Adventure is a rather ambiguous term. For some people it can be hoofing it through a crosswalk while the red hand is flashing a warning and for others it's skydiving. For the most part, my idea of adventure is heading off in search of good photos in unfamiliar areas and seeing what happens next. Not sky diving but at least a couple of notches above sprinting through crosswalks.
My employer offers a summer schedule from Memorial Day to Labor Day. By working a little bit extra Monday through Thursday I am able to leave at 12:30 on Fridays. It's almost like having a three-day weekend all summer (not too shabby as a college friend used to say). Through the month of June the typical schedule is a quick lunch and then driving up to Vancouver, Washington before the 5:00 rush hour traffic, which on Fridays starts around 10:00 a.m. I have managed to cram the 19-mile trip into two hours but generally it's only about 45 minutes to an hour in slower moving traffic. The reason for making this trek each Friday (besides the photo ops) is the chance to take part in a Scottish Country Dance class that takes place farther out in the Columbia River Gorge, in the town of Stevenson, Washington. I meet up with a carpool in Vancouver around 6:00 and we drive out, have class, and get back around 10:00 p.m. It's a long day but worth it. So, all that to say I usually have about two to two and one-half hours to explore the area and look for photo-worthy sights.
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| Notice the blackberries |
Clear days between January and July 4 are way too few and far between for this former desert rat. Every week when I drive up north I can't wait to see if Mt. Hood will be visible from the bridge that crosses the Columbia River. Finally, this week most of the mountain was visible. Driving across a smaller arm of the river, I noticed the marina was especially colorful with the mountain in the background and all the houseboats seemingly clustered around its base. After parking my car I started the long walk back across the bridge and headed towards the marina. Imagine my dismay when I saw a sign that said "Pedestrians Prohibited" posted on the bike path. I must admit to being a bit miffed. After all, bikes go
absolutely everywhere in Portland, even where they shouldn't in my humble opinion. Surely one pedestrian wasn't going to gum up the works. But, being the usually law-abiding citizen that I am (and knowing people get tickets for offenses as minor as jay walking) I turned back to see if there was another way to get the same shot of the houseboats and Mt. Hood. I found a park near the water's edge and made my way down a steep hill covered with blackberry bushes (I have the scratches on my legs to prove it). I was pleased with the photos shown above, but they weren't quite what I had in mind.
As I turned around to leave the park I saw a woman coming toward me pushing a wheelbarrow. I asked her if she knew of another way to get a shot of the houseboats and Mt. Hood without going on the bike path. She didn't but was sure someone in one of the nearby stores could tell me. She herself was an artist and had painted the scene. She lived in one of the houseboats and I was really hoping she would offer to show me her work and I could snap a photo from her houseboat. No offer was made so I trooped back up the way I had come. I went across the street to a Chevron station to ask someone there if they knew about the bike path.
One of the attendants (in Oregon it's illegal to pump your own gas), a tall man with longish hair and a gap-toothed grin, spoke to me as I came up, noting that I had made a big loop around the area. I asked him about the no pedestrian sign and if it was a serious no trespassing sign or just a cautionary kind of sign. He said pedestrians were always using the path and it wasn't a problem. I thought to myself as I left "yes, but are you sure, I mean you have no teeth," but he seemed like a nice guy so I figured I would give it a shot. As I neared the beginning of the path, I decided the sign was intended for the freeway entrance on the other side of the bike path. And, even if that wasn't the case, it would make a good defense if the need arose. I was very glad I talked to the man at the station because the shots with the houseboats and the mountain were exactly what I was looking for in my afternoon quest.
After taking at least 100 pictures, probably only a slight exaggeration, I headed back across the bridge and to my car. Along the way, the orange poppies and the sailboats caught my eye. Fortunately, there were a lot of boats because I had to fuss so much with the shutter speed and aperture that by the time I was ready for it, the boat had moved out of range and I had to wait for the next one to come along.
This completed the first phase of my picture outing and it was time to move onto the second part. I parked on a residential street and headed off to look for unsuspecting flowers to pounce on and add to my growing collection of closeups. I wasn't disappointed. Roses are always a favorite and the bluebells in the next block were posing up a storm so I had to take their pictures too. All in all, it was another successful adventure and one which I hope to repeat for the next few weeks.
In the past year or so, I've decided I finally know what I want to be when I grow up, a real (as in paid) photographer. I realize I'm a little late in figuring this out, but better now than in 10 years. With that said, I am currently still in the I-support-my-hobby stage as opposed to the other way around. But maybe things are changing. Last Friday, I was able to leave work (as in, a paying job) a little early and head up to Vancouver, Washington for a Scottish Country Dance class. I always get there a little early and usually stroll around the neighborhoods looking for anything of interest. In this particular neighborhood there is an elderly couple that maintains a large garden across the street from their house. I don't know their names, but there was a sign at one point at the garden's entrance that said "Bev's Flowers." I've only seen the man out taking care of the flowers so I'm not sure who Bev is exactly, but I'll just call him Mr. Bev for this story. What I don't know I can make up, right? At the garden's entrance is a small stand, and during the summer it holds fresh-cut bouquets. There is a small cup nearby for people to pay for their flowers. At different times of the growing season he also sells tomatoes and raspberries. I use the word "sells" loosely because everything is based on the honor system.
I first met Mr. Bev last July and wasn't sure he would remember me. As I walked into the garden, I could see him methodically watering the dahlias. When he saw me, he greeted me like an old friend, and we were soon discussing the flowers, weather, and what the coming winter might be like. He then asked about my pictures. He said he would be interested in seeing some of them. Maybe the flowers are like his children, since parents always like to see pictures of their kids. I told him that if he liked I would have some prints made and bring them up the next time I had a chance. He said he would like that and maybe we could work out a swap, but in the meantime I could take some of the tomatoes. "Now remember" he said, "anyone can take a picture of a flower, but I can get that out of a catalog. I want to see your artsiest pictures." With that thought, I went to work. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my first paid photo shoot, but then again I do love fresh summer raspberries.
