This Ain't No Dairy Queen Blizzard!

A couple of Wednesdays ago we awoke to a morning blizzard that saw winds whipping the snow around at gusts up to 70 mph. It would have been a good day to stay home as the visibility was near zero, wind chill was measured far into the negatives, snow drifts were 6 feet tall, and every tiny gap in our otherwise air-tight house moaned with a low whistle every time a gust ripped by. Every elementary, secondary, high school, and university in the area was closed, along with many businesses. Night crews at grocery stores and Wal-Mart had to stay over because the morning workers couldn't make it in. But we've truely become "Yoopers" (UP'ers), and it was Wednesday and we weren't going to let a little frostbite keep us from our regular, and somewhat "religious" routine of attending Taco Bell for lunch. For almost 16 years members of our church have been attending an unofficial, secular Taco Bell Branch meeting every Wednesday starting at noon, MST (Mormon Standard Time, 11:30-12:15). But I guess this was a blizzard to test the strength of even the most faithful, for when we arrived Taco Bell was empty. Not only had the heretofore faithful members not attended at our regularly scheduled time, but not even the gentiles ventured out. No, we were the only attendees on that blustery Wednesday (was that a little too 'Winnie the Pooh-ish'? I don't think I've ever said blustery before). But, you should have seen the faces of the Taco Bell skeleton crew light up as we entered. We placed our orders, and the employees showed their appreciation with a little extra cheese here, a few extra beans there, and an extra scoop of meat in our tacos (drinks always come with free refills, or I'm sure they would have offered to let us drink gallons). We sat in our usual places and watched out the window as birds performed tumbling airborne acrobatics, and played "name that piece" as we identified pieces of larger wholes (roof shingles, siding, parts of chimney flues, etc) that went flying by in low visibility, all the time wondering what all the fuss was about. The realization that we've become adopted "cousin-marryin, tooth-missin, ice-fishin Yoopers" both scared us and made us feel a little unique, if not a little proud. "Ya, I noticed dar's a little bite to dah wind, eh? How about a refill of yer diet Pepsi, dar-eh?"

Before digital, there was Polaroid

In the old days, when you wanted a picture of something fast, you used a Polaroid camera. Anything from cheesy to cheesecake, Polaroid could capture it if you had about 60 seconds to wait. Just focus and push the button, and the whirring gears would spit out a newly developing picture just like a baby without an umbilical cord. And like a proud parent, you'd put the picture in a warm folding metal blanket, or under your armpit, which ever seemed more appropriate at the time, to insure uniform development of the image. Then you'd show it around and everyone would have a grand time. But after a couple dozen shots someone figured out that you just spent enough money for a utility bill, and the fun was over. Now, Polaroids are relegated to the realm of the artist or the nostalgist. Or homicide squad. But with the increased use of laptops in the field even homicide detectives are getting digital prints at the scene these days.

The prints here were taken with a Polaroid Spectra camera on Spectra film. Most artists use SX-70 film for manipulation, but since I don't have any SX-70 film, and it's getting harder and harder to find, I had to settle for something different. Spectra film does not lend itself as well to manipulation. And by manipulation I mean using sundry items to rub, push, poke, mash and smash the emulsion layers beneath the clear plastic sheet covering the picture. I've used spoons, and wooden and plastic sticks to manipulate the film. But the best tools I've found are my old anatomy dissection tools. They're blunt, multi-shaped, and made of stainless steel. I've separated many bones, ligaments, tissues and tendons with these fine instruments; and now they've found new life manipulating Polaroids. Who'd a thunk it?

Pixels or Pan-X

It wasn't so terribly long ago that I didn't know what a pixel was. Actually, I'm still not one hundred percent sure. But I still take pictures. And, it's been years since I could explain how light and chemistry combine to form an image on the surface of film. Even then I still took pictures. I composed, calculated, focused, and exposed. Mostly, things turned out ok. Certainly, having an expert technical understanding about how images form on film or sensor can only help improve your final product, but you can still make a darn good picture without it. The digital camera, and a billion megapixels have proven that in every basement pc and Wal-Mart in the world.

So, is everyone with a megapixel in their pocket and a USB cord now a photographer? Don't get me wrong, I love the great American "I want it now" convenience that digital provides as much as the next guy. But I really miss the smell of mixing chemicals at precise temperatures, and dropping dripping paper prints in a multi-step process, that, although I may not have fully understood chemically, I fully appreciated as the images magically appeared under the red glow of my safe light. In a sort of photomasochistic way I loved dodging, burning, and even spotting my pictures after having exposed, developed, agitated, stopped, fixed, washed and dried my film. I miss my Omega and Beseler enlargers with their many movable parts; the negative image projected on my easel as I made test strips and chose the perfect paper or filter for the best contrast or color rendition. I feel a little guilty about making the process so painless through downloading and mouse-manipulating my "captured" images to perfection. But not so guilty that I'm going to cancel my already ordered Nikon D300. I'm virtually drooling pixels just thinking about that Fed-Ex package sitting on my front porch in my "secret" parcel drop behind the rocking chair on my porch.

But, there are days that I pull out an old friend, like my Pentax Spotmatic, or Minolta SR-T 102, or Olympus OM-1, and sit and measure the light in one place, then another, zoom by walking closer or farther away, focus and consider depth of field, and then set the dials and rings to expose the film just the way I want. I have to admit that doing this every once in a while makes me think about the things that go into making a good picture. And that makes me a better digital photographer. I think everyone who owns a digital camera should also own a good old fashioned manual slr and do this exercise as often as possible. It forces you to think in a way that digital doesn't. Please, don't misunderstand me. For excellent photographers, as much thought goes into a digitally captured image as one that is film captured. What's six inches behind the camera will always be more important than megapixels; but with digital it's become too easy to substitute quantity for quality. The images here were taken during one of my manual exercises. I used an old Canon rangefinder with a fungus-laden normal lens. The shutter speed for the pictures was 1/40th and the apertures were "educatedly" guessed. Putting away all my high tech gadgets took me out of my comfort zone which, paradoxically, made me more comfortable with photography... again.

More From Mackinac Island

More Than Fudge

Since our last serendipitous side trip to Mackinac Island during the last Mackinac Bridge walk a few weeks ago I've been wanting to return to the island before the "Closed for the season" signs go up and the island hunkers down for winter. So, with some free 'VIP' tickets that I got from an ex-ferry captain in hand, we hopped on a Starline rooster-tail boat and held on for the bumpy 15 minute ride from St. Ignace across an unusually choppy channel. The rooster-tail spray from the back of the boat, if not functional, was at least fun, especially with the "rooster rainbow" that followed us all the way to the island dock. Upon disembarking the vessel the first thing I noted was a surfeit of Mitt Romney for President signs. It seems he and the Michigan Republican Party had chosen the same weekend for a rah-rah ice cream social at the Grand Hotel. Did they get free tickets, too?

Fudgies, as locals call tourists carrying those dense, calorie-laden blocks of chocolate fudge, walked the streets with every kind of Romney paraphernalia a printer could print. "Romney in '08" was the definite theme of the day. I like Romney, and might even vote for him, but we quickly felt the need to escape the blue t-shirted army of Romney-ites wandering the streets in groups of 2 like missionaries proselyting the virtues of conservative values.

So, for $5 an hour each, we jumped on 3 bicycles and headed down the road to circumnavigate the island on a relatively flat, paved road that heads out of town in either direction. After passing million dollar mansions and several top-notch resorts the road soon gave way to a beautiful two lane path following the shoreline completely around the island. The colors of the lake actually reminded me of the waters of O'ahu with white beaches turning to tan, azure, and then the deep blue of the distant channels surrounding the island. One thing O'ahu doesn't have is the fiery reds and oranges of the turning leaves of fall. That makes Mackinac special. The ride took about 2 hours, and was one of the most enjoyable things we've done in a long time. I'm beginning to think I could learn to love island life, whether it's O'ahu, Maui, or Mackinac. And, as it turned out, when we finished our ride, we were happy to sit with all the Romney supporters serving up free ice cream and sodas. I guess it beats kissing babies.

Of course, we loaded up on fudge before the last boat to the U.P. set sail. I hid mine in my camera bag to avoid the fudgie epithet, but I think the locals knew.

Delilah

Connor got a new friend the other day; her name is Delilah, after one of his favorite songs. We're not sure what breed she is, but she looks to be a cross between a Dachshund and a Corgi, or other terrier of some sort. We got her from the animal shelter, so we don't know much about her. About 5 yrs old, she knows a few tricks and responds to several basic commands. She's taken a real liking to Connor, and spends a lot of time sitting with him. Always being compared to Clover, she's got some big shoes to fill. But, in time, I'm sure she'll find her own place in our home and hearts.

Soo Locks

We have lived in the "Soo" for almost 5 years and I've never been on the Soo Locks Boat Tour. The tour takes you through the American Locks from the Lake Huron "low side" to the Lake Superior "high side". It's an interesting study in machines and mechanics, although it ain't rocket science. You go in the low side of the St. Mary's River and they close the gates behind you and fill the tub. Up 21 feet in about 15 minutes as the water flows in. Just gravity at work. Then they open the other side and you float on out to the high side of the river. It's amazing how low-tech it all is, although I'm sure computers help run some of the operation. The lockmaster literally gives you the "green light" to enter the locks as the enormous gates open. Dockworkers scurry around as the deckhands toss them lines to be tied down. Then you just sit and wait as the water either lifts you up or brings you down to the appropriate level. Then it's out the other end. There is no cost to any vessel using the locks; all that is required is that your vessel has a motor, and that you promise to tie up while you're in the locks. That's it. After leaving the American Locks you go out into the river, scout around the back side of Algoma Steel Plant and then pull a big U-turn and return through the Canadian Locks. The Canadian side is for pleasure crafts only, so it's not nearly so impressive. The entire trip lasts about 2 hrs, and is interesting through the entire tour.

It must take a master mariner to park one of those 1000 ft freighters into the relatively narrow slip of water between the gates. Your aim has to be perfect. Sometimes I forget about the history of sea going vessels that run between the lakes and the great nautical past of Sault Ste. Marie. A lap around the locks sure brings that history to life.