“Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So... get on your way.”
                        -Dr. Seuss

It may still be humid summer in Florida, but my night on Mt. Mitchell was cold.

A drive up the Blue Ridge Parkway out of Asheville, North Carolina, in late afternoon light brought us to many overlooks, each with abundant green instead of the dappled autumn colors we'd hoped for. Along the Parkway, in the crest of the timeworn Black Mountains, lies the summit of Mount Mitchell, the highest point east of the Mississippi, standing at a rounded 6,288 feet (2,037 meters). The mountain was named after Elisha Mitchell, a professor at the University of North Carolina, who determined its height in 1835 and fell to his death at nearby Mitchell Falls in 1857, having returned to verify his earlier measurements.

Most of the high peaks in this area shared a confusing trail of names in the late 19th century, with Mt. Gibbs bearing the name of Mt. Mitchell, and Clingman's Dome (Peak) also once bearing the name of Mt. Mitchell. Years later, Mt. Gibbs became Clingman's Peak and even later, after its elevation was verified and the "tallest peak" crown was bestowed, Mt. Mitchell was officially named Mt. Mitchell and Clingman's Peak became Clingman's Dome, except not as Mt. Gibbs, but for a peak in the Smokies. Confused yet? No kidding!

Mt. Mitchell is one area peak I have had on my list to explore for several years. A few laughs of indecision followed by a quick left turn, and we began driving up the twisting road to the summit. It was the time of day when the light begins to change quickly, especially in the mountains. We hopped out of the car in the first pull-out and gasped as cold wind hit our bare arms and raised goose bumps. Florida blood runs thin in high altitudes! It reminded me of the old woman selling apples in Hendersonville the day we arrived who commented (as I dug in my bag in the back of the car for a coat), "that girl cold or som'thin'?". This girl was, indeed, cold - again!

At the summit, we found a group of photographers, all geared up with parkas and tripods and good conversation. It was fun to visit and wait for the sun to sink. I thought of all the sunsets I've waited for along the Gulf of Mexico and was grateful to be up high - way up high - for this one, even if it was very, very cold. Clouds of mist moved in and blew through us, looking more like steam than clouds.

I stepped back from the gear line-up at the edge of the summit and noticed the fine line of silhouettes waiting in the the rosy-yellow light and mist. A few clouds and a tiny bit of patience later, and this photo was born. I smiled, knowing that while the sunset might have been the starlet of the evening, this band of hopefuls in amazing light made a much better story.

Nikon D2x, Nikkor 24-120 VR @ 32mm, 1/80, f/14

“Everything that we see is a shadow cast by that which we do not see.”
                        -Martin Luther King, Jr.

Nikon D2x, Nikkor 12-24 @ 12mm, 1/125, f/14

“When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain."
                        -Mark Twain

The Gulf was flat calm tonight as a friend and I trudged through the sand long after the sun had kissed another day above ground goodbye. The water was a mirror for the delicious cyan overhead. As we neared the end of our walk, we passed a man fishing in the shallows and it reminded me of a story I'd learned just this week.

Fish sing love songs!

I am researching information for a new book of photography that will also include a good bit of writing about the photographs. I stumbled across a story about a couple of oceanographers who were recording fish "chorusing" in Charlotte Harbor prior to Hurricane Charley in August, 2004. After reviewing some of their recorded "eavesdropping" of love struck, spawning fish both before and after the storm, they discovered that fish sound levels on the evening of Charley - and for three days thereafter - were higher than the three days prior to the storm. Among the recordings were the sand sea trout’s unique call, which typically begins its courtship songs about dusk and ends a few hours later and sounds like a “double-pulse” purring, while the fury of Charley sounded like a dull “shhhhhhhh” underwater.

Indeed, vocal communication is important for the survival and reproductive success of all animals. This is especially true for the nocturnally breeding teleost fish, the plainfin midshipman – fondly nicknamed the `Californian singing fish' because their humming mating calls are familiar nocturnes to Californian locals. Reproductive females must recognize the high-frequency components of those `hums', which is absent in other types of vocal signal, to locate the love nests carefully prepared by the calling males.

Love is tricky, it seems, even if you have gills.

Nikon D2x, Nikkor 24-120 VR @ 55mm, 1/1.6 second, f/10

“"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a little better; whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is the meaning of success."
                        -Ralph Waldo Emerson.”