And This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

Summer of 2013 found me excitedly exploring Point Reyes National Seashore for the first time. I camped just outside the park in Point Reyes Station and drove most days through the small community of Inverness and their iconic shipwreck, the S.S. Point Reyes.

The S.S. Point Reyes has been stranded on a sandbar in Tomales near town for as long as anybody in town remembers. Photographers and tourists stopped to photograph this very picturesque derelict of a ship.

That is until recently.

Oh folks will still be able to stop and see the wreckage but the wreckage is greater than it used to be because of some unthinking fools who thought a cool picture was worth the risk. Read an article describing what happened here.

Steel Wool Spinning has gained in popularity over the years as a photographic gimmick. Set fire to steel wool and spin it around on a string as sparks fly of in arc - it creates really cool photos that get lots of likes on FaceBook and Instagram.

The problem is, well, those sparks. They spinning is casting off sparks of molten hot steel. They burn when they land on skin. They burn when they land on dried wood, grass and other burnables. They don't just evaporate into thin air. And when they land on something, they don't just disappear.

All too often, photos of spinning steel wool are made in our wild places. Places that are protected, places that are sensitive, places that could burn. And even if the sparks from spinning steel doesn't set off a fire, there is still the matter of the bits of steel left behind. This is basic Leave No Trace Principles - leave a place as you found it.

A friend once posed this question (and this goes towards biologicals too). Ask yourself - would this/these bits of steel wool be here if it wasn't for me? If the answer is no (and generally the answer to this question is no) then it doesn't belong there and you need to pack it out. Period. Little bits of steel left behind are littering and damaging. Even if you can't see them, they're still destructive by adding elements to the land that weren't there to begin with.

But if you find you must spin steel wool for a cool photo, do me a favor. Look around you and imagine this space as your home. Would you spin burning steel wool in your home? Then maybe you shouldn't spin it here either.

At this point the National Park Service is considering removing the S.S. Point Reyes as it's now a safety hazard. And that is sad for photographers, tourists and residents alike.

The Bobcat

I had my choice of shaded spots to park my car so I chose a shadier one. But I feared as the morning lengthened, the shadows would shorten leaving my car and my after hike snack to bake in the sun. I nudged the car as close to the barrier as I dared. The day was already warm so I stripped off my legs of my pants and left the coat in the car adjusted my ball cap and left the parking lot.

A couple of days before while hiking the Point Tomales Trail, I chatted with a woman who had espoused the beauties of the trail out to Arch Rock. It was like walking through Middle Earth, she said. So green, so lush that she expected elves to walk out of the woods and greet her. Sounded marvelous and even though I had planned to hike the trail, I grew more excited to make the journey.

The trail at one point had been a road but had since been decommissioned. For most of the trip, the Beaver Valley trail is wide with a gradual incline to Divide Meadow and slowly descends down to the junction with the Arch Rock Trail.

It was at Divide Meadow where I saw it.

As I started my way down, I spied an odd shape next to the trail. It's shape similar to a sitting cat. Knowing Point Reyes has feral cats, I began a one-sided conversation with what I believed to be a cat.

It turned it's head towards me as I asked "Are yo a good kitty or are you a bad kitty?" Spying the tufts of hair on the tips of it's ears and a on its cheeks, I knew it was more than a mere cat. I was staring at a bobcat. My heart leapt.

I continued to talk to the beautiful feline as I slowly approached, crossing to the other side of the wide trail. Finally, it stood up and trotted into the tall grasses of the meadow showing me its short tail and large feet.

My head was spinning. A bobcat! I had seen a bobcat! And never took out my camera.

The rest of the trail was just as my previous acquaintance had described - lush greens that reminded me of home - to a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I easily sat on the overlook, my only company a bold sea gull who came to investigate me. I thought how lucky I was to have seen such a beautiful animal.

My way back seemed so uneventful. I got back to my car and thought I should report the sighting to the park. The ranger I spoke to was just as excited as I was about the incident.

Every now and then, something happens on the trail that makes me remember why I love being in the wilderness.

Making Visual Sense

Have you ever been presented with a scene that stops you in your tracks? Something in the scene attracted your eyes, but what was it? For after you stopped, you couldn't see what had attracted you in the 1st place.

But you knew something is there. What do you do? Do you continue on your way? Or do you investigate further?

You've undoubtedly heard this before, but I'm going to say it again - sometimes photography is a matter of patience. And this confusing scene in front of you is a perfect example.

Slow down.

Look.

Investigate.

Go back look at the scene again and start to really look at the elements. Bring your camera to your eye to help weed our any distracting elements. Take several images from different viewpoints. Go low, go high, zoom in and out. Use your feet to get closer and look at different angles. Isolate sections of the scene until you find what you like and even what might have originally stopped you.

The above scene was an expansive marsh full of grasses and shrubs that never let the eye rest. I wanted to best capture the scrambled nature of the marsh but was having trouble getting it all in. Plus the day was rather foggy and with any open landscape images the sky was blown out and boring.

I started looking at the marsh through my lens and say this bare shrub - scrambled and messy like the marsh but defined in its craziness. In one small section of the marsh, I found image that would help define the marsh.

So the next time you walk past a scrambled scene and think you see something, stop and look more closely.

Trust your instinctive eye.

There is more to Life . . .

To be honest, I've felt a little burnt out by the time August rolled around. Every weekend since April has been filled with one hike or event after another. Not just one day of the weekend but the whole weekend. My apartment was cluttered from lack of cleaning. My nerves were raw. My psyche, in need of healing.

I've had a full summer and wonder, what was in it for me?

I led hikes for gracious hikers but hardly a hike went of without some issue to frazzle my nerves and question my own decisions.

It put me in a tailspin. Did I really want to lead? If all I got was grief, why would I want to?

But wait, was all I got on the hikes I led, grief? Was there no enjoyment? Was there nothing for me? I became disheartened and left for my vacation in California with a heavy heart.

My travels took me to Point Reyes National Seashore, a place that is perfect for a person looking for a little isolation for time to reflect. Upon arriving, I stopped in at the visitor center to get a few maps and information before heading out to get the lay of the land. Fog shrouded the bluffs overlooking the ocean. I love hiking in the fog when my brain is overwhelmed by life.

My first hike took me to the most northern point of the park. I hiked out with a couple from San Francisco but soon left them behind as they photographed the elk. I found myself hiking alone in the scrubby vegetation, fog blocking the views, but I was fine as I let my brain relax.

Two days later, I started off on a different trail that a fellow visitor told me looked just like a scene from The Hobbit. The bonus of this hike, she said, was coming to the end of the trail, a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I left early enough on the hike that I startled a bobcat while it was waiting for breakfast. I hiked through thick forest arching over the trail, like a scene out of The Hobbit (she wasn't lying) and came out of the trees to a cliff overlooking the Pacific Oceans. My bonus was that I was the only one there.

I sat down and listened to the waves wash against the sands below. In. Out. I closed my eyes and let my breathing relax. In. Out. Calm.

Why is it we are calm on vacation yet when we get back we lose that calmness and every promise we make to ourselves to bring back less stress?

I came back to another hike with a complaining hiker. And although the hiker iritated me, I tried to keep that promise I made on vacation to not worry about the things I couldn't change.