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KCS 4845 leads CPKC train 2K53 (2nd section of K53, Marquette, IA - La Crescent, MN turn) heads southbound through Lansing, IA with a healthy sized train from La Crescent bound for Marquette. Hours later, this crew would make a second run (that we knew of) back to La Crescent for even more traffic. It kind of seemed like it was handling traffic that'd normally get tacked onto 260/261, but those trains seem to be up to greater things, with them being resymbolled to 280/281 and going all the way to Sanchez Yard in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, just across the border from Laredo, TX.
I've always sort of struggled to make this particular angle work because I'm not a huge fan of the cars abruptly ending on the right side of the frame with no natural break between the edge of the photo and the cars- a build or a few trees right there would solve that issue, or maybe if I stopped being so picky the issue would be nonexistent, who knows? I'm not giving up on getting the perfect shot at this location, but I think for now, I did alright. Side note, I keep thinking the singular cloud right above the locomotive looks a dust spec on the sensor, and I'm ashamed to admit how many times I've been fooled by it when looking at this picture.
Taken on the CPKC Marquette Subdivision south of Lansing, IA on 8/23/25.
I feel as though in my head I've had millions of adventures spanning the time and space in which my eyes are closed and my mind wanders. Oh yes, I can tell you of all the people I've met, the places I've been, the things I've done, but it would be useless, for all occurs in a nonexistent world. Every trial I've faced is merely an apparition imagined by a part of the brain which lusts for something greater than reality. But perhaps it is the other way around. Perhaps the dreams are my reality and that which I call the waking world is in fact a well established dream created and constructed by a mind starved of any normalcy or routine. Perhaps what I should be asking is: How do I honestly know if anything is real at all?
Please excuse my absence. Senior year has taken its toll on me, as I'm sure some of you understand. I'm happy to announce I've been accepted to UGA, however, and am still awaiting the letters of four other schools. This picture is from Election Day. I just finished the roll of film for a project for school. Hopefully when the semester ends, I'll be able to go back to taking pictures over break. Also I'm doing a Directed Study in art next semester so I will hopefully have a chance to explore other media and expand what I've done.
Sorry for the lengthy anecdote.
Est une espèce de petits passereaux partiellement migratrice très répandue, de la famille des Muscicapidés. On l'appelle également rossignol des murailles ou queue rousse.
Adulte, le rougequeue noir mesure environ 14 cm de long et 25 cm d'envergure, et pèse de 14 à 20 g. Ils sont très protecteurs envers leur famille. La femelle est plus terne que le mâle, avec un plumage uniforme gris-brun cendré, le roux est inexistant chez elle. Sa poitrine grisâtre est légèrement striée de foncé.
**
Is a species of small migrating partially migrating passerine, of the family Muscicapidae. It is also called the nightingale of the walls or red tail.
As an adult, the black redstart is about 14 cm long and 25 cm wide, and weighs 14 to 20 g. They are very protective of their families. The female is duller than the male, with uniform gray-brown ash plumage, the roux is nonexistent in her. Its grayish breast is slightly streaked with dark.
Many of the old Mail Pouch barns are falling into disrepair and the Mail Pouch signs are faded and missing letters. Even so, they show how enterprising advertising could be in a day when television was limited and the internet, nonexistent.
This barn sits only about three miles from another, but I know of only one more of the original barns in our county.
I used two of Kerstin Frank's www.flickr.com/photos/kerstinfrank-design/ textures, one from Jerry Jones www.flickr.com/photos/skeletalmess/
and one of my own.
This was probably the closest frame to being perfect on my trip. The composition turned out to be pretty nice and it turned out very simple. Editing was virtually nonexistent on this one.
Mellow Yellow - La Maison Charest, Quebec City (Vieux Quebec),.
Happy Window Wednesday!
36 to 38 Rue Saint-Pierre, Quebec. Year of construction, 1757. (1)
“The first two levels are period (1757-1758), in "stone of Beauport". This stone, taken from the limestone beds of the Côte de Beaupré, was much more resistant than the "Cape Stone", made of black shale taken from the Rock of Quebec and used previously. The masonry also withstood the cannonading of the siege of Quebec City in 1759. A 32-pound cannonball hammered into a wall was even found during the restoration.
Through the history of these houses, we learn a lot about the adaptation of construction techniques in the colony. The double windows, almost nonexistent in France, have appeared. The craftsmen made better use of the species of wood according to their qualities: cedar to cover parts exposed to bad weather, cherry for galleries and stairs, spruce and pine for framing, ash for beams and frames and walnut for cabinets and doors of higher caliber. Climate requires, the gables have been reinforced steep slopes to facilitate the fall of the snow.
In summer and winter, the vaulted cellars of the Charest house were kept between 10 and 12 degrees, and allowed the storage of wines, alcohol and perishable goods such as hams, cheeses and molasses.”(2)
“Today, Maison Charest - or more specifically, the cellars of Maison Charest - is occupied by La Tanière3. Since 1977, the restaurant Tanière3 has always strived to push the boundaries of true Quebec cuisine.” (3)
Sources:
(1). www.ville.quebec.qc.ca/citoyens/patrimoine/bati/fiche.asp...
(2). www.lesoleil.com/maison/bistro-lorygine-vent-de-fraicheur...
[Original article in French. Translated from French into English via Google Translate]
(3) taniere3.com/en
LA&L 428 leads the Northbound leg of a Fall foliage excursion at Papermill Road in Avon, NY on October 18, 2014. Fall colors are almost nonexistent so far in 2018, and there was a dusting of snow on the grass this morning. I'll keep digging through the archives for Fall pictures, until I can take some new ones
Meoto Iwa or the wedded rocks will be a very familiar subject to many. This is my favourite PoV for this location aesthetically and symbolically.
I titled this “the shimenawa” because I wanted to share a little excerpt from Joseph Campbell. “…the ‘shimenawa,’ the august rope of straw that was stretched behind the goddess (Amaterasu) when she reappeared, symbolizes the graciousness of the miracle of the light’s return. The shimenawa is one of the most conspicuous, important, and silently eloquent, of the traditional symbols of the folk religion of Japan. Hung above the entrances of the temples, festooned along the streets at the New Year festival, it denotes the renovation of the world at the threshold of the return. If the Christian cross is the most telling symbol of the mythological passage into the abyss of death, the shimenawa is the simplest sign of the resurrection. The two represent the mystery of the boundary between the worlds - the existent nonexistent line."
technical details:
everything started from a picture of an empty glass and the texture of jaiel
then i added some free clips from Microsoft word
other details:
I have to get rid of the haunting images inside me. That is my "torture" and my game.
This is without question, one of the most obscure places I have ever visited. I had never even heard of this arch until a few months ago when my friend David in Texas showed me a photo he had found of it. He had no idea where it was and information on it is nearly nonexistent, but I HAD to find it. He found some info online on approximately where it was located. I don't know if it has an official name. I have also heard it called 'Thanksgiving Arch', because the light is only really nice on it the week of Thanksgiving. I did a search on flickr for both 'Eggshell Arch', and 'Thanksgiving Arch', and found NOT ONE photo of this on all of flickr! Well… Last week was Thanksgiving. I am Back in Arizona. So… I had to find it.
It's on an Indian reservation. I wasn't supposed to be there, but I snuck in.
A lot of time went into this shot. A lot of time figuring out where it was and how to get there. It's only about four miles from a paved road. But it's four miles on a maze of NASTY rough roads. Nasty is an understatement. This was some of the most hardcore 4x4 driving I have ever done, and I have lots of new scratches on my truck to show for it. Some sections of the road were soft sand, covered with ice. Some sections were really rough slick rock. Those were the good parts. The rest of the road really sucked! There were about two dozen forks in the road. A GPS doesn't really help you if you're on a tiny little dirt road that is not on any known map. So… I come to a fork in the road. I have to guess… Left, or right? If I guess wrong, it leads to either a dead end, or somebody's back yard.
It took two attempts. The first day, after an hour and a half of going round in circles on the maze of roads, I got out and tried to find it on foot. No luck. The sun set. It started to get dark. I bailed out and left. The next day, I made my second attempt. After a couple hours of bouncing around and scraping up against shrubbery, and then a short hike… SUCCESS! It was a little overcast. The light wasn't great. But... I got a shot.
So… Altogether. This shot took about 4-6 hours of research online. about 9 hours of driving (both days combined). A couple hours of hiking. And about an hour I was actually shooting.
This really was one of the most absolutely amazing things I have ever seen. This arch is easily 200-300 feet across. The drop underneath the arch is probably over 1000 feet.
Many of the tallest trees up on the mesa are dead or dying Ponderosa Pine. I'm no forester, but I can see that soil cover here is thin to nonexistent. So larger trees must be anchored down into the rock crevices. In the five of so years of drought we are having, perhaps there is just not sufficient moisture to sustain them.
Castlewood Canyon State Park
Douglas County, CO
This bold, beautiful maple leaf appears to be the last gasp of color in the Berkshires in Western Massachusetts as foliage goes from peak to nonexistent.
The 150 canals of Venice are its streets - roads for land passenger vehicles are nonexistent. Everyone must travel by foot or boat, tourists and locals alike.
Venice is just fascinating, getting lost is part of the adventure!
I just returned from a several-day trip to Yosemite and the surrounding areas. Matthew Saville and I did the brutal hike up to the Half Dome Diving Board, the spot from which Ansel Adams took his famous "The Monolith of Half Dome" photo in 1927. The temperatures were terrible (it was >100* F on the valley floor and 95* atop Nevada Falls), our backpacks were heavy (we each carried two cameras, two tripods, and a gallon of water in addition to the usual camping gear), and the trail to the Diving Board was loose, steep, and entirely nonexistent in places.
We may have collapsed at the top of the route, but I think the view was worth it. Half Dome is lit by a setting moon, and this is a stack of 100 1-minute exposures. The lens was a Rokinon 14mm at f/2.8 on a 6D.
All these comic book and movie mugs were on display in a shop on Alcalá Street in Madrid, Spain, called "Casa Escudero, Decoración y Antiques" (Casa Escudero, Decoration and Antiques).
I took the opportunity to try out a lens from the Chinese brand Brightin Star, model MF 35mm F1.4, which doesn't have electronic connection pins for the camera, so focus and exposure control has to be done entirely manually.
The EXIF data shown may be incorrect or nonexistent.
¿QUÉ TAZA ELEGIMOS?, 2026
Todas estas tazas de cómics y películas estaban expuestas en una tienda de la calle Alcalá de Madrid, llamada "Casa Escudero, Decoración y Antigüedades".
Aproveché para probar un objetivo de la marca china Brightin Star, modelo MF 35 mm f/1.4, que no tiene pines de conexión electrónica para la cámara, por lo que el enfoque y la exposición deben controlarse completamente de manera manual.
Los datos EXIF mostrados pueden ser incorrectos o inexistentes.
The adult humpback whale is generally 14–15 m (46–49 ft) long, though individuals up to 16–17 m (52–56 ft) long have been recorded. Females are usually 1–1.5 m (3 ft 3 in – 4 ft 11 in) longer than males.
The species can reach body masses of 40 metric tons (44 short tons). Calves are born at around 4.3 m (14 ft) long with a mass of 680 kg (1,500 lb)] The species has a bulky body with a thin rostrum and proportionally long flippers, each around one-third of its body length.[14][15] It has a short dorsal fin that varies from nearly nonexistent to somewhat long and curved.
Like other rorquals, the humpback has grooves between the tip of the lower jaw and the navel. The grooves are relatively few in number in this species, ranging from 14 to 35. The upper jaw is lined with baleen plates, which number 540–800 in total and are black in color.
The dorsal or upper side of the animal is generally black; the ventral or underside has various levels of black and white coloration. Whales in the southern hemisphere tend to have more white pigmentation. The flippers can vary from all-white to white only on the undersurface. Some individuals may be all white, notably Migaloo who is a true albino. The varying color patterns and scars on the tail flukes distinguish individual animals.[
The end of the genital slit of the female is marked by a round feature, known as the hemispherical lobe, which visually distinguishes males and females.
Unique among large whales, humpbacks have bumps or tubercles on the head and front edge of the flippers; the tail fluke has a jagged trailing edge. The tubercles on the head are 5–10 cm (2.0–3.9 in) thick at the base and protrude up to 6.5 cm (2.6 in).
They are mostly hollow in the center, often containing at least one fragile hair that erupts 1–3 cm (0.39–1.18 in) from the skin and is 0.1 mm (0.0039 in) thick. The tubercles develop early in gestation and may have a sensory function, as they are rich in nerves. Sensory nerve cells in the skin are adapted to withstand the high water pressure of diving.
In one study, a humpback whale brain measured 22.4 cm (8.8 in) long and 18 cm (7.1 in) wide at the tips of the temporal lobes, and weighed around 4.6 kg (10 lb). The humpback's brain has a complexity similar to that of the brains of smaller whales and dolphins.
The structure of the eye indicates that eyesight is relatively poor, being only able to see silhouettes over long distances and finer details relatively close. Computer models of the middle ear suggest that the humpback can hear at frequencies between 15 Hz and 3 kHz "when stimulated at the tympanic membrane", and between 200 Hz and 9 kHz "if stimulated at the thinner region of the tympanic bone adjacent to the tympanic membrane". These ranges are consistent with their vocalization ranges.
As in all cetaceans, the respiratory tract of the humpback whale is connected to the blowholes and not to the mouth, although the species appears to be able to unlock the epiglottis and larynx and move them towards the oral cavity, allowing humpbacks to blow bubbles from their mouths. The vocal folds of the humpback are more horizontally positioned than those of land mammals which allows them to produce underwater calls. These calls are amplified by a laryngeal sac.
This image was taken in Juneau, Alaska
The silhouette is a shadow, a shadow is nonexistent, shadow is the absence of light. The shadow is our part most primitive, that can walk to the light or to the darkness.
Alzira Maia da Costa(www.facebook.com/AlziraMaiaCosta?group_id=0):
"The shadow is the witness of the light over ..."
A silhueta é uma sombra, uma sombra é algo inexistente, sombra é ausência de luz. A sombra é a nossa parte mais primitiva, que pode caminhar para a luz ou para a escuridão.
Alzira Maia da Costa(www.facebook.com/AlziraMaiaCosta?group_id=0): " A sombra é a testemunha do excesso da luz..."
Mono Lake on Christmas Day
I didn’t have to do a whole lot for the shot that you’re looking at. Light did all the work for me.
All I had to do was simply replant my tripod, aim my camera at and compose a shot of the beautifully snow-covered Mono Dome and Lee Vining Peak with those little Tufa rocks floating in the water in the foreground.
I have to admit though that it is not always this easy and that there were times when it was extremely tricky to compose a shot when using a prime 24mm lens.
For instance, there were times when not enough room gave me a hard time planting the tripod with a few elements in the foreground in mind. In such cases, I simply didn’t have the luxury of changing focal length when using a 16-35mm lens.
Sometimes such a make or break situation challenges me and sometimes it takes time to compose a single shot.
And yet, it is the sharpness (as I demonstrated a few posts ago) and the almost nonexistent distortion across the entire frame that please my eye.
I also appreciate its light weight of under 1 lb (15.7 oz) tremendously. Yes, there are lightweight 16-35mm lenses, but none of them has the aperture of F/1.4.
Meanwhile, the tranquil view that you’re now looking at simply tickled me to pieces.
Come into my nonexistent parlor! (The house is gone.) Same stairs, another view.
Happy Saturday for Stairs!
While hunting for waterfowl this year, (which are almost nonexistent this year because of a 4 year drought by the way) hiking along the river. I spotted 3 Otters coming down stream and 2 of the 3 came up from the bottom of the river with large crawdads, crawfish or even crayfish. Depends on what part of the country you're from. But they were big ones and they were having fun with em. Unfortunately for me, they were about a 100 yds or so from me 20' up the bank wonder how to get down to them without killing myself, to could get a good shot of them.
They saw me eyeing them and were going to make sure I didn't get anywhere close to them. So the chase was on. Me struggling to run through the rocks and thick brush and trees along the bank and them pretty much laughing at me as I stumbled about. By the time I got down to the waters edge panting like a quarter horse after a long run, and shaking like a leaf in the wind. Struggling to get the camera and lens up to my eye which now weighed more than 300 lbs, normally it would only been about 20 lbs, but not now. Thinking I'd out smarted them, before they came around the bend in the river I got down on the ground so I could get a shot at ground level. Laying there with my belly and knees which felt like they were about to pop out of my skin. The Otters suddenly appear on the other side of the river, which is now about 200 yds away, thumbing their collective noses at me. And to make matters worse, I couldn't hardly get back up on my feet. So sorry, this is the best I could do under the circumstances.
Such is life at my age, but in my mind I think I'm still young and spry or perhaps it's just wishful thinking? So the self deception and struggle to keep warm and have fun while you can continues as you stumble along as best a nearly 80 year old "would be wildlife photographer" can do, by the GRACE OF GOD, THANK YOU JESUS. YES WE'RE STILL HAVING FUN. Even though now I am constantly humiliating myself in the process.
------------------------------ JESUS ✝️ SAVES-------------------------------
7 Therefore Jesus said again, "I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep. 8 All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. 9 I am the gate; whoever enters through me WILL BE SAVED. He will come in and go out, and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to STEAL and KILL and DESTROY; I have come that they may have LIFE, and have it to the FULL. (John 10:7-10)
Jesus came to bring spiritual LIFE to the spiritually dead and set the captives FREE! FREE from RELIGION, ERROR and outright LIES, so they might serve THE LIVING GOD! In SPIRIT and in TRUTH! Because JESUS LOVES YOU! ❤️ ✝️ ❤️
For the best Biblical teaching in the last 2 centuries! Please listen to and down load these FREE audio files that were created with YOU in mind. It's ALL FREE, if you like it, please share it with others. ❤️
archive.org/details/PeopleToPeopleByBobGeorgeFREE-ARCHIVE...
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My THANK'S in advance to all who fave and/or comment on my photos I very much appreciate it! ❤️
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I got to briefly re-explore the dead trains in my town ("my town" is half an hour away; I live in the woods), and this one of the shots.
The light was TERRIBLE (nonexistent, basically) so I definitely will go back. Again.
It's finally over. About two years into shooting up and down the former Wabash half of the NS Bloomington District, I have finally captured every single searchlight signal with a train. It's not such an easy task as it seems thanks to sporadic traffic on the line. Southbounds were easy enough to get, but northbound signals were pretty tough to deal with. NS D32 is the usual northbound but that is a midnight train, making daylight appearances to shoot incredibly rare - not helped by the fact I have work during the day! Regardless, I've collected shots of all the different searchlight configurations on the Bloomington - except for one.
Located a little ways into a wooded region of central Illinois, CP Mills' northbound signals requires would-be photographers to take a hike down the tracks, cross a short bridge, and try to make a very awkward light situation work - northbounds are a pain to shoot in the best of conditions, and Mills being half-hidden behind trees is far from the best conditions. Crucially, ATCS coverage of Mills is nonexistent thanks to the same tree cover. With Bement being spotty as well, getting a northbound green is hard to find - usually they appear at Lodge, the north end of Mills, and it's way, way too late.
Finally, the timing worked out. After work, I checked my monitor to see a signal lined north of Lodge and a train still working Bement - this was my best shot at finally nailing the last shot I need to complete the collection! I raced to Mills and finally had the courage to cross the small bridge, then waited.
It was nearly two hours later when NS D41 finally appeared around the distant curve. Light had been fading fast, and paired with the recent haziness, conditions were getting rough. Still, despite the rough light and boring motive power, I finally got the last shot I needed of the Bloomington. What a fine way to spend an evening.
Not to say I'm done shooting this line, but things may not be so easy in the future thanks to recent developments...
The silhouette is a shadow, a shadow is nonexistent, shadow is the absence of light. The shadow is our part most primitive, that can walk to the light or to the darkness.
A silhueta é uma sombra, uma sombra é algo inexistente, sombra é ausência de luz. A sombra é a nossa parte mais primitiva, que pode caminhar para a luz ou para a escuridão.
One of the last species I found was this Pacific Forktail. Not much to say about it: Ischnura cervula, the Pacific forktail, is a species of narrow-winged damselfly in the family Coenagrionidae. It is found in Central America and North America.
Now, of much greater importance and interest is the Duck Weed. Lemnoideae is a subfamily of flowering aquatic plants, known as duckweeds, water lentils, or water lenses. They float on or just beneath the surface of still or slow-moving bodies of fresh water and wetlands. Also known as bayroot, they arose from within the arum or aroid family (Araceae) - flic.kr/p/2m51zRE.
These plants have a simple structure, lacking an obvious stem or leaves. The greater part of each plant is a small organized "thallus" or "frond" structure only a few cells thick, often with air pockets (aerenchyma) that allow it to float on or just under the water surface. Depending on the species, each plant may have no root or may have one or more simple rootlets.[2]
Reproduction is mostly by asexual budding (vegetative reproduction), which occurs from a meristem enclosed at the base of the frond. Occasionally, three tiny "flowers" consisting of two stamens and a pistil are produced, by which sexual reproduction occurs. Some view this "flower" as a pseudanthium, or reduced inflorescence, with three flowers that are distinctly either female or male and which are derived from the spadix in the Araceae.
The flower of the duckweed genus Wolffia is the smallest known, measuring merely 0.3 mm long. The fruit produced through this occasional reproduction is a utricle, and a seed is produced in a bag containing air that facilitates flotation.
One of the more important factors influencing the distribution of wetland plants, and aquatic plants in particular, is nutrient availability. Duckweeds tend to be associated with fertile, even eutrophic conditions. They can be spread by waterfowl and small mammals, transported inadvertently on their feet and bodies,[5] as well as by moving water. In water bodies with constant currents or overflow, the plants are carried down the water channels and do not proliferate greatly. In some locations, a cyclical pattern driven by weather patterns exists in which the plants proliferate greatly during low water-flow periods, then are carried away as rainy periods ensue.
Duckweed is an important high-protein food source for waterfowl. The tiny plants provide cover for fry of many aquatic species. The plants are used as shelter by pond-water species such as bullfrogs and fish such as bluegills. They also provide shade and, although frequently confused with them, can reduce certain light-generated growths of photoautotrophic algae.
For at least six years, my primary source for dragon- and damselfly photography were three places in Heather Farm, a wonderful wildlife area given to the city a century ago for the enjoyment of "all citizens." In just three years - even before Covid - it seems that our City has deemed the wildlife part of the farm as unimportant. When I visited last week after a 15 month absence, duck weed had died, water flow was nonexistent, and in three areas, reeds had taken over a most beautiful lagoon where I photographed odonata but, even more, all manner of herons, ducks, and egrets! All gone! And I mean all! Seven Canada geese and, four mallards. Can you imagine a pond that once provided me with large populations of Ringed-necked ducks (flic.kr/p/2kNy5VY), Snowy egrets, *breeding* Double-crested cormorant colony, and a field of wild mustard that was the courtship, mating and nesting grounds for Redwinged blackbirds and a hunting ground for mated Red-shouldered hawks. All gone! And for what? An ill-conceived "community garden" that few were interested in, and now is a field of boxed weeds, fences that keep wildlife out, and cost more than enough to have maintained the two ponds (one a small lake), a stream, the lagoon, the mini-waterfall that was a breeding ground for the dragonflies, and six islands on which plants that were not native were planted and which died in less than 18 months and cost something like $7k each. They are still there. I saw one duck and dead plants. In four years, we've lost a treasure, a place where wild river otters and muskrat would nest during the summer (flic.kr/p/HagXWg). The two established nests are either in disrepair or have been torn down by the city. But basically, it's almost like planned neglect. I have a thousand images taken at Heather Farm from 2008 to 2019. There's nothing left to enjoy in the wild state. No hawks (flic.kr/p/2eqZiAj) breed there anymore, and they are neither fish nor vegetation to sustain such a wonderful population of wildlife ... even wildflowers. (The rose garden is kept up because it's a revenue source: wedding take place there, but I wonder how long that will occur since the devastation is just outside the rose garden gates.)
I came across this cute jumping spider. It was pretty jumpy, but luckily stood still for a bit so I could take its picture.
Depth of field at f/4 and 2x magnification is almost nonexistent, but it's all about the eyes anyway.
This male evarcha arcuata is real tiny, the total width of its head is only 1.5 mm. Despite 2x magnification and a crop camera, the image was cropped from 24 MP down to 8 MP to make the spider fill the frame.
In a perfect world, I35 would be nonexistent and the SD45 would be running but man does this look good. The 2015 Railfan Weekend train makes it way up the north shore past iconic Duluth locations.
"The Asian ladybug is a predator of a number of pest insects, especially aphids, but it has become a problem because it has overtaken native species. It is also this species of ladybug that may occasionally bite the hand that lovingly thinks it is playing with one of the harmless native ladybugs.
At a quick glance, it can be hard to tell the difference between the Asian ladybug and the native ladybugs, partly because the color of the Asian species can vary from light tan or orange to bright red, making them almost identical to some of the native species. But if you look closely, you will see the Asian ladybug has a white marking behind its head in the openings of what looks like a black M. Some also have dark black spots, but on others, the spots are very light or nonexistent.
Since their purposeful introduction, some not-so-beneficial qualities of Asian ladybugs have become apparent. Like boxelder bugs and stink bugs, Asian lady beetles will crawl into cracks and crevices of the home on the eaves, siding, or even the foundation to overwinter between the walls. They can then come into the house through the winter seeking its warmth.
Once inside, the insects can crawl or fly around rooms and land on windows, walls, and furniture. Like other ladybugs, the Asian variety secretes a yellowish, smelly fluid if disturbed, which can stain walls, furniture, and fabrics.
Asian lady beetles are typically somewhat more aggressive than native varieties and may bite if they land on the skin. Though the bite is not very painful, some people can have allergic reactions, ranging from eye problems like conjunctivitis ("pink eye") to hay fever, cough, asthma, or hives. Reactions can be triggered by touching the lady beetles then touching your eyes, or just by being around a large or lengthy infestation of the insects."
I was injecting a big batch of XSRs for an upcoming weapons pack, and got these two oddballs when I didn't wait until the plastic was hot enough and rushed the injection.
Not much of a sniper rifle now, is it? What would YOU call this?
(Armor by Brick Affliction, and poorly painted by me. And yes, he went out this morning and forgot to put on his nonexistent leg armor))
The adult humpback whale is generally 14–15 m (46–49 ft) long, though individuals up to 16–17 m (52–56 ft) long have been recorded. Females are usually 1–1.5 m (3 ft 3 in – 4 ft 11 in) longer than males.
The species can reach body masses of 40 metric tons (44 short tons). Calves are born at around 4.3 m (14 ft) long with a mass of 680 kg (1,500 lb)] The species has a bulky body with a thin rostrum and proportionally long flippers, each around one-third of its body length. It has a short dorsal fin that varies from nearly nonexistent to somewhat long and curved.
Like other rorquals, the humpback has grooves between the tip of the lower jaw and the navel. The grooves are relatively few in number in this species, ranging from 14 to 35. The upper jaw is lined with baleen plates, which number 540–800 in total and are black in color.
The dorsal or upper side of the animal is generally black; the ventral or underside has various levels of black and white coloration. Whales in the southern hemisphere tend to have more white pigmentation. The flippers can vary from all-white to white only on the undersurface. Some individuals may be all white, notably Migaloo who is a true albino. The varying color patterns and scars on the tail flukes distinguish individual animals.[
The end of the genital slit of the female is marked by a round feature, known as the hemispherical lobe, which visually distinguishes males and females.
Unique among large whales, humpbacks have bumps or tubercles on the head and front edge of the flippers; the tail fluke has a jagged trailing edge. The tubercles on the head are 5–10 cm (2.0–3.9 in) thick at the base and protrude up to 6.5 cm (2.6 in).
They are mostly hollow in the center, often containing at least one fragile hair that erupts 1–3 cm (0.39–1.18 in) from the skin and is 0.1 mm (0.0039 in) thick. The tubercles develop early in gestation and may have a sensory function, as they are rich in nerves. Sensory nerve cells in the skin are adapted to withstand the high water pressure of diving.
In one study, a humpback whale brain measured 22.4 cm (8.8 in) long and 18 cm (7.1 in) wide at the tips of the temporal lobes, and weighed around 4.6 kg (10 lb). The humpback's brain has a complexity similar to that of the brains of smaller whales and dolphins.
The structure of the eye indicates that eyesight is relatively poor, being only able to see silhouettes over long distances and finer details relatively close. Computer models of the middle ear suggest that the humpback can hear at frequencies between 15 Hz and 3 kHz "when stimulated at the tympanic membrane", and between 200 Hz and 9 kHz "if stimulated at the thinner region of the tympanic bone adjacent to the tympanic membrane". These ranges are consistent with their vocalization ranges.
As in all cetaceans, the respiratory tract of the humpback whale is connected to the blowholes and not to the mouth, although the species appears to be able to unlock the epiglottis and larynx and move them towards the oral cavity, allowing humpbacks to blow bubbles from their mouths. The vocal folds of the humpback are more horizontally positioned than those of land mammals which allows them to produce underwater calls. These calls are amplified by a laryngeal sac.
This image was taken from Deck 8 of the Sapphire Princess, which overlooks the bow of the ship, near Paradise Harbour in Antarctica
My alarm went of at 5:00 am, and of course I hit the snooze button and had the usual "should I get up" argument in my head for several minutes. The forecast was for 50% chance of rain, so I might get skunked. But then again, going back to sleep would equal 100% chance of skunk.
I arrived at the Hawk Hill parking lot at 6:20 am, and sure enough it was raining. I waited until 6:35 am when there was a slight break in the rain, suited up, and forced myself to get out of my car and walk up to the very top of Hawk Hill. It of course started raining again, so I stood around for while with my umbrella.
The sunrise was nonexistent with the heavy clouds so I decided to do a little scouting and I shifted positions. The rain stopped long enough for me to setup my tripod again, and in a few minutes the sun just barely peeked through. Suddenly a hole in the clouds appeared and beautiful God Rays streamed over San Francisco Bay. The rays quickly shifted right over downtown. I was so glad I hadn't left prematurely, and I feverishly captured some exposures, while disciplining myself to periodically wipe the condensation off my filters and also re-check focus. I remember saying to myself out loud "Do NOT miss this shot", and luckily I got a keeper.
Nikon D7100
18-55 mm kit lens (DX)
ISO 100
f/8.0
1/125 seconds
-0.3 step exposure bias
34 mm
Lee 0.9H grad ND filter (or possibly 0.6H, can't remember)
16:9 crop
Flowers are almost nonexistent around my house, except for vines running up a backyard fence featuring small clusters of tiny blooms surrounded by red leaves. Alas, I cannot identify the plant as I am not a botanist.
This furry-looking bloom was roughly 1/4" (6.35mm) in diameter, the pollen cluster (I think) less than 1/32" (0.79mm) wide.
Hey all! I’m so, so sorry I haven’t been posting. I was laid off from my job on February 10th, a few days before my last post. I’ve not been feeling well, in fact I’m still not, and this blog just felt too much like work that I couldn’t deal with.
I lost my grandmother and a great aunt, as well as a good friend, in the month leading up to me loosing my job, so this year has been simply overwhelming. Currently I’m trying to find a job that isn’t too far from my apartment, since I have an unfortunate fear of driving, and I don’t trust my car to keep it together for much longer and I want to be able to walk.
Mostly the thought of me working with new people, in a new place, is overwhelming. I don’t make friends easily, and I’m honestly a very shy person that usually gets misunderstood as unfriendly. After five and half years at my job, and especially after working through all of lockdown and the height of the pandemic last year, I didn’t have much of a reason to worry about being let go – my position was simply eliminated, and like so many other retail companies they are hiring more part-time employees instead of full-timers, so they couldn’t move me into another position within my store.
I’ve not really left the apartment much over the last four months, and I’ve not really seen any of my friends anyway, so maybe moving on to a different job won’t be so hard. I’ve just reached the point that I can’t think of what to do past tomorrow – I won’t make plans for next month, the month ever, because in my mind my future is nonexistent and I can’t get past thinking that way. I’m not suicidal, I just want to cease to exist. I can’t afford to see a psychiatrist or whatever right now, and I haven’t seen my parents or any of my siblings for three years now and I don’t know if I want to see or talk to them because I feel like such a useless person right now.
Sorry, this has nothing to with the photos or post really, just venting or whatever. Anyway – credits and SLURLs here: thevirtualgentleman.wordpress.com/2021/06/01/blur/
You can follow along with me on this adventure on my YouTube Channel.
Part 1: youtu.be/nf4wxo8YQo8?si=V2k4lTyRueOUYHEe
Part 2: youtu.be/x7HNR9SWnBI?si=IV-QpAfkaiZEVFIX
Day 11
The ferocious wind tugged on my sleeping bag all the long night. At first, it blew up the canyon from the west and I was mostly sheltered by the large boulder. Then, at some point, it shifted and blew down the canyon from the east and I was no longer protected. Again, before sunrise, it changed a third time and rushed down the steep slopes to the north like an avalanche—and again, the shelter from the boulder was nonexistent.
The few times I poked my head out of the bag to drink or check the position of the stars and moon, the wind chilled my bones and I could feel that the temperature had dropped well below freezing. If it hadn’t been for my Middle Earth blanket giving me extra warmth, I would have shivered all night long. Even still, I probably slept only an hour or two.
Normally, at the first sign of dawn, I would get out of my bag and begin searching for places to take sunrise photos—but not in this frigid wind. I laid in my bag as long as I could and only enjoyed the alpenglow upon the peaks from inside it, and only with brief glances, looking out from its warm interior.
By the time I finally did get out of my bag, the pink glow had transformed into normal sunlight, though my camp was still in shadow. I put on all my layers and quickly and haphazardly packed up my gear in between the strong gales. My face was numb in the biting cold wind, as the lake raged and the lone willow at its shore whipped wildly around.
As soon as everything was stuffed into my pack, I set out into the full force of the icy wind beyond the large boulder whose shelter had waned greatly since finding it.
The small trickling, spring-fed seeps that flowed down into the lakes were frozen—and so was the foot-printed mud of the broken path that I followed. I walked against the wind with my gloved hand over my nose and lips to keep them from numbing, while underfoot the frozen mud crunched with each step.
If only I had walked five more minutes last night, I would have found the campsite I had been looking for. It was surrounded by four- to five-foot-tall pines that appeared more bush-like than tree-like. They provided little in the way of protection from the wind, with the exception of a hollow beneath and within their flailing branches. I crawled inside and huddled there until suntouch. It is surprising how much a simple shelter like this is so much warmer only because it blocks the wind. Wind chill is nothing to take lightly.
Now with the sunshine, I hoped it would be warmer—it was not. After eating breakfast in the hollow, I set out again. The wind blew just as strong as ever, and with the sun rising at my back, my face was still numbed.
After passing the last lake in the chain, the canyon opened up to reveal a wide valley. From here, I turned off my westerly heading and began climbing north up a grassy chute into a new lake basin. From here, there would be no more path or trail for at least four miles.
Here were three new, larger lakes to navigate around. Before they came into view, I got my first-ever glimpse of the Ionian Basin—its black peaks rising in the west beyond the Evolution Valley—a stark contrast to the rest of the High Sierra peaks whose summits gleam with white granite. One day I will journey into the Ionian.
Now the sun was high enough to bring much-needed warmth, and the wind seemed to have calmed, so I de-layered because I was beginning to sweat. As I did, I stood on a mountainside gazing over the first lake in this new basin, studying its shoreline, trying to figure out my next move.
I decided to stay on this southern shore because to traverse to the north would be a longer route. This southern route had some sheer cliffs blocking the way down low where the waves lapped over the rocky shore, so I climbed up the steep mountainside through patches of purple, swaying lupines and back into the shadow of the mountain.
All of a sudden, as I climbed higher, the wind returned with a vengeance—it didn’t care about my clothing, going right through my shirt to my skin like icy knives. I pushed through the frigid gusts that stole my breath, quickly making my way around the first of the three large lakes. Far below, the gusts raced across its surface, making waves that rolled from west to east.
The route I had chosen began to descend toward the far end, and now, between me and the lakeshore, cliffs stretched across where I needed to go. Thankfully, there were large natural steps in the rocks that allowed me a place to climb down.
The next obstacle that concerned me was a steeply sloped, iced-over snow patch that went all the way up to the mountaintop on one side and all the way to the lake on the other. The only open spot without snow was a section of steep, icy slabs. I thought this was the point where I would have to turn around and try the other side—until I noticed a crack going across the slippery slabs. Carefully, slowly, I walked along it to the other side. I made it!
Now came an easy talus field with cairns marking the way. Large waves (large for a High Sierra lake, but small compared to the ocean) broke on the rocky shore as I walked along it. Soon, I left the first large lake behind and came to the second, very quickly, since they were only a stone’s throw apart. This one was calm—both air and water. All I had to do here was pass by a short section of clear and calm glistening water gently lapping before climbing up to the third.
The distance between these two was longer than I thought, but I eventually reached the third lake. Following in the footsteps of others who came this way, I walked along a sandy beach, then onto even bigger talus than before. I could see the pass at the far end—a low point between two peaks, Muriel Peak and a spur of Mt. Goethe.
Pikas chirped from beneath the talus as I passed on my way to the far side. Once I reached it, I began working my way diagonally up, aiming for cliffs on the western side of the pass as the lake slowly fell away below me. At the foot of the cliffs were easily navigable slabs—like a highway to the top.
Before ascending them, I took off my pack and sat down on a boulder for a break. The beautiful lake I had just walked beside shimmered far below, its deep blue waters glistening in gusts of wind sweeping toward me from the far end. This is one of those views I could stare at all day and never tire of. Maybe I’ll get a print of it and hang it on my wall.
After the break, I continued up the slabs. Not far above me, I could see the top—I was almost there. One foot after the other, I slowly but steadily pressed on. The steepness of the mountainside relaxed and the last 34 paces came easier. Then, as I reached the flat saddle, Goethe Lake appeared far away, down in the cirque on the other side. I had reached the top—12,333 ft.
There was only a small, refreshing, and gentle breeze here. I was ecstatic.
I dropped my pack, took off my shoes and socks, collapsed on a good sitting rock, and rested. Once I was recovered enough, I ate lunch. Today brought back fond memories of when I did the Sierra High Route (or Roper Route) eight years ago—it has been too long since.
The rugged remoteness of this place, the beautiful glacial desolation, the deep blue windswept lakes nestled in blinding white granite between jagged peaks, the thinness, crispness, and heaviness of the high elevation—11,000, 12,000, 13,000 ft—is where I am most happy. (Nothing compares to it. Nothing is even close.) These moments make the frustration and suffering brought on by unending, frigid wind worth it.
After a long, well-deserved rest, I continued down the other side through a labyrinth of massive granite blocks of talus—some the size of cars or larger. Carefully and slowly, I picked the best route I could find. After a while, I came to a cliff. Now I had to decide if I was going to go around its east side, west side, or maybe try the steep chute that split in two.
There appeared to be a narrow scree scramble through it, but it disappeared around a corner, and there was no way to know if another cliff lay hidden. I didn’t want to have to climb back up, so I headed east. Here, the cliff faded into the mountainside where another scree scramble descended. Surveying it, I saw several cairns and faint footprints marking a steep path down.
The loose gravel and scree tumbled and rolled as I purposefully slipped and slid down as carefully as I could. At the bottom was more large talus.
Far away and below was a grassy patch. That was my goal—I would aim for that. Using hands as well as feet, I climbed over some of the largest rocks yet. With fatiguing legs, I slowly inched closer to the grassy patch. Eventually, I reached the bottom of the downhill, and the terrain flattened out.
I still had to deal with the talus, but it was much smaller now, and forward travel became much easier. Soon even the small rocks were behind me and I was on solid ground. Relief flooded over me—I had never been so thankful for grass. I took off my pack, laid down, and passed out.
After the brief nap, I quickly reached the southern shore of Goethe Lake. After refilling my water and drinking a whole bunch of it, I began to circle the lake. The southern shore is not recommended to travel along if you're heading east—the talus is too big. I’ve heard it described as boxcar- to house-sized.
My book, where I get all my information, says the northern shore is the best side to traverse. So that’s what I will do.
This lake gets deep quick—the water is clear along the shore but soon turns a deep turquoise, then, as the bottom falls away into the depths, becomes a deep, dark blue. More large talus encircles the lake, making travel tedious. I tried to stay low, right on the blocks where the small waves lap, but soon I had to climb up to avoid cliffs with no stepping stones.
The whole way down the pass to the lake, there had been hardly any wind. Now, on the north side, the gusts were back—though not cold and biting like before. As the waves picked up in the rising wind, they made strange sounds as they lapped in hollows beneath the talus.
Soon the upper Goethe Lake was behind me—and so was the talus. Then I rounded the lower lake and put that behind me as well. Now I was on a defined path again—not a mapped trail, but that was still miles away.
I followed it over a rolling hill, and soon Muriel Lake, where I spent my second night on trail, came into view in the basin below. Once I was along its shores, the wind returned with a vengeance I hadn’t seen since this morning.
I had been thinking about spending the night here—but not in this wind. So, I continued on around the lake toward Piute Pass.
Maybe I’d spend the night at one of the many lakes below the pass, but the wind was raging just as much there too. So I swiftly headed downhill.
Once all the lakes were behind me and the trail mostly leveled out, I entered a lush aspen and pine forest. At some point within the last four days since I was last here, a massive pine tree had snapped in the vicious wind and was now lying across the trail, its branches scattered haphazardly around it.
This last day was supposed to be two—but it became one because of the wind. I finally reached my car. I was sore and exhausted. (11.5 miles were hiked today.)
I drove down the mountain to Bishop to get food. I learned a new thing while waiting for my order—reverse altitude sickness is a thing. I descended too quickly, and now, while waiting for food, I felt dizzy and lightheaded. I closed my eyes and did deep breathing. Thankfully, it didn’t last long and I was better by the time my food arrived.
I got a bed at the hostel and spent the evening listening to another backpacker shredding on an electric guitar while weed smoke swirled around him. (No, I did not partake.)
The next day, I headed back uphill to Jan’s to share my stories.
...
In a week and a half, I leave for my next High Sierra Adventure.
Unfortunately I have been unable to get out lately with my camera to take new pictures. So, I decided to spend some time, during the heat of the Texas summer, and edit some of the pictures from my Alaskan cruise vacation last summer. At the time, my knowledge of photography and editing was nonexistent. I just put the images on here straight from camera just to share with family and friends. While my editing skills still aren't all that great, I have learned enough to better bring out the beauty in the pictures (hopefully).
This shot was taken from the balcony of our room as we departed Juneau down the Gastineau Channel. While this image is a definite improvement over the original , it does not do justice to the beauty of this incredible sunset.
Eastbound CPKC 254-22 comes off the "dump" to the UP Milwaukee Subdivision near Northbrook, IL. Like a place out of a John Hughes Brat Pack movie, this Union Pacific control point is aptly named "Shermer" though a township or town of any sort in the area is totally nonexistent. The sturdy brown bridge overpass over Shermer Road, seen just beyond the signals, was rebuilt after a Union Pacific coal load derailed in July of 2012, burying an elderly couple that were out for a drive and happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when the coal train hit a sun kink, derailed, destroyed the bridge, and fell to Shermer Road down below.
Skrzyczne is a mountain in southern Poland, in the Silesian Voivodeship, close to the town of Szczyrk. It is the highest mountain of the Silesian Beskids[3] and the fifth most topographically prominent peak in Poland.[4][a]
Skrzyczne is one of the peaks which make up the Crown of Polish Mountains, or a list of the highest points in each of Poland's 28 mountain ranges.[5] The peak can be reached by hiking paths, and there is also a gondola lift which starts in Szczyrk and comes up to around 1,000 metres (3,300 ft) above sea level.[6] The slopes of the mountain are also known for the many blueberries which grow on them and which are frequently collected by hikers and other visitors.[7]
A mountain hut, PTTK Skrzyczne, is located very close to the peak of the mountain. The first hut, built in 1933, was destroyed in a fire.[8] A second hut was built in the late 1930s, and stands to this day.[9] There is likewise a tall (87 metres (285 ft)) radio and television tower atop Skrzyczne,[10] which makes it easy to recognise the peak from afar.
In addition to multiple hiking trails, the Skrzyczne area also hosts a ski resort with several pistes,[11] as well as mountain biking trails.[12] Several trail races also cross the peak, most notably Zamieć, a 24-hour race which takes place in the winter.[13]
Legend has it that Skrzyczne takes its name from the croaking of frogs (in Polish: skrzyczenie), which supposedly inhabited the (now nonexistent) ponds near the peak.[14]
Another shot from the Spring Grove Arboretum and Cemetery. Not the best shot I've ever taken, but I liked it for some reason.
It doesn't seem to have a good focal point, so my eyes wander around the picture, which, sometimes, I don't like... but today I do.
I put this into Slider Sunday group because I added the autumn color... which was nonexistent in this shot, and then fiddled with the colors and the focus a lot... so plenty of sliders were slid!
Been under the weather... no commenting tonight. Feeling not so good... not a good mental state for commenting on your beautiful photos! I am positively grumpy.
Happy Slider's Sunday to all... HSS!
3 PANOs layered with James Tiliich insert. A major production, two mornings of work.
James Tillich is known worldwide as "the man who never existed." I ought to know. I created him.
A stranger who claims to have no memory of his past. Although some have tried, no one has been able to refute this claim - and none have been able to trace him from prior to his arrival on the beaches of Erkelon, far south of Okoto, in a strange "canister". What little knowledge he does have of his nature comes from his recent experience - although he has been awake for but fifteen months - and a few strange "premonitions". He is not even sure of his own name - "Jetera", he says, is only a reconstruction.
Shortly after his arrival, Jetera was chosen to be the Master of Storms of the Toa Vihagu. However, Jetera's control over his electrical element was inconsistent and best, and nonexistent at worst - so he used deception and surprise as his chief tools. Despite his initally aloof and sometimes outright hostile to his teammates, his affinity for them has grown greatly, and the friendships he has with them have become his driving force - as he had no fixed morality or sense of purpose upon arrival.
With white extra flags flapping in the summer breeze, New Hampshire Northcoast's northbound empty gravel train crosses the calm water of the Salmon Falls River from Lebanon, ME into Milton, NH. The NHN main only crosses into the state of Maine for a few hundred feet here while the rest of line remains in New Hampshire. Solid green power on the NHN will pretty much be nonexistent for the foreseeable future with an FURX GP38-2 in maroon paint having arrived on the property in August. Although the power here isn't exactly matching, the patched ex-New England Southern GP18 beats the leaser in my book any day, especially due to the fact that the red unit typically leads the southbound.
We made it down to the seaside for the 2nd time this year! It wasn't a planned trip... we just woke up & thought "let's go for a paddle!", hopped on a train down to the Welsh coast & spent the afternoon at the beach. The last time we visited this place was over a year ago but as the train was approaching the final station, he suddenly came out from where he'd been snoozing under the seat, stuck his nose in the air & started wagging his tail, pulling me to stand by the doors. We were first to get off & Barney most certainly remembered where we were - he marched us enthusiastically down to the sea front.
I rarely let Barney off lead these days so I was very happy that he had a bit of time running free on the sand that afternoon. It was lovely to watch him gallop (albeit, a fairly slow gallop!) off to the water & then come bounding back to me, with such a delighted expression on his face. He didn't feel like swimming but had a good paddle, ripped some seaweed up, barked at the (almost nonexistent!) waves, played a very short game of fetch, he even did a bit of digging in the sand - something I've not seen Barney do for years. We were all exhausted on the way home but I think it was worth it, to see Barney have so much fun :)
During the DirtbagMont weekend in eastern Washington, probably my favorite moment came on Sunday evening during a long wait for a northbound manifest on Union Pacific's Ayer Subdivision. My traveling companions Justin and Davis opted to scramble up a hillside near where we'd left the car, while I set out solo westbound on foot via the abandoned SP&S right of way. Two rainy hours later, I found myself several miles from the car and out of contact with my dirtbag companions due to sometimes spotty, and sometimes nonexistent cell phone coverage. The rain did not let up, and the light was failing quickly, but I decided to stick it out.
Between the time that I first heard the train grinding through Hooper, and the time it finally appeared, I had lost a full stop of light. But my time spent waiting in the rain communing with the drenched eastern Washington landscape, the ghosts of the SP&S, and occasional deer was as much of a reward as the accompanying photo. It was almost completely dark by the time I made it back to the car, and Justin and Davis were quite relieved that they weren't going to have to embark on a search and rescue mission.