During the school year, my ability to go out and take photographs on a whim greatly diminishes. Coupled with the fact that my main camera was out being repaired (but is finally back!), I just didn't take that many photos in January/February. This shot, however, is one of the last frames in a roll of film that took much longer to process than I ever intended. I can't remember exactly when I shot most of these pictures. I vaguely recall the crazy events of that day, and I recall having my camera that night at Extraordinary Desserts, but this image was a pleasant surprise when I finally got around to scanning it in.

You see, this roll stayed in its canister for roughly two weeks before I finally got around to developing it. Then it spent another two weeks or so hanging in my room to dry, a process which actually only took an hour or so to complete before it morphed into being a mere symbol of my laziness. Yet here it is, a photograph from that elusive roll of film. With my main camera back, I can't wait to see what photos dwell in my near future.

Here's a shot from one of the last batches of photos I took with my Pentax K-5, which is currently sitting in a warehouse in Arizona awaiting repair.

If it's not already apparent, I've started to take a new approach to my photography as of late. Though I repurchased supplies in the fall to develop black and white film after a two-year hiatus to digital, only recently have I begun to take advantage of what the medium has to offer. The photograph above was shot en route to Julian, California on a Pentax K1000 with a custom-modded Minolta lens. Those figures in the foreground are cows, by the way.

As of late, I've found myself made somewhat uncomfortable by the presence of large crowds. It's not that I have a fear of crowds, or some sort of claustrophobia. Rather, I find myself unable to process the visual buffet happening all around me. My mind wanders in a peculiar manner, constantly scanning the horizon for a potential good shot. Even if my camera isn't with me, I keep a constat eye out for good lighting, or a perfectly composed scene. With my new Pentax K-5's extended ISO capabilities, a whole slew of new low-light opportunities have opened up to me, allowing me even greater freedom while shooting street photos. Why, then, would I be unsettled by the abundance of crowds?

Maybe it's the chaos. With random bursts of light illuminating San Diego's Christmas on the Prado in historic Balboa Park, well over a hundred thousand people crowded into tight corridors to experience a single snippet of time. Walking around was a chore, and it became nearly impossible to find a place to stop and rest as the night went on. With vendors flanking the walkways, and long lines forming to enter the many museums, all I could think of was photographing the people around me. So many faces, yet so little time.

Some faces were familiar. The street vendor here, a cheerful man with a kind face, was a pleasant surprise. Only a couple of months prior, I had purchased a journal made out of homemade Nepalese paper from him at a swap-meet-style event at my school. Glad to see him and his wares once again, I made sure to stock up on goods made out of this beautiful paper, never sure when I might stumble upon him once more.

For the most part, everyone at this hectic event seemed to be in a similar state of slightly overwhelmed confusion, though most individuals tried to persevere. In such a maze of constant motion, it can be near impossible to stop and smell the roses. To make matters worse, the only roses to be found were wooden ones, sold in bundles at a popular corner stall. Though they looked beautiful and almost real, that last element of life and authenticity was missing. I worked hard to restrain myself from purchasing a bundle of these wooden roses, and I ultimately left the park with a surprisingly minimal amount of unnecessary purchases.

While a crowd might provide for an abundance of photo opportunities, raw human interaction can often be lost in the process. Just over a year ago, the only thing I wanted to do was move to a big city. The dream and allure of a city that never sleeps, and of the crowded existence of urban life, seemed to be such a beautiful and poetic fantasy. But I've since learned of the beauty of solitude and space, and while that wont stop me from going out in the crowd, there's a good chance I'll always return to a more natural state of human life when all is said and done.

The talent that I have been given eludes me. Night after night, I dream of opportunities and adventures full of limitless ambition and innocent wonder. I've gotten to a point in my "career" where the sheer weight of "what I've got" makes it difficult for me to appreciate what I've been given. My camera kit overwhelms the bags I currently own. My image collection has grown so vast that I barely know how to sort it. Yet I sit here, complaining about things that other individuals in my position would dream of having.

One of the greatest things I've discovered in recent years is the invaluable art of pursuing your goals. We all love to put things off until the next day. Or wait for the next chance to arise. Or, better yet, just tell ourselves that now "isn't the right time." But if an opportunity comes up, the best thing you can do is take advantage of it until you've exhausted all your energy. If you're running to the store, grab a camera just in case. If you see an ominous bush in the corner of your eye while closing your eyes on a camping trip, put off sleeping for another ten minutes or so and grab your camera. Better yet, if you don't even own a camera but have longed to take photographs, why not succumb to the next sale you find?

Success takes a whole lot of patience, and a whole lot of luck. It's not often that you manage to capture a meter ripping a hole in the sky while perched on a hill overlooking a shrinking reservoir. But if you didn't have your camera out in the first place, even that slight possibility is erased. As difficult as it might sound, always be ready for the unexpected, and take every chance you can grab ahold of. In the end, it will have been worth it.

I'll be the first to admit that I haven't been to very many places in this world. Though my ambitions are high, my budget is low. Still, when I get a chance to wander out and explore, I make sure to embrace every moment I am given. Some places in this world, though simple on paper, have the ability to change your every desire and ambition. And my experience one week ago at Hume Lake, California falls right into that narrow category.

What makes Hume Lake so special isn't the scenery. The Sequoia National Park and Forest is full of wonderful scenes of nature in all its glory. Between giant trees and trickling streams set against the bluest sky you've ever seen, the natural beauty of it all is enough to bring you to tears. But Hume Lake has something more. While the nature is stunning and pristine, much of this place is perplexingly unnatural. The shallow lake itself is man-made, created as a logging pond for one of the many short-lived logging operations in this area. A dam holds up one end of the lake, dotted with remnants of an industrial past. The other end of the lake features a stunning complex of buildings that seem to blend in perfectly with the surrounding colors of brown and green. If anything, this dichotomy between the natural world and the man's own ambitions is what sets this place apart as a wonder to behold, and a haven for self-awakening.

One of the main attractions of this place is the large Christian camp complex, illuminated at night in the photograph above. From the stories I've heard, it's a place where great change happens in the lives of thousands of individuals every year, and is something that I'd very much like to experience one day. Additionally, a state-owned campground flanks one side of the lake, and the water itself offers plenty of recreation opportunities. Tenmile Creek, which flows into and out of Hume Lake, also offers plenty of chances for adventure along its increasingly enthralling banks. And the surrounding roads and trails make one's travel options limitless.

My only regret is the fact that I only had a couple of days to explore and capture this great area. With any luck, I'll be back up there sometime soon to attempt to capture this place in photographs once more. Until then, I can only try to bring a sliver of this peace and serenity back to my own environment.