On December 7 of last year, I made another trip to Bald Rock Heritage Preserve. As you can see in today’s photograph, this was not a clear blue-sky day. There were clouds. And I was thankful for that. The presence of clouds in the sky means that my sunrise photos will benefit from those clouds as they move around, while the sun crests the horizon.
Today’s photo is a panorama, two photos stitched together in Photoshop to display a wider view than my 70 to 200 mm lens can offer. You see Table Rock in the distance. This was a last photo taken on that day. Almost every time I visit Bald Rock, I try to get a shot like this, showing Table Rock from Bald Rock.
This article contains embarrassing and personal issues which may make some folks uncomfortable.
As the photo shows, Table Rock is within easy driving distance. I almost always go there after I get my sunrise photos at Ball Rock. Fifteen or twenty minutes after I took this photograph, I pulled into the parking area at Lake Oolenoy, across the road from Table Rock Mountain. There are public restrooms there, and I needed to use one. As I headed to the restroom, camera strap over my shoulder, I noticed what appeared to be an interesting sight through the trees. So I turned away from the restrooms to investigate. I walked down the boat unloading ramp toward the lake to get a clearer view.
The sun was very bright. I pulled the wide brim of my hiking hat down a little to protect my eyes. Then, as I often do, I glanced at the end of my camera lens to see if there was any debris on it. What I saw shocked me, made my heart sink. The front of the lens had several large splotches. My mind immediately went back to the first time I saw those splotches, after I had taken a few photos of the sunrise at Ball Rock, around 45 minutes earlier. The splotches were so big that I felt certain my first photographs would not be usable. A few dust spots are easy to remove in editing. But something this big would certainly spoil every photo I took.
I always carry something with which to clean my lens. And I used it vigorously back at Ball Rock. But, the splotches were still there. I had not realized that. I had taken what should have been some great photos, photos I had been waiting for months to take, waiting maybe over a year, because of the Covid-19 shutdowns. And now, after feeling quite good about what I captured that morning, I had to accept the fact that those photos were ruined.
I felt devastated.
I got mad. My ability to think straight was severely compromised. There seemed no point in taking more photographs; I wasn’t in the mood. I went back up the hill to my car, fuming about my wasted morning, about losing those great photos. In a few minutes I was heading down the highway toward home. It was then I remembered that I still needed to go to the bathroom.
Some of you may find it difficult to relate to what I am about to say, but for years I have been quite uncomfortable about going into fast food joints or gas stations that I had not previously visited. Once, on it trip home from Georgia, I almost ran out of fuel because I could not find a place where I felt comfortable to stop for gas. This may be a PTSD symptom … or something else. Whatever it is, I still have that problem. And I was an hour away from home, a long way to drive when the bladder is full.
I am typically a careful driver. I usually stay under the speed limit and I drive defensively, looking out for potential problems around me. But now, that was hard to do. My mind was filled with the frustration of what had happened that morning and the growing discomfort of a bladder that needed some relief. It doesn’t take much for my brain to begin to think negative thoughts.
I drove past a half-dozen or more gas stations and fast-food joints where I could have relieved myself. Each time I saw one, that old uncomfortable feeling of entering a place unfamiliar to me overrode the other problem I was dealing with.
I began to think about my photography. Maybe it was just too much trouble. I really thought I had cleaned that lens. Maybe the lens was ruined somehow, and needed an expensive repair. Considering that I’m saving money toward moving to a new camera system, spending money on this lens would make no sense at all. I might just have to stop taking photos for a few months, maybe longer. And if I do that, I might as well just stop altogether.
My mind was so crowded with all these thoughts and all this discomfort that it took a mighty effort to keep my car in my lane, horns occasionally warning me I was dangerously weaving in heavy traffic. Just braking for a red light was a challenge, my ability to concentrate almost nil.
New and less reasonable alternatives entered my mind. I drove past several buildings that look like possible options for me to go behind one of them and relieve myself. But I never did that. Thinking those thoughts and not stopping just made it worse. I kept driving, watching empty buildings and fast-food joints and gas stations go by, recalculating how many more minutes it would be before I got home, hoping I would remember to open the garage door before I pulled in. All sorts of tragedies kept popping into my mind. I began to feel dizzy and sick at my stomach. Maybe I would throw up in the car. Maybe I would pass out and wreck my car.
Trying to take some damned photographs put me in this dangerous situation. My head was filled with so many negative thoughts. Ending my photography hobby started sounding like the right thing to do.
Ever since I had my prostate removed because of an aggressive form of cancer, I have had urinary incontinence and must wear protection, initially a bulky and uncomfortable pad inside my underwear. It has gotten better. Now my new underwear is washable and much more comfortable, but it cannot handle a lot of liquid. Nonetheless, on a number of occasions on that long drive home, I considered testing the level of protection it offered.
Then, up ahead, I saw the turnoff to my condo. It was a left turn across two lanes of traffic on an often-busy and curved road, sometimes a little tricky in the best of circumstances. This was one of the things I had been dreading in the back of my mind, knowing the urgency I felt and the distracted nature of my thinking.
On this day there was no oncoming traffic. I made the turn easily, and a moment later I was pressing on the button above my head to open the garage door. Usually, the first thing I do after a photo trip is take my camera inside, put the battery in the charger, and start loading the photos into Lightroom.
I guess I don’t have to tell you what I did first this time. But I will say that in just a few minutes I felt a whole lot better.
It takes a long time for photos to load into my computer, probably 10 or 15 minutes, if there are a lot of them. I lay down on the bed, turned on the television, and tried to relax for a while. I was exhausted. I dozed off. Woke up a couple of hours later. All the photographs were loaded. I didn’t want to look at them, but I felt I had to.
I was surprised at what I saw … pleased at what I saw.
On that morning I had taken 56 photographs. And I looked at each one of them, holding my breath. They were all okay. Small dust particles were on a few, but nothing that could not be fixed in Lightroom. Because of the low light in the moments before and after sunrise, most of the foreground portions of the photos were too dark to show much detail. That was disappointing, but expected. Many of the photos were too similar and would be deleted. Only fourteen of them would survive the culling. But a few of those were pretty nice … all in all, a good morning’s effort.
I had put myself through a mental hell for no reason.