My mission was to shoot the moon setting behind San Francisco from Treasure Island. It had been a journey of persistence and patience, testing my will and resolve and my ability to take what Mother Nature offered instead of trying to tame her. I had been all over Yerba Buena and Treasure Island for months trying to get the shot, above the Bay Bridge and below it, thwarted by fog and crazy drivers, by the time of year when the moon was either too far north or too far south.

But then, at 4:30 in the dark of an August morning, friend Frank the Famous Framer and his Boston Whaler had me screaming through the Sausalito fog, out past Alcatraz and into the dry cold air of the East Bay. We slipped under the belly of the Bay Bridge in the cold blue-black darkness before sunrise. And there we floated motorless, waiting for the sun with the tide trying to flush us out through the Golden Gate and the full moon still high over The City, the lights of the bridge creating a pearl necklace draped around the pyramid. Frank had called the night before to tell me to bring an appropriate CD. So there we waited in the moonlight with San Francisco reflecting off the water and not another boat in sight, just the lighthouse on Alcatraz flashing through the fog every four or five seconds and Neil Young singing about the harvest moon, foghorns keeping time. It was one of those moments I will remember forever. I can even smell it right now. And we got the shot.

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