close your eyes and hope for the best

Leigh Cuthbertson wedding 2003. (click image to enlarge)

Over the years, I’ve been asked by friends and acquaintances if I’m available for wedding photos. I’ve also politely declined. Professional wedding photos are a specialty. Aside from the challenges of dealing with clients who are often highly stressed, there is an art to meeting the technical and creative challenges on the fly. Unless you shoot weddings often and know the routine, there’s a lot that can go wrong. Expectations are high.

In 2003, I made an exception to my policy of not shooting weddings. The occasion was the wedding of Leigh Cuthbertson, the 28 year old daughter of my cousin. Technically that makes her my first cousin, once removed but our relationship was more that of an uncle-niece. For a change, I wasn’t asked to photograph the wedding. I volunteered. Indeed, I offered to back up the very competent photographer who had been hired for the job. It was agreed I would supplement the standard wedding photos by perhaps catching some scenes or moments that were otherwise missed.

Why I volunteered was personal. I’d come to feel very paternal towards Leigh. Her father had died a few years prior to the wedding. And there was another reason. Leigh was a cystic fibrosis patient and life had thrown more than a few challenges her way. She required constant therapy and hospital visits to clear the mucous out of her lungs, one of the symptoms of CF. Most daunting though was the prognosis. Most CF patients don’t live past their mid-thirties. Leigh’s fiancé, Steve Silva, knew the situation but he was under her spell. She had charm in spades along with a 100 watt personality and a sense of humour that had seen her through a lot of rough patches.

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Star trails Bridge Lake BC Canada. (click image to enlarge)

“Oh my God, it’s getting light out!”

I awoke with the urgency and speed of a person who just realized the cabin was on fire. It wasn’t.

“Damn,” I cursed as I jumped into my boots and stumbled sideways through the door while pulling on my coat.

“What happened to the alarm?” I thought, as I braved the sub freezing morning air.

I ran for about 30 seconds onto the frozen lake before I realized it was a futile effort. I caught my breath and slowed to a walk. Yes, the sky was fairly bright now. Even the western horizon was fully illuminated. A few minutes later, around the corner in the middle of a small bay, I reached my destination. There, with it’s neck cranked skyward stood my tripod and camera that I had set up the night before. I closed the shutter and shook my head. Replacing the lens cap I took 3 more fast blank exposures. I knew that an extremely overexposed frame also exposed the film surrounding it inside the camera. I grabbed my set-up, hoisted it over my shoulder and headed back to the cabin.

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Laos. American bombshell as a flower planter. (click image to enlarge)

Laos is the most-bombed country (per capita) in the world. I expect this is not something the Lao tourism bureau (if there is one!) would list as a travel incentive.

I came across many reuses of American bombshells throughout my visit to Laos. I saw several serving as flower planters (some even standing prominently at the center of small villages) and others recycled as stairs leading to homes and businesses. I actually stepped on a bombshell to help me cross a shallow river. That was certainly a frightening experience! There was a moment of doubt (and panic!) when I thought perhaps this was an actual unexploded bomb I was about to step on. There are thousands of landmines and other unexploded ordinances throughout Laos, so this was a very real possibility.

Laos is the world’s most-bombed country (per capita) in the world. I expect this is not something the Lao tourism bureau (if there is one!) would list as a travel incentive.

During the Vietnam War, American fighter pilots used Laos as a dumpsite for bombs not dropped over missed Viet Cong targets (they didn’t have enough fuel to return the planes with their non-discharged cargo so they simply unloaded over Laos). The US was never officially at war with Laos.

This could have made the Lao very bitter people.

Instead, the Lao put the past behind them and transformed these vestiges of war into vessels of peace and beauty. These bombs-turned-flower-planters stand as testaments to the resilience and resourcefulness of the Lao people.

© Elizabeth Knox

The Gold Cup and Saucer harness race at Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.
(click image to enlarge)

I always wanted to be a sports photographer, perhaps because I was never quite good enough to make it as a professional athlete. God knows I tried.

As a kid growing up in the late 60’s and early 70’s, Bobby Orr was God. I believe it was every Canadian kid’s dream to score the game-winning goal in game seven of the Stanley Cup final. I can still envision myself flying through air with arms reaching to the heavens as Tony Esposito is sprawled on his back, clearly beaten. Then I wake up.

Sometime between now and then I acquired a camera and started shooting for the community weekly newspaper. Man that was heady stuff; my ego had never been so inflated. Payment was another roll of free film to shoot for the newspaper and access to the makeshift darkroom to do all of the processing and printing.

I was in my second heaven, of sorts. Even got to photograph Christopher Reeve when he “pulled alongside” in his sailboat.

But still, no sports.

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Oxbow Bend in Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming. (click image to enlarge)

There are two ways to see nature in all its glory. You can get up before the shops open, before 99.99% of all germs have awoken, before the sun has raised it’s spiky yellow head and started burning perfect highlights into the landscape. Or, you can show up at a book store between the hours of 9 and 8 (roughly speaking).

Let’s take the first approach this time.

If you manage to get out of bed at 5am and make it to the exact footprint you scouted out the previous day, all you have to do is stand next to the other 10 guys who found the same place, wait for the light to sparkle, and shoot.

Or that’s what 90% of those that brave the cold to get there seem to think. I can’t count the number of times I’ve stood chatting with some nice blokes I’ve just met, discussing locations and wildlife sightings, when all of a sudden the anticipation builds to a climax and everyone knows that we are seconds from the peak of the rising sun.

… all you have to do is stand next to the other 10 guys who found the same place, wait for the light to sparkle, and shoot.

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