View allAll Photos Tagged Persistent
A supercell gathering strength near Glen Crouse, Kansas.
A supercell is a thunderstorm that is characterized by the presence of a mesocyclone: a deep, persistently rotating updraft. For this reason, these storms are sometimes referred to as rotating thunderstorms. Of the four classifications of thunderstorms (supercell, squall line, multi-cell, and single-cell), supercells are the overall least common and have the potential to be the most severe. Supercells are often isolated from other thunderstorms, and can dominate the local weather up to 32 kilometres (20 mi) away.
Supercells are often put into three classification types: Classic, Low-precipitation (LP), and High-precipitation (HP). LP supercells are usually found in climates that are more arid, such as the high plains of the United States, and HP supercells are most often found in moist climates. Supercells can occur anywhere in the world under the right pre-existing weather conditions, but they are most common in the Great Plains of the United States in an area known as Tornado Alley.
Typically, supercells are found in the warm sector of a low pressure system propagating generally in a north easterly direction in line with the cold front of the low pressure system. Because they can last for hours, they are known as quasi-steady-state storms. Supercells have the capability to deviate from the mean wind. If they track to the right or left of the mean wind (relative to the vertical wind shear), they are said to be "right-movers" or "left-movers," respectively. Supercells can sometimes develop two separate updrafts with opposing rotations, which splits the storm into two supercells: one left-mover and one right-mover.
Supercells can be any size – large or small, low or high topped. They usually produce copious amounts of hail, torrential rainfall, strong winds, and substantial downbursts. Supercells are one of the few types of clouds that typically spawn tornadoes within the mesocyclone, although only 30% or fewer do so.
The Hairy is not sharing.
The Downy is persistent though. He keeps creeping up the pole, until............
From Martha's Sunday Funnies
Persistent rain caused by Storm Freya failed to dampen the spirits of hundreds of enthusiasts who turned out at Quainton to see the official launch of Modified Hall Class 4-6-0 No. 6989 'Wightwick Hall' after 40 years of restoration. Supporters young and old can be seen vying for the best vantage points as the steam loco approaches the Buckinghamshire Railway Centre station to pick up the first fare-paying passengers.
Generally I'm a very happy chap when I'm out and about with the camera, glad to be at large in the natural world with nothing else much on my mind other than trying to coax something out of the view in front of me. What's not to love about being in a beautiful place surrounded by fresh air and very often nothing but a few gulls for company after all? The clifftops at Godrevy are the place where I sit and smile at sunset, watching the colours change and wondering what's for dinner, no matter how cold or wet the weather is. Better than watching the telly I always think to myself.
And then just occasionally I feel that there's some sort of conspiracy among the elements to upset the equilibrium around me. The sea spray seems to be that bit more persistent than usual; the waves just a little too unpredictable for me to venture closer to the shoreline than I otherwise might; the sudden gusts of air combining with the other malcontents to find me settling for a position that I'm really not overwhelmed with. Take the volcanic sea stacks of Ribeira da Janela for example. When I saw Nigel Danson here on YouTube it was one of the first places I scoured the online map for. So keen was I not to miss out that I even booked the first week of the stay in neighbouring Porto Moniz so that I could visit more than once if need be. Despite the almost total absence of ambient light, Mr Danson had pulled every ounce out of the cool blue seascape and produced an image that had almost yanked my eyes out of their sockets in anticipation. In a location that reminded me so much of Cornwall, surely I'd be completely at home here in contrast to the challenges I'd no doubt face later in the mountains and the forests a mile above me in the sky?
The reality was that I found it very difficult to settle into any sort of rhythm here. Every single shutter release was punctuated by at least one resigned wipe of the filter with an increasingly filthy lens cloth. Unable to trust the sea that was throwing the odd stray wave much further up through the cobbles than its counterparts I stayed further back than I really wanted to. Further down there were enticingly glistening boulders fresh from their encounters with those occasional rogue soakers, while I timidly remained above the cobbled ridge that led steeply down to where the best action was happening. Over to my left, the river that lends its name to the village up above me raced down into the ocean, but with no route across that I could see without trespassing through the grounds of the local hydro electric power station I couldn't easily get to a position that would have included it in my foreground. It was turning into one of those sessions where I really wasn't being bold enough. Sometimes that happens in a brand new location where you're not sure what may or may not be safe. Perhaps I should have just got my boots wet and walked across, but the regular flow of selfie-seekers in and out of the frame was also distracting me and each time I moved to the left I lost the separation between the three elements in the sea that had drawn me here in the first place. In fact the wave breaking over the large boulder would have provided that separation anyway if I'd thought about it. And then there was the absence of scale. Ok so shooting at 0.8 seconds wasn't going to allow me to include any gulls, but I could have chosen a faster speed and blended in post to show the sheer size of the stacks, the tallest of which climbs forty metres out of the ocean to dominate the composition. In fact where were those gulls - had they not packed their cases and joined me here on a holiday from Godrevy? And then there was Ali, having examined the view returning to sit patiently in the car with the book she was reading. I'm so lucky she puts up with my spending long periods of time taking exactly the same picture over and over again, but my subconscious is always nagging me, reminding me that we can't stay here until it's almost dark. On my own I'd have stopped until the last of the light left the beach.
Yesterday Lee and I met up with our friend Lloyd Austin at Godrevy and one conversation we had summed the situation up well. "I love going back to a location over and over again," he said. We were at the place that takes up more than ten percent of the pictures I've included in my Flickr feed so clearly I was in agreement with him. Returning to a place on a regular basis allows you to "learn" it and gradually discover its best elements. Ok Godrevy with its miles of dunes, sand and rocks and a river has infinitely more possibilities than Janela where the subject appears to be both singular and obvious, but my experience here exemplifies the point. In the end I came away with a shot that I'm reasonably happy with - it wouldn't be here otherwise. I like the soft clouds under the golden hour sky and the timing of that breaking wave, but a wider angle would have let the scene breathe at the edges, and better use of those boulders as a foreground point of interest might have elevated the shot to one I might have wandered off the beach at sunset grinning about. Instead I shrugged, harrumphed at myself and vowed to return - something I did a couple of days later, but under a bright blue sky, the results of which are so far down the Madeira pecking order that they may never even reach the editing suite, let alone the public eye. I do at least on the second visit seem to have put my underpants on outside my trousers ventured a little bit closer to the sea and dropped the tripod a bit lower to the foreground. Shame I didn't look for a nice big rock to focus stack into the final image at the front of the scene though. And in neither group of shots did it occur to me to shoot the sea stacks in portrait mode - it seems an obvious thing to have tried now. Maybe the constant wiping of the filters was distracting me from the possibilities at hand. As I've been reminded by one of you recently, each of us is our own worst critic. It's a shame that Janela's not around the corner for me to try again with a bit more resolve, because the potential is there to make jaws drop to the floor with a bit more trial and error and the right conditions. Strange though, that the most familiar looking surroundings found me feeling out of my depth more than anywhere else on the island. Maybe that in itself is a learning point. Still - there are plenty more images to come from The Floating Garden, mostly with much happier results from locations where I did come away from the scene with a huge grin on my face.
As for Janela - well as long as nobody tries to build a hotel on stilts in between the stacks I can always go back one day and try again - after reading this story first to remind me what made myself so grumpy about the first couple of attempts there.
Persistent rain over many months has much of the arid Far West of NSW bursting with fresh plant growth and extensive displays of colourful wild flowers. This example about 40km southwest of Wilcannia.
HD PENTAX-D FA 24-70mm f2.8
Persistent mist and the emergence of the mid-morning sun made for some lovely soft light on the silver birch...
Hopefully a love story trilogy.
Act 2.
The ever hopeful Mr Persistent tries yet again to bring a gift to the woman of his dreams. She has rejected many gifts in the past, but on this occasion she has taken it from him.
(Peter)
Persistent rumours from the US that the big Alcos on the Western New York & Pennsylvania will be replaced later this year by more 'modern' power. My contact in Olean could neither confirm nor deny, but said from what little he knows he doesn't have a good feeling about things.
A trio of M636s appear to be making more smoke than a recent celebrity kettle as they pass through Port Allegany, PA with the southbound Driftwood turn 0n 11 October 2017.
Looks like I won;t get back there again :(
IMG_3563_1600
Cronicas del Castro Valnera
algunas tengo
La persistente niebla, me obliga a bajar de los altos; dispongo de tiempo para el regreso y lo hago por una de las espectaculares carreteras que por estos valles transcurren. Es tiempo de tormentas, ha caído mucha agua y quiero visitar uno de esos cauces que con las lluvias cobran vida. Asciendo por la oriya del arroyo e intento salir hacia lo alto de una finca con cabaña cercana a la carretera, para luego descender por ella.
Un pasiego con cuévano, el “Romeralo” creo, baja por el verde prado recién segado. Nos miramos y tras el silencio que antecede a la precaución con que los desconocidos suelen proceder, me dirijo hacia el guardando una prudente distancia.
Esta gente en su medio está libre de eso qué a nosotros los urbanitas, en estos tiempos, “la pandemia”, nos ha afectado de forma virulenta y nos ha tenido encerrados en casa para prevenir contagios.
Intento platicar con el fornido pasiego quien después de observarme con detenimiento, decide hablar conmigo. Le saludo dándole las buenas tardes, el me devuelve el saludo correctamente y le pregunto a dónde va con el cesto.
-No es un cesto, me responde
-es un cuevano y “mudo” a otra cabaña
Se perfectamente que es un cuevano, aunque no sepa diferenciar entre los distintos que aún se utilizan por estos valles, y a que se refiere con “mudar”.
- ¿Entonces es usted pasiego?
-SI, me responde
A los pasiegos se les distingue por sus peculiares costumbres y por los apellidos que les caracterizan, muchos de ellos comunes en estos valles.
- ¿Y usted, como se llama?
-Manuel Azcune
- ¿Azcune solamente?
-Manuel Azcune Ruiz
-Manuel se percata enseguida de mi sorpresa al escuchar su apellido y con lenta parsimonia resuelve mis dudas.
-Mi bisabuelo era Navarro, me dice.
Observo con detenimiento al pasiego, me doy cuenta de la fortaleza y estatura que posee, carga con lo necesario para la “muda” sin que aparente esfuerzo.
-Manuel, le pregunto
- ¿Podría hacerle una foto?
- ¿Para qué? Me responde
Cuando le cuento que tengo curiosidad por su cultura y su forma de vida, me cuenta que a veces lee una revista local llamada “La colodra” que trata sobre la forma de vida y costumbres de los pasiegos, qué si no voy a entretenerme mucho que, bueno, puedo.
Mientras, Manuel me cuenta que su hermano sigue haciendo cuévanos de vez en cuando, como se hicieron siempre. Me doy cuenta al instante que lo intrínsecamente pasiego, en este buen hombre, se ha impuesto a lo Navarro, no hay duda. Recuerdo que un amigo enamorado de lo referente a la tradición de Cantabria y sobremanera de la idiosincrasia pasiega, alguna vez me dijo que si veía un cuévano autentico que se le comprase, o si sabía quién los hacía se lo hiciera saber.
Se lo cuento al pasiego y me dice que con encargo su hermano podría hacerme uno, pagando un dinerillo, que su trabajo lleva. Por supuesto le respondo, dándome cuenta, que, a pesar de tener una edad importante, es capaz de acarrear un peso considerable. Quedo con Manuel en avisar con tiempo para que su hermano me haga un cuévano, su construcción es pura artesanía y requiere de practica y el conocimiento transmitido a lo largo de generaciones. Prometo volver por su cabaña.
Observo el prado perfectamente segado que linda con la vivienda, la fuerte pendiente totalmente limpia. Seguramente tenga la hierba en el “Payo” y haya utilizado la “belorta” para hacerlo. Me hubiera gustado ver a este pasiego “belortear”, es una labor que impresiona por la cantidad de hierba que son capaces de transportar con una simple vara de avellano.
Le pregunto por las vacas que posee y me percato enseguida de su autenticidad pasiega. Me mira con atención y con una mueca de sarcasmo responde
-Algunas tengo.
Manuel desaparece con su cuevano, tras una hilera de cajigas y fresnos, camino de su nueva cabaña. Sopla un ligero viento que despeja de nubes las cumbres. El sol desaparece en el horizonte dorando las altas “branizas” pasiegas. Lentamente la luz va dejando en sombra prados y cabañas, donde vacas y yeguas rumian las ultimas briznas de hierba.
Belorta: vara de avellano o fresno, utilizada por los pasiegos para cargar la hierba aprovechando la inclinación de los terrenos.
A persistent marine fog layer has finally burned off, revealing beautiful blue skies as Polson Lumber Co. Mikado #2 hauls a short freight across the bridge spanning Japanese Creek just over a mile west of Wheeler, OR. Japanese Creek, in the foreground, empties into the beautiful Nehalem River in the background, both of which are tidal in nature. This aerial image was captured with a UAV during an October, 2022 photo shoot on the Oregon Coast Scenic Railroad, organized by Lerro Photography. It was the last operation here for the privately-owned Polson #2, which had been visiting here for several years. The recent passing of the locomotive's owner resulted in its sale to the Albany & Eastern Railroad, in Lebanon, OR.
We popped down to the falls early this morning to check out some recent track work, and couldn't resist a shot.
If you look this up in the dictionary, this photo should be there ... even after removing the beginnings of this next twice, once my Mrs. Krach and then me, they kept at it and put this in place last weekend.
I thought about turning on our gas heater in the lower level of the house (this is the vent cap for it), and having some cooked eggs, but alas gave up and turned the heater off for the season ;)
If I am lucky, maybe will get some chicks sticking their heads out at some point.
Of course I had to make this capture this evening as the sun was setting ... wanted that good light!
This mountain wave cloud (a.k.a. altocumulus lenticularis), remained stationary from sun-up to sun-down. This image was taken at 4PM. This is how it looked 6 hours earlier: www.flickr.com/photos/79387036@N07/51743501579/in/photost....
Even at sunset, it caught my attention: www.flickr.com/photos/79387036@N07/51743798425/in/datepos....
"Persistent Winters"
This picture is based on how I felt with my photography during the cold season. It was so frustrating to get good shots when both the model and I were shivering. I thought that I could create a new mood and reveal new emotions and feelings for my pictures, but during the winter, all I wanted was to hibernate. All the things I wanted to do, I couldn't, just because it was cold. Of course, it could attribute to a lack of creativity, but personally, the cold isn't too inspiring. Yet, I attempted over and over again to create, and I'm glad I did. Each shot has taught me something, and even though the growing pains and frustration is there, I'm glad that I found a way to continue pushing on.
Please view on my site for the best quality: www.reyliaslaby.com/
Always,
Reylia
Espinhel, Águeda
A gineta habita preferencialmente em habitats florestais (de folha caduca ou persistente), com rios nas proximidades, porém é uma espécie generalista, podendo ser encontrada em outros habitats. Evita habitats abertos, ocorrendo em pequenas áreas florestais, terrenos agrícolas e pequenas áreas habitadas. Não evita a presença humana, observando-se muitas vezes na proximidade de aldeias.
A gineta tem hábitos nocturnos, passando o dia a dormir refugiada em grutas, árvores ocas, entre rochas ou em qualquer tipo de abrigo que a resguarde. A gineta pode ocupar abrigos de outros animais que se encontram abandonados (como tocas de coelhos e texugos).
É uma espécie trepadora ágil e flexível, utilizando a cauda como estabilizador dos saltos, para saltar de árvore em árvore. Possui uma elevada capacidade visual, auditiva e olfactiva. Estes sentidos são tão aprofundados, que permitem a gineta aproximar-se em silêncio e ser certeiro, sendo por isso um óptimo caçador. Tal como os felídeos, captura as suas presas utilizando as garras.
Fonte:Wikipédia
Yesterday dawned as a rare reprieve from a stretch of tempests and crystalline frosts—a day translucent, as if rinsed by the hand of some patient god. With the early light, I ventured from the upper parking lot of Ordino-Arcalis, in the rugged arms of Andorra. Above me, the mountains loomed, each ridge swathed in fresh, unsullied snow that caught the morning's tentative beams with a shimmer almost shy in its purity. The peaks rose, enshrouded in fog—wisps and veils of vapor that moved with a ghostly grace, casting a spell both solemn and stirring.
I made my way toward the tranquil banks of the Tristaina lakes, where each still surface mirrored the dawn like glass unbroken by the day’s demands. The quiet here felt absolute, a silence rich with its own language. Then, taking a southward path up the slope, I ascended towards the pass lying just left of Pic de Tristaina. As I reached this threshold, I gazed northward and encountered a stark transformation: the slope beyond, angled steeply into the spine of rock, was sheathed in a solid armor of ice—a relic left by the storms. Overhead, clouds surged, borne from France on the back of a frigid northern wind, casting a bruised light over the landscape.
Without crampons, each step down the northern face became a deliberate, cautious act, like a conversation with the earth, uttered in whispers. I chose each foothold along the sharpest edges of rock, the brittle ice beneath me snapping and shattering in a fine, crystalline murmur. The fog hung heavy, so dense that I moved nearly blind, my senses tethered more to sound and feel than sight. Downward I crept, forty minutes of descent through mist thick enough to taste, slipping two hundred meters into the mountain's grasp until, by slow degrees, the veil of fog began to thin, dissolving like a retreating tide.
And then, unveiled before me, Lake Étang Fourcat appeared—a vision draped in hues beyond naming, a pool of liquid green-blue ensconced in the clasp of snow-draped peaks. Despite the chill that clung to the world, the lake lay unbound, fluid in its frozen frame, each ripple untouched by the frost’s bite. I pressed on toward the lake, an hour-long pilgrimage down rough terrain, until I reached its shore and then climbed a craggy outcrop to the west, rising seventy meters above the water’s surface.
Perched on the cliff above the lake, I beheld a scene brimming with a quiet, almost uncanny vitality. The lake lay beneath me, its surface shifting in hues of deep turquoise and aged malachite, like stones worn smooth over countless eons, set delicately in the hollow of the mountains. Veils of fog, thin yet persistent, crept over the water in unpredictable paths, drawn and dispersed by an invisible hand, allowing slender beams of sunlight to break through. Each beam traced lines across the lake, igniting it briefly in ripples of color, as though the water itself bore a pulse, a quiet yet relentless life force.
The fog wove between the ridges with an almost sentient grace, cloaking and revealing at whim, caught up in a dance with the sharp northern wind. As it passed, the fog cast shifting patterns across the lake, its shapes elusive, continuously altered by unseen currents. Occasionally, the wind’s hand lifted a patch of mist just enough to uncover a glint of snowbound peaks in the distance, a glimpse both bright and transient. The fog moved on, reassembling the view, always leaving some element hidden, a landscape ever-changing, never content to settle.
In the quiet above, time seemed both fixed and fluid, each moment as singular as it was fleeting. Below, the lake responded to the sky’s restless breath, the interplay of shadow and light feeling like an exchange, a shared language between the waters and the clouds, an understanding far beyond words. The air was charged with a clarity that seemed to carry a deeper stillness, as though the mountains and lake held within them a secret, a truth too expansive and quiet for speech.
But then, with an abrupt shift, a great, low cloud surged from the north, thick and laden, swallowing the lake and the mountains in one sweeping movement. The air grew sharp and chill, the warmth that had graced the lake now swiftly overtaken by this mass of cold fog. What had just been a vision of color and light transformed instantly into a shrouded world, its hues washed away, leaving only shadows and a biting cold that pressed close around me. I wrapped myself tighter in my down jacket, pulled on gloves against the growing cold, and took up my journey once more, the trail ahead cloaked in this dense, frosty obscurity that stretched on for hours.
In that shrouded, spectral walk, it was as if I moved through a land both known and unknowable, each step a meditation on the strange beauty of a world balanced so precariously between warmth and cold, light and shadow. And in that vast and quiet solitude, my mind stilled, a quiet joy swelling within me—the kind only found in the presence of something grander than oneself, vast and unspeaking, yet filled with a life that defies naming.
***
Find out more beautiful landscapes of untouched wilderness in my photos, stories and films on the website www.coronaviking.com
Persistent rain today didn't spoil the fine autumnal colours at Dumfries House, Cumnock, Ayrshire, Scotland.
This is a bit dreary considering what day it is. I liked the atmosphere of it. Its what I had to work with when I was out the other day.
Persistent rain falls as Reghin 0-8-0 tank 764-404R negotiates the 'S' curve on the Moldoviţa valley line near Rasca on 3rd October 2016, closely observed by one of the prized stock in the verdant pastures of Bucovina.
© Gordon Edgar - All rights reserved. Please do not use my images without my explicit permission
A cluster of aging Moth Orchid flowers backlit through a living room window shade.
Received as a gift in mid-July. Its lost most of its flowers, but these...
Before the shetland pony had chased the pig (see in comments below) we had quickly got back into the car to stop Miss Piggy from coming near us. Pigs usually ignore humans out in the Forest but this lady was most persistent
... for a happy Friday !
Cranesbill / Storchschnabel (Geranium)
still blooming in our garden - Frankfurt-Nordend
Fresh snow covers the Peaks and left a good 3-4" down along the tracks and in town. Even with the bright sunshine, it would only get up to just above freezing thanks to a persistent wind all day long. It also makes the colors pop as shown here by the H-BARBEL1-20A rounding the curve into Cosnino. The standard orange leader is joined by the BNSF 729, with decent red pigments still showing, and NS 6996, a rebuilt SD60E.
A flock of a dozen wild turkeys owns my neighborhood, nine displaying males and three females. Avila Beach, CA, USA
Bonjour à tous !!
Des news encore et encore, j'ai vraiment l'impression que je n'en finirais jamais pfff !
Après radios et échographies des membres supérieurs qui n'ont rien révélé d'anormal, voici des nouvelles de mon rendez-vous chez la rhumatologue.
Donc, je suis sortie avec une prise de sang à faire et un scanner coude et cou : je n'ai pas compris pourquoi pas un scanner total puisque j'ai des problèmes de dos (?), (3 a 4 semaines d'attente) et la rhumato sera présente au scanner.
Sinon, elle n'a pas pu mettre un nom sur ce que j'ai. Les gestes quotidiens sont à faire même avec les douleurs, du sport, marcher et surtout ne pas angoisser (ce qu'elle ne sait pas c'est que "Angoisse" est mon 2ème prénom hihi). Elle exclut pour l'instant toutes maladies rhumatismales (je n'ai "que" 4 mois de douleurs et si c'était une maladie comme celles-ci, on ne peut pas le voir précocement.
Aussi, si les fourmillements dans mes membres persistent d'ici 6 mois, j'aurais à faire un EMG total. Je lui bien expliqué que j'ai du mal à tourner mes poignets alors pour conduire, elle me dit "il faut conduire", je suis septique, c'est dangereux dites !
Bien sur j'ai tenté l'ordi (trop envie de vous retrouver), mais j'en suis vraiment incapable. Il faudra que j'ergonomise tout mon plan de travail mais il faut du temps pour trouver les bons accessoires et de l'argent hm hm !!
Je pense vous avoir tout dit... Pour mon moral, ben 1 heure ça va, une autre heure ça ne va pas, je rumine beaucoup, mais bon "patience" devrait être mon 3ème prénom, hihi, mais j'y arrive pas pfff !
Sur ce, j'espère que tout va bien chez vous ! Bisous de PhY (qui tape pour moi) et de moi, et prenez soin de vous !
Et Chiffonnette la trognette vous fait de doux ronrons ♥