Bob Visits the CIBC Rail Deck Park With His Sony NEX-3 and 35mm TTArtisan Lens

Today I took a walk up to the CIBC Rail Deck Park, and I decided to go old-school. I left the newer cameras at home and brought my little Sony NEX-3 with the manual TTArtisan 35mm lens. That old sensor and that simple manual lens make you slow down, breathe, and actually look at the city. And Toronto always gives you something to look at.

Going Up the Escalator

My walk started with that long escalator ride up — the kind that makes you feel like you’re entering a different level of the city. I always like shooting these simple scenes. Clean lines, quiet movement, and that nice black-and-white look from the NEX-3. Sometimes the most ordinary moments make the best photos.

Looking Over the Tracks

When you step out onto the Rail Deck, the first thing you see is the whole rail corridor stretching east. Tracks going in every direction, construction everywhere, and condo towers rising on both sides. I love this view. The NEX-3 handles it beautifully, even with its older sensor. The TTArtisan 35mm gives you that “normal” perspective — it’s close to a 50mm on full frame — and it works great for scenes like this.

The CN Tower Over the City

No matter how many times you photograph the CN Tower, it always feels new from a different angle. Today the sky was flat and grey, which actually works well in monochrome. I framed it beside the cranes to show how Toronto is always building, always changing. Old camera or not, the tower still looks good.

The Silver Tree Sculpture

One of my favourite spots up there is that tall silver tree sculpture in front of the glass building. The reflections, the branches, the lines — everything overlaps. With a manual focus lens, you really have to take your time. But that’s part of the fun. It makes you feel like you’re actually making the photo, not just snapping it.

Nature Above the Tracks

I walked around the park area where they’ve planted new trees and laid down those curved wooden paths. It’s quiet up there, almost peaceful. You forget you’re standing above the busiest rail corridor in the country. Toronto hides these little pockets of calm in the strangest places.

The Royal York Watching Over Everything

On the other side, you get a great view of the Royal York Hotel with the modern office towers framing it. I always love taking pictures of that building. It’s a reminder that Toronto has real history tucked inside all this glass and steel.

Why I Love Using the NEX-3 Here

People smile when they see me shooting with a camera this old, but I don’t care. The NEX-3 with that 35mm manual lens has a look I really enjoy:

It’s small and light.

The grain in black and white feels almost like film.

Manual focus makes you slow down and think.

And the photos still tell the story.

You don’t need the newest camera to enjoy a walk like this. You just need something that makes you want to take pictures.

Heading Back Down

After I finished walking around, I took the escalator back down and headed toward Union Station. It was a simple walk, but the NEX-3 turned it into a great little photo trip. That’s why I still keep these old cameras around — they remind you that seeing the city is more important than the gear you use.

 

Walking Yonge Street and Staring Up at the Gardiner’s Bones

Some mornings in Toronto feel different. Not because of the weather or the crowds, but because the city shows you something you’ve passed a thousand times—yet never really looked at. That was me today, walking up Yonge Street from the lake with my old Sony NEX-3, set to shoot black and white, and my TTArtisan 35mm manual lens locked into place.

Most people hurry past these supports, eyes forward, mind on work or the next streetcar. But today, I let myself wander underneath them, stopping every few metres to take another photo. The NEX-3 might be one of the oldest mirrorless cameras on the street these days, but paired with that little manual 35mm, it turns the Gardiner into pure monochrome poetry.

The first thing you notice when you stand underneath the Gardiner is the silence. Not completely silent—cars hum overhead, the occasional bus rattles by, and someone always seems to be dragging a rolling suitcase toward the ferry docks. But there’s a different kind of quiet down there, a city quiet. It’s the sort of place only dog walkers, photographers, construction crews, and people heading to the waterfront early in the morning ever get to really see.

The pillars are a whole story on their own. Some are chipped down to the re bar. Some have repair patches in strange shapes, like scars stitched up over decades. Others carry old graffiti tags that survived the city’s clean-up cycles. When I looked at them today through my manual lens, I thought, These giant concrete bones have held this city up longer than most of the buildings around them.

Down by Yonge Street, the view straight under the Gardiner is perfect for photos. Lines, shadows, repeating pillars—exactly what black-and-white was made for. Cars shoot by, headlights bouncing off the worn concrete. A lone person stands at the corner waiting for the light, framed perfectly by the pillars. Manual focus slows you down, but it also makes you see. You don’t plan these shots. The city gives them to you.

It’s funny how many people think the Gardiner is ugly. And sure, it’s no postcard skyline shot. But if you stand there long enough, camera ready, you start to see the character in it. The roughness. The history. The layers of maintenance and neglect. It’s Toronto being honest about what keeps it moving.

Walking up Yonge, I saw a young family coming from under the Gradiner, bundled up, hands full of bags. Life going on as usual while above us, the Gardiner groaned like it always has. That’s the beauty of this city—the mix of the everyday with the extraordinary backdrop we don’t always appreciate.

I’ve walked Yonge Street hundreds of times, but today felt like I discovered a new part of Toronto. That’s why I keep doing this. That’s why I carry that old NEX-3. Because somewhere between Union Station and the lake, between the shadows and the concrete, there’s always another story waiting—if you’re willing to slow down and look up.

 

Wandering Through the Union Station Bus Terminal

Union Station is practically my second home—trains, streetcars, the UP Express, the SkyWalk, I’ve seen it all. But the Union Station Bus Terminal?

That’s a whole different universe. I almost never go there. In fact, walking through it feels a little like stepping into a parallel Toronto—familiar energy, but with its own rhythm and its own cast of characters.

So today I took my camera and wandered through the place I usually ignore. And what a surprise.

A Glass Gate Into Another World

The entrance doesn’t play around.

Modern glass, bold lettering, reflections of towers above—it almost looks like the front door to a financial district HQ instead of a bus terminal. I snapped that black-and-white shot and thought: This doesn’t look like waiting for the bus; this looks like the future.

Inside, though, it’s a traveller’s world. Luggage wheels clicking, coffee cups steaming, people staring up at the big glowing departure boards like they’re waiting for destiny to load.

A Long Hall of Motion and Stillness

Walking down the main concourse, I saw two Torontos at once:

The Toronto that moves fast—people marching with backpacks and suitcases.

And the Toronto that pauses—travellers sitting at Gates 10 and 11, killing time, headphones in, staring into the middle distance.

There’s something peaceful about watching strangers quietly waiting to go somewhere else.

Those long lines of stanchions reminded me of airport queues at 5 a.m. Empty right now, but you can imagine the chaos when dozens of buses are ready to roll out. It’s a rare thing—a quiet moment in a place built for motion.

Zones, Gates, Screens—Everything in Order

I kept moving toward Zone B. The giant screens overhead glow like command centres. You can tell the people who ride here often—they don’t look up, they already know exactly where they’re going. Me? I was lost, but that’s half the fun.

I walked past Gates 1 through 6 and caught people stretching their legs, checking messages, sipping vending-machine drinks. Everyday moments, but that’s what street photography lives on.

The Unexpected Crew—Security Everywhere

Then I reached the escalator area and—wow—the security presence hit like a wall.

Supervisors, staff in reflective vests, radios crackling, pointing people in the right direction. It looked like a small city of workers making sure nobody ends up at the wrong gate.

You don’t realize how much coordination goes into moving thousands of people until you see all the hands keeping the machine running.

And as always, I love capturing the folks who make this city move—workers, managers, guards. Their gestures, their conversations, their posture in the middle of controlled chaos tell a story just as real as any bus pulling out of a gate.

Not My Regular Spot—but Worth the Detour

I don’t go to the Union Station Bus Terminal often. Maybe once every few years. But walking through today made me realize how much life is happening in places we overlook.

It might not have the grand old stone arches of the train station or the buzz of the GO concourse. But it has its own tempo, its own stories, its own Toronto heartbeat.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what Bob needs—a new place to wander with a camera, a fresh set of strangers to quietly observe, and a reminder that even the spots we rarely visit have stories ready to unfold.

Next time I’ll have to catch a bus somewhere—just to see where the journey takes me.

 

 

When Sixty Photographers Walk Through Toronto… Security Definitely Notices

Some photo walks are quiet and casual. A few friends. A few cameras. A slow wander through the city.

And then there was today—when sixty photographers showed up in downtown Toronto and turned Union Station into the world’s slowest-moving camera convention on legs.

The moment I saw that swarm forming in the Great Hall—backpacks, tripods, vintage lenses, people comparing shutter speeds before we even started—I knew exactly what was coming. When you move sixty camera-carrying humans through the busiest transit hub in Canada, it’s not just a walk.

It’s an event.

And events attract attention.

Enter: The Security Guard Chapter of the Story

We hadn’t even taken five steps toward the Bay Concourse before the first guard appeared—standing in the middle of the lobby, hand on his radio, giving us the classic:

“What is this, and why is it happening on my shift?” look.

He watched us pass like we were a migrating herd:

Mom with a Canon.

Guy with a 1970s Minolta.

Three people shooting everything with iPhones.

Someone already doing long exposures of the escalators.

And me—Bob—just trying not to laugh.

As we descended toward the new Union bus terminal, security guard number two was already waiting. He stood at the bottom of the hallway like he was guarding the gateway to another dimension. I don’t blame him—sixty people holding cameras looks a bit like a movie crew that forgot to apply for a permit.

He didn’t say a word. Just watched us.

Silent.

Still.

Taking mental attendance.

Behind him, his reflection in the glass doors made it look like he’d brought backup.

Security Guard Number Three: The Floater

By the time we hit the escalators, we had a third guard trailing us—radio in hand, eyes scanning the group like he was trying to figure out who the organizer was.

Spoiler: nobody ever really knows who the organizer is.

It’s a Toronto photo walk tradition.

He followed us through the concourse, past the art walls, through the hallway lights where half the group stopped to shoot reflections. You could see it in his face:

“Why are they photographing the wall? What is happening?”

If only he knew—photographers can (and will) shoot anything that glows, reflects, or lines up nicely.

Security Guard Number Four: The Perimeter Watcher

Our final security friend appeared at the entrance to CIBC Square, standing perfectly still, hands clasped, guarding the doors like a bouncer at a nightclub that only admits people with two cameras and a good attitude.

He didn’t stop us.

He didn’t even blink.

He just watched sixty photographers pour into the plaza like we were on some kind of mission from the Photography Council of Canada.

But Here’s the Funniest Part

At no point did any of them tell us to stop.

Not once.

Because we weren’t causing trouble—we were just doing what photographers do:

Stopping suddenly.

Shooting ceilings.

Photographing each other photographing each other.

And occasionally blocking a doorway for just a tiny bit too long.

This Is Why I Love These Walks

Today wasn’t just about taking photos.

It was about the energy of moving through the city as a living, breathing photo-taking organism. It was about meeting people who love capturing Toronto the way we do. It was about laughing, helping each other with settings, and watching security slowly realize:

“Oh. They’re harmless.”

Sixty photographers.

Four security guards.

One unforgettable walk.

And that’s when you know it was a great day in downtown Toronto.

 

A Ceremony of Respect

This year at the Etobicoke Civic Centre, Remembrance Day felt especially meaningful. I arrived early with my camera and slipped into the edge of the crowd, the cold air carrying that familiar quiet hum before a ceremony begins. When the cadets marched in, the whole atmosphere shifted. You could feel everyone straighten up a little.

These cadets weren’t standing a long vigil—this group was there strictly for the ceremony—but even in that short window of time, they brought a sense of precision and respect that defined the morning. Their movements were crisp, their uniforms sharp, and their expressions steady. They marched into place, took their positions, and instantly became a living part of the remembrance.

One cadet caught my eye as I raised my camera. She stood with her rifle grounded, head slightly bowed, the bright poppy on her chest almost glowing in the cold autumn light. Behind her, the crowd had gone quiet—families, seniors, veterans, kids wrapped in scarves—everyone taking in the moment.

Watching her, I was reminded of something important: we need these young people to remember our veterans. As time moves on, the number of those who served grows smaller. It’s these younger generations who will carry the meaning of Remembrance Day into the future. When they show up, even for a short ceremony, they help ensure that the sacrifices made decades ago are never forgotten.

The ceremony unfolded with the familiar traditions—speeches, wreaths, the Last Post, and two minutes of silence. Through it all, the cadets stood steady, representing the continuity between past and future. Their presence said more than any microphone could.

When the ceremony ended, they marched out as smoothly as they had come in, red sashes swinging, boots striking the ground in perfect rhythm. It reminded me how powerful these moments can be—even when brief. It’s not about how long they stand guard; it’s about the respect, the intention, and the promise that remembrance will continue.

For me, being there with my camera wasn’t about getting the perfect photograph. It was about capturing the feeling—the stillness, the gratitude, the quiet strength of the community gathered together. And seeing these young cadets honour our veterans gave me hope that the stories of those who served will live on, carried forward by hands far younger than ours.

Sometimes the most important acts aren’t the biggest—they’re the ones where a community pauses, remembers, and teaches the next generation to remember too.

 

Bob’s Blog — Fifteen Years of Walking Toronto

Fifteen years.

That’s how long I’ve been lacing up my boots, grabbing one of my trusty old Sony cameras—these days usually my Sony a6000 or my a5000—and heading out with the Toronto Photo Walks crew. And long before mirrorless cameras were everywhere, I was one of the first people on our walks carrying a Sony NEX-3, back when everyone else still thought DSLRs were the only “real” cameras. That little NEX-3 turned heads and proved its worth on every early walk.

And after all these years, I can honestly say:

I’ve seen more of Toronto than most people will ever see in a lifetime.

Not because I’m special, but because I kept showing up—week after week, year after year—with a camera strapped around my neck and curiosity leading the way.

A City Revealed, One Walk at a Time

Toronto transforms when you explore it at walking speed. You catch the things that cars blur past: the odd details on an old fire truck, someone quietly checking their camera in a marsh, an artist sketching in a park, or a person balancing dramatically under the Gardiner like the city built a stage just for them.

Fifteen years of moments like these add up.

I’ve watched Toronto evolve, rebuild, repaint, and reinvent itself. I’ve photographed neighbourhoods before they existed and after they vanished. I’ve learned that every block hides a story—and Toronto Photo Walks always seems to uncover it.

The Best Group in the City

This group is special. We don’t just “follow a route”—we drift. Someone spots a splash of good light, someone else notices a person worth photographing, and suddenly we’re wandering down a side street none of us had ever noticed.

We’ve walked through every season, every type of weather, and every mood the city can throw at us. Through it all, there’s always a laugh, always a surprise photo, and always a discovery.

After fifteen years, these folks feel like family.

The Tradition: Ending at the Pub

Every proper Toronto Photo Walk ends the right way:

a cozy pub, a round of drinks, and a table full of cameras, backpacks, lenses, and phones displaying fresh shots from the day.

That’s where the storytelling really begins.

We talk about the moments we captured, the ones that got away, the unusual characters we ran into, and the unexpected beauty we found. Someone shares a new technique, someone remembers a walk from five or ten years ago, and someone else starts planning the next one.

It’s the perfect ending—good drinks, good company, and a community built around seeing the city through a lens.

Fifteen Years In… and I’m Still Not Done

Toronto continues to change, and I continue to walk.

Every time I think I’ve seen everything, the city surprises me again.

Maybe that’s why I’m still out there—because Toronto is endless when explored slowly, one photograph at a time.

Here’s to fifteen years of walking, shooting, learning, laughing, and ending the day with a pint among friends.

 

 

Bob at the Etobicoke Civic Centre: A Note of Appreciation from Toronto Police

It was a cold, snow-dusted morning at the Etobicoke Civic Centre as Bob photographed the Remembrance Day ceremony — this year marking the 80th anniversary of the end of the war in Europe. The air was crisp, and the crowd stood silently as veterans, first responders, and civic leaders gathered to honour those who served.

Bob moved quietly among the attendees, capturing the solemn faces of officers, soldiers, and musicians who stood in formation. He framed moments of reflection: the careful grip of a young cadet on her rifle, the concentration of a bagpiper preparing to play, and the respectful stance of decorated officers from Toronto Police and Fire Services.

Later that day, Bob shared his images online — heartfelt, documentary-style photos that told the story of the morning’s ceremony without needing many words. Not long after, a message arrived in his inbox:

“Fantastic shots, Brad!

I appreciate you sharing them. Much appreciated.

— Inspector Jeff Bangild, Toronto Police Service, 22 Division”

For Bob, that message meant a lot. Photography has always been about connection — capturing people who serve their communities and preserving moments that reflect our shared gratitude. Knowing the images resonated with those who stood before his lens made it all worthwhile.

You don’t have to be a member of a camera club to tell stories with a camera. Real street photos — the kind that show people, emotions, and everyday life — carry meaning beyond technique or gear. They speak to truth, empathy, and to the small details that make a city human.

As the snow melted from the trees that afternoon, Bob packed up his camera, feeling thankful — not just for the photos he took, but for the people who continue to protect, serve, and remember.

 

Bob at the Etobicoke Civic Centre for Remembrance Day 2025

Marking 80 Years Since the End of the War in Europe

It was a cold, bright morning when Bob arrived at the Etobicoke Civic Centre for the Remembrance Day ceremony — the 80th anniversary of the end of the Second World War in Europe. Fresh snow still lined the paths, and fallen leaves mixed with the frost, creating a solemn yet peaceful scene.

Bob had been to many ceremonies over the years, but this one felt especially significant. Eighty years — a milestone that reminds us how far we’ve come and how much we owe to those who served.

He watched as veterans took their places, medals glinting in the weak November sunlight. One veteran, standing proudly in her blue blazer, raised a crisp salute as a singer at the podium and sang O'Canada. Behind her, a piper in a red tartan kilt stood quietly, her breath visible in the cold air, preparing to play the haunting notes of the “Lament.”

Community leaders stepped forward to speak. Their words echoed through the crisp air — gratitude, remembrance, and a call to preserve peace for the next generations. The crowd stood silently, poppies pinned to their coats, as the bugle call of the “Last Post” sounded across the square. Even the city noise seemed to pause.

Bob took photographs of the cadets standing guard, motionless and composed, their heads bowed. He captured the moment where wreaths were laid — one after another — their purple ribbons and bright red poppies forming a sea of remembrance at the base of the cenotaph. 

He ended his morning photographing a single wreath against the snow. The poppies stood out sharply, their red petals vibrant against the white — a symbol of life and sacrifice that still speaks powerfully after eight decades. With the message “Lest We Forget.”

For Bob, these photos weren’t just documentation; they were quiet stories — of duty, loss, and the promise of never forgetting.

 

My Flickr album of today's photos.

Flickr Album