Photographed in 1979 for AMC Guide to Country Walks Near New York by William G. Scheller, Appalachian Mountain Club Books.
When I worked on Congress Street in Boston about 30 years ago, what is now called the Seaport District was little more than a couple of hundred acres of gravel parking lots — $5.00/day! A few seafood restaurants provided the only signs of business life. Today that neighborhood is crowded with towering hotels and techno headquarters; a city within a city.
Lou Jones, esteemed Boston-based photographer January 21, 7PM: A Lecture Series on Innovation in Contemporary Photography. Jones has been awarded Travel Photographer of the Year by the International Photographic Council (United Nations). Nikon recognizes Jones as a “Legend Behind the Lens” and Lowepro has honored him as a “Champion”.for his photography, Jones helped found the school Center for Digital Imaging Arts of Boston University and conceived the prestigious Griffin Museum’s annual Focus Awards.
In preparation for an upcoming photo Meetup I spent the afternoon at my favorite spot in Essex County: Gloucester, Massachusetts where 300 years of fishing tradition continue, amid economic hardship, tough fishing restrictions, and offshore competition. The reflections and colors of the harbor have held my attention for 30 years. Today, I was lucky to visit The State Pier when the trawlers Endeavour and Challenger were unloading their catch of herring. The result of several days fishing in the Hudson Gorge, the herring were being loaded on two flatbed tractor-trailers for a trip to Deer Isle, Maine for distribution as lobster bait.
I live in a small town north of Boston where as the saying goes, “they roll the sidewalks up at night.” Nevertheless, there still is some color after the sun has set.
The fading afternoon light at Wingaersheek Beach highlights contours of the granite outcrops in the tide. Annisquam Light is on the horizon. Click here to see a larger image or to purchase an archival print or license for commercial use.
The first photographs I ever made, with my Dad’s guidance, were of tugboats and barges moored at piers along the Manhattan side of the East River in New York. I loved the deep rumbling sound of their diesel engines and most of all, the piercing “toot” of the tugboat whistles. I watched as teams of powerful tugs nudged huge vessels into piers on the Manhattan and Brooklyn shores and wondered what it would be like to take a trip on a tug.