These personal adventure stories are some of the strange happenings that have occurred to me over the many years of photography. There will no doubt be even more occurrences as I progress through life. I will share as many of these adventures as I can and hope that you find them as interesting as I have.

    Its 6:00 am and most any minute now the crisp cool Utah air will loose its chill as the morning sun begins its accent and bathes my subject in beautiful rich warm lighting. My subject is the Twin Towers of Hovenweep, an ancient Anasazi Indian ruin that is quite possibly well over 800 years old.

    The early morning lighting is almost covering the ruins as I peer through my viewfinder and just as I’m about to make the exposure, I hear the haunting wailing sounds of Ancient Indian chanting cutting through the still morning air. It seems as though I have been photographing all of my life, even though it has only been about the last 30 years or so. Perhaps that is attributed to my natural photographic eye. I have always admired the natural beauty of Florida’s vast sweeping landscapes, the pristine waterways and lakes throughout the southern and central part of the state as a kid growing up here. As a true “Florida Cracker”, I have enjoyed the outdoors all my life. Having been an avid skin and scuba diver, hunter, camper, boater and fisherman has instilled a deep-rooted appreciation for all of the aspects of these outdoors activities. I guess it comes to no wonder that my appreciation for this entire splendor has come full circle for the last 30 years. Photography to me is a way of life, a means of being able to continue seeking new places to explore and most importantly, to photograph it.

    The summer of 2002 I had the wonderful opportunity to spend three months out west camping and photographing in the southwest area of Colorado, known as the Four Corners region. I began my trip in the Rocky Mountain National Park for a couple of weeks, then moving southwest into Utah for several more weeks in both sections of Canyonlands and in Arches National Park. It wasn’t until I decide to make a side trip to Natural Bridges National Monument that I found an infatuation photographing one of the Park’s ancient Indian sites, Horsecollar ruins.

    I arrived at the high canyon overlook very early that still calm morning to take advantage of the warm color lighting. As I began photographing the ruins, I suddenly felt an unexplainable eerie presence. There were no other people around that early in the morning, just whoever and me! But I felt that something or someone was indeed present there with me. Having quickly passed that off as merely the effects of the cool morning air, a welcomed slight breeze appeared and I returned to the task of photographing the Indian ruins. I then began looking a bit closer at these ruins before me, wondering what it would have been like living in such small village as what these ruins represented.

    I moved on to other locations throughout that day but kept wondering about what had I felt that morning. I went to the visitor’s center later that day to obtain some information about some of the other Indian ruins in the area and was told of another ruin about a mile up the road in Mule Canyon. The next morning I hiked into Mule Canyon well before dawn to about where I was told these ruins should be. I wasn’t able to find the ruins at first. It wasn’t until my return hike back that I came upon an unusual looking log laying on the ground with a branch pointing to my left. I haven’t a clue as to why I stopped and looked up in the direction the branch was pointing, but I did, and there was the ruin, high above my head and up under a large overhang or alcove in the side of the canyon wall.

    Once again I felt this eerie presence, much like the same feeling as the morning before. After climbing up between some boulders to get up to the ruin, I just sat down on a large boulder. I didn’t photograph for about half an hour, I just sat there looking out from this ruin wondering what the scene before me would have looked like over 800 years ago. Was that giant boulder, larger than a car, lying in the bottom of Mule Canyon there or had it fallen from the opposite rim of the canyon? Was there an ample supply of water running through Mule Canyon to sustain living here? These were just some of my thoughts as I sat there looking out into the canyon.

    I moved a bit closer to one of the window or door openings in the ruin to look inside at what may have been a sleeping room or perhaps a storage room of some kind. As I studied how these Indians constructed this shelter I was amazed at the similarity of the construction methods and the fact that the wooden sticks over the opening were still intact. As I further explored this ruin, I began to wonder what life would have been like for these people. It is rather difficult to imagine just how primitive life could have been back then. I was saddened that those seeking artifacts had destroyed much of this ruin, yet very thankful that some it has remained intact and that I was not only able to find it, but to share this experience and photograph it.

    I believe that the events of the last two days was responsible for my sudden thirst of wanting to see more of these ancient ruins and learn about the culture of the Anasazi Indians. I then planned my camping and photographing agenda to include a side trip to Mesa Verde National park in Colorado. But I did however manage to make a day trip to a preserved historic Anasazi site and museum in Blanding Utah as well as photograph two other ruin sites. These sites were quite a distance and across a canyon to photograph, not up close and personal, as was the Mule Canyon site. There is something very magical about being able to be close enough to reach out and touch the nearly thousand-year-old stonework of these ancient people.

    After arriving at Mesa Verde National Park in late July, I found that a majority of the park was closed due to the threat of sudden lightning strikes causing fires to start up at a second’s notice. Chapin Mesa was the part of the Park that was closed off. This area contained the vast majority of the many truly magnificent ruins within Mesa Verde. There was however one ruin within the closed area that I was able to get a tour to. Spruce Tree House was truly worth the hassle of having to take the bus and a ranger guided tour in which to see this site. We were the first tour of the morning and therefore not having to deal with a great amount of people, other than our group, was a serious photographer’s gift. This site is very large in its overall size, some three stories high by today’s standards, and yet much smaller than many of the other sites within Chapin Mesa. A portion of my group and myself climbed down into one of the below ground sacred ceremonial chambers called a Kiva. This was a covered top kiva that was quite large and deep. There were about 15 of us that went down inside and there was room for more. This was another one of those eerie experiences that kind of raised the hairs on the back of your neck. To think that this once was an ancient Anasazi Indian religious ceremonial chamber that appears to be just as it was back around 1200 A.D.

    There were several other Mesa Verde sites in the Wetherill Mesa that I photographed from the high overlooks. Since I selected late afternoon light for these sites, I scheduled myself for two ranger guided tours, but was unable to do them due to lightning strikes that started fires.  These small fires closed the tours and that section of the park each afternoon for the remainder of my trip there. Summer is not the best time of year to visit Mesa Verde.

    Wanting, and seemingly needing, to see more Anasazi Indian ruins, I then traveled west to Hovenweep National Monument located in Utah, and a few other ruins located in southwestern Colorado. Here at Hovenweep I found a treasure trove of photographic possibilities. This was the place of my opening paragraph on the third morning photographing the Twin Towers in “Little Ruin Canyon”. “Little Ruin Canyon” has about 10 ancient ruins. All 10 sites are within respectable distances from your camera position providing for exceptionally great images given the right lighting conditions. The rim trail around Little Ruin Canyon is approximately 2 miles covering many angles of each of the ruins.

    The ruins of Hovenweep and other ruins in the area are not preserved, nor are they as large as those found in Mesa Verde. Many of these ruins were constructed on top of very large boulders and high up on the rim of the canyons. This is perhaps why preservation of these ruins is fruitless, as Mother Nature, erosion and gravity are constantly shifting the sand under these boulders, causing them to slide down into the canyon bottoms.

    Since I was camping in the Hovenweep campground, I was afforded 7 days of photography there and at several other ruins within easy traveling distance from the Park. The rich history here is well documented in many publications, one of which is “The Towers of Hovenweep”, by Ian Thompson. The more that I read of this ancient Indian culture, the more in tune I was in my photographing these ancient ruins. Hovenweep is a Paiute Indian word for “deserted valley”.

    Many strange events occurred to me while photographing here in Hovenweep, such as in my opening paragraph at the beginning of this article. The Indian chanting turned out to be a tape recording of an actual Navajo Indian medicine man played by his grandson each morning before he started work at the Park. Of course I did not realize this that morning that I heard it. To say that the hairs on the back of my neck stood out like a porcupine is an understatement. Just think of the timing and location of this event.

    I attempted many late afternoon lighting photo sessions at Hovenweep’s Castle, most of which made for some great sunsets. I was afforded only one afternoon with perfect lighting. Most afternoons the lighting was covered up by large thunderstorms. On one such attempt and after making several sunset images of the Castle, I was walking back to my truck in the near darken trail, when I felt a presence of someone or something following behind me. After several stops, back checking my trail and seeing nothing, I continued on to my truck.

    The next morning, on the very same trail back out to the Castle I found large cat tracks in the sand following in the same direction as my footprints the night before. I confirmed my findings with the park personnel and that there were indeed large mountain lions in the area.On another early morning photo session, my camera was set up on a ruin in the Holley Group of ancient ruins located just outside the Park. As I was waiting for just the right lighting conditions to occur, I was once again distracted by what I thought was someone or something behind my location. It’s one of those moments that we all have had, but for me they were becoming very frequent.

    I turned around looking back at the sun to see if there was anything there. Upon seeing that I was indeed alone, I turned back around to my camera and there suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, a rainbow arching and landing right next to my subject. Once again, the ole hairs on the back of my neck stood out, but I was awarded a wonderful image that will stay forever in my memory.

    These memories and moments in time shall forever move forward in my thoughts, as I reminisce some of my most memorial times photographing out west, especially the fascinating Anasazi culture. As I sit here writing this article, I’m listening to “Spiritland”, Musical Visions from the Southwest by John Huling, one of 3 musical CD’s of Ancient American flutes combined with present day musical instruments. 

    On my last evening at Hovenweep, I pondered some about these strange events that occurred to me while photographing these ancient ruins. Where these events some kind of an omen, and if so, what is to become of it? That night I made myself a solemn promise to once again return to the Four Corners Region and see what’s in store for me the next time. 

    As I sit here in my camper, playing these musical CD’s, listening to the sounds of the American Southwest Indian flutes and sipping a cup of coffee, I am contemplating the next morning’s photo session in the “Land of the Ancient Ones, The Anasazi.”

    This cool spring morning of early April ‘96’ started out very peaceful and quiet, as I glided along the fog-shrouded riverbanks of the Withlacoochee River. This was the start of a four-day solo canoe trip that covered some 30 miles of the beautiful pristine river.

    The Withlacoochee begins just outside the western boundaries of the Disney World complex near Orlando, Florida. This area is known as the Green Swamp, wide and vast covering many square miles. The Green Swamp finally gives way to a narrow channel forming the headwaters of this river, which begins it’s trek westward away from and then turns north, paralleling the edges of the swamp. The average width of the upper section of this nearly 85-mile long river is only 20 to 50 feet. Some areas of this section of this river merges into the edges of the Green Swamp during periods of high water, making navigating somewhat difficult if you are not careful. It is very easy to become disorientated and get lost, as everything looks the same. There are generally no visual markers or trails to navigate by. I always carry a USGS topographic map of any area that I have never been to before and a compass to at least somewhat orientated myself. The main visual clue is to watch the direction of water flow when navigating this section of the river.

     This trip was to photograph, in large format 4x5 B&W, the beautiful landscape of the riverbanks and the river itself with the twisting turns and high banks with its large overhanging Maple and Oak trees. Some areas of this upper section of the river have banks as high as 20 feet above the water level at this time of year.The roots systems of these trees are washed free of soil exposing the twisting, tangling roots which really adds some additional interest to my B&W images.                                                      The first day had me stopping often and making images nearly every quarter mile or so as I headed downstream towards my first night’s destinations. I like to stop and set up my campsite early, generally around 3 PM. This gives me plenty of time to set up my small tent, gather firewood and scout the area for late afternoon images. The first night was uneventful, giving way to the sounds of the night and the creatures that inhabit it.

     The next morning had me up early, fire stoked up and coffee brewing. No time for breakfast, just a couple of donuts and several cups of coffee while photographing the morning light around my campsite. Soon I was off again heading downstream, stopping often once again and making images of the riverscapes. The second day also had me pulling over to set up camp in the early afternoon. The evening pot of coffee was on the fire brewing while I scouted the area for additional late afternoon images. As I rounded the corner of a large stand of palmettos, there stood in front of me, not thirty yards away, was a rather very large, black longhaired wild hog. This 300-pound plus beast definitely had European ancestry in him denoting the “Razorback Breed”. Long and lean, mean and ugly are these critters of the Florida swamps. Fortunately for me they have poor eyesight, but make up for that fact with a very good sense of smell. How they can smell anything other than themselves beats me, but they manage very well in that category. Once again, fortunately for me the wind was coming in my direction and this big ugly critter had no knowledge that I was even there. I watched him root the ground looking for his favorite sweet roots to feed upon for nearly twenty minutes, while keeping a good safe distance away. Not that that would have done much good, as there was nothing close by to climb into had this beast winded and seen me. Most of the time they would just run off in the other direction, but occasionally one of these critters will claim his territory as sacred ground and run you out of his territory, or run over you if your that unlucky.

     After eventually feeding his way away from me, I returned to my much need cup of coffee, several as it were.  As I sat there during the twilight of evening, a flock of about 12 to 15 wild Osceola turkeys flew right overhead and landed in the cypress tree swamp not 50 yards from my camp. This is truly a rare sight indeed and one I shall remember forever. It’s amazing the subtle sounds these birds make during roosting for the night. I’m sure they saw my campfire, and me but for some reason paid me no mind as they seemed quite content in roosting in that location for the night.

    Later that night I awoke with the sounds of many bull gators bellowing their call of the wild. I must admit I had thoughts of one of these large 12-foot reptiles making landfall and investigation my meagerly small tent with me inside. But after what seemed like an hour of listening to their sounds of love, I fell back to sleep. When you are that tired you will pretty much sleep thru anything, well most anything as you will soon read.

    The next morning’s routine was much the same as the day before, coffee, donuts and photographing early. After packing everything up for the third days trip, I once again shoved off and paddled, mostly drifted, downstream seeking more B&W images of this beautiful river. After about an hour into this next leg of my journey I found myself having obviously taking a wrong turn. I had traveled quite a distance thru some very thick-weeded vegetation and getting nowhere fast. I knew that I was heading in the right direction by looking at the water flowing in the direction where I needed to be heading. But I knew that going back was not exactly a decision I wanted to make.

     Fortunately there was a tree that I could easily climb to get above this dense stuff in front of me. I could see that I only needed to go about thirty yards or so and I would be back into the main part of the river again. Well that turned out to be quite a chore, pushing the canoe from the outside thru the thick reeds. Now as I was doing this, up to my waist in mud and reeds, I was thinking that this is a very good place to find a water moccasin. This is Florida’s second most deadly venomous snake, and I was in his territory, literally. Why is it that these thoughts run thru your mind at the most inopportune time? Well, I wasted not much time in dwelling over that fact and pushed on towards real water, but keeping each eye scanning the immediate area around me for “Ole MO”, not to mention GATORS!!!!.

    With that little side adventure behind me, I was once again back in the canoe, a bit wet but manageable, drifting downstream and making more B&W images. Life is grand once again, or so I thought!

     Now this is where things get real interesting on this trip. Having stopped in what appeared to be another remote location to camp for the night, I unloaded the canoe and began to set up my tent. As I was doing such, I heard a clanking sound behind me. I turned around and to much amazement; here comes this old gentleman pushing a bicycle down a path towards me. I used the term gentleman here, but after talking to him a bit I believe the term “Woods Hobo” would be more fitting his stature. It appeared that all of his worldly goods was in the basket of that bicycle and whatever he was wearing, which had the distinct odor of that wild hog that I had seen couple of days back. He commented on all of the equipment that I had on the ground before his eyes. I reluctantly said that I was a photographer. I could sense that somehow this seemed to register $$$$ signs to him and then sensed that I should have not mentioned that statement. He asked me if I had any kind of protection with me traveling with all of that expensive equipment. I said yes, I carry a 9 mm automatic pistol with me for just such protection. His next statement was the icing that this cake surely didn’t need. He said that he too had a rifle that he kept hidden where he lived and motioned to an old wooden run down shack thru the trees behind me that I had failed to see. We talked a bit more, all the while I was getting very nervous about this location and this “Woods Rat Hobo” with a rifle. The thoughts of him shooting me thru the tent that night was enough for me to pack everything up and get back on the water as soon as he left.

    After about twenty minutes I began to look for another location to camp and one that was on the other side of the river. After much deliberation and several locations later I thought about this Hobo obviously knows this area better than I do. He would have all night to find me and do me in. Isn’t it strange how these thoughts run thru your mind after such an event? Well, needless to say I kept paddling. It was now getting quite dark and hard to see. I looked at my watch and it was nearly 8:00 PM. I soon found that I was now in a residential area and camping in someone’s backyard uninvited would obviously not be an option for the night. So I continued another couple of miles or so to my final destination where my car was parked. I had a local friend drive me upstream and drive my car back to his place. I guess in all of the afternoon events I had failed to see just how far I had paddled. I pulled over at the dock, unloaded my equipment along side my Ford Explorer, and threw my sleeping bag into the back with the seats folded down. I put my camera equipment in the car, rolled the windows up and locked the doors and went to sleep, knowing that “Ole Hobo” what’s his name was well behind me.

     This was a photo trip that I still chuckle about when I think about it and decided that it merited a spot in the “Adventure Stories”.

     The loud Gobble…. Gobble…. Gobble cut thru the cool crispy still dawn air of this March morning as if to tell the world here I come. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight out.  I never have seemed to get over hearing that sound, especially at that hour in the morning.

     Let me set the stage as to what has to be one of my biggest blunders in photography ever to date. I was photographing the last rays of a nice sunset across the lake with the Spanish moss laden oak tress as my foreground, when I heard the distinct sounds of a gobbler (male turkey) announcing that he just took roost. I got out my turkey caller and gave him a couple of hen yelps that he immediately answered with a loud echoing gobble. I did this a couple more times to make sure he was in the same location and was indeed sitting in his tree for the evening.

     I was going to sleep in the next morning and break camp and head back home early, but I figured I would give one more try to capture an elusive Tom turkey and beat him at his own game. I had previously spent the last four days in pursuit of this elusive quarry, only to have turkey’s move left or right of my photo blind. I even employed the use of three turkey decoys, two hens and a Jake (young male turkey) to try and give me the advantage for once. 

     Spring is the best time of the year to pursue this undertaking, as this is the long awaited mating season. The old Toms seem to let their guard down just a bit in their quest for a chance to mate with several hens.

     So, after the event of the evening bedding a hopefully willing subject, I decided that I would give one more try for this elusive bird. Early the next morning I arrived at the same location as the evening before and I heard the ole Tom announcing to the world that he was awake. I quickly moved thru the woods to a location that gave me the advantage of natural vegetation to conceal me. I figured that if I could call him in to me, that his only approach to my location was to come through this exact spot on the ground. It still wasn’t very bright yet and I hurried to find a good setup spot about 50 feet away and one that would give me pretty good cover. I didn’t bring the camo blind material or the decoys this time, as I knew I needed to travel quickly through dense forest.

     After getting settled in and the camera aimed right on the small opening, I gave the old boy a couple of yelps from both sides of the box caller. I was indicating to him that I was more than just one lone hen. He answered back immediately with a booming loud gobble. I quickly checked the lighting conditions, which was getting brighter, but still pretty low. I decided that I would fire off one shot of the scene before he got there, but the only way to do so was to set the shutter to self-timer to trip the shutter. Once done, I was now ready and gave him one more call…..no answer. This meant that he was one the ground and hopefully coming my way. The lighting was getting much better as I gave him another call just to make sure he knew exactly where I was and waited.

     Just as predicted, the big Tom appeared right in the exact six-foot square opening in the forest that I had hoped he would. I slowly raised my hand up to my camera’s shutter release and tripped it only to hear the audible sounds of the self-timer go off. As if that wasn’t devastating enough, the blinking white light on the front of the camera was telegraphing my position even more so. Now old Tom turkeys are not deaf, dumb and blind all at the same time, and this one was no exception. It didn’t take him long to figure out that something was not right with this picture. It seemed like an eternity for that shutter to finally go off, but not in time to catch him standing in that shaft of sunlight that would have surely made the cover of the National Wild Turkey Federation magazine.

    I was absolutely devastated and muttered a few choice words of non-wisdom under my breath. After about ten minutes or so I was about to fold up the tripod and leave when I heard the old Tom gobble about 30 yards off to my left. I thought …… can lightning strike more than once in the same location? I quickly gave him a couple of yelps, again from both sides of the box caller……he answered immediately. I called several more times and waited. After what seemed like eternity I saw a glimpse of him moving through the forest when a doe deer stepped right out in front of him and me. She moved right and I swung the camera over a couple of inches to make a quick grab shot when a second deer, obviously which I never saw, on my left saw me move and bolted, snorting loudly as she left. Ole Tom turned around and left for a second time all in less than an hour. The frustration was building to levels beyond what a mere mortal man can endure. I’m sure steam was exiting from both ears and nostrils.

     I waited a few minutes trying desperately to breath with some measure of control again before folding the tripod, but finally did and took a few steps when, gobble… gobble… gobble came in from my left. Surely, not three times in a row….. would this bird be that anxious to find a nice young ripe plumb hen to mate with, …… is he really that dumb? I once again quickly made my way back to where I was before and gave him the ole one ….two yelp and a couple of clucks and waited to see if he would show up ready, willing and able to do his turkey thing. After a long few minutes or could have been hours at this point, I could see the brilliant blue and red of his head and could see his legs behind a few branches. But this time I think he finally wised up, as he just would not step completely out into that opening again for love or money, which I would have gladly paid him to do so.

     So, what is the moral here I ask? Well, for starters I preach to my workshop participants that you must anticipate the quick shot when photographing wildlife. Always…always, let me repeat this… Always…always have your camera controls set up correctly. Be prepared and not guessing about exposure. Know your controls….. “Oh Well”

    Do as I say, and not as I do was the motto for that morning. The only bright thing that happened during all of this was that mind instilling first look of this magnificent gobbler as he stood there posing in that near perfect early morning light as if to say…….. Catch me if ya can!

Mainely Moose and More
October 2008

 

    This adventure story is more of a personal tragedy than humorous, like many of my other adventure stories. But nonetheless, I felt compelled to write it as it was an adventure that I will remember well.

     This past fall photography trip of 2008 was to meet up with a good friend of mine from Colorado, Weldon Lee, http://www.rockymountainphotoadventures.com/. Weldon does photo workshops all over the world and has invited me to some of them. The original trip was to go to Haines, Alaska to photograph eagles, perhaps in snowy conditions, which would be very hard to do here in south Florida. The airfare was very expensive to Anchorage and so I looked over some of his other workshops and found fall Moose in Maine. That sounded equally as good of a trip to me.

    I was born and raised in south Florida and have photographed eagles here, but as much as I have stomped these backwoods in the last 45 years, I have never come across the first moose. Now, perhaps they were here and I just never saw one... or maybe they just never liked our hot humid weather and migrated north. Whichever the case, I just don't believe there are many of these critters here in Florida. In fact, I have never seen a Florida panther before either. So I called Weldon to see if there was any space available, which there was. I once again checked the airline flights to Bangor, Maine where everyone was to meet up with Weldon and found similar high airfares, and in fact I would have needed to rent a car once up there. This added to the airfare was a lot more than what I bargained for just to be able to spend only 6 days in the quest for Bullwinkle ... surrounded hopefully in fall colors.

    I checked the mileage, added up the gas cost and I thought that I could drive to Maine, spend the week with Weldon and his group of people and then be able to visit other place on the way up and then back to Florida... sounded like a great plan to me. And so the trip was committed.

    Now I have a 26 ft travel trailer and truck that I could have taken but the not so great gas mileage, probably less than 8 mpg was not going to make this trip work. So I removed the 4 bucket seats from the back of my van and said to myself...self, I could put my air mattress down the middle and still have lots of room for everything I really needed, as long as I didn't try to take the kitchen sink.

    I sat down and planned the routes north, with a few side trips here and there and did the same for the return trip. These various points of interest were plotted up on my laptop as lat and long. I just plugged them into my new GPS unit and felt confident in being able to find and go just about anywhere.

     I belong to a website site for photographers called Flickr and have met a lot of very nice people there. Mike Jones of http://www.mikejonesphoto.com/was one of them. Mike's photo stream of Acadia National Park on the coast of Maine had some really great images, such that I wanted to go there and see the place for myself...stop number two on my long lists of places to visit. That side trip to Acadia was well worth it and I plan to go back, only next time I will spend the extra money in gas and take my travel trailer.....gotta love those creature comforts of indoor cooking and not having to crawl on my hands and knees to get into bed, not to mention being able to stand up and get dressed in the morning....with the lights on!!!!

   My first stop was actually in northern Georgia, where my cousin lives. I did some shooting in that area for a couple of days. I found some really nice stuff there on this trip before heading north.                      

  Northern Georgia Morning

     One of the many locations that Mike Jones suggested was Mt. Washington in New Hampshire as well as the very scenic highway called Kancamagus Hwy. As my luck goes, I arrived at the town of North Woodstock, which was the entrance to Kancamagus Hwy. on a Saturday. Crowded driving conditions does not begin to describe what was before me, and that mountaintop that Mike said would be the greatest.....well, as I rounded a curve the full view of Mt. Washington covered in snow was what I saw. The cars were lined up for over a quarter of a mile trying to get in. I just knew that my spending $20.00 to go up that mountain was not going to get me to the top. I was very sure that the sudden snow caught the road cleaning crews a bit off guard. I just waved good ridings to Mt. Washington and proceeded to meet up with Weldon in Bangor.

    So after chasing bullwinkle around in the north woods of Baxter State Park, Maine for a week I decided to spend another week at Acadia National Park on the east coast of Maine. After a great week in Acadia NP, my southern return routes took me through the back woods of upstate New York and south to the scenic drive through the Shenandoah National Park. I always stop in at the visitor’s centers to see what's available to photograph. I love waterfalls and the photos on the walls show them in the full water flow of summer. The only problem was this was fall, when the water flows are at minimal. That generally does not stop me from hiking to at least one or two of them. So I checked a few out and found Dark Hallow falls to be a minimal hike for these tired old bones. Well the hike was a lot more than I had planned on, and with a weak right knee, lets just say that was not the best decision I made that day. The knee held up but was swelling up like a tick on an old hound dog after I made it back to the car. The lighting was terrible, just to add a little salt to the ole open wound, as they say...or someone said that once.... I'm sure of it.

     I headed south and on into the entrance to the Blueridge Parkway National Park scenic drive and checked for the closest Wal-Mart Residence Inn's....yes ! I camp out in their parking lots along with many other wayward campers...can't beat the nightly rates and 24 hour shopping. The next morning the ole knee was back to near normal size and I headed south on the Blueridge Parkway. After photographing all that morning, I checked the map for my priority location number three of this trip, and that was Mabry Mill. This famous mill was on my list for years and now it was finally within reach, or so I thought. It was still a long ways away, but I decided to just hunker down, make no stops and put the peddle to the medal and try to make it before the late afternoon sunlight was gone. Traveling at near light speed, I finally made it... just after the sun went over the mountains, but still in time to get off a few nice frames. I decided once again to seek the location of the nearest Wal-Mart Residence Inn from my GPS unit so that I could return the next morning. I wanted to shoot this thing... everyway which-way from Sunday.... in fact it was Sunday.

     After photographing the mill and surrounding old cabin and blacksmith shop, it was decision time once again. Checking the maps against and my planned route back into northern Georgia, I found that I was still nearly 400 miles south to Cherokee and another 200 miles looping west to my cousins in northern Georgia. This would have been another 4 to 5 days, as the photographer flies with all the planned stops along the way. I decided I was tired, the knee was swelling up again... decision time once again. I decided to make those other locations of water falls, log cabins and grist’s mills and lord only knows what else, for another time. I headed directly by the quickest route south to Cleveland, Georgia at my cousins place. He wasn’t expecting me for at least a week. I pulled in his driveway, called him on my cell phone as I went up to the door and was talking for a few minutes, and then knocked on his door. The dogs went berserk and he said I have to go see who is at the door. When he opened the door, I heard some muttered word that sounded like “sombeech”. I just love doing that to people.

    A couple of light days looking for old barns and no hiking, I decided that I would top off this trip with a nice colorful sunset with the layers of the Blue Smoky Mountain tops. I chose the highest elevation point in Georgia, Brass town Ball mountain overlook. Having never been there I dragged my cousin along with me. The huge parking lot was a bit overwhelming and I had hoped all of those people would clear out and they did. There was a tram that took people up to the top and back and the tram stopped running up at 5 PM. It was 6 and the lot was emptying quickly. We started out walking past this nice paved roadway that the tram took up to the observation point and I thought why not walk up this nice paved road instead of the hiking trail, but there were others hiking up as well, so I reluctantly chose the hiking trail...the one with the large sign indicating that this was a strenuous hiking trail. Well, that was all I needed to see, but with the little kids with parents in tow kinda made me feel bad and so we took that damn hiking trail................not the best decision I made that day I might add. The trail lived up to that stupid sign...it was strenuous all right. For someone with a weak knee, carrying a heavy tripod and two cameras, I began to wonder about this mind driven sunset photo that I was after. Well after several stops to rest the knee and body... hell, I'm a flat lander and not used to climbing in high elevations.

     The hiking trail eventually ended at that same paved roadway the trams take about 40 feet or so from the summit. I love that term, “summit”, as we don't have many of those in Florida. Straight ahead was some earthen stairs ... of which I had given great deal of thought about going around them, as had others before me from the way the ground was worn. But NO!!!… I decided to take the stairs... not the second best decisions I made that day and one I now regret with the utmost of passion. The first couple of steps was alright, but the next to the last step was a bit higher and so I mistakenly took it with the weak knee ahead of the good one and attempted to push up............ “Holy Sheep Sh__”, the heavenly gates opened up and angels spoke to me in a way I will remember for the rest of my natural born days here on earth. The light then went dark; little birds were flying all around me... which were very hard to see through the tears streaming down my cheeks. Then it hit me....."PAIN"... none like I had never felt before in my life. I swore my cousin drove a railroad spike through my knee.... I couldn't figure out way in the hell he would do that. I spun around and sat down all in one swift motion, grabbing the handrail as if it were my last hope of not going over some cliff. I must have sat there for quite some time. My cousin came back and said, "We're almost there". He also indicated that time was running out... funny... I was thinking the same thing, but in a much different way. I faintly remember saying "That's IT".........."I can't go any further". I can only hope that was all that I may have blurted out. I guess my cousin didn't appreciate me dragging him to the top of this mountain only to hear me say that. Only when he noticed the tears streaming down my face did he realized something wrong had happened.

    After what had seemed like an eternity, I finally managed to get up. I had to use my tripod and the handrail, but could not put any weight on that knee. People were trying to come down those steps and go around me. I muttered some words that didn't make sense to anyone other than me, I’m sure. I managed to get back down to the last step and hard pavement...not sure if I floated down or just how I did it. My cousin would never tell me. Normally I hate tripods, but in this rare case, I loved that damn tripod. I gave my two cameras to my cousin and tried to hobble down that roadway using the tripod to hang onto. It probably looked like a tall crab going sideways with one claw hanging onto this metal contraption. After making some slow progress in my downhill adventure, I came to a curve in the road, and there was my sunset shot. Not the one I had envisioned, but at least it resembled such. I got one of my cameras back and somehow managed to fire off one frame of the now infamous “Sunset from Hell”.

My last parting image of this trip...not the one I envisioned but at least I'll remember this one for many mango seasons to come.

    The hiking trail would have normally only taken about 20 minutes each way. My hobbling, crab crawling decent getting back down that damn mountain to the parking lot took over an hour and a half. I must have looked like Frankenstein, dragging one leg behind me moaning in pain. It was pitch dark by now...can't see your hand in front of your face. Every rock looked like a black bear. I could just see the newspaper headlines describing all of this. I told my cousin to take my cameras and go on down and move the car closer to the gate. I'm sure he would have never seen all of the bears I saw that long night. 

     After a couple of days at my cousins house of alternating between frozen bags of peas and whatever else was in his freezer, placing them on the knee trying to get the swelling down, I managed enough energy to endure the ten hour drive south to Florida... good thing for cruise control. 

     This was not the happy ending that I planned for, which was initially a pretty good 30-day photography trip.

     After getting back home and seeing my surgeon, was my worst fears were brought to light. The knee was a goner, kaput, nada and never again going to be my right hand man. A new knee replacement was the next major chapter in my life, but that was not going to happen until mid January, and here it was the last week of October. My surgeon assured me that 95% of these kinds of surgeries go without any complications. That was somewhat reassuring, but I was wondering about that other damn 5%. I didn't what to know at this point, but I was soon going to find out first hand. 

     The surgery went very well; in fact the epidural was working overtime. I felt great...no pain...up and walking. The first two days went uneventful.... everything going according to my plan. I was walking, with that stupid walker, but walking...when the physical therapist noticed swelling in the right calf. Of course this was the day before I was to be released to go home right?"…Yeah Right". They brought in the ultra sound machine and... You guessed it... "Blood Clot".

     No, I don't have a black cloud over my head.... its a damn summer thunderstorm with enough lightning to light up a small city.

     So now its cumadin for the next six months to help dissolve the blood clot and hopefully reduce the immense swelling of my knee. This should, hopefully, give me more mobility and the ability to bend the knee more than I can now.

    This is where this adventure story ends for now. It’s been a little over three months since the surgery and I am getting around OK, but not where I had planned to be. I am sitting in a campground writing this sort of adventure story, which are unlike the other adventure stories that I have written and posted to my web site. I try to find some humor in all of this, I really do...but it’s hard. 

    This 30-day photographing trip to many points north has given me some very good images and another 30 minute digital slide program to present. So I have to be thankful of that.

       That which is written in the stars can't really be changed...can it?