Chris Bickford

So Chris Whitehurst turned 40 last week. As befitting for the unofficial “mayor” of the Land of Lost Children, we had a big party, involving several boats and a lot of seafood and beer. Originally Whitey wanted a parade down Lindberg Street, but somehow the event morphed into a boat procession from Jon Beckner’s house to Greentail’s Restaurant on the Currituck side of the sound. At the Beckners’, we presented him with his birthday present–a Fender Deluxe Telecaster, which Gary Rader had bought with a pool of funds from the crew (Gary’s ulterior motive was to get his old blonde Tele back, which Whitey has been using for the past two years). Chris was also given a top hat and scepter, which he proudly sported the entire evening. The party ended up at Chili Pepper’s, where Whitey got up with his new guitar and tore it up with Formula.

Happy Birthday, my man…

From Zagreb we flew to Dubrovnik, where we had rented an apartment for five days. We rented scooters and tooled around the old city and the surrounding beaches. We walked the city walls and drank beer in the squares. We ate pizza and seafood, wandered the alleyways, and swam.

Dubrovnik is a city that swims, literally. Everywhere there are people hopping into the Adriatic for a quick dip, whether it’s just outside the city walls, on the outlying pebble beaches, or on the surrounding islands. Pack your trunks if you go, you’ll be wearing them all day long.

Click on any of the thumbnails below to see the full-size photo, and start the slideshow…

So here’s what you need to know about me. I’m 40 years old, 6 foot 2, about 200 pounds, and I live with my dog Mona in a funky house at the beach. I occasionally surf, often cycle (that’s the kind without a motor, thank you very much), and spend too much of my time scudding around in my car up and down the bypass going to Staples or the post office, or to the bagel place.

Spring and Fall, I photograph weddings.  Most of them are here on the Outer Banks.  We get the best wedding clients in the world because they all just want to have a good time and get married with their toes in the sand.   And then they go home with photographs and beautiful memories, and we get to stay here.

Summer and Winter, now that I can afford it, I travel, or work on personal projects.  Lately I’ve been going to Europe and working on my street photography, just trying to get a feel for the life of various cities.  I’ve started to work on a few little books, on Dubrovnik, Venice, and Paris.    Back home, I hang out in the “digital darkroom”, and if the sky outside starts to look interesting, or there’s a fun event happening, I grab a camera or two and venture out.

I play guitar, though not as much as I used to, and sing, much better now than I did when I wanted to be a rock star. Most parties around here end up in a jam session, and we’ve had some big nights of 8-part harmonies with djembes, guitars, mandolins, all ringing, beating, and shaking. We’ve also had some lame nights, where we play the same old crap we always play it sounds like crap too. For a while I made my living playing in bars, but it wasn’t much of a living. Fun, though. I recorded some songs up in New York City, but nothing much happened to them. They were pretty good songs, but I don’t have that songwriting jones anymore. One of these days I want to put together something really creative, do some more recording. One of these days.

I’ve lived in a lot of places in the past, now I’m trying to stay in one place and just travel a lot. Maybe as time goes on I’ll write down a few of the old stories, but mostly I’m going to focus on current travels and events on the homefront. My friends always complain that I take all these pictures of them and nobody ever gets to see them unless I throw a party and show them on my computer, so hopefully the Travelogue will ameliorate that situation.

I was one of those melancholic artist kids, and I still occasionally get lost in my little world and walk around with a cloud of funk encircling me. Don’t take it personal, I’m just like that sometimes.

I’ve got a lot of things I want to do with my life, still, and only so much time and energy available to do them. I require a lot of sleep and a lot of downtime, which makes it harder to get it all done. So I take it bit by bit. I guess I’ve got that same monkey on my back that most people have, telling me all the things that I need to be doing all the time. Sometimes I hate that monkey. Makes it so hard to relax, chit-chat, or be in the moment. Unless you’re doing something the monkey deems is worthwhile. But in all honesty I’m glad he’s there, otherwise I wouldn’t get anything done…

July 4 is the biggest day of the year on the Outer Banks. It’s a time of beginnings and endings, a time for seeing people we haven’t seen in a long time, a time for letting go of troubles and grudges, a time to get sunburn and drink too much beer and play volleyball and celebrate the fact that while everybody else has driven hundreds of miles and spent thousands of dollars on a rental house and is stuck with the in-laws for the rest of the week, all any of us have to do is figure out where to park. And no, just because you know me doesn’t mean you can park at the beach house:)

Our 2nd annual volleyball tournament was not quite as raucous and competitive as the first, but we did uphold the tradition of erecting the net in the morning and playing through the afternoon. Last year’s net lasted until the big November nor’easter blew it down. This year, it may last all year long, as we put it up in the vacant lot just south of the beach house, where it will be more protected from the elements.

Every year our neighbors Mike and Terry put on a big potluck party and fireworks show, and everybody shows up to grub and socialize and watch the down-home spectacle. This year the Kitty Hawk Town Council decided to enforce the “no fireworks” law that has been on the books for years, and the cops were patrolling the beach confiscating stashes and handing out fines. The boys had already set up their mortars, and Mike made an announcement saying we all might need to chip in for the fine and maybe come pick him up in jail, but he was going to put the show on regardless. The neighborhood cops came by and stood around for an hour or so, then went down to harass other folks down the beach. The boys knew this would be their only chance, so they lit everything they had all at once. It was like daylight all of a sudden, the sky just ripping open with light and sound. Had no one known better, you’d think we were being bombed. Shrieks of delight from everyone on the beach.

The cops showed up a few minutes later, but all the evidence had been destroyed. Sorry, guys…

This is just a test post, with a few images from Venice that I shot last February during Carnevale. Stay tuned for more…