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The baobab tree in Brasília started to flower recently. Bat-pollinated flowers open in late afternoon and are fertile for only one night.
This was less than a week ago. It's definitely warmed up but winter isn't over in the mountains. At the end of the day on Sunday Alta still had a base of over 100 inches. The resort is closed this week but we've got one more "bonus" weekend coming up. It ain't over 'til it's over, baby!
♫♫ Alan Wake Soundtrack: Poets of the Fall - War
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I just love the looks of these buildings which were used to protect blasting materials, and protect folks from explosions!
The gold mine folks have contributed tons of $$$'s and have cleaned up the mine sites and established hiking/walking trails all over Victor. The Vindicator Valley Trail is over 2 miles long and meanders through many sites just north of Victor. You can also look over the active open pit gold mine and they have restored another site at the top of the overlook. You can get a map locally "Trails of Gold". Really interesting and fun!
A view of C&NW dome car "Powder River" from the roof of the coach shop at the California Avenue Coach Yard. This was taken during the May 1989 C&NWHS meet in Chicago. The railroad let us up on the roof, to shoot the lineup of business cars, and we got to walk through them too!
A nice spring evening see the usual gathering of locals stopping by the Powder Puff to catch up on the gossip. The station offered 24 hour service and never had locks on the doors. The station has been gone for too many decades and in its prime included a service building, six small rental cabins and a miniature golf course. The mini Puff was built from the original blueprints supplied from an architectural firm in Green Bay, Wi and the help of Robert Leberak who's father was a coowner for many years.
Nestled in the Balkans and draped in a fine powder of snow, the sovereign nation of Modora has survived for nearly four hundred years. It survived the great ravages of a Vandal Savage on the warpath, stood strong through innumerable winters, and joined the resistance when it was taken by Nazi forces during World War Two.
And although it had seen better days, the small nation still managed to crawl along. It’s inhabitants were content, and its economy stabilizing.
It would be astounding however, it Modora survived what happened next.
The green light we’ve all come to expect tears through the atmosphere, and dissipates in the cobblestone Modora streets. In its wake stands six figures in outlandish costumes. Their presence causes confused glances from the passerby.
Sonar: Ah, what is the expression? Home is the sweetest home?
Answer, behind him, still struggles in the grips of the Multiplexes.
Answer: Sure, if you’re an invalid.
Sonar turns and smiles. He takes a few steps towards Answer.
Sonar: Ah, our delightful Mister Answer. Welcome to my home. What do you think?
Answer spits: Looks like every other stick-built pile of mud the Europeans are so well known for.
Angle-Man: Who’s being racist now, eh?
Sonar: Quiet please, Bend.
Answer: You may as well just kill me now metalfingers, otherwise I promise to you I’ll be nothing but hell in a handbasket.
Sonar laughs: No, no. For now you remain alive. It is not that I need you, it is that you shall serve as the first public execution under my new rule. Mister Black, please release him. He can do no harm here. However, If he tries anything, do tear him limb from limb.
At this he ascends, rising up into the air above the ancient, shingled rooves. Below, Angle-Man, Agent Orange, and Multiplex watch him rise. The Answer however, glances briefly at Hypnota, and strokes his chin once. Hypnota strokes her own false beard once in return.
Above the rooftops, Sonar takes in the crisp mountain air, extends his arms, smiles, then releases a resounding shriek from the devices in his fingertips. The sound rattles beams, shatters windows, and causes ears to bleed. Somewhere in the distance, an avalanche plummets down a cliffside and crushes an old man’s cabin, sweeping him into sharp rocks.
In the throne room of the Modoran palace, a stained glass window, as old as the nation itself, depicting the great hero Sir Sheldrake slaying the great elder dragon shatters into infinitesimal pieces over Lord Fando’s head.
Fando brushes the glass from his hair. He knows exactly what this means. He’s been keeping up with American news. He knows exactly who’s here. And he does not want him living. Fando calls for his captain of the guard, and waits a full three minutes for him to clomp into the throne room. Madly, wildly, Fando begins to shout orders at him, until finally, the captain obliges and clomps back out. Steaming, Fando returns to his quarters and readies for battle.
On the streets, passerby have begun to flee in panic. Sonar descends again.
Sonar: Now, we are here to retake the throne of Modora. The throne that rightfully belongs to me. You will do as I say, and go where I point. Any disobedience, and you will be without head. And Mister Answer, do try and keep alive.
Answer grimaces under his mask, but uncharacteristically, says nothing. His silence throws Sonar off for a second, but the sounds of gunfire and the soft pat of bullets embedding themselves in the nearby building brings him back around.
Sonar: Please, for the sake of myself and your own health, try not to damage the buildings.
At that, Multiplex expands into six more of himself, three of which catch bullets. The Squad behind him bolts in all directions, and before he knows it, he’s diving into an alley. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to swipe those diamonds, he just couldn’t help himself, and now, thanks to Firestorm and his own lack of impulse control, he had an arm with a third degree burn, a bomb in his neck, and he was here in this random micro-town in the middle of nowhere. He hadn’t even checked to see if that permanent brand old hot-head had gave him extended to his dupes, and frankly, he was afraid to find out. Instead, he just sat in the corner, pumping out dupes after dupe as Sonar shouted overhead for more manpower. Danton Black’s life was one long string of regrets, and being here was certainly one of them. He shuddered every time another of him died.
Agent Orange’s eyes light up in fire. He watches has the thatch and bamboo huts go up in flame. Screaming children, thick little fists covering their eyes, roll in the steaming mud as women weep and bawl, and men shriek in pain, their limbs burned off by liquid heat. Behind him, the apaches strafe the tree line, causing the palm trees to go up in a molten ball of chemical death. He grins and clicks his flamethrower to life. Casually, he lights a wounded Vietcong on fire, and sighs contentedly as the man shrieks and his skin sizzles. Somewhere, someone is shouting for more water, more whiskey, more water, and another man wants to go surfing. Agent Orange does not miss California, and does not miss his friends. The coast life was never for him. But this stage, this theater of war, was everything he’d ever need.
Angle-Man ports forward, glad he at least brought a knife which rapidly finds itself embedded in the blue-uniformed chest of a Modoran solider. He ports just to the left so another is riddled with his own comrades’ bullets. He’s thrilled, honestly. Thrilled that he’s made it this long. That he never lost more than those two fingers. Thrilled that finally, finally his time served on this godforsaken outfit payed off. When Wladon had offered him this deal after that mess with that Witch woman, he was all too eager to accept. He expected it to happen sooner, but he understood why Wladon didn’t want Lawton or Harkness along. The bastards. Bend for one was glad to be rid of them. Two soldiers are sliced in half by his angle, and another gets the bullet treatment himself. It’s an old method, but tried and true. Yes, Bend was thrilled to be rid of Lawton and Harkness. Thrilled to be released from Waller’s iron grasp. Bend was looking forward to ruling this country.
The shells and bullets, and the one tank the Modoran Soldiers employed, were not unfamiliar to Hypnota. She was surprised that a nation of this size only had one tank, but she was also thankful. Another shell imploded to the right of her, and snapped her back to that crackling, resounding sound that took her brother. She touched her fingers to her head briefly, and sent a pulsating force through it quickly to move the memories past. She had to stop doing that, she noted, or the damage would be irreparable. Behind her, The Answer was cursing violently and creatively and nursing a bullet wound to the left shoulder. It was not the worst she had seen. As loud as he was, he would be all right. They nodded to each other, then Hypnota darted from her hiding place, blasting psychic waves towards a few nearby soldiers. She grimaced as the soldiers all turned and shot each other in the head. When oh when, she wondered, would all the violence end.
Sonar laughs aloud has he bursts the eardrums and shatters the brain matter of all the gunmen around him. He feels a hint of remorse, these were his subjects, his personal guard after all, and it was a shame to spill Modoran blood, but they were traitors, lapdogs of Fando, and thus, they had to be put down. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Hypnota leap onto the army’s tank, and suggest the soldiers open the hatch, to which they oblige. To his left, Bend and Aparo burn and slash through the guards, and all around him, Multiplex surges through the streets. He breathes in the harsh smoke of battle, then rises towards the remains of a once magnificent stained-glass window. A hail of bullets explodes towards him, but he bats them away with pure sound. Gently, he lands on his tip-toes, then begins to strut forward, and with a horrid set of screeches, explodes the heads of Fando’s guards with pure shockwaves of sound.
Fando: не не! Познавам те, семейството ти е мъртво! немилост!
Sonar blasts the weapons from his hands, then grabs Fando’s head between his own.
Sonar: изглежда, че грешите
With one last resounding sound, Fando’s head is crushed by solid sound waves., his final terrified scream drowned out by Sonar’s exhausted apparatuses.
Sonar takes a deep, exhausted breath as Fando’s near-headless body crumples to the floor. He is Sonar no longer as he approaches the throne. He is Bito Wladon, ruler of Modora.
And now none would stand in the way of his rule.
WAAY highballing past Powder Mill Rd in Exeter. The high car detector here has been switched off, and replaced with one a few miles west at Sanborn Rd (MP-264.1). It's radio transmitter is unfortunately less powerful than its predecessor.
The Powder Tower or Powder Gate (Czech: Prašná brána) is a Gothic tower in Prague, Czech Republic. It is one of the original city gates.
The Powder Tower is one of the original 13 city gates in Old Town, Prague, Construction began in 1475. The tower was intended to be an attractive entrance into the city, instead of a defensive tower. The foundation stone was placed by Vladislav II. The city council gave Vladislav II the tower as a coronation gift. While it was being built, it was called the New Tower. The look of the tower was inspired by the work of Peter Parler on the Charles Bridge.
Vladislav II had to relocate due to riots, so the tower building stopped. He returned in 1485 to live back in Prague Castle, where he lived for the rest of his life, along with the rest of the Kings of Bohemia who lived in Prague. Kings would not return to use the tower or Royal Court until using it for coronation ceremonies starting again in 1836, where they would pass through the tower to go to St. Vitus Cathedral.
The gate was used to store gunpowder in the 17th century, hence the name Powder Tower or Powder Gate. The gate suffered considerable damage during the Battle of Prague. The sculptures on the tower were replaced in 1876.
Grabbed this with my Nokia Lumia at the top of Express De Lindarets in Avoiraz before skiing some insane off piste! Bit of a debate going on about which route to take through the trees. Edited in the Lumia software and a slight noise reduction on Lightroom
The Powder Mills were built in 1844, a factory for making gunpowder which was built on the open moor, not far from Postbridge. Gunpowder was needed for the tin mines and granite quarries then in operation on the moor. The buildings were widely spaced from one another for safety and the mechanical power for grinding ("incorporating") the powder was derived from waterwheels driven by a leat.
Now known as "Powdermills" or "Powder Mills", there are extensive remains of this factory still visible. Two chimneys still stand and the walls of the two sturdily-built incorporating mills with central waterwheels survive well: they were built with substantial walls but flimsy roofs so that in the event of an explosion, the force of the blast would be directed safely upwards. The ruins of a number of ancillary buildings also survive. A proving mortar—a type of small cannon used to gauge the strength of the gunpowder—used by the factory still lies by the side of the road.
Taken from:
Gear
- 5D II @ 1/3200, ISO1600
- 24-70 ƒ2,8 @ ƒ/4
Light
- One continuous lighting from the right
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Some tweeks in PS more cold tones and a little more sharpness - it is not the best focal point but it does the job for me.
Thx
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After yesterday's posting of an explanatory sign for visitors, here is a view of how the powder magazine is laid out today. I should point out that the barrels are, of course, empty of black powder. Whilst this might have been the height of sophistication when constructed, it no longer comes even close to modern safety standards!.
Designed by Frenchman Jean Foncin in 1798 and named after James McHenry, a Scots-Irish immigrant and surgeon-soldier who became Secretary of War under President Washington, Fort McHenry was built after America won its independence to defend the important Port of Baltimore from future enemy attacks. It was positioned on Locust Point peninsula which juts into the opening of Baltimore Harbor, and was constructed in the form of a five-pointed star surrounded by a dry moat. The moat would serve as a shelter from which musketmen might defend the fort from a land attack. In case of such an attack on this first line of defence, each point, or bastion, was fortified, so that the invading army would be caught in a crossfire of cannon and musket fire.
Of course, the fort is best known for its role in the War of 1812, when it successfully defended Baltimore Harbor from a half-hearted attack by the Royal Navy on 13-14 September 1814. It was during the bombardment of the fort that Francis Scott Key was inspired to write "The Star-Spangled Banner," the poem that would eventually be set to the tune of "To Anacreon in Heaven" and become the national anthem of the United States.
On 11 August 1939, the fort was designated a "National Monument and Historic Shrine," the only such doubly designated place in the United States. It was placed on the National Register of Historic Places on 15 October 1966.