Mudlarking Mill Creek

Mudlark /'mAdla;k / n. & V. L18. [F. MUD n.1 + LARK n.1] A person who scavenges for usable debris in the mud of a river or harbor.  (Definition from Mudlarking on the River Thames by Lara Maikem, a marvelous read)

  Initially I was invited to mudlark for a full-sized red pickup truck. Or, with some luck, a men’s size-large, black wetsuit. I found a cow bone and a chair arm. Their resemblance disconcertingly similar.

  If I had been scavenging along the Thames River in London, I might have found clay pipes, Roman coins, or Victorian medicine bottles, but mudlarking along Mill Creek River in the southeast corner of Washington State was a different game. I hoped to find an arrowhead from a few centuries back, but everything else was likely to be remnants of the cabin that floated downstream or bits and pieces of stuff washed from structures in the historic flood of this month.  

  My group of five mudlarkers with the owner's permission crossed a field and approached the river.  Looking just to our left, this is what we saw.  And to the right, way down there upstream, black wheels atop the red pickup, belly-up just as reported.

  Two of our crew, Dave and Gary, began the journey across the above bridge of natural and unnatural materials. Leary of the crossing, my mudlarking partner, Gloria, and I kept to the riverbank and nearby islands of rocky rubble and soft mud. Black plastic bags fooled us into thinking we might have spotted the wet suit. Two cabinet doors with old knobs were the only thing seemingly of interest mixed in with quantities of splintered plywood and old beams. Brown was the predominate color.

  I kept noticing the occasional iron-red volcanic rocks probably washed down from Tiger Canyon. The careful examination of rocks rewarded me with views of natural phenomena that I might otherwise have missed.

The pattern made by waterdrops falling off a log into the mud. 

  And pebbles neatly wedged along a stick, as if the river current had slowed and taken extra care in their placement.

  Last week, I had spotted evidence of other mudlarkers in the area. I wish that I had seen the heron or the cat. 

 Last night as I glanced through my photos, I came across another mudlarking find from earlier this week. I had gone up the canyon to Oregon to help a family muck out their little cabin. The find appeared to be a cane until I got close and realized that it was an old iron pipe. Mud filled, heavy, and leaded. 

  So much stuff. And none of it worth much anymore. Even the red pickup. 

Photography is Writing with the Eye

What is this butcher thinking as he stands in the audience at the Smithfield Meat Auction?

I take photos and write.  There are similarities between a photographer capturing an image followed by editing it and a writer who seizes a fleeting thought, commits it to script, and rewrites it for effect.  While I traveled this past month to London, England, and briefly Europe, I was quite aware that when I was moving, I was constantly framing what I saw.  One step too far or a moment too soon before crowds crossed my sightline and I knew that an image would not be what I desired.  Some places were simply so evocative – brightly alive or on the other extreme quite melancholy that they were worthy of a picture.  Others embodied some element of contemplation, humor, or interesting perspective. 

The scope of subject matter for a photographer is infinite and yet limited.  Not everything, place, or person is sufficiently interesting at any precise moment to be worthy of recording, and yet all of these subjects might have merit and potential.  Writing is similar, except the author is trying to catch thoughts, gather overheard comments, or collect place and character traits for their descriptive value.

I wrote little during my travels, letting my camera record impressions from which I could later assemble my thoughts and recall what I was noticing.  (I took pictures at Dachau Concentration Camp and later will write a newspaper column about my sobering observations.)  The photos which I chose for this post are the ones among all of the ones that I took that pleased me the most.  Like good writing, they hold the viewer a little longer.  Most of these are not your typical tourist photos. 

Is he envious or curious?

When advertising goes awry...

I was trying to capture the feeling of being in the crowd on Primrose Hill on New Year's Eve while we all waited for the London fireworks to begin at midnight.  The high contrast of the dark crowd against the bright sky gives the photo tension.

The Shard, a new skyscraper located on the south bank of the Thames River, has become an iconic shot.  I liked that this photo captures a little of the nautical history of the area with the rusty chains and gear in the foreground, and although the Shard is out of kilter, it is a striking view.

I counted seventeen building cranes on the skyline of London from one location.  My daughter began teasing me about my crane photos.  I liked the novelty of this shot with the mudhen seeming to eye and avoid the wonky crane reflections in the canal water.

This is one of my best photos exemplifying how timing is so critical. Even though the train was beginning to slow as it pulled into the London Train Station, moments later the angles would no longer have converged with the base of the Shard.  I think the photo conveys the excitement of train travel, of arrival.

Ah, this is another example of timing and place.  I took this photo on one of my first days in London. I was riding on the top of a double-decker bus when I looked down and saw this marvelous building reflected in the roof and the windshield of a car.    

Bike Rack?  Antiquities themed?  Is this some city planner's joke?

This skate buddy on an icerink in Salzburg exhuded an impression of longing and hope.  I noticed him because of his charm, but I had to wait a moment until the ice all around him was clear of skaters  to get this shot.  I'm not sure that I would have gotten the chance again.    

I love this photo for its varied textures and the restaurant sign on an obviously empty building, but mostly I love this for the pop of color.  It just makes me smile.

Although I am a member of Audubon and have many opportunities to take photos of birds, I am relatively awful at the task.  I include this swan both because of its nice shape, but also because of the color of water.  The swan was in a pond on Hampstead Heath.  There were others near by, but I managed to isolate this one for a moment.

And for a selfie, how about this one taken in front of a shop window with a neon light documenting my location?

Off to writing now...