Category Archives: Photography

L’il ol’ stealth me.

30 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by in Discovery, Newfoundland, Photography

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For lo’ these many years, I’ve been able to get by under the radar. That is truly one of the joys of being a photographer. I get to witness and by that, vicariously (I guess), experience a whole host of things without being the subject of them. That is the wonderful and safe anonymity of being behind the camera instead of in front of it. That’s all about to change. What was I thinking?

This is what I thought I was like.

Gone will be the security of my camera. Every photographer knows they’re invincible with the camera in front of them. Done well, invisible too. We are not to be the subject, that’s not our job. But here I find myself ready to go “public” and not in the stock offering sort of way. That would depress the market so it might never recover. No, I am going to have to go out into that cold and unfriendly world in the harsh, unforgiving light of the day and make nice. I fear a Sally Fields kind of response, “You like me, you really like me!” Ugh.

“They like me…”

So no more faceless person in the crowd. I’m outing myself. “Hi, I’m Bruce and I’m a photographer. I haven’t taken a picture in four days. Please, hold your applause.” I don’t know how to do this. I never even gave this stuff any thought when I was up in Newfoundland shooting Arn? Narn. Nothing prepares you for the event of your first book getting published.

So, I’m reading a lot and getting into this much later than I would have liked – ahh, the joys of ignorance. I now have to give up what passed for anonymity and become somewhat public. Is that like a little pregnant?

So over the next few posts, I’ll be writing about the conundrum of nominal “fame” and how one who is uniquely unqualified for it, deals with it. Bring candy, popcorn, and tissues. The candy and popcorn are for you, the tissues, well…..

It’s your turn.

20 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in Culture, Newfoundland, Observations, Photography, Sea

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For a year now, arnnarn.com has been publishing my experiences in Newfoundland and about producing the book Arn? Narn. There is still more to come as we get closer to publication date – six weeks away – and I’ll still be writing about what happens afterwards! But as I have in the past, I’d like to shake things up and do something a little different for a bit.

Have you ever been to Newfoundland? Have you ever published a book? Have you done both? I would love to learn of your experiences. Many of you have commented on these posts and I would love to share them with this blog’s readers. Any dialogue we can create that explains, enlightens, illustrates in more detail the unique quality of Newfoundland is welcome.

Pictures regarding your experiences are welcome as long as they don’t violate any standards of good taste whatever those may be in this day of cable, internet, and such. Inclusions will be totally random and subjective.

Gros Morne, Newfoundland.

Ocean photography is also welcome and does not necessarily have to pertain to the above mentioned requirements. Since Arn? Narn.is about a culture that supported itself by the sea and its bounty and can no longer, the photos should be related to that. This is a global problem that is only going to get worse. Perhaps we all can help.

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Dammit Jim, I’m a photographer, not a film maker!

13 Monday Aug 2012

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The days of placing some ads in newspapers to herald the arrival of your book are mostly in the past. Of course that would be part of your marketing campaign today, but only a small part. The internet has changed all that. This blog is proof of that. This should be the very first thing you do in marketing your book. And start early to help build buzz.

But other blogs are also targets for a marketing plan. If you can get them talking about your book, then you’re widening your audience immeasurably and that’s a very good thing.

G-Rated. (spinstheworld.com)

A relatively new wrinkle is the video book trailer. Essentially, this is like the coming attractions part of going to the movies. But without the popcorn and sticky floors. But these are not just born out of thin air. A shooting script has to be written, graphics have to be developed, content must be chosen, voice-over talent and music needs to be selected, and the whole thing should be thematically related to the actual book. Oh, and get a YouTube account for this will be the first place it goes up on. While there are some wonderful programs out there where you can put together a trailer on your own, using a studio will give you a much better end-product. This is the direction I took.

So while yes, I am a photographer, I know next to nothing about video production. It’s sort of like Dr. Coy on the old Star Trek Show. “Dammit Jim, I’m a photographer…” I’m not a film-maker. I did know that I needed a script, graphics, theme, and voice talent. Happily, I also knew some first rate studio people and that was a great help. So into the studio to create my mini-version of a Jerry Bruckheimer film – not really, there were no explosions and no Shia LeBoeuf either. But it was a revelation.

Dammit, Jim…(empireonline.com)

Not surprisingly, there is a profound difference between motion and still photography in emotional content. Marry the two and it’s a whole other ballgame. Ken Burns displayed that tremendously in his ground-breaking The Civil War documentary. And that’s what we did with Arn? Narn. With voice-over, editing, music, graphics et al, Arn? Narn. shows another side of itself entirely, not ground-breaking, but very well done if I do say so myself. If you’re interested, it’s now up on YouTube. Just type in my name in the search bar, Bruce Meisterman, and then click on the Arn? Narn. image on the left. Hope you enjoy it.

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Menage a Wha?

06 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by in Discovery, Geography, Newfoundland, Photography, Travel

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(Warning: content addresses adult themes – not really – and no bad photos.)

It’s not like that all. We are still together and in love with each other, still! But for the previous three years, I’d been carrying on an affair, right out in the open, thank you very much, and I was still happily married.

For those out there with some prurient interest in where this is going, check out another blog. It’s not like that at all. I’d fallen in love with Newfoundland the moment I stepped off the plane to start the photography on what was to become Arn? Narn. I carried on this affair in front of my long-suffering wife, subjecting her to stories of wonderful people, incredible land, beautiful seas, marvelous skies, great music, etc. and still she didn’t kick me to the curb. No doubt there were times she probably wanted to, but discretion and propriety saved the day, for me at least.

What’s not to love? (citypictures.net)

This was not your typical sleazy affair. There was no other woman. There was just this land to which I felt strongly attracted. If Newfoundland had been a person, yes, damn straight, I would have moved right in. I still feel that way. Yet, I loved (and still do) my wife. I won’t leave her, but I just might take her with me! Yeah, it’s that cool and my wife is down with that.

So, now as I drive Carla around the province, meeting and talking with locals, even dancing, kicking back to a new, slower tempo, she’s getting it. The land and sea are beginning to speak to her and she is responding. It’s now beginning to make sense. Earlier in this blog, I wrote about Gerard saying Newfoundland was “The Land of Low Anxiety.” It seeps into you. You know in your bones, your soul, it’s right. And now, so does Carla.

Low anxiety indeed! (citypictures.org)

We fantasize about moving up there. We even casually look at real estate. Financially, it’s in our reach, but if it were to happen, it wouldn’t be in the near future, no, no, not the short term. It’s a dream at this point.

She has met my “mistress” and realized it is not a competition. It is meant for us both to share. And we’re just starting.

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A baby takes nine months; a book – maybe nine years!

01 Wednesday Aug 2012

Posted by in Discovery, Observations, Photography, Travel

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All the good stuff that goes into conceiving a child is great. It’s the fodder of legends, songs, stories, movies, and art. And it only takes nine months. Then the hard work begins, years of being a parent which never really end even when they’re grown and move out. Nine months to the start and years to the conclusion.

Ah, but a book? If you’re writing about a topical event, it’s amazing how quickly such a tome can be brought to market. Breathtakingly fast. It was that way even before all the technological advances we enjoy today occurred. Now it seems like they spring up as fast as mushrooms after a summer rain.

However, if it’s a novel, an art book, educational, whatever, the gestation period can be agonizingly long. And that’s just to finish it. Someone has to publish it. If not you, who then?

The idea for my book Arn? Narn. was conceived in 2003. I spent a year researching Newfoundland, the type of clothes I would need when up there (in winter!), a camera bag that would hold all my equipment and still fit in the overhead bin of a plane, flights and car rentals, creating an itinerary around this very large island (thank God for the help of soon-to-be Newfoundland friends), and blah, blah, blah, so much more.

Newfoundland. (heritage.nf.ca)

Finally a year later, I was ready to go up there and start photographing. It was an incredible two weeks. Traveling alone as a stranger in a strange but wonderful land was transformative. The work I did while there would keep me busy for many months.

As so often happens, what I photographed was what I wanted but sadly not what I needed. There was a story here that had to be told and this wasn’t it. So unhappily biting the bullet (oh, poor, poor, pitiful me), I went back up again one year later.

For three weeks this time, I again traveled alone throughout the province and did find the story that I knew had to be there. Now it all made sense. I could happily go home with the material I needed to do this properly.

So for the next two years, I worked in the darkroom producing the prints that would eventually become this book. I would spend more hours doing that than I had spent in five weeks in Newfoundland. I also had to write the narrative explaining what one would be seeing when they held in their hands Arn? Narn. That was to be one of the hardest parts of this whole project.

So, now four years after the idea was born, it was more or less completed. I went back up a third time, but with my wife with me. Check out some of the previous posts for that visit. I did photograph (hell, my wife took more pictures than me!), but I had all I needed for the book, so nothing was added from that trip. What I did need though was an agent or a publisher.

Finding that would take four more years. In that time, much was learned about this process so that the next book should not take quite as long. Now, just weeks away from publication, Arn? Narn.will be nine years in the making. That’s 63 in dog years!

Throughout those years, it has been a period of hope, expectations, disappointments, learning, hard work beyond the actual production of the book, and joy. This book, this baby of mine, will come into the world on October 1, 2012. Please join me in welcoming it.

It brought her to tears…the fourth note.

09 Monday Jul 2012

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Art is arguably a singular endeavor. The writer and painter, poet and dancer, composer and photographer, sculptor and weaver, almost always do it in solitary. There are, no doubt, studies of this peculiar trait inherent in the creative class. It goes beyond right brain, left brain. It is a need which manifests itself in the doing, the creating of our work by ourselves. This does unfortunately create times when we are removed from the everyday. We then reside in our own sphere of thought, often ignorant of the times and people around us. Admittedly, this is not very fair to them.

Georgia O’Keefe – singularly. (peggyoberlininteriors.com)

We may have a vision of where we would like to go. We will also need to be open to wherever that may take us. However, it takes us there alone. And while we see what is happening, those around us are often confused and skeptical, almost unsupportive. They do not, cannot, at that time, see what it is we see. That too is unfortunate. Sharing the bits and pieces already completed doesn’t really shed much light either.

Only when it is done, can it hopefully make sense to those not directly involved. In the creating, the parts individually do not add up to any recognizable sum. Consider Beethoven’s Fifth as a prime example of this. The first four notes are instantly identifiable. If he had stopped at three notes, it would not be very recognizable. It had to be complete. And so it is with our art. It has to be complete for it to make sense.

All four notes. (tuckerellis.com)

So as I printed and printed the photographs for “Arn? Narn.”, except for me, they made very little sense to others. Where was that fourth note? Was there a fourth note?

Fast forward a year or two later to an evening after my wife had returned from a powerfully emotional yet fulfilling trip. We sat down to catch up on each others work and activities during her absence. I was in the darkroom almost all of the time she was away. She had gone down to help in New Orleans after Katrina and came back moved, vulnerable, and a little raw. She shared with me her experiences, her thoughts, and what that tragedy looked like to her. How could she have returned any other way? We talked for quite some time about that.

She then wanted to know what I had been up to in that time. I told her I’d been in the darkroom almost exclusively and had finished the printing of the photographs for “Arn? Narn.”, would she like to see them? Yes.

I brought out the box of the 200+ photographs and gave them to her with the explanation they were as yet unedited and not in any proper sequence and then waited in silence. She looked at each one thoughtfully, pausing on some longer than others, making soft sounds of understanding. Her response was all I could have hoped for…they brought her to tears. I had found the fourth note.

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The New 3 “Rs” – Readin’, ‘Ritin’ and Rewritin’

02 Monday Jul 2012

Posted by in Humor, Photography

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(phdinparenting.com)

As a writer, I’m a pretty good photographer. Conversely, as a photographer, I probably needed to go back to school, maybe even pre-school. I have always played well with others, but I didn’t like sharing. (Sorry for the digression.)

Put a camera in my hands and I’m pretty fearless. Not war photographer fearless, but once I did climb on a burning oil tanker to get the picture. But put a pen, in this case a computer, in front of me and expect me to write and, let’s just say it would have been a toss-up between that and a root canal with the dental delight in a slight lead.

Hmm, book query or root canal?. (ehow.com)

So, as “Arn? Narn.” took shape and form, it became apparent that it was going to require words, good words, not random words, words that complemented the photographs. If this book had been planned as an editorial endeavor by a publication, they would have assigned a writer to accompany me. But this was my idea. I was going to do it myself, not anyone else. (I told you I didn’t share well.)

A long time ago, I took a writing course which like most of my scholastic adventures left me cold. I couldn’t understand why one just couldn’t put the freaking words down and that would be OK. I was so young. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) And for many years after, I had no desire or need to write anything longer than a check. Maybe that’s from where my love of fiction came.

Unless someone else had been there with me and had become as familiar with the subject as I had, then that writer could have done the job. But it was only me.

Before a book gets published, but after it’s finished, there is still much work to do. There was much I had to learn. It has to be seen by people who make these decisions and if you’re not well known, (I’m not), no one is really looking to hear from you. So how do they learn of you? It’s now all about you.

The first step is to create a book query. This is a singularly important letter that goes out to agents and publishers in the hopes they will see the cosmic brilliance of your creativity. In this, you write a one page document that explains why this is a worthy book. If you’re a writer, than you can probably handle it easily enough assuming you know what to say. Suppose you know what to say but not how to say it? Enter me.

Ego says the photographs should be enough. Reality says  “Hold on Bucko, not so fast.” So while all the photographs had been taken, nothing had been written. And you want me to write a letter of recommendation for myself? I’m tall, like small children, never been indicted, – that kind of stuff? No.

I’ve got to write the book query, And I do. Over and over. Again and again. In the morning and before bed. I polish, correct, rewrite, rewrite some more, add and subtract, and finally when I can do it no longer, this tortured document survives. And that’s only the start of the process.

You know, that root canal doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

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Now where’s that photo with the, the, you know…

25 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in Music, Photography

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Even though there are many photographs to print, some are revealing themselves to be keepers right off the bat; others, ehhh, not so much. So the editing starts while I’m still printing. That should make things easier at the end, right? Not so fast, Bucko! Some become instant favorites while others are quickly relegated to orphan status. If they remain orphans at the end, I might be convinced to call in Sally Struthers for help.

If you’ve never been in a photographic darkroom, it is a place of miracle, wonderment, surprise, and frustration. Sort of like golf, but without the funny clothes. When printing an image, one doesn’t just make one print and that’s it. There is so much influence the photographer can have on the image, that the final realization of it may look entirely different from what was originally seen on the proof sheet.

The adjustments are innumerable. It can go lighter or darker all over; composition is always being fiddled with; one can make only specific areas lighter or darker; contrast is infinitely adjustable; developing techniques affect it strongly; and cropping can make it into an entirely different image altogether. With all that in mind, it doesn’t get printed once. It gets printed many times. All the generations printed of this image lead to the one that stands out; the one where you can’t see that it needs any further work. The differences between the last few generations might be miniscule and often are, but that little difference makes all the difference in the world.

It is not uncommon, rather it’s normal, to spend hours working on an image from just one negative. (The late W. Eugene Smith was known to work as long as a week on one negative!) Multiply that by 200+ images and it’ll be a wonder if I ever see daylight again. On the other hand, if I print at night, that problem is easily eliminated.

W. Eugene Smith in his darkroom. (oocities.org)

So, as preliminary editing begins, there’s always that moment (or moments), when looking through all those prints, you go, “Now where is that photo with the…”. Good times, good times.

This is what looking for that print is like, only cleaner. (the atlantic.com)

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“Oil is strong and fish is weak!”…Tert Card.

31 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in History, Photography

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So where is Newfoundland today in regards to where it was 20 years ago?; 10 years ago? Now? Changes have been occurring with breathtaking speed and with consequences unforeseen, almost.

         An incredibly beautiful place beset by the loss of fish and the discovery of oil.

I’ve written and photographed about the back story in my upcoming book “Arn? Narn.” throughout this blog. But to recap, 20 years ago Newfoundland was about to crash and sink much as the Titanic did 375 miles off its shore 100 years ago. After independently supporting itself on cod fishing for over five centuries, the fish were gone. The Canadian government (Ottawa) enacted a 10 year moratorium on cod fishing in the expectation that in 5-6 years, the cod stocks would return to normal levels and fishing could resume. That was the plan at least. In the past, that had worked and there was no reason to believe otherwise.

After the 10 year period, the stocks were in worse shape and the moratorium was left on indefinitely. In that same 10 year period, Newfoundland lost 20% of its population to out-migration. Simply stated: no fish meant no jobs. People left in droves. Rural Newfoundland was on the ropes then and largely still is. Unless the fish return (doubtful), it will most likely remain so. As the island was settled based on how quickly one could get to sea, there are beautiful, picture-perfect, small fishing villages all over the coast. There is very little settlement in the interior. Consequently, it will be hard to sustain that culture as people continue to leave.

I returned to one village 3 years after my first visit. While it was not thriving during that initial visit, the town was active, the general store was doing business, and people were there. Jump ahead those 3 years: the store is closed and boarded up; houses are abandoned; and there are weeds growing in the road. That is the fate of almost all of rural Newfoundland. That’s the bad news.

For the entire province, the news is a bit better. St. John’s, the capital, is doing very well. Some outports quickly pivoted to tourism and are holding their own. The province of Newfoundland is rich in minerals and has a growing off-shore oil industry.

One of the several oil rigs off the coast of Newfoundland. In some places, one can see them from land. (heritage.nf.ca)

It will survive, maybe even thrive as a whole. But with a handful of exceptions, the heart and soul of this province, rural Newfoundland, may not.

  There’s a line from Annie Proulx‘s wonderful book “The Shipping News“: Tert Card, the editor of the local newspaper The Gammy Bird and a very distasteful character declares: “Like I say, the hope of this place is oil.”

Other characters within the book go on to dispute the benefits of that and what would occur if the oil boom were to happen. Crime, prostitution, vandalism – Tert Card wants to hear none of this. His bellicose response: “Oil is strong and fish is weak!”

Quoyle, the protagonist in the book, then writes a column for The Gammy Bird entitled: “Nobody hangs a picture of an oil tanker on their wall.” That exchange largely summed up that particular issue. The tanker is not a thing of beauty even if it were a solution. The fish were disappearing and oil riches were on the horizon. But at what cost? The fish were not to return – but the oil was there.

Proulx was completely accurate and prescient in her description of both sides. Oil will be a boon to the province; it will also mean the further deterioration of the cultural side of Newfoundland. It is not an object lesson of one over another; it is that survival depends on what kind of hand you’ve been dealt and how you play it. In this case, the oil will allow the province to survive – only not as it once did. Arn? Narn.

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Musings on the road(s) taken and not taken.

29 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by in Discovery, Photography

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  HOW DID I GET HERE? (the halfofit.blogspot.com)

Up until this point, the arnnarn.com blog, has been a pretty straight path from beginning to where it is today. But, in reality like any other journey, it has not been a straight track. As such, this entry will be a little off the familiar and beaten path.

Like many others including David Byrne (above), this is not where I thought I would be. Had different roads been chosen, who knows what the outcome might have been. I think it’s fairly safe to say I would not have been photographing and writing about Newfoundland had I traveled one of those other roads. I think.

When I look back on the roads I did take and where they took me, I’m amazed how everything came together to bring me to this point. Leaving New Jersey for Vermont. Hmm. Not exactly a straight line to Newfoundland but definitely in the right geographic direction. However, Newfoundland was not anywhere in my conscious thought much less my sub-conscious mind. So that was just a move on my personal chess board to something at sometime which would eventually, hopefully pass for maturity.

Vermont (could’ve gone to Oregon while there, but that’s another story for a night over drinks. I’ll buy the first round.) to upstate New York. Big change in every way possible. New York to mid-Atlantic states (could’ve gone to California; well actually I did but didn’t like it much). Just weird. Then back to New England because of a major life passage – thank you Gail Sheehy!. Then to the South. So, roads taken and not taken.

But Newfoundland? Really? At that point, the only frame of reference I had was the book “The Shipping News” by Annie Proulx. Wonderful book, but igniting any interest? Nah. The movie of the same book put a face on it and I did like what I saw. But I’m a sucker for snow covered mountains, plains, anything. So, nope on that as well.

It was the major life change that opened the possibility of really doing something significant, at least for me. And that was to start something, take a leap of faith in one’s self, get off my butt, pick up the cameras, and shoot something! That was my beautiful wife in my beautiful home telling me to start something…etc.!

And I did. And it’s almost ready. Approximately four months from now, “Arn? Narn.” will be published and you’ll see why and what I got off my butt to do. But this, like everything else we do, is still on the road to where it’ll eventually wind up. Until then, I going to try and stay off my butt. Do the same.

Revisiting Granny.

14 Monday May 2012

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I find myself thinking of a now-friend, but initially just an Newfoundland craftsman I met on my first trip up there. He is older now, 91, and isn’t turning bowls and such any longer. In an e-mail I’ve received from him recently, he states that his “Dr. advised (him) to leave off or I may find myself being spun on the lathe. Good advice I guess.” Yes, very! Bren is still with us as well as his work. We are grateful for both.

Bren was one of the first people who befriended me in Newfoundland. While this is certainly not unusual up there, friends are made easily, we have remained in touch since my travels. I think about him often, especially as I see his craft work, really art work, around our house. It never ceases to bring a smile to my face.

I wrote about Bren back in late November, 2012 and felt since my most recent correspondence with him, it was appropriate to update that posting with some additions.

Granny’s well turnings.

The sign said “Granny’s Well Turnings and Handcrafted Gifts.” So that was two more things I thought I needed to do: find out what a well turning was and meet Granny. Neither was what I thought and neither disappointed.

It was good to get out of the car and stretch my legs. Walking up to the house I was greeted by an elderly and dignified man, Bren, in work clothes. We exchanged greetings and introductions. He said I was the first one of the year. Anywhere else, I would have thought this to be the opening line in a bad horror movie in its undertones. Here it meant I was the first tourist of the year. Not surprising as it was still winter and most visitors wisely wait until the weather is a bit more clement.

He invited me into his house. Bren said he would have to get his wares out of the closet where they’d been stored in the off-season. We walked through his workshop where on the floor, all over in heaps and piles, were unfinished bowls and spindles and trinket boxes curing and drying before he could finish them. They came from burls he’d taken off trees. He said it was several years worth of work to do. (I did say he was elderly, didn’t I?)

Bren was and is your typical Newfoundlander – practical, unpretentious to a fault, funny, and most welcoming. And his work was beautiful. We talked some more; he wanted to know what I was doing up in Newfoundland and if I liked what I had seen. Oh, yes, I said. I loved it. I told him I was photographing rural Newfoundland and where I was off to next. He asked me to come visit with him again if I would be back that way when I returned to St. John’s, a couple of hours away. I told him I would try and get down to see him again. I would.

I did see Bren again that trip prior to departing. He asked me about my flight information and when I was leaving. I told him and asked why. He said I should have a proper send-off. So I find myself at the airport ticket line for a 7:30 AM departure. It’s probably around 6:15 when I hear my name being called. I turn around and it’s Bren! Proper send-off indeed. What makes this all the more remarkable is that Bren lives at least two hours from the airport. At least! Proper sendoff? You better believe it!

Little did I know at the time, but it would be the first of several return trips to visit with him. Oh, by the way, there was no Granny, just Bren. And a lot of beautiful well turnings.

Whoa, there’s a moose, and another, and finally St. John’s!

02 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by in Observations, Photography, Travel

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After escaping the clutches of the bi-churchal minister, I am now on solid ground once again, figuratively speaking, and heading back to St. John’s. I heard of a short cut that will take two hours off my impending twelve+ hour drive. Should I take it? I’ve been warned that it is not a particularly well paved road, well, not very much pavement at all – gravel really, it might be muddy and isn’t well-traveled this time if year so if you get stuck which is a very real possibility, nay probability, you could be there for a day or two, but it’s your choice. Hell, that’s no choice, that’s a challenge. I’m taking the long way home!

Yeah, right! (en.wikipedia.com)

The way I figure it, if I speed, which I will, if I continue straight through, I’ll be driving in prime moose-dodge-’em time – at speed, at night, and on the TCH, (Trans Canada Highway). Not wanting to make the acquaintance of one so large, so heavy and a poor conversationalist from what I’ve heard, I decide that I’ll probably stop for the night somewhere around Gander, a good part of the trip would be now be behind me. When you’re in a hurry, and I really wasn’t, but there was no photography planned for this leg of the trip, – I just didn’t want to drive for twelve + hours, the scenery, however beautiful, becomes secondary to the task of getting there.

I’m sailing along. Yes, speeding, but I told you I would. Fueled by chocolate covered crackers and the occasional Tim Horton‘s, I’m making some serious time. I get to Gander considerably sooner than I thought, ahh, the joys of speeding and not getting caught, and make an executive decision. Moose, be damned, I going for it all. This is the big one!

Oh, yeah! (ahwooga.com)

So, I stop for refueling – both the car and me. The car gets gas and so will I later from the food at the rest stop. Should have stayed with the chocolate covered crackers. But I endure, I must, can’t stop, have to get to St. John’s – there’s a tall, cold beer with my name on it waiting patiently for me at Christian’s Pub. Actually, the beer had some friends waiting for me too and I would get to meet them as well.

Wait, what’s that up ahead? That signpost? Sorry, channeling “Twiight Zone” for a moment. Lights! and not in the rear view mirror either. It’s St. John’s! Yes! Made it and not in twelve hours! Not in eleven hours! No, just about ten and half! I did speed. A lot. That’s 902 miles worth of speeding. I didn’t hit any moose, didn’t get stopped by the RMCP, “No, officer, I didn’t realize I was going that fast.”, and made it back in time for Happy Hour, which by the way in St. John’s is anytime from opening to closing. Finally, off the road, out of the car, and back in the warm embrace of St. John’s.

Tomorrow will be laundry, packing, FedEx, and getting ready to go back to the states. It’ll be busy, but I’ll also get to visit with Randy (my photographer friend) and his wife Vicki once more before I leave. The amount of help and guidance they provided has been invaluable and much appreciated. I will also see Bren, my 84 year old wood- turning friend, again before my departure. Bren was the first Newfoundlander but not the last to invite this stranger in for tea. I will miss them and all the other new friends made while up here. I will be back.

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Part 2: Kicking back at Red’s Lounge…

03 Tuesday Apr 2012

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The afternoon was spent walking around the island taking pictures of local signage, laundry lines, wind turbines, boats (mostly in dry dock as there was no fishing here either), and coves. If it moved I photographed it. If it stood still, I photographed it. Yup, there I was again, taking pictures of nothing! But really good pictures of nothing if I say so myself. It moved, it stood still, it was a wind turbine, I photographed it.

Sidebar -There’s a woman who paints all the house numbers and signs and mailboxes on the island; a limited growth opportunity indeed, yet the local art scene is definitely defined by her! And it was sort of like being in her island-wide showroom. She was that prolific. Certainly she had her themes down: boats, flags, fish, propellers, anchors, etc.

So the light was now fading and I wasn’t far behind it. I was in need of sustenance and it was too early to go back to the B&B for a formal dinner. Since I now knew the island like the back of my hand, it was back to Red’s. I was going to check out if they had any beer left. Photographing clotheslines creates a mighty thirst.

Lucky for me they had some left. I was welcomed back by Gerard and the locals (sounds like a perfect bar band!) whom I’d met earlier and introduced to some new (to me) citizens. Someone had gone hunting and brought back some fresh moose meat. They had the aforethought to grind it up, make mooseburgers, and serve them to customers. And that’s how I came to have my first (and probably last) mooseburger. It was OK if you don’t mind eating the inspiration for a cartoon, but personally, I liked caribou better. (Please don’t tell my fiends at PETA!)

As I mentioned earlier, I stood out. I was not from there and one citizen had taken note of that and his concern was quite obvious. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to the others, but the not-so-furtive and mildly hostile glances could not be overlooked. Hmmmm – what to do? It would clear soon enough.

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Holding my breath.

02 Monday Apr 2012

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When I started this photography book project, it (not unlike Newfoundland in the stamp above) seems like a millennium ago. The possibility of publication seemed like such a distant dream. Over time, each one of the goals had been met leading to last summer’s signing of my first book contract. My publisher, Gosslee, has now given me a publication date and it’s going to be here before I know it. Come September 1, 2012, “Arn? Narn.” will be published. It’s unbelievable.

And yet, unbelievably, there is still work to do. How will the world find out about it’s inherent wonderfulness, much less its’ existence? Where and how will it be available? What kind of promotional activity can I give it? Who will play me in the movie version? That last one’s a joke, really.

Though the publication is now imminent, there is still much to write about in this blog. If you’ve been following it, you know I’m still in Newfoundland on the island of Ramea, ensconced at Red’s Lounge. Much, much more to write about. I think I may only be halfway there on this accounting. My intention is to continue well after publication. There will be more stories to share: a new one on Tuesday as a matter of fact. I invite you all to join me as this journey continues.

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Enter the Wanderer with apologies to Bruce Lee…

22 Thursday Mar 2012

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Sounds sort of like a bad Bruce Lee film, doesn’t it? But, there are no flying fists, no crouching tigers, no leaping lizards, none of that stuff…just good old Newfoundland and its’ people.

I’m now ensconced on the small island of Ramea and have started to walk around the island, it IS small, and photograph. One of the first things I noticed on the ferry on my way in, is a collapsed fish processing plant, a fishery. It collapsed physically, but it is as good as any symbol of what has happened to the fishing industry. I could not have asked for a better opportunity to illustrate what has happened here. But Ramea is so much more than that, though its’ fate remains so tied to it.

Rendering of a fishery.

As  I mentioned earlier, one passes through a beautiful archipelago on the way in. It was so unexpected as to create a disconnect. “Hello, that number you’re calling is no longer in service.” That’s how I felt. In my modest research over the years, I believed that one found archipelagos in Japan, Indonesia, Scotland even. But Newfoundland, really? Oh, yeah. Yes, Toto, this isn’t Kansas anymore.

Ramea itself is a small, quaint even, little island if not for the oil tank graveyard I was currently photographing. I’ll tell you right now though, there are no photographs of those in this part of this journey. While I tip-toed around the tanks, respectfully trying not to wake them, I came up on a local who in true Newfoundland tradition was more than happy to talk with me. He gave me a little current history of the island and some recommendations: there was an ocean walk to take – check; don’t miss the wind turbine farm – check; Red’s Lounge – check and double check (can’t miss that!); the Anglican Church – check, but on Sunday of course; supermarket – check; and other places that were meaningless to me at the time.

I was into my wandering big time now. As I’ve written earlier, there I was taking pictures of nothing and really loving it.

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Abducted by sea turtles AND the talk of the town.

19 Monday Mar 2012

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With all apologies to the bard (Ramea, O’ Ramea, where art thou O’ Ramea?), Ramea is a small island off the southern coast of Newfoundland and I arrived safely on the good ship (well, ferry) Gallipoli. For those who may be history minded, Gallipoli is the name of a horrible battle in World War I in which allied soldiers were brutally massacred because of an incredibly dumb decision. It was also a movie starring the then uncontroversial and better-looking actor Mel Gibson. And Gallipoli was the boat of which I just got off! Should I have read something into that? Time enough to ponder as I’ll be getting back on it to return to the Newfoundland mainland in a few days.

Approaching Ramea, one travels though a beautiful though unexpected archipelago. It was a wonderful greeting. The only thing missing were giant sea turtles, but for all I knew they may have been laying in wait to ambush me and make mock-Bruce soup. Hey, it could happen.

This was going to be very cool. Ramea is a very small island, populated by about 600 people. At it’s peak in the early 1970′s, it had about double that, but when the fish were gone, half the populace followed. Yet, it holds on. There is a music festival, like so many other Newfoundland outports, in August. And there are a number of outdoor activities in which one can indulge. The electricity is furnished by a small wind turbine farm. OK, so much for the Chamber of Commerce business.

As I’ve come to learn and appreciate and obsessively seek out, the best activity of all in Newfoundland is talking and partying with Newfoundlanders, everywhere! And that more than anything would define this part of the journey. Oh, the photographs would be taken. And with the certainty of only those of the pure of heart and who sleep like babies, I knew they would be good. I didn’t really, I hoped they would be good. But I’m rambling. The beer would be drunk, but not I, oh, no! Moose what would be eaten. Sorry, Squirrel. More on that later,

I checked into the B&B on Ramea, unpacked, and then started out on which was to be my newest adventure. Without giving too much away, must be frugal with my words here, I was to see clothes-lines, coffins, windmills, hand-painted signs, a bar, so much more and unbeknownst to me at the time, become the talk of the island.

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Look boss, the plane, the plane! No, Tattoo, that’s a boat!

14 Wednesday Mar 2012

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Burgeo, on the southern coast. (From Sailblogs.)

Made it to Burgeo after a gruesomely long drive. The good news is that where I was off to next to photograph was a very small island, Ramea, on which I would be walking almost everywhere. The bad new is that when I got back to Newfoundland proper, I had an even longer trip back to St. John’s, but that’s for another post.

I found my B&B and checked in. Martine, my host was very friendly, showed me to my room, and offered some suggestions as to where I might find dinner. There were two options – both named after their proprietors- Joy’s Place and Sharon’s Diner. Sharon was off somewhere and was closed so it was to Joy’s Place which was closer anyway. Joy wasn’t in either (were Joy and Sharon running errands together?) so I couldn’t send my compliments to the chef, so I left a nice tip instead.

I returned to my B&B and had some wine with Martine. my host. We talked about Burgeo and what had brought me there. She told me that Burgeo was very old, about  500 years, but it was only incorporated in 1950 and was basically a fishing village until 1992 when the moratorium was put into place. Then it too went through all the difficulties the rest of the province did. It’s a sweet place with a couple of restaurants, a school, all the things one would expect to find pretty much anywhere, except they don’t have the view that Burgeo does. Take that world!

(From Wikipedia)

So, right now, it’s the perfect place to catch my breath before getting on another boat on my way to Ramea. Remind me why I’m doing this.

(Courtesy Newfoundland & Labrador)

Oh yeah, this’ll be fun.

Bartender to me – “Would you like that on the rocks?” Not funny.

08 Thursday Mar 2012

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Now, I’m not going to say I was feeling Like Leonardo in the movie. Nor was there, regrettably, a counterpart to Kate Winslet standing bravely by my side either. But, I was on a boat in the seas off Newfoundland and there was a lot of ice in the water. And it was in early April. Draw your own conclusions.

No, I was now leaving Fogo Island for the second part of this trip. Obviously being on this island meant I was going to have to take a boat ride back to the main and much larger island of Newfoundland proper. It was a ferry in actuality, a not very large one, and it took a couple of hours.

The ferry.

The Titanic – see any difference?

Earlier I wrote about the arctic ice pack that had come in and locked up the harbors. For a large ship as my hopefully sea- and ice-worthy ferry was, this would – should be an uneventful trip.

It’s pretty common knowledge that what you see of an iceberg above the surface of the sea is only 10% of it’s size. The remaining, evil, waiting to sink unsuspecting ships, part constitutes the other 90%. Remember, the ice pack, unlike a lot of doctors, is in!

An artists’ idea of an iceberg

So, me and a bunch of other intrepid travelers including their cars, (that’ll make the ship sink faster, won’t it?) drive on and take our places on the ferry. The driveway (?) pulls up, seals the then-open end of the ship and we shove off from shore. (Wait, I think I left my toothbrush at the B&B!)

I’m not normally apprehensive about sea travel. I’ve been on ferries before! But not through icebergs. Alright, they weren’t icebergs – more like a continuous seascape of floes, large, heavy, really white, and cold ice floes. And 90% of each one could not be seen! Yes, this was a steel hulled ship; and yes, it did this every year, but… Hey, wait, every year? How strong could this barge still be?

We plowed through the ice pack slowly; the floes grinding loudly against the hull; some so large that you could feel the ship shift from THEIR weight and mass. Oh, sweet mother… two more hours of this.

Not surprisingly, we made it safely. I got some good pictures. But throughout that whole trip, at no time did I ever want to climb up on the hull and yell “I’m king of the world!” Nor did I hear Celine Dion singing in the background. There is a God after all.

‘Scuse me, while I kiss the sky.

01 Thursday Mar 2012

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It’s probably a good bet Jimi Hendrix was not singing about the skies in Newfoundland and more’s the pity.

Nowhere have I seen a more dramatic skyscape than up on The Rock. Now you may be thinking, “It’s a sky. So what? Big deal!” Well, yeah, it is a big deal. It will show you textures, shapes, and tonalities like you’ve never seen and then in a moment vanish only to replaced by something completely different (and not in the Monty Python sense either).

Why is this sky different from all other skies you ask? In one sense, it’s very similar to Big Sky country in Montana. It’s high, it’s enormous, it appears to cover and touch everything you see, it goes on forever, and oftentimes it resembles a time lapse film. The Newfoundland sky is like a living motion picture – something is always going on and like a really good one, you won’t know the ending.

If it’s a sunny day, then the sea takes on an unbelievably rich and dark blue color. All the colors of the island jump out in blazing relief. And even on such a day, there can be fog which will give you a teasing glimpse of something beautiful only to obscure it moments later.

On a cloudy day then, of which there are many, the show really begins. Cloudy days in Newfoundland are not to be confused with a cloudy or overcast day anywhere else. After all, this is Newfoundland. Missing are the drab, plain-jane grey skies in the lower 48. Instead you’ll be witness to high drama. For the person who believes everything is black and white, they should be prepared for disappointment. These skies display some serious greys and a hell of a lot of variations. From light and medium greys to end-of-the-world dark greys. it’s all there. What makes it even that much more spectacular are the many textures. It’s not a flat sky by any stretch of the imagination; no, it’s a roiling, scudding, blustering, opinionated sky with its own intent.

Picture this: you’re out on the coast – the sea is a wind-whipped, nearly black surface complete with whitecaps; nearer than the horizon are brilliant white icebergs sitting in stark contrast to the dark, colorless sea and to the rich, cloud-laden thunder grey sky.This is the stuff of wonderful black & white photography and I’m really there.

So, go ahead and kiss this sky! I have.

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How did I get here?

17 Friday Feb 2012

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Sometime during this, my second trip to Newfoundland, I mused upon the events that led me there. Having previously written about how this whole idea came about, this is not to be a rehashing of that. I’ll probably indulge myself to do so though at some future time begging one’s patience. It’s also not how I physically got here – wrote about that as well in length. No, this is about a seminal event that did ultimately lead to this point in time.

A long time ago, (in a part of the country far, far away), I was sharing drinks with some college friends up in Boston. We were talking about careers and what we wanted to do with our lives. You know, the typical 3:00 AM college discussion. I was also trying to impress a young woman, Darla D., with what I thought was cool. I was an art major which is really, when you think of it, pretty cool, if not a non-starter on the economic scale. I wanted to paint. The underlying problem with that was I wasn’t very good. Being young and full of myself, I wasn’t about to admit it. What to do?

I blurted out, “I’m thinking of getting into photography.” Whoa! Where did that come from? Yes, I was trying to impress Darla D. and that did do it, but I had never thought of photography before. I would look at my fellow students with their cameras going around taking pictures of nothing and think, “Glad I’m not them, what dorks.” Truth is that as a teenage art major (Hmmm, that might be a good idea for a B-movie), we were all dorks already, but the photographers didn’t seem to care and were cool with that.

The more I thought about it, the more attractive the idea became. I have to believe my painting professor was relieved about the decision. So, I took some classes, worked with a photographer to learn more, and then courageously set out to wow the world. Uh huh, yeah, right. It wasn’t at all different from any other artistic discipline or business for that matter. Ya gotta pay yer dues.

So many years later, with any number of missteps and mistakes behind me and yet to come, I found myself in Newfoundland photographing this book. The big difference is that I’m that dork now, taking pictures of “nothing.”

I go, you go, Fogo!

31 Tuesday Jan 2012

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                                                                     From a more hopeful time.

Pardon the silliness of the title, but I’ll be off to Fogo Island on the north coast of Newfoundland. It, after arriving in St. John’s, will be the first stop in my second trip up there. It is there where I hope to find and start to photograph the newly realized core of my book, “Arn? Narn.”

Just what is that core? It’s what I had already known but not realized; then realized but didn’t understand; and now it was a growing awareness of the impact of the fishing moratorium and it’s subsequent long-term effects. It was as my Fogo Island innkeeper was to tell me, “What you see now will not be here in 10-12 years.” That wasn’t prescient; it was fact: one I was still to discover first hand.

Fogo Island is so uniquely Newfoundland. (Where else could you be greeted by The Mouse?) The name was originally Y del Fogo, meaning island of fire. There is speculation as to the origin of the name: perhaps it was the native Beothuk’s (now extinct) campfires or multiple forest fires, but no one is certain.

The island supported itself solely on fishing as had the entire province. Now it was suffering the same fate as that of the larger “mainland” island. True, it had the annual Brimstone Head Folk festival each summer on Brimstone Head, (reputed by the Flat Earth Society to be one of the four corners of the earth!) but that was in early August for only a few days. A week before that is the Ethridge Point Seaside Festival in Joe Batt’s Arm. These bring some tourists in but for a short time, not enough to make much of a difference.

I was to be here for nearly a week in which I would be able to roam and photograph across the island, talk with people directly, and get a better feel for this environment. I would learn that Fogo was the main outport/town on Fogo Island – do not confuse the two. Fogo (the town) is joined by the communities of Joe Batt’s Arm, Seldom, Little Seldom, Tilting, Barr’d Islands, and Stag Harbour. In 2006 they all came together to form the Town of Fogo, while retaining their individual personalities. More to come on Fogo soon.

I’m a real nowhere man…

27 Friday Jan 2012

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Let me say it right up front – I like being “nowhere.” No, not just sitting around doing nothing, but being somewhere that doesn’t look or feel like anything else and has no particular name. In other words, nowhere.

In Newfoundland, there is plenty of nowhere and that’s a really good thing. There is so much good stuff there that if it were named or claimed, it wouldn’t be nowhere. That said, what does it mean?

Simply stated, there is so much land between formal towns and/or outports that is not settled or built upon, that is virtually untouched and untrod. It is glorious in it’s natural state. No malls, no convenient stores, nothing. As I said, glorious. And glorious in its isolation.

And where I’m going on this second trip to Newfoundland, I’ll be traveling through a lot of nowhere before I get somewhere and I couldn’t be happier. As a photographer, it’s very rare that we get to visit land unsullied by power lines, billboards, and visitor centers. This is land one doesn’t so much visit as experience. Nothing can prepare you for it. It is not postcard pretty in the traditional sense. Rather, it has a raw, vital beauty. Not the beauty say of a New England fall, but the unyielding beauty of a land defying commerce and compromise.

In the west, there are mountains, lakes, fjords, and caribou. Everywhere, there are bogs, moose, streams, and birches. And everything, every thing is informed by the sea. Oh, the sea. It is the lifeblood of the island even though its bounty has long been gone. It is in the DNA of the people and the culture. It is that that has helped me to decide where to go.

In a song by the Newfoundland group Great Big Sea, they sing: “There is no place quite like this place…”. They got that right.

Newfoundland is an island, about the same size as the state of Tennessee. But where I’ll be going to photograph this time are two islands off the coasts of Newfoundland – Fogo Island and Ramea: two very different islands sharing a similar story but ultimately with dissimilar outcomes: almost nowhere on the map, but home for a few hopeful and determined people.

Passport, please.

24 Tuesday Jan 2012

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Yup, I was going back to Newfoundland. Was I upset by this? Hell, no. I couldn’t wait and this time it was to be for three whole weeks, not two as in the previous year. And my passport was still current.

While I had to do a lot of research and planning for the first trip, this would be easier to implement. All that remained to plan was to map out where I wanted to go shoot since I now knew what the core of the story was to be.

During the first trip while I had learned about the fishing industry being decimated and its’ inestimable damage, I hadn’t realized then that that was the story, the core for which I was looking. Now, armed with that knowledge, I was better prepared to shoot with a lot more intention and focus.

Returning to one of the original “crime scenes” of my first trip (visiting with my Newfoundland photographer friend Randy), I was able to map out precisely where I needed to go. I also determined that I needed to spend more time in fewer locations to get better steeped in that particular area. With Randy’s guidance, I would be spending most of my time on two islands – one on the north coast, the other on the south coast. Travel time itself on the island would cost me a minimum of four days including ferry travel. This would be different indeed from my first journey there.

During this upcoming trip, I would become more intimately familiar with the legendary Newfoundland hospitality and generosity, homemade wine, moose burgers, and kitchen parties. And it wouldn’t stop there.

Damn… oh, well.

20 Friday Jan 2012

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One of the nice things about being a photographer is that as you develop your film and make proof sheets, you get to relive the entire experience… but from afar in time and distance. Photographs you don’t remember taking (hopefully this is not an age-related issue) are revealed and you now see for real what you thought you originally saw.

So, with many rolls of film to process and proof, I set about to see if any of it made sense.  (Sidebar – as I write this, Kodak, who helped out tremendously with a generous grant of film for this book, has sadly filed for bankruptcy.) This was going to take some time, but as it progressed, I would be able to see it taking shape or so I had hoped. This would be interesting. From the negatives I developed, I could see that my cameras all worked flawlessly. That’s a plus. From the proof sheets, I could see all were in focus. Plus #2. We’re on a roll now.

Several months and a lot of hours later and many gallons of photo chemicals and numerous sheets of photographic paper, I saw the results. My intention was to go up there and find and photograph a culture isolated by geography but still connected to the world. Got that and in spades. Plus #3. But, it wasn’t right.

The pictures were good. They conveyed the isolation I was seeking. But as I looked at them repeatedly, I came to the realization that there was no core to them, no story, no reason for being. They could be little more than Bruce’s Wonderful Trip to Newfoundland. If there was a story to be told, this didn’t do it. All the planning, research, and actual work had not produced what I wanted.

However, not seeing what you were after can often lead to learning what you need. These photographs were good and could be used… along with others yet to be taken. I needed to go back.

In the rearview mirror…figuratively.

17 Tuesday Jan 2012

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A sportscaster once said of his departure from ESPN’s Bristol, Connecticut studio that the best thing about working there was seeing it in his rearview mirror. That is exactly the opposite of how I felt as I prepared to return home after two incredible weeks in Newfoundland. I wished it were still before me through the car’s windshield.

Those two weeks of traveling and photographing the people and the land had been an unbelievably transformative experience for me. As I got ready to leave, I was filled with joy, sadness, laughter, music, new knowledge and wisdom, cod and scrunchions, caribou, and the anticipation of seeing what I had photographed. Since this was shot on black and white film, I didn’t have the immediate luxury and instant gratification of digital photography. I had much work in front of me and several months in the darkroom before I knew what I had.

As I write this, looking at my notes, I see that I was already feeling a need to return…and I hadn’t even left yet. I was leaving new friends and a place that felt more like home than any other place I’d ever been. If I could, I would most definitely return. Maybe Thomas Wolfe had it wrong: maybe you can go home again.

What I really, really wanted…

05 Thursday Jan 2012

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At this point, I’d been on the not-so-tropical island of Newfoundland photographing for nearly two weeks and traveling well-over 3,500 miles while doing so. Yet, laying underneath in the psychic morass known as my mind was the small, festering question as to whether or not I had achieved that for which I had come. If I didn’t, I could not simply return and re-photograph it; I would never see it again with the freshness and the mystery first experienced. I could only hope that I did it honestly and the project justice. These are just some of the fears photographers have while attempting such an endeavor as this.

Shooting it on film meant that I was not going to know what I had until all the film, some 3,000 exposures in all, was processed and proofed. There was no deadline imposed other than the urgency I felt wanting to see what was there. Many hours in the darkroom awaited me. This is not like waiting for the envelope to be read at an awards banquet and the outcome announced quickly. It would only be revealed in multiples of 12-36 exposures at a time. In this case, it was to be like 3,000 cliff-hangers in a Saturday morning serial. Does Pauline get rescued from the railroad tracks? Probably. Does Flash escape the clutches of the evil Ming the Merciless? Oh, we hope so. Yes, that was what it was like. I was going to have to keep processing the film and proofing it before I was able to see exactly what was there. There were going to be many moments of truth before me.

I had gone up to Newfoundland to explore, photograph, learn, and understand isolation in a Western culture. There aren’t too many inhabited places in the western hemisphere that fill that bill, but Newfoundland did. So I got that part right. But it was far from certain if I had succeeded with the photography. There were still a few more days in which I’d be photographing before I left for home and the work now in front of me. The really lame photographers joke fits perfectly here: I was going to have to see what developed.

Lobsters and a screw cap.

15 Thursday Dec 2011

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On the western coast of Newfoundland, I drive through such towns as Cow Head, Sally’s Cove, Three Mile Rock, (not to be confused with the atomic town in Pennsylvania), and Spudgels Cove. (Who was Spudgels that he was important enough to have a cove named after him?) Each one of these has it’s own personality waiting to be discovered by an intrepid traveler such as me. But not now as I’m on a quest. I’ve learned fresh lobster can be had inexpensively here. I make a short stop to see The Arches Provincial Park. This is a natural rock arch formation acting as a gateway to the ocean. I think however, most people probably just go around it to get there. But it does form a wonderful backdrop for new photographs.

The sea is starting to kick up into what will develop on the next day into a pretty fierce storm. Unfortunately, most of the lobster traps on the western coast will be lost.

But for this day, the lobstermen are making the most of their efforts. No longer permitted to fish for cod, they’ve turned to lobstering and crabbing. The lobstering season is very short, lasting only 5-6 weeks. In this time, the lobstermen will catch enough to deliver to the fishery and also help feed their family throughout the year. However, according to the lobstermen, eating lobster all year long gets old fast. When asked what they do the rest of the year, his reply was, “Well, we just —- around.” OK, sounds good. But in the meantime, I’m told if I go down to the fishery which is conveniently located near the cabin in which I’m staying, they’ll cook me up some lobsters fresh and really cheap. This is getting better all the time.

Down to the fishery I go and place my gluttonous order of two(!) lobsters to be picked up at 7:00 PM. Back to the cabin, drop off my equipment, get a bottle of wine from the market, and then pick up my lobsters. I go to the counter and pick up my dinner and am charged the princely sum of $ 11.00! Cooked and ready to eat! And the wine has a screw cap! I’m in heaven.

Kevin Spacey slept here.

06 Tuesday Dec 2011

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Scene from “The Shipping News”

There are those who believe that close proximity to fame will allow that very same fame to rub off on them. About all that accrues from these multiple degrees of separation is that one could say so-and-so slept here and well, so did they. What else could explain the countless number of roadside signs declaring that “George Washington slept here.”? Who cares? If the signs are to be believed, he was a randy father of our country and nothing much seems to have changed over the course of our history.

That stated, I slept where Kevin Spacey did, really and not intentionally, really. I walked and drove around the same places he did. And yet I am no more famous for doing so. (But then, neither is he.) However, where we both slept (not at the same time!) was on the Bonavista Peninsula, on the eastern side of Newfoundland: he, to film the movie adaptation of E. Annie Proulx’s book “The Shipping News”; me, to continue shooting what was to become “Arn? Narn.”.

A good portion of the film was shot on the Bonavista Peninsula. It, like all of Newfoundland, boasts many outports with such names as Birchy Cove, New and Old Bonaventure (you takes yer choice), and Sweet Bay. The dock shown here, typical of an outport, was used in the film in an important scene featuring a boat alleged to be “Hitler’s Yacht.” Go figure.

As I started “Arn? Narn.”, I was drawn to the outports. They, because of their importance to fishing and the survival of the province, were at once the living history of Newfoundland and its future and it was in them l was to learn what the core of my book was to be. But not yet, and not for sometime.

Oh no! My shoes don’t match the bag!

12 Wednesday Oct 2011

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Everyone knows travel has become increasingly difficult. I wouldn’t be surprised that if before long, you’ll have to stand before a painted silhouette of a person to make sure you’re tall enough to board your flight.

The logistics of traveling with a large amount of photographic equipment presented its own unique issues. It’s not a good idea to send it through with your luggage – you might not ever see it again or worse, have to claim it at an airport in Wyoming. How does one carry that much on the plane? Nothing I had would accomplish its safe passage to Newfoundland. I needed a special case that would hold four cameras, many lenses and accessories. (I had already determined I would ship the tripod ahead along with film.) Oh, and it had to fit either under the seat or in the bulkhead. Yeah, right.

Looking back, I can’t believe the amount of research I did on camera bags: a bag or case that would meet my peculiar requirements. A back pack might have worked, but then I’d be spending the whole trip at a chiropractor. A soft bag would not work either. Going online showed me the ridiculous number of choices in styles, colors and sizes available. I knew what kind of planes I’d be on, so I could find the maximum sizes allowed. This enabled me to narrow down the choices quickly. Finally I made my choice – a rolling bag with handle, cleverly disguised to look like real luggage that would actually hold everything and fit in the plane.

Next: clothing because even if my shoes didn’t match my new bag, at least I’d be warm.

In which our intrepid hero reaches out…

29 Thursday Sep 2011

Posted by in Discovery, Newfoundland, Observations, Photography, Travel

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Confession – I didn’t know anyone in Newfoundland, much less anyone who ever went there. I needed someone whose feet were on the ground with whom I could bounce ideas off of and ask numerous yet probably meaningless questions.

Back to the internet and a search for photographers in Newfoundland. And there were more than a few. Who to choose? Throwing a psychic dart was as good as any other method and toss it I did.

It fortuitously landed on a photographer who has since become a friend and a guide to all things Newfoundland. Screwing up my courage, I dialed his number and asked to speak with him. With typical Newfoundland hospitality (more on this in later entries), he answered all my questions and agreed to help me with any new ones. It was likely more than he bargained for. He was also amenable to meeting when I eventually got there.

Without his and his wife’s guidance, I might still be wading about in bogs evading a rutting moose. From his direction, I learned that I better ship (thank you FedEx!) my film up there as there was no source for the amount I needed. That alone made him a very valuable connection. He also suggested I not drive out in the countryside at night as those same moose can prove to be impediments to a cars’ forward progress. I would like to think he was just responding to a fellow photographer, but it was more likely the Newfoundland temperament.

So, one friend made and many miles to go before I even start to shoot. And now comes what was really a fun part, I had to figure out the logistics of a two week trip where I wouldn’t spend more than two nights in any location.

The learning curve was about to begin.