View allAll Photos Tagged ,Retching
There is darkness within her,
Transgression by the tonne.
An itinerant slick of foul intent,
A shadow on the ocean’s lung.
Black and viscous are her plans,
For retching gulls, the crude of man.
So we, the foam and shifting sands,
Evade her course as best we can.
Bleak summer skies above the Bristol Channel.
Taken from West Beach in Watchet, Somerset.
While visiting Eben a few years back, I crawled through an opening in the ice curtain and was met by a large outcropping that struck me as an amalgamation of Marvel's The Thing and The Gerber Baby spewing ice from the cave wall.
... forget about me!
I had quite an unforgettable experience with these rather aptly named forget-me-nots that I found basking in the evening light at Dunlop Millennium Woodland Nature Park on Wednesday. Only when I squatted down to photograph them was my nose close enough to my boot to detect that I had stood in the biggest, smelliest, dog poo ever! I knew the light wasn't going to last, so, crouching, I held my breath as long as I could, trying not to retch, to get this shot, before running to the nearby stream to `paddle' my boot!
Forget-me-not, indeed.
Amsterdamse Bos
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There are pockets of these little finches around SoCal so it was good to find a couple at one of my several go-to places. I've been catching up lately, elated to be free of a nasty cough-cold-sinus thing lasting over 2 months. Just when I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, I celebrated with a takeout pizza and contracted a really retching case of food poisoning. Another week gone. So, it's been so good to be out amongst my friends again. These guys weren't particularly cooperative, but I don't see them here very often. A good day.
Oh yeh, a light vignette applied to add to the airy feeling.
La barca. (Calella de Palafrugell - Costa Brava - Cataluña).
The boat. (Calella de Palafrugell - Costa Brava - Catalonia).
Català:
Us podeu imaginar com estava Calella de Palafrugell a mitjans de Juliol i a primera línia de platja ... tot ple de turistes per tot arreu, però per poder aconseguir-les sense turistes me les vaig haver de enginyar i podeu veure el resultat final.
Castellano:
Os podeis imaginar como estaba Calella de Palafrugell a mediados de Julio y a primera linea de playa... todo lleno de turistas por todos lados, pero para poder conseguir la foto sin turistas me las tuve que ingeniar y podeis ver el resultado final.
English:
You can imagine how Calella de Palafrugell was in mid-July and on the beachfront ... all full of tourists everywhere, but in order to get the photo without tourists I had to figure it out and you can see the final result.
Datos:
Cámara Nikon D800
Objetivo 16 m/m
Diafragma: f/6.3
Iso: 100
Velocidad de obturación: Pon tu imaginación y un trípode.
While up in the Altoona area for a few days I decided I'd swing by the curve and grab some shots, with wanting to do the angle from behind the curve I made that my mission. So, I loaded up the hiking bag, parked the car, and hiked up to the curve. After waiting about 15 minutes, a retched 63V claws uphill (nearly stalling as they were down to 1 MPH at one point) with a duo of GE's doing the work.
Having just finished their work for the day, the 1500 crew retches on the hand breaks on 4770 in preparation for the next shift.
Calella de Palafrugell 2020 (Costa Brava - Catalunya)
Calella de Palafrugell 2020 (Costa Brava - Catalonia)
Nota:
Si la quieres ver con todo su esplendor, ampliala.
If you want to see it in all its splendor, expand it.
Si la vol veure amb tot el seu esplendor, ampliala.
Información de la foto en español:
Verano (Julio de 2020) y en plena pandemia del Covid-19 esta playa está casi vacía cuendo normalmente no cabe un alfiler. Este año nuestros vecinos los franceses, se quedaron en casa. Cuando viniendo de vacaciones ahorran por que lo tienen todo mucho más barato que en su país.
Fotografía realizada a las 13 horas y podemos ver que apenas hay gente!.
Datos: Fotografía tomada con Nikon D800, objetivo de 16mm, para logran la máxima definición de la imagen, diafragma f/6,5, velocidad opturación 1/640 por la gran cantidad de luz del momento con un Iso de 100. Medición matricial para compensar las altas luces con las sombras.
Claro que tuve que detener a las personas que pasaban por delante que iban y venian de la playa para poder tomar mi instantánea.
Information about picture in English:
Summer (July 2020) and in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic, this beach is almost empty when normally there is no room for a pin. This year our neighbors, the French, stayed at home. When coming on vacation they save because they have everything much cheaper than in their country.
Photograph taken at 1 pm and we can see that there are hardly any people!
Data: Photograph taken with Nikon D800, 16mm lens, to achieve maximum image definition, f / 6.5 aperture, 1/640 shutter speed due to the large amount of light at the moment with an Iso of 100. Matrix metering for compensate for highlights with shadows.
Of course, I had to stop the people passing by going to and from the beach so I could take my snapshot.
Informació de la fotografia en català:
Estiu (Juliol de 2020) i en plena pandèmia de l'Covid-19 aquesta platja està gairebé buida cuendo normalment no cap ni una agulla. Aquest any els nostres veïns els francesos, es van quedar a casa. Quan venint de vacances estalvien per que ho tenen tot molt més barat que al seu país.
Fotografia realitzada a les 13 hores i podem veure que amb prou feines hi ha gent !.
Dades: Fotografia presa amb Nikon D800, objectiu de 16mm, per assoleixen la màxima definició de la imatge, diafragma f / 6,5, velocitat opturación 1/640 per la gran quantitat de llum de moment amb un Iso de 100. Mesura matricial per compensar les altes llums amb les ombres.
És clar que vaig haver de detenir les persones que passaven per davant que anaven i venien de la platja per poder prendre la meva instantània.
Actually...
Who's the good one? On which shoulder are we perching?
Do you know (by the way as an aside in a whisper), that you are the only one I've ever talked to like this? Questions tumbling out even in my private space?
No matter. Or, everything does. Either way, here we are, you maybe the innocent or the most calculating and I... what am I?
Let me tell you, sweetheart, I have been the dawn and the dark. I am shimmering, not with light but vibration. I am fluttering. Fluttering at speeds that look like hummingbird wings. I am shuddering by choice.
You know this. The soles of your feet feel it. They feel that I have been wretched and retching. I was the match and also, sometimes, the kindling.
The tapestry of the sky on the day I was born says: you will be love and vengeance. You are the chaste lady of the evening, a night loving, scepter bearing mother and sister of powerful men. But I have also been the chattal. No, no more.
I will not be misunderstood because I do not stand still long enough to be (stood).
I do not bounce myself off the others in order to catch a glimpse. Instead, I look in dewdrops and the fine lines on a mistletoe leaf that look as whorls in fingerprints. I press my fingerprints to them and commune.
You want to be the good one? Let me get my paintbrush, dip it in rainwater and sunlight. Let me drag it o'er your skin slowly.
You don't know what you're in for. It is, in fact, the grandest thing. It is quartz crystal. Crystal of the finest water and sunlight.
I'll hop, shoulder to shoulder, I'll swing from the rafters cackling without breaking a nail. You just...
I'm always begging you to be, aren't I?
Our souls have no nails, hearts, minds, egos, Ids, belief systems, our souls have nothing to break.
12.09.21
Our 2nd trip to seek out interesting structures along the Atlantik Wall didn't start too well. After a short stop in the Netherlands Phill and I made our way back to a location we visited last year. Unfortunately the wind had picked-up and on our daytime scouting mission we were sandblasted and the same weather carried on through the night. On top of that, I had picked up a stomach bug that left me retching all the next day and we had decided to drive to the west coast as the weather was better. After I started to feel less like a zombie we decided to go and have a look at the location and when I leaned over to get my camera out of my backpack, I pulled my back out. I am a walking calamity! :) But what an epic adventure.
DSC08436
After throwing its head back in a silent howl, Badger rolled on its back. Then it got up, wretched, and repeated the whole thing. After the second roll, it retched again, so I think it had something stuck in its throat. Maybe a prairie dog or ground squirrel bone? Another possibility is that it had an itch it just couldn't reach... but the retching, I think, was the key to this unusual behaviour.
After rolling a second time, it seemed fine: trotted away and resumed making the rounds of the prairie dog burrow mounds. Two coyotes followed. They knew enough to not mess with the mustelid. Here is a description of a badger's ferocity from my 40-year old mammal guide:
"Few animals will attack the Badger, because it is a formidable adversary: thick fur, loose, tough hide, and heavy neck muscles protect it as it bites, claws, and exudes (not sprays) a skunklike musk - while snarling, squealing, growling, and hissing. Despite such ferocity, it seldom picks a fight, preferring to retreat if necessary. A poor runner, it will back into a nearby burrow and face its tormentor with sharp teeth and strong claws; once inside it plugs the entrance hole. With no burrow convenient, it may dig one, showering dirt in the face of its attacker and excavating so quickly that it can outpace a man with a shovel. During the coldest part of winter, Badgers may become torpid, remaining in nest chambers deep within their burrows, but they do not hibernate."
Photographed in Grasslands National Park, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2020 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
A Channel Passage by Rupert Brooke
The damned ship lurched and slithered. Quiet and quick
My cold gorge rose; the long sea rolled; I knew
I must think hard of something, or be sick;
And could think hard of only one thing--you!
You, you alone could hold my fancy ever!
And with you memories come, sharp pain, and dole.
Now there's a choice--heartache or tortured liver!
A sea-sick body, or a you-sick soul!
Do I forget you? Retchings twist and tie me,
Old meat, good meals, brown gobbets, up I throw.
Do I remember? Acrid return and slimy,
The sobs and slobber of a last year's woe.
And still the sick ship rolls. 'Tis hard, I tell ye,
To choose 'twixt love and nausea, heart and belly.
December, 1909
Turtle Bay, Cocktail happy hour...Angostura bottle, Pink Gin for the use of.
Having said that... that’s a pair of Tequila Sunrise’s in the Bokeh background.
Drinking expired milk.
He didn´t realize that fact until he had a few sips from the cereal bowl.
Then he shortly retched.
He throw it away.
I keep uploading pictures from this day but I just wanted to let everyone know, I am quite sick of functioned branches as my name. I never really liked it, but I just never wanted to change it because I was known by the retched name... so I have finally decided to change it to my real name Leigh Ellexson.
Sir Gray-a-Lot raced up the gorgeously sloped corridor, sparing a glance over his shoulder.
Gliding closer—hissing, retching, and bubbling—was the Bionic Plague. Black as darkness itself and spewing out hideous claws and tentacles, it devoured the boring gray walls of his beloved castle as it closed in.
He had to escape—had to find some way to outrace it before he was consumed as well. But his legs were losing strength fast. And somewhere in all that hissing, retching, and bubbling he thought he heard two tantalizing words tempting him to give in.
". . . MIXEL . . . JOINTS . . ."
No. He must not give in. No—he couldn't—NOOOOOOOOO
Overview:
So this is my first (complete) build in years now, made for the Big Bionicastle Contest. You could say it's a (not very clever) jab at both castle and bionicle, I guess.
The stonework technique is from Simon Hundsbichler. The sloped floor was done using the parts below:
///Accessing Log///
>I have pretty much had it with Keesel.
>First we have to fight our way through those dark caves and now this.
>Once we are done with the riots, I am getting off of this retched planet.
///Log Ended///
///Saving Log///
___________________________________________________________
Finally I have uploaded my 13.3 for the 457th Corps. I have been real busy with school lately and that has prevented me from uploading anything to special.
And yes. I know that the clone is very awkward and doesn't have a single relationship with what my squad should look like.
And yes. The photo isn't the best. But the editing isn't too shabby.
Also for my Best Bricker Entry against Kyle Peckham.
Favorite=Comment.
Sincerely,
[B]rickAttack,
-Jake
TO EVERYONE: I RE-UPLOADED THIS AS THE LAST PHOTO DID NO JUSTICE TO THE BUILD.
Just like a shot of an ARR coal train I shared not too long ago this really hurts. While it looks cool as a thumbnail when I zoom in it's enough to make me want to retch. And sadly this can not ever be repeated. I was shooting with a lower quality lense back then that just couldn't figure out where to focus when shooting wide, It hurts....but at least I have the memories.
This is obviously a Pan Am Railways special with the two OCS FP9As and two heritage GP9s trailing two business cars enroute to the Glory Days of the Railroad Festival in White River Junction. PAR 1 and PAR 2 are ex Canadian National FP9s 6505 and 6516 built in 1954 and 1957 respectively by GMDD. They passed from CN to VIA Rail in 1978 before being picked up by the Conway Scenic in 1995 when they expanded into Crawford Notch. After 15 years spent hauling tourists in the White Mountains 6505 & 6516 would become PAR 1 & 2 when traded to Pan Am Railways in March 2010 for GP38 252 and GP35 216. The two trailing 'heritage units' are unfortunately now landlocked on the Heber Valley Railroad in Utah. Numbers 52 and 77 are very much on home rails here but wear schemes they never would have worn originally. Both are former Boston and Maine GP9s blt. Dec. and Jun. 1957 as numbers 1726 and 1738 respectively and delivered in McGinnis blue, white and black 'bluebird' paint.
They are northbound on the former Boston and Maine Railroad Conn River mainline (now the New England Central Railroad's Palmer Sub) at about MP 163.7. They are crossing one of the most famous structures on the route, the Sugar River High Bridge, which crosses its namesake river and Main St. / NH Route 103 on this 684 ft long and 130 ft high deck girder span dating from 1931.
Claremont, New Hampshire
Friday September 12, 2014
My little green buddy put on quite a display while preening and gave me a nice look at the wing! Taken on Armand Bayou!
DSC_6634uls
A shot from a few weeks ago.
He caught a very dirty looking Stickleback and spent a few minutes killing, cleaning and swallowing it. Then he started to retch and up it came.
Cast by Merlin, ingested and retched by many, conveyed by butterfly and mouse cart, killed by a spider.
. . . Here's a bit of owl behavior I have never photographed before, this Snowy Owl appeared to be "retching" and kept it up for a good 5 minutes, but nothing ever came up!
In reality, this is common with all owls that they cough out undigested bones and fur of the small mammals that they have eaten. These "owl pellets" can then be analyzed to see exactly what has been in the owls diet.
Have a great week Facebook, Flickr, and 500px friends! And stay warm!
Before I took this picture after I had done an exercise walk of over two hours on a hot and humid day with sweat stinging my eyes and feeling fatigued I took a quick shot of this headstone because I had like the art work on the top of it and wasn't until I got home and started processing the image on my photo software that I read and inscription on the headstone about a couple losing both their sons aged 5 and 3 respectively and I as a parent can only imagine the gut retching heartache of losing two children on the same day.
:-)
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Fly-Agaric (NL: Vliegenzwam) (Amanita muscaria)
Warning: The eating of this mushroom can cause violent stomach retching.!
He had always been a bit of a loner but when a magpie had picked up a seed and dropped it in a crack it wasn't his choice where he had grown up. OK it was a pretty spot but it was difficult to have friends and move about. There were others further away down the pavement and it was nice to know they were there but he preferred his own bit of space where he was, out on the promontory. In his youth he loved this outlook, towards the south, the fresh prevailing winds and just simply watching life go by. Walkers, some in brightly coloured outdoor clothing, broke the monotony, passing by or deviating to come and explore the rocks around him. The weather varied greatly: he experienced everything from a complete drenching to being parched in summer sun, right through to shivering in winter blizzards. It was an exposed spot and there had been a few times when lightning crashed to the earth terrifying close. But the fear was over in a flash. What really scared him most was sheep nibbling on his lower limbs. Life seemed pretty straightforward for a tree with the usual seasonal pattern. Although if he was brutally honest it started to become a bit of a pain especially when once a year his nuts fell off telling him another winter was around the corner.
He slept through the winter as much as he could. The wind would howl around him, the frost creeping up around his middle. Even though he was well insulated, the cold ate at him. But most of all he didn't like the dark, and he wished he was a bit closer to the others at night. For companionship. He had been rooted to the spot, sadly without excitement, as the years had ticked by and by the time he was sixty years old he had grown quite large. Not old for a tree, mind, but mature. Nah, that was a lie. He was young at heart: the sap was still flowing, although his bark might be a bit flakey. But this winter had been harsh and he had slumbered until late March before he became aware of a glimpse of sunlight peeping through his branches
He came awake very slowly. So much so that it was many days before he bothered to take a look around. When he did he was relieved to see the landscape was as he had remembered it. The limestone pavement stretched out behind him, sloping gently downwards from where he stood. Off to the west was a wooded hilltop, out across sheep filled fields. And to the south and east the landscape opened out into the rolling and dramatic beauty of the Yorksh.........Hang on a sec!!! What's that?!! The cheeky little shhhh......!
He didn't know what to say...what to think. After all, that space on the pavement had always been empty: free of vegetation. But now there was another tree! Was he seeing right? Or was he imagining, still stuck in his winter dreams? No, he was sure. There hadn't been one there when he dozed off last November. And there hadn't been one there any other year before either! But he had to admit, looking at the new arrival from behind, it was kind of cute. Nice smooth bark: slim limbs and shapely trunk. Unusual type he thought but he was no expert on tree species: couldn't tell a sycamore from an acorn tree. However, little did he know. They were about to become friends. Not that they had a lot of choice, fixed to the channels in the rock below their feet.
They didn't go anywhere. They never touched each other. Never exchanged a word. Yet as spring warmed into summer and they filled out with leaves, they felt a common companionship, sharing each day together. Just thoughts passed between each other. They smiled together in the sunshine too. And soon the big tree admitted to himself he had never felt happier. He even chuckled to himself when he saw the low hanging fruits on the other tree being nibbled by a goat with long horns that wandered in from somewhere across the hills. Hmmm. He wondered what it would feel like if it took a shine to his nuts? Anyhow, daydreams and fantasies filled his days through the year, and decade after decade, thereafter.
It was late one summer, he couldn't really tell after how many years, that some young, loud humans arrived on the sun-warmed limestone pavement. They sat in the sunshine drinking wine through the afternoon and late on started putting up a couple of small tents in a nook in the rocks. They were noisy but having fun, and soon he smelt the aroma of something cooking on a disposable barbeque. They laughed and joked, the sound carrying towards him on a gentle warm breeze. Later the sun set and the light started to dim as the evening air cooled. Aaaahhh! a happy scene! He was just beginning to doze when he suddenly became aware of a thumping sound...with a bit of an edge. He listened to it for a bit, curious to what sound it was, even though it sounded pastoral, not threatening. But something told him......he looked out in terror.
There were flames, dancing high. The people were jumping about and hollering. Drunken. Sparks rose in the sky, with the smoke, as the fire grew, illuminating all around, little black manic figures against the firelight. And then he saw.
His friend hacked down. Murdered. The axe was swinging down on it's main parts, chopping up chunks that were hurled on the fire. He tried to scream, to shriek, to cry, but all that happened was that his leaves quivered on his branches. He felt sick but could not retch and anger beyond belief. Helplessness. And loss: loss beyond any measure of nothingness. He wanted to curl up and die, disappear from this world, but he could not. Eventually the fire died down and total darkness descended. The humans collapsed in their tents after drunkenly fornicating on the rocks in the light of the dying embers.
He didn't want to look out in the morning. But he had no choice. The world was always at his feet. The tents were gone. Tossed litter and unburnt branches scattered like bones at a Tibetan funeral around a blackened patch on the light grey rock. The world disgusted him.
He hated every day after that and he was grateful that a November snowstorm brought winter early so that he could try to sleep bad memories away. But the dark months were filled with nightmares that gnawed at his soul whilst he slumbered. He didn't get to sleep properly until mid February.
So, later, he woke with a start to discover it was already late March. It was a beautiful dry, sunny morning with a clear blue sky. The air was still. Not a cloud in sight. But all around, the land was covered in bright, sparkling white snow. It even covered the charred and blackened area on the rock where the bonfire had been. But, beautiful as the fresh snow was he realised it only made his world look emptier. He was utterly downcast. He thought, what could he ever look forward to again? He drifted into mindlessness: perhaps a couple of hours.
A movement on the outer fringe of his awareness suddenly brought him back into the real world. He straightened his limbs a little to see. There was a small figure striding confidently through the powdery snow, toes kicking it up in little clouds as they headed from west to east across his view. He watched. Stylish winter attire. A woolly bobblehat. At that distance he reckoned it was a female. Youngish, he thought. Yes, he was right.
He lost sight of her as she reached the base of the limestone pavement outcrop but sure enough her little head appeared a couple of minutes later as she climbed up and over its edge. She moved carefully, for the eroded surface was horrifically awkward to walk on without slipping down through the gaps and snapping a leg. She moved about, first going one way, then back, and around as if searching. And then she stopped and started kicking the snow aside with her boots. Suddenly he realised where she was stood as the stark blackness of the fire's ashes were uncovered. He was transfixed. How had she known it was there? What was it to her? Why? And as he watched on, amazed, she knelt on the snow. He saw her pull off a glove and reach into the ash with a forefinger. When it was black she smeared it in a horizontal line across each cheek, below her eyes. Wow, he thought, so strange!
Woah! Did she hear him or sense what he was thinking? She looked straight up to towards him. He would have shrunk away if he could under her gaze, but it was so direct, as if she saw into his soul.
Suddenly she stood up, and carefully but deliberately walked across the snow covered limestone pavement towards him. He might have shivered, a little nervous as she came closer, closer until she was under his fringe of branches. He looked down as she reached out and put her arms around his trunk. Her hands didn't quite meet due to his girth, but immediately he felt her warmth as she hugged that big old tree: such an incredible feeling as she rested a cheek on his bark. And she clung to him, silently for several minutes as he swayed gently with emotion. No one had ever done that to him before. He wondered what it might feel like to weep, like a willow.......but......
It was just but a brief encounter in a long life, for she then let go, stepped back and walked away, a dark dot against the snow receding into the distance, and eventually, out of sight. He never did see her again.
Remember those lone trees. Give them a hug, and do the world a little good!
© All Rights Reserved - No Usage Allowed in Any Form Without the Written Consent of Sharon C Johnson/MyRidgebacks - metadata embedded
We found another sea lion on the rocks today. So many have been lost over the summer due to starvation and an acidity due to eating seaweed. Their carcasses littered the beaches all summer long. I thought we had turned the corner as the last few weeks, there have not been many at all. I am hoping this little fellow was just resting. The Marin Mammal Center was called and they had certain questions they asked that we answered to the best of our ability. He seemed to be making a retching posture over and over again. They came out for him.
Follow me on:
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Anyone familiar with Indian style sweets? Well ladies and gentlemen, this is the rural version of that. This was an interesting shop, and somewhat scary actually. As you may know, I just came back from a 2 month long data collection trip to India for my thesis. During the long hot days in the villages, we'd often try to find places to sit down to get some respite from the burning sun. In one particular village we found this rather 'typical' shop, completely open to the elements, gazillion flies and not to mention the ever present dust.
After seeing what I saw what I saw in this shop is when I fell ill for a few days :P Can't really explain verbatim exactly what went through my head when I saw what I did, but let me try. Essentially there was a BIG bowl full of thick sweet flavouring to be used to dip the flour balls into. However if looked shiny black, whereas it's supposed to have a transparent hue to it.
When I asked the gentleman you see in the picture what it was, he took an industrial sized spatula and started to use it as a sieve to remove what appeared to be a think layer of black substance from the top of the liquid, at least half an inch think. Upon further inspection, my stomach suddenly came to mouth as I came to the dreaded realization that these were hundreds, if not thousands of dead flies!!
While I was trying my utmost to control the retching in my stomach, the man calmly scooped out the flies and proceeded to put the flour balls back in. By the time we left, I saw people eating them.
But enough of that. Just a little detail about the shot...if you look at the top left, it's completely blown out. This just shows how bright it was outside on a 40'c day! The bracketing was -2 0 +2, still couldn't get any of the details out.
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Shot details:
3 handheld bracketed shots using: Canon 7D; Canon 10-22mm f/3.5-4.5,
Post processing:
1. Lightroom for initial fixups,
2. Merged in Photomatix
3. Post processed (colors, sharpness and so forth) in Color Efex
4. Finally did a little more processing (vignetting and temp and so forth again in Lightroom)
So sieht's aus, wenn man den Hals nicht voll kriegen kann -
Möwe beim Kampf, den großen Fischkopf zu verspeisen.
Although I love watching people have fun on these types of spinning and whirling rides, I could never get on them because I got motion sick as a child. Ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds, and roller coasters were dicey. Sometimes I was okay on them and other times I would be retching or worse after I got off. Even now I may be occasionally triggered on a bumpy airplane flight (haven't been on a plane since 2020) or in the backseat of a car, and boats are a no can do! That's a funny story too, because I'm a scuba diver. When my husband and I got certified to dive, we did all shore diving. We put in over 900 hours of bottom time exploring in Hawaii. I did get sick underwater a few times when conditions became too choppy and had to abort those dives.
My favorite memories of fairs and carnivals were the animals and the food. I used to beg for my mother to buy me an anole or a goldfish, both of which were popular money makers. She never gave in though, wisely realizing they would die in short order.
Fall is falling & winter is at our doorsteps
First stop on this adventure was Green River Lakes.We then drove Union Pass dirt road to near dubois wy
Union Pass comes out right at the east end of The Wind River Range
By now the storm had started to be more cloudy rather than socked in.
By the time we retched Tetons the weather was very interesting
IMGP3787 copy_pe