View allAll Photos Tagged Reaching
The last time I posted a picture of this building (Reach for the Sky - taken with my phone about a year ago) it was criticised for showing too much sky.
This time there is less sky but I thought I would introduce a sun flare instead. ;-)
This is Fort Jefferson, a massive but unfinished coastal fortress built by the U.S. in the Dry Tortugas. It is the largest brick masonry structure in the Americas. It is easily reachable on day tours from Key West, Florida. The exotic fort was abandoned long ago and is now a U.S. National Park. Day tours usually include a ranger led visit to the fort, lunch and time to swim or snorkel around the island. Bring your own drinking water. Sunshine and dry weather are generally always a sure thing at the Dry Tortugas. For those more adventurous, consider camping overnight to experience a magical night sky free of light pollution.
La Pointe d'Angolon, également orthographiée autrefois Pointe de Nant Golon ( 2090 mètres).
La pointe de Nyon est un sommet des Préalpes françaises culminant à 2 019 mètres d'altitude, dans le massif du Chablais.
Le Roc d'Enfer, est une montagne des Alpes située dans le département français de la Haute-Savoie. Le sommet culmine à 2 244 mètres d'altitude.
Les Hauts-Forts sont le sommet le plus élevé du massif du Chablais en Haute-Savoie avec une altitude de 2 466 mètres.
Pointe d'Angolon, also known as Pointe de Nant Golon (2090 metres).
Pointe de Nyon is a peak in the French Pre-Alps, rising to 2,019 meters in the Chablais massif.
Roc d'Enfer is a mountain in the Alps, in the French department of Haute-Savoie. The summit reaches an altitude of 2,244 meters.
Les Hauts-Forts is the highest peak in the Chablais massif in Haute-Savoie, with an altitude of 2,466 meters.
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
This image was taken in a marquee at a flower show. To reduce clutter and give a more high key effect I went low and used the roof as a backdrop.
Bird photography sounds peaceful. You picture me quietly communing with nature, sipping coffee while majestic creatures flutter by, posing politely like they’re in a Disney movie. That’s a lie. The truth involves hauling lawn chairs, tripods, and a camera bag that weighs more than a third grader across the desert before sunrise—all to sit motionless next to a glorified livestock trough filled with water I wouldn’t let my enemies drink.
This cattle tank, which I have gentrified into a “desert oasis” (by tossing in a stick), is now a fine-dining establishment for birds. The stick is important. I found it on the ground, which makes it natural, and I chose one with bark and lichen because birds don’t like muddy feet—and I like a pretty perch.
Birds don’t just fly in, though. First, they land about twenty-five feet away in what I call the staging area, where they scope things out and decide if it’s safe to drink. Just as I know birds come here for water, they know hawks come here for birds. If it seems risky, they vanish into the brush to post angry tweets about predator privilege.
This time, an American Robin decided to play along. He glided down to the branch, dipped his beak into the water, then raised his head to swallow—because robins, like most birds, can’t gulp. They rely on gravity to get the water down. No swallow muscles. No peristalsis. Just tip and pray.
As he tilted his head back, water spilled from his beak. I fired off a burst of photos. In this frame, he’s in perfect profile, water spilling from his bill, with a few droplets stopped in mid-air and a few reached the surface, sending delicate ripples across the pond.
His reflection was beautiful and haunting, like a bird pondering the mysteries of hydration—or maybe just wondering why some guy shoved a branch in his drinking fountain.
In the desert, water is liquid gold. To birds, cattle tanks are survival. To me, they’re proof that lugging heavy gear into the wilderness to photograph a robin mid-sip is a perfectly reasonable way to spend retirement.
Especially if you're trying to avoid housework.
He lifts his head to the sky—a gravity feed,
’Cause evolution said, “Nah—gulping’s not a need.
Bryce Canyon, UT
The overcast and intermittent rain in the low southwestern deserts made for days of frustration with little end in sight. The system was stalled, no breaks in the canopy, no good for photography. I laid out my Indian Country map and plotted a course north, where maybe I’d find snow in the higher deserts. It bore out. Fresh snow had moved through Zion and past the Paunsaugunt Plateau, and I arrived at Bryce as the storm petered out. I followed someone else’s trail through the forest thinking I had a shortcut to the Rim Trail, and continued on like an idiot after it was obvious they had turned back, snow to my knees and looking for oxygen in my exertion at 8000 feet. Thankfully I brought micro spikes, and needed them when I reached the beaten path, frozen and refrozen, and under the fresh inches today. There is clarity in the air after rain or snow, or so it seems. I’ve heard that the precipitation picks up dust particles, that some kind of ionization takes place effectively cleaning the air and increasing visibilty. Is it what we see, or how we see it? We learn through the lens of what came behind us, not what is ahead. And yet, some directions we look in are clearer than others. An undecided sky let the afternoon sun peekaboo features in the landscape. It dappled the horizon in degrees of shadow and light. Beyond Boat Mesa, Canaan and Tablet Top, some 30 miles away, were alight with rising mists where perhaps the storm still brewed. Beyond them is where I will head tomorrow.
Pic By Pammy
Sim --- Cammino De Vivo Capovoloto
Just another day taken away, back to moonlight
Tired of the same shadows and silhouettes
Before the dawn starts breakin' on the horizon
Once I'm closer to somethin' I don't have yet
I'll keep reachin' as far as I can till break of day
I'll keep reachin', the light of my life will find it's way
I know if I reach too far I may not ever recover
But I know the stars ain't all I'm meant to discover
So I'll keep reachin'
While you're fast asleep counting your sheep, I'm moon breathin'
I'll be up all night playin' through this twilight dream
'Cause all my life I have been patiently waitin'
But lights are dim to fulfill my destiny
I'll keep reachin' as far as I can till break of day
I'll keep reachin', the light of my life will find it's way
I know if I reach too far I may not ever recover
But I know the stars ain't all I'm meant to discover
So I'll keep reachin'
Lake George, Adirondacks, NY.
There's often not much room to see anything on the lake's shores, other than the opposite side, because of the way the forest crowds the shoreline. But a little scene unfolded while I explored, shooting up the water and including this near shore. The atmosphere lent a hand, removing the distance and distraction. With a little drama, the image became more intimate, animating the snag that appears to be reaching for meaning in that sky, while the nearer trees seem to reach for the wayward son. Behind the backdrop, even the reach of the lake is indeterminate. In this dimension, it is hard to tell the feel--anger in an approaching storm, the sadness of a dreary day, or maybe the hope of a sunrise? I'll let you reach your own conclusions. Things are not always as they seem.
As if reaching with that last gasp of life on its golden bed, this gnarled and aging sage bush, takes on the look of a retired hand. Outstretched to its limit, it is a wonderful and abstract symbol illustrating the desire to cling onto life after grappling with the harshest of elements.
Caught in the riptide
I was searching for the truth
There was a reason
I collided into you
Calling your name in the midnight hour
Reaching for you from the endless dream
So many miles between us now
But you are always here with me.
For Ethan.