Travel Photo Tips: What is shutter speed, and how does it affect my pictures?

by Dana Murph on

Now that you’ve got a grip on ISO, it’s time to talk about shutter speed as it relates to light. What is it, and how can it be tweaked to better the photographs that you’ll take on the run? A great question, and we’re glad you asked. Simply put, shutter speed refers to the length of time that the shutter stays open while snapping a photograph. In general, the longer a shutter remains open, the more light is allowed in. And the more light that is allowed in, the brighter a picture becomes.

There’s a fine line that is walked with shutter speed. If you don’t leave the shutter open long enough, your images will turn out too dark to be useful. Having a shot that’s too dark can spoil an otherwise great vacation memory, and it’s nearly impossible to brighten an overly dark photograph using Photoshop (or a similar editing application) without adding a lot of noise and grain. On the flip side, leaving the shutter open too long can result in a couple of negative outcomes.

We’ll discuss these and walk you through an example after the break, so grab your advanced point-and-shoot, interchangeable lens camera or DSLR and read on get a better feel of how changing the shutter speed can change the outcome of your snapshots.As usual, we’ll try not to dive too deep into aspects that you don’t really need to understand. But there are a few basic things you’ll need to know about shutter speed in order to make quick adjustments as you’re shooting different scenes — assuming you’re not shooting on automatic mode, of course. Your travels won’t always put you in an optimal place for taking shots, leaving you with limited options to control the amount of light that floods into each shot. Adjusting shutter speed is one of the quicker ways to do just that.

Shutter speed is referred to in terms of seconds, or fractions thereof. For example, you may see a “400” on the data monitor of your camera. This means that you’re set to shoot at 1/400 of a second. This is just a small fraction of a second, which means that the shutter will open and close extremely quickly. If you see an “8,” that means you’re set to shoot at 1/8 of a second. In the image below, the “30” signifies that this camera is currently set to shoot at 1/30 of a second.

Here are a few general rules to keep in mind while adjusting shutter speed. These won’t apply in every single scenario, but these are good guidelines to keep ingrained in your mind when you’re trying to figure out shutter speed extremes on the fly.

  • If you’re shooting a still subject handheld (without a tripod), it’s generally tough to hold the camera still enough to eliminate blur from a shot at a shutter speed slower than around 1/80 of a second. Sometimes you can get as slow as 1/25 of a second while holding it still, but that’s more the exception than the rule.
  • If your subject is moving at all, and you’re forced to hand-hold the camera, I’d recommend shooting at 1/160 of a second or faster to ensure little-to-no blur is introduced. If you find that 1/160 of a second still isn’t quick enough, a bump to 1/200 or 1/250 of a second should suffice.

Of course, both of these points are assuming you do not want blur in your shots. There are certain scenarios where some amount of blur is desired, such as capturing the beauty in flowing water in a babbling brook. But in those cases, you can start at around 1/100 of a second and move slower. Here’s an important point, though: when you desire a certain amount of blur in a shot, you’ll almost certainly need a tripod. Why? Because you only want a certain portion of the photograph to be blurred (the water, in the previous example), but you wouldn’t want the rocks and surrounding plants to also be blurred.

Let’s look at one simple example to give you a better grasp on how adjusting shutter speed makes a difference in your photographs. You’ll need a camera with a manual mode; most point-and-shoot cameras do not allow users to adjust shutter speed, but a few of the more advanced models will. Essentially all interchangeable lens, Micro Four Thirds and DSLR cameras will, however.

Similar to our ISO example, we’ll have you head to a room inside your home. Find a subject — a phone, a coffee mug, any kind of still object — and place it on a table or on a bed. We’ll be shooting this with various shutter speeds. There are a lot of other variables to consider, of course, but this simple example will show you how shutter speed itself directly impacts the outcome. Let’s start with a shutter speed of 1/500 of a second, and disable your flash for the duration of the example. Fix your ISO on 1600 (since you’re indoors in a low-light scenario) and your f/stop number as low as it will go (f/2.8 or f/3.5 if possible). Focus on the subject and shoot. What’s the outcome? Probably a dark shot, but if you can make out any of the subject, you’ll notice that it’s impeccably sharp.

Now, adjust that to 1/250 and shoot again. What’s the outcome? Probably a slightly brighter photograph, and one that’s still sharp. You should get the impression that you’re moving in the right direction. Now, adjust to 1/160 of a second and shoot again. Your image should be even brighter, and if you have a steady hand, still sharp and blur-free. Now, the fun part. Adjust to 1/50 of a second and re-shoot. You probably noticed just how slow the click was. But how about the outcome? It’s probably a very bright image, maybe even too bright, but it will almost definitely have some level of blur to it. Let’s try one last stop: lower the shutter speed to 1/5 of a second and re-shoot. It’s practically impossible to hand-hold this shot and not introduce blur. You’ll probably be happy with how bright the image is, but the amount of blur will likely make the image less than ideal. Below is a brief gallery guide of how changing the shutter speed alone can allow more light in, but also make it easier for handheld shake to introduce blur.

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In a nutshell, you’ve just learned how shutter speed alone can adjust your shot. If you need to let more light in, slowing the shutter solves your problem, to an extent. If you slow it too much, you’ll lose the ability to compose a blur-free image. If you speed it up too much, the image will become too dark. Like we said at the start, it’s a fine line you’ll have to walk. If you try a similar experiment outside, in broad daylight, you’ll notice that you need a much, much faster shutter speed to compose a usable image. If you keep that 1/8 of a second while shooting outdoors, you’ll probably get the polar opposite of a completely dark photograph: a completely white photograph. The solution? Speed that shutter up dramatically –1/500 of a second or faster — and see how it changes things for the better.

Keep in mind that this is just a basic explanation of shutter speed to get you started. In future articles, we will cover tips on how to use changes in shutter speed for creative effects in scenarios related to travel. For example, using the shutter speed to help you best capture a flowing waterfall, compose an exploding firework shot, controlling blur, etc. Hopefully with the pointers listed here and in our previous article on ISO, you’ll be two steps closer to understanding your camera’s ‘Manual’ mode.

Let’s recap:

  • Adjusting shutter speed is one of the quickest ways to add more light or restrict light to a photograph
  • Indoors, or in low-light situations, you’ll need to slow the shutter speed dramatically if you don’t have a flash to use, or would rather not use the flash
  • In general, it’s difficult to not introduce blur into a shot while shooting handheld with shutter speeds 1/80 of a second or slower (or 1/160 of a second if your subject is moving)
  • Outdoors, you’ll need very quick shutter speeds (1/500 of a second or faster) in order to avoid having a completely white image, or an image that’s overly bright
  • Having a tripod or a lens with vibration resistance can enable you to have a slower-than-average shutter speed, yet still avoid blur

Stay tuned for more tips on understanding metering, f/stop, white balance and more! Our basic guide to understanding ISO can be seen here.

Kata 3N1-33 professional camera backpack review

by Dana Murph on

Selecting a camera bag can be a daunting process. There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of options, and even bags that aren’t specifically designed with cameras in mind can be altered and repurposed for use with your setup. Kata is a respected name in the bag industry, offering quite a few travel packs and a handful of dedicated camera packs. Where they stand out is their rigidity and flexibility. The company’s packs are stronger, stiffer and more rugged than the average bag, and the prices show it.

The Kata 3N1-33 is its highest-end sling / torso pack that’s designed for hauling around a robust DSLR rig. It’s not nearly as bulky as some of the backpacks we’ve seen, but the internal compartments are arranged in a way so that you can carry around a 15.4-inch (or smaller) laptop, a DSLR (with or without battery grip), a long-range zoom lens, five or six other lenses, a camera flash and a handful of chargers, batteries, pens, keys, business cards and any other small essentials that you typically would carry on a business or travel shoot.

But what truly sets this bag apart in our mind is the handling capabilities. You can wear this pack a half-dozen different ways: as a standard backpack, as a left or right-handed torso pack, or in a x-strap configuration that’s a hybrid of the two.

Wondering how this bag fares against the competition, and if it’s really worth the $130 or so that it’s selling for? Read on for our full review.

%Gallery-112423%With one look at the 3N1-33, you’ll know that it’s a very different pack. There are an interesting arrangement of straps, hooks, and pads in which to conceal those straps on the rear. Kata thankfully includes a small booklet which describes the many ways this pack can be worn. We particularly enjoyed two of them. Wearing it as a standard backpack was extremely comfortable. There’s a sufficient amount of padding on the rear, and adjusting the straps to bring it closer to your frame is a cinch. The torso / sling approach is quite useful as well. This combines the flexibility of a messenger bar hold with the stability of a backpack hold. You only use a single strap in torso mode, but the pack remains upright on your back; when you want, you simply slide the pack around in front of your stomach, and the side compartment is right there for easy access. Left and right side compartments are here to support left- and right-handed shooters.

Internally, there’s tons of room, and it’s all well arranged. You can easily fit a flash along with two to three lenses on each side compartment, along with three to four more in the center. Accessing those requires the bottom to be unzipped, but it’s not a hassle. There’s also a separate and dedicated top portion; we love the compartments here. Keeping things separate ensures that items don’t slide into a section as you’re shooting, and this approach worked very well for us in the field.

There are two side pockets along the top edge that are separated from the core of the bag; these work very well for holding lens caps, keys, wallets, cellphones, business cards, etc. Of course, the padded laptop sleeve is its own compartment as well, and held our 15-inch MacBook Pro snugly and without issue. You can squeeze two in there back-to-back, but it’s really tight.

Overall, the attention to detail here is just impossible to ignore. The pack is rigid from top to bottom, and it’s almost impossible to knock over. The padded compartments are all easy to access, and we truly felt as if our lenses and peripherals were in good hands within the pack. The ability to wear this in so many different ways gives the 3N1-33 a huge leg-up over the competition, and while it’s compact enough to slide beneath the average airline seat, it’s able to hold quite a load due to it not slimming from bottom to top as most traditional backpacks do.

Just to give you an idea of what will fit in here with ease: a 15-inch laptop, power adapter, 2.5-inch external hard drive, seven USB / connector cables, a Nikon D3s DSLR, 70-200mm f/2.8 lens, 50mm f/1.4 lens, 60mm f/2.8 macro lens, an included Kata rain bag (to protect the entire pack if it starts raining), a bulky D3s charger, two Lensbaby creative lenses, an SB-700 flash, car keys, a stack of business cards, a smartphone and at least two more medium-sized lenses if I wanted. All of this fits in with ease, and while you’ll need a strong back to load it around, the Kata remains comfortable for hours on end, particularly when you can change how you carry it every half hour by just swapping a few clips and redistributing the weight.

This particular Kata has earned our highest recommendations, and that’s saying something. The only people who may not be fond of this bag are those who routinely carry very small camera setups. This is a bag intended for professionals or enthusiasts that enjoy carrying around a robust lens collection and loads of accessories. Kata makes a few smaller versions of this very pack that still maintain the multiple carrying options, so we’d recommend having a look at those (3N1-10, 3N1-11, 3N1-20, 3N1-22 and 3N1-30) if you need something that’s more compact.

At around $130, the 3N1-33 isn’t cheap, but it’s a good value for what you get. Packs are easy to find, even cheap ones. But good packs are hard to come by, and you definitely pay a premium for good design, rigidity, stability and flexibility. This particular bag is also fantastic for traveling; the dedicated laptop compartment as well as the standalone top compartment help to keep things moving when rolling through airport security. Rather than having to dig into multiple places and under mounds of accessories to get your laptop and Bag ‘O Liquids out, you can keep them in their own sections for easy access. For the hardcore travel warriors, there’s even an optional wheel attachment that’ll allow you to roll this bag from gate-to-gate. Our advice here is to skip that and invest in a rugged roll-aboard while keeping this on your back.

If we had any complaints at all (more like recommendations for the next revision), we’d say that there’s a need for a dedicated zippered window on the front compartment, so you don’t have to unzip around the entire bottom just to access some of your lenses that are stored more towards the center of the pack. And while the zippers were as rugged as they come, we’d prefer the yellow found in the interior to be pulled over to those zipper pulls. When you’re shooting a dark reception, having well-lit zipper pulls makes accessing your gear a lot easier. Other than that, we can’t really find anything to nitpick, but we definitely see a need for an even larger version to house 17-inch laptops and even bigger lens collections.

The Greenlandic Riviera

by Andrew Evans on


“Where did you get so tan?” they ask, and I tell them: “Greenland.”

“But how?” they exclaim, laughing in sheer disbelief, because let’s face it: the nameless friends we invent for the sake of trite opening dialogue are inherently dumb. Mostly, their minds are muddled with storybook imagery like scary snowstorms and Eskimo cliché, a random mix of Alaska, Siberia, and the opening sequence in Empire Strikes Back. They still think Greenland is like, cold.

This is my chance to correct them. Besides my sheepskin rug, my enviable neck tanline is my best souvenir from a blissful week on the sunny Greenlandic Riviera. What, you don’t know it–the Greenlandic Riviera? What rock do you live under? What travel magazines are you not reading? The Greenlandic Riviera is exploding right now-it’s already this whole thing and the real estate war is right around the corner.

Alright, I totally made that up. If you Google “Greenlandic Riviera” you get zilch–until now. See, that’s the magic of the internet–once you say it, it becomes real. Greenlandic Riviera, Greenlandic Riviera, Greenlandic Riviera. If you build it, they will come.

The real Riviera was (and still is) in Liguria, the region that spans the northwest coast of Italy. Despite its 700-year old status as an iconic vacation spot, the original Riviera can be a little disappointing. For one, the coastline is all rocky and the towns comprised of overpriced boutiques selling pink sweater vests for men. There is nary a beach to stand on, and the ones that are any good are ultra-private. But no matter–history, tradition, and Hollywood have made “Riviera” mean everything we long for in a chic travel destination: escapism, romance, sunshine and sea.

Today, there are other countless Rivieras to choose from: on our planet today, actual people will non-jokingly refer to the English, Mexican, Russian, Chinese, African, and Australian Rivieras (also, French). Did you know that there’s even a self-proclaimed Redneck Riviera along the American Gulf Coast where instead of seashells, earnest Alabama children collect shiny black tarballs to take home for “show-and-tell”?

Greenland’s beaches come sans tarballs, (although the country’s drive for oil exploration could change this, wink, wink). In fact, Greenland has the cleanest beaches I have ever seen: a mile-wide half-moon stretch of vanilla sand bordering clear turquoise shallows that are so clear, you can follow the gently waving seaweed below. There are no cigarette butts and no blowing trash. Also, there are no people, which is the recipe for a perfect beach. And who knows what you’ll find as you stroll along the shore? A reindeer skull, a salmon-colored piece of wave-polished granite or a jumble of blue, microwave-sized ice chunks. What the real Riviera offers in fashion, culture, and high-life, Greenland makes up for with its elegant arctic beaches.
Perhaps you’ve never considered a beach vacation in the Arctic, but when you know the facts, the concept is compelling:

  1. Greenland is at the top of the world, which means extra long summer days-and for at least a few weeks in June and July, endless summer days. In fact, Greenland’s national day is June 21st, the summer solstice, and the amazing arctic light is something to experience for yourself.
  2. It’s not THAT cold. The southern reaches of the Greenlandic Riviera are on the same latitude as Stockholm or Helsinki. In September, it was still remarkably sunny with temperatures in the mid-50s.
  3. It’s getting warmer. Climate change is Greenland’s consistent headline-an attention-grabbing story that’s a little tiresome. In Narsarsuaq, a town that’s destined to become the airport hub of the Greenlandic Riviera, my taxi driver wiped her brow and exclaimed, “You can really feel the climate change today, can’t you?” I couldn’t, but even if I could, the climate change schtick is a total downer and most Greenlanders enjoy the nicer weather. It’s nice to be able to swim in the sea, finally.
  4. All the ice is melting, too-you can now buy that melted glacier by the bottle and enjoy the delicious cool, clear taste of pre-historic snowstorms in the comfort of your own cup.

After some consideration, one realizes that we are on the verge of a new and grand beach destination trend. Renting a villa in Tuscany with friends is the women’s magazine dream of the late 90s. The 21st century’s male equivalent is renting a villa in Greenland for two weeks of full-on nature and total testosterone outdoor adventure. You will have the world entirely to yourself and can spend your days scaling rock walls, hiking empty green valleys and fishing for Arctic char that you take back to your villa and grill outdoors.

In order for the dream to take root, we’ll need at least a half-dozen middle-aged men to escape poor life decisions and corporate humdrum by running off to the Greenlandic Riviera, where thanks to a wily sled dog, a cheerful blue house, or a fix-it upper fishing boat, they each rediscover their spiritual centers and pen subsequent memoirs that compete with each other on the New York Times bestseller list.

To hasten the process, I am thoughtfully including this small guide to the Greenlandic Riviera, with the knowledge (and intention) that my text will like be cribbed, copied and pasted into countless future guides for generations to come, including the omniscient Lonely Planet:

Nanortalik
“Place of the polar bear” might just be the cutest village on earth. “Picturesque” comes close to describing this delightful panorama of bright civilization clinging to the rocky edge of a final, modern-day ice-age. Angled wooden houses painted red, white, yellow, blue, and green dot the round, granite boulders next to the mirrored and rippled harbor. On weekends, gleeful children play soccer on the wharf, and after school, these same brave children go swimming in water that’s about 38 ° F (admittedly, most wear wetsuits). The town’s flag proudly bears three polar bears and everyone’s got a good polar bear story to share at the local bar, where glowing Christmas lights blaze all year round. The “museum” consists of a dozen historic and well-preserved buildings, with lots of photogenic architecture and exhibits on life in Greenland for the past several hundred years. Oh, and what’s that out in the harbor? The yachts of adventurous richies who are plum tired of the real Riviera. What’s that? You didn’t know that the yachties love Greenland? Oh, but they do: Nanortalik is like the St. Tropez of Greenland (and actually, I’m not kidding.)

Qaqortoq
With 3,500 inhabitants, the larger and much more prominent Qaqortoq is technically the Cannes (or “Qaan”) of southern Greenland with all of its glitz and glory and beautiful seacoast and lovely sea breezes and fussy culture. Not only does the town’s name sound like the exclamation of a lounge singer in a choke hold-the town itself is a cultural epicenter populated with the studios of several talented artists and outdoor sculpture that decorates rock walls and grocery store parking lots. Qaqortoq also boasts the only Thai-Greenlandic fusion restaurant in the world (e.g. leg of lamb roasted in coconut milk and red chili), as well as a remarkably trendy hotel, the Hotel Qaqortoq. Just last winter, a bundled-up Paris Hilton was spotted strolling along the waterfront (ok, that’s a lie. It was probably just an emaciated Polar Bear looking for food), but whatever–there’ll be a Qaqortoq film festival there before you know it.

Narsaq
The town has a population of 1,500 and even with the rising number of curious cruise ships, only gets about 5,000 visitors a year. Narsaq also represents the “Real Greenland”-one of the few villages where you can actually see the massive inland ice from your doorstep. The Royal Greenland fishing plant adds a healthy dose of authenticity, as do the early Viking ruins overlooking a glistening bay of drift ice. Narsaq is also home to Greenland’s school of culinary arts, where you can sample serve national dishes like king crab and smoked halibut.

Tasiusaq
I’ve mentioned this village before, and frankly, I’m afraid of it being discovered, so I shouldn’t even mention it, but since we’re such good friends, I’ll let the secret out. This quaint Greenlandic settlement (population 67) feels like the world’s first neighborhood-a rare and civilized tribe protected from the rest of the world by a most magnificent fjord and the shadow of Ulamertorsuaq, a mountain whose name rolls quite nicely off the tongue, n’est-ce pas?

Unatoq
This uninhabited island is famous for it’s wonderful hot springs (as seen on TV), but should really be famous for the stunning scenery of grey, fairy-tale mountains and vast expanses of fragrant wildflowers. Once you’re soaking in the pool, you’ll never want to leave. Unutoq is all the loveliness of the Riviera but without any of the traffic or people. Just you and planet earth.

Anyway, there it is–ta da!: The Greenlandic Riviera. Spread the word, tweet it, chat about it at dinner parties, mention it to your pals in the sauna and dedicate Sunday’s Travel section to its merits. In short, pass it on. The more you say it, the realer it becomes. Greenlandic Riviera.
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(All photos by Andrew Evans)

The author traveled as a guest of the nation of Greenland but the Greenlandic government and it’s corporate affiliates had nothing to do with conceptualizing the Greenlandic Riviera. That’s all original and the author will be charging them royalties once it takes off.

Jesus Christ Made Seattle Under Protest

by Andrew Evans on


Unexpectedly, I ended up in Seattle.

My bags were packed for a nice New York City summer weekend (shorts, t-shirts, flip flops) but instead I took off for Seattle. Wrong clothes, wrong place, though last-minute travel still carries a thrill of spontaneity, even when you’re flying cross-country for a funeral.

Everybody has at least one friend in Seattle. It’s that kind of city where you’re bound to find that personal connection. And yet I never realized so many people lived out there–enough to fill up every cubicle on every floor of every earthquake-proof skyscraper. Back on the East Coast we like to think we invented all of America’s big cities, but no . . .

I come from the other Washington–DC–where it gets unbearably hot and sticky in the summer; where men sweat through three-piece suits and women wear impractical shoes; where any day you might pick up the Post and know somebody who’s in it and everyday there’s some kind of vigilant protest brewing on the Mall.

West coast Washington is a little less uptight but a whole lot damper. The stereotype about Seattle’s drizzled, overcast skies held true for me and in spite of summer, the day’s “high” was a shoulder-shaking 52 degrees. Dark, unorganized clouds greeted me in the morning and I started to understand the whole coffee thing–how this one city had unleashed Starbucks on the rest of us like a misunderstood gift of the heart.

The day after the funeral, another friend I was crashing with whipped out a yellow legal pad and began making a list of things to see and do in Seattle. Mostly, he suggested I do a lot eating. We made plans to meet up for lunch at a popular Russian café; my friend slipped me the address as we walked downtown. I had no map and no idea how I would find him.“Just remember,” he panted, “Jesus Christ Made Seattle Under Protest.” He ran all the words together as one and it didn’t make any sense at all.

“Huh?”

“It’s a way to remember the streets: Jesus is for Jefferson/James. Christ–Cherry and Columbia. Made–Marion/Madison . . . and so on, you’ll see. It’s easy–just follow the streets in that order. Be at Cherry and Third at one o’clock.”

“Jesus! Christ! Made! Seattle! Under! Protest!” he shouted out each word as he spun around the corner and marched uphill. Every street in Seattle goes up or down.

I didn’t expect to find him again, ever. Normally, I take pride in my sense of direction. I never get lost in new cities and if I do, I just pretend that I’m exploring. But Seattle was a little confusing for me–no matter how many American cities claim to be laid out in a grid pattern, they all have their idiosyncratic exceptions to the rules, like Germanic languages. In the other Washington, we take pride in our many exceptions to the rules–in naming streets and in running the country.

I found Pike Place Market all by myself–not so hard. I just followed the street until I could see the sea, or “the Sound” rather. The sun was thinking about maybe coming out–there was a bit of backlight that made the sky look less grey and bit more like a faded watercolor. I began to wander through the stimulus of the market, comforted by the colors or neon signs and bright vegetables. I bought English tea packed in happy little tea tins–the kind you keep even after the tea is gone. I sampled Rainier cherries and dried apples from Wenatchee. I waited alongside a pack of tourists for the handsome bearded fishmongers to fling some twelve-pound salmon through the air, shifting back and forth on my two feet and hugging myself from the cold.

When I was a teenager, Seattle was so cool–it was this whole abstract fashion concept from a faraway foreign city. Now suddenly, having finally made it to Seattle, all those grunge styles sported by midwestern mall mannequins in the 90s made perfect sense. Here I stood, in July, shivering in a T-shirt-longing for facial hair or at least a thick flannel over long underwear or a groovy knit beanie on my head.

Seattle was still cool, I realized. All the people looked so damn cool, all dressed and ready for battle. The guy selling cherries had giant black plastic horns pushed through holes in his ears and his hair cut like a vicious pixie. The bikers and skaters wore helmets with dancing flames on the sides. The girl scooping organic ice cream for tourists had a pair of matching red devil faces tattooed into her inner elbows, two evil grins flashing poisonous fangs back at me through the frosted glass. Such a pretty girl, I thought. Why devils?

And then I remembered: “Jesus Christ made Seattle under protest.” The premise was ridiculous–“What does that even mean?” I wondered. God loves everyone. I mean, He did hate a few cities in the Old Testament, too, as I recall, but I’ve read the Bible from cover to cover and Seattle is not listed once, anywhere. Also, there are actual things that Jesus Christ did protest in real life, like common hypocrisy and the gaudy merchandising outside the temple in Jerusalem.

A city built against God’s best wishes, belligerent to the core–a kind of unholy city whose streets spelled out this almost anti-Christian agenda. I wondered as I wandered back into the square-cut grid of downtown, trying to navigate myself through the streets: Jefferson, James, Cherry, Columbia, Marion, Madison, Spring, Seneca, University, Union, Pike, Pine. Jesus Christ Made Seattle Under Protest. I kept walking south, ticking backwards through my friend’s mnemonic device: Pike–Protest . . . Under . . . Seattle . . . Made . . . checking each street sign until finally I came to “C”, Christ–Columbia–Another block and there it was, Cherry Street, and there was my friend and a window filled with hot piroshky.
That same afternoon I napped on a bench near the waterfront and when I woke up, there was sunshine-not warmth, but light, yes. Seattle is like so many northern places–one may moan about the lousy weather, but if and when the sun does shine, it’s simply glorious. Suddenly there were pretty pine trees everywhere, quiet silver waves slapping the shores of the Puget Sound, and snowy pyramid mountains in the background. If God ever did protest Seattle, it’s only because the city occupies some pretty divine real estate.

Not that God could actually have anything against Seattle. Some of His best friends live in Seattle, I thought, just like me. My friend’s funeral was still fresh in my mind, as were the lyrics of Nirvana’s song “Francis Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle“–the song whose chorus moans, “I miss the comfort of being sad.” It’s a backhanded slogan for the city that gave us grunge and caffeine addictions but also a common feeling among all travelers.

As I travel here, there, and everywhere in the world, I still wonder: Are sad places just sad on their own or do we make them sad by arriving with our own carry-on sadness? Do we ever let the destination just be the destination or do we turn to our own ideas about what it should be, based on a lifetime of prejudice and teenage notions?

My own teenage notion was to go visit Kurt Cobain’s house on Lake Washington–the one the rock star died in. It’s become a sort of insider’s drive-by tourist attraction that overlooks beautiful Lake Washington. “It’s a nice drive,” my friend kept reassuring me, promising to take me. But then we never went: too little time, too many other things to do. After 36 hours in the Emerald City, I found myself waiting in line at Sea-Tac, boarding a red-eye home, neck pillow in hand.

Perhaps Seattle was better that way. Yeah, I liked Kurt Cobain like everybody else but I was still unsure about seeing that pretty place where the icon had died–I was still coping with the pretty city where my friend had lived. And that was enough.

[All photos by Andrew Evans]

My own private Michigan

by Andrew Evans on


Labor day cometh–that final round of summer’s three 3-day weekends. Are you going anywhere special?

Honestly, I don’t know of a better time to travel. Most of the kids are back at school, ticket prices begin to drop, the air cools and the best parts of summer team up for one last hurrah: a lingering outdoor barbecue, a chance to go hiking in shorts, and a final dip in the lake that will last us ’til next spring. Sometimes I feel like Labor Day is meant for filling up on summer memories, an almost-pagan rite of preparation for the coming schedule of winter.

Labor day is also a time to go back to the places we love-to return to those most magical places we knew and loved as children. For me, that place is northwestern Michigan.

If Michigan is a left-handed mitten, the Leelanau peninsula sits right at the tip of the ring finger. It’s not really close to anything-five hours from Detroit and even farther from Chicago or Toronto. I remember it took a long time to get there–the best places do.

When you see them for the first time, the Sleeping Bear Dunes are unexpected, mammoth and impressive. A scientist might explain how during the last ice age, retreating glaciers dumped a few million tons of fine-grain sand in a long ridge. A little kid will tell you that it’s just this huge mountain of sand and that you can run and jump and fall down and not ever get hurt. These massive dunes form the steep-sloped shoreline of the Leelanau peninsula-the highest of which is covered with a wind-shaped mound of soft black sand.

Back when I was a kid, the black sand offered a boggling mystery and a bedtime story. Unlike the phony campfire Indian legends that get dropped on the heads of young innocents, the legend of the sleeping bear is legit. Chippewa tradition recounts the story of a mother bear swimming across Lake Michigan to escape a forest fire. Her two cubs follow behind but drown. The mourning mamma bear became the black-tinted dune and the cubs were transformed into the two sandy islets offshore: North and South Manitou.

When I was a boy, there were still heaps of black sand sitting at the top of the mountain-time has eroded much of the sleeping bear’s color away, though the dunes themselves remain. The Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore protects and preserves a 35-mile stretch of pristine beach from the kind of “development” that has ruined so much of our American coastlines. There are no radios on the beach here, no gas-guzzling dune buggies or gaudy sno-cone stands. All you have are the clear waves gently slapping the sand, the backdrop grassy dunes and blanket of green forest. Honestly, it’s probably the quietest place in Michigan.Climbing to the top of the dunes is tough work but well worth the unforgettable 360° view. Who knew that Michigan cool feel so exotic?–Like the Sahara pushed up against the Caribbean but dressed up in British Colombia’s vegetation.

. . . and you don’t hike back down from the sleeping bear dunes. Much better to tumble–running, leaping, cartwheeling-doing suicidal jumps only to crash your body into a cushion of several tons of the softest sand. Perhaps that’s the reason our parents took us there. The Great Bear Dunes offer over 30-miles of expendable energy.

Afterwards, the bravest and sweatiest go swimming in Lake Michigan, which is never warm in summer and pretty much solid ice in the winter. Still, nothing ever kept me from diving right in. Around labor day, the water might get up to the mid-60’s, which is refreshing enough to pull your chest into such a tight ball that you become aware that you do in fact have two lungs and a heart right in between. It’s cold, clear, clean water and it’s perfect.

The beachhead is soft and sandy but the bottom of the lake is covered with smooth, rounded stones that tumble with the water. Decades later, I still have several colored rocks collected from those Michigan beaches, including several petoskey stones-round fossils polished smooth by the waves and covered with a distinctly warbled hexagonal pattern.

Quiet nature is still master in this secluded shoreline of Lake Michigan. My only memory of anything manmade is the prominent Point Betsie Lighthouse, built back in 1858 when shipping was constant, as were shipwrecks. Still working, the lighthouse tower is exactly how you want your lighthouses-white and cylindrical with a black top hat, attached to a sturdy station house with a bright red gambrel roof. Interesting fact: Point Betsie is so the second-most photographed lighthouse in America (the first is Portland Head, Maine). That’s how picture-perfect it is.

You can still climb to the top of Point Betsie in summer, and like the dunes, the experience tattoos itself into one’s memory. Growing up, we used to rent the house next to the lighthouse, but nowadays there are plenty of affordable vacation homes and condos scattered in nearby towns further up the coast. Alas, Frankfort, Michigan is the closest civilization around—a town of a whopping 1,500 inhabitants who are all quite proud of their official title as Tree City, USA. (If you ever wonder what people should do on Arbor Day, visit Frankfort.)

Still, it’s the getting away from towns and cars that drives so many up to northern Michigan. Hikers can grab the daily ferry to North and South Manitou Islands and disappear off on their own piece of beach and forest. The camping, hiking, swimming and fishing on these islands has yet to be mass-produced-there are no crowds here.

For culture, take a day or an evening to visit the nearby Interlochen Center for the Arts–a kind of woodsy boarding school/summer camp that’s like Julliard, Tisch and Oberlin College all rolled into one (except with black bears in the woods). The evening shows in summer are spectacular, be it theater or an outdoor symphony. Even nowadays, if I am sitting in some grand theater before a performance–anywhere in the world–and I read in my program that some artist spent time at Interlochen, I feel a true affinity to that person They have shared this same corner of Michigan that I love and I feel a connection from this common destination.

I hope to make it back to Leelanau someday soon. Perhaps not this Labor Day, or the next, but someday. During the rest of the year, you’ll find me traveling all over the world, but on that one weekend when the government informs us it is time to rest from our labors–Well, I’ll choose Michigan.