The photographs were taken at Tahko on July 24th. I have still quite a few photographs waiting for processing, and perhaps a record number waiting to be used in postings.
(Posting title is from the poem Wide Receiver by Mark Halliday.)
On July 24th I walked up and down the hills at Tahko. The paths were not well marked, and the boards and steps were in bad repair. However, the Huutavanholma nature conservation area was interesting to explore. There was occasional rain and lots of fog.
(Posting title is from the poem Billet-Doux by Chris Forhan.)
Apparently I got enough exercise during the vacation, as the bicycle commute to work felt easy today.
These photographs were taken on July 23rd at Tahko. It was rainy in the evening.
(Posting title is from the poem The Albatross by Kate Bass.)
Tomorrow I'm back to work, and there will be much less time to take photographs. But I do have quite a lot of photographs waiting.
These photographs were taken at Tahko, walking on the hill where the ski slopes are. Various things were to be found there. I have no idea what the boat was doing on top of the ski slope.
(Posting title is from the poem Glass-Bottom Boat by Elizabeth Spires.)
This morning I walked around lake Suolikas in Nuuksio. Looking at the map I estimated that it would take over two hours. When walking I lost the sense of time, and I was quite surprised that the walk had taken 3 h 15 min. The terrain was rugged. There were little nooks to explore, rocky hillsides to climb, and swamps to cross.
These photographs were taken on July 23rd at Tahko, in the middle of Finland, while walking up and down the hills with my daughter.
(Posting title is from the poem The Doubt of Future Foes by Queen Elizabeth I.)
I took 2648 photographs in five days while traveling to three skiing resorts: Tahko, Vuokatti and Koli. There isn't much skiing to be done now that it is summer, but the hills do offer wide landscape to enjoy, and plenty of exercise when walking up and down the steep slopes.
Tahko was the worst site, because the paths were in bad repair, signs missing altogether, boards and steps decaying, and in one place the start of the path was completely missing because of construction work. However, the landscape is definitely worth further exploration. Vuokatti had also problems with paths, except that the signs were a bit better, although there was plenty of decay. However, Koli turned out to be good, the signs were up-to-date on the walking paths, and paths were mostly in good shape.
Of course, this is quite natural, as Koli is the least dependent on the winter season for attracting visitors. I saw loads of tourist busses in the parking place at Koli, coming from Norway, Denmark, etc. However, the paths were rather empty of people, because of the rain, which flooded the paths in many places. Between Sunday afternoon and Monday morning there was over 30 mm of rain, which is half of the average amount of rain for a whole month.
The photographs were taken on July 13th. It will take some time to go through the photographs taken during the trip north.
(Posting title is from the poem “The Decay of ancient knowledge” by Nick Lantz.)
I should start processing more of the photographs taken during our trip north, but they are still waiting.
(Posting title is from the poem Call Me Pier by Susan Firer.)
Here is a kind of panoramic view of the ice-filled and water-covered bay in front of the skiing slopes at Tahkovuori. The photographs were taken from both sides of the bay and from a bridge. This is a subject that didn't suit my usual preference of using the square aspect ratio.
(Posting title is from the poem Eating Chocolate Ice Cream: Reading Mayakovsky by Barbara Guest.)
Before I started driving north from Tahkovuori I had a walk near the slopes. It was slippery, and the clouds hid the sun from view, but at least it wasn't raining.
(Posting title is from the poem For Grant Wood by Margaret Mackinnon.)
These photographs were taken at Tahkovuori on December 27th, before noon. The clouds hovered low enough to cover the top of the hill where the skiing slopes are.
(Posting title is from the poem Days of Heaven by Carl Dennis.)
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