For the first time since owning Lightroom, I have experienced a Lightroom catalog becoming corrupted. Fortunately under File>Catalog settings>Metadata, I have been writing my metadata to my .xmp side car files. Unfortunately, I did not realize when a .lrcat file becomes corrupted, the metadata does not include virtual copies of the images, or references to what catalog sets they are in. I hope Adobe changes this in the next release of Lightroom. Continue reading THE PROBLEM – LIGHTROOM CATALOG CORRUPTION
‘All right Jacque – lets see who stays down the longest!’, Enzo smiled at me. We had been playing the same game for the last four weeks, Beau and I were on the final dive of a five-day trip and we had built up a friendly rivalry pretending to be Jacque Mayol and Enzo Maiorca, the free divers made famous in the movie “The Big Blue”. We were about to dive a site known as Silverbanks that sits on the southeast side of Santa Cruz Island. Silverbanks is a massive kelp forest in 30 to 60 feet of pure pacific blue. Swimming through the tall trunks of the aquatic trees, it is easy to momentarily forget the water and imagine how bird must feel in flight.
It is unusual for me to feel uneasy in the water, but during the dive I was unsettled — the submerged hairs prickling on the back of my neck. Determined not to let Enzo beat my bottom time, I found an uninspiring reef to photograph and slowly burned through my roll of film, taking small sips of air to conserve my tank and wondering if my friend had finished his dive.The commotion started as soon as I surfaced. “GET ON THE BOAT NOW!” my frantic friends faces yelled at me as I lazily swam towards the swim step “SHARK!”.
Apparently as I was taking my time underwater, a 14 foot juvenile Great white had hit a harbor seal a couple of hundred feet from the anchor line of the boat. When I surfaced the shark was slowly circling his prey waiting for it to bleed to death.
Sharks are smart hunters. Rather than risking bodily injury to themselves, they hit their prey with the teeth that tear and wait just below the surface for their lunch to become to weak to resist. Never have I seen a more hopeless look on the face of any creature, then in the eyes of that harbor seal. It was a broken being. Waiting for death.
We waited with it. We waited for over an hour, watching and waiting for the deed to be done.Waiting for the shark to fulfill its role at the top of the aquatic food chain and take its dinner to the depths. But time was running short, and the sun was sinking low, and the channel had to be crossed. Jacque and Enzo knew the most important lesson of the sea, that she either wants you, or she doesn’t. In the final scene of La Grand Bleu, the audience is left guessing to Jacques fate as he swims into the depths and the embrace of the ocean. I also was left guessing to the fate of that harbor seal. The last I saw it; it was swimming for some rocks near the shore. A sad trail of blood lingering behind its path in the water. In my mind, it survived, gnarled teeth marks a proud battle wound on side. But in reality there was no guess that day, the sea didn’t want me and it was time to go home.
Images and Text © Jonathan Kingston 2002 and 2007 respectively
The ride out to Santa Barbara Island had been rough on the Truth. Our intrepid 40-foot craft labored over the uneven terrain that the pacific presented. Some passengers had the expected rounds of sick, but fortunately for me the Marezine was working like a charm. After an all night ride set to the sound of the hull slapping the base of each wave, it was a welcome prospect to dive into the cold water of the Pacific.
The underwater terrain of Santa Barbara Island is not unlike an underwater rock castle bordered by a sandy plain with sea lion sentinels patrolling its rocky ramparts. On more than one dive I would see the aquatic animals move in pairs move along the outer rock wall of the flourishing pinniped rookery like sentinels in search of sharks. For those who have never been underwater with a sea lion, imagine an aquatic puppy that is hyper, curious, gregarious, inquisitive and graceful. Dive-bombing the unexpected diver, the daring creatures bark, twist, pirouette, dart, blow bubbles and disappear. Just like a puppy the Zalophus californianus will play until it is to tired, bored or warned of unseen danger by some form of communication unknown to man, to continue.
Ralph Clevenger and I were on the northeast side of the island when the sea lions reached this state of exhaustion after gregariously greeting their visitors for over an hour. They languished on the surface soaking up the sunshine long enough for both of us to burn through a roll of film. As we were preparing to head back to the dry deck of the boat, the calm mood among the sea lions changed and after a few nervous glances over 20 creatures had vanished from view. Ralph and I cautiously looked around for the sign of the disturbance and the dry deck of the boat suddenly seeming extremely inviting. As we nervously searched for the disturbance, unseen to Ralph, one of the smaller sea lions swam out of hiding and mischievously crept up directly below his fins. Before I could wave or point, the miscreant had latched on and begun shaking the fin vigorously side to side like a chew toy. The bubbles coming out of my compatriot’s regulator momentarily doubled in volume until he navigated his limited field of vision to realize that his leg wasn’t about to be decapitated by a shark.
Spooked and out of film, we hugged the bottom of the ocean on the way back to the anchor line. Back on the deck of the Truth we were thankful that this ride in the underwater realm had not been as rough as the ride to the island. In a typically understated fashion Ralph chuckled and said “that was exciting”.
Images and Text © Jonathan Kingston 2002 and 2007 respectively
Aaron and I heard rumors of the whale sharks after multiple military checkpoints and a dusty three day drive down Baja California Sur’s roads to La Paz. It was here that Steinbeck chose to set his novel “The Pearl” and here that we had come to search for our own pearls, those perfect moments in the clear warm waters of the Sea of Cortez to depress our shutters. My 1985 VW bus was loaded with tanks, camera gear and little red plastic gas cans strapped to the roof that had been inspected with some incredulity by the machine gun toting fedarales in their fatigues and sunglasses.
Three days of diving with hammerhead sharks and manta rays in La Paz was unable to erase the rumor from our unconscious moments. Some divers spend their whole life to find the filter feeding Rhincodon Typus, and here he was waiting at the edge of a story from a stranger where a long dirt road touches the Sea of Cortez. And so we drove north through checkpoints and hot asphalt with the VW engine struggling against the steeper hills in search of the rumor. Soon after stopping to buy extra gas we found the unmarked road that the source had spoken of. A road that quickly deteriorated from pavement to potholes to dirt and 100 miles later a small fishing village next to a beautiful half moon bay. Continue reading SWIMMING WITH SHARKS IN THE SEA OF CORTEZ