Lime-green trees, water weeds
surround the marble-white egret.
Chocolate-brown muck lines the shore.
The sun glows like a lighthouse.
The bird hunches
springs
off the log
hot, humid
into flight.
This bird eats gray fish, brown bugs,
tiny translucent shrimp.
How does it grow them into
the snowy feathers
of an angel?
I meandered down to Savannah for a work trip last month. I’d visited the city once before, but that was a long time ago, and I didn’t stay long. I must say I enjoyed spending four days in this southern gothic berg, even though most of the time I was in an air-conditioned hotel listening to presentations.
When I did get outdoors, I loved walking along the Savannah River down historic cobblestone streets. Live oaks draped with Spanish moss lined the route and historical sites seemed to emerge around every corner.
One morning, I managed to take a guided trolley tour around the city. It was one of those tours where you can hop on and off to explore the sights more closely. The trollies run every 20 minutes, which makes exploring very convenient. (Note: There are two trolley companies, so make sure you’re at the correct stop to board!)
I’d heard that Forsyth Park was picturesque, so I hopped off there and meandered around. The park offers wide sidewalks, those wonderful live oaks, and a large fountain. Near the fountain, a sidewalk trumpeter played a mellow tune. Even so, children walking by danced and hopped around to the music.
For the hungry, there’s a restaurant (Collins Quarter) in the park that offers takeout and sit-down dinners. People were lounging outside, dining under umbrellas on the patio of the Greek Revival building. I wasn’t hungry but didn’t want to pass up such a quaint place, so I ordered an iced spiced lavender mocha (decaf) from their takeout window. It was divine! The drink contained espresso, Condor chocolate, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and lavender. I would rate it as one of the best mochas I’ve ever had. I sipped this purple cinnamon flower elixir as I walked to the trolley stop. It made the short wait more enjoyable.
Besides the mocha, another thing that impressed me about Savannah was the way they remember the different ethnic groups that helped found the city. About a tenth of the original settlers were Irish, so a Celtic cross stood in the park by my hotel. On the trolley ride, the driver pointed out a marker honoring Scottish Highlanders. Since I was just in Ireland and Scotland, this warmed the cockles of my heart and made me feel at home.
Once I was back near my hotel it was lunchtime. I decided to check out The Pirate’s House Restaurant. The building was first opened in 1753 as an inn for seafarers and then, as its website says, it “fast became a meeting place for pirates and sailors from the Seven Seas.” The building fell into disuse after World War II, but has been restored and is now considered a house museum.
I ordered the soup, salad, and sandwich, which featured she crab soup and a chicken salad croissant. Delish! As I ate, I realized that the building, with its uneven floors and clapboard siding, had a familiar feel – like I’d been there before. As I read about the restaurant’s history on my placemat, it struck me. I’d imagined this place while reading the book, “Treasure Island,” by Robert Louis Stevenson! Stevenson had visited Savannah and the house was thought to be his inspiration for the inn where Captain Flint died, uttering his last words: “Darby M’Graw, fetch aft the rum.”
The next day was field trip day for my conference. I had selected a trip to Sapelo Island off the Georgia coast. The island is a National Estuarine Research Reserve, part of the same national network dedicated to environmental research, education, and stewardship that the coworkers in my office back home work for. As you may recall, I’m an isleophile (I love islands!), so that, combined with the whole Reserve thing, is why I chose this particular field trip.
Not just anyone can visit the island. No roads lead to it—you have to take a ferry. Also, you need to be invited by the Reserve or one of the residents of the small island community of Hog Hammock. Many of the residents in Hog Hammock are Gullah—descendants of former slaves with their own unique culture.
A few days earlier, our conference had kicked off with a stirring performance by Gullah ring shouters. They shuffled in a counterclockwise circle while singing, dancing, clapping, and stomping. Ring shouting is an African tradition that the slaves brought with them and is still part of the Gullah worship services. Hog Hammock is one of the last remaining Gullah communities in the U.S., and is under threat due to land development and zoning.
We boarded the ferry and traveled through the salt marshes to the island, where a flock of terns greeted us, sitting on the dock railings. Our first stop was the Reserve office where one of their naturalists oriented us to the island. Then we traipsed outdoors for a service project. The thirty of us weeded a native plant garden and transplanted live oaks into larger pots. The oaks were being grown to help rehab a former airstrip on the island. The island used to be owned by tobacco magnate, R. J. Reynolds. He built a mansion there (which sports a bowling alley and tennis courts and is now available for rent to large groups), a dairy barn and outbuildings. He wanted his compound on the island to be self-sufficient.
After the trees were all transplanted, we headed to the dock to collect some tiny salt marsh critters to bring back to the office lab and look at under microscopes. We found crabs, small fish, and barnacles.
After eating lunch under a shelter at the beach, our next stop was the University of Georgia Marine Research Institute. After Reynolds died, his widow donated the dairy barn compound to the university for that purpose. Students spend the summer on the island conducting research projects, and we saw several in progress.
A film screening studio is one surprising thing that Mr. Reynolds built into the dairy barn. Apparently, he had many friends in Hollywood who would fly out to the island to screen movies. He even had two extra-wide chairs built to accommodate his heftier movie mogul friends. We sat in the room and watched a movie about the research institute. But I must admit I was distracted by wondering if any famous movies were screened in that remote barn.
Another surprising decorative feature at the institute was an outdoor fountain that features cement turkeys. Yes, you heard me, turkeys. Why? Conflicting stories abound. Some say it was R. J. Reynold’s idea. Others say it was his wife’s idea. It’s certainly not something you see every day, especially at a marine institute. When I first noticed the fountain from a distance, I assumed the turkeys, with their fanned-out tails, were large scallops or oysters. Huh.
Our last stop was the Sapelo Island Light Station. But on our way, we drove through Hog Hammock and were able to see where the ring shouter performers lived. The homes are very modest but some Gullah are selling their land to mainlanders who want to build larger homes, which would drive up property taxes.
The lighthouse is a red and white striped affair that rises 80 feet into the saltmarsh air. A tiny museum in a building alongside it offers bits of history and memorabilia. Others on our tour climbed the tower for the view from the top. I opted out. This northern lady was pretty sapped by the southern heat by then. Climbing a spiral staircase in a tower without air conditioning just didn’t appeal to me at that point.
Then it was back to the ferry for us and a long bus ride back to Savannah. I felt privileged to have the opportunity for this special trip to the island and to learn more about Georgia’s environment and culture. It was fun to give back a bit, too, by transplanting those baby live oaks.
I am interrupting my U.K. meander to cover some exciting developments since we returned home. I’ll resume with our trip to Scotland in a few posts.
My husband Russ has lived in Minnesota for 23 years, raised two children here, trekked the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, biked gravel roads, sailed Lake Superior’s North Shore, cross-country skied, and snowboarded. He also volunteers his medical expertise for the local ski patrol. About five years ago, he married a Minnesotan: me. But when people hear that he’s originally from New England, they call him a Yankee.
Thanks to our recent meander to the Minnesota State Fair, I can correct that misconception now. Despite all his time in Minnesota, Russ had never been to the fair. I was aghast at hearing this and decided it’s the one last quest he needed to do to call himself a real Minnesotan.
So, we went last week with a busload of other people arranged through our local community education organization. If we had been traveling on our own, we might have picked a different day because the heat index was 103 degrees!
We survived traipsing around the fairgrounds with the help of plenty of lemonade, water, and root beer floats. The merry-go-round is my favorite ride at the fair. Even though I’m in my 60s, I had to go on it. Russ was a good sport and accompanied me. I think he had fun! We wanted to have new experiences on other rides, as well. We hopped aboard the Great Big Wheel (think Ferris wheel) and the Space Tower (think Space Needle).
Then it was lunchtime. Russ sated his hunger at the Hamline Methodist Church Dining Hall. My extended family goes to that church and has a long history of volunteering in the hall for the fair. Russ had ham loaf with corn and a corn muffin. I carried in my Spam burger with cheese from an outside vendor. I do have a fondness for Spam and usually use it during camping trips once or twice a year, but why not the state fair, too?
As we were dining, I noticed that NY Times bestselling Minnesota author William Kent Krueger was at the head of the serving line, taking food orders. He attends that church and was a friend of my aunt who also worshipped there. I’ve met him a few times over the years. I caught Ken’s eye and gave him a wave. He waved back!! He’s such a great guy, and his books are pretty darn good, too.
After lunch, we wandered over to the animal barns. In the horse barn, huge draft horses were getting prepped for the afternoon competition. Percherons, Clydesdales and Belgians stood docilely still outside their stalls while people groomed them. They’re about twice the height of a regular horse. We watched in awe as two women stood on tall stools to brush a Percheron’s black coat and braid its tail. I’m not sure I would want to stand behind those powerful legs and haunches and fiddle around with a horse’s tail! Another person worked on its hooves.
We returned to the arena a few hours later to watch the draft horse wagon-pulling competition in the coliseum. Sixteen teams of six horses competed, trotting in circles around the arena with harnesses jingling, and then showing their prowess at backing up and doing figure eights. Seeing the powerful beasts with rippling muscles high stepping in synch was like watching poetry in motion—mesmerizing.
In the end, all the horse teams lined up in the arena for final judging. It’s not every day you get to see 96 huge horses standing around in front of you. I was particularly impressed by a team of Percherons pulling a red wagon. They seemed more in synch and stepped higher than the other teams. I told Russ my bet was on them to win.
Apparently, I have a previously unknown talent for judging draft horses because in the end, that team won! They took a victory lap and accepted a trophy. They were a team from Minnesota, which made their victory all the sweeter.
We capped off the day with a trip to the department of natural resources fishpond, which sports all sorts of native species, and we took in parts of several music shows. We also ate ice cream and funnel cake and visited “tractor hill.” Unlike my past memories of it, there’s no hill anymore; and it’s more like riding lawn mower land—not so many tractors on display.
By the time we clambered back on the bus, our shirts were drenched with sweat. But we had survived both the heat and the crowds! More to point, Russ had survived his first Minnesota State Fair experience and earned his long-awaited induction into Minnesotahood. Welcome, Russ.
I can’t believe how much Russ and I meandered around Dublin on this day! We certainly felt grateful for our good fitness and working legs. Also, we learned that the buses in Dublin require exact change. You can put extra in, but you won’t get change back.
Taxi Driver Wisdom
The times we took cabs in Dublin, most of the drivers were talkative and friendly, but some weren’t, and that was okay, too. From the talkative ones we learned such gems as:
I have not fact-checked these claims, so take them as you will. We truly enjoyed our conversations with cab drivers both here and later in Scotland.
Molly Malone
In my previous post, Russ and I had just finished visiting the Temple Bar. From there, we walked to Trinity College to fulfill our reservation to enter its famous Long Room and view The Book of Kells. We had plenty of time before we needed to be there, so we took a short side trip through the ever-present drizzle to see the Molly Malone statue.
Molly is a semi-historical, semi-mythical lady commemorated in the song “Cockles and Mussels,” which has become an unofficial Dublin anthem. Molly worked as a fishmonger but also as a working girl. She died in one of the outbreaks of Cholera that regularly used to sweep the city. The statue of Molly and her cart is affectionately nicknamed “The Tart with the Cart” by Dubliners, no doubt due to her highly visible cleavage. About ten years ago, someone got the bright idea that rubbing her aforementioned cleavage would lead to good luck. Now the patina on that part of the statue has been rubbed off and brightened by the hands of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Currently, there’s been some talk of trying to protect the statue from this practice.
Trinity College
In the heart of Dublin, Trinity College is home to the legendary Book of Kells – a 9th-century gospel manuscript famous for its illustrations. We reserved the Book of Kells and Old Library experience, but there are also other tour options that interpret the Book of Kells more. We were more interested in seeing the library based on amazing images I’ve seen online and in other’s blogs.
I have to admit the Book of Kells was rather underwhelming, since it’s in a glass case and you can only view a few pages. I guess that’s why they’ve developed the additional tour experiences that offer digital views of more of it.
The Long Room in the library, however, lived up to the hype! Currently, an art exhibit called “Gaia” is featured in it: a floating illuminated globe of the Earth that looks like it’s in outer space. Ironically, many of the books in the library are off the shelves. They’re being restored (and dusted, I suppose !)
We spent a lot of time in the Long Room, just soaking up the literary silence and beauty of it.
Day 5 found us still in Dublin. Next up: the famine statues, the emigration museum, and Cobblestone Pub.
This day was a big deal for us. We’d been working for six months with My Ireland Family Heritage, a small, family-owned company that does genealogy research and tours. This was the day for our tour of the lands of Russ’s ancestors!
Our guide, Ian, picked us up from our hotel in Belfast. Our first stop was the small town of Armagh near where Russ’s ancestors lived. We had requested a visit to St. Patrick’s Cathedral there, but once we reached the town, we were surprised to learn that there are two of them! The oldest one (year 445) is Protestant and the more recent one (1840) is Catholic.
Armagh owes its association with St. Patrick to the old church, which is named St. Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral. It stands on a hill overlooking the town. The hill (Ard Mhacha or Height of Macha) is where the city (Armagh) got its name. Before the church was built, it was a major ritual site and an ancient royal center. The Book of Armagh states that St. Patrick decreed that the Armagh church should have pre-eminence over all other churches and monasteries in Ireland, a position it holds to this day. The present structure was built in 1268 but it has been restored several times due to fires and worship needs.
Across the way atop another hill is the other church, St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral. It’s the seat of the Catholic Archbishop of Armagh. We could easily see it from the steps of the Protestant church. Of the two, the Catholic one is the fanciest, probably owing to its more modern construction.
Russ’s great-great-great grandfather James Henry Thornton lived just outside of Armagh in the small township of Foybeg. He came to Ireland from England with the unenviable job as a tax collector for Lord Lurgan (Charles Brownlow or Baron Lurgan), an Anglo-Irish politician who represented Armagh in the U.K. Parliament.
James Henry was married twice, but we didn’t know the names of either of his wives. James Henry had two sons, James and John, one with each wife. Besides being a tax collector, his occupation is recorded in church records as a farmer. Ian told us that Foybeg is known for the growth and weaving of flax into linen. It was the “cash crop” of the time, much like coffee is for Brazil today. So, he could have been a flax farmer.
His son James eventually moved to Australia. Russ is related to John, who was his great-great grandfather. He is described in family records as at least six feet tall. He loved horses, hunting and good whiskey, but hated work. He always carried a cane and had at least two dogs following him at all times. He was educated to teach school in Northern Ireland.
John married Jane Berry and they had eleven children. One of them was Russ’s great-grandfather, William John Thornton, who went by the name John Jr. After he emigrated to America, he married an Irish woman, Sarah J. Fox. She grew up near Foybeg.
After lunch, Ian took us to St. Paul’s Church, which was where Sarah’s family worshipped and were buried. We saw lots of graves with familiar family surnames (Fox, Johnston, Berry) but did not come across anything significant. Inside, there was a “new” baptismal font on display. The old one was shoved underneath a spiral staircase. Could that have been used for Sarah Fox or her family?
Our next stop was the Drumcree Church of the Ascension, where we hit the jackpot! This was the church (Church of Ireland denomination) where the Thorntons worshipped and were married/buried. The church is surrounded by cow pastures and apple orchards and even has an apple tree depicted in a stained-glass window.
Besides the ancestral connection, Drumcree Church was significant during Ireland’s “troubles.” For several years in the 1990s, this Protestant church drew international attention as the scene of the Drumcree standoffs. Each year, the Protestant Orange Order marched to-and-from a service at the church on the Sunday before the 12th of July. Residents in the nearby Catholic district prevented the march from continuing through their neighborhood. Thousands of Orangemen and British loyalists gathered at Drumcree and violently tried to force their way through, but were held back by security forces, who built large steel and barbed wire barricades. These yearly “sieges” of Drumcree ended in the early 2000s.
As we strolled around the graveyard, which smelled of manure from the cows nearby, we noticed a broken headstone propped up against the low stone wall that borders the yard. It was the headstone for James Henry Thornton and Mary. Mary must have been James Henry’s second wife! The last line on the tombstone says something about their son James Thornton, who was thought to have lived in Australia. Maybe he returned home to Ireland, eventually? The church member who let us into the building for a tour said that the stone must have been broken in the past, so that’s why it was leaning up against the wall and not over their gravesite. He said they do that instead of just getting rid of the broken ones.
As if discovering this significant gravestone wasn’t enough, our talkative guide Ian next took us to the homesites of Russ’s ancestors. Two out of three weren’t accessible or there was nothing to see but an orchard, but the Thornton homesite was different! We peered down a driveway that led to a modern house. Between the driveway and the house was an old white building with red doors and a rusting metal roof. This was where Russ’s Thornton ancestors lived! It looked more like a shed or a barn now than a home.
We only had time to take a few photos before Ian wanted to leave. You see, he is a Catholic from the Republic of Ireland to the south. We were in Northern Ireland, which is mostly Protestant. He did not feel comfortable hanging out in rural areas for fear of a confrontation. (People can tell where he’s from by the license plate on the van.)
Once we were back in the van driving away, Russ said a lady had been out in the yard. I would have loved to have had the chance to speak with her to see if she knew anything about the past inhabitants of her place, but I did not see her when I was taking pictures of it. Russ took the geographic coordinates of the location, so perhaps, if we ever return, we will have more time to explore and chat. Russ said that this was his favorite part of the tour.
As the ancestry book that the tour company put together for us says,
What was once a home where children played a hive of activities stands quiet now, a home for spiders and field mice. In the corner of the eves an owl hoots every evening . . . People lived and died in this cottage. Its walls could tell you stories, happy and sad. Children grew up here, some stayed near, and some traveled far and wide to the other side of the world. They packed their memories to start a new life, new beginnings, and new memories, leaving this little cottage to nature.
Russ’s great grandfather, William John Thornton emigrated to the U.S. He settled in Manchester Connecticut and married Sarah. They had four children. At the time of his marriage, William John was employed as a “velvet finisher.” He also worked as a coachman and a laborer later. Unfortunately, William John was an alcoholic. He died in 1917 from freezing to death in a drunken state in a roadside ditch. Sarah lived until a ripe old age, dying in 1964.
Tour over, Ian drove us to Dublin, the site of our next adventures!
We’ve been driving up and down Highway 61 on Lake Superior’s North Shore more than usual lately to deliver and retrieve my photos that were on display in Grand Marais. On one trip, I noticed a river that flowed underneath the highway. No sign sported the river’s name. Looking landward as we whizzed past, I spotted a double culvert bridge about a hundred yards away that the river flowed through. Was that a waterfall behind one of the culverts? The scene was intriguing and not one I’d ever seen photographed by established North Shore photographers. I made note of the location and vowed to stop on our next trip.
That “next trip” was last weekend. On our way back to Duluth from Grand Marais, we stopped near the mystery river, which is near Taconite Harbor. The harbor’s a place where mining companies used to load taconite (iron-ore pellets mined and made on Minnesota’s Iron Range) from rail cars into ships bound for steel-making plants in Michigan and Illinois.
We parked our car in a driveway entrance that was blocked by a gate overgrown by saplings. Although the driveway had a fire number on it, that gate obviously hadn’t been opened in years, so we weren’t too worried about blocking access.
We walked across the highway and, as cars rushed past, took a short jaunt to the river. We hopped the guardrail in a likely looking spot and soon found a faint game trail. The trail also could have been made by anglers. We found out later that part of the river is considered an “Aquatic Management Area” allowing angler access by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources.
It’s spring and we’d had a heavy rain recently, so the shallow river splashed with gusto over reddish-gray rocks. I clambered along the banks, camera in hand, taking photos at spots that offered a good vantage. But I was impatient to get to my goal: the double culvert up the hill, and that waterfall behind it.
Russ went ahead while I took photos. When I caught up to him at the railroad bridge with the culverts, he’d had time to look up the name of the river on his phone. We were looking at Two Island River, a 15-mile waterway. There’s not much info out there about it, but Wikipedia says the river is named for two lake islands near its mouth.
As you can probably tell, there was a waterfall behind the culverts. A very nice one, too. The steep angle of the sun and rising mist from the falls made for some blurry spots in my photos, but I managed to get a few images without amorphous blobs floating around in them.
Waterfall appreciation over, we investigated the railway bridge. Like the driveway gate, the railroad was overgrown with saplings and obviously hadn’t been used in years. Research I did while writing this post uncovered the facts that the railway was named the Cliffs Erie Railroad. The last train operated in 2001, but after that, cleanup trains, which collected leftover chips and pellets from the mines, operated until 2008.
A bustling little town was situated near the Two Island River, probably accessed through that overgrown driveway where we parked. Taconite Harbor, Minnesota, was a mining town built by the Erie Mining Company. In 1957, twenty-two prefabbed homes were trucked into a several block area near the lake. The little community even had a fire hall, community center, playground, and baseball/tennis courts.
It seemed like a 1950s ideal community. Seventy-five children grew up there and probably played along the river’s banks. In the 1970s, families were driven away by noise pollution and health concerns about the taconite dust that blew off the rail cars and from local stockpiles.
The steel industry lull added another blow in the 1980s and by 1988, the last resident had left the little Taconite Harbor town. In 1990, the remaining homes and buildings were packed up and transported away by trucks. Driving past the site, I recall seeing only empty asphalt streets, home foundations and streetlights. Nature has reclaimed much of the area, but town remnants remain. It’s truly a North Shore ghost town.
Russ and I didn’t have time to investigate the town site ourselves, but there are many good images of it on the internet. “Forgotten Minnesota” has some good ones.
The history of this area also includes an event that I narrowly escaped. It’s an involved tale so I’ll start from the beginning. In 1957 when the little town of Taconite Harbor was being formed, the mining company also began dumping ash from its nearby coal-fired power plant near the river and the town. I’m not sure it was illegal at the time, but it probably was as time went on. The dumping continued until 1982 and the pile covered 27 acres.
On the morning of July 28, 1993, I drove up the highway in a pale green government car through a heavy rain on my way up to Grand Marais for my job with the Forest Service. Later that day, thanks to the rain and the fact that the mining company had been dumping excess water from a coal stockpile onto the ash heap, the pile became saturated and it liquified in a rare phenomenon called “static liquefaction.”
The heap collapsed and flowed downhill, covering the highway and contaminating the river and Lake Superior. It knocked out an electric substation and buried someone in their car who was traveling on the highway. I can’t find any news reports about the incident now, but as I recall, the person was rescued. I believe another car was partially buried.
All I could think of at the time is that could have been me! Luckily, it wasn’t. And luckily, I already had been planning to stay overnight in Grand Marais because the highway was unpassable and closed until the ash was cleared later the next day when I traveled home.
Russ also recalls hearing about a truck that hit the top of one of the railroad bridges that span the highway at that site. As a result, the bridge spans that cross the highway have been removed, leaving just the tracks and growing saplings on either side.
In short, this is a picturesque area that has had a lot happen to it! Its history of abuse and neglect is probably why the site is not sought-after by more photographers or tourists. That’s too bad. I suppose the mining company still owns the area and they obviously just want to forget about it. The river and the old town site could use some love. The nearby harbor has had some public funds put into it. It’d be nice to see the same for the Two Island River.
Thanks to a gargantuan sunspot group 15 times the size of Earth, we on Earth in northern climes were treated to a spectacular aurora borealis display last night.
The evening began with a thunder shower, which led to a picturesque sunset, which was capped off by the northern lights display.
I ran around with my camera, documenting everything at our cabin in northern Minnesota. I had tried before to photograph the sky at night with little luck. But this time, it worked! My camera captured even more colors than were visible to the “naked” eye.
As I wandered on gravel roads in the middle of nowhere with eyes raised to the eternal mystery of the dancing sky, our resident loons began to call. Spring peepers croaked and a distant train whistle blew. We are so fortunate to live in these times, in this place.
When last we met, Russ and I were in Grand Marais along the shores of Lake Superior for an afternoon photo reception at their local health facility. We decided to stay overnight after the reception and take a little photo expedition the next morning to a scenic spot on the harbor.
As we ate supper at the Gunflint Tavern, I came up with the bright idea to do a reconnaissance mission to the spot to prepare for the next day’s shot. I hadn’t been to Artist’s Point in several years and wanted a refresher. The sun was still up so we’d be able to see okay to walk along the break walls and rocky coast.
I must admit that I had a glass of wine with supper and then for dessert, a brandy old fashioned cocktail. Although the food at the tavern was lovely, that cocktail was truly memorable! A brandy old fashioned is made with muddled (smashed) maraschino cherries and orange slices. (For a photo, see this post.)
I don’t know what kind of cherries the tavern used, but they took the drink to a whole new level! They were dark maroon and tasted divine. I know they weren’t Amaro-soaked cherries because I’ve had those before. I wish I had asked our waitress what they were, but I didn’t.
Thus fortified, and wearing high-heeled boots, I ventured with Russ to the harbor. I didn’t even have my Nikon along (that was back at our inn), only my cell phone.
I clambered up on the break wall, but Russ refused. He’d had a drink with dinner, too, and didn’t trust his balance enough to join me. I, however, found that my dessert made me not really care that I was up on a rocky wall in high heels. Plus, the views! I immediately became inspired and started snapping away on my phone, wandering this way and that for the best views.
What was intended as a simple reconnaissance turned into a photo shoot in its own right. Here’s a gallery of my results.
I clambered off with wall none the worse for wear and we headed to our inn for a rousing card game. We slumbered until Civil Dawn – that time just before the sun rises. In our case, that was 5:30 a.m., much earlier than we usually wake.
We quickly dressed in gear appropriate for temperatures in the mid-40s. I gathered my tripod and camera and we drove down the hill a short way to Artist’s Point. The area is named for its picturesque views. Painters can often be found there.
The sky over Lake Superior began turning a light orange as the sun prepared to make its appearance. Songbirds were singing, mallards quacking. Shorebirds flitted from rock to rock in front of me on the beach. The air was calm.
The sun wasn’t rising close to the island where I hoped it would be, so I set up my tripod on the beach and started taking photos. As the sunrise progressed, I found some large rocks and old wooden pilings that made for an interesting foreground. I crouched for the best angle.
I stepped away from my camera a few times to enjoy the sunrise in its own right, without a viewfinder in front of it.
Then I made my way out to the point and the break wall. Russ stayed back again. By this time, the sun climbed higher, but it was too bright for a good photo against the island. Instead, I focused my efforts in the opposite direction — on the lighthouse in the harbor, which was lit by the reflection of the rising sun. As I shot, a gray fishing boat left for the deeps of the lake with a raucous chorus of gulls following in hopes of sharing the bounty to come.
As I was finishing, I noticed a man off to the side on the harbor shore. Was he a photographer, too? Was he seeing something I wasn’t? (Every photographer’s nightmare!)
Then I noticed he wasn’t holding a camera, but a fishing rod. Just an angler out catching breakfast before work.
My cold fingers told me it was time to stop taking photos, so I clambered off the wall and met up with Russ. We returned to our cozy inn, peaceful, inspired. Happy.
You may recall that a few weeks ago I left my “photo babies” at a medical facility in Grand Marais, Minnesota, along the shores of Lake Superior. (For a refresher, read this post.)
Russ and I were able to visit my babies earlier this week at an afternoon reception for the photographers and artists whose works are featured on the walls of the facility. I was excited to visit my images and see where they were hung. They seemed well cared for and happy in their new surroundings. My four large images were together on one wall and the other smaller ones lined a different wall farther down the hallway.
For a while, I stood near my images, a fly on the wall listening to peoples’ comments about my photos. Hearing their compliments and theories was fun. Meeting members of the medical facility board and the other artists was an added benefit.
This was my first reception, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. We struck up conversations with several photographers who proudly took us on hallway tours of their works. There were a couple ladies from Duluth who I hadn’t met before.
When I was in the reception room enjoying snacks and a PowerPoint show of the images, several reception-goers approached me, wanting an explanation of how I took one of my photos. We walked back to where the large images hung and stopped in front of “Catching a Wave.”
Before I told the three ladies how I got the shot of a wave splashing off a rock on Madeline Island in Lake Superior, I wanted to hear their theories. All of them thought I used a tripod and that I took multiple shots.
Surprise crossed their faces when I told them I just sat on a rock with my feet dangling over the water and hand-held my Nikon. I took the image when I was on the island for my first-ever photography class. This image was from a class outing in a park along the lakeshore where we roamed. I thought it would be fun to try and “catch a wave” with my camera.
As I sat on the rock, I pushed the shutter in the moments after a wave hit the rock and sprayed. I only took a couple of shots, not even bothering to look at what I had in the field because it was hard to see my playback viewer in the sunshine. Instead, I hiked down the trail to the next viewshed.
But when I returned to my room after our class outing, I knew something was different with the rock splash photos when I scrolled through them on my camera. “What the heck?” I recall saying to myself. My wonder turned to pleasure after I downloaded the images to my computer and took a closer look. I’d caught the wave perfectly in two of them!
The ladies at the show pointed out a couple things about the photo that I hadn’t noticed before, plus some patterns in my other photos that I had not seen. Then we walked down the hall to view their images and they described the trials and tribulations involved in taking their shots.
Once the reception was over, Russ and I headed out to a local restaurant for supper. We planned to stay overnight and wake at dawn the next morning so that I could have a photo outing at a scenic spot on the town’s harbor before we left for the two-hour drive home. We may have been there for the photo reception, but why not turn it into a photo expedition, too?
As it turns out, that was a capital idea! I’ll share those images in my next post, but here’s a sneak peek:
To see a slide show of the other photos I took during my Madeline Island photography class, please visit this post. If you’re interested in purchasing “Catching a Wave,” it’s available on canvas (24” x 36”) for $150. Since I took the class and that image as part of my day job, profits will be donated to the Wisconsin Sea Grant Program, which provides research and education programs about lakes Superior and Michigan. To see my other work, please visit my photography webpage.
In my workaday world where I drive around, sit at my desk, eat, and sometimes sleep, I often run across photo opportunities that I don’t have the time or energy to pursue. I’ll be driving down Duluth’s hillside and see the sun shining in an interesting pattern on Lake Superior, but I have a work meeting to get to, so don’t have time to stop. Or, I’ll be walking into the grocery store and there’s a spectacular sunset but I’m on mission, so bye-bye sunset. Or, darn, I don’t have my fancy camera with me, just my cell phone, so I won’t take the shot.
Often at these times, I’ll sadly joke with myself, saying, “If I were a real photographer, I’d find a way to take that photo.” I can’t count how many times I’ve thought that over the years. My hope is that once I retire, I’ll have more time to follow up on these photo opportunities, but that’s about a year off.
This morning at our cabin, one of those moments happened again. I’d been awake in bed since 5:30 a.m. It was now an hour later, and sleep was not returning. From bed, I could see the lake, its far shore lit golden by the rising sun, water as smooth as glass with winter’s ice only recently melted.
Lying there, I thought, “If I were a real photographer I’d get outside and take that photo.” But I was cozy and drowsy. Outside, it was probably only 40 degrees.
But the spectacular shoreline lighting was only going to last a little while. It would be a shame to miss this opportunity. All I needed to do was get out of bed . . .
Beside me, Russ slumbered peacefully. I didn’t want any movements I might make to wake him . . .
Then, I thought about what fun it would be to actually be a real photographer this morning. Sure, I only had my cell phone, but that was better than nothing.
I hopped out of bed, donned my light blue fuzzy bathrobe, grabbed my phone, and jumped into my big Sorrel boots. As I headed outside, I could see the light fading from one section of the far shore. It wouldn’t be long before the bare trees were a drab brown once again across the whole thing.
As I neared our small beach, a duck farther down the lake took off in startled flight. That might have had something to do with it seeing a blue monstrosity emerge on shore!
I raised my phone and fired off a few shots, walking along the shoreline to gain a better vantage. The sun lingered for a few more minutes, enough time to take a few good images. I especially liked one with some reeds in the foreground.
Phone lowered, I stood for a while, drinking in the view directly with my eyes. All was still and quiet.
I turned to walk back the few yards it would take to get to the cabin. After a couple steps, I was stopped by the sound of something crashing through underbrush in the neighbor’s yard. I recognized two dogs, Kamikaze spaniels, as I like to think of them, headed right toward me! One sported black spots, the other brownish-red.
I knew from previous encounters with their master on the road, the dogs running beside his ATV for exercise, that they were nice dogs with a lot of energy. Whenever they pass a driveway, they head down it, circle the yard with noses to the ground and meet their master back on the road.
Still, to ensure they were forewarned of my presence, I greeted them with, “Hi dogs, hi dogs!”
Unlike the duck, the dogs took no notice of me and sped right past. One rounded the far corner of the cabin and headed back to the road, while the other took a detour around our boathouse and then ran through the forest, rejoining its buddy.
In all, I was only outside this morning for a few minutes, but a lot happened. As I opened the cabin door, I felt a bit more like a real photographer.
Marie's Meanderings 