“I’m not Over” (Las Vegas)

done

It’s almost a year and a half now since we moved back to Rochester, NY from Las Vegas, NV.  And as the post title and embedded song imply, I’m not quite over the place.  I routinely check LV TV websites and the online site for The Las Vegas Review Journal (one of the best papers in the country, in my opinion) to see what’s going on there.  As with most major U. S. cities, the economy in Vegas is pretty bad.  Visitor levels are way down, gaming revenues are anemic, and unemployment is very high.  I often wonder if I’d still have my job if we hadn’t moved back east. 

Who knows.  But aside from all that, I still love the place.  I can’t say that about many cities.  Charleston, SC is another one we enjoy very much.  I also like San Antonio, TX (and Austin), and Flagstaff, AZ.  But most cities – especially in the northeast – leave me cold (no pun intended).  I don’t much care for urban environments, generally speaking.

But why Las Vegas?  We don’t gamble (well, not very much), we don’t “party” (we’re rarely up past 10:00), and I almost never drink.  But we loved to visit the strip.  We’d drive in, park somewhere (usually at New York New York), and then just walk.  Usually, we’d walk north as far as Bellagio and then back, wandering through a number of casinos along the way.  If it wasn’t windy, we would always watch one or two of the fountain shows in front of the Bellagio.  I never tired of those excursions.  There was always something to see, always something to photograph.  Night or day.

In short, the place was alive.  People were everywhere, doing all kinds of things.  And they were there from all over the country.  It got so you could look at people and usually tell where they were from.  People from the northeast and midwest were the easiest to identify, mainly by the way they dressed and the way they gawked at what was in front of them.  If it was their first visit, they looked at the strip as if they were on another planet.  Californians were also easy to spot, especially if they were driving.  Just ask a native Las Vegan which state license plate they least like to see when they’re out on the roads.

Las Vegas, of course, isn’t for everyone.  I would never attempt to raise kids there.  The public school system there ranks 50th or 51st in the nation.  Medical care isn’t the best, either.  And yes, there’s crime.  But I really don’t think it’s any worse than other large metropolitan areas.  Probably better than some.  All I can say is that I was never, ever afraid to walk on the strip.  I felt much safer there than I would if I were to walk in downtown Rochester.  Not to mention the fact that there’s little to do in downtown Rochester – the place is dead.

So even though we lived there for less than a year, Las Vegas felt like home.  I made some good friends there and worked with a lot of very good people.  And, of course, our son is still there.  If all goes well, we’ll pay the place a return visit sometime this coming spring – probably March.  Then from there we’ll hit Yosemite in California, and then a return visit to Zion and Bryce in southern Utah.  Then maybe Canyonlands and Arches.  So many places, so little time…..

Hope you enjoy the images.  I apologize for their small size and low resolution, but I needed to keep the video file size  reasonable.  Believe me, they look much better at “normal” resolutions!

In the Red

Some more or less random thoughts this morning:

I’ve been a New York Yankees fan for over half a century.  I remember watching people like Mantle, Maris, Berra, Ford, Howard, Richardson, Skowron, etc., etc. on black and white TV almost every fall.  That was when they actually played the World Series in the fall (instead of early winter) and when almost every game was played in the afternoon.  “Prime time” sports hadn’t been invented yet.  Kids could actually watch the games without staying up until midnight.  And they wonder why American kids don’t want to play baseball anymore.  It’s because they’ve never seen a World Series game, you idiots!   Anyway, we’d come home from school and the game would already be in progress.  Sometimes we’d have to listen to them on the radio.  Didn’t matter.  It was great stuff.  Especially if you were a fan of the mighty pinstripes.  Except, of course, for that horrible, horrible day in October, 1960 when Bill Mazeroski hit a leadoff home run in the bottom of the ninth in Pittsburgh to beat the Yankees and win the series.  It was the first time in history that a walkoff home run had ever decided the outcome of the fall classic.  It took me months to get over that one.

But last night was good.  The Yankees won their 27th World Series.  Far more championships than other team in any other sport (at least in major professional sports).  As often happens, it wasn’t one of the big “super stars” that decided the outcome.  It was Hideki Matsui – probably playing in his last game as a Yankee – who provided all the big hits.  I loved it.  All’s right with the sports world, at least until next spring.

On a more serious note: In the news this morning it was reported that some major banking firms on Wall Street (like Goldman Sachs) have received as much swine flu vaccine as the local hospitals in New York City.  It was quickly pointed out that no rules were broken, but I have to say that this just really smells bad.  Flu vaccine is routinely distributed to corporations every year, but this isn’t your “routine” flu.  Why should major banks on Wall Street get 200 doses of this stuff when doctors can’t get it and people are standing in line for hours to get it all across the country?  Like pregnant women and kids.  This just doesn’t make sense.  This is a case, I think, where Barack Obama should get in front of the microphone and simply say, “No more.   We (the administration) will not only control distribution, we will strictly enforce the guidelines that already exist”.  I for one would love to see the guy show a little more backbone.  Like millions of others, I voted for “change”, not a limitless perpetuation of the status quo.  First the banks take our money, and now they get first dibs on flu vaccine?  Like I said, it just really smells bad.   

Speaking of politics, Michael Steele, the chairman of the RNC (Republican National Committee), said yesterday that  the GOP gubenatorial wins on Tuesday were the beginning of a “Republican Renaissance”.  Now there’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.  Does either major party in this country have a clue, even a small inkling, of what’s really going on?  I’m beginning to think not.

Speaking of political humor, one Republican congresswoman stood on the floor of the House last week and said that passage of any of the currently proposed healthcare reform bills would be more dangerous to the future of the United States than terrorists.  Say what?  You’re kidding right?  No, probably not.  The inmates are truly running the asylum. 

I think I’ll go back to that waterfall.  Life is simpler there, even if it’s only a temporary reprieve from ”real life”.

Table for One

Waterfall, Stony Brook SP, NY

One of the great things about being out of the rat race – even if it’s not completely voluntary – is that you can choose to eat lunch whenever and wherever you want.  In this case, sitting on a large flat rock in the middle of a stream while listening to the soothing sounds of a waterfall seemed to be a fine idea.  I just left the camera on the tripod, pulled a sandwich from my backpack, and enjoyed the ambiance.  I didn’t even have to leave a tip.

A Light Mystery

Charlotte Lighthouse, Rochester, NY

As most people who live in and around Rochester know, we have our very own lighthouse.  Originally built in 1822 to guide ships coming in off the lake, the Charlotte Lighthouse (pronounced Shar-lot, as in a lot of money) sits near the mouth of the Genesee River.  In this case, “near” is the operative word.  When I first saw this light years ago, I was very much puzzled by its location.  It’s a good half mile from where the river actually meets Lake Ontario.  One would think that mariners of the day would have wanted it located as close as possible to the river’s entrance.  Why, then, was it placed so far upstream?

Now I have to say that I wasn’t losing any sleep over it.  Every time I saw it the question would pop into my head, only to pop right back out again as soon as it was out of sight (I’m a firm believer in the old “out of sight, out of mind” adage).  But the other day – the same day that I saw the Stephen B. Roman – I decided to walk up to the lighthouse just to see if I could get any decent images of it.  Lighthouses have always interested me and I’d never seriously attempted to photograph this one.

While walking around the grounds, a guy who was obviously connected to the place came up to me and said that he had to go up into the tower – would I like to come along?  I said sure.  It’s only 40 feet tall, so it wasn’t much of a climb.  I don’t know if you’ve ever climbed the Hatteras tower on the Outer Banks, but that’s a serious lighthouse.  You could have a heart attack walking up those stairs.  But it’s one hell of a view once you get there.

I didn’t get any good images from the tower, but this one will give you an idea of the distance from the light to the mouth of the river, and hence an inkling of the mystery that’s been banging around in my head for all these years.

As you can see, the river’s mouth is a way’s off.  So I asked him if he knew why they’d built the light so far from where it would be most beneficial to incoming vessels.  For just the briefest moment I got this look of incredulity, a look that asked, ”are you really this dumb”?  But just for an instant.  Then he pointed out through the glass.

“Do you see the railroad tracks down there”, he asked?  “That’s where the shoreline was in 1822″.  I was dumbstruck.  It just didn’t seem possible that all of that extra land, land that was now covered with roads and houses and a very large beach area, could have materialized in only 187 years.  He knew the questions that were forming in my befuddled brain. 

“It’s because of the piers”, he said.  “After the lighthouse was built, they put solid piers on either side of the river that extended into the lake.  The piers kept sandbars from forming across the river’s mouth.  But the sand had to go somewhere.  It built up along the piers, parallel to them, slowly creating beach area.  Once that started, dirt was brought in to fill in behind the sand, creating more useable land area.  Over the years, the lighthouse got farther and farther away from the new shoreline”.

Well, son of a gun.  And here I’d thought that the guys who originally built the light just flat didn’t know what they were doing.  I thanked him and went on my way.  He’s probably still chuckling about the tall, dumb guy with the nice camera.

Things that go Bump in the Night

Entering Port of Rochester

No, I don’t mean ghosts and goblins on Halloween.  I mean large vessels that seem to have a knack for bumping into things that they shouldn’t.  Bump into, that is.

But I’m way ahead of myself.

The other day I spent the afternoon walking what’s called the Genesee Riverway Trail, a trail that runs from just south of the city – along the river, obviously – all the way to the river’s mouth (into Lake Ontario).  I’d have to check, but I think the trail is 9 or 10 miles long and is paved most of the way.  Personally, I’ve never come close to walking the whole thing.  I tend to spend most of my time near the northern end by the lake.

Anyway, at the end of this particular excursion I was getting ready to leave when I heard the horn on the lift bridge signal that it was going to open up.  I went back to the river’s edge, looked downstream, and saw a very large vessel heading into the port.  It was the Stephen B. Roman, a cement carrier that spends most of its time sailing around Lake Ontario.  Rochester, you see, is kind of a regional center for cement.  If you live in the northeast and need to buy a bag or two of powdered cement, those bags probably will have come from Rochester.  That’s not nearly as glamorous as being the world’s center for photographic film (Eastman Kodak), of course, but the world has changed.  We used to do film - now we do cement. 

Naturally, I decided to photograph this particular event.  I mean, you just don’t get that many chances at this.  It isn’t as if this is the Port of New York or Charleston or San Francisco.  It just isn’t very busy.  Then, once I had the picture, I figured I should do “due diligence” and conduct a little research on the vessel.  I knew it was big – it looked like a battleship in a bathtub – but how big was it?

Well, that part was easy: it’s 488′ long and can carry 7,600 tons of powdered cement.  That’s big for the Genesee River.  The channel coming in, at least the dredged part, isn’t all that wide.  If you look at the image, you’ll see a guy standing right at the bow of the vessel.  He isn’t on break and he isn’t sightseeing.  He’s making sure that they remain in the center of the channel and that the way is clear.  This thing is moving very, very slowly.

What fascinated me, though, was what I read about the ship’s history.  It was originally built in 1965 and christened the Fort William.  On one of its first voyages, while docked in Montreal, the ship capsized and exploded, killing 5 crewmen.  Apparently, they were moving cargo to an upper deck while pumping ballast at the same time, rendering the vessel unstable.  Not a good start.

Then, in August 1967, the ship was involved in a head-on collision on Lake Huron.  In December 1977 she ran aground (in a fog) near Toledo, Ohio.  Finally, in October 1979, the starcrossed vessel hit the Detroit River light (again, in a fog).  All in all, not a great track record for a Great Lakes vessel.

She was eventually sold and converted (in 1983) into the cement carrier she is today.  Interestingly, they also changed her name.  Apparently, it worked.  She hasn’t been involved in any kind of incident since.         

So I guess it’s true – there’s always a story behind every image you capture.  You just have to look for it.

Just Passing Through

Narrowing Stream, Stony Brook SP, NY

Peanut Brittle.  That’s all I can think of.  The rock in these parks looks and acts a lot like the peanut brittle that my mother used to buy (do they still sell it?).  It breaks and sheers just like I remember the candy breaking – usually along straight lines in fairly large chunks. 

Of course with the rock it happens a bit slower.  The flowing water undercuts it and eventually some piece will break off just because of its own weight.  Water and gravity - works every time.  Sometimes you’ll be walking along and you’ll see a chunk of it halfway up a cliff wall or even lying on the edge of the stream bed and swear that it wasn’t there the last time you passed through.  Perpetual erosion.  In a few hundred thousand years, give or take a few, this whole area will probably be flatter than the proverbial pancake.  Or maybe it’ll all be under water.  Who knows.

More to the point, will there be anybody around to photograph it?

Diagonally Inclined

Leaves, Stony Brook SP, NY

Photographically, I’m beginning to think I might be a one-trick pony.  In a way, we probably all are.  Even when the subject matter changes, most of us seem to repeat certain themes.

Like diagonal lines, for example.  In this image, there are diagonals all over the place, both “real” and implied.  Heck, you don’t have to look very hard to find a few triangles.  Based on this, I must not be terribly fond of right angles.

So I did a quick check of some older images.  I don’t know about you, but I use the Lightroom catalog to keep things organized.  Most of the photographs there are ranked with stars – 1 or 2 stars means “not very good”, 3 means “OK”, and 4 or 5 stars means “above average” or “very good”.  In case you’re wondering, I have very few 4’s and 5’s out of about 10,000 images in that database.  Most are 2’s and 3’s.  I am, as they say, my own worst critic.

Anyway, I looked at quite a few photographs ranked 3 or higher.  I was surprised to discover that a very high percentage of these images contained strong diagonal lines.  The only ones having a high rank but no diagonals seemed to feature either unusual light or unusual (for me) subject matter.

So is this “discovery” a good thing?  I don’t know.  Maybe not.  Does it mean that I’ll now be consciously looking for diagonals?  That I’ll purposely avoid compositions that don’t contain them?  Or maybe I’ll do exactly the opposite, just to demonstrate that it’s not the only thing I look for.

Oh, one more thing: my wife and I once visited a house that contained not even a single right angle.  Not one.  Not on the  inside and not on the outside.  As I recall, I loved the place.  Go figure.

Climb the Stairs

Bridge, Stony Brook SP, NY

Much of the infrastructure in New York’s state parks – like this staircase and bridge – was constructed during the depression of the 1930’s.  It was, of course, an effort to create jobs for the unemployed.  Whether it worked or not is still something that is being debated today.

It’s interesting (to me, anyway) that as you walk through places like this today you can see evidence of “fresh” repair work on trails and stairs and bridges.  More than you would have seen in previous years.  I suppose that some of the stimulus money given to the states is finding its way to these kinds of projects.  If that’s the case, I’m glad.  It won’t be a game-changer with respect to getting the economy healthy again, but it can’t hurt either.

It’s also not a bad idea to make some of these trails safer.  In places like Stony Brook, some trails are wet most of the time (those near the water).  They also seem to have this perpetual layer of “slime” on them.  Put a coating of freshly fallen leaves over that, and you have multiple opportunities for slips and falls.  If there also happens to be loose stones or cement underneath, especially on the stairs, it’s even more problematic.  So it’s nice to see some of this repair work being done.  I certainly appreciate it.

Like a Hot Knife Through Soft Butter

Slicing through shale, Stony Brook SP, NY

I have to say that fall is my favorite time of year.  Especially in this part of the world (south of Rochester, that is).  Not only is there abundant color, but most of the state parks are essentially empty.  They’ve even stopped collecting money to get in, at least on weekdays.  So except for a few other old geezers, the place is yours.  You can ever wander well off the trail – as I did here – and position your tripod anywhere you like.  Even in the middle of the stream.  There aren’t any park rangers to scold you for doing something “dangerous”.

Yesterday was warm, cloudy, and still.  A perfect time to visit Stony Brook.  Like Watkins Glen, Stony Brook is all shale.  Layers and layers of soft sediment that the water eats through very quickly (with respect to geologic time).  At this time of year, with all the fallen leaves, the place has a smell that can only be described as “earthy”. 

I can think of no better way to spend a lazy fall afternoon.

Peeling Back the Onion

Watkins Glen SP, NY

Watkins Glen State Park.  Perhaps the most stunning example of the effects of cyclic glacial activity in the general Finger Lakes region.  Following the last glacial retreat some 10,000 years ago, Glen Creek has been cutting through the relatively soft shale in this area on its way to the southern end of Seneca Lake.  Over the course of roughly 2 miles, the creek drops some 400 feet across 19 waterfalls (the highest about 60 feet), leaving a gorge with 200 foot cliffs.  The gorge is so narrow in some areas that even during the summer months precious little sunlight actually makes it to the bottom of the chasm.  It’s a cool, damp, dark world.

And such a wonderful metaphor for so many things.  Like the search for “objective reality”.

In two recent posts (Hearing the Light and A Light Influence),  Cedric – the author of Plop – started a philosophical discussion about the nature of things, their inherent essence or “isness”.  In it, he suggested that when captured in a photograph, this “isness” could be shared by both photographer and viewer.  That is, both would “see” or feel essentially the same thing, even if they could not verbally express exactly what that “thing” was .  But at some level, both would experience the same truth or objective reality.

In two comments, I respectfully questioned this assertion (while admitting that I certainly didn’t know the answer).  Philosophical questions are like that, I think.  Nobody ever really knows the answer, at least not with absolute certainty.  Kind of like religious questions.  Lots of people think they know what religious ”truth” is, but none of them can provide any hard evidence.  Without actual evidence, “objective reality” is forever stuck in the realm of philosophic conjecture.  What I “see” or believe depends largely on all of the things I’ve seen or experienced up to that point.

In his second post, Cedric used photographic examples to demonstrate that viewers can, in fact, respond the same way to the same stimulus.  Images of the horrors of war, human tragedy, and, to an extent, human triumph do trigger the same visceral reactions in most of us.  The image of the doomed passenger jet an instant before striking the second tower on 9/11 is clear evidence that, as humans, we react the same way in many situations.  We all feel the same horror, knowing that this was the last second of life for all those on board.  We see this and know that it could have been us.  The image touches our most basic instinct – survival.   It also serves to remind us that we’re not always in control, that the “reality” of our very existence is something of a crap shoot.

So where does that leave “objective reality”?  In a response to Cedric’s second post, Andreas Manessinger (http://manessinger.com/) states that he believes in objective reality (Andreas is actually the one who triggered Cedric’s second post).  I agree with that.  As an old TV show used to proclaim, “The Truth is Out There”.  But knowing that it exists is not much help in determining its nature.  It’s like the old problem solving metaphor of “peeling back the onion”.  Problems are generally multi-layered.  What you see on the outside isn’t the problem itself.  Rather, it’s a consequence of the problem, a symptom.  To solve the problem, you have to peel away the layers until you’re left with the core which, hopefully, is the “essence” of the problem. 

At least that’s the idea.  You could use the waterfall in the same way.  The water will eventually cut through the softer layers until it reaches some kind of bedrock (maybe limestone or sandstone or even granite).  In that metaphor, the harder bedrock is, of course, objective reality.  Once reached, the “true” nature of the gorge will be revealed.

Or will it?  How do we know that the water won’t cut even deeper?  Maybe there’s something that’s harder underneath, something that’s even closer to the true nature of this land.  Heck, the rock at the bottom of the Grand Canyon is about 2 billion years old in places, and still the Colorado River cuts through it.

Well, maybe that’s a bad analogy.  As I said, I don’t know the answer.  But while I believe that what Cedric calls objective reality, or “truth”, actually exists, I also believe that for us, it’s both unknown and unknowable.  We may catch brief glimpses of it from time to time, but we can never capture it.

So whether we’re looking at an Ansell Adams photograph or discussing the nature of God, we will never completely agree.  Most of the time, we will disagree.  That’s who we are.  And that is both our greatest strength and our most profound weakness.