The young man decided to leave the cottage for a while as the caretaker slept. He walked along the the rocky shore and enjoyed the sun while he could. The weather was unseasonably warm. Knowing that a warm front always proceeds a large storm front he decided that he would holed up in cottage for the next few days. The golden sky was of particular concern for him. “Orange or yellow will hurt a fellow” he said underneath his breath. He searched the horizon for any signs of a sail for a moment. He could have sworn that he saw the glimmering of glass off in the distance but when no sail was spotted he presumed it was just wishful thinking. With the tide out he actually had a beach to stroll on. As he did so he continued to look out to sea. Just then he scuffed his foot across something half buried in the sand and fell face first on beach. He rolled over and looked back to what it was that he had tripped over. It was a wooden box approximately one foot wide by eighteen inches long and 8 inches deep. He dug out the other end of the box. It was a bit heavier than he expected for its size. The young man lifted the box to one shoulder carried it back to the cottage. The box could not have been lost for too long. There was no corrosion of the metal hinges or latch. Once inside he placed his newfound prize on the table and contemplated on how to defeat the lock. He walked into the supply room and found some tools. There was a hammer and chisel, a file and after some digging around he found a box of miscellaneous keys. He would start with the keys. He carefully began to remove the sand and debris from the lock. Gently tapping on the lock with the handle of the chisel would get the bulk of the sand out. He inserted the first key and it wouldn’t seat fully into lock. However, raking the key back and forth removed more sand. He patiently worked in this way for a few hours before he noticed a presence in the room. How long had the caretaker been sitting there watching him? The caretaker was just shaking his head when the younger man realized he was there. The caretaker was holding the hammer and chisel. With one pop of the hammer and chisel the lock opened. Inside was a fine navigational kit consisting of a sextant, a compass, ships glass, and a chart. In the very bottom of the box well wrapped up in oil cloth was a watch. The set was exquisite. The fine craftsmanship of instruments was second to none. The box was well fitted enough to prevent the sand from fouling up the instruments. There was a navigator somewhere that if still alive was mourning the loss of this kit. The placed the box on the hearth where the instruments could dry out and prepared the lamp for the oncoming evening. For the first time since he was stranded the young man had a way of plotting his position. This was also the first night with a clear sky. Although the watch had stopped he could still latitude and general Compass points. To the best of his reckoning he was somewhere between Greenland and North America. The compass had a sun dial on the lid which would make it possible to determine local time.
Tag: Lloyds Lens Photography
Long Term Parking
This Jeep was parked in this very spot when I was a kid. It’s one of several old Willie’s Jeeps that the landowner has. In my imagination I can see young soldiers crossing the battlefield in this jeep. I imagine the stories of home that are exchanged. The men are hopeful because the war is over and they are returning home. I imagine that when the jeep is sold as surplus it falls into hands of someone who puts his heart and soul into making it roadworthy again. I can see him exit the highway on a whim to explore some mountain trail. He and his jeep are a good match. They are both rugged and free spirited. Not to bound down by the well traveled highway which goes only to and fro but not out. I imagine the fishing and camping trips with friends and laughter they enjoyed. The jeep started out with a mission to bring people home. Now with it’s mission accomplished it was time to rest. It made one last trip. It’s last escape from the pavement on the edge of the home it came back to. There it could stay parked and enjoy the peace.
Morning Drive
Early on the morning of August 21st 2017 I stopped by the roadside park at Summerville Lake in West Virginia. The shot was taken by placing the camera directly on the road. The road crosses the Summerville Dam which is a Flood control dam. My grandfather was a engineer who helped build the dam. Below the lake is the flooded town of Gad. The traditional way of naming Dams and Lakes built during the flood control project had to be suspended to prevent a scandal. The local community just couldn’t allow the existence of “Gad Dam” and “Gad Dam Lake “. The resulting history is somewhat of a local joke today.
I spent a large part of my youth on or in the lake. By the time I was 16 swimming from the beach to the campground was a ritual way to celebrate the opening the summer lake season. Just to left of the road here there’s a cliff where I used to dive. I’m guessing the drop was about 60 feet high from the surface of the water and the bottom of the lake is about the same. We’re not allowed to have such adventures there today. Unfortunately a person was injured because he dove from the wrong spot. The Corps of engineers decided to ban diving altogether.
On the right side of the road is the Gauley River. The outlet for the lake creates class 6 rapids and so that spot is popular with rafters and kayakers. The river is a great place for trout fishing. There’s a local story about a specific DNR officer who came up on two guys fishing. When he asked to check out their licenses one of them dropped his pole and took off running downstream. After a harrowing chase the officer finally corners the fisherman and once more demandsfor the license to be presented. When the fisherman produces the license everything checks out. No laws were broken. The two men are completely out of breath from the chase. Panting heavily the officer asked why the first man ran. “You have your license and there’s nothing I can charge you with ” he said. The fisherman replied “yes, but my friend didn’t have one.”
If you come to West Virginia, Summerville Lake is a great place to have some summer fun. Just don’t jump from cliffs and if you plan to fish you better have a license. The DNR officers travel in pairs now. 😉
The Beacon part 4
The young man was just putting away the last of his recovered belongings when the caretaker emerged from the bedroom. Determined to not be a burden the young man had already prepared the next meal from his supplies. It was early afternoon and dark clouds were already gathering to engulf the small island. At the first flash of lightning they began to count the seconds between the flash and the sound of thunder. This would let them know how many miles away the edge of the storm was. The second flash was a few seconds shorter between flash and crash. This one was coming in fast. The caretaker drops his spoon into the bowl with a splash and starts for the supply room . The young man catches him by the shoulder and motions towards the spiral staircase. The caretaker understands, the young man had already prepared the next round of oil in the lamp. They made their way to the top of the lighthouse and once more the beacon began it’s nightly battle with the darkness. They returned to the meal and stoked the fire. The little cottage had few creature comforts but the fireplace and generous supply of cordwood was one of them. It was while sitting by the fireplace that the caretaker noticed the small stack of personal items recovered from the wreckage. On top was an oilskin wrapped around a book. The caretaker gestured for the younger man to show him what was in the bundle. The young man handed him the oilskin and the caretaker removed a Bible. The leather cover was very worn and pages were falling out but it was all there. A certain look came over the caretaker’s face and a small tear formed in corner of one eye. The caretaker seemed to caress the book as he held it. Without lifting the cover he began to speak. It didn’t take long for the younger man to recognise that the caretaker was quoting scriptures verbatim in his own native tongue. After reciting a few passages the caretaker returned the sacred book to its oilskin and secured the closure. “It was my father’s book.” The young man said as he returned it to the small stack. “He was lost at sea when I was a child. It’s all I have left.” The caretaker placed a hand gently on the younger man shoulder as he spoke. After a few minutes of silence the caretaker motioned him to move back to the table and sit down. He disappeared into the back of the supply room and returned with a bottle of wine and a box. The caretaker pours each of them a proper glass of wine and opens the box. Inside was a chess board and pieces carved from shells gathered from the beach. They passed the evening with a few rounds of chess until it was time for the caretaker to focus on the maintaining the lamp and watching the rocks for the signs of ship in trouble.
The next morning the storm seemed to break early. The young man ventured into kitchen and greeted the caretaker. They had one more round of chess and the caretaker disappeared into the bedroom.
The Birth of Steam
Winter in West Virginia can be kinda tough for photography. Nothing much is in bloom. We get more rain than snow most years and it gets dark really early due to angle of the sun to the mountains. With the opportunities growing scarce I like to mix photos in with different shapes and backgrounds. This image is a composit of rain on glass, ink poured into plastic plate and a digital mist from one of the apps I’ve got. Color was changed and images twisted and remixed. The process was already making me think of a blacksmith heating steel, shaping it and folding it over and over again. Then that moment when he quenches the hot metal and the steam rises from his pail.
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