on not remembering i forgot the shutter release cable at home until we were halfway across the ship canal bridge en route to Darrington

The last time I visited this waterfall and attempted to take photographs of some artistic value, Adam was throwing a fit of truly Brobdingnagian proportions in the backpack carrier. He was just a little bit younger than Oliver Fern is now but when I told him this on Saturday he found the idea amusing and unbelievable to fathom though I insisted it was true.

Little brother gets transported in the carrier far less often and frankly I can’t even begin to recall the last time I hoisted him in the thing, which is probably for the better since our entry-level REI model is missing a few rivets and fraying at a couple strategic-looking seams. After having been twisted and deformed like a coastal fir after the past seven years, enough was enough for my big-guy spine. I’m good at giving shoulder piggyback rides so that’s how we roll if the miles stretch too far like they did this weekend, just gotta watch the footsteps on the rocks and roots. God knows, I had plenty of energy from all the cookies we brought with us from home. Oliver Fern fell asleep on the way back to Whulge country out of the foothills on probably the sleepiest, most pleasant curves ever known to tired passengers.

My backpack was jumbled from Lake Michigan Country and as a result I stinking forgot my shutter release cable at home, I didn’t stinking realize this until we were halfway across the stinking Ship Canal Bridge. I despise using the timer on the camera to set the shutter but my only other option was to not have an option so the fuming subsided past Shoreline or Lake Forest Park.

A few days ago when I got ticked off at Adam for a now-ridiculous-seeming impropriety that wasn’t all that bad except Oliver Fern had moments bef0re mischievously spilled a gallon or more of water on the floor (out of the tub) so I was fuming already, I stormed helter-skelter into his (Adam’s) room to lecture him about how things were gonna have to be when my freakishly-long index toe slammed into the door jamb like anti-lock disc brakes and left the thing (my toe, not the door jamb) even more medieval-looking than it already was. So it was Saturday that after some hemming and hawing about my perplexing lack of creativity in the midst of just about the nicest waterfall around, I decided: Impetuous, hotheaded dad may as well stand in the danged river to shoot and as a special bonus, calm his throbbing toe down. And as I’ve previously alluded to, when I partake in dangerous-looking stuff like this when Adam’s around I make sure to explain with precision my anticipatory decision-making, how I know where to stand and locate myself and when is an okay time to pick my nose, scratch behind or reach for this-or-that.

For concluding remarks, mainly all I have to say is I wish screwing a circular polarizer over an ND filter hadn’t seemed like such a hard thing to do (although if we’re going to be honest, sometimes the tiny threads on ’em make it a five minute job). In spite of being a lazy alligator turd, I managed to coax 8 seconds out of this image. But most of the time I’ll stack a circular polarizer on an ND filter in an environment like this. The times when my laziness gets the best of me: When that contrast between light and dark becomes so extreme on the gloomiest Pacific Northwestern days in the coziest, deep nooks of primeval forest and getting the focus between shots becomes a major chore and finding just the right exposure becomes less predictable and so I cross my fingers and hope there aren’t any reflections that are too ghastly silverish (though those can work astoundingly nice for monochromes) or that I’ll still wring out a decent amount of color and at least I’m less likely to get sandbagged later by ugly casts.

6 thoughts on “on not remembering i forgot the shutter release cable at home until we were halfway across the ship canal bridge en route to Darrington

  1. Well I, for one, thing you did a stinking good job, especially without that stinking rotten cable release and a stinking neanderthal toe! I stinking love the way you bring us into your stinking life. (grin) And funny how you sneak into mine with a single word. My poor stinking kids are going to hate my stinking vocabulary today. Commence eye rolling when I somehow spit out that I love them with great “Brobdingnagian proportions.”

  2. Roni, it occurs to me you’re a classic brobdingnagian neanderthal cave mother…..your boys are lucky to have survived without being smothered, not unlike some saber-toothed tiger mother who licked her kittens too hard and then dopily sat on them with satisfaction while the kittens wheezed for air. But as a result they’ve acquired survival skills that’ve helped them do things like take down Woolly Mammoths and get through the sixth grade and internships and whatnot.

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