This was on one of the tables set up for the reception; full color version below:
So ends the Cancún series. Think next we'll go to Costa Rica for a very short series...
This was on one of the tables set up for the reception; full color version below:
So ends the Cancún series. Think next we'll go to Costa Rica for a very short series...
There was a little delay before the bride was ready, so while I, along with the other two designated photographers, waited, we took lots of test shots to see if the situation was salvageable. It was definitely going to be difficult; the sun was out strong and in just the wrong place, backlighting a very busy pattern on the curtains. I was worried. Are we going to end up with silhouettes here? Yet to see...
After taking our test shots there was still time, so I began to look around for more interesting stuff to capture, and settled for the ceiling fixture above.
Finally the bride comes out, with mom looking on. I must admit it was a touching scene, and got a little teary-eyed myself while everyone boo-hooed and blubbered about. And in spite of the conditions working against us, I was able to create something useful:
The curtain pattern was done in hues of blue and was really distracting, especially since it was backlit by the sun, so I totally desaturated the color and gave it a Gaussian blur. This allowed the eye to focus on the subject a little better, and in the end I was pleased with the story that it told and the result in general.
Images below captured with an iPhone:
There were so many on the resort property that the wait staff and custodians were evidently quite used to shooing them away from customers in the outdoor eating venues.
_______________
Guns were a big part of growing up for me in Orange, Texas. From my earliest years I've been enamored with the shooting sports, whether with my friends out in the woods with BB guns or later in life with real firearms. And so far as I know, I'm the only one of my siblings who took to the hobby/sport in any serious way.
Back in the '60's it was a rite of passage when you received your first BB gun, either as a gift or with months of saved allowance money. I don't remember ever owning a BB rifle, but remember quite vividly my first BB pistol. Mine was the pride of my friend group because it could shoot either BB's, pellets, or darts framed in an automatic look-alike, so looked like a real gun (and was heavy like a real gun, too). My buddies and I spent gobs of time out in the woods plinking at whatever could serve as a target, moving or otherwise.
My passion for guns did not go unnoticed by Dad, who bought me a used Winchester .22 rifle for $35 when I was eleven years old, then joined me in a rifle club so that I could learn safety and responsible gun ownership. The meetings were in the Orange Community Center (at 20th & Burton Streets), so every Monday night Dad and I would go there to first hear a safety talk, then practice shooting in the indoor range. A new member would always start in the prone position, then move up to the sitting, kneeling and standing positions as proficiency in each was reached. I've always had a steady hand, so scored well and moved up at a fairly rapid pace. After qualifying in standing, my dad pulled one of the biggest surprises of my young life.
Every year there was a tournament, when the members would compete amongst themselves in age classes. I would obviously compete with the younger kids, those under twelve years of age. The tournament went on for about a month during the shooting portion of those Monday night meetings. I didn't think a whole lot about it, because the only difference was that my score would be recorded and ranked against everyone else in my age bracket. No big deal...I practiced at home (dry firing) and just did my best as always.
Then the tournament ended and in a special meeting the winners were announced, beginning with third place in each of the two age groups. I sat listening, and wasn't surprised - and frankly didn't even care much - when I didn't hear my name for either third, second or first place among those under twelve years old. So we sat through and I listened with mild interest as they began announcing the winners for the oldest age group, those twelve up to sixteen years of age. The third-place winner was announced, then the second. After that I heard something that shook me out of my lethargy...MY NAME!! Bewildered, I rose, went to the front and accepted the first-place trophy. Still clueless and naive about what had just taken place, immediately after the meeting while we were still there milling around, I asked him about the discrepancy and he told me to shut up. Yes, Dad LIED ABOUT MY AGE in the paperwork when he signed me up for the tournament so that I could compete with the oldest group.
I don't have too many photographs from my youth, but one I did keep was a picture Dad took of me holding the trophy when we got home that night:
Oddly, I lost interest after that. After all, where was I going from there? "Been there, done that" sort of thing, I suppose. It took a few weeks before I got the nerve to tell Dad that I didn't feel like going to the meetings any more, so we quit. But the memory will always remain of the time Dad spent with me on those Mondays, and what he did to give me a chance to succeed at the top of the heap.And I'm surprised this one wasn't posted in my Lake District series, so here it is - belatedly, as the series was posted in 2019. The location was Windermere-on-Bowness in England's northern Lake District:
_______________
Destination weddings are the bread and butter of these resorts. While Scott and Ru's wedding was a little further inland, thought this setup was interesting enough to capture. Had to take a few people out, but chose to keep the girls to the middle left in place.
This shot is very similar to another that was captured in North Carolina at another family wedding...
Of course I had to make a layer of it and fiddle with the colors:
On our first morning here at the beach, we did see a force of five federales walking along the beach in full camo gear toting machine guns. This makes one feel safer, but sad that it's necessary in the first place. Mexico is a much different place now as compared to when I lived there in 1980-81. And going through some old home movies that my father made, I saw a driving trip he took with Mom through the heart of Mexico back in the 1949 or 1950, seemingly without a care in the world. Sadly, that sort of thing just can't be done any more.
Below you see some of the non-native beasts emerging, perhaps to rest and enjoy a snack or some refreshments:
_______________
A couple of days ago I stated that I'm not one for the beach. To clarify, I really do enjoy the beach - it's the sand I don't like. And the wind. And having to spread junk all over your body as protection from the sun. Plus salt water, and the dangerous animals you either step on or that bump into you when you wade or swim in it. Other than those things I love the beach. There was one on the north shore of Lake Huron I liked because there were pebbles instead of sand, the wind was nothing more than a gentle breeze, the water was fresh...and since it was so cold you couldn't get in so the animals were no issue (other than bears coming from the other direction).
So what is the source of my aversion to the standard sand-and-saltwater beach? Could be because my father absolutely loved being there, and a great weekend or vacation for him was living on hot dogs over a fire and baking in the sun. One time we borrowed an old army tent from our Boy Scout troop - which had no floor - and us kids had cots with sand-infused sleeping bags in there overnight while the parents sacked out in a rented camper trailer. This took place on Padre Island...for a solid week. On the first day I was poking around the sand - literally, with a stick - and came across this pretty blue bottle. Upon poking the bottle I discovered it wasn't really a bottle; it squished in, and looking closer I discovered a gelatinous mass underneath. Scared me crapless and I ran back to the family camp as fast as I could, dodging more blue bottles along the way. That's when my brother Allan told me, "Oh, those are Portuguese Man-O-Wars, which can kill you if they sting you. You didn't step on it, did you? They're all out in the water, washing ashore." Yes, maybe that's when I stopped liking the beach...
But the memories from that vacation weren't all bad. I recall sitting by the fire at night and watching sand crabs run right into the middle of it, instantly roasting themselves. Attracted by the heat and light, Allan said. And those tall, huge sand dunes were fun to climb and do somersaults on the way back down. These diversions didn't get old until maybe about the third day, with four more days to go. By then we were all getting bored, so Dad had mercy and rented a dune buggy, which was fun for me until my brothers discovered the joy of running over and popping all the Man-O-Wars they could find.
During the summers while living in Orange my dad would haul us over to McFaddin Beach for a long day trip. He and Mom would sun bathe and get in the water sometimes, we'd picnic for lunch, and us kids were pretty much left on our own to do whatever we wanted. Digging big holes to bury ourselves in, making sand castles, and catching small clams to cook and eat with butter later at home were typical pastimes. My brothers were keen on body surfing so we always brought some body boards.
Unfortunately, though, the parents did not always keep track to make sure we were using adequate sun screen. One time, when I was 13 years old, after returning from the beach I was sunburned so badly that blisters formed all over my body. Big blisters that itched like crazy! What made it worse was that I didn't discover how bad it was until the second day at Boy Scout summer camp, after it had passed through the painful red (1st degree) stage. Since I could no longer spend any time in the sun, and because my dad wouldn't come fetch me, I had to spend the last four full days and nights in the infirmary. Fortunately it was air conditioned, and the doctor there treated the burns every day for the duration. Once in a while my friends would come check on me, but otherwise there was no interaction with the other kids in camp, and I forfeited all opportunities to earn merit badges, etc. Maybe THAT'S when I stopped liking the beach...
Be that as it may, most people seem to enjoy the typical sun-in-the-fun beach, and I tag along when social necessity dictates, making the most of precious time with family and friends.
We were there only four nights, so this will be a slightly shorter series with just a little over 30 pictures in all. And though this was a very people-oriented event, most of the pics posted here, as usual, will be sans humans.
Chenjean and I took lots of walks down the beach, and occasionally wondered onto the property of neighboring resorts, including one that had these for the use of its patrons. Looks like a luxurious way to lounge around while staying mostly in the shade...
So ends this lengthy series on our 2024 visit to Seattle, the first trip on which I did not even carry the Bigger Cahoona, settling for what the iPhone can do. Thanks to Scott who taught me how to get the most out of the technology. After doing the post-capture work I remain impressed, but will still rely heavily on the full-frame DSLR for most pics requiring larger prints or higher quality for posts, when it's practical to carry it around. Meanwhile, I now have no hang-ups about whipping out the ole' phone whenever speed or stealth are required.
Next we'll do a shorter series on a wedding trip to Cancún in November of 2024, when these two get hitched!
Never been to the top of this thing, but would like to go up someday to take a reciprocal photograph in the other direction, perhaps even with someone we know standing on the balcony in this spot. Maybe another summer...
This is perhaps a decent picture, but the gradation of color in the foreground makes it clear that photos taken on your phone, in the end, do not measure up to what a DSLR can produce.