Beautiful Bokeh

Leica! Leica! Leica!

~brf

CW has been really wanting to upgrade his Nikon body to a D3 or D300 (don’t ask me what the difference is other than a few grand). While we were visiting his parents in Tanzania, his dad Charles took a keen interest in CW’s photography magazines brought along for the trip. One morning we awoke to find that he had evidently been up all night reading and researching the assorted pros and cons of both the D3 and D300, and before even a “Good morning” he declared “Chris, you should buy the 300 and use the money you save to get a Leica for Brenda”. I must have the best in-laws ever; I swear I had no hand in this whatsoever. End result: Leica for me! The whole tale involves some ingenious furtive planning on CW’s part to keep me from pitching a fit over yet another sizeable gear purchase as well as some impressive sneaking on the Leica acquisition itself, but as the whole thing is very complicated I won’t elaborate (not to mention that although I am absolutely certain that the wool has somehow been pulled over my eyes on this matter, I have yet to fully understand how exactly he got away with it).

It’s a model IIIa with a serial number indicating a production date of 1937, and came with an uncoated 5cm Wetzlar Summitar lens. This camera is gorgeous. Perfect. I can’t believe it’s over 70 years old. It works beautifully, fits my hands better than any other camera I own, and the sound of the shutter tripping makes the hairs stand up on my arm. So many reasons to love:

It has historical significance: The Leica screw-mounts were of monumental importance both in photojournalism and in establishing 35mm as a legitimate format.
It has a high difficulty rating: Loading is a bitch to get the hang of. Seriously. You need patience, faith, and scissors.
It’s portable: Being small or medium-format, all my cameras are portable but this one with its collapsible lens slips into a pocket almost as handily as the Perkeo.
It’s a rangefinder: Clear, flawless, smooth focusing.
It’s a looker: Chrome, chrome, chrome, and badass, hyper-precise machined bits all over the place.
Its a 70 year old Leica: Huge elitist pride factor here.
It makes great pictures: Still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase, but early results are awesome.

I love this camera the way I love my Thunderbird- with a curious, illogical, ill-defined affection and visceral pride that extends into a longing for its safety. When I fly, I hold the Leica in my hand for takeoff and landing because I think it will be safer there than stowed in my carryon in the event of a water landing or other untoward airline event. Also like my car, it has a name. I will not disclose it.

I must admit I do miss the monster 6x6 negatives, but because the little Leica rubs so many of my other camera love buttons I am sure I’ll have no trouble embracing small format.

Splitting the Hive

~Chris

Our friend Jason has a beekeeping hobby. Yesterday he invited us to come watch him "split the hive" and even though we weren't 100% sure what that meant, we were pretty sure we'd get to see a beehive up close. We couldn't resist. When we got there, he and the rest of the hive team (his mom and a cool bee guru friend of theirs) were all decked out in serious bee-garb which was a little off-putting. We were told we'd be ok as long as we didn't wear black (which for us is actually really hard, but we found some white shirts and were feeling pretty brave). We got briefed that the way to survive being around a hive without protection is to wear white and move very slowly, and remain calm even when they come buzzing around you. No sweat. I set up the tripod and got within about 10 meters and started shooting away.

Evidently this "hive splitting" thing is a what beekeepers do when their hive has become overpopulated. In the wild, bees will do all by themselves: A big group will just suddenly pack up and fly off together to set up a new hive someplace else (this is what swarms are by the way). The trick with doing it yourself is that you have to end up with a queen in both the new hive and the old hive. I'm not sure why, but apparently the current queen needs to stay with the original hive and a brand new queen can be introduced to the 'new' hive. But to make sure you aren't moving the queen, she has to be located. And based on what we saw, that's what 90% of "splitting the hive" amounts to: a big queen hunt.

There are over 10k bees in a hive and one queen and she's not that different looking (her ass is larger and a slightly different color). The first step in finding her is to divide the original hive in half by putting a kind of queen-screen in there that everybody but the queen can slip through (she can't fit on account of her huge ass). Then you just see which side gets new eggs, and that's the side with the queen. Easy. But when Jason and his teammates tried this they couldn't find the eggs and had the hive open long enough that doubt was introduced—she may have split, been squished in all the handling, or something else.

So they had no choice but to go through the entire hive slowly and closely, trying to get a visual on her royal highness herself. This was going to take a while and the bees were getting more and more furious with the whole thing. The tone of their buzzing takes on a far more threatening pitch and gets louder. More and more bees were coming over to try to scare me off but I had the secret weapon: don't move & stay calm. Still it was getting harder and harder to keep my heart rate under control...the bees were being really aggressive. Some got tangled in brenda's hair and that understandably drove her inside. Perfect evening to have a shaved head :)

But my attitude did a 180 when a bee got stuck between my eyebrow and the eyepiece of my camera and it stung me like crazy. Then another one swooped into my eye and got tangled in my lashes buzzing like crazy. I lost it and shook them off violently..staying calm and moving slow went right out the window. I sprinted my ass off back to the safety of the house. I'd like to say that was the worst of it. But later, when the queen was found and the hive splitting was a success, the bees weren't done being pissed off. I was just standing there minding my own business and one mean bastard worker bee flew right directly into my right ear. DEEP! And it started trying to get deeper! I completely lost my shit. I started dancing all around making all kinds of girly noises. My heart rate was probably 200. The buzzing was unbelievable, it sounded and felt like it was almost into my brain before I finally got a grip on the little shit and yanked him out and threw him. Incredibly I didn't get stung.

My takeaways from the evening: Beehives are awesome. It's hard to find a queen. Don't go near a beehive when it's being split without protection. Having a bee in your ear is about the most terrifying thing that can happen to you.

Roadside Wisconsin & Sore Legs

~Chris

We're just back from a weekend getaway at a place in Wisconsin called Fountain City which is absolutely not a city and we didn't see any fountains either. The hills in Buffalo County are perfect for a cycling getaway: Car-less roads, beautiful scenery, and TONS of leg-breaking climbs and terrifying descents up & down the bluffs and ridges. Seriously it's some of the best riding I've seen in the country. I can't believe it's not crawling with racing teams and riders

Brenda found us a great cottage to rent that was about half-way up the bluff behind the town which made for a perfect HQ for my daily rides. It was huge, had a jacuzzi bath for two, a full kitchen, and an incredible view of the Mississippi (when the leaves aren't on the trees). It felt like we were living in a treehouse.

I managed to rack up close to 8k feet of climbing in just 3 days which isn't bad considering we also spent a lot of the time exploring the area and the surreal roadside attractions they have over there. There's a place called Prarie Moon where there are lots of Herman Rusch's.....uh, sculptures? I guess most of them have been removed or sold off but there are still a few odd ones you can see there. He was one of those Dementia Concretia type guys evidently.

We also couldn't resist checking out the famous "Rock in the House." Here's the deal, via roadsideamerica.com:

"On April 24, 1995, a 55-ton boulder suddenly rolled 400 feet down a cliff along the Mississippi river and plowed into the 2-bedroom house of Maxine and Dwight Anderson. When the dust settled the Anderson's found a huge, coin-shaped rock where their master bedroom used to be. The rock is still there today. John Burt, a local real estate investor, bought the house -- with the rock still firmly wedged inside it -- and turned it into a tourist attraction: The Rock In The House."

I love that the "55 ton" bit was obviously an afterthought. Maybe they were concerned would-be rock gawkers were passing them by because they didn't understand just how heavy the rock really is.

"Honey! Let's stop and see the rock in the house!"

"Pffffff. That thing couldn't be much more than 20 or 30 tons...not stopping."

So anyway we gawked at the 55 ton rock and it's definitely in a house...we got our $2 worth I guess. Nobody is there, by the way, there's just a lock box with a handwritten sign to pay a buck. I think it may be a while before Mr. Burt turns a profit on this "attraction."

If you're ever in the area, we highly recommend the Hawks View cottages, the Monarch Tavern, and if you come after July you should sample from the local vinyard: Seven Hawks. We got a sneak peak by way of a complimentary bottle in the cottage and it was surprisingly great. You can't get it yet but we discovered that they're opening a shop downtown soon.