Nature hasn’t produced much in the way of waves since I got this little camera. But this weekend at least gave me a chance to test it and work out any potential kinks. One thing for sure: I’m going to need some Rain-X to take care of those unwanted water spots on the housing.
Yes, I’ve been dreaming of them. So when I received Wend’s Friday Photo newsletter focused on powder, I figured I should submit one of my own photographs in the contest. It is really quite easy, and a great use of Flickr to encourage reader participation and build brand awareness. Plus, you have a chance at winning some great outdoor gear! I scored this time around, now I just need to make my dreams a reality.
This week’s Friday Photo winner is Robert Payne for this shot he snapped while riding a chair lift in Lake Tahoe, California.
Here’s what Robert had to say about the event:
For me, this shot is emblematic of those powder days when you stand cold in the lift line, anticipation building with each reverberation from the bombs blasting in the early morning light. Finally, the line surges forward as you push for the first chair, and you can think of nothing but the straightest line back down the hill. On this particular day I did not count on one surprising obstacle. I couldn’t breath through the fine light snow that leaped into my face and was forced to stop, only for a moment, to keep from drowning in what was otherwise perfect bliss.
Congratulations Robert, you win a Camelbak hydration pack stuffed with two boxes of Clif Bars, a Katadyn Hiker PRO Water Microfilter, a ChicoBag and a package of Grabber hand warmers.
Every month we have a new Friday Photo theme. January’s theme will be ‘Ice’.
Want your own chance at winning? Submit your best ‘Ice‘ shots to our Flickr pool and then send an email with a few lines describing them to fphoto@wendmag.com. We get a lot of submissions so please write the title of your photo in the subject line and include where it was taken in the body of your email.
The great thing about Gotham City is that you are guaranteed to experience something new even if you’re revisiting a familiar spot. Fortunately on this trip, I had the chance to retrace some steps as well as draw upon local friends (1 & 2) for new experiences. Of course, there are so many different things to do in this grand city, so I’m not going to detail the whole excursion. You know how to get to the Empire State Building, right? But here are few highlights:
First off, if you get a chance to see the Tim Burton exhibit at the MoMA you will be amazed at his mastery over multiple mediums. His artistic ability is more diverse than you would ever guess. It is not only wonderful to see the progression in Tim Burton’s career, but also peek inside his pernicious imagination. There is always something new to absorb at the MoMA, so it is worth a trip, every trip. And take the time to do the audio guide. If you are looking to conserve that cash then consider Target Free Friday Nights sponsored by Target.
Speaking of free, a trip to New York is not complete without a stroll through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and if you hit it on the first weekend of the month – AND you are a Bank of America customer – you save $20. That’s money you can spend on lunch at E.A.T. If you’ve never seen a grilled cheese that cost $14 then here is the place. But you guessed it, the food is good.
If you want some free cheese and find yourself near Bryant Park, you might want to drop down to the Cellar Bar in the bottom of The Bryant Park Hotel. Whether your order the Passion, Orgasm, or some other less scintillating drink, you’ll get some small appetizers gratis. The Cellar is a pretty cool space for drinking and getting served by scantily clad gothic waitresses.
Sex isn’t only used to sling drinks in New York. The Standard Hotel, Polshek’s new creation located in the old Meatpacking District, took a rather interesting approach, not only in its design, but the marketing of its decidedly nonstandard rooms. Here’s one advertisement before they fully completed the building:
If you find yourself in the Meatpacking District, check out the The High Line, which is an elevated walkway running through the West Side neighborhoods. The path used to act as a rail line bringing meat and supplies to the local warehouses and stores. Now it serves as a park with stunning views of the city juxtaposed to an integrated landscape featuring natural plants and grasses. The design was a collaborative effort between landscape architecture and urban design firm James Corner Field Operations, and architecture firm Diller Scofidio + Renfro. There is much to see and you just never know what might leap out at you.
Before leaving the Meatpacking District behind, grab a burger at the Corner Bistro if you are hungry, or step inside the Chelsea Market and enjoy a delicious cappuccino at the Ninth Street Espresso.
I must admit I’ve never really checked out Brooklyn, but this time was different, and to say I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement. With beautiful brownstone neighborhoods like Park Slope, entertainment venues such as the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM), and even Prospect Park where, believe it or not, more than one tree co-habits, there is no wonder why so many young professionals call it home. There’s even good surfing at Rockaway Beach just 15 minutes away, and getting to and from Manhattan on the subway is generally smooth sailing. Oh, and then there are the restaurants.
Unlike New York, chefs in Brooklyn can literally afford to go out on their own and be more experimental. There are many fabulous eateries to choose from, but on this trip we followed up on a tip from a local “foodie” who sent us to No. 7. Everything was delicious. I had the Grilled Wagyu Bavette Steak, which was out-of-control good. Who would have thought blueberries and steak go together so well?
Walking off all these consumptive habits is an absolute requirement. I tromped and tromped, and Brooklyn was no exception. Starting from Park Slope, a great stroll unfolded through Carroll Gardens, out on to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, and down to DUMBO (down under manhattan bridge overpass) for a Bloody at Bubby’s. All along the way are beautiful vistas of the Manhattan skyline, Governor’s Island, and the East River. New York’s green initiatives are being seen and felt all around, and it will be great to return when the new park out on the piers below the Promenade is completed.
So all is good in Gotham. The most intimidating and liberating city around still serves up the most beautiful and inspiring architecture, art, food, people, and places that could capitalize a lifetime. Sort of like this book, which is definitely on my reading list. There should be a few more discoveries to be had in New York by the time I am done reading it. At the very least I should take a paddle.
When I moved to Tampa, Florida someone told me there were occasionally waves big enough to surf in the Gulf. I figured I’d believe them when I saw proof. Moving from California and the Left Coast, one gets a slightly different idea of what constitutes a ride-able wave. But lo and behold, one day it puffed and puffed and blew in some slop I squinted real hard at until I convinced myself to paddle out.
Finally, in September of last year Hurricane Ike came through, and I really did get to experience good waves on the Gulf Coast (GC). But other than that, and some more squinting, it has been a lot of trips back and forth to Cocoa Beach and further south to Sebastian Inlet.
The angst builds in GC surfers in the Fall. The promise of hurricanes has every one on edge, hoping for some deviation in the otherwise flat landscape. When Hurricane Ida began to blossom, so did our hopes for good surfing. Unfortunately, it turned out to be overhyped and undersized. But seeing as how I am a GC surfer now, well, it was swell worth riding nonetheless.
While I was waiting for the tide to turn and come back in, I walked out on the beach and captured some footage. I am not endowed with a big video camera, so I no doubt looked rather silly mounting my little Canon DV on a tripod. At one point an older snowbird walked by and stopped, stared, and then pointed and remarked, “look at that little camera.” Hey buddy, I said, it’s not the size of the swell, but the motion of the ocean. He just laughed, stared, and pointed some more at my little camera shooting little waves.
Either way, you’ve got to give it up to these scrappy GC boys making the most of it.
Angst-like music is courtesy of Zeptepi.
I awoke to a dull but persistent sound of freight containers being offloaded at the Port of Charleston. “That’s the sound of money,” I had once heard someone say. I was tired from travel. Coming home was always a mix of excitement and exhaustion. Friends and family; a beautiful city by the sea so steeped in history. Long before me centuries of tides had moved life-sustaining nutrients, boats, people, and commerce through meandering fingers reaching deep in to the heart of permeable shores.
But it was 6:00am and time to rise for a fishing trip with my father. Having spent so many years living great distances from him, I was looking forward to spending some slow time exploring narrow creeks and marshes in pursuit of redfish and trout. In the days proceeding, bending rods and screeching reels filled my imagination and intensified the anticipation. I hoped my suppositions would become reality.
I was a little dismayed the day before when I came in to town and witnessed the impending storm clouds on the horizon. When it began to rain in buckets, I thought the trip would be canceled for sure. A somber call to Dad allayed my fears somewhat. He’d been studying the weather and felt confident we should give it a go. I hung up the phone and noted the rain gear in my suitcase.
Despite my doubts, dawn rose fresh and brilliant. I looked across the harbor to see Charleston filling with the flow of men and women making their way to work. I felt fortunate to have grown up fishing these waters. Before I could even walk I bounced around in a basket at the bow of my father’s John Boat. In those days my mother would have been younger than my wife is now.
Exploring the fringes of one of America’s oldest and most beautiful cities was always an adventure for a young child. The biology of bringing up a seine on a mud bank, catching a shark, getting caught on a barrier island in a fierce thunderstorm, or heading shrimp till my fingers bled. These are just a few of my memories.
We arrived at our first fishing spot. The marsh grass gleamed green against the backdrop of palm, live oak, and pine, and somewhere in the brush a warbler welcomed the day. I spoke of friends, money, and new developments that are further protruding and forever changing the landscape. We could see countless new homes from the boat where, before, we could have never conceived of their existence. Now I think we feel hypocritical for simultaneously wanting environmental protection and economic improvements. But we know the solutions must be there. They have to be. Who doesn’t want their children to experience the same natural beauty that we shared with our parents?
The entire time I spoke, my father simply listened. At first I wondered why he didn’t readily join in. But then it occurred to me that he always listens to me, providing feedback when necessary; guidance when required. While the amount of talk is not the measure of quality time spent together, I hope he knows I am there to listen to him as well.
I watched my father make a cast close to the bank, and in an instant his line went taut. There were no jerky movements, foolish displays, or wasted effort. Instead, his actions were smooth and practiced. Dad pulled in a beautiful bass; and then promptly released it. The day was far from over, so we made our way to several other spots. We caught some, lost some, and all the while soaked up the landscape that has helped to shape the lives of each of us.
On the way back in we followed the “Winds of Fortune,” a shrimp boat returning with its days catch. At one time my grandfather operated two shrimp boats, the Carol El and Princess Ann, the latter of which sank out at the jetties with him on it. It was a different time back then. Much of the area was forest and farmland. Then a bridge was built.
I tried to picture what home was like in those days. What it was like for my grandfather to fish with his father. I wondered what it would be like to fish with my son.
