Monthly Archives: October 2014

50 Shades Of Green

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We have been getting lots of requests for the color green lately. Post cards, letters, notes tied to rocks and flung over our fence, so I just want you to know that OK already, we got the message.

I don’t know if it’s because summers over and people just weren’t ready for it or what, but if you want green we’ll give you green. A lot of people earlier in the year wanted grey. 50 shades of it. I don’t know why. Grey is like the second most boring color there is but they were clamoring for it. So they got grey.

We’re here to please after all and so here you go. Our color checkers have gone over this image with a fine tooth comb and have located at least 50 shades of green for you. I don’t know the significance of the number 50 but as ‘The Shadow’ used to say “Who knows the weirdness that lies in the hearts and minds of men..” and I presume women as well.

Enjoy, and remember, Keep those cards and letters coming in, we’ll do our best to satisfy any of your bizarro cravings. But lay off the rocks, you’re going to put somebodies’ eye out.

Along A Crooked Canyon

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If you were to be in Capitol Reef National Park with the idea of visiting Bryce National Park you could do this several ways. But if you are the adventurous type I think you might decide to do it by taking Hwy 12 which is a Utah Scenic byway. Now when I say adventurous I’m talking about the mild kind of adventure where your greatest danger is what happens if you don’t stay between the white lines on the road.

As you can see by the image above, that’s a long way down there and unless you had a huge amount of steam built up and careened way out into space, kind of like Thelma and Louise did, the ride down there would be very bumpy. I’m not certain even if HD off-road shocks and a tight seat belt would make it any better.

Hwy 12 runs westerly from Torrey, Utah off of Utah State route 24 about 122 miles down to the town of Panguitch and Hwy 89. The adventure part comes from seeing the most incredible patch of scenery stuck along any highway you might have traveled. It’s like they built the road to take advantage of the most spectacular views they could find, Oh wait, they did build it to take advantage of the most spectacular views they could find. And it was hard work building it. The CCC did most of it back in the day and you should drive on it and look at everything just to make those guys feel good.

The picture above is a panorama of thirty separate images stitched together using a very fine digital thread with the stitches so close together you can’t even see them, to show a complete picture of this remarkable canyon. I threw in the colored trees at the bottom as an extra bonus, just because I like you.

One of the locals that I talked to said they called this spot in the road ‘the Neck’ and it is the place that most of the acrophobics tend to toss their cookies, as there are virtually no shoulders on either side of the road and there was just enough space for those highway builders to put the road down. This is the view from that stretch of the road and it’s the same on either side. I really like it but then I like things that are over the top, so to speak, and this is over the top.

So if you’re a careful driver and can control your instinct to jump out and look at scenery around every corner you’ll like this road. And you’ll probably like looking down into the canyon. I heard one person say when asked if he was afraid of heights, that he didn’t even like being this tall, but he crawled over to the edge to look down anyway. You should too. See you at the Dramamine counter. Happy traveling.

Flying with The Sandhills

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Wildlife photography is the heart and soul of our image collection division here at the Institute and we go to great, no, fantastic lengths, to bring you the incredible photos you regularly see here on the blog. Not only do we travel to the very ends of the earth to secure these images but we take incredibly dangerous risks to do so.

Here is a case in point. This Sandhill Crane was captured as it flew in a counter-clockwise direction to the spinning of the earth, by a new device which is highly secret and held closely under wraps as our patent protection has not come through yet, but I can tell you a limited amount of information regarding its development because I trust you and know that you won’t rat us out to our competition. You won’t rat us out to our competition, will you? This could cost us big bucks if you did, so I know you’ll be tight-lipped about what I’m going to tell you now. (See, this is one of the great things about being a regular reader of our blog, you get the inside scoop on all the newest innovations that happen here at the Institute. Not to mention that you feel like a real insider and know secret cool stuff your neighbors don’t.)

The problem was, how do you get up there, where the cranes regularly fly, and move with them so that you can take their picture. That was the tough part. I turned this problem over to our R&D people with the instructions to solve this or look for new jobs, and it wasn’t long before they found the perfect solution. This gets a little technical at this point so bear with me as I try and explain it as clearly as I can.

Their first obstacle to overcome was how to propel a handsome but good-looking, svelte,  6′ tall, 228lb. photographer up to an altitude of nearly 11,000′ and maintain a forward speed of 17 or 18mph to match the flying speed of a Sandhill crane. Well we had a solution for that, which we’ll come to a little later but then the next problem was how do you attach said photographer to the device yet still allow him to have ample freedom to move about and take pictures. These were tough things to overcome.

Then we had one of those “Eureka !” moments that used to occur regularly in the Little Lulu comics everyone read as a kid and we had the basic problems solved. The next step was just to assemble the pieces and test it out.

The ascension problem was fairly easy. We found a Canadian company that we feel builds the best Drones in the world and selected one of their eight armed models with the optional gimbal arm, that we re-named, the eight armed model, and with a little Yankee knowhow refit their usually adequate but under-powered power supply with a brand new out-of-the crate 454 Chevy large block engine with an acro-static transmission and we had a device we felt could safely lift a 228lb. handsome and devil-may-care photographer into the air.

The other problem, that of connecting the photographer to the device, was a little trickier to solve. The problems to overcome were how to fasten the guy (me ) to the rig and still let him have the flexibility to move in a 360° arc with his arms free to take pictures or wave frantically if something went wrong. After many unsuccessful trial and error attempts were made we were stumped. Finally one of our super smart space-engineers came up with a workable solution.

As he was riding his bike to work one morning he found one of those amusement games in the trash behind a Chucky Cheese called “The Claw”. This was the one where you put a quarter in and maneuvered the claw over a bin filled with neat stuff you had to have, to try and pick up a toy, like a teddy bear, or a cigarette lighter with a scantily clad woman’s picture on it, or a holster for the Glock nine. You could never get the holster up high enough before it would fall out of the claw and you had to put another quarter in to keep trying. That was the hook of the game see, to get you to drop the whole welfare check on getting that holster. Seeing the solution to our problem he tied a rope around the machine and drug it up the hill behind his bike to the Institute where we could use the forklift to move it into the lab. Unfortunately we had to proceed with the engineering with our engineer by Skype from the hospital he was in while he underwent hernia surgery. We got most of his ideas down before he went under the anesthesia.

The claw was refashioned so that its four arms were slightly larger and then fitted to the optional gimbal arm under the eight armed model so that it would dangle down and using its four claw arms, fasten on to a specially chosen bike helmet, kind of like ice tongs, to one of the really dumb looking ones with the long tail like thing at the back which we thought would act as a rudder. We also decided on another safety measure and replaced the plastic strap that goes under the chin with a new carbon fiber one that they use to pick the space shuttle up with when they want to move it around and don’t want to gas up the gantry. You can’t play it too safe when a picture is at stake. So I think you have the picture now. Big Block Chevy 454 attached to the top of the eight armed model drone with the optional gimbal arm with the retro-fitted claw holding onto the goofy looking long-tailed bike helmet containing the photographer. That it. Simple,right.

That completed the development of the rig and after several test flights using interns we determined that some modifications should be made. One was to put a muffler on the 454 as it made a hell of racket and the noise would nearly paralyze the birds in flight. After some nasty run-ins with the wildlife folks we did throttle it down some and put new factory issue glass packs on the motor making it nearly silent. The other was since we couldn’t separate the quarter taking mechanism from the claw we had to leave it connected and take up several rolls of quarters to keep it functioning during the flight. The last correction was to add several layers of Dr. Scholl’s gel liners to the fliers shoes as this whole thing came down fast when it ran out of gas.

That was it. It was finished. The next step was to go where the birds were and set up and take pictures. Early in the morning as the birds were readying themselves for take off, the eleven of us would head out to the flyway with the eight armed model and the flier would complete his fight check, making sure he had the helmet strap double buckled, and had at least four rolls of quarters easily reachable in his pockets, the gel strips in his shoes which were laced up tight and tied with a double knot and he was ready. The ten others would then lift the drone about waist height which was their limit, making sure to keep it level while the flier crawled under and using one of his of many quarters got the claw hooked to his helmet, the engine was started and with a quiet roar the photographer was off into the heavens to accompany the Sandhill Cranes on their morning flights. That’s all there was to it.

The results as you can see were simply dramatic. We were able to float along with the birds as they flew and take glorious photos of them before they would usually go berserk from the noise, fumes and intrusion and attack us causing many near fatal mishaps. But look at the pictures. All in all I’m calling this success. Remember you’re still under what they call in the business a “News Embargo” so you can’t spill a word about this. Not a peep. Unless you want to tell your Aunt Pheeb, or your Nana, or even the guy the delivers your mail, wait, no not him, he’s a fed, it would be ok. Just don’t be talking to any of the news outlets that pay you for interesting stories. Got to run, there’s someone from the FAA at the gate wanting to talk to us. I sure hope none of you squealed.

Blue Sundown

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This is it the next to the very last, almost dark, light of the day. The place is the Grand Canyon and even though I paid extra at the gate for a longer day it wasn’t long enough. There is something about the cosmos that has an attitude of, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn”, and just shuts down when its had enough. And apparently it had had enough.

This shot was taken at about 6pm at the end of a long cold December day and I fully expected to get another 2hrs worth for my money but no dice. It was put the camera away, go home and we’ll talk about it tomorrow kind of deal. Defiantly I snapped a few more shots after this one but it’s difficult to do the canyon justice when you can’t see your hand in front of your face. My camera’s good but it does need a little light.

I felt like I had been cheated because I had paid for more time so I complained. I went to the Customer Service desk at Grand Canyon central and began to explain to the disinterested but bored person manning the counter why I felt hard done by. She looked at my ticket and said in that voice designed to make you feel like you were not only insignificant but that she had a fly swatter handy and wasn’t afraid to use it, that I had gotten my extra time, they had just added it to the beginning of the day instead of the end. The “you moron” part was understood.

Chagrined but haughty I stalked away muttering imprecations on her and all of her get, even though I guess you could make the point that I had not read my ticket properly. These are things that happen to us intelligent, sophisticated and handsome travelers occasionally and my thoughts were headed along the lines of  “Oh well, I’ll think about that tomorrow.” I was a little concerned that I was channeling Scarlett O’Hara as I headed into the restaurant to stuff my face with a big bowl of chili and every carb they had on the menu. But I figured what with the carb bloat and the sugar rush plus a short nights sleep I’d be ready for my long day tomorrow. Extra time in the morning meant I’d have a longer sunrise and that was good. Tomorrow would be a better day.

There Be Trout Fishes Here

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This is the Cache La Poudre river, the one that runs downhill alongside of Hwy 14 in what we locals call the Poudre canyon. Non-locals call it that too as that is its rightfully given name but the locals were calling it that first so we get to say it’s our river and the non-locals just get to visit it. Besides they usually say it funny, like Poo-dray canyon or Pooh-Der canyon, which makes us laugh really hard. We’ll trick them into saying it and then just laugh like idiots when they do. There’s lots of knee-slapping fun in talking to the tourists about the Poudre.

You’ve already seen parts of it in previous posts. Most recently while it was covered with snow and before that when it was filled with sunshine, kind of like this picture which was taken the day after the snowstorm. It’s when it looks like this, all sunlit with the water just the right depth so you can wade out into it and see the bottom, listening to the rocks clunk together under water as you slip and slide over them, that draws the fisher-folk out of their cubicles and homes and jobs so they can sneak up here and do fishing. There’s lots of calling in sick on day like this.

This is a particularly good place to go after those trout. That big wide quiet spot in the river above and below the small rapids are where the real fishermen and I guess fisher girls think they’re going to catch that 3 lb. rainbow or that big brown they saw there last week. Maybe they will maybe they won’t. Those fishes are wily. They’re on to a lot of the tricks those fisher types try and play on them. Sending single salmon eggs down through there on a small hook. There hasn’t been a salmon in this river since Haysoose was a lance corporal and they’re still trying to pull that one on them. Lots of fin slapping when they get together in the evening and talk over the days activities.

No the guys who have the best chance of catching something are those boys who do that fly-fishing. They’re the ones those fish have to watch out for. Those old boys tie their own fly’s that look just like a real bug. They use fly’s they’ve tied with names like English Pheasant tail,  Flashback Scuds wet hare’s ear, Griffiths Gnat, Moto’s Minnows, and Bead Head Flash Zonkers and many more, some with strange names. Besides they look like fishermen. They’ve got fishermen suits on and hats with fly’s stuck all over them and they’re confident. They wear suspenders. You got to be confidant to wear suspenders. They all carry nets to get those caught fish out of the water with, and they do something non fly fishermen don’t. After they go through all that trouble of catching that big trout, they look at it, maybe weigh it with a fancy little scale they carry just for that, and then they let them go. Just like that. They set them back in the river, wait a minute or so to make sure they’re going to be ok, then just set ’em free. Cool, right?

Some times even the fly fishermen don’t catch anything. I’ve seen that happen. They spend the whole day fishing and don’t catch a fish. You’d think they’d be mad, but I’ve seen them at the back of their pickup trucks, tailgates down, maybe a beer sitting there, taking off their gear and looking  back at the river with a little smile on their face. They aren’t mad. They’re just thinking about the next time when they come out and really nail that big fat rainbow that was dozing down at the end of the pool. I’ve heard them talking to their buddies in a quiet kind of way saying things like “You know, he was just lazing down there hardly moving, sweeping his fins back and forth and I landed that wooly worm right in front of him. He sorta looked at it and it was like he was laughing or something. I’ll get him though. Next time.”

A photographer’s day is somewhat like those fishermen’s day. Some days we don’t catch a picture, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll get it tomorrow, or the next time.

Primary Colors

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Attention Readers: This is a Public Service Announcement !

The following is a Public Service Announcement brought to you by The Institute and the Americans for Brighter Colors  or ABC as it is known amongst those who follow weird splinter groups.

As Americans we want the very best for our families, our communities, and our Nation. There is a tendency out there in the hinterland to think that somehow America is failing to live up to its expectations. To be falling into third place or even worse, second place, in many of the areas where we once excelled.

We hear from the media how we are now lagging in academics, and how our young people are going to hell in a hand basket what with tattoos and the piercing of private parts with strange but weird metal stuff. Where once we were first among nations in conspicuous consumption we are now sitting in the back of the Chinese bus. We now no longer have our own horrible diseases and have to import them from formerly third world countries at a high rate of cost so we can at least stay relevant in the disease ridden world. Even our fall colors are at risk of becoming third-rate with some saying they’re  “Lackluster”. Or even “Boring”.

Well we here at The Institute, and the folks at ABC say “Enough!” “Enough of this color shaming! Enough of washed out yellows and reds. Enough of making fun of our pathetic attempts to produce a strong vibrant orange. Enough!” We are a great Nation! We have done many incredible and world shaking things. Didn’t we create sensations like Miley Cyrus? What other country has a young woman making millions of dollars and can’t keep her tongue in her mouth? Or back in April of 1988 we had the song “She Drives Me Crazy” by the Fine Young Cannibals. Now there are much better cannibals in places like Africa and New Guinea and probably the middle-east and ours have faded from the glowing light of stardom here in this country. Or how about our ability to create drinking stuff that can be hand carried out of various vending establishments such as this incredible innovation. “Having been tested in a few outlets, 7-11’s gallon-sized Slurpee’s became available in all locations in 1967”. Now there are places in Poland and the Baltic states where you can buy a 55 gallon drum of greenish Slurpee-like liquid  for pennies on the dollar. They even throw in the small cart needed to wheel this around with. And an industrial strength straw!

We could go on and on listing our supposed failings, we haven’t even touched on things like war, where now there are people much meaner than us creating havoc all over the place. Yes, we’re looking at you ISIS. But enough of that. Let’s get back to the problem at hand. Our Fall colors.

Since there have been aspersions cast and no small amount of ridicule, on our national forests and private collections of arboreal treasures, we, The Institute and our friends at ABC, have decided to take matters into our own hands and turn this problem around. Consequently we have searched high and low and come up with a list of Primary Colors which we are supplying to the nation at large for whatever use they can best put it to.

Here it is.

blue

yellow

green

red

There are also secondary colors that can be applied to ‘Fall colors’. Due to space limitations we are only providing some of the better known and most useful of these helpful colors. They are, in no particular order

Crimson

Ebony

Clear

Neon

and Blue

and orange too.

With this list you can go forth and apply them to the colors you are witnessing right now as we head into the height of the color change period here in the western hemisphere, but primarily America. If all of you make a concentrated effort to apply these primary and some of those other colors listed above to our forests, (you can use the image above for guidance) it won’t be long until we regain our color supremacy and can hold our heads up proudly as our national god-fearing trees begin their color changes. Remember Canada is right across the border and they have trees too. Plenty of them. Let’s make America great again. Do your part.

This color list is available for the small sum of 80.00 dollars. Send a SASE with cash check or money order, or preferably all three to: The Institute, C/O The Director, P.O.Box, The Institute, Colorado, USA

Thank you. We thank you, the trees will thank you, and our nation will thank you. This concludes our Public Service Announcement. Thank you. Really.

Transistions

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This whole tree color changing process is marvelous to behold. You spend your time in the warm summer months watching the different shades of green appear and it seems endless. Every day is another day of perfection. Then like all remarkable things it cannot last indefinitely, even if you want it to, and the change begins.

Such are the ways of these aspen. As the days shorten and the cold returns they have no choice but to begin their metamorphosis in preparation for the long sleep awaiting them over the dark winter months.

Sometimes Nature hurries the process and send howling winds and cold rain or even a heavy snow storm to shake the trees and loose the leaves from their twigs and branches, sending them sailing off to their final resting places to become one with the forest again.

Other times the process is drawn out and takes days or even a few weeks to remove all the leaves and send the trees to sleep. That is what is happening here high in the mountains of Colorado. A series of mild snow storms gently fall on the forest and melt only to reoccur again over and over until the combination of cold and darkness and time completes the final preparations for winter.

While this is happening you as an interested participant get to watch the slow transformation and marvel at the beauty that Nature can create with the simplest of methods. This is transition and it’s happening right now in the high country.