Snow Day

I first got up around 1:30 this morning and had a peek out my window to see if the hype about the snowstorm were accurate. Our local news stations had agreed that the first signs of the storm were supposed to occur late in the evening. Although we’ve had a few sprinkles of snow over the last few years, it really hasn’t been much to write home about, so I was a bit disappointed to find that there was still nothing happening outside.

At 5:00 a.m, while most sane people are still in bed, I was delighted to look outside and see a wonderful blanket of white. I debated about going back to bed for a half a second before starting to get dressed. I was already doing a mental inventory of everything I’d need to make my little foray as comfortable as possible: double socks, hat, scarf, batteries, cell phone, my 35mm Olympus OM-2, etc..
Mary heard me getting dressed, and seemed fairly intent on knowing my plans. I announced that snow had finally come to Ballard, and that I wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to get some pictures while i could. Not one to miss out on sharing the winter wonder, she wasted no time in getting up and getting dressed. She was as excited by the thought of a good snowfall as I was.

And then there’s Willy. Poor Willy. He’s only just turned two back in November, and Mary and I have both been waiting for his first real snow. He’s never really been in the stuff, and we were both going to be there to watch his reactions during his normal morning routines. We walked him with us up to the top of Swedish Hospital’s parking garage, and we snapped off a few pictures of the neighborhood as he tried to comprehend the strange changes in the climate. I may have been putting too much into it, but I got the distinct impression that he was not terribly happy.
After a little while we dropped our four-legged friend back at the homestead, downloaded the pictures we’d taken on Mary’s camera, and headed out for a cup of hot chocolate at one of our neighborhood coffeehouses. With cameras in hand we walked the streets in the predawn amid the falling snow.

I try not to gush quite so blatantly, but let me say here that I think a good snowstorm is wonderful! I love the way the stuff snaps and pops under my steps. I love that smell that fills the air when it’s snowing, and how quiet it always feels. I love the way a pristine blanket of snow can turn even the strangest setting into art. I love the way light plays on snow enough to try to get a little serious about taking a few pictures.
With chocolate in hand, Mary and I meandered down to Ballard Avenue to get a picture of the bell tower that stands in place of Ballard’s old City Hall. Being so early, there was hardly anyone else around, so we stood in the middle of the street and tried to compose our best shots. (Unfortunately, in the end we found ourselves very disappointed with the night photos. As you’ll see here, this battery-hungry digital camera, a FugiFilm FinePix 2400z, takes far better pictures in normal daylight conditions. It’s about three years old now, and we don’t know how much this kind of technology has improved.)

Beyond the pigeons cooing from beneath store roofs and the occasional skidding tire, things were still surreally quiet as we made our return trek home. Lighting conditions were beginning to change with the dawn, so I blew the rest of the 1000 ASA in my Olympus OM-2. I took shots of Vera’s, the Bell Tower and The Old Pequliar, but really I don’t remember all the rest. (I am guessing that there will be lighting problems with these pictures, as well. Oh, well, I’m still learning.)
Walking back up N.W. Market, Mary and I got home and prepared to part company. Mary needed to stay home to attend to some personal obligations, and I’d decided to walk over to the Ballard Bridge to take as many pictures as I could, using her digital camera. Willy found contentment in watching the curiosities of the outside world from warmth and safety of his special perch. So, bundled to the nose, I hit the streets.

The snow-covered streets had only light traffic when I started out, and aside from the car I watched high-center on a cement barrier in the parking lot of Les Schwab Tires, I hadn’t seen any accidents. The low volume of traffic also gave me the opportunity to take certain liberties while taking my photos while on the bridge. In fact it was so pleasant, I decided that I’d best just keep walking my usual loop–down to Fisherman’s Terminal, around the base of Magnolia, across the Ballard Locks and then back home.

Knowing that everyone had other things to worry about besides me provided a little extra brevity. As I zigzagged my way to vantage I wouldn’t have normally considered, I realized my good fortune. I took pictures of the dozens of fishing boats moored in Salmon Bay, having no idea which season they are currently between. I thought of the boats and of the buildings, and took a few pictures of Magnolia and Queen Anne.
Grabbing a few quick shots of some trains near the train-yard at the base of the Ballard Bridge, I finally made my way over to Fisherman’s Terminal. Most of the retail shops were dark or unattended, and the parking lot was fairly empty. This didn’t come as much of a surprise. Seattleites are fairly notorious for their driving behavior when snow actually falls, and the occasional “closed for snow” sign removed my doubts. I suppose that it was also quite logical to find that the restaurants were in full swing for their captive patrons.

Walking around the docks beneath the descending canopy of snowflakes seemed made my survey feel more intimate. I’ve made frequent visits to this place, and guess I’ve grown accustomed to the somber tone of it’s activity. Today, while the boatyards did seem to be partially under the quiet influence of the storm, many of the regular ship hands appeared to be carrying out their regular duties without any real sign of hindrance or hesitation. The faces I watched were somber and serious– quite a contrast from the wide-eyed and smiling expressions I’d seen on the bridge. Obviously unimpressed by such mild conditions, these hearty folks carried on with their day, appearing to take very little notice. (Considering that I indulged the urge to wander into several areas that may very well have been restricted, I’m quite glad people didn’t take notice.)

Leaving the boatyards, I made my long trek through Magnolia’s industrial area, heading toward the south side of the Ballard Locks. The mile stretch of warehouses and machine yards seemed subdued; muted by winter’s tidings. While there were plenty of snow-covered truck and cars to suggest hidden workforces, if it weren’t for the yahoo’s speeding their trucks into spinouts, the main thoroughfare would’ve seemed all but abandon.
Life more than resumed as I approached the Ballard Locks. It was apparent that other adventurous souls had the same wanderlust I had, or at least some variation thereof. As I tried to capture the wealth of pictures around me, I contemplated the foolishness courage of the kids that were hurling themselves down the steep hills towards the railed waterside. I listened carefully to the laughter, the distant train and the running water as I made my way across the locks. And I wondered why there were so many people there, but not a single boat.

With the low battery indicator glaring on the camera’s digital viewfinder, I sparingly chose a few last choice shots. I dismissed the opportunity to photograph an abandoned city bus that had apparently run into serious serious trouble. However, as I passed by Epilogue Books, I couldn’t resist taking a quick shot of two men making the abnormally vacant parking lot part of their impromptu cross-country skiing course.

And as I finally made it through the heart of Ballard and neared the home stretch, I was surprised to find my two faithful friends walking up the sidewalk to meet me. Willy was obviously negotiating the snow better this time out, but he still shook his paws fiercely and bounded and jolted as he walked. I suppose that he and I shared more in common by this point