Partly due to missing last Saturday’s sunrise, partly due to not seeing much fall color, and mostly due to a completely-clear weather forecast, I decided to try my hand at backcountry camping one week after living the easy life in a Hendersonville cabin. This time, I’d be right next to my sunrise spot; take in the crisp, 6000 foot altitude air; and eat my heart out at the expansive views. They say that just a few days of backcountry camping can free the soul. Two days in the Pisgah wilderness and I’m in full agreement.
Sunrise
Hark! Blueberries!
A few weeks after I got back from China, I drove out to the mountains to pick blueberries. We found them in droves, but I wasn’t really successful in substantiating that as I ate as I picked and never took a picture of the rather small blueberry bushes. Instead, I ended up going on four hikes and soaking up the awesome weather.
Revisiting the familiar
In my time here so far, my two favorite places to photograph in the Charleston area are the Ravenel Bridge and Botany Bay. The bridge is simply majestic, though I don’t feel like I’ve depicted its full grandeur yet. Botany Bay at sunrise is the closest definition of tranquility that I’ve found here. Naturally, it’s difficult to photograph the boneyard at Botany Bay from a place other than Botany Bay, but there’s plenty of vantage points for the bridge. One week ago, I decided to check out a new location to shoot the bridge at sunset.
A Tale of Tails
In the last year, I’ve been fortunate to fly on four planes I never figured I’d take: N777UA, the 747-8I, the 777-300ER, and, this year, the 787. Over a decade separates the first flight of the 777 from that of the 787, and although the two might look alike at first glance, it’s surprising how little the new plane seems to differ to the unsuspecting passenger. After all — a widebody is a widebody, right?
Third Tide’s the Charm
Since my first attempt, I have twice wanted to wake up for a Botany Bay sunrise. Both times, I was too tired to wipe the sleep from my eyes; the will to wake up for the magic of sunrise apparently lessens with age. Not wanting to lose a third time, I set my mind to making the hourlong trip. Judging from the colors in the sky, it seemed the results wouldn’t be so different from those of the first shoot: like last time, it began with a muted blue-grey sky; turbulent Atlantic waves; a dash of yellow and orange on the horizon; and the grim, stoic trees that withstand this ebb and flow 365 days a year.
Because sunsets are too easy
Don’t get me wrong — a sunset isn’t “easy” in the sense that it doesn’t take preparation or that conditions are always perfect. But I am (and most people are) almost always awake at sunset. Sunrises, on the other hand, demand effort — to stay awake, to get up, to suffer through the rest of the day and week. And even then, it’s a crapshoot as to whether the sky will alight with the right clouds to reveal a colorful sunrise.
A matter of time
Photography is typically about light or composition and how to portray the emotional juxtaposition of the two given some subject. A photograph is the result of some amount of planning and motivation; ideally, it evokes an emotional response. The ability to photograph comes differently to photographers: some nail technique with no issue, others find the perfect composition without much thought.
Regardless, photography takes time. The amount of time it takes to expose a photograph is typically orders of magnitude shorter than the amount of time it takes to prepare for a shoot. Sometimes it surprises me just how much I’ve let work consume my time here, so I decided to put together a few shots from over the past year. There are no mountains here: where I typically derive my inspiration from the large rock formations that border Seattle or Switzerland, I’ve finally begun to learn that the beauty is in the details in the Lowcountry.
Earth
I never thought I’d work in manufacturing and enjoy it, and none of my previous work would have suggested that I take final placement in a plant. But it’s incredibly fun, a bit chaotic, and a perpetual challenge. Every so often, on some Charleston-area beach I find a spot with footsteps untarnished that reminds me of where I’ve come from — and how little that can sometimes matter in where I’m going.
A great smoky mountain
There is something inexplicably tranquil about Seattle. It’s not unemotional — quite the contrary in fact — but it’s been the only place where my mind can detach itself from the furor of my current job. Although I visited it this year already, I reasoned that if I drove six hours each way in my various Stuttgart excursions that I should also be able to fly six hours across the country, so I set off for the airport at 3 AM one Friday in late September to put my workaholism on hold for 72 hours.







