Walking in Buckinghamshire
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This black and white photo captures the feeling of being on a desolate road, with heavy clouds looming overhead and fields stretching out on either side. An electricity pole stands tall, a solitary reminder of civilisation in this otherwise raw landscape. The photo evokes a sense of isolation and contemplation.
Our guide roused us from our tents at "0-dark-thirty," a time of day that usually shouldn't exist outside of military drills or deep-seated regrets. Before the caffeine could even attempt a rescue mission, we were bouncing along what the locals charitably called a road, but what felt more like a two-track animal trail.
In the distance, strange, glowing lumps pulsed against the Serengeti dirt like luminous mushrooms. As we rattled closer, the mystery was solved: these were hot-air balloons, being blasted into submission by propane torches. What began as sluggish, silken heaps soon swelled into towering giants, straining against their tethers as if they were as eager to leave the ground.
The scene at the launch site was one of organized chaos. Each flight captain acted as a sort of aerial sheepdog, corralling the disoriented tourists spilling out of Land Rovers. We were ushered into wicker baskets that looked--to a cynical eye--like they had survived several decades of both the elements and gravity's occasional victories.
After a safety briefing that we all listened to with the wide-eyed intensity of the doomed, the captain opened the valves. There is a peculiar, eerie magic in watching the earth simply… give up. As we pushed into a sky bleeding with the reds and golds of dawn, the world below shrank into a silent, miniature kingdom.
We floated in a cathedral of air, suspended over a sea of grass while hundreds of animals roamed beneath us, blissfully unaware of the humans dangling in a laundry basket above them. Save for the occasional whoosh of the burner, the Serengeti at dawn is a masterpiece of quiet.
For those of us who survived the "harrowing" vertical commute, the reward was a champagne brunch served in the middle of the wild--a civilized touch in a raw landscape. We eventually piled back into the trucks, clutching our cameras and our mercifully unused barf-bags, and headed for camp. It was, by all accounts, a day worth remembering.
When I step into a wilderness on foot, it feels as if Ihave been transported back to a primeval world, untouched by human hands. This one lies in Montana--a designated wilderness where nature endures in its purest form. There are no roads, buildings, or machines here--only raw landscapes shaped by wind, water, and time. We are merely passing through, brief visitors in a realm that remains as it has for centuries, protected so its beauty and solitude can outlast us and be treasured by generations to come.
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To view photos of this year's overlanding journey in chronological order, click www.flickr.com/photos/stevefrazier/albums/72177720328383895
© Stephen L. Frazier - All Rights Reserved. Reproduction, printing, publication, or any other use of this image without written permission is prohibited.
The mountain Ra Gusela on top of the Passo Giau in Italy. And if it looks like a lake, it´s only a puddle where it reflects in :)
There are times when this unspoilt raw landscape scares me. It is so harsh and hard to cross it is easy to become trapped, or lost or devoured by it and the elements. Here I had gone to the furthermost islet I could get to without swimming in anticipation of a stunning sunset. Having climbed up the granite rocks to the highest point, I patiently waited for the sun to lower and the colours to explode, confident that low tide was going to be late this evening. But as I sat there, the concern started to gnaw at me. Wasn't the water surrounding me was getting deeper. Surely not? It couldn't be. It doesn't get deeper as the tide ebbs.
My nerves started to jangle. Getting here hadn't been easy in the first place, but if I was now cut off by the tide......Memories of being stranded when I first came to this part of the world, and at Crammond Island still haunt me. I decided I better retreat.....sod, the sunset, it wasn't looking good, and in the end it didn't happen either. Newton of Ardtoe, you were a dud.
The fallen Autumn leaves still on this woodland scene in spring added interest and a bit of a lead in through the scene to the light.
Its a while since I posted a proper landscape shot that wasn’t ICM and ive a few still lurking on my hard drive to post process from winter and spring trips!
“To honor used writing ustensils for the service they rendered”
ACCentaury is the work of Haveit Neox, an RL and SL artist.
This room features art by Silas Merlin.
Past exhibit: vimeo.com/131254248
Visit this location at ACC ALPHA {City of Accentaury} in Second Life
Once more must see...
Thanks to Bamboo Barnes - Artist.Com for sharing ! Let's quote her : “Since 1st time I accidently made tp to there,
it is most greatest accident to me.
This amazing sim, I was like a kid catching moon in her hands, unbelievable, so out of ordinary [...] ”
Visit this location at ACC ALPHA {City of Accentaury} in Second Life
Late summer 2021, silhouettes at the 3 Cime di Lavaredo. Very early morning, I couldn't resist to press the shutter!
it was a wild and crazy surf over the rocks from the trail, just 'round the corner from Whaler's Cove, Point Lobos state natural reserve.
Named by John Wesley Powell, although there is no actual marble the canyon, he thought the polished limestone looked like marble.
Saved by the Sierra Club, this was the sight of one of the last great dams in the west. Along with others, the Sierra Club fought long and hard to block it, and the idea was officially abandoned in 1968.
On his last day as president, LBJ proclaimed it as a national monument, to protect the canyon from any further attempts to submerge it as a bathtub artificial lake (Proclamation 3889).
Photo: Lon Winchester
All Rights Reserved ®
Facebook: www.facebook.com/lon.winchester.photography
Instagram: @winchester_travelers
Cliff Edge in Sunlight. © Copyright 2021 G Dan Mitchell – all rights reserved.
DescrSun shines on the sharp edge of a sandstone cliff, Zion National Park.iption
Many years ago I was on a two-week backpacking trip through a long section of the Southern Sierra Nevada, covering some of the highest portions of the range on foot. The hike took me across a series of very high passes that were close to 12,000′ hight. In other words, I spent a lot of time in some very rugged and alpine places. I distinctly recall pausing on one of the higher passes to look around and realizing that the entire visible landscape consisted of rock and snow, with not a bit of forest visible to me. That vision of such a raw landscape stuck with me, and I’m always on the look out for such things.
While Zion Canyon is certainly not a place without forests and trees and rivers and lots of other comfortable things, it is possible to find a few ways of viewing this country that reinforce how much of its landscape is built on rock, in this case layers of sedimentary rock laid down, transformed, twisted and tilted over the millennia. This photograph catches the sun-lit edge of a closer buttress (yes, with a few plants!) juxtaposed with another more distant wall in shadow.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
Looking across buttes in Valley of the Gods towards Monument Valley with the early morning light filtered by a light cloud cover. This region exudes a spiritual grace, not surprisingly as a place of habitation by indigenous peoples for at least the last 12,000 years as well as a popular destination for many seeking peace in the empty raw landscapes of the Colorado Plateau.
Valley of the Gods is likely to be formally reincorporated into the Bears Ears National Monument with recent actions by President Biden, reversing the previous administration's drastic shrinking of the monument established by President Obama.
Just a few feet from towering cliffs overlooking a rocky Pacific ocean, these trees lie in peace, awaiting you and your camera.
From the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, Moss Beach, California