Faces of the Parade

It's become another yearly thing, photographing the Neillsville Homecoming parade.....  Just like the first day of school, I like to have the camera at the ready for what I know will be some great photographic opportunities-as I like to say, a "target rich environment."   The expressions of the kids, happy to be at the parade, maybe happier to be out of school early, are usually priceless.  Walking down the street from school, with camera and long lens in hand, I'm everyones best friend it seems.  There are plenty of "smile, say cheese" shots (which usually are the worst) but my favorites are the casual and documentary style ones of the spectators watching the parade in anticipation.  Sometimes along the way, I manage some nice portraits as well....surprises in a way, but ones I like because I know just about every student sitting on the curb. 

Of course, my best are always the images that I feel catch the personality of the person, and even though most of them are young, by now, a few years in my classroom, I see that personality come out frequently.  Great kids, and as always, fun for me to photograph.

Aunt Carol

It was terribly sad news a day or so ago when I learned my Aunt Carol had passed away from cancer.   She lived in Phoenix  with her husband Jerry, where they had been for many years after leaving Wisconsin.  I'm the oldest child of oldest children in my parents families, so my aunts and uncles were not a lot older than I.  As a kid, I grew up with them and we shared a lot of time together, even outside of family gatherings.

Aunt Carol was a middle child and always of a full spirit.  Of all of my Meurett Grandparents kids (six of them), she was by far the most fun loving and crazy with the greatest laugh.  She and Jerry lived in Wausau, then Manotowoc and then eventually made their home in Arizona, which meant I didn't see them often.  I grew up- school, job, family and spending time together with most of my aunts and uncles was limited to weddings, funerals and an occasional reunion.  Carol and Jerry would venture back once a year to visit and if my schedule wasn't too busy, we might connect.

When I started this blog, she was one of the first to become a "follower," which I didn't know for some time.  I'd find out from my mom that Carol liked some of my photographs and always enjoyed reading my little posts.  I guess she lurked on the sidelines and never posted comments.  She was cool and savvy enough to finally post her picture, (Admitting she was a "follower") which I included here.  It's a small pixelated image, but one I always loved seeing when I went to put new material online-I knew even though she was a thousand miles away, she still stayed connected.

The last time we were together was at cousins wedding and family get together two years ago.  We had a great time, all the aunts back together and I dragged them out to the trunk of a car to sample some of my home made wine.  It was a hit, and we laughed, talked smart and truly enjoyed the day.  It was a chance to catch up, to bring up the past and just be happy in the moment together.  That's the feeling that is was still in me when I learned of her passing and the one I'll hold onto the most.

There will be a memorial service of some kind in the weeks to come and at times I've not felt very comfortable at those kind of things.  Does anyone?  But I think if Aunt Carol had her way, (and she would) she'd want the great aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews to head out into the parking lot again, uncork a bottle or two of homemade wine and toast her- remember her laugh and enjoy the time together-that's what she'd do and it seems so fitting to celebrate her spirit.  RIP Aunt Carol.

Aunt Carol-one of my first Followers.  : )

Colour

Fall colour?  I always liked that spelling and I do have French blood in me, so there it is.  It was time-time to get out and make some fall pictures, not always an easy thing to do because haven't they all been done before?  So many times I resist those brilliant trees, the cascading leaves and the carpet of color underfoot because someone else has already made those photographs better than I.

I decided-no matter.....the camera would be tucked into my game vest while the shotgun was cradled in my arm and the lab running around in search of all good things only dogs can smell.  Yeah, I called it hunting this afternoon, but maybe not for birds, I just needed to be in the woods.  Tenley had just gotten married and the past couple days have been like a wedding hangover-so much effort and emotion had been spent that now some quiet reflective time was needed.  Maybe that was what I really was hunting for. 

Fall is my favorite time of year by far-it starts when the crows and blue jays become much more vocal in late August and the early ferns start turning yellow.  Something in me stirs, to use a cliche, (but true) and I look forward to the change of seasons.  It's a bit frantic in a way, for autumn is short and there are so many things pulling me every direction that I love to do and experience then.  The sight of full blown color, the smell which I wish one could bottle and the sound of shuffled leaves or flushed birds cures any and all things that stress a daily life.  So that is why the camera shot many more things than the gun and even when the game bag was empty, it couldn't have been a more successful hunt.  I hit the shutter with no regard for what anyone else may have ever taken a picture of-I was shooting for myself and what I liked.  I enjoyed the result, even if I'm the only one who ever sees these images- they are a gentle reminder that sometimes I just have to make pictures for myself, for no other reason and be okay with it.  These are my favorites from a couple days of wandering in the forest.

Gold Vault

Shadowland

Yellow Crown

Sandy Lane

Wedges Creek High Bank

Arboretum Maple

Trickle Creek in Arboretum

A New Year-First Day

Mr. O'Leary's 5th Graders

It's become a tradition for me-first day of school, in fact, first morning of the first day, I grab a camera, and stroll around the hall as kids are excitedly headed to their rooms.  At no other day in the school year, will they be settled into their desks so early...and so quietly.  Amazing.  For one day anyway.  I pop into some of the rooms and make a few pictures, maybe catch a teary parent in the hall of the younger ones and try not to miss the early childhood class as the "walking backpacks" go by holding the hands of a new teacher or aide. 

The window of opportunity is pretty short lived to get these shots, for by afternoon, and the usual sweltering temps inside the building this time of year, make the excitement of this first day, all but melt away to some degree.  In any regard, I love catching the smiles quickly for a few minutes, then head to my room to engage the silent high school students as they file into my class.  Not quite the same looks on their faces.

Miss Luebke and Friends

New Smelly Markers

Not-So-Shy

Ever Smilin Abby

Essential Supplies

Classroom Window Light

Not-So Excited to be Here

"I'm Ready!"

Salmon of the "Michi gami"

 "Soon after I embraced the sport of angling I became convinced that I should never be able to enjoy it if I had to rely on the cooperation of the fish."  Sparse Grey Hackle

 

Although I’ve spent a fair amount of time wetting a line in Lake Michi gami (Michigan) and a few of it’s tributaries in pursuit of King Salmon, I finally had a chance recently to get out in the open waters and really fish them.  Not that shore fishing isn’t real, as noted in earlier posts, I love the fall run, but something about being out, way out in the big water makes it feel more like big game fishing.  Good friend Kris Davis and I had been playing messaging tag all spring and summer it seemed in order to get me out on his beautiful boat in Kewaunee.  I cringed every time he’d contact me and tell me of the banner catches they’d had and for some reason or another I couldn’t take advantage of his invitations.

Finally the stars aligned and I could make it over while he spent a couple days on the water vacationing with his young kids (who are following in dads footsteps as skilled fishers it seems).  A quick trip To White Lake on the way over for an excellent mountain bike ride, then onto Kewaunee very early to make the 4 mile cruise out into the lake.  I know nothing of this deep water fishing, so Kris kindly started working on setting poles out at varying depths with all sorts of glowy lures and flashers. Me?  I just stayed out of the way and followed his directions of how to get line out without creating a tangled mess.  It’s a pretty amazing thing to see the rods out and somehow it all works to keep everything from criss-crossing and hopefully attractive to hungry fish.  The amount of gear this fishing requires is pretty staggering, but like all fishermen, it’s sometimes about just the name of the lure or superstitions of color, pattern or just the teeth marks of old battered baits.  Kris had no shortage of any of those.

Boats joining us out in the water looked like little red, green and white fireflies marching in the dark up and down a ridge of 150 foot water, averaging 45 to 55 degrees.  Apparently, everyone felt some fish may be lurking at those depths, while some could be shallow, while yet others in medium waters looking for food.  It didn’t make a lot of sense to me (yet) but Kris had all the bases covered.  Action was slow and soon the sunrise over the lake, (which I never tire of seeing) gave way to full daylight and a complete change-over of gear to new flashy lures.  Lines are pulled in, baits quickly changed (some “sure killers”) and set back out-a seemless system it seemed.  A bobbing planer board soon signaled “FISH ON!” which I learned causes all kinds of commotion in the boat and is about as exciting as it can be.  Hours watching the arching poles do nothing is quickly forgotten as Kris hands me the rod.  He had warned me about this pole, and I love his quote: “Ten yds per color x 6 colors = 60 yds plus 100' of leader 180' + 15 lbs of angry chinook salmon = sore arms every time!”  True words….I wondered if that fish would ever make it to the boat or if my arms would hold up.  He coached me on how to bring the fish up the “alley” formed by all the other lines and hopefully keep this determined fish from tangling gear.  It worked and soon the silver fish was home in the cooler.

It seems that when there is a lull in the action, (and this day the fish seemed to be on vacation), lures and presentations are at some point changed in that search for the perfect bait or set up.  Roasted garlic tuna placed into a bait to provide stink-um, was worth a try.  Yep it worked, and soon another very large fish was on-providing some huge runs of line, worrying me that the reel just might run out!  Sadly, after a long battle and about to be netted, the bruiser flipped his head at the start of another run and the bait landed empty beside the boat.  Dang!

We had noticed that the number of boats patrolling the waters had dwindled and most of the commercial charters long gone.  We kept at it for a while longer with the kids on board providing “entertainment.”  At some point we started bringing in lines and stowing gear and began the trek back to the harbor in the distance.  We had taken another fish during the day, so salmon filets would return home with me, one of my favorite fish to cook.  Kris was perhaps disappointed with the action this day, but I was just happy to be out on the water, and as he commented, fishing takes ones mind off work and all the other worries that seem to be left onshore when lowering the lures into the depths.  I found that to be very true and can’t wait for the next chance to feel the burn in the arms hear the call of “Fish on!”

 

Racing?

It’s been nearly a week since my both-footed jump back into mountain bike racing. “Racing?” Okay, well racing is like when it’s you against the other riders in the race-right? Point to point events are more like that, or maybe the weekend WORS races, but for me, in an endurance race, it was more survival in a way. Oh, nothing so dramatic- I would make it, and I’d live to ride another day, but an endurance event like the “Wausau 24” does have a much different feeling that a “normal race.”
We did have a four man team for the 12 hour fat bike -that sounded like fun, but a lack of other teams within that category forced a shuffle of our assets (riders) into 2 two man fatbike teams. That little change meant twice as many laps (as I planned) and guaranteed very little rest from 10:00am to 10:00pm. “Okay…I can do this”- besides, it means I’m done in the evening and can enjoy some welcome beverages with my team mates, not like the 24 hour folks who’ll be pounding the pedals all night into the following day.

Bike riders are not runners…there is a reason for that, but endurance races typically use a Le Man start-riders running a short distance in stiff bike shoes, usually getting passed by 12 year old twig girls, find their bikes and then are off, turning pedals instead and headed for singletrack. My partner Joe, being younger “volunteered” to start the race for us (whew…dodged a bullet there) and was soon engulfed in a cloud of dust threading his way though the field on lap one. We all had pre-ridden a lap the day before, and the Wausau 24 is a worthy course by mountain (and fatbike) standards. Plenty of singletrack and rock gardens, some double track to spin the legs out and a very tough climb about halfway through.

The butterflies gathering in the gut I remembered from years ago as I stood anxiously waiting in the transition area for Joe to return. We’d guessed around an hour + per lap, so about on cue, the new highly fashionable black “fat hyphen dot com” jersey appeared over the finishing rise and with a swift tag, I was off for my turn. Long distance racing plays funny games with your brain-and early in an event, ones mind is going much faster than the bike usually. “Oh-there’s a guy right ahead…I’m faster and will pull him in here soon.” Sometimes that plays out, sometimes they disappear over the next climb never to be seen again. Since everyone is in this thing for the long haul, there is a much more civil discourse out on the trail than in other events-if someone catches you, most are happy to pull over and let them pass, with a “go get ‘em!” and a “thanks bud!” as they go by and out of sight. For us on big bikes, we might also hear “Alright !-rock on fatties!” (talking about the bike, not us).

I ended up, as Joe mentioned I would, counting down the laps in my head. Yeah, we’d do five or six laps out here, so the game became one of checking off each section of memorable trail-“Only 4 more times thru this boulder field.” Or only 2 more “Ho Chi Min da*m climbs!” Traffic sorts itself out after a few laps and it becomes quieter out there. The 24 hour solos are a sick breed, and would fly by with nary a word…I didn’t find that stuck up at all-they are just seriously focused or in a tiny world of survival, and I swear rarely notice other racers as they carve lap after lap. In the dark hours, it really becomes silent, the six hour racers are gone, so one usually has a lot of alone time.

Binking red LED lights appear in the darkness as other riders thread the trail ahead, and occasionally the ground around my bike would be lit up by an overtaking racer. A very surreal world. The only sound is gear changes and breathing and saying to myself- “only one lap to go.” Survival in these races isn’t always the pedaling part, but also that hour break between laps. You have to eat and have to drink and very quickly energy bars, bananas and Gu packs become a sickening necessity to pound down your gullet to make it though the next lap. A new mind game creeps in at that point-the “real food” one….where all I could think of is a burger or brat and cold beer. For now however, it was just working out during the first half of each lap, all the so-called “energy” sloshing around inside. Yuck.

As it ended up, our other 4 man teammates, Andy and Butch (who are bike animals-one of them on a singlespeed!) were a lap or two up on Joe and I and we had a 45 minute lead on 3rd place, so using our very best race delirious math skills, we’d determined that I’d not have to venture out for another lap nearing the 10:00pm finish time. At 10:01, Joe and a tide of another racers crossed the line to conclude the event. We’d keep our second place and represented the fat bike scene very well. The bikes handled this course superbly, slinging around tight twisty singletrack with ease and only the climbing sections hindering (me) during the laps. For myself, the event wasn’t so much about racing other riders- sure, we wanted to finish on the podium if we could to represent the fat bike category, but it was about fun, about pushing oneself (cliché, I know), but mostly about spending a weekend with friends and riding-riding with great effort and living to tell about it, to laugh about about it and be humbled by it-I may just have to do this all again!

The Prairie Fire Revisited

The renewing power of fire in nature cannot be understated and the other day I had a firsthand chance to witness it.  A few months ago, a controlled burn was used on a tall grass prairie established and maintained by close friends, Rick and Toni Sturtz.  They are caretakers of this plot of land, returning it to a native environment common to much of Wisconsin a hundred plus years ago.  In an age of habitat loss, it’s refreshing to see even a small gain in restoring what was once here.

 As a photographer, I think I need to tackle a project, a theme or body of work from time to time-just to force myself into something different.  Three graduate credits for a photo project will work too!  My idea was to return to this prairie I’d photographed during the fire, to take a close up view of it now that the black ash of the burned vegetation is swallowed up by new growth.  I drive or pedal by it every day it seems during the summer, but that’s not the same as walking among the Big Blue Stem, cone flowers and Bee Balm.  Of course, with a camera and extra lenses along, it also changes how I walk and what I’m seeing.

 With the sweltering days and humidity, it’s been pretty common to have ground fog in the morning and with the addition of some clouds, a beauty sunrise.  Photographers call it the “Golden Hour” for a reason, and once the sun climbs a few too many degrees in the sky that magic light becomes mundane.  The low fog on this morning added a mysterious quality to the landscape and the east sky didn’t disappoint.  I switched up lenses from time to time, wanting to capture the vastness of the prairie ( it’s just 35 acres or so, but the largest parcel of tall grass around here) with the wide angle and then sometimes a long lens to pull in the smallest detail of what is hidden here.   I’m no wildflower expert, so part of my shooting was just “collecting” images to identify later.  It’s amazing how much variety is really out in a prairie.

 Although some species of wildlife need and thrive in tall grass, many times, they stay hidden, but on this morning I caught fawn looking at me, looking at her.  “She” was hunkered down near a scrape pond, sunlight making her alert ears glow.  I managed a couple frames before a few steps too close sent her bounding high across the field.  I continued on, finding some interesting dew beaded spider webs, some Prairie Blazing Star, and Queen Anne’s Lace.  Along the way, other flowers were past their prime, flowering earlier in the summer to start off the season with a flourish of color.  It’ll be interesting to watch different species move to the forefront as the days shorten and temps cool.  Never a dull moment here. 

 The First Nations people living here long ago knew the importance of fire, just as mother nature always has in renewing and revitalizing some habitat.  I’m grateful to have such great stewards of the land just a few miles away and the opportunity take in, with all my senses (and camera) this unique and beautiful land.