Up a creek without a camera

When I grabbed my camera bag and headed out the door, I had no particular agenda in mind. The sky was still peppered with stars and faint outlines of clouds meant the sunrise had potential. So did the day, as I soon learned.marion_owen_photography.

I drove a couple miles to the mouth of the Buskin River, a tight, S-curve stream that flows into the ocean near Kodiak’s main airport. As I pulled into parking lot, the tires crunched over old snow and new ice. I took the precaution of stretching spiked “grippers” over the soles of my boots so I didn’t end up spread-eagled — or worse — on the ice.

What’s wrong with this picture?

I hiked upriver along a snow-packed trail to where sandwiches of ice sheets, stranded by the receding river and tide, creating interesting patterns. I set my gear down on the matted rye grass and took inventory: river, ocean, beach, sunrise, mountains. The clouds began fringing with pink and orange. Pacific wrens chatted in the spruce trees. Nice.

I unzipped the back panel of the camera bag, anticipating a fun, creative morning. But as I reached for the camera body, all I saw was an empty slot. I’d forgotten to re-pack my bag after going on vacation.

Now what? I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out my iPhone…

Sunburst over ice and Buskin River on Kodiak Island, Alaska (iPhone photo by Marion Owen)

Ice constellation and grass meteors. (iPhone macro by Marion Owen)

After I resigned myself to using the cell phone, I began to relax and play, discovering more things to photograph. “I’ve got to bring my students here next week,” I said aloud.

I felt pleased because of what I didn’t do, which was get frustrated, put myself down, and feel cheated by the universe–all the while mumbling, “Why me?”

Ice sheets left by receding river. (iPhone photo by Marion Owen)

After an hour or so, I slung my backpack over my shoulder hiked back to the car. The one feeling, the one word that kept coming to mind was gratitude.