Rumon Carter | Blog

He who means the most to me

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 06:30:28 -0500

My backyard, with a mood on

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 20:19:00 -0500

My backyard, with a mood on

6:18:27 PM

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 22:56:56 -0500

6:18:27 PM

twentyseven seconds

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 22:54:54 -0500

Time stamp: 6:17:34 PM

Time stamp: 6:18:01 PM

Whistler Backcountry: A Tale of Two Photography Formats

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 13:13:56 -0500

I’ve been planning the coming year. If things come together as I envision, my adventures in 2012 will be less about organized events and races and more about self-guided expeditions (admittedly of a relatively small scale). In this context, always desirous of documenting these outings, I’ve been considering how best to do so. My big professional photo rig weighs a ton and, composed as it is of delicate electronics, doesn’t lend itself to being hammered in unpredictable conditions. Chatting with a couple of the local photo intelligentsia the other day, I was bandying about the idea of getting something like the new Fuji x100 - no less delicate than my Nikon, but in a smaller package both lighter and easier to stow out of reach of the elements. The guys asked me why I didn’t instead take a small film camera with me, given their relative robustness. I didn’t have a good answer, apart from the fact the idea simply hadn’t crossed my mind and that the last time I’d shot film was six years ago. Like most of us, I’ve been spellbound by the speed, clarity and instant gratification of shooting digital images.

Spurred by this idea, when last weekend rolled around and with it the season’s first ski outing into the back-country, I figured I’d test it out. Though I don’t have a minimalist film camera of the sort the photo geeks were suggesting, I do have the granddaddy of iconic manual film cameras: a 30-year-old Pentax K1000. Pulling it from the back of my photo equipment shelf and dusting it off I realized that (1) I only had a couple of long-expired rolls of film, (2) the battery that runs the light meter was dead, (3) an amoeboid blob had taken up residence in the viewfinder, which I couldn’t get out but - crossed fingers - figured wouldn’t show up in photos, and (4) I had no time before leaving to address any of these issues.

So, armed with film that may not work and a camera housing a foreign object and that would require me to guess at aperture and shutter speed while shooting on the fly, I headed out with a crew of guys into the snow fields beyond the tops of Whistler and Blackcomb mountains. I ran out of film halfway through the second day so started photodocumenting instead with my iPhone. The photos from both cameras are below, the more familiar iPhoneography first. Apart from a crop or two, I’ve left all images, both digital and film, untouched - no colour correction, levels tweaks, etc. I find the sensory experience of the two sets of images completely different. Neither is right/wrong or better/worse, but I will freely say that I feel a warmth and approachability - a sense of homecoming - emanating from the film images; something I find missing in the precision of the digitals. Perhaps I’m suffering from grassisgreeneritis and will be over it soon, but for now I’m incredibly motivated to shoot more film.

iPhone

Film

An Expressed Thought for the Soul | Urbanite, Art Gallery of Greater Victoria

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 10:10:05 -0500

As a mad proponent of the arts, it was my pleasure recently to lend my camera to the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria’s latest Urbanite, a quarterly evening for gathering, music, mingling and a shared appreciation for the gallery’s latest installations - currently including Collected Resonance and a collection of the work of La Grande Dame of west coast art, Emily Carr.

Music | Magic | Chris Velan

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 00:36:00 -0500

I was the host last night, so it was my job to be attentive, make sure people were happy, comfortable, had what they needed. Part of the job description is wandering around, taking things in from different angles, scanning the room, looking for cues of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. Looking around last night, two images struck me, two stories written on faces. One story was common: shining eyes, lips turned upwards at their corners, focus extended completely towards the man at the front of the room, with the guitar slung from his shoulder. I try not to get my cheques issued by Hallmark, but the best word I have for what I saw on those faces is love. On another face, one in particular, I witnessed something else, something inward-focused: eyes closed, head slightly up-turned, rocking slightly to the music, a giving away to the music. Abandon. Bliss. And yes, likely, though differently expressed, love.

I can’t explain my deep love for music, the place it holds in my life. Heredity certainly provides no explanation. My parents, god love them, didn’t set me on this path. My musical recollections of my mother are of her walking around the house with a Walkman on, singing along to Rita McNeil or Cher, no music for the rest of us to hear, just mum’s vocals, volume set to 10. She may well be tone deaf. And then, of my dad, I have no musical memories at all - given the alternative perhaps it’s better than way. To my parents’ enduring credit, mind you, they did make a point of ensuring both my brother and I received as many music lessons as we wanted, though that number regularly exceeded the number my instructors were willing to give to their hellion musical charges.

But perhaps I’m missing the point, perhaps we don’t need to rationalize or find expression to explain our musical passions.

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

~ Aldous Huxley

Perhaps it’s better just to close our eyes and open our ears to the music washing over us.

Notwithstanding the hosting duties last night, I found moments for that last night, letting Chris Velan’s talent and passion come slowly barreling over me from the front of the my living room. And even when on-task (or unable to help myself and taking a few photographs), Chris’ music is the kind that no matter your degree of focus it somehow has the osmotic ability to permeate your skin and keep you itching to pay better attention. My senses was constantly being drawn forward, into his lyrics.

The night raced on in that way, forty friends who almost uniformly had never before heard Chris play, sitting enraptured by the beauty belting from the small fuzzy package with his back to the Sooke Hills outside the window. It was a privilege to bring these two things together - talent and appreciation - to play some small role in the promotion of a deserving artist’s craft. And just desserts in the hugs and handshakes at the end of the night, the heartfelt thank-yous through lips and still-sparkling eyes.

Not thank you for things given by me and the friend who helped me put this night on. Thank you for things shared. For passion. For art. For a little magic. For Chris.

Yes, thank you, Chris.

More photos on Flickr. And, though it goes without saying at this point, if you have a chance to see Chris Velan in concert, take it.

I did not set out to become a puppy photographer

Wed, 16 Nov 2011 12:33:20 -0500

…but there we are.

Final Moments | Autumn Light | Backyard

Tue, 15 Nov 2011 04:27:45 -0500

Heaven in my backyard

Mon, 31 Oct 2011 17:39:35 -0400

Click for description on Flickr.

Giving Thanks: A Thanksgiving Day Run Up Mount Albert Edward

Mon, 10 Oct 2011 21:45:00 -0400

Since returning from the Transalpine Run to the low altitude and relative flatness of Victoria, Aviva and I have both been dealing with a heavy dose of mountain withdrawal. And though we’re both looking forward to making some turns this winter, this current alpine longing could only be addressed on the run. With days shortening and temperatures dropping we knew that our opportunities were running out, but nonetheless kept our eyes hopefully on calendars and the weather forecast for the mountains to our north, looking for a confluence of clear skies and days off work. This weekend we got our wish: a single day in Strathcona Provincial Park, following rain showers and preceding snow storms, when we could - we hoped - sneak in a run up the easily-accessible Mount Albert Edward. The 33km route is one I’ve hiked and run a number of times, but it would be Aviva’s first time up the 2,093 m (6,867 ft) mountain, a goal she’s had in mind for a number of years.

After an altogether too early wake-up call and a 2 1/2 hour drive up to the trail head, we spotted our objective through the trees and got started on what we hoped would be a blue-bird run up to the summit - a perfect way, we figured, to bookend an amazing summer on the trails. While the “blue-bird” didn’t quite pan out the entire day, the unexpected weather we met along the way simply made for a more memorable adventure, and one for which we were certainly very thankful.

For the rest of the story, in photos, please hit “Read More.”

Click photos for descriptions.

Heart breaker on Flickr.

Sun, 02 Oct 2011 19:25:00 -0400

Heart breaker on Flickr.

untitled on Flickr.Location: Caldaro al Lago, Italy

Tue, 27 Sep 2011 19:35:28 -0400

untitled on Flickr.

Location: Caldaro al Lago, Italy

Gone Fishing on Flickr.

Mon, 26 Sep 2011 20:40:15 -0400

Gone Fishing on Flickr.

Nostalgic on Flickr.

Sun, 25 Sep 2011 19:59:07 -0400

Nostalgic on Flickr.

2011 Transalpine-Run | Pre-Race: Final Preparations

Sun, 25 Sep 2011 18:57:40 -0400

There’s very little that’s Dickensian about spending a couple of days mostly putting your feet up in a lovely Alpine village in southern Germany, but in some ways the final couple of days before a big race have the dichotomous quality of the opening lines of Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. They’re the best of times because you know the work is done and you can relax. Or, at least, there’s no more time to do any work that will help, so you’d better relax. And your primary task, other than going for one final run with some efforts at speed to activate the legs, is to load-up your system with carbohydrates - i.e. to eat. What can be so bad about that? Well, the worst of times aspect is in the amount of time you still have. With little to do the clock slows down and, if you don’t keep yourself occupied, you run the risk of falling down the rabbit hole into your own head, getting wound up in wondering whether you are in fact ready for what’s to come. So we tried to stay active on the last couple of days before the start of the race: getting in our last run up high, reading, slacklining, “dryland luging” (as Aviva put it) and, yes, eating…in some very picturesque spots indeed. Photos of all that here.

2011-08-30 Transalpine-Run - Walmendingerhorn to Grünhorn, a...

Sun, 25 Sep 2011 15:51:00 -0400

2011-08-30 Transalpine-Run - Walmendingerhorn to Grünhorn, a set on Flickr.

Feeling a little bagged after our day on the Hindelanger Klettersteig, recognizing we were only four days out from the start of the race, but nonetheless wanting to get up high for a little more altitude adjustment, we elected to bus into Mittelberg, Austria, from Oberstorf to head up the Walmendingerhornbahn lift to get in a fairly gentle hike over to the Grünhorn (2039m - not to be confused with the larger mountain of the same name in the nearby Swiss Alps). The highlight was the dominating presence throughout the hike of the 2533m Großer Widderstein, around which we would be running in Stage 2 of the TAR.

Click the link above to view the entire photoset.

2011 Transalpine Run | Pre-Race: Hindelanger Klettersteig

Sun, 25 Sep 2011 14:07:55 -0400

On our first trip to Italy, in 2009, to hike the Alta Via 2, we were introduced to via ferrate (Italian for “road of iron”; German: klettersteig), which are according to Wikipedia: “mountain route[s] … equipped with fixed cables, stemples, ladders, and bridges. … The first via ferrate were built in the Dolomite mountain region of Italy during the First World War, to aid the movement of the Italian mountain infantry.”

Our definition is even simpler: a whole lot of fun up high. So though the focus of this trip was the Transalpine Run, we made sure to pack our helmets, harnesses and gear to take advantage of any via ferrate/klettsteigs we might come across in our travels. Conveniently, there’s one right at the end of the Nebelhornbahn above Oberstorf and we had a great day traversing this 5 km route. Atypical pre-race preparation perhaps, but what the hell.

Far End of the Route

For some inexplicable reason, Aviva loves the climbing along via ferrate (in our experience most of the folks on these routes use the metal ropes and other aids to make their way - wherever possible we try to climb in a more traditional fashion, i.e. along the rock, using the ropes simply for safety), but gets sketchy on the ladders. She’s a very happy girl to be getting off and onto solid ground here.

Looking back along the route from ~ halfway

Aerial shortcut

Matthew

Sun, 25 Sep 2011 12:18:47 -0400

I elected to travel to Europe for the Transalpine Run without my DSLR, which was the right decision - it would have been hard to keep it safe while being transported from town-to-town between stages in my duffel, etc. - but still I missed it. I also missed the process of going for a photowalk, no precise objective in mind, but heading out with the intention of creating something. Victoria is a town with stories to tell, if you have a little patience, a willingness to stop and listen, and perhaps dig underneath the surface a little. The graf on the right caught my eye early in the walk and, though I didn’t feel it stood on its own, the sentiment got me thinking. This is where those thoughts led. I’ll leave the rest of the interpretation to you.

2011 Transalpine Run | Pre-Race: Fellhorn to Hochgehrenspitze

Fri, 23 Sep 2011 10:35:00 -0400

We chose Oberstdorf as our pre-race home base not only for simplicity owing to it being the start town for the first stage of the Transalpine-Run, but also due to the easy access it provided to the alpine, perfect for we sea level dwellers to get our mountain legs underneath us. Via a number of lifts open nearly year-round, the winter or summer visitor to the area can quickly get up to 2000 metres and more. For our first outing we jumped on the Fellhornbahn to Oberstorf’s southwest, zipped up above the treeline and then went ridge running for a couple of hours, traversing the summits of the Kanzelwand (2058m), Hammerspitze (2170m) and Hochgehrenspitze (2251m), the last of these overlooking - though we didn’t know it at the time - the top of the first major climb of our race, up to the Fiderepasshütte at 2067m. It was a stellar route, made a little more entertaining knowing that the ridge we were running along marked the boundary between the countries of Germany and Austria.