“Curious Thresher“

We jumped off the dive boat from Evolution Dive at Malapascua Island at about 6:15 in the morning. We had enjoyed a glorious sunrise during the half-hour ride to the site, interspersed with cool showers as the breeze picked up the spray from our boat smacking through the waves. We were running a little late; most of the boats from other resorts were already there and their divers already down.

Our boat pulled up a few yards downwind of the other boats. There is no anchoring here; our divemaster Shelagh (an American from New Hampshire) told my buddy and me it was time to jump. We had all done this before, so the entrance was quick: A jump, a splash. Wait a minute for everyone to be ready, and down we go. It may have been morning above, but underwater it was still dim predawn — light enough to see, but still gloomy as we neared the rubble reef top of Monad Shoal.

Monad Shoal is a sea-mount, the top of an underwater promontory that rises from the surrounding depths. Big pelagics like the sought-after thresher shark come here in the early morning to be cleaned by reef fish; they are all gone by an hour after sunrise. Divers enter near the center of the shoal then swim gently along the reef to take up watching positions near the end of the mount, where thresher sharks are most often seen.

There were no other divers around our little group as we descended easily to the shoal-top reef, about 60 feet below. As we approached the bottom, Shelagh stopped and hovered, pointing into the gloom. My buddy and I weren’t yet to the bottom when it appeared: A large thresher shark came out of the gloom, swimming directly to us. We froze in place. Thresher sharks are notoriously shy; one sudden move, and our visitor would be gone more quickly than it arrived. Our “friend” cruised slowly past our little group, seemingly near enough to touch. Then it turned and came back. It circled us lazily once more — then, curiosity satisfied, it was gone.

We were amazed at our encounter; that never happens. We were in the center of the shoal, nowhere near the normal viewing area, and we were alone. It was like the sea decided to bless us with our own, private visitation. After that, the rest of the dive was ordinary. We made our way gradually to the area where all the other divers waited; there we carefully hovered in place a foot or so above the reef, hoping for another sighting. We kenw that whatever came, it would not match what we’d just seen.

We had no more fabulous thresher close encounters that day; instead, I got to see first-hand why Monad Shoal is endangered and thresher encounters there are becoming less common. Divers were everywhere around us, lying on the reef and milling around like bored tourists — stirring up an enormous plume of brown muck to stream away into the ocean. Once upon a time, Monad was considered an advanced dive because divers were expected to manage their buoyancy and hover in place for the entire dive, never touching the fragile corals or disturbing the marine environment. Today, dive operators bring even new divers with poor skills; the divers are tourists who must be entertained. The reef is being killed by hordes of undisciplined and underqualified tourists. And operators pandering for their money.

“Paparazzi On the Reef“

(Top photo, “Curious Thresher:” Canon G12 in Ikelite housing, no flash, integrated lens at 18.1mm, ISO 500 at f/4.0.)

(Last photo, “Paparazzi On the Reef:” Canon G12 in Ikelite housing, no flash, integrated lens at 6.1mm, ISO 500 at f/3.2.)
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“Spiraling Down“

Every visitor to Rome should visit the Vatican Museum at least once. It’s a “must do.” The displays are fabulous; the history on display is phenomenal. The crowds are epic. The normal visitor will stand in line for quite a while and then join the parade of thousands, an enormous mass of humanity oozing through the famous hallways and past the displayed great masterpieces. By far the easiest way to get in (bypassing most the lines) is to join one of the many organized tour groups. That’s what we did.

The famous spiral staircase has to be one of the most photographed subjects in the Vatican — a place with literally miles of ornate hallways filled with great works of art. Giuseppe Momo was commissioned to build the staircase in 1932. The resulting “Momo staircase” is actually two staircases — one for going up, the other down. When I lasted visited (decades ago), all visitors to the museum came in and out via that staircase. A lot has changed since then. With the enormous crowds today, a new visitor center (including security) has been built; most visitors enter and exit through those new facilities. Nowadays, the “up” half of the spiral staircase is almost never used by visitors. Most tour groups exit this way, but many individual visitors today miss the spiral staircase entirely.

There are few opportunities to find an innovative angle or “different” take on such a well-photographed subject — the space is just large enough for the staircase itself, and by this point most tour groups have begun to resemble a forced march. But I had to try.

(Image: Nikon D700 with Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 zoom at 24mm and f/2.8; ISO 640; nine bracketed images around 1/30 sec., combined to a single HDR image.)
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“Night at the Piazza della Rotonda“

Two weeks ago, Nancy and I were lucky enough to find ourselves in one of the world’s most romantic cities — Rome, Italy — for Valentine’s Day. We found ourselves at sunset relaxing with a drink in one of the neat little cafes around the Piazza del Rotonda. (Nancy’s was prosecco, mine was Italian beer.) The imposing edifice at center-frame is the Pantheon; in front of that is an obelisk brought from Egypt and installed here at the will of Pope Clement XI atop a fountain that was already here before the obelisk arrived, having been done by Giacomo Della Porta under Pope Gregory XIII in 1575.

Today, in 2012, we chatted with the friendly waiters and passers-by and enjoyed our drinks. The sun set. The crowd in the piazza did not diminish; it grew. The very impressive Roman Catholic church of St. Mary and the Martyrs (the Pantheon) stayed open well after dark and tourists like us continued to filter into the square, even as couples I took to be locals gradually infiltrated to hang out and do as young couples in love are apt to do around the central fountain (aptly known as “la Fontana del Pantheon”).

Finally, I could not stand it any more. I grabbed my tripod and camera and alighted into the piazza. I like to think I had my darling’s blessing: I can be a real pain when I’ve got “the shot” in my eye and can’t see anything else. About 15 minutes later, I was back. “The Shot” was in the memory card, and we were off to dinner. I’m happy to report most of “the shots” I envisioned worked as intended; this is one.

This is the first of several from Roma. Look for more as I process the images from our long weekend in Rome.

(Image: Nikon D700 with Nikkor 24-70 f/2.8 zoom lens at 24mm; f/2.8; ISO 1600; HDR from seven exposures ranging ev -3 to +3 bracketing 1/13 sec. exposure time; camera fixed on a tripod for the series.)
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“Reef Squid“

Squid are ubiquitous in every ocean. On the reef, they are seldom seen alone. Usually, divers and snorkelers will notice a line stretching down the reef — squid all arranged facing the same direction, moving easily along the contour of the bottom. Divers seeking to approach the squid quickly find themselves outmatched; the squid can easily stay out of reach and beyond effective photography range.

Probably the first sea life I saw on my first dive as a PADI divemaster candidate here at St. Elsewhere was just such a line of squid. As I dropped easily from the surface, the squid stretched below me in a line that extended to the limits of visibility in both directions. As my group reached their depth near the bottom, they easily accelerated and were gone.

At night, the situation can be different. Reef squid are sometimes found alone (or perhaps, the diver does not notice the whole line as we might in daylight). Creatures including squid try to avoid too much movement in the dark and can become confused in a diver’s bright lights. Diving in the Lembeh Strait, I began using a Sola focus light from Light and Motion; on its red setting, the light seemed not to alarm the creatures too much. My strobes would temporarily illuminate them, then plunge the world into apparent darkness (where they would be safe). I could still see and focus using the Sola’s red focus light, but that light was much less intense and so less noticeable to my marine subjects. Using that light, the problem became one of adjusting strobes to minimize reflection from the inevitable small particles always suspended in seawater (called “backscatter”).

I have had much less opportunity to attempt photography as a PADI divemaster candidate here in St. Elsewhere. But I am enjoying the scenery and the history surrounding this picturesque small island immensely. Here’s a shot taken just off the pier at St. Elsewhere, near the calm, flat space we have been using to practice and demonstrate dive skill requirements. (Due to bandwidth constraints, this image can’t make it to RickCollierImagery.com until we return. In the meantime, I have posted about it on Nancy’s travel experience blog, “A Shore Dive Kinda Life.” Check it out!)

“Sunken Defenses, American History“

(Top photo [“Reef Squid”]: Night shot with Canon G11 in Ikelite case with twin Ikelite DS125 strobes; integrated lens at 8.1mm, ISO 80, f/5.6 at 1/60 sec.)

(Bottom photo [“Sunken Defenses…”]: Canon G12 in Ikelite case; available light only [no strobes]; integrated lens at 6.1mm, ISO 200, f/3.5 at 1/100 sec.)
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“Family Outing“

…And we’re back! … and we’re gone again!

A New Host: After some weeks, the Photo Tourist has returned from internet limbo. We have transitioned to a new web host, and the site is back up and running. A couple months ago and for several reasons, I became dissatisfied with my old hosting company and resolved to move. The old company, it seems, is in the habit of overselling their inexpensive server space and queuing transactions. Performance suffers unless I pay them for premium, dedicated service. This site was never going to work right (within my budget) under those terms. Apologies to anyone out there in internet land who might find you need to rejoin the site or if your comments have gone missing. If you’re bugged, shoot me a line and I’ll try to make it better.

New Travels: … and then we left town. Before the web site move was even complete, Nancy and I left on a one-month house-sitting odyssey on the small Caribbean island she has dubbed “St. Elsewhere.” When some friends asked if we could care for their property and pets, we jumped at the chance to test drive our “home away” dreams. Here on St. Elsewhere, there are three or four paved roads (ok, really there are more than that in the town, but not outside it), one town, two dive shops, one volcano (dormant), maybe 30 hotel rooms, and six or seven places to eat out. I am pursuing PADI Divemaster certification and Nancy and I are sharing the chores and errands associated with running a leased apartment facility, caring for two wonderful dogs, mowing lawns, and other sundry duties that come with hurricane season in the Lesser Antilles. (Really Nancy is doing the hard work. But I am helping. Sometimes. Honest.)

We love everything here on St. Elsewhere — except for the internet bandwidth. Our power gets interrupted a couple times a week. Our internet here is s-l-o-w. High-quality photo uploads are not a realistic possibility from our abode here on St. Elsewhere. So for a couple more weeks I’ll be trying (possibly failing) to link in photos that are already online somewhere but haven’t yet found a place on the Photo Tourist. Meanwhile, I’ll be guest blogging my divemaster (and maybe other) experiences on Nancy’s travel lifestyle blog, “A Shore Dive Kinda Life.”

Oh yeah — about the photo: Motor scooters are ubiquitous on the Indonesian island of Bali. As it was explained to us, they are frequently the only family transportation. For those without means to own one, they are commonly rented by the day. It is not at all unusual to see entire families of three, four … up to six, all crammed on one scooter, buzzing down the road. Couple this with traditional Balinese dress for temple days, and the photo opportunities abound. While western sensibilities worry about the safety of the situation, the heart is always captured by the sight of a little one in front, clearly loving the wind in her face and the view from between her father’s arms. Sometimes the child is grinning and other times she is trying to be serene and cool. Either way, that pure, simple, innocent joy is contagious.

(Nikon D700 with Nikkor 28-300mm zoom lens at 250mm, ISO 200, f/5.6 at 1/320 sec.)
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“Hair Fruit“

We pulled up beside the roadside stand to find mangoes or other fruity delectables. Nancy loves food, especially tropical fruit. She actually squealed with delight when she saw the bowl of bright red, hairy fruits. They are fruit, right? Or nuts? Can we eat it?

Today we were driving from our B&B (Rumah Cantik) in Lovina Beach to the cultural and tourist center at Ubud. We chose a route up and over the high ridge lines in central Bali, hoping for a scenic view of the famous volcano, Mount Batur. We stopped several times along the way. Several stops were at food stands or textile vendors; twice we stopped for the view. What can I say? It was all photogenic.

At each food stand, Nancy enthusiastically bubbled out of the car to investigate what new might be found. First, she found the hair fruit (rambutan). We found snake fruit (salak) later in the day.

“Snake Fruit“

For the record, both of these fruits pictured are actually quite tasty. Both are common in Bali; most establishments will serve them in fruit salads or breakfast bowls.

(Top Image [“Hair Fruit”]: Nikon D700 with Nikkor 28-300mm zoom at 160mm, ISO 200, f/5.6 at 1/30 sec.)

(Bottom [“Snake Fruit”]: Nikon D700 with Nikkor 28-300mm zoom at 85mm; ISO 450, f/5 at 1/30 sec.)
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“Zebra Fans (Lionfish)“

Lionfish come in an incredible array of shapes and sizes. The common lionfish is brown, round, and stubby with feather-like fins — also called “turkey fish.” Turkey fish move languidly, casually spreading their spined fins if approached but otherwise generally daring divers to try. Others are pretty, pink and salmon-colored. Some have long long, graceful spines sweeping the water around them; on others the spines are enclosed in broad fins.

In Lembeh we found the small zebra lionfish. Shades of red, salmon-pink, and orange are striped with white and the fish’s fins are webbed. The dorsal fin is largely clear so the spines on top seem to ripple like brightly colored porcupine quills, but the other fins are bright, colorful orange and red fans. Like most sea life in Lembeh, these are small. Probably because there really aren’t many places to hide on a sandy bottom, they are not very shy. Like all members of the lionfish / scorpionfish family, the spines in their fins are venomous but exclusively defensive. Like all fish, they can get away from a diver with an impossibly quick sprint.

This little fish stands out as a gorgeous addition to an otherwise monotonous dark sand bottom. They are often seen holding station or slowly crawling along the bottom using the hooked spines on their fins. In the daytime, they hunt casually a little above the bottom. Approached too closely, they dart away seeking cover; the one above had to settle for the center of a nearby barrel sponge. In the inadequate cover of the sponge, it spread out to look bigger and present me a frame of poisonous spines. I loved the unique and colorful view.

“Zebra Lionfish“

At night they are quiet and slow, resting quietly on the sand bottom. Approached gently, the photographer can get quite close and frame against the dull brown or black sand bottom. I think the little fellow here might have been asleep.

(Top photo [“Zebra Fans”]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with twin DS-125 strobes set to TTL; integrated lens at 13.8mm, ISO 200, f/4.5 at 1/60 sec.)

(Second photo [“Zebra Lionfish”]: Same camera setup; lens at 10.8mm, ISO 200, f/3.2 at 1/60 sec.)
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“Bramavihara-Arama Temple Stupa HDR“

Our driver and B&B owner Jette were insistent when we left the Rumah Cantik B&B, where we were staying in nearby Lovina Beach: In the northern part of Bali: One really should visit the “hot springs temple.” I was predisposed to the spiritual destination anyway; Bali retains its intriguing mix of Hindi and Buddhist roots even though Indonesia is among the most populated muslim countries in the world. We had already visited one of Bali’s famous Hindu temples (the lake shrine at Candikuning). The Bramavihara-Arama Buddhist Temple is the religious site to visit in northern Bali; so, we went.

We arrived at the temple late in the late afternoon of a day spent driving the highlands of central and northern Bali. Getting out of the car, we could see the temple rising above us. We entered through a greeting center and gate not much wider than a normal house, where we found stairs leading up to the monastery and temple above.

Up the stairs we found a fountain and small courtyard area. Three more flights of steps led up from the courtyard, making a set of stairs at each of the four sides of the central fountain. On one side, a balcony overlooked the road and surrounding hills, with a sort of pulpit or calling tower up a flight of stairs. Stairs on the other sides lead up to temple buildings.

We climbed. I was determined to get to the top of the temple. I wandered through temple grounds and lawns on several levels, pausing along the way to rest and meditate in pretty, cool, and calming shrines. Each time, I emerged to continue upwards. Finally, I emerged at an enormous open space, with wide lawns and seating steps set amongst manicured gardens, leading across a broad stepped field to this massive stone stupa. Large signs in multiple languages asked visitors to respect the quiet and people meditating or worshiping in this majestic serenity.

The spiritualist in me reveled in the quiet majesty; I sat briefly to let it gently seep into my soul. Then I remembered Nancy, somewhere in the grounds below me; it was time to be moving. When I rose I found myself alone. There was no-one around to be disturbed; my camera’s staccato clacking briefly shattered the peace.

Dramatic low rain clouds were moving in from Bali’s central mountains, creating a dramatic curtain of low cloud over a scene that was nonetheless still quite bright. The dramatic scene and lighting was perfect for a high dynamic range series.

(High dynamic range exposure composed of nine bracketed exposures covering a range of -4 to +4 EV; Nikon D700 with NIkkor 28-300mm zoom lens at 28mm, ISO 200, average exposure at f/13 at 1/125 sec.)
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“Orange Skunk“

This is not the shot I was seeking. I was at the Lembeh Resort‘s house reef on a Mandarinfish dive. The mandarinfish do their thing every day at the same time, predictable as sunset (literally). This is the most tame and predictable dive available at the Lembeh Resort. We dropped in and quickly found the patch of reef where the mandarinfish would be easiest to spot, then everybody settled in to wait. The mandarinfish rise gradually, taking … well, a very long time. Minutes, leading to tens of minutes. Maybe even a half hour. It’s not a varied and active dive.

I was spread out above the reef. Neutral buoyancy, pivoting on my outspread fins. Camera ready. Eventually, I began to see the mandarinfish drifting up through the debris below me. They were everywhere, but they were down in the reef and not ready yet to partner up for their nightly show. Did I mention it was boring? Trying to stay motionless above (but not actually on) a reef. There was not a lot of activity here.

I noticed that something was bumping my knee. No damage being done, but something was definitely whacking the wetsuit around my shins. I looked down and saw a tan-brown anemone with two skunk anemonefish (also called clownfish). I wasn’t touching the anemone or the fish, but I was close and had been there a while (at least whole minutes). The anemonefish were protective of their anemone and wanted me gone. They took turns darting out of their anemone home to strike at the overhanging knee. With a deep breath I floated up, moved over, and settled back on the reef to wait some more.

I think I have mentioned before that I just love anemonefish. These orange skunk anemonefish were the brightest, cleanest color I’d seen. The brown anemone was closing up for the night (or maybe just protecting itself from the previously mentioned knee), bringing the short tentacles in close to make a great, compact photo setting. Its color really offset and complimented the color of the fish. I leaned slightly to the left and snapped a couple shots. I still love these little fish. Eventually, the mandarinfish show did happen a few minutes later; no harm done from the premature flashes as I shot the anemonefish.

(Orange Skunk: Canon G11 in Ikelite underwater housing with two Ike DS125 strobes, wired for TTL control. Integrated lens at 10.8mm, ISO 80, f/3.2 at 1/60 second. Camera EV was set to -2/3.)
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“Batur Volcano View“

While on Bali last trip, Nancy and I stayed at the northern resort town of Lovina Beach. We thought it would be quiet and more off the beaten track that staying back at the southern resort destinations or in the famed “artistic” haven of Ubud. We were right about that.

Still, we did want to go to Ubud. How could one go to Bali and not visit Ubud? Twice we drove over the mountain roads south to Ubud. One time, taking the “main road” south from Singraja, it took about two hours. The next time, we hired a driver and asked him to go by the scenic route.

We wound up the ridge line that defines the edge of a 30,000-year-old volcanic crater, through woods and villages. We stopped at several places to look out over the surrounding landscape — especially the bottom of that old crater, stretching away to the east-northeast. The bottom of that ancient volcanic caldera is now verdant, full of life and dotted with houses and villages.

In the distance we could see the new volcano, still active and rising from the floor of the ancient crater. This is Mount Batur. The waters of nearby Lake Batur gleam at the foot of the mountain. In the distance, beyond the lake is Bali’s tallest mountain, Mount Agung.

(Batur Volcano View: HDR image from nine exposures bracketed to cover a range -4EV to +4EV; Nikon D700 with Nikkor 28-300mm zoom lens at 45mm; ISO 200; f/11 at average 1/200 sec. exposure.)
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