Tuesday, July 15, 2014
^ Road sign representative of northern New Mexico, which really has nothing to do with anything else in this post.
Capitol Reef, in south central Utah, is a severely underrated national park. The parks in southern Utah are some of the best in the country, and while places like Arches or Zion get all the publicity, Capitol Reef has top notch desert scenery without the crowds. A lot of the park is accessible via rough two-track trails, and I decided to drive Cathedral Valley road, which goes through (surprise) Cathedral Valley, including a couple of rock formations called Temple of the Sun and Temple of the Moon that I've wanted to visit and photograph for a couple of years but haven't had a vehicle I could confidently drive out there.
I mounted my GoPro to the roof of the car to film the drive down Cathedral Valley Road, using the GoPro suction cup mount. Like basically everything else GoPro branded, the mount sounds good in theory but doesn't actually work very well. The video was extremely shaky, and the entire mount would pop loose every few minutes. Eventually I gave up on the GoPro mount and stuck the camera on my GorillaPod on the hood, with one of the feet stuck under a wiper blade. This worked better, but I still wasn't satisfied with it. I think I'm going to rig up some better mounting system. A tripod ball head on the front of the roof rack should be good, and allows me to mount better cameras than the GoPro.
The western half of Cathedral Valley road had a steep, loose descent down to the valley floor which could be interesting for a 2WD vehicle on ascent. Then it was sandy road most of the way. After arriving at Temple of the Sun/Moon in late afternoon, I did a few pictures:
Then I got the drone out and did a flight right over Temple of the Moon:
I wanted to shoot the formations in good sunset light, and again after dark. So I pulled into the shade under Temple of the Moon and set up a timelapse while I waited. Then I laid out my sleeping pad and went for a four hour nap until sunset. I woke up an hour and a half later with grit in my teeth from the wind whipping everywhere. Seems a storm was brewing while I was asleep:
Now it was decision time: I could keep waiting for sunset, risking the rain. The problem with rain is the road crossed several muddy washes that could turn into flash floods pretty easily, then I'd be stuck waiting for the water to go back down. Since the clouds looked like they'd ruin my evening and nighttime shots anyway, I decided to get while the gettin' was good. The eastern half of the road went through some really neat badlands-style scenery with lots of switchbacks on slickrock around small canyons and mesas. Definitely the more interesting half of the road, and also less rough; a regular passenger car could do this in good weather. I stopped for a picture:
And then it was back out to the highway. It took all afternoon to go 50 miles. I guess I'll have to come back another time since I didn't get to shoot the location the way I wanted.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
After my time in the Columbia River Gorge, I hopped a plane to the other side of the country to spend a week on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. This one was for business: I was supporting a rocket launch to test a new mechanism we'll use this fall in Svalbard. The rocket's purpose is to release a trail of luminous clouds in the high atmosphere, the clouds drift with the winds way up there, and we watch to learn about those high altitude winds. My job was to run some of the cameras that track the clouds. The rocket launches from NASA Wallops Flight Facility on Virginia's eastern shore, and a slew of cameras is deployed both there and down at the town of Duck on the NC Outer Banks. We need cameras at two locations to be able to pinpoint the clouds in 3 dimensions. I was in charge of the 'remote' site at Duck, which was on a concrete patio behind the building at a US Army Corps of Engineers site. I got my gear set up first thing:
The larger tripod at the right is a very nice cinema tripod holding three scientific cameras; left to right, an Andor iXon EMCCD, a CCD video camera with an image intensifier, and an ATIK astronomical CCD. The computers on the table are necessary to run the EMCCD and ATIK, while the gear to run the ICCD is just inside the building on long cables. To the left are two Nikon D700s that a guy from Wallops was running, and I had a Nikon D610 running as well. We fielded so many cameras to get an idea of which worked best so we would know what to take to Svalbard.
After getting the setup worked out, my job was to be on station by 2:00am each morning and wait until our potential launch time around 4:30am. I usually arrived around 1:00am to be sure I was setup and ready to go well before necessary, and left around 5:30am. I slept until about 2:00pm then had the afternoon and evening to explore. The western side of the island is swampy:
While the eastern side is beach:
Like everyone who's spent a lot of time in Alaska, I shrink like a vampire when exposed to bright direct sunlight. But after walking outside it only takes a few minutes to get used to it, and otherwise the weather was great (that would change the day after I left), varying from the 70s to the high 80s with a constant stiff breeze coming off the ocean. My favorite thing about the beach is the soundscape: The wind and waves give a good constant white noise, and the seabirds punctuate it well. I should get one of those 'sounds of the beach' tapes or something. I do feel like the beach is sort of a boring place to visit overall, at least the southeast and gulf coast beaches, where it's just a flat slope of sand into water. It seems like most of the interesting things you could do at the beach require too much gear and/or practice to be feasible for a visitor. If I lived here, I could definitely see myself taking advantage of the wind to take up kite boarding, and my whitewater kayak would probably be a lot of fun in the surf.
The first two nights we couldn't launch the rocket due to clouds and winds. The site I was working at has a private pier that sticks half a kilometer out into the water, which I spent a lot of time walking along. It's pretty dark out there, with no sounds but the wind and waves, which is kind of creepy (in a neat way) when you can't see anything and you're just walking through blackness listening to the sea. After your eyes have time to adjust to the dark, it's pretty nice:
Also, since the pier is private, people don't walk out there often, so seabirds have taken to roosting on the end. When I walked out there in the dark I scared them up, but since it was dark they couldn't see to fly anywhere so they just hovered on the wind all around me, not making any noise other than the flapping of their wings (which is rather loud on larger birds!). It was dark enough that I couldn't even tell if they were large gulls or pelicans, even though they were floating only a few feet away.
During the days I spent a lot of time in the Hatteras Island National Seashore just to the south, walking along the wild beaches and taking pictures in the afternoon light. Here's a couple from a 'focus on the blowing sand' afternoon:
And the Bodie Island lighthouse not long after sunset (it gets dark fast this far south!):
The next two nights we had the weather conditions but couldn't launch because of commercial fishing boats in the impact area, which was annoying. One of those mornings after we shut down for the night I decided to walk out to the end of the pier and wait for sunrise:
While waiting, I started hearing a weird air venting noise. It sounded like a pipe that reached down to water level, and would blow air out the top when a wave passed in the bottom. So I started looking around and found that it was actually a pod of dolphins right under me, and the sound was their breathing.
The beaches, especially the less-traveled wild beaches, have a lot of ghost crabs scampering around. Ghost crabs are well camouflaged, fast, and skittish, so getting decent pictures isn't easy. Challenge accepted? I took a seat next to a few active crab holes and waited. As they got more used to me, they'd come out of their holes and stay put as long as I didn't move. I worked my way closer and closer like this, and eventually made it close enough to set my camera right outside their holes and lay in the sand behind it, tripping the shutter with a cable release. I started with my 150mm macro lens:
But decided this could be better if I used a wider 50mm lens to get more of the environment in the shot:
And I ended up pretty happy with this one taken just after sunset, with the crashing waves and pink sky behind:
I would have liked to try using a flash but I didn't bring one, and it probably would have scared the crabs too much anyway.
On early July 3, our last chance of the launch window, we finally got our opportunity to launch. Unfortunately, the rocket failed at the second stage and tumbled back to the ground like a giant flare. I think it only made it up to 27,000 feet. So we didn't even get to test the mechanism we wanted to test. Here's the video from Wallops of launch, which looks like something out of Kerbal Space Program:
Afterwards I packed all the gear up, finishing just after sunrise:
Aaand back to the other side of the country where I began my drive to Arkansas.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
I've spent the last week staying with friends just outside of White Salmon WA, spending most of my time rafting and exploring the area, which has been pretty great.
The most memorable part has been tagging along on whitewater rafting trips down the White Salmon River with my buddy's company All Adventures Rafting. If you're looking for some river fun in the area, you could certainly do worse. The White Salmon is an absolutely beautiful (and exciting!) river; the All Adventures guides are skilled, knowledgeable, and fun; and the owners just want to share their love of the river. Look them up. Here's me smiling at the camera as we plunge into the Rattlesnake wave while everyone else screams and holds on, taken by White Salmon Photography:
And a few shots from the spots on the river calm enough for me to get my camera out:
The White Salmon is a class 3+/4 river with a class 5 drop, Husum Falls. It's fed from the White Salmon Glacier on Mount Adams, which leaks down into the porous lava rock then pops out of the ground as many many springs. So, being glacier water that is underground for most of its journey, the river water is extraordinarily clean and cold, and you can pull off to the side and drink from the springs dribbling in from the edges. The rafts pass through three gorges made from collapsed underground lava tubes and volcanic mud deposits. Cedar waxwings, mergansers, ospreys, and bald eagles are common sights from the rafts, and the bottom end of the run is through 'new' river being carved out from the sediment left over after the Condit Dam was removed in 2011. Watch this video of the dam being breached and the reservoir draining; it's wild:
I rode along on raft trips my first three days here, and today I passed up on a trip and instead did some photography from shore. Here's one of the All Adventures boats going through Rattlesnake with a customer 'riding the bull' - sitting on the front tube with their legs dangling in the water:
If that embed doesn't work well for you, click here to see it. I'm having trouble getting the gfycat embed to work right.
On the 19th I went to the Big Air Bonanza, which is a small competition put on in the little community of BZ Corner (where the put in for the White Salmon is). The organizer for the event is a former olympic whitewater kayaker, and I've been told he changes the date each year and gives little warning, so even though there are a bunch of people who'd like to compete, only a few end up being there at the right time each year. The audience waiting for a show:
The premise of the competition is that kayakers paddle upstream into a wave, which forces them underwater, then they do a trick when they pop back out. The audience judges them on whatever criteria they feel like and shout a score, and the scorekeeper just writes down whatever they hear as a common score. The paddler has two minutes, and they can win by doing lots of low-scoring tricks or a few high-scorers. The prizes? Some random household junk. It's all about having fun.
So I decided to try flying my drone above the trick spot and get some video. I got a little bit of the guy who won first place, then the breezes in the narrow canyon started making me nervous so I brought the drone back, clipping a tree limb (watch for chopped leaves!) then getting chased by a dog. It made for a neat video:
After that I was too nervous to try flying over the rapids again so I switched to my D610 and got some nice action shots of boats in weird positions:
I also spent some time driving up in the Mount Adams wilderness area, where there's an awesome system of backroads that are a lot of fun. One hot day my hosts and I were discussing what to do, and I suggested 'Are there any caves? Caves are cool in both senses of the word.' So they took me to the Guler Ice Cave, where we couldn't go too deep because we didn't realize we should dress warm for an ice cave, and we needed crampons/rope to descend down an ice slide. But the cave entrance was an excellent photography spot, and produced the photo at the top of this post. I also got out onto the 'roadless' area of the lava beds, following a network of jeep trails. Here's some not too interesting 3x video from driving around out there:
I also saw a circumhorizon arc, a.k.a. a 'fire rainbow', for the first time. They're not that rare from this latitude, but they're actually impossible to see as far north as Fairbanks.
I also enjoyed just hanging around the community and being in the 'river' frame of mind. 'Zen and the Art of Whitewater' would make an interesting book; something about working with the current rather than fighting it, looking forward to the next move rather than dwelling on the last one, and helping each other because you're all up the same creek. I like the mindset, and it pervades the river culture - sort of an active type of 'go with the flow' rather than the passive thing normally implied by that phrase. And I should mention the food - veggie breakfast burritos at North Shore Cafe in White Salmon, rotisserie chicken and live music (playing from the back of a truck) on solstice night at Big Mans in Husum, pulled pork nachos and local beer at Everybody's in White Salmon, and truffle pizza and more local beer at Double Mountain in Hood River. It's been a blast.
Tomorrow morning I fly for Norfolk VA then drive down to Duck NC, where I'll be helping with a rocket launch hopefully on the 28th. Then fly back to WA and start the drive down to AR. Until next time.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Click to open an interactive version of this map.
I paddled the lower half of the North Fork of the Chena River about a week ago, from the Angel Rocks trailhead to a gravel bar at mile 43. It's a nice class II, with one set of logjams (labeled 'dangerous logjams' on the map) that requires a class III+ move if you don't want to portage. I think I've convinced myself to bring my whitewater boat up from Arkansas.
The river got quite wide after joining the main fork just above my take out, and I suspect it's easy, fast cruising from there down.
Anyway, the map has tags for major obstacles, click to open the interactive version, and click the tags for brief descriptions. It should be useful for anyone planning to paddle this section and not sure what to expect. And the water seemed rather cold, dress for it. I was sick the next few days after spending too long wading and swimming trying to extract a friend and his boat from the 'dangerous logjams'.