145. Remote - March 20-26, 2016
Deron-
For many years now, while driving to Palm Springs, I have seen a camper way out in the distance. At first, It was a regular camper (probably the one you see in the lower left hand corner), but just recently, I believe this "home owner" has upgraded to an Airstream. I know this is a residence, because they have their own mailbox right on Highway 111. That is some remote livin'!
For many years now, while driving to Palm Springs, I have seen a camper way out in the distance. At first, It was a regular camper (probably the one you see in the lower left hand corner), but just recently, I believe this "home owner" has upgraded to an Airstream. I know this is a residence, because they have their own mailbox right on Highway 111. That is some remote livin'!
Kevin-
Well I knew that I didn’t want to photograph a remote control for this week’s theme, deciding instead of the noun version of the word to pursue remote as an adjective, meaning distant, out of the way, secluded…
So I made the drive to the other side of the Santa Rosa and San Jacinto Mountains to Anza Borrego Desert State Park. This is an area where a tremendous amount of off-roading happens in Jeeps, dune buggies, ATVs, etc. Anza Borrego is pretty vast, 916 square miles in total, and there is hardly a square inch of it that doesn’t have tire track on it. But at that same time the vastness means it usually feels empty, where your eyes have to scan everywhere and you ears need to listen to track down these vehicles.
I considered other shots from Anza Borrego, including a landscape images from before and after sunset, but ultimately decided to stick with an image from my original plan.
To take this shot I needed my Nikkor 200-500mm f/5.6 lens, plus a 1.4x teleconverter making it a 280-700mm f/8 equivalent. Nikon D4s, handheld, lens zoomed all the way to 500mm (700mm equivalent), ISO 800, f/8 @ 1/3200 second.
Well I knew that I didn’t want to photograph a remote control for this week’s theme, deciding instead of the noun version of the word to pursue remote as an adjective, meaning distant, out of the way, secluded…
So I made the drive to the other side of the Santa Rosa and San Jacinto Mountains to Anza Borrego Desert State Park. This is an area where a tremendous amount of off-roading happens in Jeeps, dune buggies, ATVs, etc. Anza Borrego is pretty vast, 916 square miles in total, and there is hardly a square inch of it that doesn’t have tire track on it. But at that same time the vastness means it usually feels empty, where your eyes have to scan everywhere and you ears need to listen to track down these vehicles.
I considered other shots from Anza Borrego, including a landscape images from before and after sunset, but ultimately decided to stick with an image from my original plan.
To take this shot I needed my Nikkor 200-500mm f/5.6 lens, plus a 1.4x teleconverter making it a 280-700mm f/8 equivalent. Nikon D4s, handheld, lens zoomed all the way to 500mm (700mm equivalent), ISO 800, f/8 @ 1/3200 second.
Paul-
How serendipitous…(I had to use that word, I don’t believe in luck).
I took the submitted picture before I even knew this week’s theme. Hang on…don’t take up your pitchforks and torches just yet. The time stamp on the email announcing the theme and the metadata for the photo indicated the former occurred before the latter. I’m covered! I’m untouchable! (Not in the societal caste sense, or course.)
Here in Nebraska, we have a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” As true as this is, it can’t lay claim to a decent punchline because the stalwart folks in 47 other states probably say the same thing. Exceptions, Wisconsin: “If you don’t like the weather…hey, want some string cheese?” And New York: “If you don’t like the weather, me and brother Vinny will grab a couple of bricks and wail on youse until you wish you was never born.” Catchy, yes, but not much help for their respective tourism bureaus.
The reason I dangle this not very witty little witticism out there is because I did get caught in a weird kind of “And now, here’s your local weather for 60 second from, now.” sort of occurrence last Saturday. One of the things I really wanted to do on my birthday (3/19) was have some time to myself and head out with my camera to the Chet Ager Nature Park/Conservancy/ Habitat/what-have-you.
I’ve submitted other pictures to the WPOTM while there because It’s a lovely place, it was a cool-but-lovely day, and I had my lovely hiking shoes on. Just me, my camera, and time on my hands. (If you don’t think that constitutes a birthday present, start thinking about how giddy you feel getting a gift card to Applebee’s.)
And right here’s where this week’s theme, Remote, comes in. (This is not true.)
Starting around 4:00, a fairly localized, and unexpected weather system came tumbling into the area. In the course of about an hour (in order of appearance) things cycled through: 1) Breezy but not too cool; 2) Gusty and sunny; 3) Cloudy and-don’t-touch-that-metal-tripod cold; 4) Warmer, full sun, with a light breeze; 5) Snizzle* that coated one side of my camera bag; 6) No snizzle for a while; 7) Return of the snizzle; 8) The Gust Front Strikes Back; 9) A fun little temperature drop; 10) Sleet; 11) A few minutes of blizzard-like conditions; 12) A near instantaneous stop to #11; 12) Mist and light rain; and 13) A mild spring day with no need for a jacket.
I was shooting pictures of a Plains Bison when number 11) started. Not terribly bright even in my best moments, I kept clicking while my fingers grew numb. The bison seemed indifferent to me and the freezing weather. But then, they’re bison, right?
Now, to remote. The intemperate weather pretty much cleared out the park. I think there were five cars besides mine when things settled down. No one around. And standing there staring down North America’s largest mammal—outside the city, things dead quiet—it seemed remote. A different “where” and a different “when” without the need for imagination to help set the stage. I think this is a rare thing for most of us when, stopping to really listen, we notice the absence of anything mechanical or automated trying to hide as white noise.
So, that’s Remote #1. Here’s Remote #2. And you probably know most of the story…
Centuries back—before the wholesale predation of the Plains bison for its fur, leather, flesh, tongue (a delicacy), bone (for fertilizer), ease-of-kill with the introduction of the rifle, ease-of-kill with the introduction of men on horses with rifles, and the gentile sport of shooting the animals down from moving trains—the general agreement was they rolled like dark clouds over the prairie in the tens of millions. By 1900, the numbered hovered around 1,000 in the wild. Give or take. But the bison are back from the edge of the precipice (which in much earlier times they were stampeded off of as a hunting strategy). There are around 500,000 now.
But here’s the thing: Only 1% of them (Bison bison) are “genetically pure”—that is, not descendants of animals that were cross-bred with cattle. There are a handful of places where you can see them being carefully managed, protected, and slowing building up a breeding population. Yellowstone is one place. Another is the T.R. Hughes RimRock Ranch near Crawford. It’s located in the Nebraska Panhandle.
So it’s encouraging—if that’s even the proper word for it—that the last of the last are back grazing again and turning their huge heads into storms not of our making. But for a time, the odds of that happening must have seemed at the least…well, remote.
Our story so far: 18-55mm dialed in at 55mm; aperture priority; center-weighted metering; ISO 640; 1/250 sec.; f/25; -2/3EV, WB set for cloudy. The camera is on a tripod.
* A member of my extended family coined this phrase (which I do not use). Apparently, it describes winter particulate that descends faster than flurries but slower than sleet, has a consistency similar to hail but without the heft, ranges in size from a grain of salt to a slightly larger grain of salt, does not fall vertically, and whose occurrence is described as “spitting.”
Example: “Wow,” said John to his wife (who would be skipping town a week later with a barista she’d recently met). “It’s really spitting snizzle out there!”
How serendipitous…(I had to use that word, I don’t believe in luck).
I took the submitted picture before I even knew this week’s theme. Hang on…don’t take up your pitchforks and torches just yet. The time stamp on the email announcing the theme and the metadata for the photo indicated the former occurred before the latter. I’m covered! I’m untouchable! (Not in the societal caste sense, or course.)
Here in Nebraska, we have a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” As true as this is, it can’t lay claim to a decent punchline because the stalwart folks in 47 other states probably say the same thing. Exceptions, Wisconsin: “If you don’t like the weather…hey, want some string cheese?” And New York: “If you don’t like the weather, me and brother Vinny will grab a couple of bricks and wail on youse until you wish you was never born.” Catchy, yes, but not much help for their respective tourism bureaus.
The reason I dangle this not very witty little witticism out there is because I did get caught in a weird kind of “And now, here’s your local weather for 60 second from, now.” sort of occurrence last Saturday. One of the things I really wanted to do on my birthday (3/19) was have some time to myself and head out with my camera to the Chet Ager Nature Park/Conservancy/ Habitat/what-have-you.
I’ve submitted other pictures to the WPOTM while there because It’s a lovely place, it was a cool-but-lovely day, and I had my lovely hiking shoes on. Just me, my camera, and time on my hands. (If you don’t think that constitutes a birthday present, start thinking about how giddy you feel getting a gift card to Applebee’s.)
And right here’s where this week’s theme, Remote, comes in. (This is not true.)
Starting around 4:00, a fairly localized, and unexpected weather system came tumbling into the area. In the course of about an hour (in order of appearance) things cycled through: 1) Breezy but not too cool; 2) Gusty and sunny; 3) Cloudy and-don’t-touch-that-metal-tripod cold; 4) Warmer, full sun, with a light breeze; 5) Snizzle* that coated one side of my camera bag; 6) No snizzle for a while; 7) Return of the snizzle; 8) The Gust Front Strikes Back; 9) A fun little temperature drop; 10) Sleet; 11) A few minutes of blizzard-like conditions; 12) A near instantaneous stop to #11; 12) Mist and light rain; and 13) A mild spring day with no need for a jacket.
I was shooting pictures of a Plains Bison when number 11) started. Not terribly bright even in my best moments, I kept clicking while my fingers grew numb. The bison seemed indifferent to me and the freezing weather. But then, they’re bison, right?
Now, to remote. The intemperate weather pretty much cleared out the park. I think there were five cars besides mine when things settled down. No one around. And standing there staring down North America’s largest mammal—outside the city, things dead quiet—it seemed remote. A different “where” and a different “when” without the need for imagination to help set the stage. I think this is a rare thing for most of us when, stopping to really listen, we notice the absence of anything mechanical or automated trying to hide as white noise.
So, that’s Remote #1. Here’s Remote #2. And you probably know most of the story…
Centuries back—before the wholesale predation of the Plains bison for its fur, leather, flesh, tongue (a delicacy), bone (for fertilizer), ease-of-kill with the introduction of the rifle, ease-of-kill with the introduction of men on horses with rifles, and the gentile sport of shooting the animals down from moving trains—the general agreement was they rolled like dark clouds over the prairie in the tens of millions. By 1900, the numbered hovered around 1,000 in the wild. Give or take. But the bison are back from the edge of the precipice (which in much earlier times they were stampeded off of as a hunting strategy). There are around 500,000 now.
But here’s the thing: Only 1% of them (Bison bison) are “genetically pure”—that is, not descendants of animals that were cross-bred with cattle. There are a handful of places where you can see them being carefully managed, protected, and slowing building up a breeding population. Yellowstone is one place. Another is the T.R. Hughes RimRock Ranch near Crawford. It’s located in the Nebraska Panhandle.
So it’s encouraging—if that’s even the proper word for it—that the last of the last are back grazing again and turning their huge heads into storms not of our making. But for a time, the odds of that happening must have seemed at the least…well, remote.
Our story so far: 18-55mm dialed in at 55mm; aperture priority; center-weighted metering; ISO 640; 1/250 sec.; f/25; -2/3EV, WB set for cloudy. The camera is on a tripod.
* A member of my extended family coined this phrase (which I do not use). Apparently, it describes winter particulate that descends faster than flurries but slower than sleet, has a consistency similar to hail but without the heft, ranges in size from a grain of salt to a slightly larger grain of salt, does not fall vertically, and whose occurrence is described as “spitting.”
Example: “Wow,” said John to his wife (who would be skipping town a week later with a barista she’d recently met). “It’s really spitting snizzle out there!”
Jerry-
My "remote" photo was taken top secretly, Cindy was napping and she was photographed without consent. The idea I'm trying to convey is that she is not responding to the wife-o-matic remote (Stepford 8b DingusXL) I recently purchased at the dollar store. Dang! I'll have to try some other means of communication/provocation.
D750 with 24-70 at40mm. 1/40 @ f5.6, ISO 3200.
My "remote" photo was taken top secretly, Cindy was napping and she was photographed without consent. The idea I'm trying to convey is that she is not responding to the wife-o-matic remote (Stepford 8b DingusXL) I recently purchased at the dollar store. Dang! I'll have to try some other means of communication/provocation.
D750 with 24-70 at40mm. 1/40 @ f5.6, ISO 3200.
Don-
Three pictures to make a story.
I was traveling along John's Canyon Rd when we came
upon these petroglyphs. Seems a family traveled through about
a thousand years ago. Note the cliff edge above.
Next picture looking down from that mesa edge (Muley Point) at the road where
the petroglyph was. If you see the dots on the road those are
cattle. The road is used by the owners of the cattle to bring water,
Archaeologists and silly photographers. The road dead ends a
couple miles further.
And finally looking out from the mesa above the road. Above the
San Juan river about 4000 feet below. Monument Valley 25 miles
to the south.
My favorite was the petroglyphs (also attached). The light was poor for all and there
was a lot of dust/sand in the air from the high winds.
Three pictures to make a story.
I was traveling along John's Canyon Rd when we came
upon these petroglyphs. Seems a family traveled through about
a thousand years ago. Note the cliff edge above.
Next picture looking down from that mesa edge (Muley Point) at the road where
the petroglyph was. If you see the dots on the road those are
cattle. The road is used by the owners of the cattle to bring water,
Archaeologists and silly photographers. The road dead ends a
couple miles further.
And finally looking out from the mesa above the road. Above the
San Juan river about 4000 feet below. Monument Valley 25 miles
to the south.
My favorite was the petroglyphs (also attached). The light was poor for all and there
was a lot of dust/sand in the air from the high winds.
Byron-
I too, choose to use the word remote to show desolation. Just off I-10 east of Quartzsite, AZ there is a rest area. No human activities take place for as far as the eye can see.
I'm having some interesting computer issues. It will be nice to get home where things work properly. As a result of the problems I don't have meta data.
I too, choose to use the word remote to show desolation. Just off I-10 east of Quartzsite, AZ there is a rest area. No human activities take place for as far as the eye can see.
I'm having some interesting computer issues. It will be nice to get home where things work properly. As a result of the problems I don't have meta data.