Norway

Give Me Shelter

Lofoten Islands · Norway Nestled at the vertex of Kerkefjorden and dwarfed by the formidable peaks ringing the inlet, the tiny hamlet of Kirkefjord finds shelter from the elements as looming clouds glow like embers in the morning sun. After trudging up through a steep and muddy trail and scrambling through a minefield of mossy trapdoor potholes capable of swallowing your boot (and leg) whole, I took up residence amongst some boxcar-sized boulders about two or three hundred feet up the flanks of Navaren, while Tyler Hamilton, Ron Holder, and Tommy Simonsen (if memory serves me correctly) gained another couple hundred feet beyond that. As the minutes ticked on past known sunup, though, the promise of taking in an exhilarating sunrise above the fjord seemed destined to be snuffed out by an expanse of brooding clouds to the east. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the trio high above me packing up and descending back down the mountainside. Not yet ready to admit defeat and rationalizing that I had bit more time before they’d pass me on their way back down, I left my camera out and blew repeatedly on my cupped hands to coax my fingers out of cold hibernation, hoping something a bit more camera-worthy might materialize. Perhaps the morning chill and sleep deprivation was making me hallucinate, but I could’ve sworn I was seeing the faintest trace of color developing on the clouds. It was only after the trio had dropped below eye level that the clouds truly began to blush with the warm kiss of first light. Any guilt about possibly holding up the group by lingering behind slowly gave way to a growing fervor. I made several exposures here while the light remained good and ultimately liked this two-minute-long exposure best. And while I usually choose a symmetric 50-50 framing when shooting reflection scenes where the line of reflection appears virtually flat, I felt a slightly eccentric composition leant itself better to this view from elevation. Taken about thirty minutes before “Life in A Northern Town”.

¡Olé, Ole!

Norway My Norway adventure got off to a beautiful start as I took advantage of a planned first night in Oslo to arrange a meetup with Aussie Ryan Ennis in the figurative backyard of Norwegian native Ole Henrik Skjelstad. Both gentleman are immensely talented photographers whom I knew to be stand-up guys, having spent a couple of days shooting with Ryan when he visited the Pacific Northwest in November of 2014, and having exchanged numerous messages with Ole through Facebook on topics ranging well beyond photography. Ole was kind enough to offer to pick Ryan and me up from the posh Radisson Blu Airport Hotel at Oslo Gardermoen shortly after I landed and take us to the lake cabin he’s made famous through his numerous beautiful photographs of it in a myriad of seasons and conditions. It seems to be a place where atmospheric magic happens far more often than the norm; I know this to be true having struck out more times than I can remember at places like Trout Lake and Trillium Lake in the PNW. Perhaps it was with the cumulative weight of so many null experiences that I tempered my expectations of what we’d eventually find at the lake, and in any case this opportunity to me was much more about the miracles of modern technology that would allow for a meeting of far-flung friends that triangulate the globe to come together so readily. The hour-plus drive through the impressively verdant Norwegian countryside alone would have sufficed for a day’s worth of great scenery, even if the camera had never actually made it out of the bag. But as it were, it appeared Ole was able to conjure up just enough magic to bring the experience full circle. Although the skies looked discouragingly clear on the approach, some faint cirrus clouds (the correct technical term for which, as we learned from Ryan, is in fact “high clouds”) began to congregate and multiply above Væleren towards sunset, and we were treated to mostly calm waters and nice kaleidoscopic reflections for much of the evening. Ole went above and beyond as the night’s chauffeur, host, and tour guide, not only bringing both me and Ryan each (each!!) bags of snacks and goodies, but repeatedly offering us his favored shooting spot along the lakeshore. With no pretentions of trying to come remotely close to capturing an ‘Ole classic’, I assured him I was perfectly happy shooting wherever I happened to be, as really there weren’t many bad vantage points to be assumed in such a serenely scenic place. As it were, I’d found myself in a location where I saw the sun peeking out at me between the evergreen trees, and I took it as an opportunity to test out the sunstar capabilities of my new Sony Zeiss wide-angle lens. Not too shabby, I don’t think. But even beyond all this, the good schoolteacher Ole didn’t even try to correct my repeated atrocious mispronunciations of his given name until I was belatedly thoughtful enough to ask him halfway through the evening whether I was getting it right. How terribly ashamed I was, then, to learn that his name in fact rhymes with my own, rather than what might be suggested by the silly and incongruously Spanish-themed title of this image! Had there been enough daylight remaining, he’d have surely seen my face turn redder than the clouds did that evening. So my bad, Ole :/ ...and thank you again for an awesome day!

Cabin Fever

Norway Not my lake. Not my cabin. Not even my original composition. This scene will always belong to my gracious friend Ole Henrik Skjelstad. It is his rightful place of solitude...a mere 15 minute drive from his home but so many more miles away from anything or anyone than any map known to man could ever portray. And no one’s showcased its many moods throughout the years as well or extensively as he. But this is my image. My memento. My own personal time machine that takes me back to the unspeakably serene evening when Ole generously shared time and space with me and equally gracious and talented Ryan Ennis. The rock, the soil, the shrubs underfoot, and above all the company...they were the perfect antidote to a life lived disproportionately long within the comfortable yet discomfiting confines of US borders. As thousand-mile journeys go, I couldn’t have asked for a better first step.

The Simple Life

Norway The last light of Nordic day recedes at a refreshingly indifferent pace, entrained by the lulling cadence of small lake waves lapping rhythmically at Væleren's shores.

Between Two Rooms

Lofoten Islands · Norway Cool and breezy early mornings are lot more bearable when the view off the front porch is this, a 675-meter rhino's horn spearing the brooding clouds while a low sun throws warm sidelight upon the rocky shore. I'll be the first to admit I'm just about the furthest thing from a morning person as you can, but there's definitely something to be said for experiencing the quietude of dawn in the peaceful expansiveness of a place like this. On this particular morning I watched in silence as the tide flooded and ebbed, exposing the rocky kelp- and crustacean-encrusted seabed in small ratcheting increments while the occasional gull's cry pierced the airy stillness. It was a deliberate exercise that helped set a meditative tone for the day's and night's adventures to come...

Faith

Lofoten Islands · Norway

Defiance

Moskenesøya · Norway Flanked by Bunesfjorden to the east (left) and Kjerkfjorden to the west, a trio of sheer coastal peaks culminating in 412-meter Hanstinden rebel against low clouds and dense fog that have shrouded their taller surrounding counterparts. Here I opted for an exposure long enough to obscure some but not all of the wave detail in the turquoise waters fronting the mountains.

Life in a Northern Town

Lofoten Islands · Norway An ordinary day unfolds on the anything-but-ordinary Lofoten Islands. Overlooking Kirkefjorden and its smaller brethren in the tiny hamlet of Vestervalen near Reine, an austere fire engine-red house endures the coastal tides on stout wooden stilts. Quintessential Nordic scenes like this were a dime a dozen in Lofoten, and I was, if just for a week, among the richest of men.

Simply Red

Lofoten Islands · Norway A charming fire engine-red boathouse reflects the golden light of dusk on the shores of Solbjørnvatnet, a gentle breeze adding some feathery brushstrokes of texture to the lake's placid surface. Few scenes encapsulate the spirit of Lofoten more than a red cabin or similar structure set upon a rocky shoreline, and as romanticized as such simple imagery may seem, in my time there I got the sense that it’s not that far off from the everyday reality of a life lived on this idyllic collection of Arctic islands. I think it’s the nostalgia of a now far too distant existence untainted by the cumbersome (over)complexities of adulthood that causes this photo to resonate with me as much as any I shot during a week filled with dramatic sunrises, sunsets, and Northern Lights. No, no need to build me a Burj Khalifa when a simple little boathouse will do...

Flight Pattern

Lofoten Islands · Norway Still photos will never do justice to the slow-motion dance of the northern lights, but as static vignettes of an ever-shifting phenomenon, they can often stir the imagination of our pareidolic minds. Standing on the rocky shores of Solbjørnvatnet, a dynamic Rorschach test was unfolding directly above my dumbstruck head. My imagination sees a kingfisher taking flight... what does yours make you see?

Searchlight

Lofoten Islands · Norway What started off as a simple treasure hunt for a photographic jewel turned into a surreal search and rescue mission for a missing tripmate. It was Day 4 of our sleep-deprived tour of Lofoten, and by now the bulk of our adrenaline that had kept us going through all hours of the dark was starting to wane. Still, five out of our group of eight managed to rouse from our slumbers in the wee hours of the morning, tempted by the prospects of shooting Arild and Stian’s horseshoe bend, whose lazily flowing waters offer sublime reflections of the sky, beset in a grassy meadow and backed by a spine of dramatic coastal peaks in the distance. My soporific brain sloshed wildly in my cranium on the winding drive to the meadow near the beach, but once we exited the van and the cool coastal air hit my face, the drowsiness instantly lifted. Off we went into the morning darkness, venturing down off the road and into the grassy field on the heels of our fearless leader Hot Rod Thomas, whom we logically presumed had been to the horseshoe bend before. After several minutes of fruitless searching in the damp meadow, though, it became evident that this was in fact Rod's maiden quest for the landmark, too. Fortunately the skies were fairly lackluster at that point so we didn’t really feel like we struck out on some grand photographic opportunity, and Rod gave us some time to explore the area a bit on our own. Some nice mist slowly sauntered in over the meadow as if someone had suddenly flipped on a fog machine, serving up nice opportunities for some atmospheric pastoral shots as a nice consolation prize even if that hadn't been the morning’s original intent. After a time Rod started to round us up (a cat-herding effort if there ever was one): “All right, let’s head to the beach. Have any of you seen Ron? I told him we were going to head to the beach soon and try shooting there.” We looked around for Ron's conspicuous puffy blue down jacket that we were sure would stick out like an ischemic sore thumb against the subdued greens and yellows of the grasses, but no such luck. We returned to the road near the van, hoping that the elevated vantage point would help us spot him more easily. But with the mist rolling in, it was entirely possible that we could miss seeing him if he happened to be out farther off in the distance. Thinking it might aid the search, I set up my camera and trained my telephoto lens at maximum focal length across the misty landscape looking for any signs of animate life, channeling my inner Boba Fett in relentless pursuit of his prey...except that in this particular incarnation of the iconic sci-fi bounty hunter, he happened to be a photographer who really wanted to take lots and lots of pictures while on vacation. So I surreptitiously flipped my camera into silent mode--which, fortunately, lives up to its billing--and covertly fired off a shot or two (or eight) before pangs of shame and remorse got the better of me. I mean, not enough that I openly fessed up about it to the others, but my sense of civic duty and basic human decency eventually (if belatedly) superseded my own self interests, and I rededicated myself to the manhunt in earnest. Besides, the shots I was getting were pretty much crap... By now we were resigned to conclude that one of only a handful of possibilities had happened. The first was that he’d misheard Rod and thought that he was to rendezvous with us at the beach rather than return to the van to go as a group--not inconceivable given that that would’ve entailed a fairly straightforward 200 or 300-meter stroll through the meadow and that Australians talk kind of funny (nyuk, nyuk). The second was that he’d suffered a massive stroke or heart attack and had fallen down somewhere, hidden amongst the tall grass--likewise not an inconceivable scenario given that we knew absolutely nothing about the guy’s medical issues, eating habits, or substance abuse history (now that I think about it, we really should’ve done some sort of icebreaker get-to-know-you type of activity when we all first met at the airport…). And of course there was at least one more possibility...one that I chose to keep to myself but that I'm sure the others were thinking, too. Now I'm not saying it could've been aliens...but it could've been aliens. Hoping, of course, that Scenario 1 was exactly what had unfolded, the rest of us hopped into the van and rode the short distance to the beach. We got out and scanned the shores from the end of the public road, but alas there was no trace of human soul nor soleprint that we could detect. Dutifully, Rod got back in the van and headed back toward the grassy meadow to search the inbound road in case Ron had wondered off the other way instead. Given that there was little else we could do about the situation at that point, Kris, Tyler, and I turned our attentions toward the beach, and man--what a breathtaking sight we were treated to there! The sun had just breached the rugged mountains to the east, its warm amber light spilling over a saddle between the peaks and highlighting the concentric lines of waves surging into the sweeping shoreline. After snapping this photo I headed down from the road and onto the beach to look for more compositions, but before I could pull the camera out of the bag, Rod and the van came roaring back up the road...sans passenger, I noticed, much to my chagrin and growing trepidation. We piled back into the van and headed back to the meadow, this time with the intent of transecting the field on foot systematically (more or less) to assure ourselves that we'd adequately scoured the area before contacting the Norwegian authorities to report that Ron had been abducted by aliens, best as we could tell. So off we went, trudging through the dewy thigh-high grass, taking care not to misstep into a hidden stream or ditch. I followed the banks of the main stream meandering through the meadow, thinking maybe he’d found some composition with it that he wanted to shoot (perhaps even the elusive horseshoe bend) before he hypothetically keeled over in extremis. Geez, I really, really, REALLY didn’t want to have to deal with a dead body on this trip… :/ Fortunately no corpses turned up, and after several minutes of searching Tyler finally spotted our straggling tripmate far off in the distance, nearly three-fourths of the way to the beach, shooting merrily away with his camera and completely oblivious to the mild panic he’d manage to induce in us (photographers can be funny people when we get in our 'zone'...). We beckoned Ron back, and upon his arrival Rod gave him a halfway-joking, halfway-serious piece of his Australian profanity-laden mind for his wayward wanderings. Needless to say, Ron suffered aptly for his sins as we needled him mercilessly on the ride home for his lack of discretion, but he took it all like a trouper with the good humor in which it was intended. Obviously, we were all just relieved that no tragedy had befallen him. Though given his crazy antics during this whole trip, I still say we should’ve frisked him for drug paraphernalia when we had the chance. :P

Event Horizon

Lofoten Islands · Norway A spur-of-the moment roadside stop on the way back from Yttersand Beach. The rising sun is snuffed out behind a dense band of clouds, but it made for a dramatic reflection and rather interesting abstract. You might say the impulse to pull over and photograph it was, well, irresistible...

The Incantation

Lofoten Islands · Norway Every once in a great while all the elements of a scene seem to come together like a celestial decree, and as a photographer you just hope you can do it some measure of justice in capturing and conveying it to your audience. And while I wished that I could conjure up such conditions at the snap of my fingers every time out, it’s the extreme rarity of these authentic moments that make nature photography so wondrous and endlessly awe-inspiring to me. On this particular night, intrepid Lofoten workshop co-leader Stian Klo assured us conditions were looking ripe for the Northern Lights to make an encore appearance, and Skangsanden would be a prime location in which to see it all unfold. Having bumbled my way with the technical aspects of capturing the light show on camera the night before at Solbjørnvatnet when I was first introduced to the phenomenon (the aurora, not Stian...although he's not half bad), I was determined to do much better this time around. We arrived at the beach just as the sun succumbed to a dense marine layer to the west. After taking some rather hasty and uninspired shots, I proceeded northward along the shore to do some exploring. Eventually the sun sunk below the horizon, and the sky took on the ever-cooling hues of twilight. As the first faint wisps of green began to dance in the deepening blue, I looked around and found myself filled with doubt again: None of the seven other workshop participants were anywhere near me, and I wondered if in my overzealous stupor I'd ventured out too far into some photographic no-man’s-land. I decided to bite the bullet and wander out even farther in the fading light, drawn as a I was to a rocky outcrop in the middle of the beach that hadn't yet been swallowed up by the incoming tide. I found a reflecting pool that initially looked brimming with promise, but the proximity of the rocks forming its seaward boundary visually overpowered majestic Flagstandtinden in the distance. I scanned the area again, my eyes frantically looking to gain purchase on something...anything...that might be serviceable. And all the while the light show to the north was gaining momentum... By that point I was pretty well convinced my gamble was proving to be a belly flop of epic proportions, so I doubled back towards the others, figuring I could still perhaps find some worthwhile shot that wasn't a total carbon copy of their own. But just a few paces back I discovered a nice stretch of partially submerged sand ripples that I fortunately hadn't trampled over on my way to the more distant pool. I splayed out the legs of my tripod and set it down as low as it would go, fiddling hastily with the camera settings and taking advantage of residual light from the sunken sun to the left and the town of Leknes to the right to help me nail down the focus. But was it all too late? I wondered. Had I wasted too much time already? I really couldn’t bear the thought of striking out two days in a row on account of my incompetence with conditions that the winds of fortune may never blow my way again. With no one around me to hear a single word, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered something into the twilight air. It was right about then that I looked up to see a plasma-green ribbon materialize over the mountain like a genie liberated from its lamp, and I roused from my reverie just in time to trip the shutter.

The Hook

Lofoten Islands · Norway Every place I photograph has a unique timbre...a defining feature or feel framed by the conditions of the moment that I strive to convey through my images. I inevitably fail to some degree or other: A two-dimensional representation of a four-dimensional phenomenon is bound to by simple definition, I suppose. But there are times when I come closer than others, when the scene is so picturesque and the conditions are so favorable that just being there is eight tenths of the battle. But it’s also during these times when the thrill of the moment is exceeded only by the remaining two-tenths: that dreaded fear of lousing up some critical camera setting or finding out you’ve left some key piece of equipment behind at home (like your tripod or—not unprecedentedly—the camera!). Thankfully that wouldn’t be the case here. A night after my first-ever encounter with the aurora that was largely spent fumbling over the right camera settings and struggling to learn how to quickly nail focus in the dark, I was determined not to replicate my failures and miss out on the myriad possibilities that were unfolding (and disappearing) right before my eyes. And so at the edge of a shallow tide pool, I splayed out the legs of my tripod and set it down as low as it would go, aligning the camera with the radiating pattern of ripples in the sand and framing Flagstadtinden’s reflection as the aurora writhed like like a restless green serpent in the sky. Short of somehow preserving the smell of the salty ocean air, this was as close to conveying the mesmerizing essence of this place in a static 2x3 frame as I could muster. And like an earworm that takes up unshakable but welcome residence in your head, years on now the driving rhythms of Lofoten still beat over and over in my soul.

The Vapors

Lofoten Islands · Norway Another shot taken from Hamnøy on the same restless night as “End of Days”, with the starry sodium vapor lights of Reine striking a contrast with the subtle amorphous plasma-green glow of the aurora borealis.

Northern Light

Lofoten Islands · Norway Quaint Norse homes along a small peninsula bask in the warm morning light, shielded by lingering storm clouds from the icy glare of the coastal mountains brooding in the distant gloom.

Primal Call

Lofoten Islands · Norway Apocalyptic light breaks through a clearing between rugged coastal mountains and brooding clouds as an epic morning slowly erupts over Yttersand Beach. Although the collective plan formulated the evening before called for us to shoot a horseshoe bend set in a grassy expanse made famous in epic photographs by Arild Heitmann and Stian Klo, I’d already decided that night that I’d be forsaking the bend in favor of catching sunrise on the beach, a photogenic strip of brown sand within walking distance from the grass field that featured delightful crescentic patterns paralleling the dynamic shoreline forged by the surf. Having never been a great fan of shooting situations where competing tripod legs might potentially clang together, I just felt an irresistible impulse to break free from the group in search of a perspective I could uniquely claim as my own. I’d had a brief flirtation with Yttersand a couple of mornings before when I took in an incredibly dramatic sunrise there, but it was far too brief and necessarily done from a distance due to a retrospectively humorous search-and-rescue mission that cut our shooting session a bit short (more on that in another photo description...). I walked along the road flanking the grassy field at a spirited pace, worried that I'd have insufficient time to scout out compositions on the beach before the good light would be upon me. Along the way I passed by the headwaters of the horseshoe bend's waterway, itself offering a picturesque reflection of the sky, and I contemplated in my sleep-deprived stupor and fatigue whether to abandon plans for the beach in favor of this unexpected find, where it was guaranteed I wouldn't miss out on the evolving light show and--most notably--wouldn’t involve any further physical exertion (hey, it was Day 4 and I was tired, ok?). As my wavering hit a fever pitch, my feet and legs resolutely refused to capitulate to the self-doubt, and before I knew it I found myself a hundred-plus yards beyond the reflective headwaters. Off in the distance, the rhythmic clang of a flagpole's loose halyard blowing in the wind grew louder and louder with each ensuing footfall, drawing me like the driving beat of a jungle drum into some hypnotic state in which deviation from the original plan was simply not an option. Worried about the time, I glanced at my phone. Some twenty minutes had transpired since I left the group back near the horseshoe bend, and the light was only marginally brighter than it was when I started. I realized then that I needn't have worried about running short on time, slowly coming to appreciate the profound effect the northerly latitude had on extending the golden hour. Whereas at home in the Pacific Northwest the few minutes lost while spent fumbling together a camera setup could mean missing out on some prime mountain or coastal light, here at 68º North the pace can be taken up much more leisurely, with periods of sublime light at either extreme of the day lasting on the range of hours rather than minutes the closer to winter you get. I tried my best not to fritter away the luxury of time afforded me by this quirk of planetary physics, so I studied several shallow pools in the tidal flats before settling on this composition in which the ripples in the sand nicely mirrored the cloud and light pattern in the sky while retaining the tops of the mountains in reflection. In full faith now of the predestinate location in which I'd found myself, I set my tripod as low as it would go, entrained my pulse down similarly, and breathlessly awaited my fate.

Three Kings

Lofoten Islands · Norway World-class photographers Stian Klo, Tommy Simonsen, and Rod Thomas crouch at the threshold of dawn as a gold-rimmed portal opens up to a gloriously blue Nordic sky. Gracious and talented fellows through and through, taking in this slow-motion sunrise alongside them on gorgeous Yttersand beach was among the highest of many highlights on this 2015 trip. I haven't been doing this for too long, I don't think, but certainly long enough to appreciate how much more enjoyable it is shooting in the company of photographers who share a similar submission to the fickle beauty of nature...ones who won't sacrifice the authenticity of preciously rare moments by virtually swapping skies or faking sunbeams or cloning wildflowers all for the soulless pursuit of likes, votes, and faves on social media. When guys as talented as these choose to stay 'true to source,' they show as much about what lies within them as much as about what lies without. Find them on Instagram: Stian Klo: @stianmklo Tommy Simonsen: @tommysimonsenphotography Rod Thomas: @rodthomasfoto

Singularity

Lofoten Islands · Norway Words are wholly insufficient to convey the significance of today. Today, October 3, 2018, an amazing palliative care nurse colleague announces her retirement after an indescribable 49-and-a-half-year career. She is the embodiment of what it means to be a nurse and is the pinnacle of excellence in palliative care practice that all specialists in the field should aspire to—impossible as it may be to reach. In every moment of every day in which she’s wielded the immense responsibility conferred by the R and the N that succeeds her name, she has gone far above and beyond the call of duty in demonstrating what it means not only to truly care for people but also about people. In my privileged times of sharing an office with her, practicing alongside her, and assisting her in bearing the sorrows of a grieving family or easing the moral distress of well-meaning healthcare team members, I have never before borne witness to a greater sense of duty, service, sacrifice, passion, and unwavering commitment to upholding the sanctity of humanity and interconnectedness of the universal emotional language that binds us all together, and I suspect I never shall again. To be clear, this is no intended incrimination nor diminution of my colleagues past, present, or future--I simply need to somehow convey and honor the singularity of practitioner and personhood that is my colleague, mentor, and friend Kathleen Moneymaker. K$, I know you no longer dabble in social media, but I will write this to you in the same tenor of words I’ll speak to you at my next privileged opportunity. You have positively impacted people’s lives in ways that are utterly immeasurable. Though your energy and ethic may only directly touch one individual at any given time, it permeates through them in their subsequent encounters whether they’re conscious of it or not. And in this fashion your influence is exponential, tangible, indelible, enduring. Though we may never again experience the privilege of walking the halls of Legacy Emanuel or Randall Children’s Hospital as Team Top-Moneymaker, you will be with me always in every single encounter I will ever have as a clinician--just as your spirit and ethic has resonated within me on some tangible level ever since our very first patient encounter together at OHSU. And I know that whatever insurmountable challenge I might be facing, however hopelessly tangled and daunting a maze I must navigate to find the most righteous and healing path, WWKD (What Would Kathleen Do?) will always be there to light my way. And so here I am, fourth paragraph into a hopefully halfway-coherent string of effusives that I already prefaced at the outset would never be up to the impossible task of describing your list of accomplishments nor your immense influence on not just the regional palliative care community but the greater healthcare system at large (being one of the original founders of the nurses’ union at Kaiser, for example). In one very true sense, the day has come too soon, and perhaps with more time I could have manufactured the words to do you and your career some semblance of justice. But in another sense--equally true, if not more so--whenever this day would have come would always have been too soon, and the words will always fall short. But such is life, as you’ve taught me, and I must accept this heartache as a healthy sign of affinity, of respect, of human vulnerability, and of a connection that transcends all scales of time. As it is, then, I take solace in the fact that there are a whole lot of people in the field and in the community who know exactly all that I’m talking about when I simply speak the name “Kathleen Moneymaker.” But most importantly to me, I know you know, too. Happy Retirement, Kid. Love, Tula

Wrecking the Curve

Lofoten Islands · Norway Cirrocumulus clouds at sunrise glow amber above Storhammeran on Utakleiv Beach, mirroring curvy ephemeral rivulets in the sand crafted by the receding tides.

My Blue Heaven

Lofoten Islands · Norway Evening descends on another beautiful Norwegian late-summer day. I left the group on an adjacent rocky beach a couple hundred meters or so to the left, having braved electrified fence wires, camouflaged sheep turds, and algae-slickened rocks to get to the mouth of this coastal stream well before sunset and deciding to wait things out come what may. The skies didn’t quite ‘go nuclear’ as we photography types often overemphasize to the detriment of the moment-to-moment experience, but it was still an unforgettable time, the gentle wash of the low-tide surf lending a pacifying rhythm to complement the precious few moments of solitude.

Oasis

Lofoten Islands · Norway A placid tide pool reflects a portion of clear aquamarine sky situated beyond the frame, beset like a cool jewel in a sea of caramel-colored kelp left stranded by low tide upon Myrland's rocky shore. In the distance, the warm light of dawn silhouettes several coastal peaks, chief among them Tsjeldsnesfloget, Slettinden, and Storsandnestinden in this view looking east-northeast. This is a 2-exposure blend of differently-polarized images: one to maximize the sky's reflection off the tide pool and one to cut the glare off the reflective surfaces of the remainder of the scene.