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.

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

Fagradalsfjall

Fagradalsfjall arial shot from a helicopter with a helicopter in the smoke of the crater

The above photo may be one of the best photos I've ever taken, and might be one of the best photos I ever take in my lifetime. And it's also a photo that leaves a lot to be desired.

On our trip to Iceland, we got to see Fagradalsfjall twice. The first was 3 days into the trip and we hiked to the lava flow in the valley. The weather was spotty. Sun for brief moments, but mostly clouds that brought a light rain. The cold rain hitting the freshly hardened lava produced cool looking bits of steam throughout the lava flow.

We were able to get right up next to the flow and see beautiful color contrasts of red rock on the black. And some cool bits where rock was engulfed by the lava to become something new. The whole area felt very primal. Our hike took us about an hour plus the time we spent photographing. But we inevitably cut things short because of the rain and we had to get to our next spot before it would get too dark. That meant not climbing the hill that would lead to a view of the crater.

Our second visit was 13 days into the trip and the day before we'd leave Iceland. We were lucky to get a spot on a helicopter that would take us over the crater and land near by. Again weather would be a crapshoot as well as the conditions of the volcano, would it be erupting? Tracking the weather that morning it looked like some ugly stuff would be coming in near our take off time. But luckily it held off just long enough for our flight.

The volcano was not erupting that day. It had just gone dormant after several days of erupting. While that was disappointing, it's really no less incredible. I think we're all intrigued and attracted to moments of chaos and color, which is what an active eruption embodies. Molten magma is just fun to say. But the results of the fury and fire are also breathtaking. The black trail of scorched earth and the discoloration left from the lava. The tiny bits of new growth that had taken root. It was an amazing sight of the life cycle earth has been experiencing for 4.5 gigaannum.

One thing I did not expect when we landed was to step on the scorched moss. Throughout Iceland there is moss everywhere. It is an important part of the ecosystem. To walk on it is spongy. You can imagine just laying down and taking a nap it's so comforting. The scorched moss near the volcano's crater was no different. It had just as much bounce as the green moss had.

From our landing spot we had a view overlooking the lava field we had hiked to just 10 days earlier. It was cool seeing people moving around down there. So tiny. Next to this volcano we are all tiny.

My best photo came after we took off again. Earlier I had been in one of the 4 seats in the back of the helicopter. But on the way home I got to sit in the co-pilots seat. It was from that vantage point that I got to frame up the crater and the other helicopter levitating amongst the smoke. The helicopter gives the whole thing a sense of scale and again that feeling of smallness. The photo would certainly be more dynamic with an erupting crater and flowing lava. But as is it's still incredible. And I'm proud of it.

Tiny people dot the landscape walking towards the lava flow

Discoloration on the scorched Earth

A sculpture emerges from the lava flow

Rocks melding into one new rock

Discoloration on the scorched Earth

Discoloration on the scorched Earth

Contrast of red rocks and lava rock

Steam from the hot lava flow and cool rain coming down

New growth atop scorched moss

The edge of the lava flow

Contrast of red rocks and lava rock

The lava flow coming down the valley

Reykjanesviti

Reykjanesviti, Iceland

We saw Reykjanesviti in the distance from a geothermal area. That first image I got from the parking lot of the geothermal area (Lindsey Marks got some great photos of the steam coming up from the Earth). It's Iceland's oldest lighthouse and marks landfall for Reykjavik and Keflavik. At this early point in the trip we were already running behind, and we very nearly left without taking a closer look.

"Well we might as well. We're right here." So we drove on the lighthouse road to the shoreline and were treated to an amazing cliffs and rough water situation.

As will be a running theme for the entire trip, the weather was shitty. Winds and intermittent rain. It was nearly impossible to keep my lens and camera dry long enough to take photos. The first thing we'd do every time we'd return to the car was wipe all the gear down.

At this shoreline the waves would rhythmically batter the rocks kicking seaspray up into the air. It was peaceful yet incredibly violent. A reminder why lighthouses like Reykjanesviti are needed.

I played with the color grading on this image a bit more than usual.

Waves crash the shoreline.

Reykjanesviti viewed from the gap in a rock.

Holmsberg Light

Holmsberg Light, Iceland

This lighthouse wasn't on our itinerary. In fact it's rarely on anyones itinerary. It was a lighthouse that Lindsey found when looking for sights between our destinations. Spots that might be interesting for a stop off. And this just happened to be the first place we stopped.

What I'll always remember is that we were just getting our feet wet in terms of driving in Iceland. I mean driving anywhere is always the same, but when you're driving in a different country there is a heightened sense of dread. The signs are all a little different. And even if you've studied what they mean, you'll doubt yourself the first couple times. Driving to Holmsberg Light we had our first transition from paved road to gravel road. At the time that was a shock. Here in the US, switching to a gravel or dirt road can often mean a private drive. So one starts to think of trespassing. Holmsberg Light is also near some industrial plants, and our GPS guided us towards some of their gatehouses.

But ahead we forged, eventually up a winding gravel road that ended with the view you see here.

As the trip went on, we found that we spent an equal amount of time on paved and gravel roads. Often driving 80/kph (50/mph) on the gravel roads like it was nothing. Holmsberg Light proved to be a first step acclimating to our new environment. From this point on we were better prepared for all the challenges we'd face including rain, sleet, snow, and near gale force winds.

Kirkjufell on Iceland's Snæfellsnes Peninsula

Kirkjufell on Iceland’s Snæfellsnes Peninsula

Kirkjufell (Church Mountain) is on the north shore of Iceland's Snæfellsnes Peninsula and is probably one of the top 5 most photographed places in the country. If you search photos of Iceland, you'll immediately see it and the two nearby waterfalls.

For a photographer in Iceland, this is one of those bucket list locations. I'm not proud to say that I had a lot of anxiety in photographing this location. I've never felt like a very talented landscape photographer. I never felt like that side of my work ever really connected with people, in the same way that my performance work had. But I also felt like I knew the techniques. And I've seen this photo taken by so many other photographers that I felt like, if I could nail the techniques then I'd have at least an image I could hold up for comparison. And at least find some validation that I could make something at an equal level.

That's also a pretty unfair thing to put upon one's self. So many factors come into play. The weather for one could literally be anything. The day before this was gale force winds and snowy. The day after was icy rain. But this day we actually got to see a sunset, and we got some color in the skies.

Personally I have no shame attached to photographing popular spots. I think walking in another photographer's shoes and seeing the scene the way they did can be incredibly helpful. And ultimately I'm proud to have gotten this shot, even if it is the same.

Selfie at Kirkjufell

That’s my camera and tripod holding my space amongst the other photographers