Three shot stories.
One. Fog in the morning so I gobble down my french toast and head off around 8 to one of my favourite haunts: Miller Bay, the site of an old hospital, and current paintball zone. Wrote a blog about that one before… The fog had all but lifted so I was a bit late, but follow the familiar path around anyway.
It’s good, don’t you think? – when you’re drawn to photographing the same places again and again. Something there for me to learn. Today it was Desk, there amidst the shelters and plywood battlements. I’m sure he’s been there all along, has Desk, administering over the woods and the war zone, a small bureaucrat among soldiers in the dramas played out there. But today he is the main character, a kind of quiet iconic power he has. A few minutes later the fog lifts completely and everywhere noisy shadows and light, but for that moment he was standing watch there over a dull Sunday morning.
Two. Bella Coola Valley, a summer festival, and a band is playing ska into the evening as the darkness settles slowly in… a message for you, Ru-dy… and I go for a stroll. Three horses, one dappled white, are barely visible out there in a field. Dapple sees me and my tripod, stalking from afar. He takes the watch for his comrades. At dusk, everyone is just a little suspect.
Three. The rearview says it’s safe to pull aside and double back. So tuck into a gravel side-entrance to this log yard here. Kill the lights and settle in among the dry grasses on a nearby ridge, to spy on the mill. Sounds of machines fill the night air, as they do everywhere in these small northern towns, but somehow I don’t notice them in the day. This creaking and groaning of industry, weirdly pacifying, it says – I’m here with you, I’ll keep watch tonight. Overhead, the shadows of bats flutter after insects.