The Longest Five Hours of My Life

Deep sea fishing in Texas! Could there be a better way to cap a week in Brownsville?

As I stood on the dock, smelling the sea air, I found myself thinking about Hemmingway and all those other mega-man types. Yup. We were going out in a boat to outsmart some fish.

The sailor guy, the one in the picture, appeared and began speaking with a very serious tone: "We are looking at six foot to eight foot waves out there. The captain wanted me to tell you all very clearly," (here he paused for effect and waited until the gathered tourists stopped their jolly chatting and gave him their complete attention.) "If anyone wants to go another day, that's okay."

All of us, particularly the men, looked at one another, seeing who would be the first to say "uncle." I had sea bands on. I had taken a Dramamine. I examined my fellow passengers, a slight sneer on my spirit, wondering who would be the first to puke.

"It doesn't matter how much Dramamine you've taken," said the sailor guy. Was he reading my mind? "Some of you ARE going to get sick. If you are going to puke don't puke in the bathroom. Don't puke in the cabin. Puke on the deck or over the rail. The fish don't mind the extra food."

A titter of slightly nervous laughter.

The sailor guy looked us over and asked one last time very seriously if anyone wanted to leave. No one did. So we got on.

The first thirty five seconds weren't too bad. My stomach felt fine. About three minutes into this five hour trip, I started to sweat. My jacket was too hot. I took it off. My beloved Tilley hat was choking me. I took it off. My stomach started feeling ominiously unhappy.

My wife sat in her seat, a bemused expression on her face, with one leg casually braced against a post. She was reading a newspaper and quietly putting the articles of clothing I was discarding away.

I exchanged glances with the other guys: some taking an extended Spring Break, they had boarded with loud talk and much manly backslapping. They were all looking decidedly green. And we weren't even on the big water yet.

The boat went up...way up...and then down....very fast. The boat seemed about the size of a canoe in the midst of an angry Pacific ocean. Up and down. Up and down. I checked my watch. About fifteen minutes had passed. The scent of diesel smoke came into the cabin. A woman groaned and lay down flat on the bench. I tried to think of something else I could take off without getting arrested. Did the cabin have to be so damn hot? The sailor guy was out back puffing on a cigarette as he cut up fish for bait. Both scents assailed me at the same time.

My wife continued to read her newspaper. I considered telling her that it probably wouldn't be a good thing for her to be looking down while the ship rocked back and forth and up and down and in several directions that have no name. But she didn't look like she needed any advice from me.

It felt like there was a fist in my stomach, clenching and unclenching. Sweat broke out on my forehead and as the boat rose and fell over and over again, I felt my stomach move in the opposite direction. I was afraid that I would lose in my "which guy is gonna puke first?" lottery.

I needed fresh air. I needed sea spray. I needed wind on my face. I had mostly convinced myself that if I could just make it outside, my abject misery would be ended. But a couple of other people had aleady tried getting down the aisle without much success. Think of the wildest carnival ride you've ever been on. How long did it last? Three mintues? This went on for five hours.

I made it outside and with the sea spray coating my glasses with a bunch of soapy filmy crap, I settled down onto a hard steel bench with the ship going up and down...up and down...up and...well you get the idea.

A guy beside me with a huge panther tattoo on his arm told me it was like riding a horse. I just had to go with the flow. "Flow" was the wrong word -- and I stood up by the railing. I looked back and saw the sailor guy cutting fish with gusto, hacking heads off while he puffed away on a cigarette.

I could feel the eyes of the other guys on me. They were all waiting to see who would cave first. So I leaned over the railing like I was examining something and fed the fish. It was the first of many times that I fed them. As time progressed, I really didn't care who saw me or heard me. It really didn't matter.

My wife was happily catching fish with complete indifference and a bemused expression on her face each time she looked at me. The panther tattoo guy was next on the railing (a thing that gave me perverse pleasure. I so wanted to tell him it was like riding a horse) and with loud abandon, he let fly.

This made me sick. Again. And again. I won't tell you about all the details. The set some bait at my feet. That made me sick. I had to go to the washroom...but it was so foul smelling in there that I put off the trip until I thought I could hold my breath for an unreasonably long time. (I was wrong.) Many things made me sick.

My wife asked me if I was going to take her picture with a fish she'd caught. I did. Here it is.

At first I was nonplussed by the complete insensitivty of the request. Couldn't she see I was in the seventh level of Hell?

But I tottered back to the cabin, got my camera and took the stupid picture.

Big deal. She caught a fish. Great.

She asked me if I was going to try. I did. I caught a fish. Big deal. I puked again.

I went to take my camera back to the safety of its bag when the boat hit an enormous wave. I watched in dull horror as the camera slipped from my nerveless fingers and crashed against the steel floor. Later I would find out that the auto focus function of that lens had been ruined.

This means that I will be hitting New Orleans with only my telephoto in a few days. Ah well...

When I got off the boat onto land, all I could do was thank God for delivering me once again. Yeah yeah...I know this post doesn't have anything to do with Photoshop or photography. But I thought I should warn each and every one of you that if you are contemplating going out on a wee itty bitty boat onto eight or nine foot windswept seas...you need to RUN in the opposite direction. Save yourself and your camera. Your dignity will hang in mangled moaning shreds around you before the freaking five hours are up.

Next stop, N'awlins.

With a telephoto.

Geez.

They're Coming for You, Barbara

There's something about cemetaries, isn't there? For photographers they offer some obvious advantages: the subjects aren't going anywhere, there's lots of drama. Let's face it: it's interesting to see what relatives have done and had to say about their dear departed.

In the middle of Brownsville is one of those cemetaries. It's in one of the seedier parts of the city but we were lured there by the promise of really old graves.

There are old graves here. Some of them date back to the civil war.

I took the image above this afternoon and I was struck by the oddness of the little angel. It stands there year after year over top of a grave that really looks forgotten. Here's a thought about composition: when photographing statues you either have to go with little parts of the whole "picture" or, if it serves the graphic better, you can put the image into context. ('Context' is the fifty dollar way of saying "where the thing was.")

I knew the picture was here somewhere. I took a number of pictures of this little angel, (ALWAYS take a ton of pictures of something you KNOW you are going to use. It's digital. Relax. What doesn't work can be deleted) close ups as well as long views. Nothing was working when I got it back onto my Photoshop screen until I put the little angel into her own context. The image is much stronger for the background context.

The statue to the above is a good example of how to use a close-up of a statue instead of the whole thing. There are three main components to the graphic: the woman, the cross and her hand gently drawing the cross close to her.

The actual statue is fairly heavily time worn so I needed to take some time to restore parts of her face and smooth out her hand a little.

The final touch was turning the picture into a black and white graphic and actually adding grain. Why make that decision? A couple of reasons: the grain masks some of the rougher areas of the statue. It also ages the graphic quite nicely. There are a couple of ways to easily add grain without going overboard.

The first is to make a copy of your graphic, add as much grain as you like (I use Exposure by Alien Skin, but you can easily add grain with some of the brushes already included with Photoshop) and then FADE the OPACITY so that the grain is more gently added.

The second method is to add grain and then play around with the Blending Modes. Try increasing the Contrast and then doing an Overlay Blend.

When taking pictures on a grey day -- like today in Brownsville -- you will find that your Dodge and Burn tools are your best friends. Give them about 50% power and move gently over your graphic to increase shadow and lighten areas where the graphic is too dark.

When photographing in cemetaries, just keep one eye peeled for shambling zombie types clawing their way out of the ground. Just in case...

Howdy from Brownsville!

"No hyperbole is too big for Texas," observed my wife. I had to laugh. The signs are big. The stores are big. Everything is BIG here. And it's hot! We left Edmonton yesterday morning in weather where we could see our breath and arrived here to temperatures of 26C (that's over 80 degrees for you Americans...)

After exploring Texas for a considerable period of time, we finally found our temporary home. We were up and out this morning. I have to tell you, folks, I LOVE travelling. There's something about being in a place I've never been before in a culture I've never encountered that makes the whole world sparkle.

We met another Canadian couple this morning. They've been here for three weeks. Expecting a raft of information, we asked them what they'd done. They replied that they have spent a lot of time around the pool. And they go grocery shopping. Three WEEKS? That isn't travelling, folks. That's existing in a warmer place.

We were on our way to a place we thought would be a wonderful experience. Last night I saw an ad for a Texas Gun Sale and Show in nearby Pharr. What can be more of a cultural trip than a GUN SHOW IN TEXAS?

Along the way we saw the Big Red Barn. It's called the Big Red Barn because it is a Big Red Barn. Here they advertise in a BIG sign that they sell cards. But the sign on the door said they were out of cards, even though they were open.

A card shop that is out of cards was something that demanded a picture. But the image had some very specific problems: the doorway with the "we're out of cards" sign was in the shadow and the BIG sign advertising LOTS of cards for sale was weatherworn, faded and in bright light.

It's always a good idea to pre-plan what you are going to do with a photo before you take it. I decided to focus on the small hand-done sign on the door and manually darken the big sign later. This is exactly what I did. I left the darkening on the big sign fairly rough since that makes it look like weather.

We were finally on the road to the gun show when we saw something that made us cross two lanes of traffic and pull into the driveway of a closed business. It was a police car from another era. It looked like it had been "shot up pretty good" and it demanded a picture.

I knew from the instant I took the picture what I wanted to do with it. It was going to be turned into a grainy 1950's style photo. I used Alien Skin's Exposure and a desaturation brush. I copied the original picture and put it under the black and white one. I reduced the opactiy of the top layer JUST enough to give it some textured color and then manually added some more grain.

We got back on the road to the Saxet (which is "Texas" spelled backward, clever, huh?) Gun Show.

I'll be honest here: I really expected to see a bunch of rusty pick up trucks, inbred Hillbillies and back wood survivalist/conspiracy theory types. But there were all kinds of people there. Guys in business suits, Mom, Dad and the kids and only a few creepy guys with dark suspicious eyes. I was already thinking about the great pics I was going to get.

We got to the front desk and the guy eyed by backpack. "You got a camera in there? Or a loaded firearm?"

"Yup. Got me an eVolt 500 with a smoking telephoto," I said, wishing I chewed tobacco so I could spit confidently into a spitoon.

They took my bag away, apparenly having no sense of humour about they whole thing. The organizer explained that they take a beating in the press.

If this were a travel blog, I'd be telling you about what I saw in there and the people I met. They were classics and made for a delightful travel experience. This is the exact reason we travel, my wife and I. Pictures or no pictures it was an utterly delightful afternoon.

I had to settle for pictures taken outside. Since there was nothing interesting about the building, I chose to take some pictures of the large sign advertising the gun show. I saw a Stop sign that could be framed by light poles and some of the other signs.

I had to sigh as I looked at this shot. It's not particularly interesting. But I plan to work on it later and see if I can make something of it.

If I come up with anything...or any of you out there in the non-Brownsville world have any ideas...why not let me know what they are? There's something in this image. But right now it's kinda late and I need to go to bed.

Adios, amigos.

Hello, Brownsville!

“So do you want to go to Brownsville?” my wife asks.

“Sure,” I reply. “What’s in Brownsville?”

“I have no idea.It's in Texas. It’s close to the border with Mexico,” she tells me. “The travel agent says it’s a great destination.”

She’s on the phone, so I don’t actually see her shrug. But I know she’s shrugging.

We've taken a lot of trips, my wife and I. We always have a great time. There's always something to see. Something to do...and ALWAYS something to photograph.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go to Brownsville.”

That conversation took place months ago. Now I am in my “Happy Place.” This is one of my favorite parts of a trip. I call it “The-Week-Before-We-Leave” part. My spirit is constantly aware of having something to look forward to and my mind is in a convivial state of speculation about who we’ll meet, the places we’ll go and of course the pictures we’ll take. (I don’t suppose you have any idea how long I have tried to work the word ‘convivial’ into a blog…)

It’s all about the pictures.

I go back to a snapshot taken of two gondoliers in Venice laughing as they share a joke – and I can smell the risotto.

We were in New York City last year for St. Patrick’s Day and spent the whole day photographing the parade. When I look at my picture of a cold cop waiting for the parade to start, I’m there again.


When I see my shot of a whale tail dripping water, I am on a whale watch boat in Maui surrounded by people going “ooooooo” and “ahhhhh” and “Tommy get the HELL away from the rail. You’re going to fall in.”

We’ve talked in this blog about how important it is that the pictures you take make for a visual experience; that in some way you can use the picture to share what it was like to be there.

Here are some tips for making those experiences crystal clear recollections once you get home and begin the happy task of working on your pictures.

1) My wife has the annoying habit of stopping in the midst of travel, plunking herself down on a convenient curb or bench and writing. She makes notes about where she was and what she saw so she can refer to them later. I invariably find myself asking her where we were when certain things happened. She will sigh, open her notebook, and after a brief lecture about how I really should be keeping my own notes, she’ll tell me.

2) Don’t waste your time transcribing what the plaque says or taking down information from one of those tourist signs. You have a digital camera. Take a picture of the plaque or sign. It’s faster and more accurate and it doesn’t slow you down.

3) Take LOTS of pictures. Don’t always try to compose the perfect shot. You’re going to miss some of the cool stuff that way. Take the best picture you can. But take LOTS of pictures. You can crop to a precise Rule of Thirds once you’re home. You can touch up things with Photoshop. And if your picture stinks, you can delete it.

4) Remember that if you are planning to sell your shots, you need to be very careful not to include any of the rapidly expanding subjects that are considered copyright infringements: trade names, people’s faces, corporate logos on buildings or t-shirts and many more. If you are one of those brave souls who snaps pictures of people you don’t know, ensure you take model releases.

5) When you’ve taken your artistic shot, take a broad angle documentary shot. What do I mean? Let’s say that you have photographed the hand of a statue holding a gun. You need to take a picture of the WHOLE statue so you can refer to it when you’re back home wading through the thousands of pictures you’ve taken. This comes in handy. Honest.

So I’m going to check my camera bag and try to figure out what gear is going with me and what’s staying home.

I'll be posting from Brownsville. You guys want to come along?