I was all set to man the early morning icy overpass LIVE! until Mother Nature called it off. Instead I scrambled for the hinterlands in a live truck, part of a multi-prong mad dash for snow footage of any kind. I ended up in Glencoe, a lovely little community that's damn dark at five in the morning. Still, the thin white glaze that covered the Alamance County town was enough for me, even if grass blades were sticking up out of it. I pulled over into a used car lot and grabbed my sticks and lens.
White frosting on a Subaru’s windshield, ivory grain sparkling in the glimmer of headlights, a wide shot of trucks plowing through the drizzly muck - all in thirty seconds of news footage. Triggering the RECORD button only after lining up each fifteen second shot, I quickly assembled a rough vignette of sequenced snow footage. Knowing the video would help soften the blow of our four hour tap-dance, I smiled to myself in the dim blue glow of the viewfinder. Four minutes after touchdown, I was back in the saddle, blowing out of town in a roar of strained-out engine whine and eighties-era Metallica.
Hey, an aging lenslinger has to stay awake somehow, right?
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