An Uphill Task

Pedal To The Metal

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Like any photographer, I was awake very early in Haines Junction when I was in the Yukon in August-September last year. I always find that the soft light just before and after dawn and similarly at dusk is great for photographs with any lens. More to the point, you often get unusual glimpses of any setting at these times, before normal routines take hold.

This was my second trip to the beautiful town surrounded by mountains and, just as it enthralled me the first time, I still got a kick out of walking beside the historic Alaska Highway, shooting a variety of scenes as I walked.

Something made me look across the highway and I spotted this cyclist and I knew it was one of those poetically rare scenes that had to be captured immediately. He was a long way away from me, but I had two cameras around my neck, a Pentax K100D with my 18-125mm lens and a Pentax K200D with my 70-300mm lens.

I grabbed the latter and waited a few seconds until the cyclist was closer to the bend and more in line with the mountain. I was too far away to find out who the cyclist was or where he was going – but I just hope he wasn’t going all the way to the summit.

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Perfection Under The Vast Yukon Sky

Yes, We Did A U-Turn On The Alaska Highway

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Sometimes you need a bit of luck. In early September, I was on the Alaska Highway, travelling from Haines Junction to Whitehorse, after being lucky enough to get a shot of a charging grizzly a couple of hours earlier.

We had covered close to 2000 kilometres in six days and, as always, my head was swivelling in every direction as I sat in the passenger seat. I used two cameras during the trip, a Pentax K100D with my 18-125mm lens and a Pentax K200D with my 70-300mm lens. I had shot several hundred pictures through the window of the 4WD as we travelled at 100 kilometres an hour.

But this time, I only had time to squeeze off a couple of shots as a lake flashed past on my side of the vehicle. Margaret Goodwin of Yukon Tourism was at the wheel and I asked her a few seconds later if she would actually mind turning back. Willingly, she found a spot to do a U-turn and we retraced our path as I looked for the lake.

It was the only time on the entire trip that we had doubled back – and it was well worth it.

So why did I make the unusual request? Because all through my week in the territory, I had been looking for the quintessential Yukon shot. I wanted one frame that would capture a vast horizon, under a big sky, encapsulating snowy mountains and some of the beautiful fall colours.


Yes, I had shot several scenes that fulfilled those self-imposed requirements – but for some reason I knew this vista would be one of the best. I guess I would rank it with another shot taken on the same trip, the fourth and final frame on my post Big Blue of mountain peaks reflected in the surface of an amazing blue lake near Dawson City.

The Blue Lake shots were taken under a flawless blue sky, but here on the Alaska Highway, the sky was a showcase of beautiful hues that looked like a watercolour painting. As you can see from these shots, it was dusk and there were ribbons of blue-grey cloud above the mountains. The lake was perhaps 250 metres from one end to the other. As you can see from the shots, it was fringed by trees that spanned several colours from autumn’s palette.

And there was very little breeze. While this might not seem like an important factor, it comes into play in a big way when you are photographing a reflection on the surface of water, as I was attempting here.

Not one of these images has been enhanced in any way. I never use Photoshop – as most readers know by now. The true beauty of communicating through photography is to allow someone to see exactly what you saw through your lens.

That evening in the Yukon, everything suddenly seemed to come together for this series of shots.


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The Wild Blue Wander

Just Before The Clouds Came Rolling In

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I returned to Haines Junction in the Yukon a couple of months ago, after a nine-year absence, I was fairly tired after a long highway drive and an Icefields Discovery flight that took me, in part, over Mount Logan, Canada's highest peak.


I seriously considered just chilling in my hotel room at The Raven for an hour or so, but discarded the idea immediately. The last time I was here was in May, in very cloudy weather. This time, I knew the weather was going to deteriorate, so I wanted to get in as much photography as possible.


This clump of about two dozen aspens was right across the Alaska Highway from the front of the hotel, so I headed across the road to get as many shots as I could. Let me tell you something, mate - it ain’t an easy task shooting aspen leaves on a windy day.


You know how they’re called "trembling aspens"? Well, there is good reason for that. Even the slightest breeze sends the leaves a-flutter. For someone like me, who has not grown up or lived in the vicinity of aspen (Darjeeling had birch and pine, but not aspen, to the best of my knowledge) just standing there and listening to the rustling of the leaves was a rewarding gift from Nature.


It was, and I’m concentrating very hard here to paint a word-picture for you, akin to listening to someone rubbing tiny pieces of parchment together. It was a middle-range sound, akin to what Beethoven might have called The Leaf Symphony.


I was blessed, because the incredible blue sky was the perfect backdrop for this sequence of shots. And just a few minutes after I’d finished, the light had already changed and the mountains that form a half-necklace around Haines Junction were already fringed with low cloud.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Cop Out

Officer, Be Careful Of Woodpeckers

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I was in Haines Junction nine years ago, I took some panoramic shots of the mountains that surround this little town blessed with great views. At the time, I never thought I’d return. But when I was back in Haines Junction last month, I woke up early, just so that I could return to the same spot and take the same images from exactly the same vantage point.

It’s not often you can tell people that you just jaywalked across the Alaska Highway to take a photograph, but that’s exactly what I did here - after checking to see that there was no traffic and yes, I actually remembered to look the "wrong" way first.

I walked downhill, looking across the highway, when I noticed this police cruiser at the Shell service station. But, like one of those cartoon characters, I did a quick double-take and realised (even from about 50 metres away) that it was not a real cruiser, but a wooden replica.

I knew these had been tested in parts of Europe for the past few years, but it was the first time I’d actually seen one myself. I later found out that the students in the local school had created the wooden replica in their woodwork class. I’m sure they all scored A+ grades.

I guess I could have captioned this post "Mountie Everest".

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Verse And Worse

Random Wit, Errant Rhyme. Not A Literary Crime

Ol' Blue Eyes sure hit those notes on "My Way"

I tried a-singin' on the Alaska Highway

I hummed his tune as I drove through Chicken

A-wonderin' when the plot would thicken

Freeze A Crowd

Wanna Play Ice Spy?

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

The best thing about an icy morning here in Melbourne is the sunny, cloudless day. This shot was taken about half an hour ago, just before 9am Sunday morning (yes, it's Sunday here) when most of the ice had melted off the top of my car. But I raced out with my camera because the sun was glinting on the thin remnants of the ice, making it glint like tiny diamonds.

On a working day, the trick is to make sure you never suffer from FHS, or frozen hose syndrome. Back in the winter of '95, I was confronted with a car so comprehensively frozen over, even the door handles were iced shut. What? Me worry? Never. I just walked over purposefully to where I had cannily uncoiled the garden hose the previous night, in preparation for what I knew would be a grim cold snap. Only problem was, the hose was frozen stiff. It was like someone had put a metal rod into the hose.

The other danger, for Melburnians, is in disconnected hoses. See ice on the car. Connect hose. Turn tap on. Hose connection splits under pressure. You're drenched and ready to do a Jack Frost impression.

But you have to feel sorry for the Russian bloke who copped his own version of FHS, about four years ago. There he was, at a deserted bus stop on a sub-zero night. And the pressure on his bladder was beginning to mount. So he did the decent thing and looked all around, to make sure he wouldn't offend anyone by seeking relief.

He nestled into the corner of the bus shelter but he got too close. In that instant, flesh and metal fused together in the cold. Rescue workers eventually got him free, but when warm water failed to do the trick, they had to resort to pouring hot water instead. When the mortified bloke got to hospital, they had to figure out whether to treat him for frostbite or burns.

And spare a thought for the hardy residents of the Yukon (yep, Sergeant Preston's territory) in northern Canada, where the mercury often drops to minus 30C, even before the wind chill is taken into account. One evening I came out of the Gateway Lounge, a pub in Haines Junction on the Alaska Highway. And squinted at the electrical leads attached to every parking spot. Huh? That's where hardy winter drinkers plug in under-bonnet connections so their engine blocks don't freeze.