{ 0 comments }
From the category archives:
The Great Outdoors
For the past six months I’ve been working non-stop on an interesting digital media publishing project with a fine group of creative folks. Gobs of office time, cross-country travel and head-down focus. But the project went on a brief hiatus, leaving me some time to pursue other endeavors. Yesterday I took full Autumnal advantage, spending the day hiking through a massive set of trails in Staten Island.
Yes, that Staten Island. While it might sound shocking, the little island of Staten abounds with opportunities to escape the crush of urban life, thanks to the Staten Island Greenbelt, a 2800-acre tract of parkland and preserves. It’s not exactly getting off the grid or going full-bore backcountry. But if you’re looking for a hiking getaway 20 minutes (by car) from Brownstone Brooklyn and/or Lower Manhattan, the Greenbelt is worth considering.
My dog Sophie and I put in a few solid hours on the Yellow Trail, which is the most challenging pathway in the park (in terms of climbs and terrain). We started the day by bagging Moses Mountain, a man-made peak built from rubble dug up to build the nearby freeways (and named for Robert Moses). From there we headed through Reeds Basket Willow Swamp, winding our way among tall elms, spruce and maples. Sophie enjoyed every pond and waterway she passed. We saw a few people, but for most of the journey we were alone, just a man and his dog, and a large bag of sunflower seeds.
I grabbed my camera before I left, but we were on the road when I realized that the only lens I had was the 50 mm. As a result the photos are not panoramic. Deal with it. The first photo is the view from atop Moses Mountain. The rest are a random assortment of trail shots and failed attempts at naturalistic artfulness. But do keep in mind–this is Staten Island!!
{ 0 comments }
Hurricane Irene hasn’t wrought the devastation on New York City that was originally projected, but in DUMBO there has still been some flooding (and a fair bit of local ogling). These photos were taken on 8/28/11 between 8:51 a.m. and 9:04 a.m. (just after high tide) at the entry point to Brooklyn Bridge Park, at the corner of Main Street and Plymouth. The water is normally 8 to 10 feet below the rocks in the photo above.
(p.s.: These were taken one handed, while I walked my dog, with a wet point and shoot. They were hastily uploaded and placed onto this blog, without editing or effects. Like nature herself, they are untamed.)
{ 3 comments }
An amazing archive of color photos of Ernest Shackleton’s ill-fated “Endurance” voyage to Antarctica, circa 1914-1917. They were taken by Frank Hurley, who was the official photographer on the voyage. “Endurance,” of course, become stuck in pack ice in 1915 and was ultimately crushed by the floe. The most amazing part of the description of the photos is how the photographer recovered them:
Hurley managed to salvage the photographic plates by diving into mushy ice-water inside the sinking ship in October 1915.
{ 0 comments }
The 1.4 acre lot in remote Montana formerly owned by the Unabomber is up for sale, and the price has been cut by more than 50%. For just $69,500 you can own the land from which the single most deadly anti-technology campaign in U.S. history was launched. As the description boasts, the property is “very secluded.” No word on whether it now comes with high-speed Internet access and HD digital cable service. (That cabin is no longer there, having been shipped to the Newseum in Washington, D.C.).
{ 0 comments }
One of the more persistent delusions that litter my daily thoughts is the myth of enlightened solitude. Being that I am from Michigan, the physical representation of this ideal is the humble, isolated “cabin the woods.” In my mind this cabin would sit on a patch of wooded land that overlooked a large but relatively uninhabited freshwater inland lake, perhaps as far North as the Upper Peninsula. Quite possibly it would be an A-frame. And in this cabin I would think big thoughts, write great books and accomplish all the other things that I am not able to accomplish in the city (a convenient scapegoat, always).
What thinking man hasn’t dreamed of abandoning civilization for a life of deliberate living in the woods, among the brave minks and muskrats? Thoreau is the graceful archetype of this brand of living, of course, but these days the image such an endeavor connotes is that of the bearded manifesto writer or the gun hoarding white supremacist, holed up in the hills of Montana. Unfortunate that society equates any attempt at self-reliance with insanity and suspect motives.
Still, the dream persists. If nothing else it would be a safe place to lay low if there’s ever a Zombie outbreak.
{ 1 comment }
