📸 Viewfinder 08/09/26

Usually, a quick shower and a couple wipes of the lens are enough to get my camera and me in working order after a particularly messy assignment. It’s not rare for both of us to be exposed to everything from mud and manure to sand and saliva — it simply comes with the territory.

A few weeks back, though, I took a gamble by exposing my gear to its true natural enemy — water — and lost.

It was the perfect day to go white water rafting. Cascadia Daily News Sports Editor Nick Zeller-Singh organized the trip for a story on water sports in the region’s major rivers — the Skagit, Nooksack and Sauk. We’d be joining a group of tourists to raft down the Skagit River, the tamest of the three.

I admittedly didn’t give the assignment much thought at first. I figured if the waters were as tame as we were told, being on the raft with the camera wouldn’t be an issue. If we got there and conditions were gnarly, I’d follow the raft down U.S. 20 and stop at boat landings along its route to get photos from the shore.

But things were looking good when we arrived at Goodell Creek Campground just outside of Newhalem. The sun was out, the wind was calm and our guides were telling us this was the first day it hadn’t rained for them in weeks.

All this, plus the fact that we were told we didn’t need helmets for such a calm passage, made me confident I’d do just fine with the camera strapped around my wrist and my other hand anchoring me to the raft.

We hit a few patches of rough water and laughed with the tourists from Virginia at the front of the raft who were lightly sprayed by mist as we floated past. Mostly, though, we meandered down the river, looking for birds in the treetops and otters frolicking near the shore.

That was, until we hit the final set of rapids.

From a distance, the water looked calm. I could tell it was moving fast, but it looked no different than the rapids we’d already passed. As our raft neared, though, I started hearing the whooshing of the rapids and seeing the sudden dip in the water level. I tightened my grip on the rope tethered to the raft, adjusted my camera settings so I could take pictures without looking through the viewfinder and stood up to photograph the tourists at the front of the raft as they descended into the rapids.

What I didn’t account for was the fact that as the front of the raft angled down, the rear, where I was sitting, would lift up.

(In retrospect, duh.)

I felt my feet slip out from under me and plunged backwards into the water below.

I kept my arm pointed toward the sky as I fell, hoping the river would be no deeper than 5-foot-11. Despite being completely submerged in the icy waters of the Skagit, I felt a wave of warmth wash over me as water covered my hand and the camera it held. It was a mix of guilt, embarrassment and frustration — mostly at my own hubris.

I floated to the surface, thanks to my life jacket, and swam one-handed toward the raft, where a fellow passenger was holding out their paddle for me to grab onto. Once I reached the side of the raft, our guide, whom I probably outweighed by 120 pounds on dry land, grabbed me by the lifejacket’s shoulder straps and in a single heave pulled me onto the raft.

Not wanting to ruin the trip for the Eastcoasters and Midwesterners who’d made the trek out to the Skagit Valley, I put on a smile and assured them all my camera, which was not turning on, would be fine.

I arrived at the office that day with my wet shoes squelching and my shoulders hunched as I told my colleagues of my aquatic misadventure. The story was met with laughter and a healthy dose of ribbing.

For the next week, my Canon R5 and the lens attached to it (a 24-70 f2.8) lived in rice. I was demoted to the office R6 and 24-105 f4, which, to be honest, was in no way a downgrade. I actually think the sacrifice in exposure from f2.8 to f4 is worth the gain in focal range.

Luckily, the R5 turned on after a few days, with all the buttons and displays working. The lens, while foggy, also seemed to work well, along with its autofocus motor and stabilization. The camera body is back in my hands and working well and the lens is currently in Virginia with Canon getting a thorough cleaning.

So, reader, when you’re charged next month for your CDN subscription, just know you’re paying for a regretful and humbled photographer to be reunited with his camera.

In honor of the R5 and all the grit and grime on it washed away by the Skagit River, here is a small gallery of moments when the camera’s weather sealing was put to the test.

FINN WENDT: I spend a lot of time thinking about music. Not just what I’m going to use as a backing track for our next Faces in the Crowd video, but I’m a religious listener whenever I’m not busy taking photos. I make a new playlist for every season of the year and am always digitally crate digging — trying to find unknown artists to support.

We’re saturated here in the Upper Left with a baseline of indie artists trying to make it and big acts rolling through town on tour. I first dipped my toes into music photography while studying at Western Washington University, where a friend of a friend offered me 50 bucks to shoot their rap show at the Blue Room in downtown Bellingham. I’ve been hooked ever since.

Above, Santiago wrote about hazardous situations we often find ourselves in while holding a camera. I wonder if standing right in front of the high-powered subwoofers in the photo pit affects a camera, because it sure rattles the bones.

On the touring side, I’ve had the opportunity to photograph some high-profile artists that stopped in Bellingham, often by way of the Northwest Tune-Up festival. This year, some of my favorites to photograph were the Seattle-based rock band Thunderpussy and perhaps the best mandolin player in the world, Sierra Hull and her band.

Thunderpussy was a ball of energy, projecting a wave of femme joy and rage that made it easy to find unique moments to photograph.

Bluegrass is traditionally my least favorite genre to photograph as the performers are often stagnant on stage due to the nature of their instruments, but Sierra Hull worked the stage and was picking those eight strings unlike I’d ever seen.

I always like when the sun sets at these festivals because then the stage lights really stand out, allowing me to play with patterns and lighting. It’s really the only thing that makes a DJ set worth photographing in my opinion. Case in point: Tune-Up night one headliner Hippie Sabotage, see below.

Andrea Modica's Theatrum Equorum: A collection of photos taken on an 8x10 camera exploring a horse clinic in Bologna, Italy and the visual juxtaposition of such large and strong animals being subdued and anesthetized for surgery. While gruesome in nature, Modica's photos bypass the gore factor and focus instead on the instruments used in surgery and the moments before and after the equine patients went under the knife. I was recommended this monograph by a fellow photographer as inspiration for a project I've been working on that will publish later this month. — Santiago

The Seattle Times' photo coverage of the Spokane Old Trails Fire: You've likely caught a couple of these pictures below headlines, but I urge you to really look at the work being done by ST photographers. They're doing the important job of recording a bizarre and tragic moment in the history of climate change. A reminder that no number of calls or hastily shot photos provided by government agencies can replace real boots-on-the-ground reporting. — Santiago

Playlist of artists that have called Bellingham home recently: “Tennessee Hills” by Sons of Ranier, “Popular Demand” by OG Neeks and Slap Serif, “Where Will You Go” by Pantsuitguy, “Carried Away (Pulled by the Moon)” by The Cosmic Neighborhood, “Retrograde” by BlkSknn, “Anithistamines” by Bellflower, “Wildfire” by Veronica North, “Deception Pass” by Kian Dye. — Finn