March 6, 2096. I’d been working in Greymouth on the northwestern coast of New Zealand’s South Island the previous day and had all day today to cross over to the eastern side via Arthur’s Pass. This is a wonderful drive through dramatic gorges, enchanting rivers and streams and lush native bush. In spite of many a stop for closer photographic looks, I made it through the pass and down onto the plains of Canterbury, on my way to Christchurch, before the day’s light had failed—but not long before. The sun was very low in the sky, but the moon was up, and as I saw this row of Lombardi poplars with the moon rising behind them, I pulled over, affixed my camera onto the tripod as fast as possible (there was far too little ambient light for hand-held shooting), hopped a fence, and ran as fast as I dared through a plowed field to get to a spot where I could manage to get the composition that I had visualized when I first saw the possibility and had the inspiration.
My film was ScotchChrome 1000, which I’ve mentioned in a few recent posts. The slide is now nearly 18 years old, and I was tempted to brighten and digitally sharpen it judiciously, but I’ve chosen not to. The only thing I’ve done with the scanned image is to digitally remove a few dust particles that wouldn’t come off with a careful brushing.