on being mistaken for chuck norris in the center of the universe
We spent a consuming, very rewarding Saturday with the boys in the woods along the Baker River. Had a somewhat trying week as a family in the modern age and all I wanted was for us to be together someplace uncultivated- the refinement of nature only, a little path with some sun shining down on it amidst the vast and magnificent North Cascades would do. First thing in the morning we helped some lost hikers at the trailhead who were in search of the Watson Lakes. Shortly thereafter got a crick in the neck admiring glaciers about a mile high. Adam probably had the most fun, which is to be expected when you’re seven years old, spelunking in boulder caverns and dramatically reporting to your family that you still have a chance of finding some snakes. Oliver Fern delighted in following big brother up humongous, centuries-old mountains of moss-covered earth in the forest. We ate lunch while conducting detailed explorations of an enormous gravel bar. The afternoon advanced rapidly, unlike us. Shooting wasn’t the highest priority for me since it was a family outing, but deep down I was getting a tad discouraged I’d miss out on any good light at Sulphide Creek and those concerns got magnified after we stopped for a long time so Oliver could do a number two (he will not be hurried and there’s nothing you can do with him but bide your time). Once we reached the boundary for the National Park, Adam and I received clearance for advance scouting to Sulphide Creek so as to ensure no ogres lay in waiting. At the creek, I carried Adam koala bear-style across to the north bank so he could explore while I attempted to wring out an image for the day.
Was this picture a nice enough reward for soggy boots and squishy socks? I shot this with my Nikkor 105 mm, which I had schlepped for no reason up to this point (I specifically brought it along for close-ups on the forest floor….. never did get to them). The evening shadows encroached by now so much as to take away the versatility of my wide angle. It was a relief to have some reach and I knew if I walked around a little and found the right spot, the contrast of the maples along the creek might be nice. Wish I’d had the time to move around just a little more. Want to know the cruel irony? My favorite exposures came from the south bank of Sulphide Creek, haha! This afternoon I’m continuing my run of black and white images. I’m not on any sort of mission with these nor do I feel I’m in a phase. I allow my instincts to take over whenever I make a conversion to b/w. My instincts may be wrong, sometimes. Well, maybe a lot of times.
Yesterday we ventured to the Fremont Sunday Market with the boys. A cheery, hard-living whiskey drinker who looked like a kung fu master out of central casting was grooming himself in an alleyway mirror. He looked at me with great surprise and cheerily insisted I looked like Chuck Norris. I really had no choice but to oblige his compliment and accept a gentle fist bump which left a strange, unknown wet substance across my knuckles that I thoroughly soaked with hand sanitizer. Out of respect for kung fu master, I waited until I was around the corner to retrieve my bottle of Purell. Because although I’m not a Chuck Norris fan (he’s a Republican turd in real life and come to think of it, probably so was Cordell Walker), some of the last memories of personal time with my grandma are watching Walker, Texas Ranger with her when I was home from college. And I received a certain amount of pleasure from the doppelganger since Norris is a pretty cheesy tough guy and retro in not the coolest way and I just can’t help but to be pleased about effortlessly standing out as someone not very cool. But you know, I really don’t look anything like Chuck Norris.