Category: adventure

AAA magazine cover shot: Machu Picchu

So I finally got my digital hands on a digital version, and here it is!

The current JAN/FEB 2011 cover of AAA Home & Away magazine (Ohio edition):

Like it? You can find this image

and many more available for licensing at:

Mira Terra Images Travel Photography & Services

Or, take a look at my Danita Delimont collection. Many thanks to Danita!

So if you wish to simply appreciate the image for what it is, read no further. And if you’re hoping to find the inside scoop on the technical details of exposure, ISO, focal length, and all that, look away now…you won’t find it here.

Still curious to know how this image came to be? Read on.

You see, my preferred camera to shoot with is the Canon 5D Mark II, backed up by the Canon 50D. But I also carry a small Panasonic Lumix which I’ve had forever, before the 5D came along, simply to shoot video clips for quick’n’easy web posting. It just so happened that when I saw this moment – the solo traveler in the mist overlooking Machu Picchu – I had been shooting video with the Panasonic. No matter where I am, I am constantly composing everything I see in my mind’s eye. So I snapped a couple of stills with the Lumix before switching the lens on my Canon 5D Mark II to get the same shot. Well, by the time I had done so, the person moved on, or was joined by a crowd, or the mist moved in, I forget exactly what changed, but the “moment” was gone. So this was it. And here’s my big secret. The above magazine cover was shot with an everyday point and shoot Panasonic Lumix.

It just goes to show that a point and shoot camera can do the trick. The camera is simply the tool with which a photographer composes and records a moment in time. Had I not shot the moment with the Lumix I had in hand, and instead only fumbled around to grab the right lens on my Canon SLR, then there would be no cover shot, no license, no sale, and no point in this blog post.

Recognize the moment, compose, create.

Finally, before you scream “dumb luck”, here’s a moment that I did manage to capture with my Canon 5D Mark II which got it’s turn in the print publishing spotlight, featured in National Geographic Adventure magazine 2008/09, and re-licensed for National Geographic magazine (France’s publication) in 2010:

Various other versions and images from this shoot have also been published by Destinations & Adventures International, Wilderness Travel, and a few others. Here’s my favorite frame as it appeared in a 2-page spread in Cathay Pacific‘s in-flight magazine “Discovery”:

There’s no question that Machu Picchu is a special place for me…and my camera. If you’d like to experience it for yourself, perhaps even with me, here’s information about two trips Ill be leading to Peru in October 2011:

TRAVCOA’s Galapagos & Machu Picchu – October 5
TRAVCOA’s Peru & Bolivia – October 12
*note: the dates overlap and you can combine both itineraries into one comprehensive journey of Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia. How’s that for convenient?

Both of these journeys include an overnight at the Machu Picchu Sanctuary Lodge, allowing for early access to the citadel before the buses and crowds arrive. No matter who you travel with or how you get to Machu Picchu, fork it out and DO THIS. You’ll be so glad you did and you’ll thank me later!

I’m very much looking forward to returning to Peru again this year. No matter how many times I’ve been, I’ll never tire of Machu Picchu – it’s always a new and wondrous experience. I hope you can join me…and be sure to bring your camera (any kind)!

Paragliding at Torrey Pines

San Diego’s winter involves it’s fair share of Pacific storms, but the days in between bring clear blue sky, warm sun, and a wind off the Pacific. I was having lunch with friends at the Cliff Hanger Cafe on this perfect day, and that’s all it took to spark some inspiration.

Sometimes, ya just gotta kodachrome it.

View the rest of the images from the shoot and more images of San Diego skies, sun and sea.

This link is listed with Delicious Baby’s Photo Friday feature.

Landslides and Leeches – a trekking journal, Nepal

These are excerpts from my journal written each night of a 7-day trek.

This was supposed to be the “bunny hill” of trekking – a short loop passing through Ghorapani and Gandruck (and many other villages), with a detour to Poon Hill for a spectacular view of the Himalayas. Fairly easy, good for all levels of trekking experience. Plenty of nature, plenty of culture, and nights in cozy teahouses along the way.

However, last week, a typhoon worked it’s way across southeast Asia and right smack into the Himalayas of Nepal, where it poured 72 hours straight, October 5-8, drastically altering lands and lives. Here is the news story: And here is my story.

End of Day 2 – October 4
I am in a small village called Banthanti high in the mountains. We began climbing yesterday afternoon, and stopped to sleep last night in a village called Hile. Already 3 of our 10 people have turned back, too unhealthy (physically or fearfully) to continue the journey. We all have our own mountains to conquer.

So now we are 7, and though it will continue to be challenging for 2 of the others, I believe all 7 of us will complete the trek. We’ve had rain and clouds since we began yesterday (though it was extremely humid and warm below). Now we are slowly but surely moving above the clouds and the snowcapped peaks are beginning to emerge all around us. The entire trail is large stone steps, and sometimes waterfalls run right along and on the steps, sometimes we cross a suspension bridge over the river and see waterfalls on all sides.

I am really glad to be doing this to wind down from the film project and reflect on everything I’ve learned from the children. One child’s story and message, in particular, stays with me. “Don’t give up.”

Morning of Day 3 – October 5
Last night I was kept from sleep, haunted by a cry outside. The moon had been full and bright, and my room (which I insisted be a single this night), on the ground floor, hung over a deep chasm, beyond which lay another mountain, and beyond that, snow-capped peaks. I had three windows: one faced the courtyard where everyone gathered so I kept the curtains closed; one faced the chasm and peaks, and I kept the curtains wide open to be drenched in full moonlight while I slept; the third faced the back of the property, some sloping rice terraces and a grassy area where campers could pitch tents, but no campers were here this night. I drew those curtains closed.
As I lay trying to put myself to rest, a creature emerged from the rice fields with a haunting mournful cry. As it grew closer, it’s cry grew louder, until it stood right outside my window (the third window with curtains shut). I froze in my bed and held my breath, waiting to hear someone else open a window or something. All was quiet, everyone else was fast asleep. I dared not look out for fear of what I might see. It cried and bellowed, while I lay wrapped tight and clutching my pillow. The cry was everything painful – from a woman mourning death, to a woman giving birth. And it came to rest right outside my window.
Was this the Yeti perhaps? Was a baby being born? Or was I being affected by altitude. Why was I hearing this so loudly while everyone else slept? Why did it come to my window? If the creature wanted to get to me, it had only to turn the corner and pass the next window, which was wide open to the dark moonlit chasm.

Eventually, it quieted, and I figured it had moved on. I had to pee really bad. I mustered up my courage, found my headlamp, turned it on, and headed to the bathroom. Outside the window, a muffled moan. I had awakened the beast. It stirred and bellowed more as I hovered over the toilet then hurried back to bed pulling up the covers all around me and turning off my light. It screamed louder, begging for my attention, as if it wanted to keep me from sleep all night. Finally, out of frustration more than anything, I sat up and tore open the curtain just as it was screaming it’s loudest.

The moonlit grass glowed blue and still, and I saw right there in front of me….nothing. I stared into the emptiness, the beast screaming now, but I saw NOTHING!! Must be the altitude I thought to myself, jumped back into bed, and waited. The creature hmmphed and mellowed, and somewhere between the moon’s rise and set, we both slept. The last thing I remember hearing before I fell asleep was a whisper ‘the mountain lies ahead”.

The next morning (this morning as I write this), I asked if anyone else had heard the sound, the cries, the creature. No one heard a thing. I asked our guide, the sherpas, the locals…no one had heard it. Only me. I tried to describe the sound to our guide (a cross between someone dying and someone giving birth, or a cow in pain, etc.), and he immediately repeated the call back to me, a perfect imitation of the bellow. That was it!! That was the sound!!

So what was it then? What was this creature? “It is a bird,” he tells me with a smile. A bird. Of course. He went on to tell me the name of this bird, a Himalayan Quail, which is common in this region and elevation of the Himalayas. Many hours later, we stopped for lunch in a village. As I sat watching buffalo high up on the mountainside, the guide tells me “There is the bird you heard, on that sign.”

Note: I later learned that indeed, a baby was born that day, and her name – Avia. More on that in another blog! Meanwhile, the whispered message remains. The mountain lies ahead….my mountain lies ahead.

Later – same day
The rain pours down in gusty sheets. We are at our highest point of elevation on this trek, 3300 meters. I feel my head tingle in the clouds. This teahouse “Best View Hotel” creaks and shakes – I wonder if it will blow over, or perhaps crumble and slide down the mountain. The clouds are refusing to lift, clinging to the peaks like custard to chocolate cake. There is no visibility in any direction. When there is no view outside, then we must look within. The journey heads inward.

End of Day 4 – October 6
A storm has come in and slowed our journey a great deal. We have had to stop at a very small home which was supposed to be where we would eat lunch and then keep going. But some people are tired and weary, and need to rest more. Our clothes are soaking wet. I’ve pulled 5 leeches from my legs and socks just today (I’ve had 3 others before this day). There is no running water (other than the river), no toilet (other than a pit), and no electricity.

It is pouring rain and hasn’t let up all day. The views are impenetrable, we are in a thick wet cloud all around. There is evidence of landslides everywhere, and we are perched in a ravine with a growing river tumbling down between and granite cliff on one side, and on the side we are on, damp wet earth which I pray doesn’t give way. I am really really nervous here. We have descended waterfalls today, and crossed some bridges which may or may not be around tomorrow.

The rain continues to beat down. There is just a small common room with a stove to heat ourselves and hang our wet clothes to dry, but the room gets very smoky and I am having trouble breathing. We can’t open doors and windows for fresh air because the wind will blow the candles out. It is cold. It is wet. It is dark. And it is pouring.

I would rather keep going, continue our hike and get to the town where there is internet, but it will be another full day away now.

A lone monkey clings to the cliff and picks grubs from the wet earth. I watch him for a bit, take some pictures, then something tells me to turn around. I do, and there I see a row of rooms half swallowed by earth. My heart pounds and races, yet I try to stay calm. I wanted to run in and tell everyone, but I didn’t want to create any more panic or fear than was already present. It was dark now, and the decision had already been made to stay for the night.

Instead, I poke my head into the kitchen where the meal is being cooked. A young mother emerges holding a baby, and I take their picture, as well as a short video to show back to the baby. Baby points, and the young mother giggles loudly. I asked her about the mudslide, when did it happen? “Three weeks before” she tells me, then quietly slips back into the warm kitchen and sits holding her baby close.

After we have eaten and the candles have burned out, everyone goes to bed. I cannot. I am restless. I can’t sleep. I wander outside in the pouring rain and look around. I talk to our sherpas, still awake. “I have never seen rain like this in my life” says the oldest one, who has seen it all. I asked if he is nervous, and his eyes told me so.

For the first time that I can ever think, I am scared. I am terrified. And I am wondering how I will ever rest through this night with the damp earth pressing against the back of this inn and the river roaring down out front. And the rain that won’t quit.

End of Day 5 – October 7
I’m still here!

I have survived the scariest night of my life, and am writing now from a place where at least we are not in ravine, there is electricity, and I feel safe.

The rain poured thick all night long, it didn’t let up. Every time I lay flat on my back, I felt the vibrations in the earth beneath, and overnight a new waterfall formed and poured down only 10 feet from the door. The river raged and rushed and was twice as wide and deep by morning. Rain or not, we had to get an early start as we had a long way to go, and much time to catch up on.

Many lives were lost last night in Nepal, and we’ve heard that a group of 8 which was headed to Ghorapani didn’t make it. We had just come from there. It’s a really eerie feeling to have so narrowly escaped a deathly landslide. I’m sorry to say that I think the place we stayed last night will soon be washed away if this rain keeps up.

So today we crossed many many waterfalls and rivers. Our sherpas are very strong men, one is a gherka, and one had to carry some of us across a raging river, knee-deep, on his back – a river to our left which dropped into a waterfall on our right. He was solid, I felt as if I was being carried by a petrified tree trunk, something somewhere between a tree and a rock, but which moved steadily from one bank to the other, while water raged and rushed past.

Many people have taken falls – our trail and the rock slabs are slippery and in some places the waterfall just spreads to run right down the steps of our path. So far, I have managed to keep my balance – I take deep breaths and listen to the earth. I carry a rock I picked up the day before yesterday. I touch the moss on the trees. I hold my hands in the river and feel the water – how fast, which direction, where it has been, where it is going. It is so important to pay attention and look for signs all around to avoid landslides, and to cross rivers safely. When I hear birds singing, a waterfall is near. When I hear monkeys chattering above in the trees, there is usually deep thick mud coming.

When I feel the earth is solid beneath my feet, I stop and look around, appreciating the beauty of the trees, thick with moss, the fragrant flowers, the way the water glistens as it runs over rocks. The rain continued to fall the entire day today as we made our gradual descent in elevation, sometimes following the river, other times on a narrow trail clinging to the mountain slope.

Once, we passed through a mudslide in progress. Slowly and with careful attentive guidance, I stepped ankle deep, then knee deep, as I felt the mud move slowly around and past each leg. The earth was moving, under my feet, like I’ve never experienced before. I thanked the trees which stood their ground and reached out to lift me from the sliding mud. And I was grateful for every step which took me farther away from that gorge, that ravine….that deathtrap, for lack of a better word. I watched the short video I took of the mother and baby who lived there. And I watched it again. And I cried my own waterfall.

As we neared our next lodging for the night, the snow-capped peaks teased us, just shy of coming out of the clouds.

Perhaps the weather will clear somewhat tonight – it seems to be a bit lighter, but it is still raining as I write. While there is electricity here, the internet tower is broke, so I am still unable to post any news. Tomorrow they say we will reach a bigger place with more communications.

End of Day 6 – October 8
We woke to clear blue sky, with snow-capped peaks and lush green hills of Landruk. As the day grew, the clouds formed. I am completely and utterly exhausted – today was the longest day of trekking, but so worth it. We passed children in uniform climbing to school.

We climbed down down down, crossed a river, then climbed up up up. Most of the day we journeyed along a ridgetop, through the clouds. We reached a peak of 2100 meters. Late in the day we began a descent, and it grew dark. The ground was still slick and slippery, and it was pretty scary. I was glad to have my headlamp. I was glad to have brought several things – like trail mix, a water purifier, and a shirt I’ve had for almost 20 years that doubles as a towel and dries quickly. I’d wished I’d had a third pair each of socks and underwear.

I have been using the UV water filter with great success, it works fast and I can get the water from any source. The locals say this is the best way to go, using rechargeable batteries, nothing is wasted. I’m really pleased I picked the right one. I’ve offered it’s use to others in the group, but either laziness or fear kept them dependent on buying and using plastic bottles. Thanks to Puja (one of the orphans whose life story I documented), a vision of her river home and the piles of plastic that she scoured for food or drink come back to remind me what a horrible ugly waste it is to buy bottled water. Now I know firsthand where those bottles end up.

I haven’t seen a warm shower since Kathmandu. Tonight I bathed with a small bowl of boiled water. I first wet and washed my hair and face. I then splashed it on my body, and treated my feet to a warm bath with the remaining water. Then, still some water in the bowl, I washed my socks. It’s been such a great lesson to make the very most of every drop of water, take nothing for granted.

Did I mention yesterday how many leeches I have had? Too many, I’ve lost count now. I’ve named one of the sherpas my “leech gherka”, as he calmly treated the leeches off his own wounded and infected legs, then turned to treat mine. (image source:

There are two things to carry to deal with leeches. Salt and sugar. First, sprinkle some salt near the leech and it will immediately wither away and roll off. Then you are left with a small hole and lots of blood running out. Sprinkle the wound with sugar. Sugar attracts the hemoglobin in the blood, and helps the blood to clot so a scab can form. Never stretch and pull a leech off. If you have no salt, or no tweezers, use your fingernails and scrape it gently out from the hole.

I have surprised myself on this trek. I have been faced with two of my biggest fears – landslides and leeches – and I have survived them both, and no longer fear them. But…

I’m so glad it’s over! I don’t feel the need to summit Everest. While I admire and respect those who do, I am quite content to have conquered my own mountains in 7 days.
from left to right: my “leech gherka”, me, and my river-crossing sherpa

Nepal – “Tharu, Rice, Tigers, Grass”

First, a few images from Nepal –
Himalaya flightseeing with Buddha

Monks & Holy men

River scene

Now, excerpts from the journal of my first trip to Nepal in December 1999

Bardia, Nepal
Awoke before the sun, thanks to creatures of the night and of the imagination. Slept well, though still somewhat anxious and leary of everything….my home a jungle hut with no electricity or running water, my bed a cot draped in mosquito netting with lots of big holes. But a warm welcoming breakfast of milk tea and banana rice pancakes hit the spot and helped to jump start the day.
It began with a walk thru town, a small rural village inhabited by the Tharu people. The children laughed and played marbles on the dirt road while cows meandered everywhere, along with chickens and the occasional sheep. The houses are quite spacious compared to other third world living quarters. They are made of clay – the walls, the floor, the rice containers, all but the roof which is thatched grass. A fire pit in the center of the room is the kitchen. A few blankets in the corner of the room is the sleeping area.(family beds – a concept long lost on western society). Baskets hang everywhere holding things like potatoes, eggs, chicks, even chickens. The only furnishings are large clay pots to store the rice, surrounded by mortar/pestle type clay fixtures to grind it. Basically, these homes are all about the rice. This village is all about the rice. Tharu life is all about the rice.
And my lunch, too, was all about the rice. Accompanied by curried vegetables, potatoes, and kale, it made for a traditional Nepalese meal, complete with milk tea of course. A welcome dining experience for my vegetarian appetite. Yes, I could live a life all about the rice too, and I’d never know hunger.
In the afternoon we set out for our first tiger trek into the park. It was a very odd feeling being on foot, with only a small barefoot Nepalese dude carrying a stick as our guide. We followed him closely through the tall grasses and along the edge of a river to a large tree, where we climbed the branches and watched and waited for a tiger to appear. It didn’t.
But the excitement lingered in the air, as did the scent, the strong fresh unmistakable scent of Tiger. Anyone who has visited a zoo knows what I’m talking about, only there were no cages, no barriers, no signs to read. Just that familiar pungent smell of the big cats.
We crept through the tall grasses and along the river bank following fresh tiger tracks. Fresh, as in today, this morning, just hours, maybe even only minutes ago. Every once in a while our scrawny little guide would crouch down and wave us to do the same. The adrenaline raced through my blood as I held my breath and readied my camera. But the elusive tiger kept her cover, and the guide would slowly stand upright and creep onwards, scanning the surroundings and keeping one eye always on the tall grasses lining the river bank. Our ears were as fine tuned as our eyes, and every rustle in the grasses sent us to our knees. I cannot begin to describe the fight with my instinct this gesture proved to be. My instincts said run….screamed RUN….but again and again the guide would insist on us crouching down motionless. I felt utterly defenseless in this position, just waiting for the tiger to leap out and start swatting me around like a ball of yarn. Apparently though, tigers, being cats, prefer a good chase. So the LAST thing you want to do is run. The little barefoot Nepalese guide assured us again and again it’s safest to crouch down, it’s dangerous to run.
As we continued wandering the river’s edge, suddenly, or perhaps at last, we got a fright when the grasses rustled behind us and something came right out at us, just about 10 feet away. I crouched down, shut my eyes, and prepared to meet my fate. (I’ve always said that when I go, it’s gonna be at the jaws of nature, not man). When seconds passed, which felt like a lifetime, and I noticed I was still alive, I peeked up to see a very startled deer staring at a very startled human (me). I breathed again. I slowly rose and looked around. Much to my surprise, my guide was nowhere to be seen crouching along the river bank. Then I heard him call out – he had legged it to the other side of the river in what must have been one serious leap, cuz I never heard a splash. I still don’t know how he got there. Needless to say, I returned to my jungle hut that evening not disappointed, but rather, much relieved that I didn’t see a tiger today!

…but at Ranthambore in India….there she was!

Arizona – “Hands On Photographer”

February 2006 – Queen Creek in Superior, Arizona

I was recently on assignment in Fountain Hills, Arizona shooting images for the FH Convention and Visitors Bureau. While there I met up with my old college friend Marie who is an avid rockclimber. I thought it’d be a great idea to get some climbing images in my stock and so I took advantage of the opportunity to “hang out” with her. When I first pulled up to the trail head there were two big bad looking Harley riders staring up at the rocks towering high over the road. I looked up to where they were staring and there I saw little specks of color clinging at various heights against the sheer red rocks. One speck was waving, it was Marie. I waved back, and one of the Harley guys said “you’re not one of them crazy rockclimbers are you?”, to which I replied “No way…I’m one of them crazy photographers that’s gonna dangle from a rope hanging off the rocks to take pictures of them crazy rockclimbers!”

Well, before I set out to photograph any sport like surfing, golfing, trapeze flying, and now rockclimbing….I like to try it myself so I can truly “know my subject”. I left my camera with Marie to document my ascent, and I left my life in the hands of a guy half my age to belay me as I inched my way up the face. It’s one of those situations where you put your complete trust in others because you have know idea what you’re really getting into. I lay my hands onto the rock and became familiar with its texture and warmth. It felt good. strong. solid. reliable. Marie and her partner Eric coach and guide me along vocally with reassurance, directing my feet and hands one at a time into safe holds. Marie had said before I started “you can climb as much or as little as you want, you can come back down anytime, you don’t have to go all the way to the top.” The first few moves and reaches were the hardest, but not being one to give up easily, I went for it. Just knowing I could back down at any moment sort of gave me the momentum to keep going. Somewhere around halfway, I quit thinking….and it became more of a dance…a flow of movement along the planet’s face choreographed by gravity. Next thing I knew, I was at the top, and it was truly a high in every sense of the word. Now I crave it. I am definitely hooked on the rocks!

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