Lynn Abercrombie

Lynn Abercrombie, a photographer and her late husband, writer/photographer Tom Abercrombie, has recently published a limited edition book on their lives and careers traveling the word for National Geographic. (Lloyd Fox, Baltimore Sun / January 31, 2012)

Stroll with Lynn Abercrombie through her clapboard house on the West River and check out the alabaster mask from Yemen, the head-to-toe woman's cloak from Afghanistan, the smoking implements from Egypt and the shrunken head from Ecuador. You'll see mementos of a life the retired photographer, a Shady Side resident, never set out to lead.

"Oh, heavens, no! When I was a girl, if you went to Canada, it was a big deal," says Abercrombie, 81, who grew up in rural Minnesota and ended up seeing and chronicling the world with her husband, the late National Geographic photographer-journalist Tom Abercrombie. "But I loved it. It was certainly a wonderful way to escape the housework."

Life can be an unexpected journey, a fact never more evident than in the pages of "Traveling the World for National Geographic," the book Abercrombie helped usher into print in November and is promoting in a series of talks around the region.

More than 350 pages long and featuring hundreds of the photos the couple took while working for the magazine, it comes across as a family album like few others.

"This is a story, a picture story, of two very lucky people before whom was spread out the greatest of treasures, the planet Earth" is Tom Abercrombie's description in the text, written not long before his death in 2006. "Geographic was witness to a century, arguably the most telling in human history, and we spent nearly half of it there with them."

As Lynn Abercrombie remembers it, their story might never have happened at all.

Tom Abercrombie and Marilyn (as she was then known) Bruitt attended the same high school in Stillwater, Minn., during the 1940s, but they didn't know each other until they were assigned adjoining seats in biology class.

Even now, she sounds half-embarrassed at the way they behaved that semester.

"We were disruptive, the way we always talked to each other," she says with a shake of the head. "It's a wonder [the teacher] got anything done."

Tom, a person of boundless energy, had a talent for bluffing his way into new situations that intrigued him, Lynn says, and figuring out the details later. That was how he took over the photo side of the school yearbook even though he had never developed a picture.

He built a darkroom in his basement and taught himself the craft. Lynn followed suit, creating a popular series of student profiles.

A formidable team took shape, and so did a pattern: Tom taking a leap of faith, Lynn accommodating and growing beside him, a mutual life unfolding in illustrated chapters.

He got his first job, a staff position at North Dakota's tiny Fargo Forum, in 1951. But when an internship opened up at the photographically progressive Milwaukee Journal, he took it, betting that he could prove himself during a three-month trial.

"I'll set myself apart," he told Lynn, by then his wife. That summer, when a freighter sank in Lake Michigan, he invented a Plexiglas-encased camera, dove 80 feet to the wreck and took pictures with his Leica that made the Journal's front page (and, last year, the book's first chapter).

When he and Lynn adopted a wild robin, they shot a series of black-and-whites of the bird for the Journal's magazine in 1955. One went out on the Associated Press wire and was published in Life magazine. It ended up on the desk of an amateur ornithologist named Gilbert Grosvenor.

Grosvenor, who also happened to be the editor of National Geographic, summoned the young photographer to Washington for an interview, liked his approach and hired him.

"Tom always said, 'We made it to [the magazine] on the wings of a robin,'" Lynn says.

The magazine was then in its glory days, printing 2 million copies per issue enough, Abercrombie writes, to form a stack a mile and a half high. That meant plenty of resources, the time to do articles well (three months was not an uncommon span, a rarity anywhere today) and an almost limitless canvas. Over the next four decades, the pair visited all seven continents between them, facing down myriad logistical challenges while capturing jaw-dropping vistas as well as the kinds of smaller moments that bring huge subjects to life.

Their careers were separate but intertwined. Tom was a staff photographer and writer, a larger-than-life personality whose exploits were Hemingway-esque. His adventures, recorded in the book's words and pictures, included being the first staff journalist to photograph the South Pole (the article was published in 1958) and shooting Jacques Cousteau as the French undersea explorer tested his tiny submarine, the Diving Saucer, in the Caribbean (1960). He traveled with a local guide named Jabr into an isolated Saudi desert called "the Empty Quarter" (1965) to search for the Wabar meteorite, a legendary rock no living person had seen. (His team, which included Lynn, found and photographed it.)