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Bloggin' the Whole Story Thanks to everyone who frequents this website for the photos and blogs. On this blog site there will be a variety of photos and descriptive posts. Some posts involve extensive research, both from talking to locales and supplemented from the internet, while others are posted for the simple photo alone. Please enjoy and don't be afraid to give back your comments, good or bad. Ona Island Lighthouse
On a remote island off the west coast of Norway lies the once thriving fishing village community of Ona. Still operational though only a shadow of its former self, the village here has existed for centuries due to its proximity to the fertile fishing grounds of the Atlantic. It is only approachable by ferry from the mainland and takes about 1 1/2 hours travel time. I would best describe the atmosphere as placid and restful. Life appears easy and relaxed. Tranquil. My wife Elizabeth and I visited this island in August of 2013, accompanied by two of my first cousins from Molde and one of their husbands. We walked aboard the ferry from the mainland. We did not need a car. The whole island is easily traversed in about twenty minutes. Once ferry riders arrive, the first thing most want to do is scale the walkway upward to the lighthouse to get the overall view of the entire island. The lighthouse sits majestically atop the highest hill known as Onakalven. The red painted cast iron lighthouse was built in 1867 and was automated in 1971. It towers some 48 feet on the cliffs edge. Operating only for 10 months out of the year due to the midnight sun, the original Fresnel lens is still in use and produces about 79,000 candelas. The red flash shines every 30 seconds at a strength of 295,000 candelas. The strength of this light can be seen for up to 20.5 miles out into the Atlantic Ocean. The brilliant red paint has a wrinkled and fragmented look due to the expansion and contraction of the cast iron metal in the extreme weather. Average winter wind speeds across Ona Island are about 35 miles per hour. Victoria Beach Ledge
This photo is not insanely outrageous but has a lesson for all of us. Towards the late afternoon last summer, I wanted to take photos of the LaTour Tower at Victoria Beach in Laguna Beach ( a photo blog will come soon of that ). So with camera in hand and loaded with the will to get a great shot no matter how long I had to wait for it, I trodded off to the location. It is a fairly popular spot for wedding photographers wanting a picturesque locale for their shoots. That afternoon, there were not many there, in fact only one photographer and newlywed couple had come and gone, leaving the beach to myself. Now, while this stretch of sand can be fairly popular at times, not too many people really know about it, especially tourists. That's a good thing, at least for locals, which I now consider myself. What nerve, huh ! Anyway, I took my photos and was rather disappointed in the color rendition produced that particular evening by the setting sun. I packed up my gear and started to head back up the beach. Just a slight way back up the beach, I saw this scene which, at least to me, made my trip worthwhile. Keep in mind at the beach especially in southern California, the beach is never the same from day to day. With the tide coming and going and swells rising and receding, the sand is constantly shifting, never the same. The sand, it just so happened on this afternoon, had receded significantly enough that it exposed this rock ledge with dripping salt water draining from the tidepools above. This scene had been behind my back all along but I never noticed it. I had not even seen this ledge on my way down to the beach to shoot the Tower, totally blew right past it. But there it was. Nothing spectacular, but for me, just subtle and soothing enough to warrant my effort to take its portrait. Lesson learned: look around you. . . all around you. When you expect the obvious, the unexpected may appear. Boathouse
In September 2006, after traveling south for over 4 hours from Geiranger in west central Norway, my wife and I came to where County Road 55 turns and heads further south toward Bergen. This is easternmost point on the fjord called Lustrafjorden. This highway, beginning in Lom and ending in Bergen, was once a national roadway and designated as a National Tourist Route. The fjord was very peaceful that day, almost mirror-like and we needed this view, if nothing else but to relieve the stress of driving. It had been a long day and we craved the serenity of this scene. What struck me especially about this scene besides its natural beauty were two small boys playing soccer, out of camera view, along the mostly quiet rural county roadway meandering alongside the fjord. Norway, like most other european countries is full of soccer fields where kids can play, even in small towns. It is their national sport. But here, the kids were playing in the roadway with such a beautiful view behind them. Oblivious to the view for the moment and concentrating on practicing kicking their ball was of the utmost importance to them. To my wife and I it was the serene view laid out before us. No speed boats, no factory buildings, no ferries, just peaceful, flat blue water. This older boathouse, like so many in Norway, had a stone foundation, and wood frame construction with slate roof above. Repainted maybe every ten plus years or so, the wood clapboard siding showed the effects of the harsh Norwegian winters. The entrance to the boathouse from the fjord side was on the other side, out of view. The approach to the building from the roadway was merely a couple of logs used as beams, propped up on posts and stone, spanning over the water with planking between the logs for walking on. No railings, no gates, no signs not to trespass, no "caution for hazards" signs. Just a boathouse along the road. Ona Cannery
What started out as a gloomy morning in early August last summer, ended up being a day of some awesome photo opportunities on the Island of Ona off the western coast of Norway. Traveling throughout southern and western Norway last summer was an encouragement to me since my wife and I had not visited my first-cousins and other relatives in Norway for over 6 years. While traveling by car, spectacular scenery just appears all around you. As a photographer, having an affinity for lighthouses especially, has inspired me to travel to out of the way places to see and photograph them. None more remote for me than the Island of Ona. While the image in this post is not of a lighthouse, it is an old cannery building on this island where a lighthouse exists. (You will see photos of the Ona lighthouse in another blog post coming soon.) This small remote island of about 40 people now was once a thriving fishing community. There is still a fishing industry on this island but very much reduced. After traveling west for about 1 1/2 hours by ferry from Aukra on the mainland, and stopping at several other islands, we came to the Island of Ona. I had seen this little building on the south side of the island from a distance while approaching the ferry landing. Determined to hike to this spot from the lighthouse, I saw nothing but vast seaweed beds and this little building. It was once part of this thriving fishing community but long since abandoned. Just beyond the distant land jetty is the Atlantic Ocean. Pelican PetePelican Pete
Of all the photos I have taken in the last ten years this is my favorite. Why ? This handsome prehistoric-looking bird of southern California seemed to be at peace with me and I with him in the summer of 2010. Call me crazy, but it was almost like we made a 'connection' with each other. Several other people had tried to take his picture while he was resting peacefully on the railing of the San Clemente pier, but he would fly off only to return shortly thereafter a little further down the pier, away from those pesky tourists trying to take his picture. Every time he flew off, he would let out a little gull-like screech as if to say "all I want is to be left alone to rest and let the fresh fish I just caught, settle in my stomach before I have to fly off and join the others. So leave me alone people !" And yes, there were other California brown pelicans flying around the pier that day, most of them trying to still catch whatever they could find swimming in the water. But Pelican Pete, as I affectionately have called him since the day we 'connected', had already made his catch of the day and was trying to enjoy his contentment on the pier railing. As I approached him to shoot this photo, I gradually started talking with him. Very softly at first because I did not want to scare him off. Finally, I felt I had the position I needed to snap the shot, and I said to him, firmly, not loudly but firmly, "OK, stay right there until I get the shot, OK?" To my amazement, he stood right there, despite his 'evil eye' look at me. It seemed like he trusted me but only for a couple of seconds. . . he was trusting me to behave myself. And I did, only approaching him to within about four feet. That is as close as either one of us preferred. . . I think. After the photo was taken, he remained perched on the railing content to let his food settle. Thank you Pete, you are my favorite pelican of all time !
Brisco Point Sunset
Brisco Point Sunset Located in south Puget Sound, Washington just north of Olympia, this image was taken in 1974 looking west toward the Olympic mountain range and captured on Kodachrome 25 film, with a silver-bodied Nikon F2 camera and 50mm lens, my prize possession at the time. The original 35mm slide image cast a slightly orange glow with rich dark blues for the late evening sky. This late July evening photograph was captured from my in-laws' 16 foot runabout sitting quietly in Dana Passage, south Puget Sound. My younger brother-in-law skippered the boat and was also a casual photographer. We both sat eagerly awaiting some kind of dramatic sunset. His photograph of the same sunset was taken with a different film camera, an Olympus, and with Ektachrome 100 film. If you know anything about the bygone era of film you would know that Ektachrome film captures a different color rendition 'feel' of an image than Kodachrome 25 film. I always preferred Kodachrome due to its softer orange, richer blues images, almost an elegance of subtle color which worked especially well with sunsets and dark skies. My father and uncle were also Kodachrome 25 photographers so it only followed that I would be also. Ektachrome 100 was a faster film, had less expensive processing costs and was quicker to get back from the lab but always had a slightly bluish-green tint that I just did not care for. I guess it was a matter of personal taste. I know that it was a favorite of National Geographic photographers in the day. The following week, my brother-in-law submitted his photo of his sunset to the Daily Olympian newspaper. His photo was published, much to my amazement. My photo never has been published until it appeared as the cover of my wife's first novel in 2007. See her website here: http://elizabethlonsethnovels.com So you can say its kind of ironic and exclusive at the same time, even though some 33 years late. Lesson learned: patience. Brisco Point is still there today but will never look like this again. The flat area above the Point is now developed with housing, and the large trees sitting so majestically above the cliff are long gone. . .
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