It's time to pull out that camera and use it!

You're at home and it's a beautiful day out. You stare out at the bright sunny sky without a cloud to be seen. Sighing, you turn to your computer and log on to Facebook. Why bother going out to photograph on a day like this?

Well, I ask, why don't you? If you'd rather be photographing, why don't you go?

But Heidi, you say, it's just too sunny out! The light is too harsh, washing out colors. The shadows too dense. Highlights will glare into your lens. It's a lousy day for photography.

Why not use that to your advantage? Any opportunity to play with your camera gives you the opportunity to practice, practice, practice.

The light is too harsh and washes out the colors, you say. Why not look for images to convert to black and white later? Or find shady areas and focus in on the smaller things in life?

The shadows are too dense, you complain. Again, get into the shadows, adjust your exposure for the darkness and photograph close-ups or portraits. Or look specifically for graphic designs created by the harsh shadows.

Oh the highlights, you fret. Have you ever heard of a polarizing filter? The above image was photographed with a polarizing filter to bring down the highlights and the sun at my back. Or point your lens into the sun for interesting backlight on your subject.

Most people enjoy a beautiful sunny day, except photographers who end up pouting because the light isn't "right". I say, make it right - play with it. See what the light does and the shadows and the colors. You may not end up with anything frame-worthy . . . yet. But anytime to play with your camera should be a lesson and a pleasure.

So get out there and use that camera!

Cataldo Mission

On a hill overlooking the Coeur d'Alene River and valley sits the oldest building still in use in Idaho. A mission built by the Coeur d'Alene Indians after they journeyed east to find medicine men in black robes and carrying spiritual books. And the black robes, Jesuits, came. Originally it was built along the St Joe River, but the area was prone to flooding, so the Jesuits found a new home for what was named the Mission of the Sacred Heart. The mission became a place of worship and learning for the Coeur d'Alenes and later a wayside for miners and settlers.

The mission is now an Idaho state park and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

I had the opportunity to visit the mission on a recent road trip to Montana. I had been driving past the park for several years and thought "I should stop in and see what this is all about." But I always felt too rushed to stop, which is silly since I like to take road trips so I don't feel rushed and can stop by little wayside gems like these.

This trip though, as I drove past to get to my destination in Montana, I told myself that on the way home I will stop. And so I did.

After watching the informative video and meandering through their exhibits, I made my way in the mid-day heat to the mission and parish house on the hill. It took the Coeur d'Alene 3 years to build the mission with the materials they had on hand - not a single nail was used in the construction. The chandeliers were made from tin cans and the wallpaper was either cloth from the Hudsons Bay Company or newspapers with painted designs in blue. The blue paint was actually stain made from crushed huckleberries.

You could almost feel the love in the craftsmanship of the Coeur d'Alene - the hand hewn flooring, the cut tin, the carvings on the alter. I laid on my back admiring the colors of the ceiling, the large center panels stained in huckleberry juice. Such care for an adopted religion that, for better or worse, brought education and civilization to the frontier and beyond.

The mission and parish house are simple buildings built on on a hill that was at one time beyond the edge of civilization. Now an interstate runs past it leading cars and people to other places at high speeds.

So while on your next trip, why don't you slow down for an hour or two and visit a quiet wayside for history or nature or for peace.

Visions from a Race

Each year I head to Lolo Pass on the Idaho/Montana broder to photograph the Mountains to Meadow Half Marathon and 5k Fun Run. It's a fun event that I look forward to every year - beautiful location, fun people, and a chance to get away to do what I love for a good cause.

From the start, I saw this event as unique and spirited, celebrating the history of the area.

You see, Lolo Pass is where Lewis & Clark crossed the Bitteroot Mountains. Graves Creek meanders through the Camas fields near the pass and the adventurers camped on it's banks for a time. They were surprised by the Camas and described the flower and it's nourishing roots in their journals.

As part of the race, Corps of Discovery re-enactors come to the race to demonstrate history and to fire the pistol at the start of the race. Well, actually what they fire is a flint-lock rifle. Always a fun start.

This year to add a little more flair to the event, celebrating the 207th anniversary of Lewis & Clark crossing Lolo Pass on June 29th, the organizers brought in a Bluegrass Duo to serenade the runners as they came past.

The runners were at first surprised, others joyful as they trotted past. Our musicians completely tickled by the event.

They promised to come back.

Lone Tree

It stood on the hill.

Alone.

Bent over like an old man with arthritis.

A weather worn tree, formed into it's crooked appearance by the wind. Wind blowing hard and stiff over the years, bending the life of the tree to its will.

And the tree bent and it grew with the direction of the forces of nature until it was permanently hunched under clouds.

But do not pity the lone tree, crouching on top of the hill. This lone tree does not cower in the fierce nature of the elements. Instead, it was made by Mother Nature in this form to protect the delicate flowers at its base.

This tree, this old weathered man with arthritis is strong in purpose.

D'Oh!

We all make mistakes. And in the last couple of weeks I have been well aware that I am included in the "all" of that statement.

I know, I know. Seems impossible doesn't it that I might make a mistake . . . or two . . . or more. but I do.

In a recent post, I described my stay at the Alvord Desert as very windy. So windy, that when I turned my back to grab a filter, a gust came up and pushed the tripod over with the camera mounted to the top. Camera is ok (although it was already held together with hot pink duct tape) but the tripod, not so much. Did I mention it was my boss' tripod that I had borrowed after mine fell apart in December?

Two pieces of equipment are now held together with hot pink duct tape.

No worries. I continue on.

And I did. The above image is from the morning after the tripod incident, just before the sun rose above the clouds.

However, my learning experiences don't stop at battered equipment.

Last week I posted a link to an article by the photography forum LightStalking on my FaceBook page. The article was titled "10 Items a Photographer Should Never Leave Home Without!" Complete with and exclamation point for added emphasis.

Read the list. It's full of those no-brainers that I thought "Oh, Yeah. I always have those."

HA!

Item number 2 is spare memory cards. Well this past weekend as I was leading a hike up to the magnificent views on Mt Townsend, I noticed a red blinking light in my viewfinder. I finally looked at the blinking light and it read NO CARD.

What?!?! I thought for sure I had replaced the card. And did I have a spare? Of course not. All I could do was grumble and growl at myself and finish the hike. I was a little embarrassed, as I billed the hike as a photographer's delight. The folks who remembered their cards were delighted with the trip.

All my images of that trip will have to reside in my mind. And I hope they reside there for a long time - it was a photographer's paradise.

Training all Day

Summer has finally hit the Pacific Northwest. Or at least a little pre-summer tease of warmth and sunshine. It really has been the warmest, sunniest spring I remember here in the Puget Sound area for quite some time.

Flowers are blooming.

Streams are running high from the snow melt.

And with the melting snow, trail tread becomes exposed and people hit the trails. Including me.

Yes, I have a summer planned full of hiking and photoing, nights under the stars and sunrises over alpine lakes.

But I also have something else planned.

Each year I try to do something new. Something beyond my comfort zone. Something that stirs a bit of fear in the pit of my stomach. One year it was a solo road trip to the Southwest. Another it was climbing Asgaard Pass to the enchanting Enchantment Lakes.

This year, I will be riding the fabled Seattle to Portland bike ride - 200 miles, 2 days.

So with the flowers and the melting snow, I will be out huffing and puffing on long training rides hoping my butt doesn't go numb and willing myself to make it through the jitters. I know, if I can make it to the starting line, I will make it to Portland.

After all, the apprehension is always worse.

The image is from that first solo road trip to the Southwest - a rare quite moment in Antelope Canyon.

The Grip

In a recent blog post, I spoke of iconic images. An image that defines a place or an experience.

Iconic images can also define a sport. The images of the human body pushing beyond our understanding of its limits to accomplish a desired goal. Michael Jordan stretching through the air for a slam dunk - an image so iconic the silhouette is on every advertisement for the athletic shoes that bear his name. You can see it in your mind right now.

I wasn't out to find an iconic image when I started hiking around Smith Rock State Park, the rock climber's mecca in central Oregon.

I've been fascinated with rock climbers for years.

I'll often fantasize that I am climbing rocks and boulders along these sleek, toned and tanned specimens of humanity. Then I look in the mirror, try a push up or two and then pick up my camera and trekking poles again. it's good to fantasize.

I figured I would try at least to make a few images of rock climbers.

One problem with photographing rock climbing when you're not a rock climber is that you are often stationary on the ground and behind and below the climbers. You capture a lot of back and butts. But once in a while you get lucky and find a side view of a climber or a profile as they search for their next hold.

And that's what I was photographing, backs and butts and the occasional profile. I was contemplating where I could move for better framing when a couple of men showed up, helmet-less with t-shirts and cargo shorts. With efficiency, they dropped their gear bags, harnessed up and one started scaling the wall. I watched in admiration (honestly, they were the sleek, toned and tanned human specimens I so admire).

Climber's arm reached out for a hold. I watched as muscle and sinew stretched under his skin, tanned to match the wall he was climbing an knew. I focused only on his forearms as they guided him up the wall.

This for me is the iconic image of rock climbing - the beauty of a body in its natural element, becoming the sport to excellence in movement.