Today we're talking daily assignments.

The ones that aren't events. The ones where we're supposed to go out, meet someone in their home or office and make a photo that tells that person's story.

It can be dreadful at times. The person's home office looks like, well, a home office. And what is that really telling us about that person other than that like a million other people, they work in a home office. You can light it, pose a portrait in it, crawl on the floor, shoot wide, shoot tight, and it still ends up being generic and boring.

Not the subjects, mind you. They're interesting, otherwise we wouldn't be writing about them. But the photo are often exercises in making lemonade out of the proverbial lemons.

You get my point.

So I've been counting my lucky stars that two recent assignments have provided pleasant surprises.

First, meet Bill Mitchell. Bill is a legend of sorts up in Anacortes, Washington. Anacortes began as a railroad town, but due to its proximity to water found a calling as home to a fishing fleet and oil refineries.

Mitchell is the town's unofficial "official" artist, having painted more than 70 murals on buildings around the city. A history buff, Mitchell's latest project is trying to save the "Enchantress", an abandoned tug that sits abandoned in Fidalgo Bay. Officials want to get rid of the tug, and the local citizens are trying to keep it in the bay.

My assignment was simple enough. Make the 1 1/2 hour drive up to Anacortes, meet the man trying to save the tug.

As a photojournalist, the first thing that comes to your mind is figuring out what the paper will need to run to illustrate the story. As my kids would say, "duh". But really, you have to think about how you're going to approach each story, even before you get there. In this case, we'd obviously need a photo of the tug. Better yet would be if we could tie the man and the tug in the same photo. Given that the photo assignment mentioned that the tug was 300 yards offshore, that was going to take some trick to pull off.

Serendipity is such a wonderful part of my job. You can brainstorm all you want before you get there, but you really know what you have to work with until you get there.

I knocked on the door, and Bill Mitchell answered. In a wheelchair, he beckoned me into his home.

Check that, Bill Mitchell beckoned me into the museum he also calls his home. It was like walking onto a movie set.

Mitchell's residence is filled, corner-to-corner, floor-to-ceiling, nook-to-cranny with the most wonderful collection of art, history and flat-out junk I think I've ever seen. Add daylight streaming into windows from two directions in most of the rooms, and I didn't even have to think before shooting.

All I had to do is see.

At his desk, Mitchell made flyers by hand encouraging public comment on the tug. As you can see, every inch of his desk is covered with some form of memorabilia:

(Canon EOS 1D Mark III, EF 16-35mm/f2.8 lens @ 18mm, ISO 500, 1/80th sec., f3.5)

I desperately wanted to photograph this, shoot that, do an entire picture story on Mitchell and his home. I'd tell you more about in detail, but I'm hoping our Pacific NW Magazine will find a way to profile him.

Squeezing through hallways jammed with bric-a-brac, making my way into the backyard with its junked and antique cars standing on end, I find my way back to his workshop where he creates life-sized murals of Anacortans. I want to stop and shoot this too, but the tug and another assignment back in Seattle are calling.

Mitchell tells us that he'll drive his own vehicle down to the water to see the tug. And with that, he hops into an old three-wheeled contraption painted olive drab. Turns out the odd vehicle is a 1954 Autoette Cruise About and it's what Mitchell uses to tool around this town. His buddy Jacques Moitoret is a frequent companion:

(Canon EOS 1D Mark III, EF 70-200mm/f2.8 lens @ 153mm, ISO 400, 1/500th sec., f4.0)

Down at the water we see the tug in the water. The old girl is not much to see to this city slicker, but Mitchell points out the beauty in the dilapidated old ship. He tells our reporter, "Look at her — she is your classic tug boat right there. Before that tugboat arrived, nobody bothered to take pictures of Mount Baker from here. She just happens to be sunk in the right place to be photogenic", he said.

Details are often a good way to tell more of a story than a generalized portrait. Mitchell had a collection of photos of the Enchantress sitting on a steamer trunk in his living room:

(Canon EOS 1D Mark III, EF 16-35mm/f2.8 lens @ 16mm, ISO 800, 1/30th sec., f2.8)

He also smokes a corncob pipe, which I hadn't seen in a long time:

(Canon EOS 1D Mark III, EF 70-200mm/f2.8 lens @ 200mm, ISO 400, 1/500th sec., f4.0)

Bill Mitchell is a one-of-a-kind man trying to save a one-of-a-kind ship. I tried to juxtapose the old wreck against the oil tankers in the background:

(Canon EOS 1D Mark III, EF 300mm/f2.8 lens, ISO 400, 1/1000th sec., f4.0)

As I headed back to the highway to battle I-5 traffic back to the chaos of the city, Mitchell turned his Autoette around and headed back home:

(Canon EOS 1D Mark III, EF 70-200mm/f2.8 lens @ 200mm, ISO 400, 1/500th sec., f5.0)

The story focused on the issue of the the Enchantress, but I was more enchanted with Mitchell. Here's hoping I'll be able to visit him again.