rock, but it also meant that we did not have sufficient weight or mass to perform certain maneuvers such as "riding a hydraulic" successfully. As it turned out, we proved that theory wrong.

Rafting past the TVA wooden flume.

John, our guide, was a bit more of a risk taker than the guide we had on our trip a few years ago. Not only did he permit us to get out of the raft and float down the river on our own, but at another point, allowed those who were so inclined, to swim through Class 2 rapids. Brian took the challenge, but it wasn't long before he was gasping for breath, as wave after wave crashed into his face as he bobbed along. One thing the guide failed to mention, was that towards the end of the day, and just prior to TVA reclaiming Ocoee's water to be diverted for electricity production, a phenomenon called a "surge" occurs. The water level actually rises which makes for a much more thrilling ride. It also makes the rapids more intense and a bit dangerous. Brian managed to stay afloat, mainly due to his life jacket, and after he had swallowed half the river, he was pulled back inside the raft, looking a bit blue around the edges. That didn't deter our guide from subsequently encouraging us each to play "bronco rider", which required sitting on the very front tip of the raft as it went through the rapids. It was one of those "top of the world" moments. I was not up for it, nor was Brian, who was still trying to catch his breath from his swim. Our raft mates both tried it however, and were fairly successful in staying aboard as the force of the water tried to push them back inside the raft.



Rapids intensify just below Ocoee Dam #2.

About the time John ran out of tricks to try on us, we were coming to the end of our four hour excursion. He thanked us all for rowing so well and working so well as a team. He mentioned that it was one of his better trips down the river, but we all had to wonder if he was just pumping us for a bigger tip. It's unfortunate that our great afternoon had to be followed by perhaps the worst part of the experience, getting back on the smelly bus for the cold and wet ride back up river to the rafting company headquarters and our car.

Oh, and as soon as we returned to our campsite, it began to rain.

The Alley

On Saturday, I participated in the second annual Scott Kelby Worldwide Photo Walk. It's designed to bring like-minded photo buffs together, to collectively explore their local communities. The event is held all over the world and provides the means for the creation and collection of images all taken on the same day. In some ways, it is reminiscent of the "A Day in the Life" series of books which assigned professional photographers specific subjects to photograph during the same 24-hour period. The best photos were eventually compiled into a book. Most were fairly broad in scope and involved photographers from all over the globe, but later, they became a bit more targeted, with titles like America: 24/7, A Day in the Life - Africa, Australia, Japan, Soviet Union, etc. There was even one done on Alabama.

Most of the fifty participants who came out for the Huntsville photo walk were primarily made up of the North Alabama Flickr Group, better know as the North Alabama Photographer's Guild. Although I have been a member for some time, I'll admit that I have not been very active. So, when I showed up sporting a NAPG t-shirt, I was greeted by several quizzical looks. A small contingent even approached me to ask who I was. I told them my name, but that didn't seem to make much of an impression, so I blurted out "newsman 05", my Flickr username. " Oh!", someone said, "that's you?" That apparently put lingering suspicions aside and I quickly became accepted as part of the group.

Our team leader told us that we could travel "en masse", or go it alone. He did encourage everyone to make an effort to meet as many of the other participants as possible since that was the main purpose of the walk. Some did go it alone, but many broke off in groups of two's and three's. I went it alone because I have always considered photography a solitary endeavor. I cannot concentrate on my surroundings or focus on potential subject matter when I'm carrying on a conversation with someone. With only two hours to work with, I wanted to cover as much territory as possible.

Although I had worked in downtown Huntsville many years ago, so much had changed, that I actually got lost once or twice. One thing that hadn't changed much was the building I had worked in as an apprentice architect about 35 years ago. The window of the room I worked in looked out onto an old rundown alley that was littered with a new assortment of empty wine and beer bottles each morning. To me, the view was breathtaking. How I wanted to be out there, on the other side of the glass, taking photos instead of drawing lines all day. This past Saturday, I finally got my chance to explore that old alley. Admittedly, it had been cleaned up from what I remember, but there was still enough of things of interest to focus my camera on. The beer bottles were still there too. These few photos represent a sampling of what I found on my photo walk and in my old alley.

Belle Meade Meander

Recently, I had an opportunity to visit Belle Meade Plantation in Nashville. For whatever reason, I had never been there before, although I have visited the city perhaps dozens of times. I have visited mansions of that era in cities such as in Natchez, Montgomery, Atlanta and Charleston but for some reason this one escaped my inspection, until last week. The home itself is not one of the stately Georgian columned mansions you might see in other Southern towns. Built in 1853, it began as a fairly modest looking dwelling which was added to and modified through the years. The original occupant was William Giles Harding who inherited the property from his father, and built his sizable fortune by breeding thoroughbred horses until horse racing was finally outlawed in Tennessee in the 20th Century.

Although I did tour the house, photos were not permitted inside, so I was unable to record the three story spiral central staircase or the amazingly high-tech master bath complete with a 270 degree shower spray. Overall, however, I was not that impressed with the interior either. If I had been permitted to take photos, I might have become more inquisitive and discovered some things that were sufficiently noteworthy.

At one time, the plantation encompassed 5400 acres. It is considerably less than that today, but the grounds, where Union and Confederate forces skirmished in the Battle of Nashville, are still quite extensive. In addition to the original cabin, the grounds accommodate a dairy, slave cabin, smokehouse, carriage house and stables. The smokehouse (below left) was built in 1826. Large qualities of pork and beef were were salt cured and smoked as a means of preserving the meat. In one year, 20,000 lbs of meat would be preserved in this manner.

Formal gardens, a winery, a dollhouse, mausoleum and gift shop fill up
most of the remaining property currently open to the public.

Stately old magnolias grace the property.

The picket fence provides the perfect background for

this cluster of daylilies bordering the formal gardens.

A bullet hole is still visible on the front column of the mansion, a reminder of the Battle of Nashville, which took place partly on the grounds of Belle Meade Plantation.

Door to the wine cellar.

The roots of one of the dozens of magnolia trees.

The enormous carriage house (1892) sheltered the family conveyances, while the second floor provided living quarters for some of the farm's groomsmen and drivers. The attached stables housed the carriage horses and a hayloft. The loft area (above) seems to be looking out protectively over the grounds of Belle Meade.

Mooresville Portraits

The historic town of Mooresville, has been called the "Williamsburg of Alabama". I don't know if I'd go that far, but it is one of the oldest and historic places in the state. When cotton was king, Mooresville was home to many of the cotton planters, field workers and merchants from that part of Limestone County. Remarkably, the town has changed little since then and appears untouched by time. Some of the current residents are descended from the earliest settlers and they strive to maintain the look of the original structures, while adding the conveniences that make modern living possible. One former resident, a tailor's apprentice, Andrew Johnson, went on to become President of the Unites States.

The town's historic and unhurried charm have made it a desired location for several Hollywood movies, including "Tom and Huck" starring Jonathan Taylor Thomas. It also attracts countless photographers, both amateur and professional. Some just photograph the historic homes and beautiful gardens, but many portrait photographers use the buildings as artistic backdrops for their subjects. There have been so many photographers on spring afternoons, that the town now requires that commercial photographers purchase permits, and adhere to certain rules and regulations in order to limit the numbers. The permit is costly, so I'm sure it has had the desired effect.

One day this week, I jumped into the fray, and attempted to take some photos of my daughter, Michelle, and my grandson Kendall. She wanted a new picture to give her husband as a Father's Day gift. I wasn't sure how her 19-month old would do. A child's attention span at that age is about fifteen seconds long, and getting their cooperation is certainly a challenge. My daughter came armed with toys, music and snacks that she used to entice, and otherwise bribe her son. My other daughter, Jennifer, came along to assist, create distractions and get Kendall to smile by making faces and noises that I wasn't aware she was capable of making. I'll have to admit, that he did pretty good, and much better than expected. Here are some of the results.