I Blame Michael Connelly
Photo by Camel Cazacu on Unsplash
"The fear. It was always there. Fear of rejection, fear of unrequited hope and love, fear of feelings still below the surface line in me. It was all mixed up in the blender and poured smooth as a milkshake into my cup until it was filled to the very edge. So full that if I were to move even one step it would spill over the sides. Therefore I couldn't move. I stayed paralyzed. I stayed home and lived out of a box."
Not only was that moving passage deep in the 2003 novel Lost Light by Michael Connelly, but it was also deep in the Harry Bosch series, the ninth novel. By this point, I had already built up a long-term relationship with the detective. I knew all about his code of "Everybody counts or nobody counts," and his fiery relationship with leadership and Internal Affairs in the LAPD. His relationship with Eleanor Wish was likely doomed from the start, but I followed it from the beginning in The Black Echo. Despite the end of that relationship, he carried a very real and palpable yearning that belied his toughness. Or, maybe that internal softness was only able to survive because the outer toughness allowed it to do so.
Those words thought by Harry spoke to his deep feelings for Eleanor and the life he hoped to live, but was afraid to reach out for. He was so afraid of making things worse, of spilling everything or anything, that he did nothing instead. When I read the novel, perhaps I was in a similar life position but wasn't conscious enough to recognize it. Maybe I needed my life mirrored back at me indirectly so I could see it and feel those things without fully grasping my own situation. For my own reasons, I was paralyzed by a fear of failure and the risk of success, so instead, I continued to be less than who I could be. But with this novel, and this character, and this passage specifically, a seed was planted.
The novel has other elements that hooked me as a writer, as an artist. It was the first of the Bosch novels to be written in first person, all the previous having been in third person. This change produced a drastic enough result in me that a whole new world of expression opened up, also music. The accompanying jazz soundtrack was a first for me. With the CD that came with the hardcover edition, a reader could listen along and hear what Harry was listening to as the songs were referenced in the story. It let me know that a writer's art can leave the page and transcend a single dimension.
So, between Michael Connolly and John Straley, you're stuck with me as a writer.
I Blame John Straley
In which we visit an inspiration
Photo by Zdeněk Macháček on Unsplash
I am a writer, at least partially, because of John Straley. He was one of the two main influences that sparked my desire to create words that mattered (I’ll cover the other in a future post). His body of work is wonderful, but it's his Cecil Younger series that most inspired me. That character expressed how richly and deeply crime fiction can reveal the depths of human emotion. Straley showed me how much a person like Cecil could feel and express love and lust while still fighting all of his inner demons, often unsuccessfully. While not quite a Bukowski-esque type, he had those elements of self-loathing and self-destruction inside of him that kept him on the margins of his community and his family. I suspect that Cecil liked living there, too.
The first novel in a series, The Woman Who Married a Bear, is ostensibly a murder mystery novel, but it reveals itself to be so much more than that. It's a cultural lesson and a descriptive map of Alaska. Mostly, or so it seemed to my tender heart when I read it, it's a love story, or at least a story of longing for a lost love. The book about murder contained one of the most beautiful passages I'd ever read.
“The sun dappled in through the canopy of the limbs, and Hannah moved slowly around the graves to the edges of the clearing where the berry bushes crowded each other, reaching for the light. The berries were soft and thick with juice, loosely hung on their stems; sacks of color and flavor like eggs ripe in the bellies of the salmon running up the stream. There were wild flowers among the graves: shooting stars, bog orchids, and the deadly monkshood.”
I remember feeling I could have been underwater watching her swim naked over a tropical reef, but she was walking in and out of shadow, reaching up for the berries and gently placing them in the plastic bucket she had hung around her neck. Sometimes the upper limbs of a bramble would catch her blond hair, and as she stepped forward one of them would lift a strand into the light as if it were a broken web blowing out from a doorway.”
I was immediately struck by the power and beauty of those words when I read them back in the 90s. I read this while I was living in Alaska, and I'm familiar with the area in which this passage takes place. Perhaps that's an extra level of kinship to it, but the picture created by those words left me floored. They capture a man smitten by the wonders of nature and in love with the most lovely creature he'd ever encountered. It's a scene I've tried—and failed—to replicate in my writing.
But I write anyway. Whether I can ever reach the quality of what inspired me or not, I write. Whether I’ll ever be able to create something as perfect as that "broken web blowing out from a doorway" or not, I'll continue.
Thank you, Mr. Straley.
Confusion and Contrast in Bremen
This was far from my first visit to Bremen, but it was my first day in the city as a resident of it. I knew that an escape from it wasn’t just a train ride away. I was stuck here—willingly, of course, but stuck here all the same.
I looked at it through different eyes this time. Having been in the small village of Asendorf for the past three months, the change from the bucolic countryside to the hectic city was profound and a little bit unsettling. Everywhere I looked, everything was much more complicated and multilayered than the simple views in the country. People were everywhere, walking briskly from place to place, catching streetcars, and riding their bikes. Views of the historic building were muddied by wires and the eaves of other buildings.
The time of day I walked contributed to the scene's sharpness. The harsh noontime sun shone brightly and directly, casting dramatic shadows in the narrow streets and pathways.
If you're familiar with my photography, you'll know that these images are vastly different than how I usually shoot. These are complicated, messy, muddled, and full of chaotic energy. It was a challenge to shoot this way, intending to find these layered scenes. I will certainly be doing more street photography, but I'll do so in a way that's more attuned to my style, something more direct and simple, yet still has layers of beauty to it. Something like this.
Rutental Fog
Just outside of Brushhausen-Vilsen in Lower Saxony, there’s a little scrape in the earth. Rutenatlbeke. It’s 15 meters at its deepest and perhaps 2 kilometers long, but I’d say that it’s one of the most stunning pieces of nature in the area.
I visited it on a very foggy day, and even the walk to it, normally an unremarkable event, was filled with views that were made so much better with the extra contrast and shadow that the fog brings.
Crime Novel Reading List
My ongoing reading list of the BEST crime novels. Always open to suggestions.
“Best” lists are always sure to rile folks up. This isn’t that. This is merely a starting point for a discussion and a way for me to fill out my crime novel TBR list and immerse myself in what the great crime writers create, and hopefully learn more about how they do it. I’m sure there are others out there with strong opinions on which books are on here and which should be, and I’m open to hearing them.
A notes on the list:
Some are only available in their native language, so I may not be able to get to them
Some are part of a series, and I may have to read earlier books to catch up.
I will DNF books I don’t enjoy. I’m too busy to spend time reading something I don’t like. I do that for school already.
I do not enjoy books with humorous tones. Just not my thing.
My post-read notes will be in italics below each book.
My list is based on THIS list from The Greatest Books website, which lists the greatest crime novels since 1945. I’ve added a couple I felt should be on there, and I’m happy to add more if I get suggestions from people who feel strongly enough about the book and can tell me why it belongs on the list or why I should read them. The site also has a list of the 100 greatest crime novels of all time, but honestly, I just don’t like reading the older ones. Sure, the noir classics are must-reads, but anything from the 19th century is a trudge for me. I’ll leave them for others to enjoy.
As time goes on, I’ll make notations as to which I’ve read.
The List
updated 11/23/25
* - reader suggestion
DNF - did not finish
13 Hours - Deon Meyer - 2008
A Book Of Scars - William Shaw - 2015
A Fatal Inversion - Barbara Vine - 1987
A Time To Kill - John Grisham - 1989
Read it years ago. May read again
About The Author - John Colapinto - 2001
Absolute Power - David Baldacci - 1996
Read it years ago. May read again
Acqua Alta - Donna Leon - 1996
Alex - Pierre Lemaitre - 2011
August Heat - Andrea Camilleri - 2006
Bangkok 8 - John Burdett - 2003
Beast In View - Margaret Millar - 1955
Black Water Rising - Attica Locke - 2009
Blacklands - Belinda Bauer - 2010
Bleeding Heart Square - Andrew Taylor - 2008
Blue Lightning - Ann Cleeves - 2010
Bluebird, Bluebird - Attica Locke - 2018
Casino Royale - Ian Fleming - 1953
I can see how it may have caused a stir upon release, but it seems boring now.
City Of Veils - Zoë Ferraris - 2009
Cotton Comes To Harlem - Chester Himes - 1965
Death Notice - Zhou Haohui - 2014
Devil in a Blue Dress - Walter Mosley - 1990
Dodgers - Bill Beverly - 2016
Dogstar Rising - Parker Bilal - 2013
Faceless Killers - Henning Mankell - 1991
Fatherland - Robert Harris - 1992
Read it years ago. May read again
Frozen Moment - Camilla Ceder - 2010
Forty Words for Sorrow - Giles Blunt - 2002*
Get Shorty - Elmore Leonard - 1990
Ghostman - Roger Hobbs - 2013
Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn - 2012
Hardball - Sara Paretsky - 2009
Harry’s Game - Gerald Seymour - 1975
DNF. Way too pro-British imperialism.
Heartstone - C. J. Sansom - 2010
Hide And Seek - Ian Rankin - 1991
In A Lonely Place - Dorothy B. Hughes - 1947
Jack’s Return Home - Ted Lewis - 1970
Killing Floor - Lee Child - 1997
Good, but just a mass-market thriller
Kolymsky Heights - Lionel Davidson - 1994
L.A. Confidential - James Ellroy - 1990
Last Seen In Massilia - Steven Saylor - 2000
Little Face - Sophie Hannah - 2006
London Rules - Mick Herron - 2018
Magpie Murders - Anthony Horowitz - 2016
Maigret And The Headless Corpse - Georges Simenon - 1955
March Violets - Philip Kerr - 1989
Mercy - Jussi Adler-Olsen - 2007
Metzger's Dog - Thomas Perry - 1983
Mystic River - Dennis Lehane - 2002*
No Way Out - Cara Hunter - 2019
Out - Natsuo Kirino - 1997
Point Blank - Richard Stark - 1962
Tight, tense, ready to punch someone.
Postmortem - Patricia Cornwell - 1991*
Presumed Innocent - Scott Turow - 1987
Ratking - Michael Dibdin - 1988
Sanctum - Denise Mina - 2002
She Rides Shotgun - Jordan Harper - 2018 *
Six Four - Hideo Yokoyama - 2012
Smilla's Sense of Snow - Peter Høeg - 1992
Smoke And Ashes - Abir Mukherjee - 2018
Sparkling Cyanide - Agatha Christie - 1945
Strange Shores - Arnaldur Indriðason - 2010
The Andromeda Strain - Michael Crichton - 1969
The Asphalt Jungle - W. R. Burnett - 1949
The Bellini Card - Jason Goodwin - 2008
The Border - Don Winslow - 2019
The Bottoms - Joe R. Lansdale - 2000
The Bourne Identity - Robert Ludlum - 1980
Read it years ago. May read again
The Collini Case - Ferdinand Von Schirach - 2011
The Company - Robert Littell - 2002
The Cuckoo’s Calling - J. K. Rowling - 2013
The Darkness - Ragnar Jonasson - 2015
The Day of the Jackal - Frederick Forsyth - 1971
Read it years ago. May read again
The Deadly Percheron - John Franklin Bardin - 1946
The First Deadly Sin - Lawrence Sanders - 1980
Great snapshot of the NYPD in the 70s, but way too problematic regarding race and sexism.
The Franchise Affair - Josephine Tey - 1948
The Frozen Dead - Bernard Minier - 2011
The Ghost Riders Of Ordebec - Fred Vargas - 2011
The Girl On The Train - Paula Hawkins - 2015
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson - 2005
The Godfather - Mario Puzo - 1969
What’s to say?
The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy - 1984
In my top 10
The Hypnotist - Lars Kepler - 2018
The Invisible Guardian - Dolores Redondo - 2013
The Ipcress File - Len Deighton - 1962
The Keys To The Street - Ruth Rendell - 1996
The Killer Inside Me - Jim Thompson - 1952
The Lady In The Car With Glasses And A Gun - Sebastien Japrisot - 1966
The Last Coyote - Michael Connelly - 1995
In my Top 5. Inspired me to write.
The Long Goodbye - Raymond Chandler - 1953
Top 5 material
The Last Good Kiss - James Crumley - 2016*
The Lost Man - Jane Harper - 2018
The Man with the Golden Arm - Nelson Algren - 1949
The Manchurian Candidate - Richard Condon - 1959
Read it years ago. May read again
The Moving Toyshop - Edmund Crispin - 1946
The Name of the Rose - Umberto Eco - 1980
The Pledge - Friedrich Dürrenmatt - 1958
The Secret History - Donna Tartt - 1992
The Silence of the Lambs - Thomas Harris - 1988
The Silence Of The Sea - Yrsa Sigurdardottir - 2012
The Snowman - Jo Nesbø - 2007
The Spy Who Came in From the Cold - John le Carré - 1963
The Talented Mr. Ripley - Patricia Highsmith - 1955
The Third Man - Graham Greene - 1949
The Trees: A Novel - Percival Everett - 2022*
The Weight Of Blood - Laura McHugh - 2014
The Zebra Striped Hearse - Ross Macdonald - 1962
Thus Was Adonis Murdered - Sarah Caudwell - 1981
Tourist Season - Carl Hiaasen - 1986
Unnatural Causes - P. D. James - 1967
Asendorf Sunday
A Sunday walk through a sleepy village
Sundays lean a little lazy in Germany in general, and even more so in small towns like Asendorf. The gas station on the north side of the village is open, and the pizza shop on the south side opens at noon, but between the two, the only thing showing signs of life in the heart of town is the fancy restaurant with its lovely buffet. There are a few stragglers around the church, and the sports field on the edge of the village has some men playing soccer, but that's about it.
Other than that and a little traffic going through on the B6, it's quiet and peaceful in the dorf, especially with the clouds and fog keeping a snug blanket over everything. The diffused light from the overhead blanket makes for some great visuals, highlighting the textures and angles here, and lending a mood and feel not found in sunlight. The entire atmosphere seems designed to make you slow down and look at things a little more deeply.
I like the quiet times. I like it when there's no one around and it feels like the place is mine. It's easier for me to walk about and explore without being seen, without feeling seen. In bigger cities, one needs to get up early to enjoy the streets and alleys without having to share them, but here in Asendorf, that's far less of an issue.
Texture, or What vs Why vs How
I know what I do. I take pictures of things. I also mostly know the how of it, too. It's the why that still trips me up.
I've never been particularly successful as a photographer on any of the social media sites. I don't sell any of my images anywhere. Most of them are pretty basic, from a technical standpoint. I use my iPhone a lot, too. So, what the heck do I do for?
After doing this for a few years, I'm slowly realizing that I do it to connect more deeply with the world around me. As flawed and imperfect as it is, this world still contains absolute beauty in many forms and flavors. If you browse through my galleries, you'll see that I've created a diverse range of images, but I think it's clear that I find beauty in places that others may not. The flip side of this is that images that garner thousands or perhaps millions of Likes and views online simply aren't attractive to me.
That is certainly a dichotomy, and perhaps an explanation for it.
With those thoughts in my head, I went for a walk through town. Instead of capturing imagery of the beautiful German buildings and churches, I couldn't help but keep seeing all the small details of the village I'm staying in. The way man covered up nature, only for nature to intrude upon that creation again, was a recurring theme. The fallen leaves, the encroaching moss, and the weather-worn wood all told stories that may not have been seen if one had only a view for the bigger, more "important" things.
So what's the lesson? Look at the textures and you'll see more stories? Small things matter? Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from realizations like this, or maybe none. Maybe I just like to make pretty pictures in the way that I like to make them.
Anyway, enjoy the textures and details of Asendorf.
Asendorf Autumn
Asendorf Autumn is surreal. The shift to these colors came gradually, over a few weeks, but once the season hit in earnest, it's been an explosion of color.
Spokane Skyline
In which Dan remembers to look up and see the less-seen.
I used to live in Spokane. Cool town.
The town made its money in mining and logging, and that money shows in many of its buildings from that era. A gew are newer but they still do a good job of filling the skyline.
I’ll double-check but most of these buildings are on the Spokane Register of Historic Places. I’m a sucker for places on that list.
Silver Knights
My first duty station, Muenster Kaserne. A post from the past inspired by a writing project in the future.
Here’s a post from the past, from my old blog.
In 2012, I traveled throughout Germany for several months to explore parts of the country that I hadn’t yet seen. During that extended visit, I made a point to visit Muenster Kaserne, my first duty station in my time as a US soldier in the Army.
I was reminded of this post as I was doing some writing earlier today. Even though I haven’t even finished and released The Stone Harvest, I’m already working on the next book and a short story, both with Karl Warren. The third book is a continuation of Warren’s adventures and takes place in his past … at Muenster Kaserne.
22 July, 2012
I didn’t join the Army out of patriotism. Nor did I sign up for the pay or benefits. My primary reasons for joining was my desire for adventure and travel. While I did get to travel quite a bit while over in Germany and I did have a few adventures but I’m not going to lie. The duty station was quite a disappointment.
Yes, I had fun at times. Yes, I made some life-long friends. Yes, I did meet the woman that would provide me with sons that are better than I could have ever hoped for. Let’s not ignore a few plain truths, though.
During my time there (1988-1991) we were using the same rounds that had been in the armory for years. As far as I knew, we never swapped them out other than when one of the heads fell off during our daily loading or unloading. We never test fired them and, thank goodness, we never actually had to fire them on-site.
When I was issued my anti-ballistic vest, it should already have been a museum piece. Thin, flexible and threadbare, it couldn’t have stopped harsh words let alone an AK round. When they started to stink from wear, more than one squad leader told me to machine wash it and I did that countless times before an inspection.
The unused, unwanted, soon-to-be decommissioned weapons we guarded weren’t in anyone’s load plan if the balloon went up. The one true “security incident” that we had ended up being two drunk German hunters popping off a couple of rounds in the 4-J. Had there ever been a true threat, we all know what 41st Field Artillery would have done to the poor schmucks on-site. They had our coordinates locked in and would have leveled the place regardless of who was on site.
So, the duty sucked. Period! But, like most other soldiers stationed there, I have a list of folks that, if they showed up in the middle of the night needing $1000 bucks and asking for my help to dig a hole no-questions-asked, I would. Living through such times does that.
click any image to embiggen
Though we had more than our share of duds, I had some spectacular leaders there, not the least of which were Capt Stramara (it was he that got us the label of Silver Knights) and 1SG Ahlensberg. They set the bar high early in my career and all others had to meet it. I also had many great non-commissioned officers above me. A few years later, when I finally started to mature, pulled my head out of my ass and got some stripes of my own, I had several great role models from my time in Münster.
Here is one bright spot. Someone bought the Motor Pool complex and did a fantastic job of restoring and improving it. The whole compound looks like a well-kept villa.
Though it would have been smart for me to save up more of my pay during my stay there, I came back to the states with not much at all. It’s not that I was a bad planner (OK, I am), it’s that I spent so much on train tickets and hotels and trips to so many towns in the area. Paris and Amsterdam and countless cities and small towns around Germany. I did my best to support the local economy. There was so much to see and do (and drink) in that land. The few, sad souls that stayed on the kaserne their whole time wasted a great opportunity. Their loss.
I do regret missing the final load out of all the weapons. I’ve heard a few stories of the craziness of that time and it seems like a fine piece of history to have been a part of. Mainly, though, I was just glad to be gone.
Today, the kaserne has a new name. It’s its own dorf. Not much of one, though. All of the old barracks and HQ buildings for 6th MP and 545th Ordnance have completely been let go. It looks like, at one point, some effort had been made to begin renovations on Bldg 4703 but those efforts were abandoned and the supplies are still rotting in place today.
6th MP HQ has not been touched since the last boot left it. It’s a true relic. It has not been used for anything since we left it. This is the view of the place form the road. You can only see part of the roof.
HQ of the 6th Military Police Company
My very first night in the kaserne, the unit had returned from the field, HQ was in chaos and my fellow newbie and I were put on hold in the foyer and told to wait for someone from our platoon to collect us. A hundred dirty faces streamed past us, going in and out of the offices or up and down the stairs. Coming back from the field is always a crazy time as all the gear needs to be accounted for and put back in its hole before anything else us attended to. Keeping track of spare PRC-77 batteries was far more important than finding racks for two new privates.
After three hours of watching this circus parade back and forth, the other newbie who got sent to a different platoon walks past us. Kindra Arthur is showered, dressed in civvies and is headed out the door (laughing at us, mind you) to Ludwig’s (our local Gasthaus) while Sneddon and I are sitting with our thumbs up our asses. WTF?!
Except for the first few days, I spent my whole time in the same room in the new barracks. Today, that building looks to be a place where new immigrants are housed or where one might go to hide out after a killing spree.
That was my home for two and a half years. Right there in the center. I had three roommates in my time: Gilmartin, Sneddon and Williamson. Good guys and we got along well ….. most of the time.
Are you ready to see what out HQ building looked like?
click any image to embiggen
I didn’t get the chance to go visit the dog kennels or out into the old site because everything was fenced off and secured. I’m assuming that there would be more of the same. Google satellite pictures show a lot of overgrowth out there so I don’t think that I missed anything.
Just like my original visit here, I’m glad that I got a chance to go, but I was happy to leave.
Silver Knights!
Living the Chifferobe
An OG, Robert Townsend, comes to one of our stages and kills it in his show. Living the Shuffle’. This is what I saw through my lens.
Over the years, one of my “go-to” jokes has been a reference to a throwaway line in Robert Townsend’s Hollywood Shuffle. I used it when I’m running late for something and get called on it. “Where you been?”, they say and my response a thousand times over has been that I was out back bustin’ up a chifferobe.
The first thing I thought when I heard that Robert Townsend may be performing at our theater is that I’d probably owe him some royalty money. My crack team of lawyers told me that I’m fine because his line is a parody of the reference in ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ where Mayela Ewell asks Tom Robinson to bust up said chifferobe.
Over the years, I’ve been pretty cool about meeting an odd celebrity here and there, but this dude was different. He’s not only a genuine OG in his field, but he also provided me with years of excellent comedy content. Now, I get to meet him and help promote his show, ‘Living the Shuffle.’
FUN FACT - He has such a strong social media game and such a huge following that between that and the social mojo of his co-Producer, Don Reed, I just held on for the ride. His popularity and skill as a performer sold the show.
As happens in theater, we needed some media shots to help spread the word of the show. So, a week before the first performance, Robert came to town for a quick tech run and to work out a few quirks in the show. He had been rehearsing plenty for this, but he needed to get a feel for the space where it was to be performed. During that time, he was kind enough to let me drag him around downtown Berkeley to grab a few shots.
The whole time, he was pleasant and present, engaging with passers-by that recognized him and bullsh*tting with his friend, Don Reed, who was with us. Dude was totally comfortable in front of a camera and gave me everything that I could have hoped for with my tight deadline.
We did take some shots on the stage, but it was so bare and unfinished for the images to be of use. So, we waited until a few days until the tech stuff was more ready and had another go at it. Now keep in mind these images were taken during a cue-to-cue. That’s an unsexy term that means it was a run specifically for the tech team to get their light cues and image cues ready for specific points in the show. It’s perhaps the most stressful part of a show’s development, more technicians and artists have fought to the death during this stage of production than any other. This day, though, no one was murdered.
I’ve met enough artists in my time to get a good feel of the kind of person they are within only a few interactions. From day one, Robert and his whole team were super pleasant, their responses to requests were prompted, and their gratitude for our actions was quick and warm. Just a pleasure! Honestly, in this field, I’ve met very few folks that I’d consider a bad person. The worst thing I usually encounter is someone who is just concerned with himself. Robert is the opposite of that. His whole career has been an example of pushing others towards success. The grand number of folks that flew up from Southern California to see him on opening night was a testament to that.
About the show itself? Let some of these quotes do the talking…
90 minutes of captivating tales and good humor - Broadway World
Townsend’s imagination catapults him forward in life again and again. It’s there when he reads “Oedipus” in class in school with such Royal Shakespeare Company panache that the other kids scramble to one corner of the classroom as if they’ve discovered a fox in the henhouse. It’s there when he almost bombs his first audition, for a Chicago troupe called the Experimental Black Actors Guild, but then demonstrates the improv skills he first honed in his bathroom — all before he even knows the term “improv.” It’s there when he’s cast as extras in a Pepsi commercial and an action movie but then so thoroughly envisions his character and situation that directors give him meatier roles. - Lily Janiak, SF Chronicle
There are plenty more great reviews here, and here, and here.
In brief, it’s a show that has legs. It’s a high-quality piece of art with a huge market that is certainly going onto greater things. We’ve already extended him once, there’s some talk of other extensions or shows but it’s all up in the air. You can totally expect more from this show.
“Living the Shuffle”: Written and directed by Robert Townsend. Through Dec. 15. 95 minutes. $30-$100. The Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston Way, Berkeley. 415-282-3055. www.themarsh.org
Bark, a love story
I have loved many times; family, a wife, lovers, all valuable but few as memorable and impactful as Bark.
Still, after these many years, I can’t part with Bark’s leash.
I have loved many times; family, a wife, lovers, all valuable but I wish to tell you of a soul so complex and simple that great tomes could be written about her value and importance but I’ll do my best to narrow down this tale to a few grand images. Allow me to tell you about Bark, a dog.
So legend is she that after all these years, Bark was mentioned fondly at a recent family gathering by my former mother-in-law. The comment was casual and off-hand but was enough to indicate that Bark still runs through our family’s collective memory.
Back in the Summer of ’91, my then-wife and I made the decision to choose Bark before we even saw her. We went into the animal shelter in Columbia, SC prepared to choose the ugliest dog on its last day. That turned out to be a shabby, scrawny, asymmetrically-headed pup with cutest GD face you’ve ever seen. Her gratitude for attention was so immense that there was no way we could have left her there.
Since then, Bark was my constant companion from South Carolina to Alaska to California to Kansas City and back to California. She had seen the arrival of our two wonderful sons and had been witness to the wonderful and the sad moments in our lives. Along the way, she and I hiked countless miles in some of the most beautiful places in Alaska and she has helped me make friends of strangers at the many street-side cafes in the cities in which we have lived. I have countless stories of Bark but my absolute favorite is of a hike that she and I took while in Alaska.
Just north of Anchorage, to the east of Ft. Richardson, is a small recreation area called Arctic Valley. In the fall of ’93, just after the first significant snow, we set out from the parking area and hiked up along the ridgeline of the mountain. The leeward side of the hill was almost bare of snow but the windward side had thick drifts of white packed onto it. After a long and hard climb up the ridge to the top of the hill, Bark and I sat for a bit and admired the scene. Actually, I admired the scene and Bark tried to catch marmots. Because the sun was setting, the rays were pink and orange and, as they fell onto the snowy peaks of the other mountains, they made it seem as if the snow were actually on fire. The Alpenglow.
Marmots, like ground squirrels, keep sentries on keep overwatch while the other marmots forage, play or do whatever marmots do. Their shrill cry of alarm is much like that of a bosun’s whistle. While I was sitting, Bark was trying to catch marmots. I would never allow an animal to be harmed in such a manner but I was certain that Bark would never catch one and should she accidentally corner one, she lacked the instinct to do anything other than sniff it until it escaped.
As soon as she would see one, she would chase off after it. She was black and shaggy, all of 32 pounds but when she unleashed her version of canine fury, the target of that cute rage would only ever be caught if they stood in place and went “Aaawww…” for too long. Needless to say, she was not intimidating.
Marmots being ten times smarter than Bark, would allow themselves to be chased only when they wanted to be. One would set himself up as a target by whistling its shrill cry while the other fled to safety. As soon as Bark came within 20 yds, the marmot would slip into its burrow, completely safe. Bark would look down the hole, certainly thinking that she came oh-so-close to getting this one. Within moments, she would scan the horizon looking and listening for the next victim. She would bound after the next one she saw, no matter how far away it was. Of course, the next one would escape also. Bark had such boundless energy that this would continue until I got tired of watching her.
After my rest, we continued.
The area that we were in was also part of a ski resort, Along the ridge that we were on were the tops of the ski lifts and each lift had a small cabin at its top. Because it was late and going back the way we came would mean arriving back at the car way after dark, I was looking for an alternate route down. The solution was found inside one of the small cabins in the form of a snow shovel.
From where we were, it was about a 1500 ft descent to the lower trail with several feet of snow on the hillside. I rode every foot of it on the pan of the shovel with the handle sticking out in front of me. Yes, it was super cool and fun on my part, an epic ride but what of Bark?
This was possibly Bark’s greatest feat and certainly my favorite vision of her. As I made my way down the hill, Bark tried to run alongside me but the snow made that impossible. Instead, she would bound downhill in great strides. With each leap, she would have to jump up and out of the hole that she was in, clear the next several feet of snow and land in the next bit of powder, creating another hole that she would have to jump out of. All the while she was trying to keep up with me, following the instinct/fear she had of not wanting to be left behind while still reveling in the excitement of it all.
Imagine the sight! As I was racing down on the shovel, I would glance back and see this shaggy black beast bounding again and again. Her ears would fly up as she reached the apex of her leap and would flop down again as she hit the ground. Her eyes were fixed in front of her and her black whip of a tail was set straight behind her as a rudder.
There has never been nor will there ever be a cooler moment had by any dog in the history of canine-hood. This memory is etched slow-motion in my brain and if it stays there for the rest of my days, I shall be quite pleased.
Years later, in the late Winter of 2005, Bark and I took yet another walk, our last. We went to the marina near my home in the Bay Area and though she was reluctant to get up and go, her instinct for adventure and her desire to please me won over and we headed out. She slept on the drive there and when we arrived, she seemed less-than-pleased to get out and begin. I picked her up, carried her to the trailhead, and began the walk. I walked slowly for her but it was still too fast. She tried to keep moving but she wore a pained expression on her face and I knew what she was thinking and feeling. Having walked less than 100 meters, she just stopped cold on the trail and looked straight at me.
“I’m done, Friend.”, she said to me.
“We’ve lived together forever and we’ve walked the world and smelled the smells and barked at squirrels and rolled in dead salmon … but I’m done. My pain is too great, my energy too low, and my body has failed.”
I heard every word she said. I knew this was coming soon as she had been declining rapidly the last month of her life. She had a couple small but fatally-placed tumors, tiny polyps really, in her snout and nasal passage that had been causing havoc to her nervous system. The Vet said any one of her seizures, small or large, could be her last.
Still, though, it was too great a shock and when I heard her words, I tried my best to be cool and stoic but I failed and cried right there on the trail. I approached my dear friend and as I did so, she took one final step towards me and leaned heavily into my arms. I cradled her and picked her up and I just sobbed into the scruffy, never-kempt hair on her neck for what seemed like an eternity.
I carried her to the car, shuttled her home and made the call to the Vet. We were there within a few hours and I held her close and tight as she slipped away, forever. Bark is buried in a wild part of the Oakland Hills in a spot that catches the morning sun. This is sacred ground and I visit it every time I’m in the area.
Bark was, is, among my greatest loves.
……….
Hey!
This post was originally published on Medium. I’d appreciate it if you’d go there and follow me as I won’t be putting all of my writing on this blog.
Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Grafton
A town that time forgot! Once a small but bustling seat of a cotton-growing community, now a relic of pioneer times AND the film industry.
A few weeks ago, back when we had some greenery still, I went for a drive and, as I often do, stumbled upon something cool. I had heard that there was a ghost town back where I was headed but I wasn't sure where it was or what its importance is.
Well, I found Grafton and it was pretty cool! I'd read some of its history from its pioneer days but I was surprised to learn that it has been used in several movies including 1929's In Old Arizona—the first talkie filmed outdoors—and the classic Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
Pretty cool, huh? To this day, it looks like it can be used for a Western film. I may even have a cool photoshoot planned ... but more on that when it happens.
In the weeks since my first visit, the surrounding desert has turned from having a lush, green carpet to being, well ... a desert. The colors of this place are unique and different than any other place that I've visited and the shapes and patterns of it are unlike anything that I've seen thus far even within this area. It's a truly unique valley carved and eroded in a way I haven't seen replicated elsewhere.
A Walk in the Canyon
When the sun begins to fade, the reds revert to orange, the greens turn richer and the cacophony of nature rises.
One of my favorite things to do in Zion Canyon is to take one of the very last shuttles to the last stop, The Temple of Sinawava, and to walk back to the lodge, my home. During the daytime, the crush of visitors and the noise of the many, many shuttles can get oppressive enough that it takes away from the grandeur of the area. In the Blue Hour, though, it's a different environment.
With the absence of human noise, nature takes over. Every natural sound is echo and bounced along the canyon walls and the never-ending river sings its song to no one and everyone. If you're so inclined, take a gander at a short video I made on a similar evening. Be sure to subscribe to my YouTube channel as I'm making new hiking videos as I go along my adventures.
Commerce Tower - Kansas City
Just before my departure from Kansas City, I was granted permission to shoot from high atop the roof of the historic Commerce Tower. What a treat!
The Commerce Tower has a fantastic history and because of its uniqueness as an example of architecture, it has managed to get itself protected status. For the few months that I lived in Kansas City recently, I was able to work at this gem and was lucky enough to be granted access to the (very scary) roof of this gem.
Located in the heart of KC's old financial district, the tower now exists as modestly-priced apartments and condos. You can walk to all the coolest spots in the area and the streetcar will take you to even more fun neighborhoods. That's cool and all ... but that view!
My friend, Shella, and I (go check out her awesome Instagram page) went up there in there in the early evening so we could make certain to get plenty of light for the views but also to ensure we would get great sunset imagery. I think we succeeded.
From the top, we could see far into Kansas, miles and miles of Big Muddy, the super cool River Market neighborhood, and we got an eyeful of the many, swell art deco elements on the nearby buildings.
I've lived in and moved away from Kansas City enough times to know that it's not the kind of town for me to live in long-term, but I also know that the place is chock full of American history and in its present form is a fantastic destination for visitors. For residents, the art and entertainment scene is top notch and I'm grateful that KC is making huge steps to create a pedestrian/bicycle friendly downtown.
... but that view!
Court of the Patriarchs
Easily accessible but still rarely visited, the Court of the Patriarch is my new favorite place for a quick escape or an outdoor yoga session.
The Court of the Patriarchs has become my new favorite place to go for a bit of solace and quietude. Though easily found, it doesn't get much attention from the visitors ... for which I'm glad. There are plenty of other, cooler trails and spots for them. I'll keep this one for myself.
On more than one occasion, I've traipsed up here to do an outdoor yoga session and sometimes I come just to sit and enjoy the scenery. On my most recent visit, I brought my camera to shoot a few things that caught my eye on previous stays.
While in the meadow, you're almost completely surrounded by the cliff walls on three sides. What I noticed is that in more than any other area in the canyon, the cliff faces and peaks are more different than each other than in any other part of the canyon. Shift your gaze a few hundred feet to the left or right of any particular peak and you'll see something that looks like it was carved by a different artist. Yes, many of the colors are similar but because of the vagaries of shadows and sunlight direction, the shades of orange and red easily morph into something new and different based on the angle of the sun or shade.
You'd look dumb doing it, but if you're to stand in that meadow and turn in slow circles, I suspect that you'd have a different show with every rotation.
Hidden Canyon
Visitors to shuttle stop #7 have a tough choice between Hidden Canyon, Weeping Rock and the Overlook Trail. I finally managed to make time to visit this one.
This is one of the last popular hikes in the main canyon that I hadn't yet done. Hidden Canyon has a rather steep set of switchbacks and trails but it's quite smooth most of the way. It can be rather strenuous so on one of the many stops you'll need, please be certain to enjoy the fantastic overview you'll have.
From one of my favorite hiking bloggers ....
The trail to Hidden Canyon starts at the Weeping Rock Trailhead, the 7th stop on the Zion Canyon Shuttle, the same trailhead as for the Observation Point Trail and the East Rim Trail up to Cable Mountain, Deertrap Mountain, and the East Entrance Trailhead. Hike up the paved trail that zig-zags its way up the east side of the main canyon. Take your time; if you're not acclimated to uphill hiking, this could be quite strenuous. Soon enough you will come to the junction of the Hidden Canyon Trail; now it's time to choose the path less traveled!
Night Photography
The nights here are loud with the sounds of nature and when the moon is anything more than a sliver, the whole of the place is radiant.
The nights in Zion Canyon can be cacophonous at times as the hard cliffs keep in all the noise that is generated on the flatland. The crickets are loud, the river is ever flowing and crashing onto the rocks, the large insects and bats swoosh their way through the night sky, and any bird that makes a night sound or rustle is easily heard.
During the rare times that there is cloud cover at night or when the moon is just a sliver of itself, the stars aren't enough to fully illuminate the place, but when the sky is clear and the moon is mostly present, we're afforded a chance to see this darkened, martian landscape in a thoroughly different way.
An Unusually, Grey Day in Zion
Very soon after my arrival in Zion National Park, we had a humdinger of rainstorm. The after-show was epic
Having grown up in California, I am quite used to having clear, blue blanket above me. As I traveled around the country and the world, I always seemed to be more attracted to clouds and grey skies than the sunny ones from my youth.
In Germany, I loved the high, thin clouds that blew in from the Atlantic. In South Carolina, the thunderstorms were some of the most powerful ones I'd ever seen. Juneau, Alaska has 250+ days a year of precipitation and the resultant clouds billowing over the water and the mountaintops were things of amazement and beauty that I've never seen since. Idaho's high prairies created some of the highest/tallest clouds known to man ... or at least this man. So, yeah. You can say that I appreciate clouds.
When I moved to Zion National Park, I knew that it be in a desert and the heat and dryness would be covered by clear, blue and yellow heat. What I did not expect was the incredible power and beauty of the few storms that run through here. Soon after my arrival, I was lucky enough to see an awesome storm that swept through the canyon depositing enough rain to create powerful waterfalls on all the cliffs and made all the dry washes and river beds come to life.
My favorite part of it all was the play of light as it emerged at the tail end of the storm. As the clouds thin and the rays broke through, I was able to see these stones, cliffs, and pillars in an entirely new way.
Enjoy!
