You're Right - Black IS Beautiful

But I Didn't Argue About Who Had Right Of Way

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

These shots were taken during my trip to the Yukon late last year. We were just entering Haines Junction when we noticed a black bear crossing the Alaska Highway.

Throughout that trip, I had two camera around my neck. I had to react fairly quickly here, because the bear had already crossed the highway and was walking off into the trees. He was a fair way away from me, so it would probably have been safe to step out of the car.

But I knew that in the few seconds it would have taken me to jump out of the vehicle, walk clear and line up a shot, he would probably have disappeared. So I took the next best option and shot these through the windscreen.

Not great shots, but I'm glad I took them. Because the bear had disappeared a few seconds later.


Check out the rules at Camera Critters or go to Misty Dawn.

An Uphill Task

Pedal To The Metal

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Like any photographer, I was awake very early in Haines Junction when I was in the Yukon in August-September last year. I always find that the soft light just before and after dawn and similarly at dusk is great for photographs with any lens. More to the point, you often get unusual glimpses of any setting at these times, before normal routines take hold.

This was my second trip to the beautiful town surrounded by mountains and, just as it enthralled me the first time, I still got a kick out of walking beside the historic Alaska Highway, shooting a variety of scenes as I walked.

Something made me look across the highway and I spotted this cyclist and I knew it was one of those poetically rare scenes that had to be captured immediately. He was a long way away from me, but I had two cameras around my neck, a Pentax K100D with my 18-125mm lens and a Pentax K200D with my 70-300mm lens.

I grabbed the latter and waited a few seconds until the cyclist was closer to the bend and more in line with the mountain. I was too far away to find out who the cyclist was or where he was going – but I just hope he wasn’t going all the way to the summit.

Visit MamaGeek and Cecily, creators of Photo Story Friday.

Snap, Crackle and Pop

Breakfast In The Embrace Of Snowy Mountains

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When you're in a place as beautiful as the Yukon, all that matters is the scenery, the landscapes, the wilderness and the mountains. You're in rugged territory. The last thing on your mind is fine dining. In a place as awe-inspiring as this, it really does not matter what you eat. Appetite and how you sustain it are purely incidental.

But there is one place where you can certainly find gourmet dining. I first stayed at The Raven in 1999, when I was in the town of Haines Junction. I spent a fair bit of time chatting to the German couple who not only owned it, but had actually created it.

Hans and Christine Nelles put a certain unbridled passion into The Raven. Hans told me about how he was one of the people who actually built this dream project from the ground up, with a propane heater to shield him from the mind-numbing cold of his surroundings.


When I was invited back there a few weeks ago by Yukon Tourism, I was delighted to find Haines Junction on my itinerary and yes, I even got my old room, with its view of the mountains.

And let me assure you that the kitchen still turns out dishes that would do a major hotel chain proud. There are still crisp white linen tablecloths. The cutlery looks as if it has just been polished. The crockery is fine china. And the glasses are so well presented that you can photograph a landscape in the reflection on their pristine surface.

I took these shots at breakfast, when I spent time talking to the chef, Victor Bongo. His passion for his craft is deep-rooted and he told me of his dream to write a recipe book. It's not just an armchair project, either. He has already started photographing the dishes in order to present the whole concept to a publisher.

If a chef has such an appetite for his work, it figures that everyone who comes through the door of his restaurant is going to enjoy what is served. I hope Victor's book is coming along well and that he never says he has too much on his plate!


PS: If you're wondering why I took this last shot, which seems to be in very soft focus, look closely at the surface of the knife. You'll see that the reflection of the glass on the surface of the knife blade is what I've concentrated on.

Visit TNChick, creator of Photo Hunt. Today's theme: "Breakfast".

The Wild Blue Wander

Just Before The Clouds Came Rolling In

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I returned to Haines Junction in the Yukon a couple of months ago, after a nine-year absence, I was fairly tired after a long highway drive and an Icefields Discovery flight that took me, in part, over Mount Logan, Canada's highest peak.


I seriously considered just chilling in my hotel room at The Raven for an hour or so, but discarded the idea immediately. The last time I was here was in May, in very cloudy weather. This time, I knew the weather was going to deteriorate, so I wanted to get in as much photography as possible.


This clump of about two dozen aspens was right across the Alaska Highway from the front of the hotel, so I headed across the road to get as many shots as I could. Let me tell you something, mate - it ain’t an easy task shooting aspen leaves on a windy day.


You know how they’re called "trembling aspens"? Well, there is good reason for that. Even the slightest breeze sends the leaves a-flutter. For someone like me, who has not grown up or lived in the vicinity of aspen (Darjeeling had birch and pine, but not aspen, to the best of my knowledge) just standing there and listening to the rustling of the leaves was a rewarding gift from Nature.


It was, and I’m concentrating very hard here to paint a word-picture for you, akin to listening to someone rubbing tiny pieces of parchment together. It was a middle-range sound, akin to what Beethoven might have called The Leaf Symphony.


I was blessed, because the incredible blue sky was the perfect backdrop for this sequence of shots. And just a few minutes after I’d finished, the light had already changed and the mountains that form a half-necklace around Haines Junction were already fringed with low cloud.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Cop Out

Officer, Be Careful Of Woodpeckers

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

When I was in Haines Junction nine years ago, I took some panoramic shots of the mountains that surround this little town blessed with great views. At the time, I never thought I’d return. But when I was back in Haines Junction last month, I woke up early, just so that I could return to the same spot and take the same images from exactly the same vantage point.

It’s not often you can tell people that you just jaywalked across the Alaska Highway to take a photograph, but that’s exactly what I did here - after checking to see that there was no traffic and yes, I actually remembered to look the "wrong" way first.

I walked downhill, looking across the highway, when I noticed this police cruiser at the Shell service station. But, like one of those cartoon characters, I did a quick double-take and realised (even from about 50 metres away) that it was not a real cruiser, but a wooden replica.

I knew these had been tested in parts of Europe for the past few years, but it was the first time I’d actually seen one myself. I later found out that the students in the local school had created the wooden replica in their woodwork class. I’m sure they all scored A+ grades.

I guess I could have captioned this post "Mountie Everest".

Visit MamaGeek and Cecily, creators of Photo Story Friday.

The Lake Was Placid

Anything I Canoe, You Canoe Better

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Last week, the sun started to break through thick cloud at Kluane National Park in Haines Junction, Canada, as we hiked around Lake Kathleen. Around the same time, the wind was gently rustling the leaves of the beautiful trees around the lake.

In the space of a few minutes, I watched the water's surface change to blue-green to a distinct shimmering silver. Then I watched these two people in their canoe and I realised that if I used my 300mm lens, the bright colour of their canoe would be a perfect foil for the glittering water.

Sometimes things just set themselves up for a great photograph - all we have to do is "see" the image and hit the shutter.

Elk Dorado

Herd It On The Grapevine

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Sometimes you just get plain lucky. Late on Monday, as we drove from Haines Junction to Whitehorse, I was shooting through the window of the fast-moving 4WD, as I had done right through the trip. We were more than halfway through the journey when I spotted an oval-shaped lake.

There was very little breeze, so the surface of the water was absolutely calm, reflecting the beautiful yellow and green tones of the fall colours. We turned around and headed back up the highway so I could take some shots of the reflections - and while I did so, we could hear the high-pitched sound of what I thought was a herd of caribou.

But Margaret Goodwin, of Yukon Tourism, pointed out that it was actually the sound of elk. In the stillness of the evening, the sound was clear and dramatic. It drew me like a magnet.

Sure enough, less than a quarter of a mile up the highway, up a grassy knoll, was the herd. I got some shots of the animals closest to me, when we noticed the antlers belonging to a stag.


So there I am, pointing my lens at this magnificent beast, but what I really want, more than anything else, is for him to look directly at me. Antler shots are great, but there's nothing better than actually having a stag looking directly into your lens.

When in doubt, improvise. So I relied on the age-old theory that if you don't know an Aussie bloke's name, you call him Bruce.

"Psssst, Bruce," I called out (not too loudly, though) as I tried to attract the attention of the stag.


If Crocodile Dundee could hypnotise a water buffalo, maybe (just maybe) I could get this fella to look straight at me.

"Oi, Bruce," I tried again, speaking in a low, measured tone that I hoped would carry clearly. "Look this way."

So he did. And I hit the shutter as quick as I could, before he turned majestically away.

I have to say, though, my best animal photo from this week was a priceless shot of a Charging Grizzly. Do check it out and tell me whether you agree wth a very funny comment from Sharon Ishika, a brilliant doctor who has been a close friend of mine since we were about seven years old.

She checked out the shot I took of the grizzly on the charge and had a short but succinct message for me. This is what she said: "That is exactly what I told my mother when she insisted you were a "nice boy" -- he's stupid! Forty years down the line you prove me right. Forget the attempts at being smart like working out the camera details."

Check out the rules at Camera Critters or go to Misty Dawn.

Sergeant Restive Of The Yukon

H Is For Helicopter (And For Hover Crafty)

Photograph copyright: MATTHEW McMAHON

He is one of Canada’s most decorated rescue helicopter pilots but the next time I catch up with Doug Makkonen, I won’t be shaking hands with him. Nuthin' personal, though. The last time I did, in 1999 at Haines Junction in the Yukon, my hand came back a different shape and I can still hear the knuckles cracking in his generous grasp. Doug, the base manager for Trans North Helicopters is a big bloke, and his vice-like grip befits the national recognition for his skills as a fearless chopper pilot and his bravery as a rescuer.

You think I'm kidding about his grip? Nope. Mate, look at the picture below and you'll see that his three passengers on the right have their hands determinedly out of his way. Doug was born to be a chopper pilot, but never, ever tell him ``Get a grip''. Ask me. I know all about it.

This is Kluane National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site, and we are shortly to head to the Lowell Glacier, even though the weather is not too flash. The yellow and red Bell Ranger is bound to mother earth by silvery metal clamps on the launch pad. Having mangled my hand, Doug (pictured here in olive-green cap and blue parka) makes amends by giving me the airborne equivalent of the penthouse suite, the left-hand seat in front with him, in the clear perspex bubble of the cockpit.

I make a mental note not to touch the white rudder pedals in front of me as Doug shows us how to strap ourselves in. Three metallic clicks later, we are in business and Doug does one final inspection of the chopper as he checks the outside locks on the passenger doors.

Then he settles into the pilot's seat, hands out a set of headphones to each one of us with brief instructions on how to use them ("make sure the microphone is really, really close to your lips") and then the whine of the engine and the thump of the rotors drowns out normal conversation.

The landscape starts to change. There are patches of ice on the ground. Shortly, we are in the thrall of the Lowell Glacier, its ridges and its edges and its awe-inspiring vistas that are a legacy of the Ice Age. Doug tells us how Lake Alsek, formed some time between the 18th and 19th centuries, reached halfway to Whitehorse and how it is thought to have drained back in just under three days after the ice dam broke.

What unfolds below us is one majestic sight after another. Doug reminds us that the glacier's levels keep shifting. "If I were to put down on the glacier and turn the engine off, you'd hear it groaning and creaking constantly." Suddenly I am struck by a colour on the glacier. To our left is a patch of vivid blue, a shade I have never seen anywhere before. More patches appear with the same unique colour and when I ask, Doug explains that it is caused by melting ice. As a photographer and painter, it is the purest blue I have ever seen.

On the way back to the airfield, Doug gives us plenty of photo opportunities. He gives us a James Bond-eye-view of some peaks, flying up to them and (to our untrained eyes) not clearing them by too much. It's one thing looking at 007's stunt pilots doing this in 70mm. It's another thing altogether when you're sitting there, alongside the pilot. Then Doug does his party piece. He skims over a looming peak and then, abruptly below us, is a deeply-riven valley. No warning. Whoa. I am convinced my lunch is about to reappear.

When I get my breath back, I ask Doug what the drop was. "Three thousand feet," he says, laconically. Three thousand feet? In my state of instant apoplexy, I'm convinced it was at least the height of Everest. But Doug's the king of the Yukon, so I take his word.

But we didn't shake hands on it. I'm not that stupid.

Wrestle With This Concept

Relax, They'll Do You No Arm



My American buddy Bart recently did an interview where one of the questions was: ``Do you think you could defeat David McMahon in a spirited game of thumb wars?''

Funny thing is, that question took me right back to The Yukon, on a travel-writing trip I made in 1999. There I was in the Gateway Lounge at Haines Junction on the Alaska Highway, when I was introduced to a unique type of wrestling ....

A bloke called Rich walked over to where we sat. He's about the size of a barn door. And I'm talking B I G barn. He admires my MCG (Melbourne Cricket Ground) cap, asking me to toss it across the table to him. You don't mess with a bloke that size, so I just pass it over. He holds it admiringly, touching the gold letters on it and tracing the embroidered outline of the famous sporting venue.

"I collect caps," he announces. Somehow I find the courage to tell him that he'll have to wait until I get home and mail him one. He thinks about this for a moment, then decides he can trust me. He passes it back and says enthusiastically, "You do that and I'll send you a really good Yukon cap." To set the seal on our undying friendship, he offers to introduce me to squaw wrestling.

Excuse me? Squaw wrestling? I have this mental picture of being forced to fight him for a woman and I look for a dark corner of the Lounge. But Rich pulls one of his mates into the spotlight.

"Here, we'll show you what squaw wrestling is all about." He and his mate lie flat on their backs, their heads pointing in opposite directions. On the count of three, they both raise their right legs as each contestant tries to pin the other down. No contest. Rich has his mate pinned in a couple of seconds. His mate is a woman called Deb. We get the distinct impression she is very disappointed with her form.

It is my turn. The hopes and fears of our great nation rest on my shoulders. We line up and I formulate the perfect plan I'll go for his hamstring. One, two, three. I swing up and even before I can swivel, Rich has me pinned. Time elapsed: about half a second. Deb looks a bit happier now.

Determined to advance Australia's reputation, I offer to take on Rich at arm wrestling. We sit down opposite each other and I put my right arm on the table." Ah, my right hand is a bit busted. We'll do it left-handed if that's OK with you," he says.

It's OK with me. This is a far better contest and at one stage it looks as though Australia is about to make a big comeback before Canada makes it 2-0. Much later in the day, I surmise that I have probably been had. The next time I see Rich, I'll ask him if he's left-handed.

Freeze A Crowd

Wanna Play Ice Spy?

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

The best thing about an icy morning here in Melbourne is the sunny, cloudless day. This shot was taken about half an hour ago, just before 9am Sunday morning (yes, it's Sunday here) when most of the ice had melted off the top of my car. But I raced out with my camera because the sun was glinting on the thin remnants of the ice, making it glint like tiny diamonds.

On a working day, the trick is to make sure you never suffer from FHS, or frozen hose syndrome. Back in the winter of '95, I was confronted with a car so comprehensively frozen over, even the door handles were iced shut. What? Me worry? Never. I just walked over purposefully to where I had cannily uncoiled the garden hose the previous night, in preparation for what I knew would be a grim cold snap. Only problem was, the hose was frozen stiff. It was like someone had put a metal rod into the hose.

The other danger, for Melburnians, is in disconnected hoses. See ice on the car. Connect hose. Turn tap on. Hose connection splits under pressure. You're drenched and ready to do a Jack Frost impression.

But you have to feel sorry for the Russian bloke who copped his own version of FHS, about four years ago. There he was, at a deserted bus stop on a sub-zero night. And the pressure on his bladder was beginning to mount. So he did the decent thing and looked all around, to make sure he wouldn't offend anyone by seeking relief.

He nestled into the corner of the bus shelter but he got too close. In that instant, flesh and metal fused together in the cold. Rescue workers eventually got him free, but when warm water failed to do the trick, they had to resort to pouring hot water instead. When the mortified bloke got to hospital, they had to figure out whether to treat him for frostbite or burns.

And spare a thought for the hardy residents of the Yukon (yep, Sergeant Preston's territory) in northern Canada, where the mercury often drops to minus 30C, even before the wind chill is taken into account. One evening I came out of the Gateway Lounge, a pub in Haines Junction on the Alaska Highway. And squinted at the electrical leads attached to every parking spot. Huh? That's where hardy winter drinkers plug in under-bonnet connections so their engine blocks don't freeze.