BASE Jumping for Joy

I’ve never really understood the fascination with skydiving. You jump out of a perfectly good plane, plummet several thousand feet, use a bed sheet attached to a knapsack on your back with pieces of string and hope that it slows your fall.

In the words of Commander Spock, “This is highly illogical.”

BASE jumping is even more confounding. (For the uneducated, BASE stands for buildings, antennas, spans and earth.)

But so is the attraction to the Perrine Bridge in Twin Falls, ID. It is the only bridge in the United States where it is legal to BASE Jump 365 days out of the year without a permit.

For the unprepared, it can be a tire screeching shock as you drive across the bridge and see someone leap over the side of the bridge. Even if you’ve driven across it before, it can still be a little unnerving.

It’s not usual to pull into the visitors center as you enter Twin Falls on Highway 93 and see a group of jumpers packing their chutes on the lawn. They have their canopies spread out as they meticulously unravel and unfold. Then they will straighten, fold, wrap and secure the one thing that will bring them back to this very spot to do it all over again. And they do this all under the watchful eyes and curious questions from busloads of tourists. All wanting to know when they’re going to jump again.

But now there is a new twist, Tandem BASE Jumping.

Just like tandem skydiving, TandemBASE in Twins Falls offers novice jumpers the chance to experience the thrill of jumping off a perfectly good bridge. The first time BASE jumper is strapped to an instructor and takes a leap of faith from a perch 486’ above the Snake River. Roughly a minute or two later, they land in the LZ on the canyon floor. And if they’re aim is dead on, they hit the bullseye painted on the ground below.

For me, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground and just watch. At least for now. Who knows what my next trip to Twin Falls will bring?

There’s a Train Wreck Waiting to Happen

The Train Wreck in all it's glory

 

 

This is far from a man versus food challenge. At the Depot Grill in Twin Falls, ID, the Train Wreck definitely has the upper hand. It’s like bringing a knife to a gunfight. Unless you’re an expert with a knife and fork, you don’t stand much of a chance.

 

Trust me on this. I only managed to down about a third of a Train Wreck. I can only imagine the pain if I had been able to stomach more.

 

The Train Wreck is 6 pancakes about half an inch thick each, a pound of sausage and four eggs. That’s over five pounds of food. And you have 30 minutes to eat it all. That’s if you don’t throw in the towel before your time is up. Time is not on your side.

 

Two people have finished the Train Wreck. Only one has finished in the allotted time. His time to beat is 24 minutes. He’s the only one out of over 60 with a mark in the win column.

 

The secret? There are several. And that’s where the journal comes in handy.

 

Each person who attempts a Train Wreck gets to leave their thoughts in the journal. If you take the time to read it before you start, there are a few tips you will pick up throughout the comments:

 

Don’t drink the water! Or any liquids for that matter. It will only cause the food to expand more in your stomach. That goes for syrup too.

 

Plan ahead. Start practicing the week leading up to your attempt. The only person to win started eating 10,000 calories a day for the week leading up to the challenge. And yes, you will gain weight. Those aren’t fat free pancakes.

 

Roll ‘em fat. One tip that kept resurfacing in the journal is to cut up the sausage into six pieces and wrap them in the pancakes like a burrito.

 

Practice, practice, practice. If at first you don’t succeed, and chances are you won’t, you can always come back and try it again. People may question your judgement, but if you really like the pain, more power to you.

 

Most importantly, get a designated driver. Or someone to cheer you on or laugh at you. Because when you’re finished, you will not feel like doing much besides sleeping after this. Hibernation is probably a better term for it.

 

Oh, and good luck. You’re going to need it. Along with some Tums.

 

 

Yes, they are keeping score.

 

Everyone in the restaurant will know that you are the lunatic trying eat a Train Wreck.

The waitstaff makes sure of that.

 

Read the journal. It will give you a few tips and provide a little humor, too.

 

This is an after picture. That's two-thirds left from a Train Wreck.

It’s the End of R.E.M. as We Know It….

 

 

 

 

I started listening to R.E.M. back when I was a freshman in college. It was 1988 and Document was being played across campus. A couple of my friends, Frac and Tyler, had “It’s the end of the world as we know it” memorized from beginning to end. Which is not an easy feat. Every time it played at a party, the two would become the fifth and sixth members of the band, usually in a half to full drunk state.

 

I’ve been an R.E.M. fan ever since. Minus Frac and Tyler’s vocals.

 

It wasn’t until 1996 that I became an even bigger fan.

 

This was the year I got my first full time gig as a newspaper photographer. It was working at the Athens Daily News/Banner-Herald in Athens, GA. The home of R.E.M.

 

The band maintained an office in town at the corner of College Avenue and Clayton Street. They kept a low profile if they were ever in town. You only caught a rare glimpse of Michael Stipe here and there.

 

It wasn’t until October of 1997 that I would get to see all the members of the band. And that was for about five minutes. The most stressful and awkward five minutes of my photographic career.

 

It was the day the band announced Bill Berry was leaving R.E.M.

 

I was sent to their office downtown and kept waiting in the lobby as our entertainment editor interviewed the band. I don’t know how long I sat there, maybe 15 to 30 minutes.

 

As the writer wrapped up the interview, I was escorted into the room. Behind a folding table stood the band, lined up and ready for the firing squad. Me.

 

To their surprise I moved a little to my left and created a diagonal line instead of shooting them straight on. Then the pressure started. I knew I only had a couple of minutes before I got the boot. Problem is, my flash didn’t want to leave. Or fire for that matter. After every picture I had to ask, “Did the flash go off?”

 

I don’t how many shots I got off. Probably not many considering the time constraints. And even worse, probably only half of those were useable.

 

I felt like a true rookie. I’m sure the band thought the same.

 

The photo of the band ran on the front page the next day. I got a call from the band’s office. They loved the photo and wanted a couple of copies. I rushed to Wolf Camera and had a few printed and dropped them off. That was a great little ego boost, especially for a “rookie.”

 

Over the years, that photo has popped up here and there.

 

The first time I saw it was on the VH-1 show “Where are they now?” They showed a panned shot of the front page of the paper.

 

The next time was on the web. It was interview from 2008. Michael Stipe pointed out the picture hanging on the wall in R.E.M.’s office and talked about the day Bill Berry left the band.

 

Now, I find myself posting this picture on a day when the last three members are leaving R.E.M.

 

I still have this photo and I still have the memories of shooting the band that day. I also have a good collection of their music that still gets significant airplay on my itunes.

 

It may be the End of R.E.M. as We Know It. But as long as I have my memories and my music, I Feel Fine.

Comparing Apples to Oranges

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watching the students at Fieldale-Collinsville Middle School in Collinsville, VA, I can’t help but think of Bill Cosby’s stand-up routine from the 80’s.

 

Cosby’s father tries to give his son a little perspective into his generation by telling a young Bill how “he walked to school 4 o’clock every morning with no shoes on, uphill, both ways, in 5 feet of snow and he was thankful.”

 

Isn’t it great how our parents try to keep us grounded on terra firma?

 

I didn’t have it nearly as bad as Cosby’s father.

 

Back in my day, the longest walk I had was to the bus stop across the street from my house. Home computers ran on a system called basic and the computer game of the day was called Zork, not World of Warcraft. A mouse was a little furry rodent. The internet was locked away in a lab and an apple was still widely considered just a fruit.

 

Today, you can’t find a classroom without a computer. The internet flows through the air. Learning is as close as a high speed internet connection and limited only by what you can type or navigate with a mouse.

 

Henry County Public Schools is bringing education even closer for their students. With help from federal stimulus money, every fourth- and fifth-grade student in the county schools has an iPad to use.

 

Deep down inside, wouldn’t it be great to go back to school and take advantage of this new technology?

 

As an adult, we do have to keep the kids grounded and pull out the “back in my day” stories every now and then. We need to show them where we came from, but it doesn’t mean we should keep them there.

 

Let them show us where we’re all going.

 

In the closing words of Casey Kasem, “Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.”

 

 

 

 

Big Enough to Swallow a Man Whole

 

 

 

 

Just about every fishing story you’ve ever heard contains those words. And by the end of the story, it turns out the “fish” miraculously got away by some unfortunate turn of events.

 

Well, this one didn’t get away. But then again, it’s not a story about a fish.

 

It’s about the Siemens Energy facility in Charlotte, NC, and that “fish” is a huge generator that can truly swallow a man whole - several men whole as a matter of fact.

 

Siemens was founded by Werner von Siemens in 1847 and developed long distance telegraph networks. Over the years the company has grown and diversified. Today, Siemens has become a global company focusing on three major sectors: Industry, Energy and Healthcare.

 

The company is expanding its facility to meet a growing demand for large gas turbines used by electric utilities,investing $135 million dollars in the expansion.

 

This makes Siemens a really big fish in the Charlotte-area pond.

Striking Yukon Gold

Their dirty hands inspect the gems dug out of the ground as the machine moves them by, separating each one by its size.

Grading happens quick. And it better. There crates upon crates to be looked over. And, as the cliche goes, there are only some many hours in the day.

That’s the job of a potato researcher at the Vernon G. James Research and Extension Center in Plymouth, NC.

You hear about cut, clarity and color when it comes to diamonds. But when it comes to potatoes, the group from North Carolina State University is judging each batch on weight, quality and size. They’re looking for the next great variety of potato. And they just might have found it, buried in a field in Plymouth, NC.

The Circus Comes to Town

 

 

I recently spent a few days in Martinsville, VA, photographing for the Images Martinsville/Henry County, VA, Magazine put out by the Martinsville/Henry County, VA, Chamber of Commerce.

 

One thing I try to do during trips like this is what is traditionally called “feature hunting.”

 

It’s a term from my newspaper days and is the subject of a great book by Dave LaBelle called “The Great Picture Hunt.” Just about anyone who has come through a photo-j program in the past 20 years has heard of this book. It was first printed in 1989 and has now given rise to “The Great Picture Hunt 2.”

 

Feature pictures are the slice of life photos. Ones that show a part of a community that people may not see, even though it’s right in front of them. That’s part of my job as a photographer; to show the reader a part of their world that they may never have seen.

 

I have to admit, it’s a lot easier to feature hunt in a community that isn’t necessarily your own. One that you don’t drive through day after day, looking for something new. As a photographer that parachutes into a new community every other week, just about everything I come across is new.

 

That’s what happened with this photo, along with a little bit of luck.

 

I just happened to drive by this mural on Main Street in Martinsville. I thought it would make an interesting picture but just needed another element to go along with it. My first thought was it would be great to get somebody walking past it. I sat on the curb for a good 15-20 minutes; waiting.

 

Soon I realized that probably wasn’t going to happen.

 

Lucky for me there were flags lining the streets. I just framed the mural with one of the flags. It wasn’t a bad picture, but it would be even better if I could combine that with a human element.

 

I was pressed for time and had to leave. After all, I had another day or two to get the picture I wanted.

 

Turns out, I didn’t.

 

The next day, all the flags were gone. There wasn’t a single one in all of downtown.

 

This was Wednesday, June 15th, the day after Flag Day.

 

If I’d just given myself some extra time, I may have come away with a better picture. I guess I’ll just have to be a little more patient when Flag Day comes around next year.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

What started out as a question, has led to the opening of a new shrine dedicated to North Carolina baseball.

Folks, watching a baseball game at legendary Fleming Stadium in Wilson, NC, posed the question: “Is there a museum dedicated to baseball in the state?”

No one knew the answer.

It took several years, but the North Carolina Baseball Museum is a reality.

The museum is located within the confines of Fleming Stadium, not even a foul ball’s distance from the seats where that discussion took place. It’s home to baseball memorabilia from generations of North Carolinians who have opened their collections for others to share their passion for America’s Favorite Pastime. From old uniforms, baseball cards and even a baseball-themed chess set, the displays try to cover the history of baseball in North Carolina that dates back to the 19th century.

So the next time you’re cruising through Wilson, be sure to stop in and see the history of North Carolina’s Favorite Pastime.

Putting Two and Two Together in Danville, VA

 

 

Sometimes it has to be written on a billboard for me to put two and two together. In this case, it was a mural covering the side of a building in downtown Danville, VA.

 

The mural covers the entire side of the building, depicting an old steam locomotive and an inset picture of some of the crewmen. The words “The Old 97” are written below.

 

Old 97 is the number of the Fast Mail train that ran between Monroe, VA, and Spencer, NC.

 

Legend has it, the train was running behind schedule. (And this was a train that was never late.) In order to make up time, Joseph “Steve” Broady ordered more coal for the boiler. Careening down a steep grade, Old 97 lost her brakes and was unable to slow down before reaching a curve at the Stillhouse Trestle just outside Danville.

 

The train left the tracks and crashed at the base of the 75-foot trestle, killing eleven people.

 

News of the train wreck reached newspapers across the country and even sparked the ballad “Wreck of the Old 97.”

 

The ballad was originally recorded by G. B. Grayson and Henry Whitter in 1923. But it was Vernon Dalhart’s version recorded in 1924 The song became first million-selling record in the United States and wound up selling more than seven million copies.

 

I’ve long listened to Johnny Cash’s version of “Wreck of Old ‘97,” but never really put Danville and “Old 97” together. That is, until I saw the mural.

Losing a Friend

Part of the Third Floor Crew (from left-right: Me, Hondros, Swayne Hall, Marc Kawanishi and Brent Smith)

 

 

Today, I lost a very good friend.

 

Chris Hondros was killed, along with another talented photojournalist Tim Hetherington, while covering the war in Libya.

 

It was January of 1991 when I first met Chris. He was the photo editor for the Technician, the student newspaper at North Carolina State University, and I was interested in joining the staff as a photographer.

 

I had developed an interest in photography while in high school and wanted to give photojournalism a try. Chris was there to take my application. But first, I had to pass a test.

 

Chris handed me camera and told me to set the correct exposure for a hallway outside the Technician office. I took the camera, I think it was an F3, and managed to fumble through the settings to make the exposure. Chris double-checked the exposure, confirmed it was correct and hired me on the spot.

 

If only all the jobs I’ve ever applied for were this easy to get hired.

 

For that entire semester, I lived in the Technician darkroom. And my grades showed it. But I discovered this passion for photography that has stayed with me until today. A passion I inherited from Chris. Though, I firmly believe his passion was much greater than mine. Actually, I know it was.

 

For the next couple of years, Chris and I, along with other members of the third floor crew as we called each other, challenged ourselves and learned from one another. State didn’t have a photojournalism program, so we were dependent upon each other and the older photographers to learn this craft.

 

It made for a tight knit group. One that has lasted through the years.

 

We were so eager to learn, that we took a photojournalism class at the UNC-Chapel Hill together with our friends Nigel Moritz and Swayne Hall.

 

I don’t want to say we dominated the class, but we did make our presence known. That was the same year Chris won student photographer of the year in the North Carolina Press Photographer’s Association and I placed third. Second place went to our friend Evan Eile from UNC.

 

I’ll never forget one night while we were students at State, Chris and I were at a party. It was 1993 and the war in the breakaway republics of Yugoslavia were coming to a head with the Serbian siege of Sarajevo. There was talk of the US sending in troops. We both were pretty intoxicated and got this crazy idea in our heads. We were going to Sarajevo if US troops went in. We pulled a dry erase board of a refrigerator and drew a crude map of Europe. Hondros had relatives in Germany and we determined, blindly, that it was about a 3-5 hour drive to Sarajevo.

 

We immediately started crafting a spring break trip around this plan.

 

In preparing for our trip, a couple of our friends decided to join us to Germany. They were totally unaware of our plans. Actually, we intentionally kept them in the dark. Our secret plan, if the US became involved, was to leave our friends in the hands of Chris’ relatives and make a beeline for Sarajevo in our rented VW.

 

Luckily, for both of us, this never materialized.

 

We enjoyed a week in Germany and the warm hospitality of Chris’ relatives.

 

But Chris was hooked on conflict photography.

 

He would eventually finance his own trip to war torn Kosovo to cover the fighting there.

 

Within a few years, he became one of the first staff photographers for Getty Images.

 

Hondros covered wars in places like Kosovo, Angola, Liberia, Egypt and Iraq. Wherever there was conflict, you could find Chris.

 

I followed him through the Getty website, doing occasional searches for his name. It was the best way to keep track of him.

 

It worried me when I saw he was in Libya. A few weeks earlier, Tyler Hicks from the NY Times, a very good friend of Chris’, was captured and detained by the Libyan government.

 

This was a very dangerous place. And even more dangerous for journalists.

 

I knew something was wrong today when I got calls from two of my college friends mere seconds apart. I was able to pick up but checked my voicemail as quick as I could.

 

That’s when I heard about Chris.

 

To say this has been a difficult day is an understatement. The only solace I can take is knowing that Chris died doing what he loved, taking pictures.

 

His passion for photography and love of life will live with me forever.

 

I will forever miss you my friend.