Sunday Drive

Merry Christmas Down Under

Merry Christmas followers, lurkers and accidental visitors.
Hope you all had an amazing Yew-l-tide venerating the deity of your choice.

Today I'll be honouring my late Dad's passion for sailing by watching the start of the annual Sydney to Hobart yacht race.

Hoist the spinnaker in the heavens cobber.

Something Old

This week's theme (as endorsed by brides around the world): 

Something old, 

something new, 

something borrowed. 

something blue 

Today's contingent consists of 35mm films scans from last century ie OLD.

 California dreaming. Huntington Beach Pier, January 1978. Handheld. Manual focus. 200mm. Kodachrome 64. This guy was getting barrelled and hanging five and having grown up with short boards, I had never seen anything like it - nobody was riding longboards anymore on the Sunny Coast.

Mooloolaba Rivermoth. Sunset late 1980's. These pilot boats had twin Rolls Royce engines and were quite a sight heading out when there were large swells. Somehow they would pull up beside a monstrous tanker and the "pilot" would scamper up a ladder and then guide the newcomer into Moreton Bay and the Port of Brisbane.

Hand held slow exposure with a Metz strobe that still works fine today. This was our local evening stroll on a sunday evening, when we lived about a kilometre south. A couple of times the rivermouth silted up and you could surf from Point Cartwright down the river, whilst avoiding boats.

Kings Beach, late arvo. Nikonos V 35mm Kodachrome. This was the camera I used to shoot from the water with and must have had a frame or two left on the 36 exposure roll. I quite like 35mm focal length on a 35mm camera -  little wider than normal but not too distorted.

I was never much good at street photography, but quite like this one. Of course the Kiosk is long demolished and replaced with some sort of bland structure.

Monochrome Monday (onshore)

South of My Days Circle

Oh, they slide and they vanish 

as he shuffles the years like a pack of conjuror's cards. 

True or not, it's all the same; and the frost on the roof 

cracks like a whip, and the back-log break into ash. 

Wake, old man. this is winter, and the yarns are over. 

No-one is listening 

South of my days' circle. 

I know it dark against the stars, the high lean country 

full of old stories that still go walking in my sleep. 

from South of My Days Circle by Judith Wright

Huon, Bec and Bing