The Burning Sand Blog

In Deep

by Martin Nichols

Back to the Tetrahedron Provincial Park, scene of the epic man-hike a few weeks ago, where things are looking a little different to say the least. These images are taken at a point about maybe a third of the way to the Mt Steele cabin, on an excursion with the lovely Jules to try out a new form of ambulation: namely snowshoes. It was midday when we set out, so I wasn't expecting epic lighting conditions but I threw a camera with a wide-angle zoom in the backpack anyway.

Verdict: snowshoeing is a blast, and can get you to places you generally don't even consider in winter (which is still three weeks away, remember), and if you've got a decent sky to work with you can get some pretty good shots in the middle of the day, even when you're only shooting casually. These aren't bad, but I know I can do better; what messing around out there today for an hour or so has done is convince me of the Tet's potential for some dramatic winter images.

I haven't done an awful lot of shooting in the snow, but I'm now hooked and have learned a few things already.

1. Don't take your incident light meter reading as gospel. Bracketing is highly advised or, as I do (and I know many will disagree with this but it works for me), underexpose whatever your meter says by a full stop. I like some detail in my snow and I can always lighten things up in post, but if highlights are blown...you ain't ever getting them back.

2. If you're sticking to the compacted trail (see first image), most snowshoes can handle it, but if you're venturing out on the powder like I did today use the longest you can lay your hands on; the more surface area the better. Suddenly plunging crotch-deep into the stuff only sounds refreshing, and there's definitely a technique to getting yourself out efficiently and with some degree of dignity...someday I intend to learn it.

Like I say, it's not yet winter and even to my untrained eye this looks an extreme amount of snow for November; something to bear in mind when I return here.

Talking of which...I have heard murmurs of Tet Manhike II, Back Up The Country, featuring the same band of warriors as before. The idea is to do some epic freestyle skiing photography up on Steele. Should be fun; I'm especially looking forward to the arguments about exactly where to start digging to find the cabin.

Left: The road up to the trail is still pretty easily driven in a 4x4. Co-pilot/navigator Jules pictured here.

Over The Top...Return to South Beach

by Martin Nichols

OK, I’m going to be right up front here and confess...there was just one tiny flaw in my claim that some of the images in my last post were taken at Florencia Bay. And so, to quote my old friend Captain Edmund Blackadder on this Remembrance Day, I can say only this: “It was bollocks.” I discovered later that I had in fact been at the much smaller, more prosaically named, but no less beautiful South Beach which is, wait for it...just northwest of the much larger sweep of the real Florencia Bay. So now you know.

OK, moving on. It was late afternoon yesterday, as gorgeous a November day as you’re ever likely to see here on the West Coast, that I found myself drawn back to South Beach to explore the other end of it. I’m glad I did for there is this incredible arrangement of rocks there that's like a magnet for some of the biggest wave explosions in the West. Getting out to the end of the bluff from where I took these images was a challenge in itself on the greasy rock, to which a large contusion on my left forearm will attest; then staying there and judging wave strength by ear as my eye was glued to the viewfinder took it all to another level. Being engulfed here would obviously have completely destroyed my camera equipment and, oh yeah...I’d never be seen again.

I was looking straight west as the day ended and tried to time the firing of the shutter to when the sun was blotted out by these incredible waves. Pretty intense out there I have to say; witnessing and feeling these amazing events, you know...the sight, the sound, the earthshaking vibration, trying not to get killed, that sort of thing. It’s something I’m unlikely to forget.

After the sun had disappeared I retreated a bit, nailed the other effing elbow while retrieving my tripod from a deep rock crevice, and decided to do a time exposure. This one was f22 at 2 seconds:

All that was left to do now was to pick my way back over the bluff to the beach, but...it was now pretty much full-on darkness, which did much to hinder progress and encourage yet more pain (left hip, both shins, left hand if you’re interested). I mean, I woudn’t have missed it for anything and, as painful as it was, it was hardly trench warfare. I mean at least when I walked away from this Western Front I didn’t get shot by my own side.

And as it is November 11, I’ll leave you with the one and only Captain Edmund Blackadder and his wretched gang. I try—and typically fail—to hold it together whenever I see this piece. IMHO this should be required viewing every November 11.

Above and right: south end of McKenzie Beach (really!) earlier in the day.

 

Way Out West...

by Martin Nichols

One of the smarter things I’ve done recently was to get the hell out of the Tofino Legion early last Saturday night; there was only one direction events were headed there, with sixty or so fired-up paramedics swapping war stories and mulling over the latest rumours while attempting furiously to try to turn Branch 65 into the only dry Legion Hall in Western Canada. A two-day hangover was definitely in the cards there, and avoiding such a fate (and to those who didn’t, I salute you) allowed me to clamber out of Reef Point Cottage Number 11, Ucluelet, fully alert and in time for Monday morning’s sunrise at Amphitrite Point.

This stretch of water is with good reason known as the Graveyard of the Pacific; among the many ships to founder on this bit of coast was the Pass of Melfort, a steel-hulled sailing freighter that was thrown against a reef right here on Christmas Day, 1905. She like so many others had been blown off course while trying to find the entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca in a savage storm. Not one of the thirty-six men aboard survived. They put a light up early in 1906 (nothing’s changed, has it?), but even had it already been there I don’t think it would have made any difference; lose control of your vessel here and your destiny is no longer in your own hands. This is a haunting spot in many ways; I stood here, humbled by the power of the relentless Pacific, thinking of the doomed crew of the Melfort and the recent loss of coworkers Ivan and Jo-Ann not far from here, and listened over the sound of the waves to the mournful clanging of a gigantic green channel marker just offshore. Right after I took these pictures it started to rain heavily, something it does a lot around here. The original 1906 light at Amphitrite was destroyed by a tidal wave in 1914, and the current structure (now unmanned) was built a year later.

After drying out it was over to Florencia Bay later in the day. This gorgeous beach, also known as Wreck Bay, was, you guessed it, named after another shipwreck, this one in 1860. The Peruvian brig Florencia was cut adrift from the ship towing her south after it also developed mechanical problems. That sealed the Florencia’s fate: she was smashed to pieces on these rocks. This couldn’t have been a more perfect sunny afternoon (it’s November, remember). Perched high on a random rock, in shirtsleeves, downing a beer or two, my only company a seagull wandering around below and a girl meditating on the beach to my left, I felt it strange and unbelievable that all this drama was being played out with hardly anyone watching.

Now here’s something odd. In the shot below I’m seeing a double line on the top edge of the large black rock on the right, indicating camera shake, but why only there, not anywhere else in the picture? Did the camera move on the tripod at some point in this half-second exposure? Or...could it be...could it possibly be that the water was moving the rock? Points to ponder...maybe over a couple more beer.

Finally, a suggestion for lens manufacturers here: maybe it would be a good idea to somehow incorporate a warning on your products, along the lines of what you see on car mirrors...you know, something like “Objects in wide-angle lenses are often closer than they appear.” Very shortly after taking the image below—and I mean very shortly—I was kinda engulfed and had to retreat through knee-deep water to a refuge higher up the beach. A bit of a warning shot I think...just a friendly little “don’t f*ck with me” from the Pacific Ocean. Music today? Yeah, I think so...gotta be this from the galactically incredible Pearl Jam.

Here it comes!

Respect

Tofino, British Columbia, November 6, 2010; a goodbye to Thirty-Six Kilo.

In the early hours of October 19, BC Ambulance paramedics Jo-Ann Fuller and Ivan Polivka were killed when their ambulance left the road and tumbled down a cliff face into Kennedy Lake on Vancouver Island. Today a memorial was held in their honour in the small, beautiful town of Tofino on the Island's West Coast. 

In a deeply moving display of respect, fellow Paramedics, Firefighters, Police, Search and Rescue Units, and other emergency service personnel from not just all over BC, but as far afield as Washington State and Manitoba came together to say a collective goodbye to these two fine people. Perched as I was, along with friend and fellow paramedic and photographer Ian Morris, atop a Tofino Fire Department ladder truck, I was overwhelmed as each and every one of them passed under us in silent procession, mourning our lost coworkers.

The procession was followed by a memorial service in a gigantic tent constructed for the occasion, at which members of Ivan and Jo-Ann's families, the President of the Ambulance Paramedics of BC Union, the COO of BC Ambulance, and many others shared their feelings about the tragic events of October 19.

I personally would like to thank the organizing group for their efforts in pulling this unforgettable event together in such a short time, and I know many others who will say the same.

I don't have much more to say tonight; I'll post some more on this soon. I'm staying over in this part of the world for a few more days shooting the wild West Coast, but for now all I can think of is the sound of that emergency dispatcher's lonely voice: "Thirty-six kilo..... thirty-six kilo on the air.... thirty-six kilo...."

Ian Morris photo