Snow on the Beach

High Seas as seen at Clifford Kampf County Park
Smith River, California
1/12/07
(and yes, there was snow on the beach)

It never ceases to amaze me how depression can steal your life. I’m sure that anyone who has gone through a period of depression will say this is an understatement. It’s my excuse for missing the past two days’ writing assignment. And yet, the children’s verse comes to mind:

The world is so full of a number of things
I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.

--Robert Lewis Stevenson
A Child’s Garden of Verses

Certainly as I’ve wandered the back roads and beaches of Del Norte County the past couple of days, my eyes and heart have been gladdened by a “number of things.” I’ve even managed to capture a fair share of them in my camera’s memory. Returning home, or to Mother’s home if you will, I have been brought back to the realization of how empty the house is without her. The person who taught me to see; the person who urged me to write is no longer here to share in the wonder of life around us. There is a very real hole in my world right now, and I have no idea how long it will take for that hole to be filled.

I remember spending one Mother’s Day weekend at the Flathead Lake UMC Camp with members from the Stevensville MT UMC and other parishes in our sub-district. The weekend was billed as a clean up time, preparing the camp for the summer season ahead. Sitting around the campfire Saturday evening, I said how truly appropriate it felt to spend Mother’s Day in this wonderful setting. As a small child I had walked at Mother’s side on that very ground—while Father fulfilled his duties as head of the camp. Mother and I would investigate rocks, water, the jig-saw puzzle pieces of Ponderosa bark. As I think back, we were looking at the very things I love photographing now. The waves on the Pacific are a bit higher than those on Flathead Lake, but it’s the same spirit moving it all.

Honestly, I wonder if the time has come for me to head back to Montana. Sitting here in the house my parents bought in 1976, even if the title is being changed over to my name, I cannot escape their presence—no matter that it be a benign presence. Little by little I’m making the place over in my image. But it may be a case of too little, too late in many respects. And I have a home, a partner, friends who love me, waiting up in the frozen northland.

What I don’t have in Montana are these wonderfully awe-inspiring seascapes. Set me down on the beach, even at 36 degrees, and I can happily watch the sea, find dragons in driftwood, pick up stones and shells, and catch the birds as they glide past, appearing to move effortlessly. The occasional hunky surfer dude doesn’t bring me down, either.

This morning dawned, again, clear and cold. Bright blue skies overhead and frost on the lawn. I headed out to the Crescent City Harbor to get a morning shot of the Coast Guard Cutter and Battery Point Lighthouse. The CalTrans reader board over US 101 said “Carry Chains. Snow Ahead.” I wasn’t terribly worried about snow on the road—there was barely any snow along side the road, at least by Montana standards. What did worry me was the thought of black ice on the highway as the temperature was fluctuating between 32 and 37—prime territory for black ice, and the road was wet enough that ice was a very real possibility. Still, just as at home, take it easy became the watchword as I headed south on 101.

Crescent City's Coast Guard Cutter, with Battery Point Lighthouse in the background
Crescent City, California
1/13/07

Stopping first at the Harbor, I got my morning shot of the Coast Guard cutter with the Battery Point Lighthouse in the background. I’ve taken this shot before—several times—but never with the morning sun cooperating with me. This scene always makes me think of the hymn Melita.

Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidst the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.

--William Whiting, 1825-1878

Deep sea fishing is the most treacherous job in America. Every time the boats go out there are those in peril on the sea. Stop for a moment and send good thoughts their way.

While at the harbor, I was also able to get several shots of gulls, both on land and in the water, including one of a gull just taking off from the water leaving a hole in his wake. I submitted that picture to Eyefetch (www.eyefetch.com) under the title “Hop, Skip and Fly.” A few pics of the sealions resting on the docks and a couple of surfers braving the extreme cold, and I resumed my south-bound drive.

With a stop at the vista point just inside the National Park boundary, I was able to confirm and record that you can, indeed, see both the Battery Point and the St. George Reef lighthouses from one vantage point. Unfortunately, I wasn’t at the right vantage point to get both in my lens at the same time, but I was able to capture both. I’ll get the shot of the two for one yet! But what beautifully clear shots of Crescent City and the Pacific I was able to get.

Over the hill and down to the Wilson Creek beach access. Lots of great shots here, including a terrific shot (if I do say so myself) of a wave breaking against the rocks. I submitted that one to Eyefetch as well, but I saved the shots of the gulls in flight for my project: 101 Gulls. With the alphabet book done, I need a new project, and fortunately I’ve thought of three. I’ll share them as they progress, but they involve gulls, kelp and other flotsam, and red pickup trucks. Yep, red pickup trucks. Why not?

My main objective this morning had been to catch the harbor scene, but a secondary thought occurred. On the north bank of the Klamath River, just as the river enters the Pacific, there is a rock formation that looks like an old woman, sitting on the hillside watching the mouth of the river. The Yurok people indigenous to this area say that when the Great Spirit decided to add human beings to his creation, two of the spirit people choose to take material form in order to assure the well-being of the Yurok tribe. Both spirit women took the form of rocks. One sits at the south end of the river mouth and is called the Sister. The other sits on the north bank and is named Oregos. I had shot Oregos with film and with the L3 digital, but the day I was out with the Pentax SLR and film, I wasn’t able to get very close—taking my pictures from the overlook on the old coast highway. When I came back with the L3, I parked on the side of the river, and hiked out the sand spit to its northern end where I was able to focus on Oregos just across the river. The weather, however, wasn’t terribly friendly. There was a heavy mist in the air and by the time I got back to the car, the mist had turned to rain. While I was able to get several good shots of driftwood on the sand, Oregos had drawn a foggy veil around her. With the bright sun, clear skies, and cold, crisp temperatures, I was sure that today was the day for a good shot. Indeed, not only was I able to get several clear shots of the spirit woman in her present incarnation, but I saw something I’d never seen before—her companion raven. (Now if I blow the images up significantly, I can see that all I’m looking at is a trick of the shadows, but can you see a raven in this pic? Hint: It’s perched at Oregos’ feet.)

Oregos, Spirit Woman guarding the Klamath River
Seen here with her companion Raven
Mouth of Klamath River, California
1/13/07

I missed the pic of the day as I was playing hide and seek with a seal who had swum up the river. The sand spit separating the river from the sea is quite wide and has a good ridge on it. If you’re at river level, you can’t see the ocean. And as I was watching the seal surface, spy me, and dive back down, a handsome, hunky surfer was catching the waves on the ocean side. I wish I’d seen him in action, because I can’t quite picture what he was really doing. As I walked along the sand, a machine looking like a Montana jet ski on steroids, came howling into the river’s mouth. It held two guys in dry suits, one of whom was carrying a surfboard. I asked if they’d been doing some kind of cross between waterskiing and surfing, and was assured that indeed that was exactly what they’d been doing. A buddy had built a fire on the beach, and they headed over to warm up a bit. Alas, they were done for the day, so the only shots I got were of them bringing it home, as it were, on the jet ski.

Heading home myself, I stopped at the Sweet Street Café in the town of Klamath where I had an Indian taco—the first I’ve had in over a year. It was great. I explained to the woman running the café that I’d been photographing Oregos and hoped that I hadn’t offended anyone by so doing. She assured me that people had been photographing the same image for countless years and no one had ever asked permission. With that in mind, I bid you adieu, and suggest that you look for the spirit guides guarding your own lives. Wish them well, as I do my own.

Hunky Surfer Dudes returning from Jet Ski Surfing
Mouth of Klamath River, California
1/13/07

Blessings.

Weather: Blue Skies, Sunshine, Temperatures in the 30s.

Mood: Contentment—verging at times on joy (when I look through my lens and it appears that I’m in the middle of that wave!)

Photos taken: 240 including countless gulls and 5 red pickups

Politics Intrudes

The curmudgeon and his faithful sidekick
Self-portrait taken at Smith River, California
1/10/07

Twenty-five years ago there were two parts of my life battling for supremacy. On the one hand, I was in the midst of writing my doctoral dissertation. On the other, I was increasingly active in the gay political scene in Montana. The two came together in the form of Jerry Falwell and the so-called Moral Majority. The Moral Majority, like its fear-based successors, had latched onto the newly visible gay and lesbian community to boost their income and their hold over a bewildered population. All demagogues need a scapegoat to divert attention from their own failings, and Jerry Falwell was no exception. By claiming that God would punish America if America tolerated homosexuality, Falwell joined a long line of historical figures who have flourished by renouncing personal responsibility and blaming a marginalized group for all current problems, real or imagined. As I became more and more deeply involved in the struggle for visibility and acceptance of Montana’s gay population, I kept running into representatives of the Moral Majority who were intent on keeping gay people invisible. As the only minority that can hide from its own family members, gay people have long known how to “pass” in society. The question is why should we? And just how did the Moral Majority tie into my doctoral dissertation? I was a literature major, specializing in the literature of twentieth-century France. The author I was studying had written eight beautiful novels, full of magic and mystery, and I loved his fiction. Unfortunately, he had also written reams of anti-Semitic diatribes in newspapers and magazines tied to the Fascist movement in France. So powerful were his political writings that in the period following the liberation of France in the mid 1940s, he was the only literary figure executed for collaboration. My professors at the University of California were not pleased that I chose to study Robert Brasillach. One of my advisors asked me point blank “Why would you want to study that horrid man?” But at the time I started my dissertation, I was in love with literature and had been away from politics for quite some time. The further I got into my work, however, the more I had to come to terms with Brasillach’s politics. As I studied the words of the French Fascists, I came to a startling realization. The writings of the French Fascists of the 1930s and of the Moral Majority and its kin in the 1980s were identical. Oh the French blamed the Jews and the Moral Majority blamed the homosexuals, but that was the only noticeable difference between the two. I wish I could say that as we’ve moved past the 80s, things have gotten better. They haven’t. In many ways they’ve gotten worse. The Moral Majority was followed by the Christian Coalition, Focus on the Family, The Traditional Values Coalition and on and on. In addition to Jerry Falwell we got Lou Sheldon, James Dobson, Pat Robertson, James Kennedy and their ilk. These are dangerous men.

A lighthouse shines to protect from hidden perils
Battery Point Lighthouse with gulls
Viewed from the beach at the east end of Front Street Park
Crescent City, California
1/10/07

For twenty-five years I have felt like someone crying in the wilderness because whenever I would compare these wolves hiding themselves in the garb of the Lamb of God, to the supporters of Hitler, Mussolini, Franco, people would tell me I was over-reacting. But now I learn I’m not alone. Yesterday, taking advantage of having the car in for service at my nearest authorized Volvo dealer—which just happens to be in Medford Oregon, 110 miles away—I picked up a few things at Barnes and Noble. One of my purchases was a 2006 work by Chris Hedges, an author I had first read a little over a year ago when I heard him interviewed on Air America. His book Losing Moses on the Freeway struck me as being a pretty accurate view of the state of religion in America today. His new book, American Fascists—The Christian Right and the War on America, appears to confirm my own belief as stated above. I won’t go into more detail at this time, as I’ve just begun reading the book. But the opening pages are Umberto Eco’s essay Eternal Fascism: Fourteen Ways of Looking at a Blackshirt. Please wake up, people. The country you love is being stolen from you and you’re sleeping through it. The nightmare world described in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale could be our world more easily than you know. To all those who insist that “it can’t happen here,” all I can say is, “Yes, it can and is happening here and now.” It may already be too late to stop it. Make sure your passport is valid and close at hand, and pray that they don’t close the borders before you can get out. With a President who lies continuously and acts as if the laws of the land have no power over him; with a fear-based Patriot Act in place to strip you of your freedoms as American citizens; with a Congress that for six years has acted as a rubber stamp for the imperial President and has exercised no oversight, abrogating its role as a check and balance to the power of the Executive; our Constitution is becoming as poor a protection as the teepee-shaped covers over the picnic tables in Crescent City’s Front Street Park.

Do they really think this will protect picnickers from the rain?
Picnic tables at Front Street Park
Crescent City, California
1/10/07

Another of the books I picked up yesterday is Vincent Versace’s Welcome to Oz. I found this book in the Digital Photography section at B&N and I carried it away from that area in search of a table or comfy chair where I could sit and study the book, deciding if it was one I needed. Unfortunately, before I could find a chair or table, I found the regular Photography section and the oversized Annie Leibovitz: A Photographer’s Life 1990-2005. As I have mentioned before, I consider Annie Leibovitz to be THE American photographer of our time. I had read about this book, and had, again as I’ve mentioned before, watched the PBS American Masters episode dedicated to Leibovitz. I knew that sooner or later I’d have to add this book to my professional library, so…. By the time I made it to the check out line, I’d completely forgotten about Versace. This was probably one of those “fate steps in” moments, because once home, I learned that Welcome to Oz is ostensibly a manual in the use of Adobe Photoshop—a program I do not own. The book is so well written, however, that it is a joy to read, and even without that particular photo editing software, I already realize there is much I will learn from the book. I was especially taken with this paragraph in the author’s Introduction:

It is of ultimate importance that you create only those images that you find worthy. Others cannot like what you do not. I know that my harshest critic sits in the same chair I do. I offer you this thought--there are enough people in the world who want to beat you up; don't help them. Create images that please you. If you think you have an image with unfulfilled potential, don't discard it as worthless. Determine what about the image should be different and then transform it so it becomes an expression of your voice.

--Vincent Versace

There is truth in this for all of us, whether we are photographers or not. Please, set aside time each day to create images that please you. Don’t help others beat you up. Give expression to your voice—YOUR voice. That’s what I’m trying to do here. Thanks for coming along for the ride. (And I’ll keep you informed of what I learn as I work through these two books.)

Get in Line!
Pigeons at Front Street Park
Crescent City, California
1/10/07

Finally, today would have been Mother’s 93^rd birthday and Grandma’s 123^rd. I know they had a happy joint birthday celebration today.

Weather: Mostly clear, chilly, highs in the 40s, snow in the forecast--YES SNOW!
Photographs taken: 110
Mood: Content but lonely--I miss my mommy, Gary, and the three kids in Montana.