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.

TRIPOD ON LAVA (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

Galapagos is truly a world unto itself.  Leaving there is another matter entirely.  We started from Isabela Island on an open-air bus, then to a water taxi… but wait, let’s do this like the computer wizards of today do it:

Open-air bus>Water Taxi>Charter Boat>Water Taxi>Foot>Bus>Ferry>Bus>Airplane>Bus>Foot>Bus>Hotel

            Beginning at 6 a.m. and ending at 6 p.m., count them>>>> 12 different modes of transportation to get from a simple island to the mainland.  And I might mention that during this time, I’m carrying my backpack and the trusty tripod.  (I really MUST name him!)

            Was it worth it?  Oh my, YES!!!  During our stay on Isabela and Santa Cruz, we had close encounters with marine iguanas, Galapagos tortoises, saddle-backed tortoises, Darwin’s finches, Galapagos mockingbirds, brown pelicans, flamingos, sea lions, land iguanas, frigate birds, and my personal favorite – the blue-footed booby.

            Isabela reminds me of a moon-scape with fields of A’A lava everywhere you look.  During one of our excursions, we encountered a stack of marine iguanas, and I do mean stack.  They were piled atop each other for the sole purpose, we were told, of getting warm after a swim in the surf.  In a close up picture courtesy of my spouse and Tripod, they really look like Mesozoic/Jurassic creatures, with spines down their backs, long toe nails, and white heads courtesy of their unsavory habit of spitting out the salt they extract from being waterlogged after they swim.

            Following my honey around proved to be interesting since lava doesn’t really lend itself to being the perfect platform for three tripod legs.  More than once I heard a strange utterance coming from his mouth, but I chalked it up to his attempt to grasp Spanish.

            This trip to Galapagos resulted from my grandson’s interest in turtles when he was 4 years old.  We began showing him pictures of the Galapagos tortoise and told him that someday we’d take him to see them for real.  Last year, when he was 12, he sat me down, reminded me of our promise, and looking me straight in the eye, uttered the prophetic words, “You know, JoJo, I’m not getting any younger.”           

            A direct result was our doing our research and booking a trip for 4 (including his mother) with REI Travel for an Amazon Basin and Galapagos Islands Family Adventure.  The trip included river rafting, kayaking, hiking, biking and snorkeling and didn’t sound too terribly strenuous.   But then again, I’ve never spent time above 9,000 feet, or in the Amazon rainforest, or hiking up lava fields, or scaling a volcano – but yes, I did some of that in Hawaii.

            Our guide, Miguel, opened his eyes wide when he noted my darling spouse’s  camera gear, but I think he’s seen this before and he only chuckled slightly when he saw me raise the tripod to my shoulder as we loaded the bus for our trip over a 13,000 foot Andes pass to Rio Jatunyacu, a Class III river. 

            Thankfully, the tripod stayed in the bus that time, but it accompanied us on most of our remaining adventures, especially as we explored the rainforest from our lovely little lodge strangely named Hakuna Matata.  Now I love the song of that name taken from the Disney movie, “The Lion King” which was set in Africa, and I’m not sure of the connection to Ecuador, but the lodge is really a neat spot, and we enjoy the torrential downpour during the night which results in a river of water sluicing down the trail to the dining room.  Wonder what’s next?

MY TRIPOD HAS A FIRST NAME (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

Remember the jingle: “My bologna has a first name,  it’s O S C A R……..”  Somehow when that jingle jumped into my mind the other day, it occurred to me that if bologna can have a name, certainly my trusty nameless tripod deserves nothing less.  But where to begin?

The latest outing for “nameless” involved a gale, a rain storm, and the largest container ship in the world.  We drove down to the water today to watch as the CMA CGM Benjamin Franklin cruised by, filled to the brim with 18,000 containers on its 1,310’ length.  I’ve read that it’s the largest ship to ever visit a US port and watching it glide by, I believed it.  Normally naming a ship involves famous people and champagne, and is full of ceremony.  It probably doesn’t happen on a remote beach, with wind and rain in your face, and people standing around watching a big ship go by. 

Perhaps naming a tripod shouldn’t stand on ceremony, but I really think it deserves some serious consideration.  After all, this tripod, though it was born with the name “Manfrotto” which suggests perhaps an Italian heritage, has permanently adapted to its American roots.  It’s been with me all over the Olympic Peninsula in Washington, throughout Alaska, down the Alaska Highway from Anchorage to Sequim, WA, up and down the US west coast, detouring to the Galapagos and Ecuador, to Maine and the US northeast coast, and to various points in between.  We hardly leave the house without our trusty tripod in the back seat, in the suitcase, hooked to the backpack, or in my hot little hands.  Occasionally his cousin, monopod, goes along, but tripod is our go-to guy, always ready for an adventure.  To say he’s part of the family might be a stretch, but as I sit here, I’m looking at him standing in the corner of the living room, just waiting for his legs to be lowered, his head steadied, and to be lifted into whatever container will get him to where he’s going.  As I write, I realize that tripod must be of the male gender, though how I’ve come to that conclusion I’m not certain.  Instinct, I guess.

Since tripod accommodates himself to my spouse’s Nikon cameras, perhaps Nik would work.  But then that might be considered biased, and I have a feeling that, given the chance, he’d be an equal-opportunity tripod.  My favorite male name is Sean, meant to be the name of my first son, except I had a girl, and back then, Sean was not a girl’s name.  Nah!

When we were dog mushing, I named my two wheel dogs Rough and Ready, and they were definitely both.  Jim’s lead dog was Churchill, based on his attitude, while mine on occasion was Climber, because he could climb a fence.  Not sure those work either.  My favorite pet was a Saint Bernard named Curly, but tripod is a bit smaller, lighter, and slimmer than Curly so no go there. 

Seems like the path of least resistance is to seek out a “T” name, and I begin by researching the meaning of boy’s names that begin with “t.”  There are hundreds of choices but after spending some otherwise free time reading through many, many names, one stops me in my tracks when I read the meaning which is “SPEAR OF STRENGTH.”  Now how can you top that?  When I think of all the mud, sand, dust, steep hills, deep gorges, running water that tripod has seen me through, I realize that he truly is a spear of strength, not to mention he’s pretty good at holding a camera. 

So it with great pleasure that I introduce you to my ever-faithful, always-prepared, three-legged buddy – TRUMAN!

HOW GRAND IS THE CANYON? (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

A few weeks ago Jim, my photo-guy and I visited with a long-lost high school friend of his in Arizona.  Descended upon might be the better definition, since we showed up with luggage and every camera, lens, and gadget Jim owns, along with Truman, the tripod, of course.  Jim hadn’t been in touch with his friend for years, and a week-long visit with near strangers made me a bit nervous, but as it turned out, we had a wonderful visit and made some fabulous new friends.

We’d visited Arizona before, even got to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, but our new/old friends planned an itinerary that blew our minds.  Not only were we in for a day at the canyon, but we took in Sedona, Jerome, the Desert Botanical Garden, The Museum of Music, and had a cruise on Lake Pleasant.  Now I only have to worry about what we’ll do when they visit us in Washington.  They’re a tough act to follow!

But back to the Canyon.  We didn’t have the greatest weather; in fact, we actually had snow falling on us for the part of the day.  No worries, since Jim and I are Alaskans by nature, and cold weather is our preference.  The views into the canyon were somewhat obscured by clouds and gray skies, but with Truman for support, Jim got some great shots – in fact more than 400. 

How does one write about a natural wonder that’s been described in millions of words?  To say it’s breathtaking is just not sufficient.  As we worked our way along the rim, we realized that words, pictures, breathing just doesn’t come close to sharing the grandeur, the scale, the scope of this magnificent place.

So on to the gift shop – a natural segue to the next phase of our journey.  In browsing among the native artifacts, paintings, photographs, knickknacks, maps, etc., I happened to spy a book that seemed to call to me like a siren’s song.  I’m an avid reader of non-fiction like biographies and histories, but surely this title, “Over the Edge:  Death in Grand Canyon,” didn’t fit those categories.  After visiting several shops, I found myself drawn again to that compelling title and after much hemming and hawing, I bought the thing.  It’s big (591 pages) and heavy (1 lb. 13.2 oz.) but I fit it in my suitcase and brought it home.  Never did I imagine that there are so many ways to die in a huge gap in the ground!

When Truman and Jim took an evening stroll along the rim, I opted to stay warm, but his description of what happened next made me thrilled to know that he wouldn’t be a topic in the revised version of the above-mentioned book.  It seems that he was using an ND filter for his lens in gusty conditions and next thing he knew, said filter flew from the wall in front of him, to the shelf beyond the wall.  I think he underplayed the gasps of dismay emitted by the visitors near him, as he climbed over the wall to retrieve the case.  His explanation sounded a lot like – “no problem; the shelf was stable and I had Truman to steady me.”

What can I say?  I’m glad I wasn’t there; I’m happy that I wasn’t the shrewish wife yelling that her spouse had lost his mind; I’m pleased that Truman is now considered my hero; actually I never had a doubt that he would be OK since he’s extremely cautious around danger.   The bottom line is that we moved on to our next adventure, slightly more solicitous of Truman and the role he plays in our never-dull lives.

TRUMAN WEARS THE PANTS (Confessions of a Photographer's Wife)

            When we decided to bring our little motor home out of mothballs and give it its shake-down cruise this Spring, we considered our options of where to go.  Living in the “lower 48” opens up a whole new world of places to explore and, since we love the ocean, we opted for a campground next to the beach near a little town called Ocean City, WA.  Turns out it’s next to the town of Copalis, which stirs happy childhood memories for Jim, since he and his family spent many fun weekends there, playing on the beach and drinking chocolate sodas.

            As we begin preparations, I remember the one challenge with taking the whole shebang, including Truman, to the sand.  It seems when Jim shoots photos on the beach, he sometimes neglects to watch the water which, in due course, squirts around his feet and onto the adjacent legs of Truman, who strangely enough doesn’t like sand and salt very much.

            The upshot of the adventure is a flurry of screwdrivers, hoses, towels, and slightly blue language from my otherwise calm spouse.   There must be a solution so we set about thinking and researching.  Naturally, we aren’t surprised when we come upon PLASTIC TRIPOD LEG PROTECTORS in our search.  Turns out that some ingenious person, tired off scraping off the sand, invented the gadget that could have made me rich!  I’m sure I’d have thought of it sooner or later.  Thanks to one of the online photo suppliers, a pair of the protectors is soon on the way. 

            As I’ve gotten to know Truman, I’ve come to recognize that he’s really rather particular about certain things, and the idea of plastic leg protectors just doesn’t appeal to such a proper tripod, so I decide that we’ll just call them tripod pants.  After all, that’s really what the inventor should have called them in the first place.  It’s so much more dignified.

            At last the day arrives and we’ve got everything packed.  Truman has his own place of honor, just behind my seat where he’s safe and easily retrievable.  Never forget that he’s my hero since he saved Jim from tumbling into the Grand Canyon last month.

            Our campground is a short hike from the beach, and we’re thrilled to find decent weather and a wide beach, littered with moulted crab shells and broken sand dollars.  Eagles are soaring and there are lots of cute little sandpipers scurrying hither and yon, making for some pretty neat shots.  Truman, ever the trooper, is a bit shy when we fit his new trousers, but at the end of the day, he’s happy that he won’t have to undergo the surgery previously necessary to remove sand and salt.

            After a few days of beachcombing, we set off for home, vowing to stop at all the places with signs leading to “Largest Cedar” and “Largest Douglas Fir.”  Boy are we glad we did! The “Quinault Lake Redcedar” is 174 feet tall with a circumference of 61 feet.  Nearby is the Coast Douglas Fir rising to 281 feet with a circumference of 42 feet.   Then there’s the Quinault Lake Spruce at 191 feet and 55 feet.  Talk about a challenge for a wide-angle lens and an adjustable tripod.  Thankfully Truman is able to bend his neck to all kinds of oblique angles but the truth is, we’re all humbled by God’s creation.  Natural wonders like this simply defy description.