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J.W. Eberle

J.W. Eberle

Tag Archives: photography

Photographing a Very Nearly Almost Total Eclipse

24 Thursday Aug 2017

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Photography, Writing

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amwriting, camera, camera settings eclipse, eclipse, eclipse photography, humility, life, partial solar eclipse, photography, solar eclipse, Tacoma, total eclipse of the sun, Universe, Washington, Writing Life

Eclipse high in the sky. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle.Even 200 miles from the path of totality, the solar eclipse was all anyone could talk about this week in Washington. In the mad scramble for special viewing glasses and the endless debates over whether it was worth it to brave the slog of traffic heading south, I found myself in my office’s parking lot at 10:00am on the auspicious date of August 21, 2017.

For the first time since 1918, a total solar eclipse would be visible across the entire lower 48. In Tacoma, it was calculated that we would see 94% of a total eclipse. The moment had arrived.

I’m not the kind of person who can not take a photo of a major celestial event, so I had my trusty Canon with me. Even with 6% of the Sun visible behind the disk of the Moon, pointing a camera straight into the sky for any length of time is a sure way to melt your sensor. Sunlight carries a lot of energy and camera lenses are designed to focus light into a tiny area — exactly the way a magnifying glass cooks ants. I wasn’t taking any chances.

Eclipse camera setup. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle. A few weeks before the event, I ordered a 4-inch-by-4-inch sheet of mylar solar viewing film and built a homemade lens adapter using the ring from a mason jar lid (my wife’s brilliant idea) and cardboard from the envelope the film came in. We were also lucky to snag a few pairs of what felt like the last remaining eclipse glasses on earth.

That morning, as I stepped outside, nothing felt abnormal, although a quick peek through my glasses showed that the Moon was already starting to cross in front of the Sun. I my tripod setup. Unfortunately but not surprisingly, autofocus doesn’t work on an object 93 million miles away, so I had to focus manually. I couldn’t look through the viewfinder at the Sun, even with the filter on the front of the lens, so instead I set my focus on some wispy clouds on the horizon — as close to infinity as I could get without burning my retinas.

I found some base exposure settings online and started from there, bracketing a bit (but not enough, in hindsight) for more exposed and less exposed shots as the eclipse progressed:

First Contact:

  • ISO 100, f/4, 1/1,000-1/4,000 second
  • ISO 200, f/5.6, 1/1,000-1/4,000 second
  • ISO 400, f/8, 1/1,000-1/4,000 second

Thin Crescent:

  • 1/500-1/2,000 second

Eclipse in black and white. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle.

Then, it was just a matter of aiming the camera up and clicking the shutter. At this point, my coworkers started filtering out to see the spectacle. We chatted and passed around a handful of glasses so everyone could see the Sun disappearing behind the Moon and watched the leaves cast tiny crescents onto the pavement.

Eclipse through the leaves. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle.As the Sun was consumed, the light changed. The sky took on an early shade of grey-blue, like the color just before dawn. The temperature dropped by at least five degrees. A steady breeze picked up, as if a storm were approaching — but without a cloud in the sky.

I looked up through my viewing glasses. At maximum, the partial eclipse so so close to totality that I almost lost the sun in the vast, inky blackness above me. In a moment, the massive star at the center of our solar system was nearly invisible. An optical illusion left nothing behind except a thin, blood red sliver. I felt so small in that moment. For two minutes and forty seconds, I was a microscopic being on a tiny rock orbiting a small star in an unremarkable corner of an average galaxy in a sea of galaxies. Our triumphs and failures, our progress, our regress, our wars; they’re fleeting and inconsequential in that vastness. The size and scope of the universe hit me harder than I had expected and it was stupendous.

Scarlet crescent. Partial solar eclipse at maximum. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle.

Somehow, in all of that, I managed to keep clicking the shutter button. Gradually, the sun returned. The shadows softened, the sky went back to blue, and I felt warm light on my skin again. One by one, my coworkers went back inside. I lingered. For a while, I didn’t even take any pictures. I just looked up and watched the slow, predictable movement of the Sun and Moon above and tried to grasp the intensely surreal feeling of standing under an (almost) total eclipse of the sun for as long as I could.

I’m still a little sad I didn’t pick up and head to Oregon to view totality, but I’m grateful I had the chance to view it at all (the weather in the Pacific Northwest, the cloudiest place in the United States, was perfect). A partial eclipse is amazing, but from what I’ve heard and seen online, totality is on a completely different level. Photographic the moment was a fun challenge, too, and something I’d like to try again.

So, I find myself addicted to eclipses and researching where the next ones will pop up and wondering if I might be there to experience them. July 2, 2019 in Argentina? December 4, 2021 amidst the penguins in Antarctica? April 8, 2024 in Pennsylvania? Who knows?

Sun disappearing behind the Moon. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle. — 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker in Tacoma, WA and a bit of an eclipse junkie. He usually forgets to bracket and ends up with a whole bunch of identically exposed photos as a result. Remember to bracket, kids.

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The Old/New City: Munich

08 Saturday Jul 2017

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Photography, Travel, Writing

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Tags

2017, Englischer Garten, Europe, Germany, history, ice cream, Munich, Nymphenburg, Olympiapark, photography, Rathaus, travel, travel photography, travel tips, travelogue, weekend in Munich, world travelers, writing, Writing Life

Munich 2017

There’s nothing like summer in Munich — somewhat due to the heat and partly to humidity, but mostly to the Bavarian charm of one of Europe’s great cities and the rest to the laid back, almost Mediterranean atmosphere that has led some to jokingly dub it Italy’s northernmost city. Personally, I think it’s the ice cream and bicycles.

We arrived in Germany for a whirlwind weekend at the beginning of June. Having just arrived from Scotland, we were not dressed for the sweltering weather. Luckily, Germans don’t mess around when it comes to ice cream. Ice cream is to Munich what Starbucks is to Seattle.

Munich 2017My wife had a German exchange student in high school who now lives in the city and he was able to score us a guestroom at a university dormitory located in the central Maxvorstadt district. He and his girlfriend were also kind enough to show us around the city and get us (a little bit) off the beaten path.

In many ways, Munich is two cities occupying the same place. It is a city firmly rooted in its past, first as a 12th century monastery and village and later as the capital of the Kingdom of Bavaria. It is also a city moving unrelentingly toward the future as a center of arts and industry in Europe (Munich is the home of BMW, a plethora of universities, and several world-class museums).

Indeed, Munich has a long history of reinventing itself with the times. Apud Munichen (literally “near the monks”) was originally founded by Henry the Lion as a way to take advantage of the lucrative medieval salt trade. In the early-19th century, it restyled itself as an imperial showcase and embarked on a massive construction boom. After WWI, Munich became a hotbed for communism and provided the backdrop for the growth of the nascent Nazi Party. Following heavy bombing in WWII, Munich rebuilt the historic city center and became a destination for refugees and immigrants in post-war Europe.

Munich 2017

Today, 38% of the population is foreign-born, making Munich a cosmopolitan crossroads of cultures from around the world. We were able to find pretty good Korean food in addition to Bavarian classics like Schweinshaxe (pork knuckle) and Klos (potato dumplings). We even found an American store in Rotkreuzplatz (which, as expected, sold primarily barbecue sauce and scented candles). True to their city’s international identity, the residents of Munich are generally bilingual (or trilingual or quadrilingual), which made practicing our German difficult, as even a second’s hesitation signals to everyone that they should seamlessly switch to speaking English.

Nymphenburg Palace in Munich. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle.

Our tour of Munich took us to Nymphenburg, one of the continent’s largest royal residences, which features both a stunning baroque palace and 490-acres of forests and lakes which are now open to the public. We also spent a warm afternoon wandering through the Englischer Garten, Munich’s version of Central Park (albeit larger), where we enjoyed the truly bizarre sight of people surfing a river in the middle of a city park.

Surfers ride a standing wave on the Eisbach in Munich's Englischer Garten. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle.

We finished our trip to Munich with a walk around the site of the 1972 Summer Olympics, where we enjoyed part of a free outdoor concert and then watched the sun set over the Olympic Stadium. In total, we were in Munich for just two-and-a-half days. We will certainly be back for more ice cream in this wonderful city of contradictions.

The glass canopy of the Olympic Stadium in Munich was designed to evoke the Alps, located just south of the city. Copyright 2017 Jonny Eberle..

  • Where: Munich, Germany
  • How to Get There: Easily accessible by S-Bahn from Franz Josef Strauss International Airport in about 40 minutes. Germany’s public transportation system is so good, it’s practically science fiction.
  • Where to Get an Offbeat Scoop: Der Verrückte Eismacher (the Crazy Ice Maker)
  • What to Drink: Skip the masses of tourists at the Hofbräuhaus and head to the Wirtshaus Görreshof for an Augustiner Helles or Hefeweizen
  • Where to See Urban River Surfing: Englischer Garten

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Jonny Eberle is a writer and photographer in Tacoma, WA. This is the second in a three-part travel series about a recent trip he and his wife took to Europe. Next up: Dachau. Previously: The Isle of Iona

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In the Footsteps of St. Columba: The Isle of Iona

26 Monday Jun 2017

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Photography, Travel, Writing

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2017, Highland cows, Inner Hebrides, Iona, Iona Abbey, Isle of Iona, life, photography, Scotland, St Columba, thin place, travel, travel photography, travelogue, world travelers, writing, Writing Life

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You have to really want to get to the Isle of Iona. A speck of land 3 miles long by 1.5 miles wide off the western coast of Scotland, Iona is remote. To get there from Glasgow requires traveling three-hours by train, one hour by ferry, one hour by bus, and fifteen minutes by ferry (yes, two ferries). But once you’re there, you can feel that the roots of the island run deep.

Iona was settled in the 6th century by St. Columba, who sailed there from his native Ireland with his followers to found a new monastic community. For centuries, the community flourished far from the authority of Rome, where it blended Christian and Celtic belief.

Today, the island has a little over a hundred permanent inhabitants, not counting sheep and shaggy Highland cows.

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But there is more here than meets the eye. On Iona, the ancientness emanates from every stone. The island has long been a magnet for pilgrims. It has a reputation as a “thin place” where the veil between the physical and the ethereal is especially thin. You can feel it in the 13th century abbey church, where ferns grow in cracks between medieval stones. You can feel it on the hike along the ancient pilgrimage route from the abbey to the rocky shores of St. Columba’s Bay. You can feel it while walking on the windswept beaches or at the foot of a cross with enigmatic carving eroded away by rain and salt.

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Iona’s status as a sacred isle is well-deserved. There is something here. Like most ancient sites I’ve visited, I felt a sense of the many layers of stories that have played out on this small Hebridean isle. It’s evident when looking at the Gaelic place names, which translate into intriguing snippets of lore — places with names like Height of the Storm, Port of the False Man, and Fort of the Ruins. Each one a folk tale in miniature.

Beyond the history and the natural beauty, Iona is a place that encourages weary pilgrims to rest and re-center. Whether it’s a solitary walk down one of the island’s two roads or enjoying a local scotch with friends at Martyr’s Bay, it’s one of the few unspoiled places just beyond the reach of the world and all its turmoil.

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There is peace here. There is room for reflection. And there is comfort in its stability. Iona has survived the rise and fall of empires for one-and-half thousand years. Iona reminds me that our lives are fleeting and our individual mark upon the world is small and quickly forgotten, but there are places — distant specks of land in the sea — where time moves slowly. Such places will be there long after we are gone; our triumphs and mistakes nothing more than dust. That is a good thing to remember when we get caught up in the crises of the moment.

Iona is a remarkable island, not just for its history and beauty, but also for its ability to cling to you. As the small passenger ferry steamed away from the dock and headed back to the Isle of Mull, I couldn’t help but feel as if a small voice was whispering to me, telling me that someday, I would return.

img_3203_zpsvciksx4h

  • Where: Isle of Iona, Inner Hebrides, Scotland
  • How to Get There: Train from Glasgow to Oban, ferry to Craignure, bus to Fionnphort, ferry to Iona
  • Where to Stay: St. Columba Hotel
  • What to Drink: Jura Superstition Single Malt Scotch
  • What to Beware Of: Sheep droppings, bogs, the bull

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer and photographer in Tacoma, WA. This is the first in a three-part travel series about a recent trip he and his wife took to Europe. Next up: Munich and Dachau.

Follow him on Twitter or subscribe to the monthly email newsletter to receive exclusive content and zero spam.

24 Hours in Astoria

06 Monday Jun 2016

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Photography, Travel, Writing

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24 hours in Astoria, am writing, Astoria, Astoria Column, beach, bridge, Civil War, Columbia River, Fort George Brewery, Fort Stevens, Goonies, Lewis and Clark, Oregon, oregon trail, Pacific Ocean, Peter Iredale, photography, PNW, roadtrip, shipwreck, sushi, travel, travelogue, weekend trip, writing, WWII

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The Astoria-Megler Bridge spends most of its 4-mile span connecting Oregon and Washington close to the water before rising 196 feet into the sky like a roller coaster from hell. Heading up the slope, we were either going to die or end up in Astoria, Oregon.

Over Memorial Day weekend, my wife, sister-in-law, and a friend roadtripped down Highway 101 to this quaint town in northwest Oregon. Where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean sits the oldest permanent American settlement on the West Coast. In all that time, it hasn’t grown much, but it has developed a very quirky and endearing personality to go along with its fascinating history. This is the story of how we spent 24 hours in Astoria and didn’t even go to the Goonies house.

I firmly believe that a town’s heart and soul is in its food, so we wasted no time in heading to the highest rated spot in town: Fort George Brewery. It was everything a Northwest brewpub should be. It was in a two-story converted warehouse in downtown Astoria, most of the staff had lumberjack beards, and they had subtle twists on all the PNW staples (include tuna fish and chips and a Filthy Burger worthy of the name).

We then trekked across another bridge out to Fort Stevens State Park. Despite misting rain and a stiff onshore wind, we braved the sandy beach to behold the wreck of the Peter Iredale. The Peter Iredale ran aground in a storm in 1906 and has been rusting away ever since.

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With the tide in, we couldn’t get very close to the wreck, so we had to settle for taking a few hundred photos (Above: The only one of mine that really turned out. Thanks to Bethany for pointing out the spot where I could capture the reflection in the beach).

After wandering around in the dunes and discovering a neat lean-to made out of driftwood, we wandered inland to Fort Stevens itself. Originally constructed by the Union Army during the Civil War to defend the Columbia River from a Confederate attack from the Pacific, the fort stood guard over the Oregon coast from 1863-1947. To this day, it is the only military fort in the continental United States to be fired on by an enemy during wartime since 1812 — it was shelled in the summer of 1942 by a Japanese submarine.

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The fort itself is a maze of concrete bunkers and battery placements that you can explore. It has a haunted quality about it (and a family of very irritated birds that were nesting in the tunnels) that made it a photographer’s dream come true. We spent a couple of hours wandering the storerooms and machine gun nests where nervous young men used to watch the sea for approaching enemy ships.

We also found some outbuildings in the woods, tangled in blackberry bushes and ferns, with some excellent light for portraits. If you’ve never had your photo taken at a decommissioned military base, you’re missing out.

We capped off our day with some of the best sushi I have had the pleasure to eat in my entire life. Who would’ve thought that such fine food was hiding in Astoria, but Tora Sushi delivered.

The next morning, we ventured out to Astoria’s Sunday farmer’s market. When it comes to markets, Astoria doesn’t pull any punches. Four city blocks were cordoned off and two large parking lots were pressed into service to accommodate the sheer number of booths. There was a mind boggling array of goat milk products, produce, knick-knacks, food trucks, and exactly one goat on a leash. Based on the crowd, I can only assume that every single human being in Astoria was in attendance.

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Our final stop was an awe-inspiring, but supremely weird local landmark — the Astoria Column. This 125-foot tower sits on a hill overlooking the city and the surrounding countryside. It was build in 1926 (I assume on a dare) in homage to the Trajan Column in Rome and dedicated to John Jacob Astor, who never actually went to the town that bares his name, but whose fur trading business founded the settlement.

Of course, it’s not enough to just look at the column. If you’re going to pay $5 to get in, you have to take a moment to admire the history of the American West and climb the 164-step spiral staircase of death to get to the top. Between the bridge and this column, I was starting to think that Astorians are all adrenaline junkies with a penchant for heights. The spiral staircase made me simultaneously dizzy and claustrophobic and there were way too many people packed onto the observation deck for comfort, but the view was phenomenal. From the top, you can see the little Victorian houses of the city set against the backdrop of the bridge and the river to the north and west, and the patchwork farms along the Lewis and Clark River to the south.

Standing there, looking out over the lush land of the Pacific Northwest, it was easy to see why so many people uprooted their families and risked their lives to get here and stake out a claim in the Oregon Territory. I felt the pull of this place — despite the dreary weather, barking sea lions and the sand in my shoes — and felt the allure that has drawn adventurers to this port outpost for over two hundred years.

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— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer and traveler based in Tacoma, WA. When he isn’t going to exotic locales or dreaming about exotic locales, you can find him on Twitter. For exclusive content and non-spam, you can also join the mailing list.

Sleeping Giant

28 Wednesday May 2014

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Photography, Travel, Writing

≈ 1 Comment

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am writing, birth, blast zone, creation, cycles, death, destruction, explosion, hummocks, Johnston Ridge Observatory, lava, life, Mount St. Helens, mountain, Mt. St. Helens, photography, road trip, time, travel, volcano, Washington, writing, Writing Life

Today, the ridge overlooking the snow-covered northern face of Mount St. Helens is dotted with small brush, lichen and wild grass. Chipmunks dart between the rocks. Tourists take photos to post later on their Facebook profiles. But 34 years ago, the place where I stand was buried by a boiling mudslide, smothered by pumice and superheated rock and cloaked in a cloud of choking ash. As striking as the barren foothills of the mountain are, I’m more surprised by the recovery here — by the small trees and bushes that have a foothold in the wasteland.

I feel small as I peer up into the clouds that hide the jagged mouth of the crater. The top third of the volcano was blasted off by the force of the explosion. Boulders flew miles. An entire forest was leveled in a matter of seconds, their strong trunks snapped like balsa wood. If I was standing here when the bomb went off, I would be vaporized. The giant is sleeping now, but I know that deep in the heart of the mountain, ancient forces are building up. Magma is rising from the depths of the Earth, building a dome in the caldera. Someday, it will rain fire here again.

Trees cut low. Photo by Jonny Eberle.

The devastation is difficult to put into words. And yet there is something beautiful about the destruction that stretches for miles around. There is more to be seen here than the Northwest’s youngest and most famous volcano. The landscape reminds us that humanity is not the most powerful force in the world. We only exist at the mercy of a planet that could bury us in lava with little warning. However, Mount St. Helens is not only a place of death. It is a cradle for new life. Hardy saplings are taking root in the blast zone. The volcano that burned and sterilized a centuries old forest provides nutrient-rich soil to feed the new forest.

Mount St. Helens impresses on me the cyclical nature of time and events. Long before we descended from the trees, geologic forces of creation and destruction were in motion. Long after we’re gone, it will continue. Volcanoes, fires and earthquakes will erase old life to make way for new life. Mount St. Helens will awaken and when it does, I hope that I’m far, far away.

This tree was probably snapped from its roots and thrown into this hillside. Photo by Jonny Eberle.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. He has spent much of his life tempting fate by living in close proximity to volcanoes, from the San Francisco Peaks to Mount Rainier. You can comment below or follow him on Twitter.

The Rain In Washington Falls Mainly On the Tulips

29 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Photography, Travel, Writing

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adventure, am writing, April showers, flowers, life, Mount Vernon, mud, patience, personal reflection, photography, rain, rainy day, road trip, RoozenGaarde, Skagit Valley, Skagit Valley Tulip Festival, storm, the rain in washington, travel, tulip, Washington, water, writing, Writing Life

Washington is a beautiful state. It is lush and green; brimming with life. And there’s a reason for it. Washington is the rainiest place I have ever lived (recall that before this, I was in the high desert of Northern Arizona). There is a price for beauty — months of drizzle interspersed with torrential downpours.

This weekend, I was lucky to visit the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival, an annual celebration of Western Washington’s tulip farms, which are some of the largest outside of the Netherlands. Four of us trekked north, beyond Seattle to the pastoral lands of the Skagit Valley. Tractor dealerships and sleepy towns were nestled on the banks of winding rivers. We finally arrived in the fields outside of Mount Vernon at the famous RoozenGaarde gardens. Acres and acres of pastel flowers lay before us, so of course, the valley welcomed us with a cloudburst. The flowers were nice, but it was clear that the season was drawing to a close and much of the former glory had dimmed. Much of the land around of was fallow. Many rows of tulips had already been cut down. And it was pouring on us. We quickly snapped our photos.

We retreated from the muddy, slippery rows of tulips into the safety of my car. All seemed lost. But if there’s a secret to living in Washington, it’s patience. We were just about to leave in search of a better spot to admire the flowers when the raindrops on the windshield slowed. A few rays of sunshine poked through the mass of black thunderclouds. The storm had passed. Before the next one arrived, we decided to see what the other side of the road held, behind its tall hedge.

What we found was an intricate garden of tulips, planted in swirls and labyrinths. Tulips of every color and variety (and the varieties have super interesting names, like Flaming Parrot, Sensual Touch and Moneymaker). It was perfect. We wandered through the gardens and windmills for another hour before we meandered on to a vineyard for a quick wine tasting and a through street fair in the town of Mount Vernon before heading home. Sure, we got a little muddy. I still haven’t dried out, but I think it’s sometimes necessary to forgo comfort in pursuit of adventure.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a slightly sodden writer and adventurer in Tacoma, WA. You can follow his written work in a steady stream from the Twitter hose. Thanks for reading!

City of Destiny

11 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Flash Fiction, Photography, Writing

≈ 1 Comment

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21st Street Bridge, am writing, city, City of Destiny, Commencement Bay, destiny, downtown Tacoma, flash fiction, life, night photography, observation, Old Town Dock, personal reflection, photography, Seattle, skyline, Tacoma, Tacoma Narrows Bridge, underdog, urban, Washington, writing, Writing Life

Tacoma Narrows. Photo by Jonny Eberle.

They call it the City of Destiny or the Gritty City. It is a city of contradictions, loved and despised, where 19th century steeples share the skyline with 20th century smokestacks. A blue collar city choked in paper mill chemicals and cleansed by saltwater breezes. A city of potholes and community gardens.

Commencement Bay. Photo by Jonny Eberle.

The second city, overlooked by glistening Seattle to the north, Tacoma is the dark horse. The people drawn here, the people like me, prefer it that way — we fight for the underdog. And yet, in spite of its reputation, I see it throwing off the shackles of its industrial past. I see it reclaiming the abandoned waterfront warehouses; nurturing a fledgling arts community like a flickering flame. I see container ships on the bay waiting their turn to unload the cargo from foreign lands.

Years ago, it lost the railroad and with it a chance to stand on the stage of the world. For a hundred years, it shed its sweat in obscurity, but now, it calls those of us downtrodden and searching for a second chance. Now, it rises and claims its identity, not as the lesser of two great metropolises but as the place that destiny remembered.

Downtown Tacoma. Photo by Jonny Eberle.

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Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer and underdog supporter living in Tacoma, WA. You can follow his gritty Twitter feed @jonnyeberle or leave a comment below. Thanks for reading!

The Whimsical World of Indoor Mini Golf

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Writing

≈ 4 Comments

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am writing, childhood, disappearing places, exploring, golf, golf balls, hidden, hidden gem, memories, mini golf, mini golf course, miniature golf, new city, new places, nostalgia, personal reflection, perspective, photography, putt-putt, rainy day, small, sports, stress relief, Tacoma, Tower Lanes, Washington, writing, Writing Life

I have a new obsession. Last weekend, my girlfriend and I walked into a drab building in Tacoma’s sketchy Narrows District. Rain was pouring down outside, but inside, tucked behind a bowling alley and an arcade, is something special. Like Gulliver on Lilliput, we stepped into a miniature world and were suddenly transformed into giants.

People of all ages were there, putting colorful golf balls around fake sand traps (and very real water obstacles). The whole place was alive with activity. Hoots of victory and groans of failure echoed under the low ceiling. Teeing off at the first hole, I was confident. I hadn’t been to a mini golf course in years, probably not since going with my cousins on a muggy summer’s night in Pennsylvania ten or fifteen years ago. In all that time, my game has not improved. My ball wheeled wildly off course. A par-3 hole? Ha! I’ll do it in nine. For the sake of my dignity, Stephanie stopped counting at six. Even though my technique began to show signs of life in the back nine holes, she still ended up beating me 65 to 75.

I’m a long way from being the Tiger Woods of putt-putt, but I think I’ll be back. You see, the really cool thing about mini golf, the thing that will likely keep me coming back to Tower Lanes, isn’t the competition. It’s the novelty and the nostalgia. It doesn’t matter if you sink a hole-in-one or miss the hole ten times from two inches away, the fun part is the strangeness of inhabiting this brightly-colored astroturf universe, where half-size rivers tumble through a plastic and concrete wilderness. For us full-grown people, a trip to the mini golf course feels like a trip into our own technocolor childhood. Win or lose, I think we all need that perspective when our stress levels are high.

In the land of mini golf, the world feels smaller and so, too, do the problems.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer and photographer in Tacoma, WA. You can follow him on Twitter for more pint-size thoughts or leave a mini comment below. Thanks for reading!

Misty Mornings on the Puget Sound

19 Saturday Oct 2013

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Flash Fiction, Writing

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am writing, flash fiction, fog, life, mist, personal reflection, photography, Puget Sound, Tacoma, Washington, writing, Writing Life

Time is frozen in the hills above the Puget Sound. Small particles of water are suspended in the air. A cloud has descended on the city and holds it in its clammy grip. Sounds are close and sharp, but far away sights blend into the wash. You are stalked by people unseen.

The world is smaller. An entire planet seems squeezed into the space of a city block. The end of the street feels like the end of the universe. It’s beautiful; it’s claustrophobic. You breathe fog into your lungs. Water vapor goes in cold and comes out as hot steam.

A horn blows on Commencement Bay, which feels so far away it might as well not even exist. You shuffle into the white abyss. You could be the last person on Earth, but you let yourself be swallowed by the hungry fog.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. A recent immigrant from Arizona, he’s still fascinated by ordinary things like fog and rain and water. You can follow him on Twitter at @jonnyeberle.

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One Week In Washington: My Obsession With Water

10 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by Jonny Eberle in Writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

am writing, arizona, climate, comparison, drought, exploration, Flagstaff, moving, personal reflection, photography, Puget Sound, Tacoma, Washington, water, writing, Writing Life

There is so much water. So much.

It’s been seven days since I found myself in the mysterious, far away land that is the state of Washington and I think it’s slowly beginning to dawn on me that I’m staying. Will flew home on Tuesday and much of the early excitement has cooled off. I generally have my days to myself now. My girlfriend is gainfully employed, leaving me plenty of time to explore.

Everyday, I come in over the bridge (sometimes in dense fog, which is disconcerting) and have free reign to go wherever I please. If I want to wander through Old Town or go to Trader Joe’s, no one can stop me.

But the thing I keep coming back to is the water. The Puget Sound is over 100 miles long and covers a total area of more than 1,000 square miles; riddled with fjords and streams. Tacoma itself is surrounded by water on three sides. Water is all around.

For someone who spent his entire adult life in the high desert of Arizona, nothing could be more foreign. In the desert, water is precious and scarce. Some people haul freshwater 50 miles just to drink and wash with. It’s so hard to come by that the Arizona State Constitution makes it illegal to deny someone a glass of H2O. Water is life-giving. Every drop must be saved. Water can also be devastating — monsoon rains flood canyons and sweep through burn areas, leaving nothing but destruction.

In Washington, the water is calm and ever-present. Life is teeming everywhere you look and no one worries about the Sound drying up. What a luxury it is to know that the water will always be there. And what a strange concept for someone who came up from the drought-stricken dry forests of northern Arizona to wrap his head around.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a water-obsessed Arizona transplant living in Tacoma, WA. You can follow his blog right here and also follow him on Twitter.

Incidentally, this is my 150th post on this blog! Thank you so much for reading!

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Smooth Sailing: My Toast to the Happy Couple
Brushstrokes

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