Author: Rudy Owens

I have a professional background in journalism (MA from UNC-CH), public affairs, and more recently public health (MPH, University of Washington). I publish several online properties, including my web site www.rudyowens.com. My photographs have appeared in a diverse number of media and print publications. I also have traveled on six continents and in more than 30 countries. Most recently, I have just finished writing my first book.

Remembering my travels in Turkey, in and around Adana.

 

(Click on each photograph to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Today I read another wonderful post about the Roman Emperor Hadrian’s travels in south central Turkey, near Tarsus, by Carole Raddato, a German-based ancient historian, classicist, and travel writer.

Her Following Hadrian website is one my favorites because it combines travel with history, archaeology, excellent photography, and creative scholarship. Like Raddato, I am a student of historic civilizations, including the Roman Empire.

Raddato’s descriptions of Hadrian’s journey near Tarsus, a historic city from the Hellenic period onward and the birthplace of the Apostle Paul, brought back memories of my own journeys to Tarsus, Adana, and historic Armenian communities in 2001.

Here are a couple of photos from my stopover in Adana.

One shows the Sanbanci Merkez Camii (mosque) at sunset. When this picture was taken in 2001, this mosque in Adana was Asia’s second largest. The other photos shows the ruins of  the fortress of Sis in the old Kingdom of Cilicia, a stronghold of the Armenian people in Anatolia that was conquered by the Egyptian Mamelukes in 1375. That conquest, like many others, was not kind to those killed and captured. The fortress is located in modern-day Kozan, about a two-hour local bus ride from Adana.

(Note: This post was updated on Oct. 14, 2017, after I learned Carole Raddato’s surname.)

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Fall surf season has arrived with the Alaskan storms

It has been little more than a year now since I began surfing in Oregon, mostly at Seaside. It is about 85 miles from Portland, which means I can only get there once a weekend, if I am lucky, given my commitments.

My regular weekend trips that have been taking place since May are now drawing to a close with the arrival of storms that howl out off the North Pacific, from Alaska all the way down to northern California. Waves can kick up to larger than 10-12 feet when they hit the Oregon Coast. It can be a nasty brew of churlish waves, dangerous rips, and strong winds that stop even the hardiest surfer. I have been thoroughly pounded in these conditions.

I went out last weekend, and I paid dearly. The waves ranged from five to seven feet, and many pummeled me. Two weeks earlier, it was almost the same.

From here on out through the spring, surfing will be sporadic. I will monitor the weather forecasts and see if those red blobs on the radar translate to large winter swells offshore. We occasionally get breaks in the weather, and everyone comes rushing to the coast.

It is amazing to see how tough and talented many of the local surf crew are. The best and also the more protective “locals” were ripping it at Seaside Point, which is infamous for its localism and attitude. I spotted overheads at least 10 feet high that the very best short board surfers were carving gracefully with their lines. The point is just to the far left of the moonrise shot, where the rocks touch the water by the trees.

The wolves of Rome

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

This week, various media agencies reported that the most iconic of all predators, the wolf, had returned to areas surrounding the ancient and still great city of Rome.

Two wolf pups were photographed frolicking in a reserve area for birds. For centuries, the predators were hunted to near extinction in Italy. The iconic predator also is celebrated in Italy’s history in the myth of Rome’s founding.

Capitoline Wolf statue, Sienna, Italy

The Romans credited the creation of their city to the kindness of a mother she-wolf, who nursed the infants Romulus and Remus, who had been left to die in the wild. According to the legend, the pair would go on to establish Rome. The wolf also is celebrated in many other cultures, through art, myth, and folklore.

Rome’s founding story is celebrated in statues called the Capitoline Wolf, first erected in Italy in the 11th and 12th centuries. I saw several such statues, in Sienna and Florence.

At the most basic level, Rome’s creation myth is literally connected to sucking the breast of a feared carnivore. The almost primal connection to something feared and revered is woven into Roman identity. For anyone familiar with that history, Rome went on to conquer and absorb all other cultures and civilizations surrounding the Mediterranean Sea, stretching from the highlands of England to the hot sands of modern-day Iraq to the Nile valley, as far south as southern Egypt.

I photographed these statues in 2006 during my travels in Italy, mainly because I feel a strong personal connection with wolves. I had some of the most memorable encounters with wolves in the wild in Alaska, when I lived there between 2004 and 2010.

During one spring mountain run, I met a wolf mom and her pups. They approached me, curious as pups are. Their mom whimpered, trying to signal them back to safety. She was a loving mother. Humans fear them because they have, I think, more dignity than us in many ways in how they care for each other.

 

 

Alaska’s fall colors win the prize, hands down

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

I lived six years in Alaska. I loved fall more than any other season. In Anchorage, in southern Alaska, fall came fast and furious, anywhere from early to late August, usually through the first snowfall in mid or late September on the neighboring Chugach Mountains. We called that ominous first snow “Termination Dust.”

The colors astounded me. Blueberry bushes burned fiery red. Birch trees lit up into canopies of shimmering gold. The mountain valleys were colored with splashes of oranges and shades between all three colors.

I had many favorite destinations to hike and climb during the crisp weeks. My favorite short getaway was Eagle River, in Chugach State Park, about 30 miles east from downtown Anchorage. It’s one of the most magnificent valleys with a paved road in North America. I came here frequently, particularly during my first few autumns in the Great Land.

One can take dizzying hikes up the bear-filled valley to an overlook over the Eagle River that sucks one breath away in its dizzying beauty.

These shots all date from outings in September 2005. I still think about my time there this time of year. I do not think I will find a prettier place to spend a cool fall day in the wild, knowing the seasons are changing and the dark winter is about to descend. The colors are nature’s last gasp of brilliance before the cold dark of winter falls.

A year of exploration and surfing on the Oregon coast

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Rudy Owens on the southern Oregon Coast, August 2017

A year ago this weekend, I became an Oregon surfer. I now feel confident enough to be in the lineup with every other surfer who shares my passion.

In September 2016, I bought a beginner board, the right wet suit, and other gear, and I began the long journey of mastering the art and sport of surfing by travelling from Portland to nearly all surfing spots on the Oregon Coast and even California and Washington.

The journey far exceeded all of my expectations.

I learned how to understand surf forecasting and paid close attention to the storm systems in the Pacific Ocean that control the weather from Alaska all the way down to the tip of Tierra del Fuego. I met people who shared my passion for the ocean and this highly alluring sport. Many of them have lived and surfed all over the world and country, and we all speak the language of surfing. Some are visitors, and others are residents who now call Oregon home. We all come together in the water, waiting for the wave, patiently sitting on our boards and scanning out for the next set rolling in.

I have learned how to read waves and practice the craft of positioning myself at the right place at the right time. In Oregon’s tough, stormy waters, this involves punching through feisty breaks that pound you as you try to reach to lineup in the water, where the waves give you that window of opportunity to tap their energy and capture moments of transcendence.

I have surfed during snowfalls and blinding rainstorms.

I have seen sea otters, harbor seals, humpback whales, and signs warning me of great white sharks that are common in these waters.

I have made new friends who love to wake up at crazy morning hours and meet at the ocean, just to capture the magic of the ocean in the morning, as the smell of saltwater fills your nostrils and the sound of the wares creates a feeling of calm in morning’s first light.

I have also learned how to ride waves during this time. When I started, I could barely get any. Now, when I go out, I can catch sometimes 20 or 30 rides, if the conditions are perfect or near perfect. Even on bad days, I am mastering the art of riding our very common cheeky waves. These can be fun.

Yesterday, on Sept. 16, 2017, I rode perhaps one of the best waves of my life. I started in the lineup at Seaside, near the rocky shore, and grabbed an overhead that took me almost 100 yards to the beach, riding its face and seeing the translucent water carry me on a pulse of energy. My grin grew wider with every second I was steering my 9-foot Stewart longboard.

Now, a year into this journey, I capture each outing with a surf diary, describing the ocean color and smells, currents, sets, wave patterns, colorful characters, my memorable experiences with wildlife and aquatic life, and my memories of the day. As a lifelong writer and journal writer, I can say this is perhaps the funnest journal I have ever kept.

 

The new normal: fire everywhere in the Northwest

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This week, the majestic Columbia River Gorge experienced an unprecedented fire that spread to more than 40,000 acres in less than five days. Residents and experts in this region were stunned by the still-unfolding disaster in what should be a fire resistant and lush region.

The blaze was reportedly intentionally ignited by some teens on Saturday, Sept. 2, 2017, when temperatures were in the upper 90s. The group reportedly threw fireworks into the Eagle River Trail area, setting off a blaze that literally exploded in 48 hours, moving more than 13 miles and shutting down Interstate 84, a major transportation corridor, and threatening the primary drinking water source (Bull Run Reservoir) for more than 1 million people in the Portland area.

The blaze is one of many in the region. Nearly 170,000 acres are ablaze at the Chetco Bar Fire, near Brookings, Oregon. Fires have scorched more than a million acres in Montana. Many experts are pointing to climate change and drying conditions as the main driver for the now frightening new normal.

I have not had a chance to observe the wrath of the fire near my Portland home, because it is still an active conflagration, and the firefighters need to keep gawkers out. I will go in once it is safe.

In light of what has happened this summer, I decide to dig up some pictures I took of the devastating Carlton Complex Firs in the Methow Valley area, in Washington state, in 2014. Seeing what fire can do to communities and landscapes is a sobering experience. I expect the worse is still yet to come, if that is even possible.

 

The Murals of Cottage Grove

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In 1994 and 1995, I worked as a reporter in the small Willamette Valley community of Cottage Grove (pop. 10,000 as of 2017). The city is 20 miles south of Eugene, along the Interstate 5 corridor. When I was working there, the old economy based on timber production and milling was shutting down, and one in five residents was living near the poverty level. In terms of that grim statistic, not much has changed. Today, more than one in five live in poverty, according to the last Census count.

I reported on just about everything in Cottage Grove as a local reporter: crimes, sports, civic life, local government, police, fires, successes, tragedies, inspiring people, pets, redevelopment, land use battles, racism, anti-racism, and more. I loved how I was exposed to all of humanity by simply writing stories about people’s lives.

I paid a visit to Cottage Grove on my way through in early August 2017. I stopped at my old employer, the Cottage Grove Sentinel, and walked through the historic downtown. It is still a beautiful place, with old brick buildings and merchants working to keep civic life and that social place alive.

Some big murals caught my eye. One of the iconic Coca-Cola brand liights up an otherwise dull brick wall. The other celebrates the many covered bridges near Cottage Grove and the celebrated writer and local resident Opal Whitely, painted in 2001 by artists Connie Huston and Howard Tharpe. There are just some of the city’s mural art.

Whitely was born in 1897 and died in 1992. She was a child prodigy, and also schizophrenic. According to a Cottage Grove historian and writer, Stephen Williamson, at the age of 21, she traveled to Boston with her book, The Fairyland Around Us, considered one of the most remarkable blends of science and faith ever written. He writes, “The Atlantic Monthly turned that book down, but did publish her childhood diary. It quickly became a worldwide best seller. Presidents and kings read it. Mothers named their babies after her. Opal was an international star–at least outside Oregon. Opal’s diary describes the life of a lonely child from logging camps in the Cascade Mountains.”

Whitely eventually moved to Europe, where she spoke of abuse growing up and not being related to her family. Eventually her mental illness worsened and she was “committed” to England’s psychiatric system, where she was poorly treated. Says Williamson, “The gifted child genius from Oregon’s wilderness spent nearly fifty years buried in a tiny cell on a crowded asylum ward. In the 1950’s she was given a lobotomy.” She died in the place that imprisoned her for decades.

Today, however, Whitely lives on as one of the main tourist attractions for the community. If you are travelling down I-5, pull off. Travel to the city center. Take a walk. Shop. Eat at a local restaurant and see all of the murals. You can then pause and reflect upon one of Oregon’s most famous daughters who died in a virtual prison, whose only crime was being hyper-creative and afflicted with a mental illness.

 

The arch druids of North America: California’s redwoods

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

In early August, I briefly visited northern California, coming south from Oregon on Highway 101. Though the goal of my trip was to explore surfing spots on the southern Oregon coast, I tacked onto my road trip a stop in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, outside of Crescent City, California.

The park is home to some of the remaining groves of redwoods left in the world. According to the state park’s website, the park “contains seven percent of all the old-growth redwoods left in the world.” The website also describes the reserve as “pure, primeval majesty.” I could not agree more.

The redwood species in the park (Sequoia sempervirens) can only be found in coastal ecological zones from southern Oregon to Monterey, California. These are the tallest standing trees on the planet.

Of course California transportation planners in their unbridled vanity plowed a road through the majestic forest, Highway 199, from Crescent City to Hiouchi. I drove that and parked my car to marvel at the ancient organisms that towered above me. There are natural trails found at a stop on this road, and they take a visitor on some lovely walking trails that capture the magic of a redwood forest ecosystem.

I had not felt so humbled by nature in a long time. I could almost feel the forest alive with some spirit force, even if that is not a sensory event grounded in empirical science.

If you visit, there are some camping sites off of Highway 101 and in the park itself, and in Hiouchi and the nearby national forest. Take some time here, unlike me. I only spent a few hours, but those were some of the best hours I spent in a long time. For those who want to try photography, a sturdy tripod is a necessity. All of these shots were at least one-second exposures.

Above all, enjoy your stay and respect the special place when you come.

Seaside, Oregon surfing on a windy summer day

Seaside, Oregon is my favorite surfing beach in the state. It is less than 90 miles from my home in Portland. It has a consistent break, usually better than most other beaches that are driving distance from Portland. Mostly the vibe at Seaside is relaxed, and the community of surfers who share the beach are welcoming to most levels. There is space for advanced surfers and novices, so long as the novices stay out of the lineup. Some locals may not want beginners here. You have been warned.

I mastered the craft of Oregon surfing at this beach, logging many winter hours in the pounding surf. Only recently have I felt I belong in the lineup.

Most of the surfing websites that describe Seaside Cove accurately note the hazards are rips, rocks, locals, and sharks. And the order of danger is probably in that order. In the winter, the waves can hit well over 10 to 15 feet. In the summer, because of the northwest exposure, sets can easily top five to seven feet.

These scenes capture a choppy, mushy day that I mostly associate with winter and shoulder seasons, but it was mid-August. There is often little break time between the sets, and if you do not ride the rip out to the lineup, you will be pounded pretty hard.

The footage, admittedly shaky, captures how rough the surf can be, with nonstop sets and overheads, even on a summer day. If you are a surfer and want to visit Oregon, put this beach on your list. Support the local economy while you are there. Share the aloha and the Oregon surfer stoke. You will find many good rides.

Just be sure to bring a 5/4/3 suit. The water has very little temperature variation between summer and winter.

South Oregon coast in black and white

(Click on each photograph to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

During the first week of August 2017 I took a road trip to a part of the state I had not seen since 1987. My original plan was to visit multiple surfing beaches south of Coos Bay and try them out with my nine-foot Stewart surfboard. Well, that was the plan. My plans changed, and everything worked out well. I decided to tell my story in black and white images that capture the feel of the place.

Port Orford and Humbug Mountain

I first stopped at Coos Bay, a city still gripped by economic woes. It has a nice surfing location on the south jetty and some beautiful beaches and state parks on the west and southwest corner of the community. But the surf was rough when I arrived, and I decided to push further south to Port Orford. The small community of little more than 1,000 is about 60 miles south of Coos Bay and has a beautiful cove and southwest facing ocean view. Sadly, I found no real waves the day I arrived. I picked another surfing spot one mile south of Port Orford, called Hubbard Creek. There, the breaks hit close to shore and I was skunked. With temperatures in inland Oregon hitting 105F, it was still a great day to be in the water on the coast, and I found the water temperatures about five degrees warmer than in northern Oregon.

I then spent two glorious nights at Humbug Mountain State Park, about six miles south of Port Orford. It has a beautiful and large campground, well-maintained by volunteers and the camp host. There must have been well over 400 people there both nights.

The park’s only downside was the truck and road traffic next to the campground. On the upside, there is walkable beach access and a clean creek next to the campground. I climbed the 1,700+ foot mountain, played photographer, and watched one of the nicest sunsets of my life here. I tried to surf my first morning, but the waves also pounded close to shore. So I was skunked again for the second day.

The highlight of my trip was being befriended by families from California camping on both sides of me. Who says Californians aren’t nice? The experience reminded me how fun travel can be and how nice people can be when you are ready to welcome positive energy. Two young girls of one family I spent a day with from San Jose dubbed me “Shmoosh Broccoli” because of my green tent. The name will stick.

South to Brookings

The following day I headed south. The area has phenomenal beaches. I stopped briefly in port city of Gold Beach and caught the spectacle of a salmon derby and the steelhead and Chinook run at the mouth of the Rogue River. Scores of boats were circling the river mouth, casting for fish. Everything was shrouded in mist. It was a beautiful moment.

Loaded with warm coffee, I then drive about five miles south of Gold Beach to Cape Sebastian State Scenic Corridor, which has a lovely protected surf spot called Hunter’s Cove, as well as some of the most amazing beach scenery in the state, with basalt seastacks jutting out of the beach and ocean. It is easy to put in here at the Highway 101 turnoff and viewpoint.

Finally, I finally caught many lovely rides. It was the first time I surfed without booties or gloves in Oregon, and I loved the feeling of the board on my toes. I also spotted a juvenile sea otter. The little critter did not see me at first and practically flipped when it realized a guy in a wetsuit was next to him in the water. The species is now making a comeback in the state.

After my surf, I drove another 20 miles to Brookings, a coastal community with a large fishing port and lots of nice camping spots upriver on the Chetco River. My dream of surfing here was dashed. The forecast predicted one- to two-foot waves. I decided not to spend the night and head home early. In the winter, the south jetty of the city is famous for its protected breaks. Maybe I will come back again.