The clock read 3:30 am when my brain decided it was time to wake up Saturday morning, a mere 3 hours after going to sleep.  I huddled under the covers half heartedly trying to get back to sleep but mostly doing research on my phone trying to weigh my options.
Luminosity
If I get out of bed now, I can be in the mountains and maybe get some star shots in before the sun rises. 
Nah, it’s -30 outside, it’s hardly worth the trip when I won’t be able to stay outside more than a few minutes at a time. Besides, it’s extra gas money and I’m going snowshoeing in the mountains tomorrow anyway. 

I could just try to go back to sleep.
Come on, it's silly to waste a perfectly good sunrise when I’m clearly wide awake and at this rate I won’t be able to fall asleep anyway.  

What about that place to the North? 
Let’s see, shower time plus coffee time plus driving time minus the amount of time before the sun will rise plus 30 minutes for safety equals best save that one for another day.

Maybe I should try to sleep more? 
Well, I think I feel fine, I got 3 hours of sleep, I can probably keep going until midnight with enough coffee.

Should I make another run out to the location that refuses to cooperate?
No, not today, I’m getting sick and tired of looking at that place and I have plans to visit it in a few weeks already.

Hey, that place to the South looked promising…..
All the way down there? Are you crazy? (As if this blog post doesn't make it painfully obvious....) I'll end up falling asleep at the wheel.  That's an overnight trip, you should plan that soon though. What are we doing tomorrow?

Is sleep still an option because it sounds like a pretty good one to me.  
No way, it's almost 5 am, don't want to waste a perfectly good opportunity. Besides, it's -30 out and the frost on the trees will be great this morning.

Well fine then. Get out of bed!

So I did.

And it was cold.

And it was dark.

And it was kind of grumpy.

And it wasn't very creative.

And it was uninspired.

And it was still cold an hour later. 

And I didn't go very far from home even though I drove around a lot thus foregoing any attempt at saving gas money by sticking close to home.

And did I mention it was grumpy?

But then as the sun was starting to make its presence known and I was in yet another debate with myself over where I should be standing when the light was getting good, I remembered an old standby location right in the middle of the city that I've been visiting for years, pulled into the parking lot and once the camera was in hand the rest fell into place.

And it was still cold, but it was also a little more inspired, a lot less grumpy and overall pretty good. 

I have been thinking back on some of my favourite images I have made this year, and I noticed a startling, though not overly surprising pattern. 

Life & Death on the Prairie

I always thought that the phrase "Caught with your pants down" meant to be caught doing something wrong, but in my case, the more literal interpretation applies a little too often.  Quite a few of my favourite images were made on days I accidentally mooned people.   
 

Now I don't know who Murphy is, but I can say with absolute certainty that I'm not a fan of his law.  After driving for an hour without seeing a single soul last winter, the second I stopped for a bathroom break on the prairies....you probably already know how this ends.....  A  lone farmer drove by and witnessed me scrambling to pull up the half dozen pairs of pants I chose to wear that frosty morning.  Not an easy task at the best of times, but almost impossible to do while rushing and trying not to fall down a ditch at the same time.   Subtlety was never one of my strong points, my only regret is that I wasn't able to charge admission to the show.

Morning Light

Speaking of Murphy's Law, Canada Day at Moraine Lake began the same as any other day I head out to photograph a sunrise - with a nice shower, so a few graceful and well placed steps deep into the creek later that morning barely saved me from taking an unnecessary bath. The road into the lake had been eerily quiet all morning, and I thought nothing of changing out of my wet pants beside my truck.  My bare spindly legs stuck into comically oversized hiking boots were poking out of the bottom of my jacket when the first tour bus of the day rounded the corner and drove past me giving the passengers a good look at the local wildlife...

Moraine out of the Mist

Yellow

 2015 was a classy year.....and a bit drafty.  ​ In photography, timing is essential and I guess the same can be said of changing out of wet clothes or trying to sneak a roadside bathroom break. I like to think that I traded in my daily allotment of good timing in exchange for a shot at a decent photographic opportunity.  

White

I had been puttering around in the dark for some time Friday night, snapping a few test photos and digging around in the snow to arrange a composition.  I finished setting up my camera and was in the tedious process of arranging a rather unbalanced prop, when I switched on a stronger flash light and noticed a pair of eyes glowing about 30 feet away from me. A quick scan with the light revealed 29 more pairs of eyes and I realized I had quite an audience. My heart skipped a beat. I had been unknowingly sharing my location with a rather large herd of elk.  A bit startled and a little unnerved about my lack of observational powers, I decided to pack up and move closer to humanity. Besides, I felt the deer skull I was parading around in front of the group of ungulates was a bit insensitive on my part.

Life & Death in the Mountains

Green

It was determined recently that it would be in the best interest of my sanity, safety and bank account to issue the Do Not Resuscitate order for my beloved truck Mrs. Beastly.  With two cylinders gone bad and a cracked block to drive the nail into the coffin, our time together has come to an early end.  I always said I was going to drive this truck into the ground, I just didn't expect it to be quite this soon, but with 250000 km and many years of hauling a heavy trailer around the Western part of Canada I shouldn't be surprised.  

Digging ourselves out of a ditch

Sunny roadside naps in the box after a 1 am wake up to shoot the sunrise.

The back seat in between shooting a sunset and waiting for the sunrise.  It would appear I spent more time napping than actually driving....

It's sad to say good bye to an old friend when you've had so many adventures and happy memories together. So here's to Mrs Beastly, the scrappiest little truck I've had the pleasure of driving, I couldn't have taken most of my photos without her.

On the brighter side of things, in time, I'm looking forward to finding a new truck that will fit the name "Sir Trucks-a-lot"   

A bit of a rant, if you'll be so kind as to indulge me

I'm very fortunate to be part of multiple artist communities, in person and online.  Communities that offer love and support, guidance and advice, camaraderie along with a healthy dose of constructive criticism.  It's a good situation to be in, and the opportunity to interact with artists of all levels of experience is as enriching and useful for the seasoned professionals as it is for the newcomers.  We can learn from other's mistakes and successes as well as our own.  So it's with great disappointment that I comment today on the attitudes seemingly held by many photographers.  As I scroll through blog posts and read my daily social updates, there has been an influx of thinly veiled jabs hurled out from every platform, from instagram captions to lengthy articles in normally respectable outlets.  A flurry of photographers hell bent on one upping each other by making their own motivations and creative processes seem like the only correct motivation and process to have. (I won't name and shame here, I'm trying hard not to be part of the problem)

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction and the rule has never been more true than it is in the world of photographers lately. With every inflammatory article posted, a new rash of photographers emerge, staunchly taking sides against each other over some arbitrary hot topic.  If one photographer is happily sponsored by a company, another photographer will be there denouncing the practice and throwing out accusations of disingenuity.  One photographer only photographs during the golden hour while another shouts into the void about "real  photographers" being able to make beautiful images at any time of the day. Photographers are finding passive aggressive ways to undermine each other over every meaningless little thing. Debates over sponsorship and daring to use social media to their advantage, not being adventurous enough to "deserve" taking a landscape photo as if the difference between hiking or flying to a location will make or break an image.  I see unsolicited criticism about subject matter, techniques, self promotion and the list goes on.

I've even seen photographers get criticized for taking photos of subject matter that is too beautiful and therefore taking the easy way out.  As if the inherent quality of a photo worthy of our praise is the amount of strife a photographer must battle before clicking the shutter.  Kind of silly isn't it?

 It’s frustrating being part of one community of artists and knowing how enriching supporting one another can be for both the experienced and inexperienced and yet I see photographers with a sense of elitism pass on the opportunity to develop their community time and again. 

The Press Gang Promo

If one photographer is driven to create an image because she's being paid to, and another photographer is driven to create an image from something within himself, who are we to sit behind our computer judging them and exclaiming  one is more worthy of the title of being an artist? It seems to me that if every photographer focussed more on developing their own unique voice and creative processes than their neighbours, everyone would get a lot more work accomplished and we'd all be in better moods because of it. 
 

For those who still find it absolutely necessary to call a fellow photographer's motivations into question without first bothering to learn why that photographer made the choices he or she did, ask yourself first if you're doing it out of a place of genuine concern for that artist's growth, or is it because you might be feeling insecure about your own work.

Luminosity  

I realize that this blog post might be a bit hypocritical by committing to shouting into the void, but can we all just grow up, stop with the petty insults and simply support one another so we can all grow as artists?  

At the end of the day, it's the image and what it says to the audience that matters. How the photographer actually arrived to making that photo is probably nobody's business but their own.  Instead of criticizing why the photographer was driven to take a photograph, we should be asking ourselves what the photographer is trying to say with the image.   

It's funny how something as simple as a set of hiking poles can open up so many possibilities, but with my new little sticks of stability, I’m suddenly not restricted to teetering around in the dark beside my truck any more, relying on a heavy camera laden tripod to stop me from tipping over when it’s too dark for my eyes to keep me vertical.  So it was with my new poles in hand I found myself at a trail head in the dark two weekends in a row.

Secrets

The first weekend I met up with fellow photographers Monika Deviat, Becky Simrose and Lucas Foran for a hike to Lake Agnes tea house for sunrise and a much needed cup of coffee. It was deliciously foggy and that will ensure that my next venture to the tea house will be just as new an experience as the first, since the visibility was low enough to keep the mountain vistas secret for now.  

Heartbeat

Out of the Dark

Afterwards we trekked into the clouds over the Beehive and down to the toe of the glacier on Mount Victoria just in time for the sun to finally peek out of the clouds. When it was time to leave, we meandered down the river until we finally reached Lake Lousy, errr, Lake Louise, and valiantly fought our way past the hordes of selfie stick wielding tourists. Someday I may actually shoot a sunrise at Lake Louise, but so far the sheer number of people have been pretty effective at keeping me far, far away from the location. I'm just glad the crowds are relatively concentrated in one spot and therefore easily avoided, allowing some solitude for those of us who prefer to be alone. 

Thanksgiving weekend was spent camping in Peter Lougheed park with Mr. Bastard, our annual tradition.  We had some family members visit and we all stayed up late into the night under the trailer awning out of the rain,  huddled around the lantern for heat. We were sort of damp, kind of cold and a little bit pathetic looking, but with enough laughter and a bit of rum we were able to make it through.  A perfectly marvelous way to celebrate thanksgiving, I was especially thankful for the furnace in our trailer and the warm dry place to  sleep that night.  I was also thankful for a bit of company when I woke up  in the middle of the night again to tromp into the forest with my camera. This time, with my Mother in law in tow, I was on the trail to Rawson Lake. I had been there a couple of months ago but not recently, and the high water level at the creek crossing surprised me.  I scampered up and down the bank with my flashlight but could not see a suitable way across in the dark and ultimately we decided it would be better to turn back. The hiking poles can only take me so far in the balance department, and my cameras don't know how to swim.  I felt a little bit dejected, but with a little time to spare, another location was still in reach and we raced up the highway and into Elbow Lake just before dawn broke.  Again, the sunrise wasn't what I had expected but with any day in the mountains the lack of predictability is what makes it fun.  I'm looking forward to making as many trips as I can before the snow flies. 

Afternoon in the Elbow Pass

I had planned to be about 4 km into the woods by the time I opened my eyes Wednesday morning but the pink glow in the sky that greeted me as I looked out the window confirmed my suspicions. I had slept in. It was no surprise really, despite 13 months without one, somehow my idea of “vacation” meant waking up earlier than if I had to go to work.

Out on an Island

Still, if I was going to miss my alarm clock anywhere, I couldn't have picked a better place to do it.  Despite choosing the campground well in advance, and being fairly familiar with the area, the view out my window caught me off guard and was a strong motivation to get my feet out from under the cozy blankets and on to the freezing cold ground.  My breath turned white and curled in the air as I changed out of my pajamas, grabbed my disorganized bags and scampered the 60 feet or so to the lake shore.  The camera equipment, miscellaneous items and my trusty can of bear spray haphazardly strewn across the rocky beach, I scooted around with both camera bodies churning out compositions. My head going a million miles a minute, trying to take in the view with the cameras and do the scene before me justice, while reminding myself to put the damn things down and enjoy the moment for myself (in between frames at least). 

Indefatigable

 My approach to photographing a scene, especially one I haven't planned for, is typically done in the same frantic manner I encounter while trying to leave the house: No matter how many times I tell myself to slow down, I end up losing the car keys 37 times, wearing two different pairs of shoes and somehow still leaving the house without pants. I do envy those photographers who can approach a scene with a calm, cool finesse, take a pretty picture and still manage to emerge from the event with some semblance of dignity.  Then again, if I had any dignity left at the end of a good morning photo session in the mountains, I'd have nothing to talk about here, so I'll move on.

After about an hour the colour in the sky subsided, the mist lifted off the lake and the sun covered the mountains entirely in a static wash of light.  With the sun fully up I began  the long process of packing and went to retrieve my cameras set up along the shore when all of a sudden a haunting, peculiar sound began emanating from the forest. Wind chimes.

GRIZZLY BEAR! I immediately thought, and scanned the forest for the furred, jingly intruder while rushing over to where I had left the bear spray.  I began cramming precious cameras in my bag in order to save them from a toothy demise. When a ravenous, wind chiming bear did not appear, I realized that it was in fact Cows and Kitties that typically wear bells around their neck and not the Ursus arctos.  

The sound persisted.

My mind turned, briefly, to rational thoughts and I strained to see if some eager camper was near by hanging chimes outside the tent to spruce the place up a bit, or summoning loved ones for a plate of campfire cooked bacon. Not a soul had stirred awake. 

The sound persisted, louder now, faster as if a ghostly, wind chime bearing apparition was rushing back and forth through the trees. Ghosts.  Angry, twinkly sounding ghosts hidden in the shadows of the suddenly evil forest, waiting to strangle me with the long ropes of their stupid wind chimes, but no ghosts emerged from the forest either. 

The sound persisted. 

I don't like this campground anymore.

Maybe the sounds were in my head. Was this my official descent into madness? Would the wind chimes ever stop? Is that why no other campers were crawling out of their tents curious to know what could cause wind chimes to echo through the forest?

The sound persisted. 

I began to cry.

With tears welling up in my eyes, snot welling up in my nose and my face slowly turning fifty shades of red I finished packing my bags, eager to rush the 60 feet back to my bed and crawl under the covers. I pulled my phone from out of my coat pocket to pack it away - 8 am it said, chiming in that it was time to wake up.  My alarm clock had been ringing.

Sunken Treasure

I uploaded a new photo to my Iceland gallery this week.  Well, not exactly new, it's over a year old now, but new for the public eye. 

I was sure bummed out when I came home from vacation last year and viewed the photo on my big computer screen.  Water droplets everywhere. I had packed lens tissues, but the flimsy little papers just couldn't keep up with the torrent of water and mist spraying from the waterfalls.  The moment I laid eyes on this particular waterfall, I knew I had to photograph it, despite stopping at close to a dozen other equally impressive waterfalls over the course of the previous three days.  Tired and aching from a long day, the car pulled over and both my Dad and Mr. Bastard entertained themselves while I waded around in the river trying to hold the tripod steady against the current. I captured the composition I wanted and took an extra photo with a longer lens before I hopped into the car just to be sure, and away we went again.

The photo with the long lens made it into the gallery in the first batch. It wasn't my favourite, but it was the only one that I considered a success from that particular stop. There's nothing wrong with it, but I knew what else I had tried to capture that day and I knew that I had failed. It didn't help that every time I watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (which is a LOT) I would spot the scenic little spot as Ben Stiller's stunt double careened past on a long board.  There's that waterfall again.  Thanks a lot for reminding me Walter.

  The rejected photo sat on my hard drive as a reminder to bring a towel next time and to slow down, something I have struggled with my entire life.  I rushed through, I didn't look carefully enough at the lens when I cleaned it, I didn't examine the LCD rendering closely. I packed up and left before I was certain I had met my expectations.  It was an expensive mistake and I hated the photo for reminding me.  But something changed over the course of the year, and it wasn't the photo, which had patiently waited on my hard drive to be recognized. It was me.  Somewhere over the course of the last year, I had stopped berating myself for screwing up and started to kinda think that maybe the photo might be sorta okay in it's own way.  Instead of dwelling on my failure to achieve my original vision for the photo, I was able to work with the photo I had. A conversion to black and white, some adjustments to emphasize the water droplets rather than trying to hide them, and I was finally able to view the photo with fresh eyes.

A towel, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. The same holds true for photographers.Some hard lessons were learned in Iceland last summer.

Sometimes it just take a little bit of time and a few steps back from a photo to realize it's potential.  I do occasionally troll through my archives to find a photo which I may have written off before giving it a proper chance.  So don't press the delete button on your reject pile immediately, because even though they may not meet your expectations right away, occasionally they prove themselves in different ways after the dust has settled. 

The first time I heard of The Gypsy Bears was back in 2006 or 2007, and I'd missed their set.  I had arrived at a show shortly after they left the stage to find the crowd absolutely buzzing with excitement. Who were these kids?  Nobody seemed to really know them, but anyone I talked to that night excitedly described this weird band they had just experienced.  I heard tales of programmed drums, back flips off of amps, frenzied members running around the stage intentionally detuning each other's guitars, band members and crowd alike taking hits off the fog machine.

Pure chaos the crowd said, the music wasn't exactly the greatest, but you just have to see them live, they're amazing.

And so I did, a lot, and I got to see the band change and evolve over the years. Members came and went, the programmed drums were eventually traded for a human drummer, the music became great and eventually the guitars even stayed in tune for the whole set. But one thing remained constant: The chaotic energy on stage which always makes seeing The Gypsy Bears a memorable experience. 

Here's a few of my favourites from their set at Verns last weekend.