Eye and hand came first. Years before I acquired a camera — and decades before I became a digital girl — I had already begun to draw. My first sketches were crude representations of horses, cows, and cowboys. I drew the cows and horses from life, but my knowledge of cowboys came only from television. As time passed and my interest in TV westerns waned, I started to look for other models, drawing the hands and faces of any classmate I could persuade to pose. I even sketched the road‑killed animals I encountered on my walks, smuggling some of the fresher specimens into my bedroom so I could make detailed anatomical drawings. And while my efforts didn’t bear comparison with Vesalius or Leonardo or even Beatrix Potter, the unfortunate subjects made much better sitters than my classmates. The dead animals didn’t fidget, for one thing, and they never asked for a share of my lunchtime candy bar. My mother was not amused by her eldest daughter’s amateur necropsies, however. When she discovered my bedroom studio‑cum‑mortuary, she insisted I move it to the unheated back porch without delay. I did.

Later, when I entered high school, everything changed. I came under the spell of film, and years passed before I again put pen or pencil to paper for any purpose but writing. This long photographic idyll came to an abrupt end, however. I lost my camera, my lenses, and all of my slides (save only a couple of rolls of film at the lab) in a Christmas Eve fire, along with nearly everything else I owned. I recovered my bike and a scorched Sierra Club cup, but that was all. What savings I had were quickly exhausted in replacing my clothes. There was nothing left over for a new camera. So I was back where I’d started. Reluctantly, I picked up a pencil again. It was hard going. Or at least it was until I discovered watercolor painting. The local library contained an unexpected treasure: a collection of facsimile editions of early explorers’ published journals, illustrated with engravings made from sketches and watercolors done in the field, many of them exhibiting surpassing detail and delicacy. I was captivated. I no longer saw pencil, pen, and paint as second‑best alternatives to film. They became tools for discovery.

Happily, the time arrived when I could replace the Nikon SLR I’d lost in the fire, and its successor — an Olympus OM‑1n with three wonderfully sharp Zuiko lenses — proved every bit as good. Still, my rapture was somewhat modified. Despite having an excellent camera, I now found photography both costly and frustrating. More often than not, the slides that came back from the lab failed to capture the scene lodged in my mind’s eye. I’d been spoiled by the freedom and control I enjoyed while drawing and painting. The result was predictable. Though I used a camera regularly in my work as a geologist and archaeologist, pen and paint were now my tools of choice outside of working hours. The coming of age of digital technology muddied the waters somewhat, of course, simultaneously reducing the cost of taking photos and freeing me from my dependence on anonymous technicians in distant labs. And make no mistake, this was welcome news, indeed. Unlike many photographers, I shed few tears at the prospect of the end of the Age of Film. In embracing the new technology I figured I’d finally realized photography’s full potential. But did I then abandon paint and pen forever? I did not. Even now, eye and hand come first.… Read more…

 
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Tired of winter? So am I. Are you impatient for spring? Me, too. Winter’s beauty is starting to pall. To make matters worse, I’ve gotten bored with fighting the battle of the bulge on a stationary bike and rowing machine. Swaddling myself in puffy layers and donning Yaktrax to pick up the mail have also lost their novelty. Luckily, there’s a hint of change in the air. The days are noticeably longer, and the winter stillness is yielding to the quickening cacophony of spring. Woodpeckers are already hammering away, staking their claims to territories, while chickadees are singing the fee‑bee song with ever‑increasing vigor. And the squirrels have shaken off their winter lethargy at last. Now they’re chasing each other round and round the trunks of the tallest pines, chattering furiously as they leap from branch to branch.

There’s renewed activity on the home front, too. Cyclists are dusting off their fair-weather steeds, oiling the drive train, and pumping up tires. They’ll be hitting the roads as soon as the accumulated slurry of sand, salt, and slush has been washed away with spring showers.

Many Canoe Country paddlers are taking their drysuits out of the closet and trying them on, hoping against hope that they haven’t “shrunk” over the winter. Why? That’s easy. In less than two weeks, the first club outings of the new year will bring scores of eager, shivering boaters to muddy put‑ins along New York’s and New England’s south‑flowing rivers. Of course, if you live a bit closer to the equator, you’ve probably been on the water already.

But even if there’s no thaw in prospect where you are — and if none is likely for another month or two — I’ll bet you haven’t been idle. There’s nothing like longer days to get cyclists, paddlers, and hikers thinking about Big Trips to come. And food’s always an important part of our trip preparations.

That’s no surprise, is it? Whatever your fancy — whether it’s leisurely bike rides round the countryside, hard-charging centuries with a group of like-minded friends, strolls along the local nature trails, scrambling steep slopes, chasing the run‑off down mountain torrents swollen with snow‑melt, taking laid‑back day trips on Golden Pond, or embarking on summer‑long sojourns as far from “sivilization” as your legs or paddle can take you — this is a good time to ponder how you’ll keep your motor running between meals. There’s no such thing as passive cycling, hiking, or paddling, after all. When you’re the engine, you have to keep fuel in your tank. And what happens if you ignore your body’s warnings that you’re running on fumes? Simple. Your engine will sputter to a stop. Marathon runners call this unhappy state of affairs “hitting the wall.” North American cyclists call it “bonking” (and get giggles from any Brit within earshot). Whatever you call it, it’s no fun. Luckily, though, bonking isn’t inevitable. To avoid it, just snack frequently, keep your water bottle handy, and take short rest breaks every hour or so. Better yet, lay the foundation for every day by eating a hearty breakfast. But breakfast is only the beginning. The prudent cyclist, hiker, or paddler is a constant eater… Read more…

 
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