Sometimes your mistakes are the best things you take home.
Last week I was scurrying about on the rocks below Shorncliffe Pier in the last useable twilight, trying to take long exposures with my camera mounted on a tiny Gorillapod (a flexible plastic tripod). The tide was lapping at my ankles; the rocks were mossy, encrusted with sharp-edged shells, and very unfairly irregular when I really needed a flat surface. The things I do to keep you folks entertained.
On the shore, the local camera club was massed with a fearsome array of photo-weaponry mounted on very expensive “real” tripods, all aimed at the Victorian-era jetty above me — a favourite architectural subject of mine, and apparently of just about everyone else with a camera around here.
Anyway, I lucked onto a suitable rock, bent the Gorillapod’s simian legs into position, set up the shot, sorta (tide lapping centimetres below the lens: kinda risky), and using a 2-second delay so as not to shake the camera, gently squeezed the shutter and squatted there with my leg muscles burning and my hands hovering just out of shot in case the unthinkable happened.
The unthinkable happened. One or more legs slipped in the middle of my 30-second exposure and down she went. Safely caught, but shot ruined. Or was it? My favourite shot of the night — I like the comic-book effect of it. Time to head home…
Just back from two days in the unbelievably gorgeous rainforest of the Green Mountains with my fiend Chris. Nope, not the Vermont Green Mountains (not much rainforest there), the ones near the New South Wales/Queensland border. Pristine waterfalls by the dozen, tree ferns as tall as houses, trees of prodigious height, age and circumference, and two campsites solely occupied by us.
More on that adventure soon, after the other adventures I’m yet to catch up on. All good things… Here’s a teaser, the view from near our camp this morning:
~ And that’s all the Goat wrote