It’s here, fresh off the presses, piping-hot and ready to serve.

For a limited time, we’re offering FREE SHIPPING on all orders. For just $10 you get six songs from two great acts including the Half Moon Jug Band’s ‘North Pond Hermit’ and Stan and Dan’s ‘What the North Pond Hermit Knows.’ There’s three easy ways to get your copy.

A. Click the ‘Buy Now’ button. You can pay with Paypal or any credit card.

B. Send a check for $10 to the Half Moon Jug Band LLC at PO Box 10461 Portland, Maine 04104.

C. Sneak into HMJB headquarters in the middle of the night and get your CD ‘Hermit Style.’

‘TRACK LISTING

1. The North Pond Hermit, HMJB

2. Oh Yeah, HMJB

3. You, HMJB

4. What the North Pond Hermit Knows, Stan and Dan

5. When Darkness Falls, Stand and Dan

6. Little Rabbit, Stand and Dan

The really groovy cover painting is by a friend of Stan’s. His name is Dave DeRan and we owe him big time for letting us use his picture. Thanks Dave!

-TROY.

I grabbed my camera and took a picture.

This was what I’d been waiting for all day. Up to that point, we’d been having a dusty ride over some lovely back roads on the Oxford County and New Hampshire line. We’d spent a peaceful night camping on the shores of Virginia Lake in Stoneham. Nothing had gone wrong. That makes a pleasant enough day, but it’s no good for pictures and video. You need drama for that and here, at last, we had some.

Scott, who had made it through the mire, had a rope pull with him. John had some rubber boots. Tim took his boots and pants off. Between them, with help from Vinny, they pulled the bike out. Thermos rode his rig right through, on a slightly different trajectory, without a problem. John, however, found another hole and his bike stalled out in the water. I headed for the water a bit too fast. I made it across, but got soaked in the process.

Keith gets a sinking feeling.

Scott gets it done.

John didn’t make it either.

John, Keith and myself all had water in our engines. We drained our carbs, stuck paper towels in our cylinder heads and dried our spark plugs off. The bikes, to their credit, fired back up. The other two biked in our group of seven Russian sidecar rigs turned back. They’d seen enough. Scott (with his dog, Buddy) Thermos (with Vinny in the sidecar) John, Keith and I forged on ahead. We thought we’d seen the worst.

We were wrong.

First the trail was rocky. Then it was rocky and very steep. I nearly smoked my clutch trying to get up the incline. After that, it was rocky, very steep and rutted. When we got to the top it was studded with boulders, rutted by giant machine tires and slathered with mud. It was no ordinary mud, either. It was a new form of bottomless, stealth mud. It looked like ordinary ground until you tried to ride over its surface. Then it opened up and took a bite. At one point, it nearly swallowed Thermos’ bike — Vinny, sidecar and all. Scott’s rope pull was pressed into service again.

Man eating mud gets Thermos.

Eventually, we were forced to turn back and traverse the same mile-and-a-half of trail we’d just come over. Our average speed worked out to be something like a half-a-mile per hour on that stretch. On the way out, I tore the muffler from the header pipe on a rock and bent my shifter. Out came the tools. With the help of John’s speed wrench and a rubber mallett from Thermos, I got the muffler back on. Scott bent my shifter back to somewhere in the neighborhood of where it should be. Now, I have a custom twist in the shaft. A chop shop would probably charge me big bucks for the same custom work, if it were chrome.

By the time we got back to camp, many hours after the other two bikes, we were desperate for a beer, or two. But we had a story to tell, and pictures to prove it was true.

Virginia Lake cooler.

Keith.

John.

Thermos and Vinny.

Virginia Lake.

Virginia Lake loons.

Just a couple of days after the story of the North Pond Hermit broke, I wrote a song about him. A day or two after that, I was contacted by some documentary filmmakers in New York City. They said they were coming to Maine to start a documentary on Christopher Knight and his amazing story. They wanted to know if I’d be a part of it. Would I talk about my song and what I thought of the Hermit?

As a newspaper man, I’ve been inviting myself into other people’s homes and looking into their business for years. I’ve always felt grateful for the privilege. It’s an honor to be trusted to tell someone’s story to the world. When they asked, I decided it was about time I repaid the trust people had shown me over the years. So, I said sure, come on over.

They arrived right after breakfast this morning. I made them coffee and they set up their camera and sound equipment in my kitchen. The interview lasted a couple of hours, I think. I honestly can’t remember. It was fun and relaxed. Lena Friedrich, the director, asked me questions while Laura Shaw ran the camera and Aitor Mendilibar recorded the sound.

Friedrich asked me why I wrote the song and about my guesses as to why he spent so many years alone. I tried my best to answer honestly and openly. I’m not used to giving my opinions on camera. I’ve spent years trying to sound as neutral as possible. It didn’t matter what I thought, only what my subject thought.

They also had me sing the song with my dog, Hook, nearby. He did his best to look cute and fuzzy.

When it was over, and they were packing up their gear, I asked Friedrich why she chose to come up here and start a project on the North Pond Hermit.

“I thought it was an amazing story,” she said. “The more I read about it, the more mysterious it seemed to me.”

She thought it was really interesting that a guy could spend all those years in the woods, avoiding human contact, and end up having an impact on the imaginations of so may people. They spent most of their week around Waterville and “everyone” had an opinion on him. Some thought he was a hero and others thought him nothing more than a criminal. But, either way, they had a definite opinion.

Myself, I’ve heard from people all over the state because of my song. People have contacted me from as far away as Switzerland and Austria to talk about the Hermit. Not to mention filmmakers from NYC.

“He’s become so connected, for a guy who was so disconnected,” said Friedrich, “in spite of himself.”

They never did get a chance to speak to Christopher Knight, who is currently tucked away in the county slammer. But they wish they could.

“We hope to get access to him,” she said.

But, until he breaks his silence, it’s left to newspaper chroniclers and folk singers to tell the story the North Pond Hermit. Before they left, I asked them if they’d sing it one time with me. They said they would. It was great. Friedrich is originally from France and Mendilibar is Basque, from Spain. The mix of accents sounded really cool.

I guess that’s part of the irony Friedrich was fascinated by. The Hermit never meant to have any effect on anyone, never wanted human contact. Yet, here he was, from miles away, bringing me together with these folks from all over as we sang a song about him.

That’s crazy. I love it.

Before they left, bound for the Big Apple, Friedrich asked me to send along her email address to anyone who wants to air their thoughts on the North Pond Hermit. She’s at NPHermit@gmail.com.

Documentary filmmakers from New York City (from left) Aitor Mendilibar, the sound recordist, Lena Friedrich, the director and Laura Shaw, the cinematographer, gather round BDN photographer and “banjournalist” Troy R. Bennett to sing the “North Pond Hermit Song” Friday morning. The crew spent a week in Maine working on a documentary about the suddenly famous hermit, AKA Christopher Knight. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

Pinhole cameras more than just a piece of photographic past|

A hand colored 4×5 contact print of myself I made with a pinhole camera I made with a Christmas cookie tin and a soda can.

All cameras, from your great-grandad’s Kodak Brownie to the iPhone in your shirt pocket, work the same way. The details vary, but the concept is identical. Every camera, in the history of cameras, consists of a light-tight box with a hole at one end and some light-sensitive material at the other.

Not so long ago, the light sensitive material was film, now it’s more likely an electronic sensor. The hole usually a lens of some sort, focusing the light, making a sharp picture. But it doesn’t have to be. It can be a simple pinhole. The camera can be made of anything, too. It just has to be light-tight. A soda can, a cardboard box, a bread truck — even your mouth — can be a pinhole camera.

In his book “Alternative Photographic Processes,” Christopher James writes that the phenomenon of a small hole projecting a picture on an opposite flat surface in a dark room was probably first recorded by the Chinese philosopher Mo Tzu in the 5th century B.C. Later, in about 350 B.C., Aristotle witnessed the phenomenon and included the “camera obscura” [which is Latin for dark room] in his teachings.

These days, pinhole photographers from all over the world make photographs with their lensless cameras on the last Sunday in April and share them online at pinholeday.org. I’ll be taking part in Worldwide Pinhole Photography Day this Sunday April 28, 2013. You can, too. I’ll show you how to make two pinhole cameras: one with your interchangeable lens digital camera and another with a cookie tin.

Because pinholes are small, the exposure times are long, and since there’s no viewfinder to see through, you never know what you’re going to get. It’s a great creative exercise in slowing down and embracing the unexpected. It’s also wonderful to make images with a camera you made by hand.

Things you’ll need

– A box you can make light-tight

– Matte black spray paint

– A soda can

– Shears to cut the can

– The smallest pin you can find

– Needle-nose pliers

– Black tape

– Emery cloth

– Some film

– A DSLR body [or 35mm camera]

– A body cap for the camera

– A sense of adventure

To make a pinhole for your pinhole camera, start with a square cut from a soda can.

Use a very small beading needle to carefully drill a tiny hole in a pice of aluminum cut from a soda can.

To grip the beading needle, use needle-nose pliers. Push very gently, trying to make a very clean hole. Fuzzy pinholes make fuzzy pictures.

Smooth your pinhole with a piece of emery cloth.

First, cut a small square out of your soda can. Then, using the pliers, take hold of your needle and push it into the aluminum. Don’t push hard. It’s better to use a small amount of pressure and a drilling motion. When the needle starts to go through, turn the metal over and do the same on the other side, making the hole just a bit bigger. When you have your pinhole, use the emery cloth to smooth over both sides. The goal is to make a very small, very round, very smooth hole.

James writes in his book that the Golden Rule of Pinhole Photography is, “fuzzy holes make fuzzy pictures.”

Now, take your camera and spray the inside with black spray paint. This will cut down on light bouncing around on the inside during a long exposure. Cut or drill a hole at the end where you’ll put your pinhole. Make it larger than your pinhole, but smaller than your piece of soda can. When the paint is dry, attach your pinhole using some black electrical or gaffers tape. Put a small length of tape over the pinhole itself. This is your shutter.

If you’re using a DSLR or 35mm camera, drill a hole in a spare body cap and attach the pinhole aperture to the outside with the tape. Make sure to tape it down all the way around, so no light gets under the aluminum.

With the tape over your pinhole, take your box camera into a completely dark room with some film. Using a loop of black tape, stick some film to the opposite end of your camera from the pinhole and close the lid. Before you turn the lights on, tape the seams of the cover to make sure no light gets in.

The tricky part here is the film. If you have to cut up a piece of 120 or 35mm film, it’ll make getting processed by a commercial lab impossible. You could use some 4×5-inch sheet film, but that’s expensive and hard to come by these days. If you have a darkroom, like me, you’ll be good to go.

It’s easier if you’re using a 35mm film camera or DSLR. The film advance mechanism will allow you to use the whole roll, one picture at a time. With a DSLR, you have as many pictures as your memory card will hold, but you won’t get the satisfaction of making your camera with your own hands.

With your box camera loaded, head outside. Rest it on a stable surface, point it at something and take the tape off the pinhole, saying, “Aristotle” or “Mo Tzu” for effect. The exposure time will be by guess-timate only. Try ten seconds in the sunshine and put the tape back on. Unload your film in a dark room, store your film in something light-tight and try it again. Vary the exposure time. Revel in the unknown.

The procedure is the same with a 35mm camera. You can open the shutter using the manual controls, or you can set it on bulb and use the tape as a shutter. Do the same with DSLR and get instant gratification.

These are the very bare essentials. The web is full of resources and excellent examples of pinhole photography. Get your hands on a copy of James’ book or the even more exhaustive “Pinhole Photography: Rediscovering a Historic Technique” by Eric Renner. But, most of all, have fun and make something with your hands that wasn’t there before.

A picture of my dog, Hook. I took this photo, handheld, at ISO6400 for one second using a pinhole instead of a lens on the end of my digital camera.

A photo of two guys on Fore Street in Portland taken with a pinhole on my digital camera instead of a lens. I used a tripod and left the shutter open for 30 seconds.

My friend Eric Worthley in a pin hole photo I made with my digital camera and a flash.

A hand colored 4×5 contact print of my dog hook I made with a pinhole camera I made with a Christmas cookie tin and a soda can.

A hand colored 4×5 contact print of one of my father’s lawn ornaments I made with a pinhole camera I made with a Christmas cookie tin and a soda can.

A hand colored 4×5 contact print some old fire extinguishers I made with a pinhole camera I made with a Christmas cookie tin and a soda can.

Troy and Hook sing “The North Pond Hermit.”

Hello again folks. Thanks so much for the response to “The North Pond Hermit” song. Thanks to WBLM and WPOR for playing it on the air. Special thanks to Rachel at WPOR for having me on to sing it live this morning. It’s been quite a day.

This afternoon, I took a few minutes to make a better video recording of the song and post it here on my blog.

I had several requests for a downloadable MP3 file during the day. So, I’m making it available to anyone who wants to have it. It’s a folk song after all.

DOWNLOAD THE NORTH POND HERMIT SONG HERE.

Enjoy!

Click to hear me sing —>The North Pond Hermit on WPOR this morning.

Last night, just before dinner, I got a message from WPOR morning host Rachel Flehinger asking if I’d like to come on the air in the morning and play my “North Pond Hermit” song. Not one to see my 15-minutes go to waste, I said, “Sure.”

She sent me a text this morning at 6:30 a.m. and told me to be at the station in an hour. I got up, made some coffee, grabbed my banjo and went out to my truck. I drove over to the radio studio in South Portland.

Rachel Hustled me in and about 10 minutes later, I was singing my song on the air. It was kind of a thrill to be broadcasting on the station that was on in my house 24-7 s a kid in Buxton. I only wish my Mom was around to hear it. She’d have gotten a kick out of it, I think.

What I consider the best part of the above MP3, is the DJs singing along. That’s folk music gold.

The whole affair lasted less than a half-hour. I said thank you and went back home, made sausage and eggs for my wife. Then I sat down to write this.

(note: this is an updated recording made 4/12/13 made with 100% more cute dogs.)

I’m a visual journalist by trade. I try to stick to the facts. I’m also a folk musician with a love of old ballads. They were the newspapers of their day. So, while waiting for some phone calls to get returned today, I came up with this. It’s not strictly factual. Some of it I made up. I imagined the rest. It’s not the best song I ever wrote. But it’s the best song I wrote today. I hope you enjoy it.

Here are the lyrics if you want to sing along or learn it yourself.

THE NORTH POND HERMIT by Troy R. Bennett

Nobody’d seen his face, in twenty-seven years

Since that day in ’86 when he up and disappeared

He walked away into the pines, to live among the wood

He turned his back on everything and he was gone for good

The North Pond Hermit, living in the woods

The North Pond Hermit, they’d catch him if they could

Some said he was a ghost, some said he wasn’t real

And all he ever had to eat was all that he could steal

In and out of every camp, all around the pond

Stealing food in the dark, by morning he was gone

They say he’d sit for days watching things that grow

Or counting eagles over head and everything below

Sometimes he’d listen to the wind filling up his mind

Counting raindrops one by one to pass away the time

Summer, winter, spring and fall, seasons came and went

Still he lived there all alone in a solitary tent

No leaving camp in wintertime, no footprints in the snow

No fire for fear that he’d be seen sending up the smoke

The cops they caught him in the spring, robbing one more time

They took him to the jailhouse to answer for his crimes

They said we have one question, to ask before you go

What would make you do it, he said he did not know

Troy and Hook.

Christopher Knight, AKA “The North Pond Hermit.”

I set out, heading west, around 5 p.m. Friday night. It took me ages to wriggle through Portland’s commuter traffic as working stiffs squeezed out of the city, headed for their weekends in the suburbs. Once I got past Standish, on Route 25, the cars and traffic lights thinned out considerably. Still, I knew I wouldn’t get there before dark. Missing the Route 28 turnoff in Ossippee, N.H. on Route 16 didn’t help either. Nope.

But, at least it wasn’t snowing this time.

I was on my way back to Gilmanton, N.H. to meet some of my Russian sidecar motorcycle clan for a little riding and camping. The last time I did this, in February, we were coldcocked by a blizzard. Almost nobody showed up. So, this get together was a makeup, or do-over, for those who didn’t want to brave the elements a couple months back.

Throw another log on the fire. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

I arrived well after dark to a welcoming fire and meatball sub, courtesy of our hosts, Tim and Linda. They held flashlights while I setup my tent atop a small hill in a couple inches of snow, not far from the Taj Mahal of outhouses. Once settled, I rejoined the fun around the fire. Chris, who owns Affordable Beemer Services in Manchester, N.H. brought his two young sons, known collectively as Team Monkey. They produced many a flaming marshmallow. Songs were sung, beverages consumed and countless logs went up in smoke amid the pine trees.

Three wise men. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

In the morning, Paul, (also known as Pieman because he owns a pizza shop in Ellsworth), made us all eggs, bacon and homefries in an enormous cast iron skillet. Keith, who’d made me coffee in his wood stove-heated tent in February, was still generous with the java. We saddled up around 10 a.m. and Tim and Linda led us on a fun ride through some rutted, muddy backroads. We stopped atop a hill for a view of Mt. Washington, and Tim and Linda showed us the locally famous twisted stone wall. A creative sort of mason worked a corkscrew figure into his work. I’d never seen anything like it. I’m not sure exactly where we went, but I’m pretty sure we zigged and zagged through Gilmanton, New Durham and Alton. I got fairly muddy and had a good time getting that way.

Mt. Washington in the distance. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

The famous twisted stone wall in New Durham, N.H. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

We had lunch, stopped at a store for provisions and were back, vegetating around the campfire, before dark. Just after sundown, Tim and Linda reappeared with a roast turkey that Linda’s mom had been basting all day. The combination of tryptophan-laced gobbler, swirling campfire smoke and the smell of muddy motorcycles in the dark was heavenly. I nearly passed out.

I managed to hold onto my senses, though.

In addition to our regular campfire, Tim and Linda touched off a brush pile they’d been building since last fall. Linda used a leaf blower to give it some extra oompf. Just about that time, Bill, owner of VT Cycles in Poland, Maine showed up. Better late than never.

Sunday morning, Easter, Paul fed us again and people started to pack up. I rolled my tent, packed my gear and set off for Maine with Thermos and Keith. Thermos and I turned off Route 16, onto Route 25. I pulled over in Kezar Falls to call my father and with him a happy Easter. Just as I was hanging up, I heard a roar and a whine. Paul had spotted me and slammed on his brakes, stopping his Ural as fast as a Ural can stop. We rode together as far as Standish. I continued home to Portland and he turned off on Route 35, making his way back to Ellsworth.

This trip was a lot less dramatic than the last one. But too much drama would be a bad thing. I’m sure of it.

The ancient art of fireside storytelling. Troy R. Bennett | BDN

A visitor from Montreal was kind enough to snap this for us: (from left) Linda, Tim, Keith, Thermos, Paul and Team Monkey, Chris and Troy.

Another three-wheeled camping trip comes to an end. Troy R. Bennett | BDN