Travel Stories and Other Adventures
I wondered, for a few seconds, if I was dreaming.
Looking out at the wall, a sea of arms looked back at me, waving. Each arm showing shades of grey, corpse-like, yet animated. Was this for real, or a nightmare? Continue reading “Acts of Deception”
Here’s a challenge for you. Name a shrub that flowers in the middle of the winter. I’ll even show you a few pictures.
Not a very inventive title, is it? What’s up with that?
Ahem. You can stop waiting now. It’s time to resume our quiet little walk in the woods, looking at the smaller things, getting down to more of a bug’s eye view. It’s not bad down here…
“I bet nobody can get a good picture here!”, said our photography instructor. On the face of it, you’d think he was crazy – we were along a stream bed in a lovely valley. But he had his reasons, apart from giving us all a challenge.
Standing on the fringes of a millionaire’s mansion, we looked out over the city. Mount Hood stood across from us on the horizon, acting as a counterpoint for the rising September moon.
I admit it. I live in one of the more picturesque parts of the country.
So when a chance to do a photography workshop in the neighborhood popped up, it seemed like a no lose scenario. In addition to enjoying some of my favorite spots once again, it gave me a chance to share them with folks who by definition are big fans of beautiful landscapes. We gave ’em a taste of the region on the first day with a trip to Mount Hood, stopping at Timberline Lodge, and Trillium Lake.
Where did we go for day two of the workshop?
What do you do when on a “vacation” dedicated explicitly to photography?
It was a chilly February night, and the crowds had only begun to show up. The Portland Winter Light Festival was the draw and with a messy snowstorm in the forecast, this night was prime to be popular.
Carefully, I chose my steps. The herd of deer was out in an open field, as was I. Too sudden a movement and they’d spook, and I was trying to get as close as I could to take my shot.
Two or three more steps and another pause, a bit parallel, a bit closer. I’m taking care not to stare, to pretend I’m just doing my own disinterested thing. There were 14 in the herd. It would only take one to interpret my nonchalant amble as the stalking that it was and set the alarm. 40 yards away now.
