Banjos by Mulheron Banjos

This summer I had a great opportunity to photograph banjos built by my friend Lindsey Liden.

I've known Lindsey for a couple years now. By chance he came in as a last minute sub on a dovetail joinery class I took when the teacher got sick. Lindsey was such a good teacher. As per usual I had come in with a lot of ambition to build a cabinet for a tube amp I had just built. Lindsey, a former touring musician himself, had a lot of great ideas and suggestions. And we hit it off.

Lindsey was an assistant instructor on a guitar building class I took. And that instrument is still the gold standard on which I compare everything else I build.

At the tail end of the pandemic it had been awhile since I had taken a woodworking class. So I reached out and asked if he'd ever do a banjo building workshop out of his shop. It just happened that the same day he had another person reach out with the same question. So he put together his first workshop for myself and two others. It was a week spent in the mountains building banjos and playing music. It was awesome. I've done 2 more workshops with Lindsey.

This summer Lindsey was finishing a batch of banjos before heading to Clifftop (Appalachian String Band Music Festival) and wanted to get them photographed. I got to help with final assembly and then took them into a makeshift studio to photograph them. And that's what you see here.

Lindsey is a builder with an awesome aesthetic. Beautiful wood choices. Detailed metal scoops. Crazy colors and cosmetic distressing of the pots. Relic'd hardware. And musically they sound amazing. Lindsey has an Indiana Jones style journal filled with scribbles about joint angles and headstock designs; clues looking for that holy grail of sound.

Creating these photographs it's important to honor all the attention to details that he puts in as a builder. And to showcase what makes these instruments unique. And I like to think I did that.

If you're interested in banjos or banjo building workshops, check out his website at https://www.mulheronbanjos.com/, or share it with your friends.

The Stories Within Stories Within Stories

I shared this video clip on my Facebook page several years ago. Every year it pops up in my memories. And I rewatch it every year. I’m amazed at the storytelling, and the found story that isn’t necessarily about the lions, but is also about the lions. And my amazement stems from my own experience with lions in Tanzania.

In 2007 I did a safari in Tanzania. It was very early in my life as a photographer. I got some amazing images, despite approaching it all wrong. You can see those images and get more story on that here. I remember one day, midway through the trip, we had heard of a pride of lions near a small grove of trees and we made the approach in our Toyota Land Cruisers. Our guide drove and swung around so that the pride was on my side of the car. My window was open and I saw the most amazing male lion not 10 feet away from me. I was so shocked that I couldn’t bring the camera to my eye. A moment later my eyes locked with the lion and I trembled through my entire body. I had an instantaneous feeling that the lion could in one second leap through the window, and pounce on me. It was that feeling of powerlessness that I couldn’t shake. I didn’t get a single usable photograph from that encounter. But I’ll never forget it.

Holding lions in such high regard, as apex predator, it’s easy to hang your attention on them and not let go. That’s what makes the above video so shocking to me. That we focus not on the lions, but on the lizard eating flies around the lions. We have this larger ecosystem that we see, and then this smaller fragment. This nuanced little story. And I find that so inspiring as a photographer. What opportunities are there in all our encounters to find those stories within stories?

I recently photographed a wedding, which has the overall story of love and marriage between two people. But as I walked around so many other valuable stories emerged. The father of the groom and groom sharing a moment. A cousin taking a quiet moment to feed his toddlers away from other guests. These are other examples of love and family that get highlighted within a larger context. And finding those moments is something I always want to focus on in my development.

On Jimmy Buffett and Dude Where’s My Car

I don’t have many pictures from that time period, but this is me (right) with our guitar player Tim (left). You can note how much of a rebel I was, drinking out of a McDonalds cup in a Culvers.

At the tail end of High School I was in a band called The Jacklegs. We played kind of a Surf Punk Metal blend of Danzig, Dick Dale, and Black Sabbath, mostly covers but also a handful of our own songs. I played bass.

We played a handful of Battle of the Bands at a Jewish Community Center (losing every single time). We played the local pool hall in Des Plaines that was owned by our friend's uncle. We played a few other small shows. And we played one sweet sixteen birthday party. And that party is what I'm going to talk about.

It came to us through our lead singer, Tony. It was someone he knew through school, but not super well. She was turning sixteen, and we were supposed to play 2 sets. Which was super ambitious for our band, being that outside our main set, we each had a handful of songs we knew that no one else in the band knew. So we would have to follow their lead. Now that can be cool if you're a group of experienced musicians playing around with each other following inspiration. But a couple teenagers slopping their way through Hollywood Babylon (by The Misfits) is not cool.

But it is punk. It's punk as hell! And punk was cool enough for us.

When we were putting together our setlist time was front and center. How can we fill this out and meet our time commitment? So it was suggested by my bandmates that we'd do two sets and that I should play my solo acoustic Jimmy Buffett covers in the middle to break up the flow.

My mom and I travelled across the US in an RV for most of my childhood. She was privileged to work for a boss who gave her a lot of time off. So we'd find ourselves driving through the Rocky Mountains or along the Emerald Coast a lot when I was a kid. I'd go to sleep at a Jellystone Campground and wake up already on the road to our next stop. And when I'd wake up I'd often hear Jimmy Buffett on the tape deck. My mom was a big fan. I was just figuring out who I was and what I liked.

But year after year my summers were always full of Jimmy Buffett. It was a long term passive acquiescence. I can't imagine being on the road without hearing A Pirate Looks at 40 or Son of a Son of a Sailor. And it became a point of connection for my mom and I. We'd go to Margaritaville restaurants, buy dumb t-shirts with parrots, whatever. It was just a thing that became a part of our lives.

Through my twenties we'd go to concerts together. We saw Jimmy play in Vegas several times, Florida, Alpine Valley, Wrigley Field. Neither of us have ever been big concert goers, except for Jimmy Buffett.

As a musician I spent a lot of time practicing Jimmy Buffett songs. Alone in my basement. Jimmy Buffett wasn't cool at any of my schools. I didn't wear my Jimmy Buffett shirts to school. (Though looking back now I wish I had, to weave an interesting tapestry of Korn, NIN, Green Day, and Jimmy Buffett.) So I largely kept it to myself and sang songs I loved, though were probably beyond my years in terms of understanding.

The idea of singing Jimmy Buffett songs at this birthday party terrified me. Singing terrified me. Playing bass was an easy way to be a part of the band, but sink into the background. But we had to fill out this set. And I did kind of enjoy the idea of confronting a fear. So I agreed. Three songs between our sets.

The day of the show we had a huge snowstorm. I vaguely remember the snow coming up to my knees. The show was in the suburbs of Barrington at a huge house. We set up in the basement early in the day, and were going to go on in the afternoon. I spent a lot of time working on my songs. It was the type of thing I couldn't screw up, because I wasn't good enough a musician to play off mistakes. Any mistake would derail me. So I had to practice.

When the afternoon came we got on "stage" and a crowd of about 25 teenagers surrounded us. A pretty standard demographic sampling of teens. Exactly what you're thinking. We opened with our favorite opening song. An original instrumental called "Surf for Satan". That led into a cover of Danzig's "Bodies", and then back to another original called "The Watermelon Song". By the end of our third song, the crowd has dispersed, to the tv/sitting area 10 feet away. They had "Dude Where's My Car" playing and they CRANKED the volume to drown us out. We briefly rebelled, trying to play louder, but eventually gave up and started packing our things. We drove to Denny's and commiserated over coffees and grand slams.

I never got to play my Jimmy Buffett songs.

To the left, check out one of the few recordings I have from that band. Beware, it comes in hot and it ends hot. If you’re wearing headphones, turn them down for a sec.

Seljalandsfoss and Skógafoss

Seljalandsfoss as seen behind the falls

Skógafoss dark and moody

In Iceland "foss" means waterfall. And you see foss everywhere, because in Iceland waterfalls are everywhere. And they are all amazing.

Seljalandsfoss and Skógafoss are two very large and very well known waterfalls along Iceland's southern coast. They are only 30 minutes away from each other and situated near Þórsmörk Valley (which is deserving of it's own dedicated post soon). We stopped at Seljalandsfoss at the end of the day after exploring Þórsmörk. Seljalandsfoss is unique in that you can walk behind the cascading water along a rock wall. There is about 6-10 feet from the wall to the edge.

Lindsey and I really lucked out. We had very good weather as the evening progressed. And the view of the setting sun was perfect from behind the falls. We took in the experience and then headed to our hotel for the night. We'd see Skógafoss the following day.

The first thing you notice about Skógafoss is how huge it is. From the road. From the parking lot. Right next to the cascade. It's huge. There is a standard shot that everyone gets at Skógafoss. It's a solo shot of a person with the wall of water behind them. And it just reinforces how huge the waterfall is.

Skógafoss is a really fun waterfall to photograph. The stream that follows the falls is kind a dinker. It's very shallow, so if the flow isn't running too fast you can wade in and get some photographs with the stream in the foreground. The most difficult aspect is the sheer number of visitors the falls get. You need time and patience to wait your turn to get close to the falls. But once you do, there is so much to see and explore.

We spent more time than we should have at Skógafoss. It's hard not to. So many photographs to try and take. We set ourselves back by about 45 minutes to start the day and played catch up at all our stops until we got to our hotel. But ultimately it was worth it. I'll never forget my time at Skógafoss. And any extra time spent there was well worth it.

Horses of Iceland

Horse herd outside of Thormork in Southern Iceland

Horses, the other animal in Iceland

Just as sheep dot the landscape (https://www.greginda.com/calendars/sheepoficeland), so do Icelandic horses. A genetically distinct breed, Icelandic horses were developed from ponies brought to Iceland in the 9th and 10th centuries. But calling them ponies now is a major faux pas. Icelandic horses have 2 gaits in addition to the walk, trot, and canter/gallop that most breeds develop.

From Wikipedia: "The first additional gait is a four-beat lateral ambling gait known as the tölt. This is known for its explosive acceleration and speed; it is also comfortable and ground-covering... ...The breed also performs a pace called a skeið, flugskeið or "flying pace". It is used in pacing races, and is fast and smooth, with some horses able to reach up to 30 miles per hour."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Icelandic_horse

Icelandic horses are the only horses allowed in Iceland, and if an Icelandic horse is ever exported or taken someplace else, it can never return. This is on account of not wanting to introduce any diseases into the population.

The most striking thing to me were the amazing hairdos the horses had. So boyband. So middle school. Unkempt bangs. The horses also had so much personality. Very playful and interactive.

Lindsey and I had the opportunity to ride a bit and it's a memory I'll always treasure.

The Aurora Borealis and the Black Church of Budir

Black Church of Budir with the Aurora Borealis in the night sky

The aurora borealis is on everyone's bucket list. It's a natural phenomena that is scientifically amazing. And also has a deep folkloric mystical vibe. Every photo one sees of the "northern lights" is absolute magic.

Going to Iceland Lindsey and I knew we were on the early cusp of aurora season which *can* start in late August, but is most prominent from October to April. We were there in mid-late September. Every night we would check my forecasting app Aurora Pro, but we had cloud cover for so much of the trip. So our expectations were low.

My mom, who was on her own separate trip through Iceland concurrently with ours, went on several Northern Lights tours hoping to see them, but never did. They would typically stay out until 1am hoping to catch a glimpse, but every night they went was a bust.

The same for us through the first 10 days of the trip. It wasn't until we got to Snæfellsnes Peninsula and the Black Church of Budir that I saw something. We had rolled in earlier that day after gale force winds hit the peninsula. We had to hunker down in a town 90 minutes away, for about 3 hours, before we could even drive on the roads to the church (and our hotel which was situated next door). When we arrived near sunset I got a couple photos of the church before we unpacked and had dinner.

After we ate I looked out the window and the skies were clear. So I thought I'd try some night photography at the church. Lindsey wanted to stay in, so I headed up alone. I made a couple photographs that were ok, and was ready to head back to the hotel. As I looked off in the northern sky I could see the faintest discoloration in the sky, and a bit of movement. It looked more like a shadow in the sky than the brilliant green dancing lights you see in photos, but it was in fact the aurora. I set up my camera to take photo, and then immediately called Lindsey to say "get dressed, I'm coming to pick you up!" Then I drove down (literally just a hill, it was a 45 second drive or would have been a 2 minute walk) and fetched Lindsey. We drove back up to the church and enjoyed what faint light we could see.

The northern lights are attached to some amazing folklore. Firefoxes. Valkyries taking warriors to Valhalla. Dangerous omens. We quickly wondered what the deal was. The lights were so faint. But the folklore so rich. What were we seeing? Once we got back to the hotel we did our research and discovered that what we saw was a faint display. The displays of the lights varies. Sometimes faint. Sometimes wondrous. That is by no means me saying we were disappointed or underwhelmed. But it is interesting to see how photographs portray these lights and always so brilliant. It's easy to skew expectations.

The following day we drove around the peninsula, photographed at Kirkjufell and then drove back in the night. As we drove through a mountain pass we saw the most amazing display of the full moon and I thought that would be cool to juxtapose with the church. As we were driving up the road to the church we saw the light that typically illuminated the church was out. That seemed strange.

In the church yard were a dozen photographers. I didn't know what was going on. Was it a workshop? We parked and I got out of the car to scout things out. As I looked above the church I saw the faint lights dancing about, slightly more intense than they had been the night before. I quickly got my gear and set up.

The mood in the church yard was tense. Every photographer there was stressed and under pressure to get a good shot. One photographer yelled at me for parking in view of his shot, so Lindsey and I quickly had to move the car. Photographers were constantly carelessly walking in front of others shots (long exposures) because they were so focused on finding a better composition. Lots of apologies were offered in what ended up being about 40 minutes.

I managed to get a few photographs I was really happy with. Lindsey and I decided to get changed and then head back out to see if we could find any other viewpoints with the lights. We stayed out until about 2am before packing it in for an early morning that would take us to the Golden Circle and then back to Reykjavik.

Despite crossing the northern lights off of my bucket list, I think they are something that just stays in the bucket. So many experiences are wonderful no matter how many times you partake. And I'll always jump at the chance to see an aurora, even the faintest one.

Black Church of Budir with the aurora and full moon

The black church by moonlight

Another view from that first night

Dreary

By day

Our view coming through the pass from Kirkjufell to Budir

The aurora as we saw it the first night

Sunset at the church

Silhouette

The final display we saw. We drove to a nearby town to se this view over the mountain.

Crocodile Rock

Two streams, the Heiðará (left) and Króká (right), converge and leave the outline of a gnarly crocodile in the landscape.

As Lindsey and I were driving through Northwest Iceland in the Akrahreppur region we were treated to some amazing light in this valley. I was actually kind of panicked because I could see this once in a lifetime light in front of us, but no good spots to pull off into to make a good photo. We pulled off the highway onto several first roads hoping to find something, anything, to use as a foreground for this amazing view in front of us. And there was just nothing.

For a photographer, it's tough. There is something about identifying yourself as a photographer that means sometimes you can't just enjoy and take in this epically beautiful sight before you, because "pics or it didn't happen." One of my favorite moments in "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" is when Sean Penn's character Sean O'Connell says "Sometimes I don't [take a picture]. If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don't like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it, right there, right here."

I recognize a lot of truth in that line. But I also recognize my love of capturing those moments. And that the struggle is part of what gets my blood pumping.

We continued driving down the highway and passed by some construction. And luckily just past all that we found a pull off in the valley. I got out of the car and looked for compositions with my camera but there was no way to really capture it. I had to use my drone for this.

The highway and the streams created some amazing leading lines for the photos. My favorite though is this one where the Króká and the Heiðará converge, and the rocky landscape looks like a crocodile. Or maybe an alligator since the snout is rounded. But Elton John never wrote a song called Alligator Rock.

With the sun setting we got back in the car and pressed onward. A little more relaxed because we had captured a little bit of the magic.

Looking in the opposite direction, down road, you can see the beautiful light in the valley that we were chasing

Droning in Iceland

Aerial views of Iceland, September 2021: Skútafoss, Sveinsstekksfoss, Hvannagil and the surrounding area, Jökulsá á Fjöllum, a stop off in the Akrahreppur region in Northwest Iceland, the Skútustaðagígar Pseudocraters, Hverfjall Volcano Crater and surrounding area.

All drone footage: @greg_inda Edit/Color: @itslindseymarks

#iceland #icelandtravel #aerialphotography #dronevideo

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My partner Lindsey and I have talked a lot about fitting drones into my arsenal. How best to utilize aerial work while being cognizant of the ethics and how not to be a nuisance traveler. Below are some thoughts that Lindsey shared on Facebook, as well as some of my follow up and her follow up to my follow up.

Lindsey: I'm really happy about how we approached getting the drone out on this trip. Greg is a thoughtful person and did his research, and I've redirected my "need-to-fix-my-anxiety problem" reactions when people I'm with are using drones to owning my thoughts as entirely reasonable personal stances. In Iceland we were fortunate to find areas that were extremely unpopulated and under trafficked. Some of these areas are publicly accessible but aren't really even tourist destinations. Some we were the only people in sight. There are areas that do not allow drones without a permit, but many main tourist attractions are drone-able...so it's on you to make decisions. We weren't 100% perfect, but I think we avoided disturbing people really effectively and I love what Greg got! Deepening that as a skill set would be pretty awesome and he's looking into the licensing process.

Greg: It really gets to be a complex ethical dilemma. Droning offers such an interesting perspective on the world. And as a photographer I constantly feel the desire to be elevated by about 10 feet. I remember reading about an Ansel Adams photograph, and he talked about standing on top of his van to get a slightly different perspective on some boulders (I'll try to find a link), and that story ALWAYS had me wishing for a car I could stand on top of. Or a moonroof. Or... a drone! It really is a visual game changer.

And then you read about drones landing in migratory bird nesting sites causing untold damage. Or someone using a drone to spy on a neighbor. And the whole notion just becomes awful.

And there is definitely a cyclical oneupmanship that happens. It's like when the selfie stick dropped and everyone got one.

One pull that I started feeling as we were droning in Iceland, and I guess something I've felt even droning here around the farm, is the need to share the experience. Share the literal experience of droning. Not hiding off in a corner trying not to be seen, but to share it. Show people in the moment what you're seeing. Even letting someone tell you where to go. Because then it shifts from a literal annoyance into something that multiple people can enjoy. Though I also felt the need to hide in a corner sometimes too. I felt both things.

As I progress down the path of licensed drone pilot, it'll be a lot to think about and consider.

Lindsey: That's an interesting perspective too, down there at the end on sharing! I did notice you had some people who were interested in and a bit excited about what you were doing, same when we were in Kentucky...and being closer in your launch point in those instances made it possible for them to approach you without being weird and feeling rude about encroaching on your space. I wonder if some of the nuance is being at say...a trail head "heading towards the thing"...vs. the endpoint where all focus is on the thing? Probably all just depends.

Hiding kind of gets to my "get over anxiety" bit. And I think that's a take up space issue that might not leave as much room for thinking about the positive interactions people have with other people using drones.

If I think about it really...part of my critique stems from, as a spectator in an area, I don't like drones being around, particularly because of the sound, which I find to be hyper grating and a little scary. Even with no one around.

Greg: I think its hard not to be totally annoyed by the sound. And in serene, remote places, sound is such a huge part of the experience. It's selfish to take that away from someone just because you have a drone and want to fly it.

But I'm sure that conversation will evolve and shift as they start to make totally silent drones... which will lead to other types of problems.

Or maybe they go the other way and add a boom box function to drones, or a megaphone. Drones flying overhead adding a sound track to your nature experience.