Photo: Sailing towards Santa Cruz Island, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

…Continuing from my last post –click here–

After leaving San Miguel Island we arrived at our first nights anchorage on the islands at Becher’s Bay on Santa Rosa Island.  The next day we departed in mid morning and sailed towards Santa Cruz Island.

We made a brief stop for some exploration of Painted cave, the worlds largest sea cave.  It’s quite eerie once inside and completely dark.  I had a large spotlight we me on the dinghy, but in the heavy, misty air inside the cave, it hardly did anything.

The wind had pretty much died here on the north side of the island so we motored our way to the anchorage at Pelican Bay.  Here the skies got dark and we were in for a raining night on the boat.

To be continued…

Photo: Leaving Bechers Bay at Santa Rosa Island, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Sailing between the islands, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Kayaks at entrance of Painted Cave, the worlds largest sea cave, Santa Cruz Island, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Darkness inside Painted Cave, Santa Cruz Island, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Looking out of Painted Cave, Santa Cruz Island, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Calm waters on north side of Santa Cruz Island, Channel Islands national park, California.  April 2012

Last week was a double first for me: my first time on a sailboat and more importantly, my first time on the Channel Islands.  Despite looking at the islands nearly every days since I was born, it took me 31 years to finally get out there.  They where always some place that I’d wanted to go but plans never really worked out or I’d head up to the mountains instead.  Well now at least I can say I’ve had a ‘proper’ islands trip.

We left the Santa Barbara harbor on a Sunday at midnight with the compass set towards San Miguel Island and motored the 40 nautical miles by stars and moon.  My buddy Tim and I pulled the 4am to 7am shift.  Taking 20 minute turns at the wheel in the damp, cold night air we navigated by stars until Island fog crept in and then we had to use the moon as best we could to keep position.  Just before dawn, after a six and a half hour crossing, we pulled into Cuyler Harbor which would be anchorage for the day.  The fog cleared just enough for a fantastic sunrise over the Santa Barbara Channel and then I headed back below deck for a little bit more shut eye.

In the late morning we launched the dinghy and headed to shore.  We had an appointment to meet the island’s ranger up at the station and then she led our group on a 3 mile hike out to Harris point.  On the way we saw an Island fox hunting and catching something at a pretty close distance, most likely a mouse, which is a pretty rare sight.  On the way back we also came across two juvenile foxes standing right in the middle of the trail.

We were back aboard the boat by around 5pm and then set sail towards Santa Rosa Island and our nights anchorage at Becher Bay.  More on that and the rest of the trip in the next days…

Photo: Heading to shore on the dinghy for a beach landing, Cuyler Harbor, Channel Islands National Park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Landing the dinghy on the beach, Cuyler Harbor, Channel Islands National Park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Northern Elephant Seal pup, Cuyler Harbor, Channel Islands National Park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Passing seals on the beach (they where everywhere!), Cuyler Harbor, Channel Islands National Park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Looking back towards the beach as the trail begins to climb, Cuyler Harbor, Channel Islands National Park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Scenic view from Harris Point at the end of the hike, Channel Islands National Park, California.  April 2012

Photo: Amber from the shores of the Baltic Sea, Curonian Spit, Lithuania.  Oct 2011

My first visit to the Curonian Spit on the Baltic coast of Lithuania was in February 2007.  I had been planning a whole trip up through the Baltics to Finland, but that never happened as I retreated from the cold and headed back to Germany.  At the time I didn’t know much about the area but I find heading towards the coast is usually a safe decision when I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going.  So on a cold, dark, snowy February afternoon I found myself getting off a bus in the port town of Klaipeda.

After a bit of a wander I discovered the city is not the most interesting place in the world but a short ferry ride across the Curonian Lagoon would take me to the Curonian Spit, a thin slice of dunes and forest separating the lagoon from the Baltic sea.  I ended up down in Nida, the last town before the border with Russia and had a wander around the frozen lagoon and snow covered dunes, eventually making my way out the the Baltic coast.

I knew there to be amber in the area and so I set about in search of some.  Not having much of an idea of where to look or what exactly it looked like, all I knew was it was roughly dark-orange in color, I eventually stumbled upon a stone or two which I thought had the right look.  With the hour getting late and not wanting to miss the last bus north I safely secured the stones in my bag and headed back across the dunes to Nida.

Upon my arrival back to Germany a few days later I was informed that all I had was rocks.  Though somewhat disappointed, I entered the Curonian Spit into the ‘need to return to’ section of my mind, with the feeling that there’s still some mystery about the place that I’d like to further explore one day.  Though perhaps not in winter next time.

So in the Autumn of last year I found myself packed like a sardine on some small mini-bus speeding through the Lithuanian countryside towards Klaipeda with a driver who must of thought he was Michael Schumacher and the old smelly diesel engine just didn’t have quite enough power for his preferred style.  After a few near head-ons going around blind corners I figured I was glad I had some emergency contact numbers in my wallet incase I ended up in the hospital, or worse.

With a new bus station, supermarkets and other construction down by the waterfront, Klaipeda is getting some much needed renovations.  But for me it is still merely the travel point out to the Spit.

From the harbor leaves a ferry ever 30 mins to 1 hour, depending on the season, for the 2-3 minute crossing.  Arriving on the north of the Spit at Smiltyne, there are several busses per day which make the 45km journey south to Nida.  Getting up early I had planned on catching the morning bus and spending the day wandering around the dunes again.  But unfortunately I received a bit of mis-information and the bus schedules had changed and there was no bus coming until later in the afternoon.

I thought about just heading back to Klaipeda and coming back later but before I could make a decision the ferry was already leaving.  So at that I wandered west through the forest and out the the Baltic.  On the coast it is basically one long beach, somewhat reminding me of the islands of Juist in Germany where I spent some weeks on in the past.  With nothing else to do I just began walking south along the water.  The memories of my journey five years before were still in my mind, “Lets see if you can find some amber this time Cody, not just rocks!”

After some 20-30 minutes something shiny caught my eye.  Hmmm, looks like it could be amber, but ehh, that’s what I thought last time too.  Then a step later I saw another piece, and then another, partially hidden by some seaweed.  And then more and more.  I’ve actually found it this time, cool!

It took me a little bit to work out where it was, but it floats to the coast in something similar to what would be veins of gold in the ground.  There are 5-10 meter sections where there will be a lot and then nothing for another 200-300 meters or more.  Because amber is lighter than normal rocks, it often drifted to shore in sections where there was lots of other stuff like old pieces of wood or seaweed from the ocean floor.  When wet, the color would immediately catch my eye and in some places a little digging under the sand would turn up more.  I’ve usually heard that it gets washed up after storms, but I must have just been luckily.  Though there were quite a few other locals out collecting as well, so maybe there was something a few days before that I didn’t know about.

I never did make it down to Nida or the dunes that day, feeling that I’d gotten enough sun for the day; I think I’m the only person in the world who can get a sunburn in Lithuania in October.  But that’s really okay with me, more reason to go back again…

Photo: Klaipeda waterfront at dusk.  Oct 2011

Photo: Old door and wall, Klaipeda, Lithuania.  Oct 2011

Photo: Amber?  Nope, just a rock!  Curonian Spit, Lithuania.  Feb 2007

Photo: Coastal forest, Curonian Spit, Lithuania.  Oct 2011

Photo: Steps to the Baltic, Curonian Spit, Lithuania.  Oct 2011

Photo: Kendall Norman Honda 1x, San Felipe Baja 250.  March 2011

It’s that time of year to head down to San Felipe, Baja California for the 2012 Baja 250.  My brother is racing again so I’ll be helping out the team while pre-running and on race day.  By ‘helping out,’ I mostly mean sitting out somewhere in the desert in my truck, cooking in the hot sun while waiting for a rider to arrive, fill them up with gas, watch them ride off and their dust fade into the distance, drive to a new location and repeat.  Only a week out of Europe, even 10,000 spf sunblock wont help and I’m sure I’ll be lobster Honda red after a day or two.

I’m not really sure how many photos I’ll take this year.  There’s so many other photographers these days and I don’t really have an outlet for race photos so it’s not really worth much effort.   I’ll probably focus a bit more on behind the scenes stuff while pre-running and maybe a few sunrises and landscapes while I’m sitting around in the desert.  For me it’ll just be more of a fun trip this time around.  And there’s lots of cool stuff down there to explore.  The race is almost just an excuse for me to go down there.

(All photos on this post from last year (2011).  2012 Photos coming next week.)

UPDATE, March 12: –CLICK HERE– for gallery of 2012 San Felipe Baja 250 Images

Photo: Jesse James trophy truck arrives at finish, San Felipe Baja 250.  March 2011

Photo: Spectators await at finish for arrival of 1st trophy truck, San Felipe Baja 250.  March 2011

Photo: Calm waters of the Sea of Cortez, San Felipe.  March 2011

Photo: Dawn over the Sea of Cortez, San Felipe.  March 2011

Photo: Flying over Greenland.  Feb 2012

I’m now home in Santa Barbara where I’ll more or less be for the next few months, not counting a road trip or two.  Had a good flight from London to San Francisco yesterday.  The plane was remarkably empty so I had the whole center row of the 747 to myself to stretch out on.  Too bad it was a daytime flight and I couldn’t really sleep to take full advantage of it, but it was still nice none the less.  Then I had a 1 hour delay getting out of SF to Santa Barbara, so I guess that equals things out a bit.  Was pretty tired walking in the door last night, but not as bad as I expected.  Most people I know say they deal with jetlag better when heading east, but I always seem to do better going west.

I can’t believe I haven’t been to Greenland yet.  Definitely a beautiful place from the air.

Photo: Lonely winter road, Lofoten Islands, Norway.  Feb 2012

Wednesday I board a plane and chase the sun into the western horizon.  After 5 months here in Europe it’s once again that time to head home to California.  Not that I wouldn’t love to stay longer, but unfortunately I still haven’t managed any success with getting a residence visa or starting a business.  I don’t know how some people do it and make it look so easy; seemingly effortlessly moving from place to place with the apparent superpowers necessary to navigate the endless bureaucracies and restrictions.  What’s the secret? I guess I’m not rich-talented-educated-successful-smart-connected-charming enough to pull things off over here yet.  Not that I wont keep trying…

As good timing would have it though, I’ll actually only be in California for a few days before heading south to Mexico to help out my brother and his team who are racing in the San Felipe Baja 250.  More on that in a few days.  I better be sure to bring some sunblock otherwise I’ll end up looking like a boiled lobster after the first day.  I think I’ve only actually seen the sun about 8 hours total since the beginning of December so I’m looking a bit like a pasty white Brit tourist at the moment.

Photo: Moon over mountain, Eggum, Lofoten Islands, Norway.  Feb 2012

Eggum is one of those places that I’ve been to a fair amount of times, yet generally walk away without any photos.  I’m not sure if its because I don’t find Eggum as immediately scenic as say Utakleiv or Unstad, so I tend to shoot those locations when the light is good and leave Eggum for the not-so-good days.  This time however, Utakleiv and Unstad were crap most of the time, windswept with dull grey light, and so I found myself at Eggum just hoping to shoot something, anything.

It was here that I first started to notice how cool the frozen lakes looked.  I’m used to frozen lakes being covered in snow, but since there wasn’t much snow upon my arrival to the islands, many of the lakes were clear.  The cracked surfaces often made better subjects than the dull brown grasses or barren trees of winter so I found myself spending a fair amount of time nervously walking around on ice during this trip.  It was a bit eerie to stand around in the moonlit silence listening as the moved and cracked about the lake as the nights temperatures dropped.

Photo: Crack in ice on frozen Nedre Heimdalsvatnet, Eggum, Lofoten Islands, Norway.  Feb 2012

Photo: Olstind rises above Reine in winter, Lofoten Islands, Norway.  Feb 6, 2012

After picking up my backpack from the luggage carousel I left the airport and walked into the cool night air of Bodø.  The streets were rather snow free for Jan 31st but a crisp wind cut easily through my jackets as I walked the well lit streets towards the ferry waiting room down at the docks.  Arriving a little after 7:00 pm and with a few hours to kill until the ferry at 1:30 am, I figured I’d sit around a read for a bit and maybe cook a small dinner.  As I approached the automatic door, it didn’t open.  Hmm.  Then my eyes turned towards a new sign that I’ve never seen before, ‘waiting room opening hours 0700 – 1700  (thats 7:00 am – 5:00 pm for you non 24hr people).’  What? Huh? Shit!  This is going to suck.  There was also a phone number listed with a note about calling the harbour authority.  Call?  No, they can’t mean me.  So I walked back to the train station which was at least open until 9:00 pm.

Once the train station closed up I took about wandering the streets of Bodø for a little bit.  I thought about sitting in the entrance way of one of the supermarkets which was open until 11:00 pm, but quickly talked myself out of that idea for some reason.  So I headed back to the ferry station and figured I might as well let the suffering get under way.  I found a spot next to another building that was mostly sheltered from the wind, leaned my backpack against the wall and crawled into my sleeping bag in some awkward half sitting – half lying position to avoid too much contact with the freezing cold ground.  The hours crept by at a sluggish pace but eventually the clock neared 1:00 am (mind you that I had begun my journey at 2:00 am the day before) and I packed my things and started looking for the ferry.  By chance I wandered back to the waiting room and saw someone sitting inside.  I knocked on the door and he let me in and proceeded to tell me that if I had called that phone number on the door, someone would automatically open the doors and let me in.  Double shit!  I suffer from my shyness sometimes often.  And so began another journey to the Lofoten Islands: tired, cold, and hungry.

The ferry crossing was a rough one but my utter exhaustion meant I at least managed a bit of sleep on the 5 hour journey.  Arriving in Moskenes at 6:30 am I thought about setting up my tent for a few hours, but the bus would come a little after 9:00 so I figured it wasn’t worth the effort.  Stupidly, and for the sole reason of saving a few NOK, I started walking the 5km towards Reine.  Now I say stupid because at moskenes there is at least a heated public toilet that I could have waited in (not in the toilet itself, but in the small room outside), whereas in Reine there is nothing.  [minor complaint: For a country as rich as Norway that is also cold and dark half the year, and especially for a highly touristed area like the Lofoten Islands, there are surprisingly few sheltered areas where one can wait to escape the weather.  Even at the bus stop in Reine, it is just a couple of wooden benches with a small roof, but totally exposed to the wind.  Nothing opens before 9-10 in the morning, of what little actually opens in winter anyhow.  So if you actually have a bit of a wait for a bus, it can be a very cold one.]  The bus eventually arrived a little after 9:00 and I was on my way to Stamsund to pickup my car.  In typical fashion, I missed shooting quite a brilliant sunrise while watching through the dirty bus windows.  Probably the 2nd best of the whole trip.  So it goes.  But I knew I needed to get to my car as soon as possible to finally have some shelter.

The car would be my home and companion for the next 12 days of all the variable weather combinations that can be possible, except for ‘good,’ of course.  I had some plans of camping, but conditions weren’t ideal so I slept in the car all but two nights where I was in a hostel; and that was really only because I needed power to charge my camera batteries.  A bit on the ghetto side and not the way I’d recommend traveling if you can afford it (which I cannot, unfortunately).  With darkness coming around 4:00 pm, I was often going to sleep around 6:00 pm; more out of boredom than actual tiredness.   At least my car was a wagon, so I could properly stretch out, unlike my last winter journey.

This trip now has me halfway convinced that the next time I’m on the islands in summer I’ll probably spend half my time walking in knee deep snow.  There is just no depending on the weather for any reliability or consistency. One summer will be brilliant, the next crap.  One autumn dry, the next raining.  You can only do so much to plan, and then the islands take over.  during my time on the islands I had a minimum temp. of -10.7 °C (06 February) and a high of 7.8 °C (10 February).  Those warm days meant rain, lots and lots of it.  Rain in winter is not a good thing, at least photographically.  Much of the snow was melted away, giving the islands a drab, gloomy feeling for days on end.  One would think that I would be smart enough to focus my attention on someplace with more favourable photographic conditions, but nope.  I’ll no doubt be back again as soon as possible to wait out more bad weather in hopes of a few elusive moments of brilliance that can only be achieved in places like Lofoten.

Oh, and on the way back, I was at least smart enough to call and get let into the waiting room at 2:00 am for a few hours sleep on the floor before heading off to the airport.  At least I learn some things sometimes…

Photo: Winter Ice, Lofoten Islands, Norway. Feb 2012

I was fading in and out of sleep as the car made it’s way through the winding roads of the Welsh Marches just before midnight last night (no, I wasn’t driving).  24+ hours of travel had taken the last energy I had.  This trip was exhausting, more so that any other time I’ve been there before.  The weather was chaotic, to put it nicely.  I was often cold, sleeping in my car and rocked by gales as if it were a boat at sea.  Rain.  More rain than snow.  Dark days and darker nights.  Endless winds.

I started the trip with a few visualizations of images I wanted; nice snowy mountain landscapes and seascapes with pastel pink and blue skies. None of these really appeared.  I hardly even took out the camera at my old favorite locations and found myself being forced to look at the islands almost completely anew.  I’ve only barely put the images on the computer now, but I think I managed fairly well all in all.  I’ll see more as I get to editing over the next weeks…

Photo: Winter Light on Olstinden, Reine, Lofoten Islands, Norway.  Jan 2010

Starting from the darkness of the new year, the daylight hours of the Lofoten Islands lengthen at at phenomenal pace throughout the early months of winter.  Over the course of a week daylight increases by about an hour, making a noticeable difference to the observer.  And for the photographer waking for sunrise, it means having to adjust ones alarm clock earlier and earlier every few days.   By the middle of February the days still feel a bit short, but are approaching some feeling of normality for wintertime at lower latitudes.  By late March the length of the days have passed places lower down on the continent and are well on their way to a summer of endless sunlight.

Here are a few sunrise – sunset times for the first few months of the year (based on Leknes):

Jan 1:  No sunrise
Jan 15:  10:45 – 13:45
Feb 1:  9:27 – 15:12
Feb 15:  8:27 – 16:14
Mar 1:  7:24 – 17:13
Mar 15:  6:25 – 18:06

In planning for a trip to the islands, I think it’s important that one pay attention to the length of day.  While the darkness of midwinter is a beautiful time on the islands, and should be experienced at some point.  It is perhaps not the best time to visit if you’re planning a ski touring or climbing trip, as longer days for outdoor activities would be preferable.  For the photographer who wishes to catch up on sleep after a busy finish of the year, mid January is a perfect time for a visit.