Photo Gallery Style: Black&White

A collection of some of the most beautiful "Black&White" professional photographs & prints I've taken over the years. Please note there may be multiple pages of photographs so keep scrolling or look for the "Older Posts" button!

Day 227.

We found a baby squirrel at a friend’s pig roast which appeared to have been separated from its mother. It didn’t roam far from its new homemade bed (fashioned out of a paintball box and cut-up t-shirt, complete with food dishes made out of soda bottle caps).

First thing it did was bite me to determine if I was edible.  After that it tried to crawl up my pant leg to get to know me better.  This marked the exact moment that the nearby onlookers decided their young children had seen enough and briskly shuffled away.

Squirrel Macro in Black and White

Baby Squirrel Climbing Up A Man's Arm
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Eads Bridge; St. Louis, MO

Eads Bridge; St. Louis, MO

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Piscataqua River Bridge; Portsmouth, NH

Fishing by the Piscataqua River Bridge; Portsmouth, NH

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North Church; Portsmouth, NH

North Church; Portsmouth, NH

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The Wildcats

Didn’t really see anybody out until late in the afternoon.

Well, that’s not entirely true…

I was about four hours into the day, peacefully reading on a ledge.  Birds and butterflies were flying about me, the sun was beaming down, warming my tired spirit, and there wasn’t a single sound disturbing the peace in the air.

Suddenly, I heard a small rustle behind me.

Then some twigs cracked.  Alarmed, the birds had grown silent and flown to higher ground.

Then I heard what could only be described as an explosion of incoherent grumbling as the forest behind me was being completely annihilated.  I stumbled (cutting my leg) before jumping up–positive I was about to be rudely introduced to my first bear–only to find an utterly defeated (semi) thru-hiker who had emerged out of nowhere.

His rugged appearance and inability to maintain contact with a clearly marked trail practically demanded his first line to be an exhausted, “what year is it?!”  Instead, eyes glazed and speaking only in a cracked whisper, he recited the phrase, “what were we thinking” about ten times, cushioning each recital with as much profanity as his drained lungs could pour out.  I’ll add that he was alone and I never ran into anyone the rest of the day that would prove the use of ‘we‘ to be correct.  That said, his pack was really nice, and considering mine broke and I had used rope and tape to tie it onto my back, I was quite jealous.

Mt. Washington from Wildcats Trail (more…)

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