Iron Fist

The day after my bike ride I learned that the ships I’d glimpsed would only be in town until Thursday morning. I was determined to get a shot, and so after getting home from work I packed up my camera and tripod and set out for the waterfront. I arrived to better conditions than I had hoped for: the rain had stopped, the clouds had parted to reveal the light of the setting sun, and the ships were circling one another, cannons firing. I found a decent vantage point just above the water line and, shouting my joy into the aether, set up shop with my camera and started taking pictures.

Things couldn’t be better. I had the light, I had a good spot to set up my tripod, and I had the ships easily in my sights. All I had to do was wait for them to cross paths again so I could get a good shot of them firing at each other.

Except they didn’t want to play along.

One of the ships had drifted down towards the Ross Island Bridge. I trained my camera on it, waiting for a shot when it turned around, but as I waited the other joined it, and the two retreated beyond the bridge and outside of my field of view.

I waited for a few minutes, grumbling in frustration, hoping they would come back before I completely lost the light. With the sun sinking fast and no sign of them coming back I realized I probably wasn’t going to be able to keep a promise I’d made not an hour before to come back with close up shots unless I packed up and chased these pirates down the river.

Dammit.

The stretch of the river along the west bank of the Willamette between the Marquam and Ross Island bridges is a remnant of an earlier time before Portland saw the value of having public space along the river and most of the area was industrial. I jogged back up to the road out of sight of the river, walked down past a fenced off lot that seemed to be used only to grow chest-high weeds, a private parking lot, a fenced-off lot of gravel and assorted concrete rubble, an office park, and a ship yard before I was finally able to veer back towards the river, hoping that the ships hadn’t doubled back yet. I was starting to think I’d missed out before I walked around some of the new condos that are going up along the south waterfront and found them hiding away.

I found out later that the one on the right is the Hawaiian Chieftain; the one on the left is the Lady Washington, and was in all three Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

I watched them furl their sails and turn around; as the sun dipped below the horizon they turned on their lights and started puffing smoke as they fired up their diesel motors. I think this just goes to show that pirates are cheaters.

Comments(18)

It rained all last night and into the morning, with gray clouds hanging low over Portland throughout the afternoon, but about an hour after getting home from work I noticed sections of blue sky opening up above, and decided to put some miles in on my bike.

I took off in the direction of the Willamette, thinking that a trip south along the Springwater Corridor before crossing the Sellwood Bridge and coming back along the west bank sounded like the right number of miles for me on this particular day.

I was nearly to the Portland Opera House on the east side when I heard a sharp report, and the distant sound of people shrieking in delight. Coming around a bend in the trail, I saw two sailing ships circling ’round each other, just north of the Ross Island Bridge, and occasionally one or the other would fire their cannon in a burst of smoke and thunder.

Not for the first time on this ride I cursed myself for not having packed my camera along. Still, it wasn’t as if I could get a good shot, anyway: I was out of sidewalk and was looking out at the dueling ships through several bushes and the gangplank for one of Portland’s river cruise ships. Grudgingly I remounted my bike and made to resume my trip around the river.

I hadn’t gotten very far before I looked over and realized that gate to a private parking lot on the edge of the river was open, and that at the edge of the lot where the ground dropped away suddenly to the river was a perfect spot to get a shot or two of the ships — I’d be close enough to get a good shot even with my cell-phone camera. I hopped off my bike and picked it up over one shoulder, carrying it with me as I jogged across the gravel lot. The security guard either didn’t notice me or consented to ignore me as he went about his rounds. I walked right up to the edge of the embankment, and snapped off a few shots with my phone as the ships circled again, firing away. I got at least one shot good enough to share.

Comments(14)

I am too depleted to put down any of the words that have been swirling around in my head these last few days, so you all get another one of the posts where I cheaply attempt to get out of my not-writing by bribing you with a picture. Geese, in this case. Or, if that’s not enough, you can have a full moon rising over the desert.

Stay tuned.

Comments(13)

On the first leg of my flight from the East Coast back home to the West, I boarded the plane and shuffled along to my seat in the first row behind the first class section. A couple was there getting situated, and taking their own sweet time in doing so, so I went ahead and “ahem”-ed them, and said, “That’s my seat.”

“Oh,” said the woman, “do you mind if I take the window seat?”

When I reserve my tickets I usually request a window seat, because I like looking out the window. Occasionally, I even get some good shots. Plus, I’m not one of those people who feels the need to constantly get up and walk around during a flight. I like my window seat.

But…maybe this lady hadn’t flown out of this airport before, and wanted to look out the window, I reasoned. I gestured magnanimously, smiled, and said, “Please.” Whereupon she took my window seat, fastened one of those cybernetic pillow-devices around her neck, closed the shade, and promptly went to sleep.

Needless to say, I was not pleased.

To top it off, I discovered that my complete exhaustion mixed with the two cups of coffee I’d had in the terminal had come together in the losing combination that left me too scatterbrained to focus on my book, but too stimmed up to be able to even close my eyes. Also, since no one in the forward half of the plane was smart enough to figure out that the two bathrooms near the tail were mostly unoccupied, they kept walking forward to wait for the first class lavatory to open up. With my aisle seat right at the boundary between first class and coach, I had someone standing right next to me any time that the “fasten seatbelt” sign wasn’t on. If you’ve ever wondered what’s worse than being stuck on a plane for six hours without being able to read or sleep, the answer is “being stuck on a plane for six hours without being able to read or sleep and having butts in your face the entire time.”

For the second leg of my flight, I boarded as soon as I was able and seized my window seat right away, determined not to be suckered a second time. I looked out the window for most of the flight home, and was rewarded with a view of Mt Hood as we began our descent.

You can see two previous shots from either side of Mt Hood here.

Comments(14)

Like a few other older cities, Portland still retains the metal rings on its sidewalks that were used early last century where people could hitch their horses. A few years back, a local artist began hitching tiny horses to the rings around town. I found this one on Saturday morning as I made my way around town during the brief respite from our mid-spring hailstorms.

You can read more about the Horse Project here.

Comments(9)