View allAll Photos Tagged Spray
Another seascape image from the UNESCO Geopark Site, the Copper Coast in County Waterford. The turbulent sea crashing off the rocks creating a lot of spray.
#CN916 sprays weed chemicals along the Kingston Sub, starting their slow journey from Belleville-Brockville. Once they get to station sign “Kings”, the spray crew calls it a day, as it gets windier and it will affect the way they spray the weeds. So after Kings, they’ll head to Brockville yard to park their train, until the next day or so.
Egrets hunt in classic heron fashion, standing immobile or wading through wetlands to capture fish with a deadly jab of their yellow bill. This one was spared the jab and was swallowed whole.
Outside of Canmore, Alberta, Canada.
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When I arrived at Spray Lakes, that sits at the top of a mountain, this was my first sight and I new this is the place where I would return for an evening shot. Driving along the side road that led to yesterdays shot, it quickly came to me that everything was frozen over and if a reflection was to be had, this was the only place.
I stood on a narrow bridge to get this shot and when I heard a car coming, ran for the side of the road since visibility would be limited for the driver. It was not at all dangerous, it just sounds that way.
I'm starting to go through my insane amount of photos and came across this one from just before Spray Lakes thawed out. I personally feel that I obtained my best images of Spray Lakes from this excursion. I hope everyone feels the same.
The wild winds had whipped up the seas. Remember that we are inside the entrance to the Tamar estuary. But the sea is relentless.
Though it may not look likely here, he made a sharp turn, staying out of the No Wake zone that was on this side of the sign.
Another found gem while looking for photos of a dude I met on the ferry crossing to the beautiful Te Waipounamu (South Island) of Aotearoa.
Those mountains! I love how they loom, holding back the misty sea spray.
#CNW904 spraying weeds along CN’s Kingston Subdivision in Brockville, with a rare SD40-2W which you hardly ever see in eastern Canada anymore.
Beautiful Spray Lake. Smith Dorrien Trail. Spray Valley Provincial Park - Kananaskis Country, Alberta, Canada.
In a country full of spectacular waterfalls, and despite the obvious drawback in that one can never expect to experience this place alone, Skógafoss has been the one to set my pulses on red alert each time I’ve visited. Ok, so that’s only twice - well three times if you count the very brief pit stop we made here on the long journey east to Stafafell - but the mere sight of it makes for a display of extraordinary power. Not only in terms of the improbable physics that are happening right there in front of you, but also in the hold that it will take on your senses as you stand here at the bottom. Sixty metres tall and twenty-five wide, this is where the highlands end abruptly as that huge curtain of water crosses the divide and plummets down to earth in a resounding crescendo right there in front of you. There are bigger waterfalls in Iceland, but you can’t stand underneath many of them like this. And this one has such pleasing dimensions, that clean and uncomplicated single drop perfectly proportioned and surrounded by clouds of vapour that make you wonder whether you should have brought some shower gel and a bath towel. And a thermos full of piping hot coffee to help with the hypothermia afterwards.
We’d come here after breakfast on our third morning in the area, having agreed that the misty grey conditions would suit the subject well. Ironic that when we’d passed through here a week earlier, there had been a bright rainbow right in front of Skógafoss. There had also been a large number of visitors, taking endless Instaselfies as they tripped from their coaches and raced excitedly towards the action. That day we had to wait for a space in the large car park, such was the popularity of the place. Finding the visitor numbers too distracting, we soon moved on, although perhaps we should have photographed that rainbow and made merry with the clone tool later. At that stage we were getting rather blasé on the subject, having spent the previous day photographing a particularly fine example at Háifoss. But there were no more waterfall rainbows for the rest of the trip, and little did we realise we’d missed our chance.
Arriving in the middle of the morning seemed to have paid off. Although far from empty, the car park was noticeably quieter than last time, and with the aid of that trusty pair of welly boots I was soon paddling about in the shallow river, setting the tripod low to bring that foreground rush of water towards the bottom of the frame. And miraculously in these moments there were chances to get the shot with only minimum numbers of stragglers to contend with. There’s always someone standing as close as they dare to, but I only had to airbrush two spectres from the scene here. Bring your wellies and you can often go to places where others can’t.
Last time we came to Iceland, on that final night before heading back to Reykjavík, I got what became my favourite shot of the trip in the form of “Sandwich Bags, Spray and Spectators,” where I was that person standing as close to the white wall as I dared to. And now, an hour after this, I took my favourite shot of this second adventure with “The Watchers.” Very possibly my two most loved images of all time in fact - from a personal point of view anyway. I’m starting to wonder whether or not it’s a coincidence the place delivers pictures that make me feel this happy. I’m quite content with this one as well for that matter. While Skógafoss keeps giving me moments like these, I’ll carry on coming back for more.
Sandwich Bags, Spray and Spectators: www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/50702613408/in/album-...
The Watchers: www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/52420303660/in/album-...
2017 Atlantic Storm 'Brian' kicks up some spectacular water effects as gale force winds coincide with a spring tide, 21st Oct 2017.
Spray Park, Mount Rainier, Washington. It's August, and the annual wildflower display has begun on the slopes of Rainier. The displays are awesome, with whole gardens sprinkled across meadows and adorning the little tarns that dot the flat parks and benches leading up to the glacier fields. A hard hike up steep forest switchbacks dumps me into more open meadows, terracing upwards. A cloud system seems to slowly rotate around me, the mountain holding it like a blanket and defying the sun to burn it off. But the soft light suits my purposes, opens my eyes so often braced against the glare, and lets the color saturate into me like paint on a dropcloth. Sometimes, in the euphoria of exertion to reach a place, and the feast of what I see, I do silent gratitutde for the perfection of creation. But it's not perfect, really. The symmetry doesn't always fall into place. A gardener might place the heather more evenly among the lupine; the islands in the pool could be more zen; Rainier's cone could be backdropped beyond the ridge...it is, instead, imperfect. There are always the flaws, and maybe some give us comfort, some are what we love. And in the end, it's what we expect, what we forgive, what we are.