Tag Archives: hammer

Fire In The Hole

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First you hear the small click as the hammer drops forward and the flint strikes the frizzen, a metal plate made of steel, causing sparks to drop into the pan holding a small amount of gunpowder. The resulting fire, or flash in the pan, caused by the sparks igniting the powder travels through a small hole in the barrel where the main charge of gunpowder rests. A lead bullet with its wrapping of cloth separating the bullet from the powder charge sits tightly packed against the main powder charge. In a moment almost too fast to measure the main charge of powder ignites with a mighty roar and the bullet and the fire driving it speeds down the barrel to its target.

When everything happens correctly, and you truly want it to happen correctly, say when a grizzly is charging you intent on dismembering you, or an enemy is trying to shoot you at the same time you’re trying to shoot him, you want all the actions described above to function as designed and produce that fire in the hole. As you can see above everything worked as planned and a successful shot was fired. Now to load the rifle again in a big hurry if that shot at the grizzly went wide.

If I Had A Hammer

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2016-03-16Hammer7077

It was  a cold, cold Christmas Eve in the Grand Canyon. There was no wind but that just intensified the cold, giving everything a deep blue look. The lodge was still a half mile away and the lights beckoned me forward, each step closer to the beautiful yellow warmth radiating from each window across the canyon, that far off rim seeming weeks away.

The light was nearly gone and my cameras felt like bricks as they weighed against my chest as if they each weighed 50 lbs. a piece. After a full day’s shooting their weight begins to double or triple as you make the long trek back home. When it is dark out and you’re cold and you still have a long walk in front of you, you begin to see things that you might normally just walk by, never noticing their beauty because you have places to go and things to do. But now with nothing else to occupy you other than placing one foot in front of the other, these little things become visible and more intriguing.

Like this handsome wrought iron fence. The park service in its infinite wisdom placed this fence along the edge of the canyon to keep the unwary from rushing up and accidentally hurtling themselves over the side. Apparently tired of hearing the screams as the unlucky made the mile long descent to the canyon floor below, they erected this barrier to promote public safety. They needed the barrier of course, what with the tendency of the public nearly out of their minds with the beauty of Canyon, to save them from themselves, but they didn’t have to make it beautiful. But they did.

 As I wearily approached, the very last ray of the setting sun broke through the high-flying clouds to illuminate just this small portion of the fence. A celestial spotlight saying “Look here. Look at this thing that man has made.”. Each blow from the hammer visible on its surface, the resulting texture with the patina from long exposure to the elements a ripple on the surface of the metal. The top edge of the rail rounded over from the countless caresses of unnoticing hands rubbing its surface as the crowds stood and looked out over the majesty of the Grand Canyon. It  would be easy to not notice this small bit of detail that accents the grandeur that is this spectacular place, this Grand Canyon. And most did not see this fence as such, it being that utilitarian device it is, it just kept them and theirs safe as it was supposed to.

But things look different as I mentioned before, when you are cold and hungry and far from home. Still when you are given a present like this, this tiny showcase of fleeting light and dark and texture and patina, plus the ability to see something common in a new way, a way that shows you the true beauty of everyday things in everyday life, you stop and take it in and marvel that these everyday things in our life can be so beautiful.

The Anvil and The Hammer

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Anvil-Hammer4386

Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith’s door
And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;
When looking in, I saw upon the floor,
Old hammers worn with beating years of time.*

This poem comes to mind whenever I see this picture. It was taken on a stormy, stormy day on the way to Hovenweep. There was thunder and wind and the light had a deep reddish tinge to it that I hadn’t seen before. Lightning was there too, but it was too fast for my shutter, so I have to imagine it again each time I view  this image.

Storms in this part of the country don’t last all that long. They tend to be intense but over soon. They’re not like the slow-moving deep-soaking storms back in the Midwest where they last for hours. Those can be heavy but unless they’re tornado type thunderstorms they seem manageable. These western storms are not manageable. They break on you in moments with a fierceness that is almost personal and care little for the aftermath.

That is part of the allure of these big open spaces. The land is big, the views are big, the weather bigger still. This hugeness with all its wonders and dangers and intensity becomes part of you. You can move away but you cannot forget it.

The anvil rings loudest for those who listen.

* From The Anvil Of God’s Word by John Clifford