In the Dark

Happily, I finally discovered digital photography. But it was a long time coming.

For many years, I wallowed in fumes developing films and papers in a series of home and professional darkrooms, burning shoes, ruining shirts and pants, destroying linoleum floors, up to my elbows in foul odors and fouler chemicals.

My first darkroom was of the home variety, and the enlarger was so bad it was beyond belief. The edges of the prints were fuzzy and underexposed, and the centers were overexposed. I was thrilled when I sold it years later at a yard sale.

My next enlarger was a Besseler 23C, a very fine and sturdy enlarger that I used until my home darkroom days were over.

The first photo lab I worked in was back in New Britain, Conn. And that black & white darkroom was a doozie. The enlarger was a top-of-the-line Besseler with an Ilford filter head that could enlarge to 16x20+. You old-time photo buffs out there will know what I mean.

The cool part was that there was only one tray for processing, instead of three. You developed the paper in the tray, then tossed the print into this ancient rectangular metal contraption called a rocker. It stood about waist-high, and had five metal mesh trays - two stop baths, two fix baths, and a final tray of water.

The rocker was about 10 feet long and 3 feet wide. It ran on chain, with cogs, and had a timer. It would rock back and forth like a cradle to slosh the chemicals around, clicking all the time like a demented alarm clock. Every 3 minutes the trays would start to dump. It would dump one tray at a time seqentially, moving the processing photo paper down the line from left to right till everything wound up in the water bath. It really was a wonder.

I left the ancient rocker behind to move to California, and the first lab I worked in was in the San Fernando Valley, run by some pot-smoking brothers. Both of them were too lazy to do the processing, so that was my job. After spilling a gallon of developer on myself when one of them stumbled into me in the darkroom, and semi-frying my clothes, I moved on.

One of the nicest darkrooms I ever worked in was a darkroom created by a Beverly Hills photographer. It was state-of-the-art. Everything had been thought of, right down to exhaust fans, heat, and air conditioning. That was top of the line all the way around.

Alas, she retired. After working for a few more labs, the last of which was abandoned by its owners one night when they fled to Mexico, the California Department of (un)Employment thought I really should be a secretary instead of a master darkroom printer.

One last fitful excursion into the darkroom game had me locked in my pantry, inhaling stinking fumes and swearing, "Never again!"

And that's when I capitulated, and got my first damn digital camera.

Just before I moved up here, I decided I would give away my faithful Besseler 23C enlarger. Incredibly, an Asian student at UCLA went completely apeshit over it, oohing and aahing over it like it was a lost work of art. Hell, maybe it is.

So with it, he got all of my trays, film developing cans, and any other stray piece of darkroom equipment I could dredge up. He was practically delerious when he left.

Now instead of headaches from chemical fumes, I get headaches from Photoshop. The pain's the same, but photography is now a hell of a lot neater, and easier on the clothes.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Moon Over Astoria

Last weekend I was more lazy than usual, so I put off my inevitable Costco shopping trip till Monday afternoon after work. I was heading back into Astoria after shopping, and just crossing the Youngs Bay Bridge around 4:30 p.m., looking at the cars ahead of me, and at the bay, merrily trundling along.

And then I just happened to look up. Wow ... the sight of that full (or almost full) moon just hanging out over Astoria in that afternoon sky visually hit me upside the head as the waning sun hit the hillside and lit it up. It was eerie, and lovely. But the closer I got to Astoria, the further down in the sky the moon appeared, until it was hidden behind the hillside.

So I whipped around the traffic circle and went back across the bridge to Warrenton, turned around again, and pulled off the road in a little turnoff just before the getting on the bridge back to Astoria. The photo above was taken from there. The wind was whipping and it was icy cold, but it was worth every second to get that shot.

For the hell of it, I took the back way home, going up 7th and 8th streets. Just as I turned right on Jerome, there the moon was again ... even more amazing from this angle, shining over several tankers lazing at anchor. The sun was bright on Pier 39 and Tongue Point, making them sparkle, and accentuating the snow caps on the mountains in the distance. It was one of those take-your-breath away, stop-you-in-your-tracks sights.

It's sights like those that make me even more acutely aware of why Astoria is so beautiful and unique.

I can't even imagine how out-of-place an enormous LNG tanker with an armed Coast Guard escort would look in that scene.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Total Recall?

Well, I had to laugh at Patrick McGee's portrayal of the latest in-fighting amongst the beleaguered Clatsop County Commissioners on northcoastoregon.com (click on "Take a Look" near the top of the page):

North Coast Oregon

And I also got a huge chuckle out of Sam Patrick giving the finger during a recent commission meeting. Okay, okay, it's juvenile, but sometimes The Finger can say more than volumes of bullshit. Speaking of which, I believe he used the word "bullshit" too, and I suspect it was apt.

He was a good boy and publicly apologized. I hope he didn't mean it.

However, the majority of the Clatsop County Commissioners have become a joke, and nobody with two brain cells to rub together is laughing. I seriously doubt that when they were elected that most people had a clue what kind of power this group would have over the LNG issue. Or, that they would be so completely clueless and so brazenly ignore their constituents.

Hell, I'm still having trouble believing the majority of the commissioners aren't hanging their heads in shame for trying to sell us out to LNG interests. I have no idea how they can even look at themselves in the mirror every morning, much less face their families, friends, neighbors and constituents.

So hey, I'm all for recalling Richard Lee. Especially if it will give the renegade commissioners the wake-up call they so sorely need, i.e. clean up your act, or your asses are outta here.

In fact, when I saw the petition guys in front of the Liberty Theater today, I made a special trip around the block so I could find a parking space and sign it. I hope everyone else in his district does, too.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

John Jacob Got Grilled

Can't say I was overly surprised that John Jacob's Waterfront Grill failed. The only thing it had going for it, aside from one of the best damn views in Astoria, was the "happy hour" menu - which was great! Their regular menu was completely over-priced.

And, from the few people I've talked to who actually gave their credit cards panic attacks paying for a meal, the food was just "okay." Just "okay" is hardly a rave review when you're charging pocket-busting prices, no matter how wonderful the view is.

My biggest complaint about the new wave of bars/restaurants around Astoria, including the John Jacob, is yuppification. Barren walls, sterile environments and seriously ass-busting narrow, spindly wooden chairs. The second I plant my butt at the bar in one of these joints, I can't wait to get up and get the hell outta of there.

I mean, what the hell happened to the concept of COMFORTABLE bar chairs? You know ... the ones that swivel, and have padding, and have backs on them, and arm rests, and foot rests. Now that I think of it, tho, the price of the beer is so high in a lot of these yuppified joints it's just as well the chairs are unbearable. At least now I'm so worried about splinters and a splinted wallet I don't even think about actually conversing with people. Which makes the whole reason for being there in the first point completely moot.

If you want a comfortable place to sit and drink beer and talk in THIS town, you'd better go home, open a beer, find a comfy chair, and get on the phone - the notable exception being the Golden Star's little bar, which is both comfy and cozy, and the food is cheap and plentiful.

Unsolicited advice to whoever buys the John Jacob: throw out those goddam chairs and get some new, comfortable ones. Add more beers on tap. Simplify the menu, and make it affordable to the town residents. Get the gambling machines back, too, if you want locals, as they're a good source of revenue (ask any local successful bar owner). In other words, don't just aim for the tourist crowd - they're only here a few months a year, and you need year-round regulars.

I'd really like to see that place succeed for a change, and I suspect if whoever buys it doesn't get greedy and aim strictly to fleece tourists, they might have a chance.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Iredale Redux

Someone told me that the big storm in early December unearthed more of the Peter Iredale Shipwreck in Warrenton, which has been quietly sinking into oblivion in the sand since running aground in 1906.

I am totally fascinated by the Iredale, and have been since I first heard about it several years ago, before moving up here. Even though it doesn’t have a dramatic history, and isn’t a victim of the “graveyard of the Pacific,” the Columbia River bar, it is still compelling.

So, I got out of work early today, grabbed the significant other and the dog, and off we went to go check it out and take some photos. I went into Fort Stevens Park the way I usually do, by way of the entrance nearest the Hammond Marina, and found that the road to the shipwreck is still blocked – as it has been since the storm. Totally forgetting about the other entrance to the park across from the KOA, I drove to Lot A, figuring we could walk to the Iredale on the beach.

We climbed the hill overlooking the beach, and way, way off in the distance I could see the Iredale’s prow sticking out of the sand. We looked at each other, sighed, and walked down the steep hill to the sand, which was littered with huge chunks of driftwood that had been tossed up by the big storm.

The driftwood lay at the bottom of the small bluff that runs along the edge of the beach. It was obvious that the tide during the storm had run exceedingly high, all the way to the bluff, and had eaten away a good chunk of it. It appeared that the sand level on the beach had dropped by five or six feet.

We started walking closer to the water, where the damage was less obvious. The Iredale seemed a light year away. But the dog was having a grand old time just loping along, and my partner in crime, who was not raised near the ocean, was having fun doing a little shell-collecting and enjoying the sea air and walk.

Way up on the beach we saw a very strange little critter, not familiar to my East Coast eyes. It was about the size and shape of a walnut, i.e. a rounded oval carapace, with the head at a narrow end. But it was grey, and it had six legs, but no claws. I know that butterfly or umbrella crabs washed up dead after the storm, but this didn't look like photos of either one of those, and it was very much alive.

It reminded me a bit of a horseshoe crab, minus the tail, but the shell was more fragile than that of a horseshoe crab. It seemed to be stranded, whatever it was, so I took it down near the waterline. Once there, it started to happily dig itself in. If anyone knows what it is, I'd sure like to know.

Once we finally got to the Iredale, I was surprised at how much more was showing, but it certainly did prove that the sand level on the beach truly had dropped at least five feet. Now you can see the whole outline of the ship, two mast heads, and even one of the masts, which has broken off and is lying on the sand on the ocean side of the wreck.

One of the guys who was there said that this much of the Iredale has not been visible for at least ten years. Some of the ship’s original wood is still attached, strangely enough. A guy who climbed on top of the bow said there’s about an inch of cement up there, as well as some old wood. And now you can actually make out the shape of the rudder, too.

On the long trudge back, we walked closer to the bluff, and that’s where you can really see the damage from the storm, aside from the obvious chunks of driftwood stumps, loose limbs, and even whole trees, minus limbs. What was really depressing was all the crab carapaces. Hundreds of small crabs were killed in the storm just in that stretch of beach. I can’t help but wonder how many thousands must have been killed along the North Coast.

We also noticed the corpse of a sea lion, which we hadn’t noticed on the walk the other way. The entire skull was showing, but otherwise it was mainly intact. I imagine, by the fact that it had decomposed to that point, that it was a victim of the storm, too.

Just as we (finally) got back to the steep sandy walk up the bluff to go back towards the car, we noticed one more thing we didn’t see on the walk out … someone had built a little hut out of driftwood near the base of the trail.

Since it turned out I wasn’t wearing proper shoes for this little hike (my feet started killing me by the time we got to the shipwreck), I was very tempted to crawl in and take a snooze. Fortunately, the dog kindly hauled me up the steep trail to the ridge, and we trundled off home. Feet notworthstanding, it was one of the best walks I’ve ever taken.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Say It Ain't So

Got a very depressing letter in the mail Thursday. Shanahan Gallery (http://www.shanahangallery.com/) on Commercial Street in downtown Astoria, where I’ve got several of my prints for sale, is on the verge of extinction. The owners, Daryl and Cindy Moore, who “need to be able to travel out of the area regularly,” are looking for “someone (or a group) to take over ownership of the gallery.” Argh.

I think it’s the best gallery in town, by far, with a great selection of artists and their work. Okay, I might be a tad prejudiced because I have some of my work there, but I don’t think so. I go in there just to “ooh and ahh” over other artists’ work, and there have been several pieces I’ve outright coveted.

I remember back in 2005, when I first heard by email from Daryl Moore, saying he and his wife were moving to Astoria and opening a gallery, and they wanted to talk to me and see my work for possible inclusion. They came to visit me one day when I was down at the dock selling my photos to passengers from one of the cruise ships.

The first thing that struck me was how young the Moores were. They looked like they were in their early 30s, and I was expecting people in their 50s or 60s, so I was really shocked. The second thing that struck me was how earnest they were, and how dedicated to creating a really fine gallery to showcase Northwest artists and photographers.

They had their opening the following February, and there were only about 10 artists on exhibit, all photographers, as I recall. I was honored to be one of them. Since then, they’ve added many artists, including sculptors and painters, and there are a lot of things in the gallery to feast one’s eyes on. So I’m totally bummed out at the mere thought of there not being a Shanahan Gallery any more.

I checked it out, and the gallery is even on Craig’s List for sale (Craig's List). Heavy sigh. I can’t imagine anyone running it as well as the Moores do. The next to last paragraph of the letter says, “If we are unable to find someone or a group of people who have the means and passion to operate Shanahan Gallery in a manner consistent with our principles we will be closing the gallery at the end of February, 2008.”

All I can do is cross my fingers and hope to hell someone miraculously appears who is capable of taking over the reins. I’d really hate to see the gallery close. I sincerely believe it would be a terrible loss for the art community, not just in Astoria, but for the North Coast.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Astoria's Long and Winding Roads

While out prowling in Svensen and Brownsmead for old canneries, I went down an endless number of intriguing roads. In my quest, it almost seemed to me that all roads in Clatsop County either dead end or loop. So it would seem impossible to actually get lost for more than an hour or two, as it all hooks together in some convoluted way.

As my friend from Kansas, Margot, and I were looping around (literally, not whooping it up with a six-pack) the outback in the Brownsmead area, I mentioned to her that there really ought to be a road map of Clatsop County so we could see where the hell we were and where the hell we were going. Not that it actually mattered, mind you, since we were just wandering around - it just would have been nice to know where.

So a few days later, I called the Clatsop County office and asked if they had a road map of the county available to the public. Well, yes, for $30. Well, no, forget it.

I muddled it over a few days more, and finally it occurred to me to look online. And yes, indeedy, there is a road map of Clatsop County. It's a whopping big file that takes minutes, not seconds to download, and it's a pdf file, which I saved to my hard drive. Now I can just open it in Adobe Reader and zoom in and look at specific areas I want to check out. It's pretty damn nifty. You can get the road map here, just scroll down the page:

Clatsop County Maps

Now that I can actually see where those roads we passed by go, I have to go back and check them out. With the camera, of course.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Cannery Blues

Astoria, Oregon, is, or was, famous for her canneries. There were many booming years for the fishing industry, and the canneries were going strong. Gradually, the fishing industry faded and the canneries were left to rot on their posts and fall into, or blow into, the Columbia River with the fierce winter wind storms the area seems to attract.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved to town was the net loft, or Big Red, on the east end of town at the bottom of 31st Street. It is, or I should say was, a wonder to behold. I often used to drive down to look at it just to enjoy its simple design and the majestic way it stayed on its pilings through literally hell and high water. I can't even guess how many photos I've taken of it, from many different angles. It was also one of the most intact canneries around, and its owner, Royal Nebeker, worked his ass off to fix it up and maintain it, which was a mammoth job.

This last storm, with winds exceeding 120 mph, was the straw that broke the camel's back. The top floor of Old Red blew away, and damn near took Nebeker (who was in it at the time) along with it. You can read the story here:

"After the storm, a glimmer of hope"

I feel crushed just looking at it now, and I can't even imagine how he must feel. With any luck, public support and funding will put things right.

There's another red cannery on the east end of town, tucked into the Alderbrook area. It looks very similar to Old Red, and it sure looks like someone is taking care of it. So I'm hopeful it will be around for a good long time, as it doesn't look like it sustained any damage from the recent storm.

Just to the east of the Alderbrook cannery there used to be the skeleton of a cannery in the process of being repaired, but it was reduced to splinters in January 2006 ... just about a month after I took some photos of it. At least I have a record that something was there at one time.

A lady came into my booth at the Sunday Market a few summers ago and asked me to go take photos of a cannery that was hidden away upriver. Had quite a time finding it, but find it I did, and took several photos of it. This one, too, obviously had someone taking care of it.

Last summer I was at an event with my photos, and an old gentleman was browsing through my photos. Suddenly he looked up at me, scowled and said, "You've been trespassing!" and he held up a photo of that cannery upriver. Whoops. Okay, yes, I was. What can I say?

Turned out the lady who sent me up to take photos of his cannery was his sister, and thankfully I remembered her name. So all was forgiven, sort of. And I did give him a matted copy of the photo, which seemed to mollify him a bit. At least I got a smile out of him.

Just last week an old fisherman told me about a cannery hidden away in the Brownsmead area. It took a lot of driving around in circles, but I did, indeed find it. And a very fine old building it is, indeed. I was so captivated I took dozens of photos of it.

Now the trend seems to be to take old canneries and modernize them, like Pier 39 and the Red Building near the Cannery Pier Hotel. I guess it's a good thing, but I'm not totally convinced. I'm just glad I got photos of the Red Building before it got completely yuppified. Truth be told, I liked it better in its original form. I didn't see Pier 39 before the renovation, except in old photos, so I have no idea how much was really changed.

So many canneries have just disappeared. I hope I can photograph the ones that are left before they do, too.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site