I’d heard about California wildflower blooms for years. This past March, I finally went.

I got off work on a Friday evening and drove straight to Soda Lake in the Carrizo Plain — about an hour and a half from the hospital. No planning beyond that. The sun was already low when I arrived, inching back toward the horizon, and the backlight was just a *chef’s kiss.*

All of the photos below were shot on a Canon Autoboy with Kodak Gold 200. I also had a Canon AE-1 with me, but those rolls are still being developed — the particular procrastination of sending in ten rolls at once two months after shooting. (Worth the wait!)

Kodak Gold 200 was the right fit for this. It has a warmth bias that leans into yellows and oranges — which, when you’re standing in a field of goldfields at last light, means the film is doing a favor. The backlight shot was pure flare, and Gold handled it the way only film does: not as a technical problem to correct, but as part of the image.

The grain on Gold 200 is fine enough that you don’t notice it at normal viewing distances, but it’s there — it gives the images a softness that suits this particular landscape. Carrizo Plains feels like it’s from another era, and I think the film agrees!

There’s a lovely path and boardwalk around the lake. I came across a grand total of three other people at the beginning of my walk and zero by the end. It was ever so slightly unsettling to be the only person out here in a landscape that size, but so very serene.

I would definitely come here at sunrise or sunset - the light changes everything. The flora can photograph flat in midday. Also, there is just about no shade at all, so if you do end up in a hot one, bring deodorant and a hat.

Another thing about this adventure – I cut it very, very close with gas. In the future, I would definitely recommend fueling up beforehand, as there is nothing nearby. Also download Google maps before hand instead of winging it back to the right direction like yours truly.

I’m already thinking about where to go next. A road trip is overdue, and this feels like the right weekend to sit down with a big cup of coffee and start mapping it out. If anyone has been somewhere worth shooting on film this summer — or is planning something — I’d love to hear it.

1. Back of the car. This is where we all get ready and also where a lot of our boards live.

   

2. Searching for waves. Usually a friend is at a higher vantage point than the water. For example, at Shell Beach we look out from the top of the Beachcomber stairs.

   

3. Waxing the board. I mix up the full body shots with a close-up of hands doing the waxing.

   

4. The board itself. This can be the full board and just fins.

   

5. Reflection. When this works out it’s so nice – it usually it has to be at early morning or sunset.

   

6. Walking towards the water. I take a step back from the subject to get a zoomed out shot as they enter

   

7. A long distance shot. I then move even further back to get a wider view of the surrounding landscape.

   

8. Board over head. This is a classic silhouette for longboarders and I think always looks beautiful.

   

9. Face close-up. The ocean is special to us and brings so much joy! Often I can see faces light up just walking to the water.

   

10. The accessories. All of the other surf knick knacks that live in our cars round out the story.

I’m always looking to take photos of surfers. There’s so much variety, motion, and beauty to our way of life. And more to come - I’ve been searching for water housing and water-based film cameras for this summer.

Many people who shoot film send it to a lab for development and scanning. The physical part of the process ends at loading the film and the click of the shutter. Last year I learned to develop and print black-and-white film myself. This post is about the development process and why I think it’s worth learning.

Film is organic

Unlike digital, film is a physical medium. Shooting on film is literally burning light onto a chemical surface. Like other organic things, film can expire, warp, and surprise you. Development is the part where you take what you’ve captured and bring it into the world yourself.

The steps of development

The first step happens in complete darkness. The film is unloaded from its canister and wound carefully onto a film spool — this part requires patience. For my first several rolls, and still occasionally, one of my film teachers has helped me load. Once on the spool, the film goes into a development tank that seals out all light. This usually takes place in a closet that either locks from the inside or has a sign on the door that says “Please knock.”

From there the chemicals take over, added one at a time into the development tank and agitated at specific intervals — roughly 30 seconds to 8 minutes per step, varying by film type.

1. Developer — begins the chemical reaction that reveals the image

2. Stop bath — halts the development process

3. Fixer — makes the image permanent and light-safe

4. Hypo clear — removes residual fixer from the film

5. Water wash — film is rinsed for 5 to 10 minutes

6. Dry — hung in a drying cabinet for about 10 minutes, or up to an hour without one. A good time to take lunch.

Once dry I scan my negatives using an Epson scanner at the Cuesta darkroom. In Houston a Noritsu scanner was available. I keep a thumb drive on my keychain so I always have one handy.

I haven’t learned to develop color film yet — it requires more precise temperature control and involves more chemical toxicity than black and white. For now I send my color rolls to a lab, though it’s something I want to learn eventually.

Why darkroom development matters

Today, images can be produced instantly and endlessly. That ease can remove us miles from art. The darkroom has made me slow down and be present with what I’m making.

Community darkrooms are wonderful third spaces. The people I met in my film class were some of my first friends in California. I still regularly follow the work of my darkroom friends in Houston. Almost everyone I’ve met who develops their own work has been kind, patient, and genuinely enthusiastic about sharing photography.

And finally, development — and film in general — teaches you to accept failure. Film has a life of its own. A roll can be underexposed, scratched, or accidentally fogged. I’ve had all of these, and several entirely blank rolls. Unlike digital, there’s no undo. Learning to work with that uncertainty — and often be delighted by it — is part of why seeing the final result is so rewarding.

These photos are from one of my first months here, when I was on a streak of shooting as much black-and-white film as I could to bring into the darkroom at Cuesta. These photos are from Greener Pastures Animal Sanctuary in Arroyo Grande — close to where I live, and one of the first places I found myself wanting to come back to.

The woman in these photos is Diane, the executive director. She took me on a tour through all of the animals — horses, donkeys, goats, chickens, geese, and a couple of others I’m probably missing. She explained the scale of what it takes to keep a place like this running: feeds, cleaning, vet care, a rotating crew of Cal Poly student volunteers. But, the staff are so steady and easy-going, in part because of how peaceful a place like this is. I’m pretty sure my blood pressure lowered by 20 points. After being in hospitals with constant alarms and calls, I was so happy to spend time in fresh air here.

Diane talked about how they found this land and what it looked like when they first arrived. Wide open space. They built so much of the infrastructure and the buildings on the property. (This is what it looks like when people take care of something instead of over developing it for profit.)

When I was researching Greener Pastures before reaching out, I found this quote on their website: “Children trained to extend justice, kindness and mercy to animals become more kind, just and considerate in their relations to each other.” Having now visited a few sanctuaries like this one, I think the same is true for adults. The people who run these places are almost always the most genuinely good people I’ve met. I love seeing the animals. But it’s the people who have made this their life’s work that are the real highlights.

There is no better way to capture this than a film point-and-shoot camera. Not an iPhone. Not a fancy DSLR. A small unpretentious camera loaded with film, doing its job.

I use a Canon Autoboy, but the specs of the camera are less important here than the process. Film is fleeting — and at a gathering like this, that’s the gift. With this camera, we don’t have to think. With a digital camera or phone, the image exists the moment we take it and we often immediately become editors. We check the screen, retake, and curate in real time. With a point-and-shoot loaded with film, we press the shutter and move on. As a result, we stay with the people in front of us.

There are also joys that only reveal themselves at development. There’s the unexpected blur that was the feeling of the moment. The expressions you would have missed if you’d been looking at a screen. The flash that makes everyone look like they’re at the best party (because they are). But mostly, it’s the feeling of having been really, truly there.

The thing I love most, which might drive some people crazy, is the reunion. Weeks after development, back in my new home across the country, I sat with this set of photos and rediscovered this trip. For this particular set I also printed out a bunch and shared them.

You don’t need to know anything about photography to do this. A point-and-shoot is small, unobtrusive, and almost entirely self-sufficient — a little flash for low light, and that’s it. The imperfection makes the image feel like a memory instead of a record. We can easily make taking pictures a natural part of our lives with other people in a way that doesn’t feel like always being on our phones. This is an invitation to just get started.

This past month, I did a shoot with a friend in Cayucos post-call. The light was absolutely gorgeous, with the sort of warm quality that makes everything look softer. We had managed to squeeze it in, as she was about to travel for several months. The day before, I had gotten three hours of sleep and fielded 75 phone calls in a 24-hour period on top of rounding and operating. It was also no question for me that chasing that morning light was worth it — it brought me more joy than I’d felt in a while.

The problem here is that medicine takes everything. Identity, schedule, emotional bandwidth. There is so little time off in surgery, and the little time we do have is often spent trying to feel vaguely normal. This is a little better than in residency, but many of my friends who are new attending physicians have echoed the grind is still very much a grind. Most physicians who had creative lives before residency quietly let them go — not because they wanted to, but because there’s only so much one person can do at once.

When I started this job, I wanted to have a creative life and not make medicine the only part of myself that mattered. I chose to move to California not only for the ocean, but because so much of my time in cities previously was spent consuming — eating out, drinking, buying things. All of these are connected with wonderful memories. But what I really wanted was to create, to put things out into the world, and to find other people who were doing the same.

This has been one of the most protective things against burnout for me. What it actually looks like in practice: I shoot at 6:30 am not only because the light is wonderful, but because our workday starts at 7. I keep my cameras in the car and shoot directly after work — if I go home and sit down on the couch, I will immediately fall asleep. I try to take at least one photo every day just to keep the eye sharp. On weekends I plan one full shoot for people and am intentional about setting these up rather than waiting for them to happen. And I carve out roughly one hour a day for something creative — editing in Lightroom, looking for inspiration from other photographers, writing, posting, learning. Most of the time it’s less than I’d like and messier than I’d planned. But doing literally something snowballs. It adds up in ways that are hard to see until suddenly you look back and six months have passed and you’ve made more work than you have in years.

The biggest thing, though, has been sharing my work with friends. I’ve been on the Central Coast long enough to build community with surfers and artists alongside my day job. Photographing people and being able to give them those images as a gift has been one of my greatest joys. And many of these friends are artists themselves, with so much to share in return.

Surgery and photography are not opposites. They both require us to be fully present, to see the people in front of us clearly, and to work with our hands. Creative work doesn’t take away from clinical work — it feeds it and gives it longevity.

There are my six black hats personalities talk meowing nickname this messagemany things I’d like to do more of: learn to color grade, learn to photograph in the water, and see more of California on road trips with a film camera. The biggest limitation right now is my own energy. I’m still often very, very tired. Most people in healthcare can relate to the feeling of taking care of so many others and running on empty. At the same time, just starting will often carry you forward on its own. I’ve never left my neighborhood pottery studio and regretted going. I’ve never thought that a sleep-deprived shoot was a waste of time — if anything, the opposite.

I’d tell my younger self to not put the camera away for later.

I really love how much natural light sweeps through the top floor of this house. My first month was spent gathering furniture and frames to fill out all these walls. That print in the foreground is an antique map of Philadelphia that was given to me by a coworker before I finished residency and moved. In the very background on the window sill, the bottle comes from one great day tasting wine and playing corn hole at a winery outside Philadelphia with three of my closest friends. My cat Kiki loves to curl up on the fleece blanket on the couch.

This is the one plant that I've managed to keep alive, and I think it’s because this spot has the most direct sunlight in my house. After all of the deceased plants that came before her, I think she'll stay as a solo plant for now. That glass next to her had liquor from Sri Lanka. I met the most wonderful host family had a homestay in Ella, and the night before I left we talked about so much of our lives and split that bottle. The octopus print comes from an art market at Cherry Street Pier in Philadelphia. My friends and I had spent that entire weekend at a bachelor party and ended with a mellow Sunday at the market.

I've been trying to keep fresh flowers here above the kitchen sink every week - thank you Trader Joe's. The flower candle holder was from a road trip with two amazing friends Abhay and Amanda, both of whom have a great eye for home decor. I used to be in the camp where I'd not want to buy a single thing while traveling, and now I love getting things like this that are a small daily reminders of the places that we've been to together. The incense holder is from a cement goods store in Houston named Amano (“by hand”) in the Montrose area.

I have a small roof! Right now the only thing that lives there is this drying rack, which is the home for my wetsuit and any number of swimsuits. Half the time this thing does topple over. I have a small hose on the ground floor that I used to rinse off stuff if there is no shower at the beach, and I bring everything up in the bin to dry out here. With it being spring, I’ve looked at a couple of outdoor rugs and hammocks.

Just having a space outside in the sun to dry all my ocean gear makes me smile all the time. The other thing is every single time that I pull into my garage and remember that I am not going to war for parking in the street (if you know, you know from Philadelphia). It’s way too easy for any woman in her 30s to feel behind on a number of things - relationships, friends, jobs, etc. Just existing in peace is not a thing, because when we achieve things, the bar constantly moves forward. BUT when I see photos like these, I also remember that nearly every day for seven years, all I wanted was to have a little house by the ocean, and in this real estate market where the horrors persist, a rental counts. Just being here, within walking distance of the beach (though a very, very long walk) is something that intern me would've been delighted by.

This is the extension of my home:

And to any friends, hope to see you here soon.

But first, the story backs up eight years to 2018 in Essaouira, Morocco. Joe, his friend Dom, and I all met in a hostel fabulously called Green Milk in an evening jam session. Our newly formed trio then went to Marrakesh together, and all three of us just so happened to have a flight to England on the same day. The universe sometimes spins in very cool circles. I took a train from London to Bristol to hang out with them and other people that I had met during my travels (who also coincidentally lived in Bristol).

Up to 2023: The gang reunites again in Bristol.

And finally, with the magic of social media, in 2025 we found that we moved cross-country and trans-continental to California! I had gotten to the Central Coast, and Joe was on a visa to work at the Lazy Bear, a Michelin starred restaurant in San San Francisco (incredible!). Two transplants with just the right amount of overlap to take off our third continent together.

Flight prices home were absolutely atrocious during the holidays, like robbery in broad daylight. We both wanted meet and to see more of California. Initially we were planning on camping in Point Reyes, but then a relative monsoon overtook most of California. And so we decided instead to go to the Palm Desert, which was relatively rainproof.

On the drive down from San Luis Obispo we went through a town called Maricopa and just had to get out and take pictures. This was right as the sun was setting. The main street here had the town hall, one diner, and this awesome gas station below. This is classic Americana and total delight for an international visitor.

Our Airbnb was just off of a huge set of windmills, which is also a tourist attraction in the area. We had also debated going camping but actually love running water.

We set out to the Indian Canyons first thing in the morning and walked through Murray and Andreas Canyons. These have really lovely and relatively easy trails. Parts of the trails pass through the canyon floors, which are covered with palm trees. Early in the morning, they diffuse the light, making for wonderful photos. Higher parts of the canyons are exposed with a views down into the valley. At the top of Murray Canyon, two people saw my Canon AE-1 and stopped us to chat about their own film!

This is also the first time that I splurged on Portra 400 and I gotta say, it is SO worth it for shooting people. Here is one of my favorites below. Portra is classic for a reason.

We then went to the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway at dusk. It was gorgeous to see the sky start to go to sleep above the desert. Claim to fame: this is the largest rotating aerial tramway in the world. On top of that, the every banger Christmas carol (Feliz Navidad, All I Want for Christmas is You, etc) was on blast the entire way up.

By the time we reached to the top, it had become dark outside. I’ve been working on shooting in low light and love how this frame came out.

The rest is, well, a car accident and a hospital blur. We are fortunately both ok, thanks in large part to very kind friends and family. Also, we are on different continents now with visa expiration. But, there is something that I really, really love about this – the door is always open (sometimes by a small crack) to seeing people again. That’s part of the wonder, fun, and sometimes sadness of taking different paths - we don’t know when it’ll be. Even now, I’m unsure when I’ll see some people from Houston or Philadelphia again. That’s what makes it feel like a smile from the universe when it does happen. With luck and a little bit of planning, for Joe and me our friendship has somehow landed in three continents over eight years.

And where’s the fourth? I don’t know yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s out there.

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Below are pictures that I took, which remain some of my favorite images. These were all taken by phone. At the time I didn't own a camera. I personally love these pictures, because I was so fully there. I remember not worrying about money, who I needed to be, or any milestones to hit. It was where I found out that I love photographing people.

I started off this surf camp with a group of women from England and France. I got really lucky - we were all the same age and just starting surfing. We would go for a session in the morning and in our downtime follow the main road through town to Devil’s Rock. Tamraght has undergone a lot of development, but at that time it was comprised of a few shops, a hammam, and a small compound for European retirees.

Our favorite group instructor was named Cereal. She was a Moroccan native and a very talented longboarder. She also took us to great places to eat. I remember countless times that we had tajine and a never-ending cups of mint tea (all with a high pour). I had traveled with my family before before, but not like this. Our worlds were expanded with meeting new people all the time, and I loved that surf was what we all had in common.

Afterwards I stayed in a hostel and went to one of the local surf shops at Tamraght beach. This is where I met other friends, including one who later also visited me in South Africa. We would gather on the patio of the surf shop, or when it rained we stayed inside and played music. One of the shop owners was named Tarik Elbassity, who is a championship Moroccan longboarder. Every day there were Moroccan surfers who also came by to say hi to the owners including Tarik.

During this time, I did get a lot better from practicing in the ocean regularly. Especially as a beginner, it was so good to get out even in less than ideal conditions and just take white wash then. Then I also really felt like I earned the tajine afterwards. Plus, I just enjoyed meeting new surfers all the time, who I think are still some of the most fun subjects to photograph.

I couldn’t help but smile when I went through these photos again. It feels like another lifetime but also something that has really influenced how I got to California. I'll see you back there with a longboard and camera soon enough :)

I’m relatively new to photography and not at all new to surgery. Over the past year, I’ve did a deep dive into lessons, YouTube videos, and practice with film. However, one of the things that actually has helped me the most has been a decade long process of learning surgery. There are a lot of similarities, which is why photography resonates so much for me – the combination of art and technicality, working with changing subjects, and having a lot of things that are out of our control (as opposed to say, a desk-based job).

These are a couple of the things that I’ve learned from my first year of really shooting film - from surgery

It’s the person, not the machine (and always will be for me)

There are so many gear review videos floating out there. They are easily the most popular type of photography video, and often a first question is what kind of camera someone uses. All of the photographers I admire most have been able to make incredible images from disposable or point and shoot cameras in addition to their $$$ medium format ones. In the menu, composition and lighting are the main courses and gear is…not even dessert. It’s like a peppermint after dessert.

Choosing the right modality is important, but I also think it’s a very small part of being a good surgeon. I feel even more strongly about this now that I’m in practice. There have been so many studies on modality – open, laparoscopic, robotic. (There are well-documented differences in recovery time, ergonomics, etc.) People who spend a lot of time doing this know that a machine doesn’t automatically make a good operation, and it takes years to learn how to be thorough and facile. One of my favorite surgeons often says “people want to know that you care before they care what you know.”

I’ve found that for most patients, the most important part of this is their surgeon – the kindness that they bring, how they understand who the patient is, and how carefully they decide what operation is right for them. This is about two thousand times harder to teach than the robot manual.

A photo shoot is a small part of the total experience.

When I was in medical school, I think a lot of us started out thinking that surgeons operate five days a week. Operating is a small portion of our time. It’s a tip of an iceberg, and likewise, shooting is a small part of photography. The more complex and impactful an operation is, the more time that has gone into counseling, coordinating colleagues, and being prepared in multiple ways. An operation is an endpoint of a long road. Shooting as well (at least for me) actually doesn’t take that much time. Especially as I’ve been lately taking photos for other people, I spend more and more time planning and in Lightroom.

Community is actually transformative

When I moved, the first thing I (and a lot of transplants) looked for was other people. I scoured the internet for community classes and groups outside of work.

I had taken a photography class here and there, but it was only after I found a community film studio in Houston (Flats, one of the best places I’ve seen) that I really started to moved forward with film. I took lessons, signed up for community dark room, and got to meet other members. One of the first things I did when I moved to San Luis Obispo was to look for a film community, which I found through a dark room class at Cuesta College. I’ve met so many interesting people here, including one guy who has an enormous collection of black and white film Sopranos portraits.

Communities take on different forms. I’m pretty sure I would not have survived the last seven years without my co-residents and co-fellows. Besides being in a sleep-deprived, junk food-filled trench, I think we are meant to learn things together, particularly if they are hard. My co-fellow is also one of my closest friends and learning digital. And now, we get to talk about our jobs and photos whenever we call.

A couple months in, I’m still settling in but feel so much more grounded here than when I started, particularly because of the people I’ve met.

One of my reasons for looking heavily at jobs in California was to be able to surf regularly. Not one or two times a year on vacation and the inevitable cycle of start/stop start/stop. I interviewed in Philadelphia, Northern Houston, Kauai, San Diego, and SLO, a total whirlwind. Perhaps metaphorically, besides this place being the best job fit for me, it was also the only place where I was able to surf before interviewing. (In both San Diego and Kauai there were recent storms and the water quality was really bad.)

Having been at a number of spots around the world, I can actually say with confidence that the central coast is one of the best places for someone like me, who is at a beginner – intermediate stage and looking to progress. There is an imaginary triangle and the three points are as follows:

1. Consistent waves

2. Not too many people

3. Warm water

You can pick two :)

The water here can be really cold, but that’s the one thing that is semi under our control. The first wetsuit that I got was a 5/4 thickness, which felt like a cocoon and took about half an hour of awkwardness to take on and off. A 4/3 is perfect for me. Most importantly though, when the waves are nice, this is one of the least crowded places that I have ever seen. I remember when I was in Sri Lanka this past summer, Arugam Bay had so many people that in about five minutes I saw three collisions. Instructors were pushing people onto waves all the time, and there were just so many people in the water. Of course not all spots are like this, but there are many.

All the time, I’m struck by this combination of glassiness, good size, and friendliness of people in the water here. Once in a while there is some localism, but it’s really rare, and people are encouraging. I also have met a couple of awesome ladies while surfing who have become friends.

Morro Bay and Pismo Beach are the spots I go to most frequently. I’m biased towards Pismo since I live so close by and there is a sandy bottom (there was that great time when I ran straight onto a rock at Shell Beach). I have tried to go in the early mornings before work but have just not been able to get my shit together. Whenever the work schedule coincides, I head right over to be able to catch the sunset and blue hour.

Another final thing that is always on my mind having come from the northeast: parking. I’m still so scarred from when I was parking half on the sidewalk in Philadelphia. From my own experience, there are no other beaches in California that are as accessible as the ones here. I struggled for parking and San Diego and LA and it was painful when I just wanted to get out into the water. At Pismo, the Addie Street surfers parking lot and Wadsworth St spots are FREE. The Pismo Beach pier is free before 10 AM.

Hopefully the residents who have been here a while realize how great they have it. With the waves getting smaller as we come out of winter, all I’m looking to do is to have some fun longboard sessions as often as possible.

After I started shooting more, I decided to try to see as many of these places as possible, both to meet people and practice film. The first of these places was a donkey sanctuary called Rancho Burro. I had been looking for an equine rescue, as I think the animals are so beautiful.

You can tell how much love the owners put into this rescue. It’s a wonderfully maintained stable and grounds. For instance, the stable has a special padded floor for the joints of older animals.

I learned some of the differences between donkeys and horses - for example, horses can be trained to follow their humans in some very dangerous situations, but donkeys need to feel comfortable first.

There are also two sweet senior dogs and a barn cat here (no photos of them unfortunately). And there’s a large medical area. It takes so much work to keep up an animal rescue.

These were taken with my Canon AE-1 and Ilford Delta 400 film. I developed them in a film photography class (more on that later) and this is one of the dark room prints. I love how it turned out!

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Hi for the first time :)

What better way than the Substack template to get this started

1. Why this, why now

My name is Clara. I grew up in the northeast and the past 10 years in Philadelphia (go birds forever). I made my way west to the Central California coast this past winter in search of waves…and a job. I’m a surgeon by trade and try to spend every minute possible out of the hospital outside. It’s amazing to me to be able to go to the beach every day and hike regularly. I absolutely love baby wave surfing, no matter how bad I am at it.

2. What kind of community are you looking to build here

This is my little corner of the Internet finding joy and community in this new home. Moving in one’s thirties is beautiful and empowering and at times lonely. I’d like for this space to be the internet version of a warm friend that I would have also liked to meet when I first came over. I love learning about film and surf from the people around me, and I’m looking to do the same online! And hopefully I’ll also have a bit to contribute :)

3. Be specific

I plan on posting on Thursdays – just a peek into over the ridge into the weekend coming ahead. I’ll be sharing notes from some of my photos of this area, road trips in California, and mini guides to my favorite places on the Central Coast.

4. Use an image and “subscribe” buttons

This is one of the first pictures that I took of Pismo Beach when I moved here (Canon AE-1, Ultramax 400). It was a pinch-me moment that after all this time in training, I now live a five minute drive from this beach that people come to vacation too. I also surfed at this same spot the morning of my interview, and it’s still the place that I go to most in a week.

5. Ignore our advice

Whoops, made it to the end