Time-Travel: First Frames

That's a close-up of a photo of a photo (see below) from my fifth grade year, the year I first started wearing glasses. My parents noticed that I seemed to have a hard time reading road signs, though I tried to fake my way through the I-See-the-A-in-the-San-Pablo-Exit-sign game as best I could. I recall being hit by the ball--softball, hardball, football, whatever--a lot as I tried to keep track of the slightly blurry object hurtling my way, but would I tell my folks? Let them think I was clumsy, for I was obviously trying to catch whatever came my way, but to admit I needed glasses! No way!

What amuses me in looking at this shot from, what, 1971 is how much of myself I can see in that boy. I am not sure if a stranger could put my aging face together with that child's face, but friends and family should be able to see the same ears, chin, forehead, eyes (glasses and all), and smile.

I recommend pulling out old photos like this. If only to recall what being such a kid was like. I'm smiling there because I'm in the midst of a good time with my cousin Steve, and it's good to recall such good times, fleeting though they may be, fleeting though time itself has proven to be.

My parents picked out those frames, by the way. The thick plastic frames were very uncool at the time, but the folks hoped they'd be hardier than wire frames. I am not sure if I broke that pair, but I certainly broke the next two or three plastic frames playing sports in school.

Later, when I convinced the folks to buy me wire frames, I showed them how easy it was to bend them back into shape, more or less, my first week after I got them. I doubt if those frames were really any more stylish.

What was that character's name from My Three Sons? Ernie? Something like that, right?

The Blog as Book(s)

This is a vanity production, not a commercial one. Still, I like having the book-versions. Easier for me to get a sense of the whole, frankly, paging through the entries.

Volume I: In memory of Keith Sanders (1961-2011).

Volume II: In memory of my mother and my father.

Waterscape

Monastery Beach: three views.

I'd meant to hit the water either south by Monterey or north by Mendocino this long weekend, but no luck. Instead, I've been working and swimming and prowling through my photo archives.

I took these pictures the day after my 50th birthday last June.

Happy birthdays, George and Abe.

Happy birthdays to us all.

Swimming Out

First shot, swimming out from the easiest entry: Lover's Point.

This was . . . two weeks ago, now?

Need to hit the beach again. I've been putting in pool-time, but that's not the same.

Off The Point

Breaking Wave

I had first just tagged this shot as "breaking wave," but there's a lot more going on, I think.

I love the action, of course, with the surfer on the right looking back, probably wondering what the diver (that's me) thinks he's doing. I wondered if he thought I was going to get beat. The surfer on the left, of course, is just thinking about himself, duck-diving and avoiding the curl above him.

Myself? Divers duck under, you know, or ride the surge.

I also like the bumpiness and the shine coming off different parts of the wave, from the frothy spray to the sun rays bouncing back at the camera. That lumpiness, though, is just too cool for words for me.

Note: all the blather here is about the wave and the action, not about my photography. I just pushed a button. Getting into that place, that position in the zone, is the fun of it all.

I love getting beat by waves, too. I'm calculating if I can really hit the water again this weekend, what with all the grading I need to be doing. And yet . . . to get salty-wet.

By the way, I love duck-diving, by definition.

When I was swimming in--and with the camera's memory card full up--there was a boogie-boarder who just owned the spot. She knew every curl and surge and rock and rhythm, and she'd ride right up to the breakwater and would just pull out of the wave she'd been riding before splatting, as casual as you please. When the next biggish wave came in, she just set herself and somehow avoided getting plastered. Obviously, local knowledge and water-time there. It was a pleasure to watch her work the waves.

I was sorry I couldn't take photos. Next time.

I Have A Kelp Tattoo II

And yet more fun in the sturm und drang of it all.

Where It's Fun

Backside Beauty

I love watching the backs of waves. That realization was slow in coming, conditioned as I have been by all the frontside, front-lit, top-heavy, looming beauties offered up in the surf magazines and films. And watching the wave from this perspective must mean I'd missed it, right, if I were surfing, and the only consolations would be watching my friends ride and the knowledge gained as to where and how the waves were breaking particularly. Though, I'd probably be turning to keep my eyes on the approaching breaker and missing much of that rear view.

As a free diver and especially as an abalone diver up north, I've watched many waves breaking, calculating the time between sets, checking the force in play, setting up my exit amidst the rips and rocks. Mostly, I love watching the backs of waves for the simple fact that such a view means I'm out there.

And Out There is where I generally desire to be.

With the photo above, I'd like to direct your attention to the lovely view of the shore, to the foam-capped back of the breaking wave, to the black-suited surfer waiting for the next one, and to the humps and contours of the water just in front of me. That foreground and the dip just beyond . . . whoever thinks water is flat must be looking into a bucket at rest on the ground.

My favorite schoolyard experiment was always to fill a bucket with water and to swing it all the way around over and over again without spilling a drop. (For me--and I don't know if this was the lesson I was supposed to be learning--gravity was the bucket that kept the oceans from spilling off the surface of the earth.)

On the other hand, lots of spillage up above, and it's all good.

I like the hint of kelp in the foreground to the right too.


(Centrifugal force: that's the bucket lesson, right?)



P.S. I like how we are looking up at that breaking wave. You'd think we'd be looking down or across at it, since it's broken, really, and yet we are still looking up. That's how much water is moving shoreward, and I am being pulled down into the trough of the next wave as well.

My Favorite Blue

Star Power

Poor visibility along with the swell made fish photos a bit of a wild goose chase, but I like this green-world star.

You can see how poor the visibility was yesterday. On the photo, I am floating at the surface looking down at my feet in only about 12 feet of water, but it's all hazy foreground and no background visible at all.

Oh, what did the gentleman at the dive shop say to me earlier?

"You should have been here last weekend. 35 feet visibility."

Up and Going

Unknown surfer making it happen.

Water Check II

Pacific Blue Commotion

Water check.

(My favorite picture of the day.)