Ponomar Photography

I’m sure many citizens of Lethbridge witnessed the intense lightning display on Monday, July 26^th, as it was pretty hard to miss. I have posted some pictures below that I took that night, but first I want to share the traumatizing story of what I had to go through to get them.

It is always such a hassle to bring my camera gear anywhere. My bag is deeper than the average duffle bag and heavier than the emotional suitcase that Lindsay Lohan packs every time she goes to court. Between my over-sized hunch-backpack and my tripod, it is a major workout whenever I go gallivanting in search of a fascinating frame. I NEVER shoot without either. This makes for awkward car rides (especially if I’m the passenger) and exhausting trips because I never let them out of my site… or possession.

On this particular night I had an uncharacteristic random urge to bring my camera gear with me while I made a quick trip to the south side to visit my girlfriend. The sky was clear and I wasn’t really expecting to see anything exciting on the way home…

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I won’t miss a lightning storm for anything. Meteors could be crashing into the earth from all directions and a giant fire could be frivolously engulfing the entire city and I’d be driving as fast as I could, oblivious to everything going on around me while trying to find the best vantage point to consume a bolt of lightning on my thirsty sensor.

I was heading North on Scenic Drive about to make my way to the off-ramp going West, when in the distance I caught a glare of satisfaction in the small dark clouds just above the horizon. I was pretty sick that day and was just on my way home to bed, but I had just seen lightning! What else could I possibly do than sniff my way to the nearest viewing location on a quest for a decent photo?

My nose led me to the edge of the coulee, far West of the Galt Museum. I parked my car at the Galt and wandered carelessly through the tall grass towards the coulee without even looking down at the ground below me. When I finally reached my destination, I had the perfect view.  If I looked down and to my left, I could see Fort Whoop-Up. The West-side hill lingered closely behind. To my immediate right, if I had scaled my way down the coulee face my life probably would have ended abruptly in a plummeting death and I would have ended at the bottom of the road to Indian Battle Park (Okay, so I may have exaggerated a tiny bit). Either way, I was as far out to the coulees as I could get, and had veered well beyond my intended path and even further from my vehicle. It didn’t even occur to me that I might not be in the most opportune location for a retreat if any unforeseen circumstance (such as a torrential downpour) were to take place.

The wind had picked up drastically, and while I didn’t even notice the goose bumps on my arms, nor my body temperature dropping degrees at a time (Fahrenheit that is, Celsius just sounds too ridiculous), I was aware of my tripod struggling to maintain it’s grip on the angry earth below. Like any good mother would do, I immediately thought of the children and jumped in front of my tripod to shield it from the Lethbridge Hurricane (no pun intended).

By this time the sky was raging with thunder that could put a Rolling Stones concert to shame and the lightning was getting more and more insistent on making it’s mighty presence known. The sky was dark by now, but the lightning was so close that I literally couldn’t look over my shoulder without seeing the ground below me light up. It was so intense that the bigger strikes washed out my entire frame, rendering those photos unusable. Instead of getting scared like any person with a little common sense would do when the hairs on the back of their neck stood up from the static electricity, I blocked it out of my mind and continued to expose myself (pun intended).

Without warning, a few raindrops turned into a falling river and left me with yet another concern, this one being unavoidable. The safety and well being of my beloved camera was now in jeopardy! Rather than taking the time to remove the giant weighty body bag containing my camera gear off my back to help reduce the risk of water damage, I bolted to the nearest sanctuary with my camera in one hand and my tripod (still extended) in the other. Unfortunately, the closest sanctuary happened to be my vehicle and it was a couple of kilometers away. I ran like hell, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt while trying to keep my camera dry underneath my already drenched T-shirt. My knees were shaking and I could barely breathe, and I felt like I was going to collapse onto the cold wet ground. Intermittent bursts of light lit up the ground before me, shining rays of hope to a seemingly endless journey. I almost admitted defeat to the elements, but then I kept running. I could see the extended parking lot of the Lethbridge Lodge in the distance now. Many vehicles had gathered to presumably watch the amazing lightning display through their windshield wipers. My body trudged up and down with the weight of the world on my back, and I could see what looked like a blockade of headlights flooding the edge of the parking lot.

I was in desperation mode, concerned mostly about how my life would continue without a camera to guide me through the dark nights in West Lethbridge. My camera and I were so soaked that I completely wrote off any chance that my camera would ever turn on again. As I neared the parking lot, my stomach became queasy and I started to panic. I had no idea what to do since my vehicle was still quite far away. I approached the hill to the parking lot gasping for air, and suddenly the answer became clear. I ran up to the first car I could see and pounded on the window, my fully extended tripod in one-hand and my camera in the other. The girl in the passenger seat jumped back aghast as if I was wielded a bloody hook for a hand. I have no idea why.

A fine citizen in a PT cruiser nearby noticed that I was in trouble (they probably saw a random man with what looked like a weapon in his hand burst into the parking lot while frantically waving his hands in the air, trying to break into the nearest vehicle). A young man jumped out and quickly approached me. Before he could say anything, I broke down shaking and shivering while I pleaded my case as fast I could. I somehow convinced him and his friends to drive me to my vehicle in the nearby parking lot. How bittersweet it was as I jumped into the sanctity of this dry vehicle along with four other people I’ve never met. I was in between two people in the back seat, my backpack sprawled over top of one, and my tripod still fully extended across the back seat. I was soaked, my clothes were soaked, and even my hands which had my camera clutched in a death grip were dripping with water. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so obviously I did both.

I didn’t get the names of those amazing people in the PT Cruiser who saved my baby’s life, but if you are out there, I thank thee full-heartedly! I am in your debt. My camera still turns on to this very day.