I CARRY THE TRIPOD (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

Yes, that’s me.  Posing for Jim, my budding photographer husband, wearing my requisite red coat, adjusting the tripod so it’s visible, wondering when this will end.  It all started so innocently.  Jim has always loved taking pictures, but just a few years ago he upgraded from a film-type Olympus to a Nikon D-300.  That’s when life changed. 

Now upgrading seems simple to me – you just go to the store and buy a new camera.  Turns out I hadn’t a clue.  First, Jim went through the agonizing process of picking between Nikon and Canon, talked to several professional photographer friends, studied each camera, and chose the Nikon.  Don’t ask me what led to the decision… I’m just along for the ride at this point.

Having made the critical decision, again I figured we’d just go shopping… but NO!  Before he went to the camera store, he spent about three months studying the manual, figuring out how to set and operate his new toy, and preparing for the purchase.  At last the day arrived, and you’d have thought we’d had another child.  OK, perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but not by much.  When he made the purchase, we were living in Alaska, and there was no shortage of subject matter.  Everywhere we looked, everywhere we went, the camera accompanied us.  It was at that point that I started to become a believer when I realized that Jim could shoot as many pictures as he wanted, and we didn’t have to pay to develop them to see what he’d shot.  I suddenly realized that I could learn to love this new camera… that is until I learned how long it could take to review, eliminate, edit, and finalize down from the 400 pictures he took each time he picked up his new baby.

One advantage of Jim’s new hobby was that I realized I’d never lack for gift ideas.  In the beginning, one needs a dedicated computer for the new “family member”.  Then there’s the camera case, which turned into a backpack, which turned into a larger backpack, which led to a smaller travel pack.  The lens that came with the camera worked great, but what about those moose and grizzly shots that just didn’t look large enough?   And how about the pretty little wild cranberry blossoms that didn’t quite fill the frame when he got down on his knees to shoot?  To save myself from going broke buying gifts, we were fortunate to find another camera-fanatic who was upgrading to full-frame format and wanted to unload his old lenses to feed his new habit.  Four lenses at bargain prices didn’t seem excessive at that point.

Now Jim is somewhat enthusiastic, and we found ourselves haunting the aisles of Barnes and Noble, searching for photography books – adding a whole new area for gifting, thanks to his habit of emailing me links for the appropriate title.

Somewhere during the process, we decided to make a move to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, bringing us closer to the world of accessibility to classes with some of Jim’s idols like Art Wolfe.  It just happened that Mr. Wolfe was conducting a class on the Peninsula so Jim’s anniversary gift was his attendance at the class.  He loved it, and suddenly, I starting hearing phrases like “retirement and supplementing our income with photography.”

Fortunately, Jim has had a wonderful eye and serious dedication from the beginning and our journey is starting to bring others to realize what we have known for some time – the fact that he has a gift with a camera.  Last week he had the opportunity to sell his first images to an admirer.  It’s a start, and a wonderful boost to his dream.

Where do I fit into all this?  I get to spend lots of time in beautiful places, I stay in shape by hiking to all sorts of interesting areas, I can feed one of my own personal obsessions by reading all those lovely photography books, and perhaps, most importantly of all, I get to carry the tripod!

TRIPOD AS PADDLE (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

Contemplating the day as I sit in our little cabin in the Amazonian jungle with the downpour sluicing down the trail to the dining room, it occurs to me that, when I go to dinner, my trusty tripod might need to serve as a paddle.

            We’ve got a 5-hour Class III rafting trip scheduled on Rio Jatunyacu and to say I’m less than enthusiastic would be an understatement.

            As we discuss our options, my photo-snapping spouse agrees that he’ll take all the gear for the shots as we tour the market and make some scenic stops, but it and the tripod (I really should give it a name) will remain in our REI Adventures van.

            Before our trip, I was gifted with an underwater, destruction-proof snap and shoot (well, it does have various settings, though I prefer AUTO), and it seems most practical.

            We’ve done some rafting before, but this time our daughter and 13-year old grandson will be with us, so I’m a bit nervous.  My daughter, on the other hand, is just plain scared but she’s a gamer and will be in the raft with us.

            After a few stops to include a local fruit and veggie market that also sells live grubs the size of my thumb which our guide tells us are a delicacy to the locals (they wiggle going down), we arrive at the river.  The local rafting guide is a hoot, but the safety briefing is cause for some concern as we gaze at the river, flowing especially fast after the all-night deluge in true rainforest style.  We see some pretty large waves and holes and I offer to stay behind with my daughter but darn it, she declines.

            After a great picnic lunch, we suit up and make our way down a steep, rocky path to the rafts.  There are 8 in each plus the lead guide in a kayak – a lucky thing as it turns out.

            As It soon becomes evident that the tripod was the smart one!  Our first adventure involves our guide steering us directly into a rounded boulder in the middle of the river which we promptly hit head on.  Did I forget to say that part of our pre-trip briefing involved the command “inside” where we all dive onto the floor of the raft?  I’ve never seen 8 people move so fast, but we manage to remain in the craft, though in various states of disarray.  After that little adventure, we contemplate changing guides, but as we look back and see our mates hit the rock, we realize that their guide called “inside” not at all, and several take an unintended river bath. Maybe we’ll stay where we are.

            As we continue down-river we realize that one poor kid, a 13-year old boy in the following raft who was used as a demonstration dummy during our briefing, has now managed to be thrown into the river at least 4 times.  In our raft, we’ve all stayed relatively intact but then our grandson, ever the adventurer, decides that standing on the bow of the raft, hanging onto a rope, might be a fun experience.  After several miles and only one dunking, he got frustrated at his lack of thrill, and just jumped in. 

            Thank goodness by this time we’d merged with another river and settled into a steady pace, so he didn’t get far before we caught and retrieved him.

            In thinking back about the utility of a tripod as paddle, I realized that my good buddy was the only smart one in the entire group of 16 adventurers.  But to be honest, paddling through rapids, diving onto the floor of a rubber raft, feeling the warmth of a jungle downpour, scaling water-laden rocks, and coming out alive was a pretty good feeling. 

A COAT FOR EVERY TWO DEGREES (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

Trekking poles, hiking boots, water bottle, backpack, snacks, protein bars, rain gear, rain hat, layers for warmth, blister pads, TP, duct tape, plastic bags, ground pad, first aid kit… AND WHAT ELSE SHALL I BRING?

My husband, Jim, and I are going out to take pictures today.  Doesn’t sound like much of a challenge, until I realize that we’ve got to hike in… it might rain… there’s always the danger of hypothermia… we might get hungry… what if I fall… and what might the temperature be?

Jim is one of those “be prepared” kinds of guys.  In his younger years, he was manager of the original REI store, and it seems that’s when he developed his passion for having a coat for every two degrees of temperature change.  He’s always had more clothes than I do, but his coat closet is very nearly a store in its variety and choices, so he’s always prepared.

This trip involves hiking to a remote beach, and some pretty steep slopes.  Now I’m pretty adventurous, and usually willing to try most anything, but I draw the line at jumars, ice axes, and pitons.  Jim’s past involved guiding on Mt. Rainier, so nothing scares him.  Consequently, it never seems to occur to him that a slope that looks easy to him might be totally daunting to me.  And let’s not forget that I’ll be expected to carry the tripod.

We begin the first part of our trek with a medium-weight jacket.  This place is so beautiful, with huge Douglas Fir and Western Red Cedars, carpets of moss, silver ferns, and many tiny wild flowers everywhere I look.  Jim’s frequent stops to take shots hardly interrupt my reverie as I allow myself to imagine living in such a quiet, lovely setting.  We’re gradually gaining in altitude, but it’s pretty benign as slopes go. 

It’s all within my comfort zone until we come to the edge of a drop-off which looks to me like the Wickersham Wall of Denali.  It occurs to me that Jim might be able to use this tripod and a rope to lower me down, but no – he says he believes in me and I can do it.  I hate it when he pulls the “competent” card on me.  It’s not so much that the backpack is heavy and pulls me slightly off balance, or that my hiking boots are rubbing a small blister on my heel, or that carrying two trekking poles and one tripod is a bit awkward, or that my Medium Jacket is getting a bit warm, but that I have a fear of falling headlong down a steep slope while screaming all the way like the little girl I used to be.

Now my husband isn’t one to be unsympathetic, so he offers to take the tripod off my hands so I can use both poles, and slowly, unsurely, step by tiny step, I make my way down this Everest to the bottom.  When I realize I’ve survived, I have time to take only one large breath and realize that I’m sweating like a pig, before my intrepid spouse spots the perfect site to set up the ubiquitous tripod, pull out the extra camera with the slightly longer lens, and hand it to me so I’m ready to respond when he needs it.

First things first, and I strip down to my shirt and stuff it into my backpack.  It never occurs to me that I might actually get chilled when I cool down or that there’s a breeze blowing that threatens to turn into a gale.

Suddenly, and from out of nowhere, my ever-prepared camera-toting spouse appears with a slightly heavier than medium jacket, with wind stopping properties.  As he snuggles me into its warmth, I realize that carrying the tripod has its rewards.

MOBILITY (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

It’s the 4^th of July and time for a shake-down cruise in our new (used) 21’ motor home.  We splurged with the idea that a small unit would provide the perfect mobility to explore the Pacific Northwest on weekends without the expense of hotels and restaurants.

In preparing our new toy, we removed the TV and VCR it came with so we’d have room for the LARGE camera bag.  My trusty tripod fits behind my seat, so once we add a few other extraneous items like food, clothing, bedding, we’re off to the Hoh Rain Forest in Olympic National Park.

Now the Hoh is a place of beauty beyond description.  It features trees up to 300’ tall with a girth that 10 people holding hands can barely span.  Add a curtain of moss draped over every branch, a carpet of sword ferns, a blanket of oxalis that, with their three leaves remind me of shamrocks, and you have the perfect habitat for leprechauns, gnomes, and other woodsy creatures.

            After a 2 hour drive, we park in our campsite at the Hard Rain Café.  Aptly named in most years, but this is a year of drought.  They’ve seldom seen the Hoh with dusty trails like this year.  It’s still beautiful, but the trees and mosses seem to be stretching toward the sky with thirsty longing.  Tripod carrying here is not a chore but a joy as we explore the Hall of Mosses, and the Spruce Trail.  A side trip to Ruby Beach presents another aspect of this amazing national park which covers a good portion of northwestern Washington.  Once again I’m thankful to Teddy Roosevelt and his successors for preserving such unmatched beauty.

            Hiking is fun, and waiting for my husband while he kneels to examine a close-up of a fern frond is OK with me, since there is so much to see.  I’m overwhelmed by the size of these trees, Douglas Fir, Sitka Spruce, Western Red Cedar, Maple, they make me feel so small and insignificant in their grandeur.

            Then it’s back to the Hard Rain campground where we meet the nicest person right next door.  I’d kind of forgotten that the best part of camping is the people you meet.  The lady next to us is setting up her large 4-man tent and I’m thinking that she must like to spread out when she camps.  Smart lady!

            As our dog, Bella, wanders over (on her tie-out cable naturally) to get acquainted, we learn that the lady’s name is Judy and she’s expecting company.  Turns out her husband and 21-year old daughter are doing a 6-week biking trip with Judy as the support crew.  She drives ahead to set up camp for them at the end of the 80-90 mile peddling day.  What a nice wife and mother!  Of course, she gets to stop and enjoy places like Ruby Beach, the Hoh Rain Forest, and unmatched views all through the northwest where they’re traveling.  I must admit that biking every day for 6 weeks isn’t my idea of fun, but when Dan and Laurel pull in, they have smiles on their faces and the satisfaction of knowing that they are fulfilling their dream.

            Carrying the tripod allows for all kinds of experiences including the one we have on our last hike in the Hoh.  As we’re returning to the motor home we hear some noises coming from the forest and then see movement.  It’s a family of Olympic Elk, including a mother, a bull, and 4 of the cutest baby elk ever!  Then there’s another group with several elk sporting large racks of antlers.  This really is such a special place, and I know we’ll return, hopefully on a rainy day.

WOMAN-EATING IGUANAS (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands was our latest destination, and I’m such a dutiful tripod-carrier that I actually brought my RED jacket to this island of 100% humidity and 80+° heat.  St. Thomas and St. John are two beautiful islands with amazingly warm water and inspiring snorkeling and sailing so I’m excited to explore.

Even before we settle into our hotel room, my darling husband, Jim, is off like a flash to scope out the potential sites for shots at sunrise, sunset, and all hours in between.  This resort sits above Charlotte Amalie harbor on one side, and overlooking the Caribbean Sea on the other, so he has no shortage of potential.

On our first adventure, we walk down a path toward the dock, which involves many, many steps, descending to the water.  Naturally it’s all downhill, but as we go down, it occurs to me that we will probably be returning during the heat of the day, with all that humidity, and all uphill and me with the infernal tripod over my shoulder.  I’m an Alaska/Northwest girl, and I don’t do humidity! Or at least I try not to do it.   But each time I step from the air conditioning of our hotel room, I feel a wall of misty hot air,.  I hate that feeling of damp skin all the time, like you could never take enough cool showers.  But I digress.

With dripping skin, we set up the tripod for some shots of the harbor, the huge cruise ship slipping quietly by, and the gently waving palm trees. It really is a pretty spot, and I don’t mind the heat so much when I realize that we’ll be snorkeling pretty soon, and the water looks very inviting.  That’s the one compensation for all this weather – the water is warm.

When we make our way up the steps, I’m actually doing OK until I look down as I rest on a small landing to find a very horny, threatening, fearsome, horrifying iguana just ready to slither across my right foot.  No one told me that there were iguanas on this island, and as I hurtle backward, my eyes light upon a herd of the creatures, eager to attack.  Jim points out to me that the sign says that iguanas are herbivores, but that if you stick your finger in front of their mouth, they might bite.  That’s good enough for me, and I instantly curl my fingers into a ball, which makes carrying the tripod a bit of a challenge.  Maybe I could use it for a bat, only in the event of an attack – no, probably the conservationists at the resort would frown on that. 

Jim, ever the gentleman, steps around the little guy, and leads me up the stultifyingly hot climb to the breezy patio where a rum punch is definitely in order.  While we sit drinking, or guzzling in my case, a nice man at a neighboring table tells us of a cascading waterfall on the other side of the hotel, down a long flight of stairs.

Enough!  I retreat to our room for a nice, cool shower, and a long nap.  After all, we did just fly for 9 hours and experience a 3-hour time change.  But up-and-at-‘em spouse awakes to the perfect sunset which turns out not so bad, since the site he’s picked is above the infinity pool.  Not a four-legged creature in sight so I willingly accompany him, toting not only tripod but camera bag full of lenses and filters.

Morning two begins with a nice breakfast, then the lure of the waterfall is too much and we get directions and begin our downward trek.  Not terribly hot and humid this early, so I dread the return trip a little less.  When we get to the bottom, we do find a lovely waterfall which contains water that has been taken from the sea, used in the air conditioning system, run through reverse osmosis, and is cascading seaward.  Seems pretty ingenious of these hoteliers, and I approve. 

Jim spends about an hour, checking sites, settings, cleaning lenses and filters, and setting up the tripod.  By now the temperature and humidity have climbed to the “hot but not scorching” range.  But then the big question from my dear Jim.  “Honey, would you mind walking up to the top of the waterfall, standing by the edge, and posing for a picture… and oh by the way, how about putting on the red jacket?”   

Ever the dutiful wife I say OK but in the back of my mind is the question of how I will peel off the jacket after it’s become glued to my arms by pure, unadulterated sweat.  I trudge to the top of the waterfall, slip into the jacket, and move to the edge, all the while focusing on Jim to see where he wants me to stand. 

Remember how I mentioned those woman-eating iguanas from yesterday?   In my heat-addled condition, is hasn’t occurred to me that the creatures might actually inhabit this side of the resort as well.  It turns out that posing for a picture with four iguanas circling around your feet isn’t all that easy.  When I return to my pose (after leaping four feet into the air), Jim is calling out for me to remember that they’re herbivores.  Easy for him to say – he’s not the one in life-threatening danger.  In the end, the shot is worth the danger, my limits are being stretched, and I agree that I’ll carry on with the tripod as long as we can add in a little time for jewelry shopping in duty-free St. Thomas.