Sunrise sometime in January, through the Big Lens, with the very patient Portra film.
These are following up on my pinhole shot from last spring. This last one is a pretty hard zoom, hence the grain; that “vignetting” you see is coming from within the lens itself and is either a feature or a distraction depending on your taste. (You can see it in some of the other Kalimar stuff, too.)
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The Sky Around Here, Winter 2014, 1, 2, 3, 4, c. 2014
Kodak Portra 400
Pentax MX, Kalimar 500mm mirror lens
In 1881, Squaxin Island Tribe member and Mason County logger (he is always described thus) John Slocum died, and then came back to life at his own wake. Helluva party. On awakening, Slocum said he’d received instructions from heaven to renounce gambling, smoking and drinking. The following year, after deviating from this righteous path, he fell ill again; his wife got the shakes while praying for him, and he recovered. A Church is born!*
The church incorporates elements of indigenous, catholic, and protestant religious practices (but not New England shaker), and it’s early popularity naturally pissed off the tribes’ Euro-descended neighbors. Which *sigh* of course meant a ban, imprisonment of practitioners, new regulations, etc. — you know, the usual. Including this notice from the U.S. Indian Service:
It has been reported…that there are some women who are violating the Rules…and that they shake at all hours of the day and night. You will therefore tell the women quietly to stop shaking at any other times than the times specified in the rules…[Y]ou will lock them up until they agree to stop.**
Luckily, everyone got over it!
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Indian Shaker Church on the Swinomish Reservation, 3, 1, 2, 4, c. 2010
Pentax MX, Hoya HMC 70-150mm 1:3.8 zoom
* Well, ten years later, when it was formally organized after building a following all along Puget Sound.
Curlyleaf pond weed (Potamogeton crispus) looming at Egg Lake.
These are on Rollei/AGFA Superpan 200 (which is almost worth purchasing for the name alone), a “near-IR” film that I usually see named as a go-to film for technical photography and map making — which, I’m guessing, is why it managed to register water this way without any filter.
Whatever. I just like all the swirlies.
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Curlyleaf Surfacing 2 & 1, c. 2013
Rollei/AGFA Superpan 200, no filter
A while ago, I failed three rolls of film in a row. For two of these I bravely admit to user error (you may recall Power Lifters); for the third, I will passive-aggressively mention that I think they hired a lot of new people at my preferred film lab (although, really, that one was my fault, too).
This caused me to retreat to the old familiars: a film that requires no thought, a lens that won’t scold, “techniques” I learned back in semester 1 of junior high photo class*, subjects I’ve seen so many times I could probably not even aim and they’d turn out all right.
At least I didn’t start taking pictures of *gag*hack*glrg*…”kittehs.”
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The Everyday: Ropes 1, Filters 1, Pilings, Filters 2, Wake, c. 2013
* How old I am: they don’t even make “junior high” schools any more.
The Olympic Mountains, and my attempts to woo them.
They just laugh and fling me away like a booger.
I cannot argue with a giant Pleistocene clastic wedge.
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Series: The Olympic Mountains from Across Haro Strait
Taken from 2007-2011
Various Kodak & Fujicolor Films, 70-150mm zoom lens
(You also see evidence of my search for a reliable lab to develop my film…)
Olympic Peninsula in Redbird, c. 2012
Rollei Redbird 400
“Ongoing” is this week’s theme at Jakesprinter Sunday Post.
This is Juliet:
This week’s photo challenge theme is Home.
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Juliet Morning 2, 3, 4 & (Juliet), c. 2007
This is Lime Kiln Lighthouse. To the southeast of here about 50 miles or so and nearer to the mainland is Deception Pass and a little blip called Ure Island. For previous generations, the numerous remote islands and waterways around these parts proved handy for various types of smuggling: opiates, booze, illegal Chinese immigrant labor…
In the late 19th-century Mr. Ben Ure conducted his own very successful trade in human contraband, headquartering at his little blip in the Pass, and hauling around his live product tied up in sacks — the easier to dispose of them by dumping them in the local waters, should the law come sniffing too close.
The tide carried the bodies up and away, depositing them on the northwest curve of our own island, in what became known as Dead Man’s Bay, which Lime Kiln Lighthouse overlooks.
It’s now a very popular spot for whale-watching.
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The Light at Dead Man’s Bay, c. 2013
Rollei Redbird 400
Our local waters, named for the First Nations of this area, what is now British Columbia through the Oregon coast. Well, no, actually: it’s named for their shared language; there is no “Coast Salish” nation of people. Their language crackles in written form, which anglicized ain’t nearly as fun: “Sʼəhiwʼabš” (anglicized to Sawhewamish), “Sduqwalbixw” (Snoqualmie), “dxwlilap” (Tulalip), “Sts’Ailes” (Chehalis).
For many hundreds of years several dozens of tribes of thousands of native peoples lived around here as if they owned the place. And then you know what happened next.
Eventually, in a treaty signed with the Washington Territory in the 1850s, the Coast Salish were given equal fishing rights in these waters in exchange for their land, leading to more than 100 years of angry backlash from non-Native settlers and the State itself. (There’s a quote comparing the fishing issue in the Northwest to the busing issue in the South.) In the 1970s the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the treaty once and for all, restoring salmon fisheries to federally recognized Coast Salish tribes in United States v. Washington, considered a civil rights landmark.
These days you see purse seiners and reef netters out on the horizon plying calmly away, and it looks to the rest of us as if it never happened.
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Sparkling Salish Waters 3 & 1, c. 2012
Kodak HIE, no filter
This week’s photo challenge is Illumination.
For the most part ferry travel is like any other mass transit experience: dulled-down citizens gazing at nothing, eating, reading, talking too loud, snoozing.
The difference, for me, is that it’s very peaceful to be on the water, which alleviates the nuisance.
The other difference is that you can actually get a whole bench to yourself on a ferry.
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Ride the Ferries: Napping Girl, c. 2010
Ride the Ferries: Asleep at the Magazine and Red Bag, c. 2009
Kodak Max 800
The ferry ride will take at least an hour, and sometimes up to 2-1/2, meaning ample time to skulk around your fellow travelers and make up stories about them in your head.
Watching these two from a distance, I imagined they took an early ferry out just after sunup, and now it’s nightfall. The end of a long day, spent alone with a now-exhausted toddler, too over-tired to sleep the rest of the way.
(Similar scene, two decades later…)
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Ride the Ferries: 3 Girls & Ride the Ferries: Camo Legs, c. 2012
Ride the Ferrie: Codie & Caitlin, c. 2007
Ilford Delta Pro 400
Ride the Ferries: Sleepy Go Home, c. 2012
Ride the Ferries: Ted & Codie, c. 2008
Fujifilm Neopan SS