Rant About Buying a Photo Backpack

I'm convinced there is no perfect photo backpack, only almost-but-not-quite-right packs. This explains my growing collection of photo-gear lugging-gear. Each backpack seems to have at least one flaw that prevents it from achieving backpack nirvana. Also I'm not into the giant packs, I really need about 715 cubic inches of space (W11" x D5" x H13") plus a pocket for a laptop. I'm using the pack to transport my photo equipment by car or plane; on arrival I'll unload chargers, cables, laptop, etc. to use it for an eight-to-ten-hour day of shooting and I'll be carrying it for about a third of that time.

So I'm looking for a new backpack and have decided this is what manufacturers need to show their customers (people doing online video reviews should do the same):

• The very first photo should be of someone who is 5' 10" in height wearing the backpack so I can get a feel for the size. Printing the exterior dimensions with a photo of the pack sitting on a white seamless background isn't good enough.
• The next photo should show the same person wearing the pack with the waist straps in use. Far too many packs have useless waist straps because they are too high above my hips (and I'm average height).
• While you're at it hook up the sternum strap.
• Are the eyelets of the zippers big enough so that a TSA sanctioned lock will fit through them to secure the pack?
• Show the pack with a tripod that extends to 60" (without the centerpost being raised) clipped into place. Three or four leg sections, your choice.

Of course show the obligatory pack laden with glittering lenses picture, but everyone can do that, I mean, it is a photo backpack right? And if it isn't obvious the features mentioned in the list above are almost required for me to buy the pack (but I'll probably compromise, see paragraph one above about fatal flaws). Lastly, if you want to delight your customers ship each pack with a pocket for a water bottle, and a bottle, that would be perfect!

Economy

In the not so distant past when the only food available was what was in season the act of canning food in the summer for use in the winter was probably undertaken as a necessary chore. I imagine that most people today, if they are aware of canning at all, think of it as pointless work since almost all fruits and vegetables are available year round. But there is a deep satisfaction that comes from making food (preferably from produce grown in your own garden) and storing it away for the future.

Jars of pizza sauce cooling. Happiness and contentment.

Canning is not an easy task, there is preparation to be done including picking, washing, cutting, and maybe cooking. There is lively discussion, "Is that Basil or Parsley?" "Should the water be boiling when the jars go in, or just simmering?" And finally waiting for that tell-tale pop from each lid that indicates a jar is sealed, and that all the work that went into it was successful. The best part about canning is the feeling of satisfaction. Satisfaction that you have filled a basic need. Satisfaction that in the dark and cold of February you can open a jar of pears that you canned in the fall and those pears remind you that spring must come again and it is not so far away.

When the canning is finished and the equipment washed there is a contentment and peacefulness found in contemplating the jars cooling on the counter. Canning is a positive act that engages the best human characteristics: nurturing a garden, caring for living beings, patience as the plants grow, skilled work processing the produce in the jars, storing the food for the future, and finally enjoying the hard work when a jar is opened. In closing I must thank my parents for my introduction to canning; even the memory of those days when I came home from school and the house was filled with an almost over-powering smell of vinegar because relish was being canned has not been enough to prevent me from doing the same (canning that is, not making relish).

Squelch Kings of Maine

They have been burning rubber in Maine as long as I can remember. My grandfather called them "figure 8s." My Maine cousins called them "squelch marks" (written English does not even come close to conveying the proper pronunciation of "squelch," to say it properly involves copious amounts of air and saliva). Squelch marks should never be confused with skid marks; skid marks are caused by braking so hard that the tires lock up. Squelch marks happen when the tires of a vehicle get spinning so fast that they heat up and melt. As a tire becomes softer from the heat it begins to grip the road enough to drive the vehicle forward, but it still spins faster than the vehicle is moving so it leaves a layer of rubber behind. As the vehicle catches up with the tire there is less slipping so the tire cools, and eventually the squelch fades out. The other thing to note in this squelch tutorial is that with the rear tires slipping they tend to also move sideways as they push the heavy front of the vehicle. As the driver steers to correct his course (if he can) it causes the marks to wander back and forth often forming a gentle sine wave. It is common to find two marks made near each other weaving back and forth, if done with skill the two marks will cross each other, appearing like two twisted threads or a series of 8s strung together. Now you understand the basics of burning rubber.

The longest and darkest squelch marks I can recall. These were not created at the same time.

We drove to Maine earlier this summer and arrived in Blue Hill very early in the morning, still it was light enough to see that there were some very recently laid down and impressive squelch marks. It occurred to me that they might make an interesting series of photographs. I remember thinking two things about how the photos should be made: they should be black and white, and the light should be thin overcast, not direct sunlight. By the time I was able to schedule the shoot I had limited time and the light was alternating between direct noon sunlight and shadow caused by a passing cloud. I made a loop of routes 176 and 172 looking for the best marks and I photographed four different ones that day, but only two resulted in pictures worth displaying. I've learned that the best pictures have the road converging on the horizon with two marks. Of the two rejects one has very good light and the road converges with just a slight curve but there is only a single mark and it is to the side of the right lane. When I took the photo I stood far off the center of the road and the picture looks unbalanced. The other photograph was made on a curve and the road arcs from one side of the scene to the other. The resulting picture looks like a rather pedestrian photo of a road.

These marks were created at the same time, both rear tires are spinning which is unusual with modern vehicles.

All of my "fine art" pictures are heavily manipulated, though they don't often look like it (I'm ambivalent about this result, I spend a lot of time trying to get a print that matches how I previsualized the scene, and in the end it's difficult for a viewer to see the work that went into the image). These images have had local and global contrast changes. Some regions have been lightened or darkened, but the marks themselves have not been specifically altered. I've had the prints on display for two days at work and often the first question is, "what did you do to the skid marks?" After I explain that they are not skid marks (see paragraph one) my answer is, "nothing." They really were this dark.

Now I think that each year I will have to do a squelch mark survey of routes 176 and 172 to keep adding to my collection. Maybe someday there will be a squelch retrospective in the Surry Community Hall. I like to think that a fabled Squelch King will recognize his handiwork and proudly claim it as his own, and on that day I can ask the question that has been on my mind many years now, "How can you afford to wreck tires like that?"