Transforming The Sound Of Silence

Music To My Ears

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

On a recent visit to Melbourne's Tullamarine airport, I happened to see these miniature didgeridoos on a shelf in the corner of the souvenir store.

Because I always have my camera bag slung over my shoulder, I walked up to the store manager and asked if I could possibly take three or four shots simply for my blog, with no commercial intentions in mind.

I was given permission immediately and good-naturedly so I quickly tried to get some close ups showing the strong colours and distinctive artwork on their surface.


If you’ve never heard about a didgeridoo, it’s a beautiful, traditional Aboriginal wind instrument. It is simply a long wooden pipe on which complex rhythmic patterns are played more or less on a variation of a single note.

Let me point out that even if you’ve never seen one, you’ve probably heard a didgeridoo on a movie soundtrack. If you saw Paul Hogan’s Oscar-nominated film Crocodile Dundee or one of its sequels, you would have heard its deep, memorable timbre.

Not only are these instruments a natural canvas for Aboriginal dot painting, I’ve also been told that playing them is also a work of art.


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Elk Dorado

Herd It On The Grapevine

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Sometimes you just get plain lucky. Late on Monday, as we drove from Haines Junction to Whitehorse, I was shooting through the window of the fast-moving 4WD, as I had done right through the trip. We were more than halfway through the journey when I spotted an oval-shaped lake.

There was very little breeze, so the surface of the water was absolutely calm, reflecting the beautiful yellow and green tones of the fall colours. We turned around and headed back up the highway so I could take some shots of the reflections - and while I did so, we could hear the high-pitched sound of what I thought was a herd of caribou.

But Margaret Goodwin, of Yukon Tourism, pointed out that it was actually the sound of elk. In the stillness of the evening, the sound was clear and dramatic. It drew me like a magnet.

Sure enough, less than a quarter of a mile up the highway, up a grassy knoll, was the herd. I got some shots of the animals closest to me, when we noticed the antlers belonging to a stag.


So there I am, pointing my lens at this magnificent beast, but what I really want, more than anything else, is for him to look directly at me. Antler shots are great, but there's nothing better than actually having a stag looking directly into your lens.

When in doubt, improvise. So I relied on the age-old theory that if you don't know an Aussie bloke's name, you call him Bruce.

"Psssst, Bruce," I called out (not too loudly, though) as I tried to attract the attention of the stag.


If Crocodile Dundee could hypnotise a water buffalo, maybe (just maybe) I could get this fella to look straight at me.

"Oi, Bruce," I tried again, speaking in a low, measured tone that I hoped would carry clearly. "Look this way."

So he did. And I hit the shutter as quick as I could, before he turned majestically away.

I have to say, though, my best animal photo from this week was a priceless shot of a Charging Grizzly. Do check it out and tell me whether you agree wth a very funny comment from Sharon Ishika, a brilliant doctor who has been a close friend of mine since we were about seven years old.

She checked out the shot I took of the grizzly on the charge and had a short but succinct message for me. This is what she said: "That is exactly what I told my mother when she insisted you were a "nice boy" -- he's stupid! Forty years down the line you prove me right. Forget the attempts at being smart like working out the camera details."

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