A very still and quiet morning on Star Lake, NY. Kodak PixPro WPZ2

The alarm wakes me up at 5:45 am.

Breathe in life.

The rain drips from pine boughs above and plonks out a metronome on the corrugated steel roof. Each metallic tock a punctuation point on a reason to stay in bed.

It's still raining.
The day is going to be overcast.
It's still dark out.
This is going to be a waste of time.

I'd made myself a promise: to push out past my comfort zone.

So I pull back sleep warmed sheets, step out into the still damp air, and feel around for the clothes I set out the night before. I hit start on the coffee maker, gently latch the front door as I sling my camera over my shoulder, and make my way dockward.

I explore the potential of puddles as I walk along the little road that leads to the switchback down to the water. The indifferent sky overhead casts the world in a muddy monotone of blue grey and grey blue.

The path down to the lake is carpeted in tan pine needles. They spice the air with their scent as they crunch beneath my morning shod feet. Through a widow in the trees ahead I can see the water reflecting in the faint grey light. It is blanketed by a wispy fog that is blowing steadily westward.

Fleeting.

Already the fog is lifting and with it goes the last traces of sleep that cloud my head. My pace quickens. The fog is lifting rapidly and there is still a ways to go before I'm out on the water.

Heron-legged, I insinuate myself from the dock into the rocking kayak. I do a knobby kneed dance trying to keep the boat still in the water, get myself in the boat, and my camera in the boat and not in the water.

Paddling backwards into a three point turn, I wonder if that is a water droplet tickling my leg hairs like a spider.

As I straighten out my boat in the water I catch my first photograph.

I am caught between two worlds. Facing west the sun is at my back and the landscape before me is a pastel drawing. The fog moves like torn gauze, wrapping itself around the houses tucked away into the hillsides along the shore.

First few images are with my waterproof Kodak PixPro WPZ2 since I had nervously wrapped up my vintage SLR in a plastic zip lock bag. 6:11 am according to the timestamp.

Over my shoulder the sun has yet to rise from the east. It doesn't arrive with a pinkening but with a roaring flame, dressing the horizon with orange light and casting the dawn cloaked pine trees in shadow.

Shot with a Kodak PixPro WPZ2 at 6:04 am.

The fog retreats steadily across the lake as I chase after it. I am thinking quickly. Trying to frame the background with the shoreline. I'm learning as I go to make sure the last stroke I take with my paddle will drift my bow in the direction I want my camera to aim. Otherwise, by the time I've dropped my paddle and grabbed my camera, I have just enough time to watch my shot drift out of the frame.

I’m not into the film vs. digital debate, but in this case I think film wins out. Film grain and fog make for painterly images. I love this one. 35mm Kodak Gold 200 in a Sears KS 500 SLR.

The wind starts to pick up as I make my way out into the middle of the lake. The sun has risen all the way over the far hills and is kissing the cheeks of houses on the far shore, lighting them up like a Winslow Homer painting.

I take another picture, lower my camera, ratchet the film advance to the next frame, and it sticks.

36 exposures.

I only brought the one roll of film. An hour hasn't passed since I got in the boat.

I paddle around for another hour taking pictures with my little digital camera. In my race to capture the sunrise I realize I'm so busy recording everything that I'm not actually paying attention. I don't want this to be something I remember looking through a camera at. I want to remember it with my skin.

The feeling of the sun warming my face. The ripe peach glow it makes behind my eyelids as I close my eyes, set down my paddle, and let the wind carry me.

The last frame I shot before setting down my paddle and drifting for a while. Kodak PixPro WPZ2

I think those are the photographs that mean the most to me from this trip. The ones I chose not to take. They live only inside me. The sound of the morning water lapping at my hull. The breeze as it caresses my temples. The feeling of being exactly where I wanted to be, and a touch of melancholy knowing that soon I will open my eyes and paddle back to the shore.

Between Two Worlds