Life IS short, but for some, it is far too short.

            If you have followed this blog for a year or longer, you will know that I write about this every year.

            It wasn’t supposed to be that way.

            I never planned on making this post a continuation of thoughts, nor did I ever imagine I would have to write about the loss of my friends every year.

            I never thought that life and friendships would feel so fragile, and that one could feel so helpless.

            I certainly never felt this strongly about the same message as I do right now.

            Life IS short, make your time count.

            On December 7^th, I received the kind of phone call that brings you to the most shattered version of yourself.  It was a call informing me that a good friend and someone whom I truly looked up to had unexpectedly passed away.  And it never hit me as hard as when the soft, sad voice on the other end of the line said, “He’s gone, Trevor.”

            He’s gone?

            The words echoed in my mind.  How could he be gone?  That’s not fair, I never had the chance to catch up with him like I had promised.  And forget about me, what about his amazing wife?  What about all of the people who love him?  What about all of the things he wanted to do?  What about all of the good times we were going to have this winter?  What about… and the list of rushing, out of sequence and out of control thoughts went on.

            And that is how we tend to feel about loss, we tend to look at what we wish we would have done, could have done or should have done.  We do so because we get wrapped up in our own worlds and we put stuff like that aside.  We put the important stuff like that aside.

I certainly wish I would have taken more time to catch up with my friend, and I will carry that feeling for the rest of my days.

            The only way around that feeling is to live our days in a way that we can appreciate the people around us, and appreciate what really is important.  It is a way of living that happens right now, and not sometime in the future on some undetermined date which will most likely never become a reality.

            We have to live right now, we have to live like Mike Colpo did.

            At 36 years old, he had already shared a few lifetimes worth of adventures and personal connections with others.  That is just how he was, always getting after it, always up for an adventure and always making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered at that point in time.  I say, “that point in time,” because to Mike there was no other time. He lived in that moment and if you were there with him, you felt a very strong bond that can otherwise not be explained.

            “He was engaging.”

            I have heard that said a few times now by others who knew Mike as well. 

            Mike didn’t just connect with people; he moved them.  In fact, the first words Mike spoke to me changed me forever, and for the better.  That was when I learned you could transmit a true feeling with only a few words and a look, or tone of voice.  To read more on that story, please go to, “Hero Status,” on Mike’s Memorial Website.  And while you are there, read some of the other stories his friends and family have posted.  You will probably be better for it.

            Mike was introspective and you could tell that his own character and wisdom had been shaped by a lot of searching within.  Through reflection and intense thought, Mike seemed to have found something the rest of us haven’t, and had the undeniable ability to put it on paper.

            Mike was a writer, a real writer, one who could put himself out there in a way that could show vulnerability and strength at the same time, one that could bend and knot metaphors like the climbing ropes he used so often.  Mike wrote for Patagonia’s Cleanest Line Blog and quickly became the voice of the company as a whole, but I have most enjoyed hearing the notes, poems and journal entries that others have shared over the last few days.

            He was a lover of all things, especially cooking and food, and I know that if he saw the stack of frozen pizzas in my freezer he would probably sit me down and give me a good long talk.  Actually, he would probably just start making me pizzas from scratch.

Most importantly, Mike loved his wife Liz.  In his closing thoughts on a podcast called, “The Dirtbag Diaries,” Mike made that very clear.

            “Searching for freedom in distant lands and wild places is a distraction.  There is no wilderness more vast than our heart and there is no freedom like learning to trust it to another.”

            It gives me comfort to know that I can always go back to that podcast and listen to the voice and the earned wisdom of my friend, of someone whom I looked up to so much.

Mike, I always thought we had more turns to make together, more tartiflette on the menu and more conversations about the important stuff.  I had so much left to learn from you.

In your memory, I will do my best to make my time count like you did.  I will appreciate the time I have and the people I have it with.  I will reflect on myself as often as possible in efforts to be the best version of myself that I can be.  I will live right now, engage in right now, and my hope is that everyone reading this will do the same.

We love and miss ya buddy.

(Mike serving up his famous Tartiflette and making everyone laugh at the same time.)

(Mike always teaching us something.)

(Mike getting after it.)

“So… I never realized photography is such a contact sport.”

            These words were spoken to me with a sense of both intrigue and astonishment by my new friend, Antonio, while on a mountain biking trip in the Sierra Norte in Oaxaca, Mexico.

            “Haha, no kidding,” I said humbly while surveying myself for injury and picking up my bike after one of many theatrical crashes.  Seriously, I went through a barbed wire fence, slipped off of a wet footbridge in the dark, landing upside down in a creek and spent countless hours pulling thorns out of my fists.

            It was the start of one very multi-faceted trip shooting three different adventures in three different states of Mexico with one big conference at the end. 

            It was a little crazy, but it all added up to one amazing experience.  As always, it is the people along the way that truly make the adventure.  Having spent so much time lately on the move between assignments and planning logistics for future endeavors, this trip gave me the opportunity to finally just do my thing.  During my three-week stay, I may have spent a combined hour online and zero time on the phone, living very much on the “local” side of things.

            From eating tostadas in a three-walled cinder block kitchen, dining room and general store combo to sleeping under thatch roofs and trying fried grasshoppers, this trip allowed me the chance to just be in that place. 

(Side note, Oaxacan cheese is incredible.)

            Back to the people.  In my opinion, places make the trip / itinerary, but it is the people that make the adventure.  I had the fortune of spending four days in the cold rain, covered in mud while laughing hysterically at three soulful Argentineans dancing and singing through every seemingly miserable situation.  I say “seemingly miserable,” because standing in the cold rain for hours with insufficient clothing (not our fault) and no immediate option for warmth somehow became fun.  If all of Argentina is like those guys, I may have to think about a longer-term trip south!  Thanks for the uplifting spirit Eduardo, Fernando and Pablo!

    On the rainy note, I also spent a lot of time mountain biking in the rain, on steep, slippery singletrack with new friends whooping through the woods like kids on the first day of summer vacation.  Again, what could have been scary, stressful and uncomfortable turned into one of my favorite memories from the entire trip.  At one point, all of us were bombing wet, clay-covered singletrack at mach speed, then hit some really slippery track and started flying like ragdolls into the woods in all directions.  I think we were all laughing uncontrollably before our feet even left the pedals.  Maybe it sounds crazy, but it goes to show that it really IS all about your attitude.

            Make no mistake, I was still hustling like usual, but this time I was permitted the focus to hustle with one thing at a time and have quite a few laughs along the way.

            Looking back on it all, I would say that was probably the overall theme of my three weeks in Mexico: hustling and laughing.  And when I hold that up to my list of key ways I choose to live, they are right there at the top.

            It all ended with a bang as I rolled into San Cristóbal de las Casas, beaten, battered and bruised, to shoot and participate in the Adventure Travel World Summit.  It kicked off with a visit from the President of Mexico, and not surprisingly, I found myself surrounded by smiling people from places I can’t even pronounce.  Of course, everyone greeted me with open arms and I made really strong connections with people whose language I cannot speak.

            So in response to your comment Antonio, yes, photography can be a full-contact sport (and in my case it is exactly that very often), but it is all in the pursuit of these pure moments of happiness, acceptance and the overall feeling of just being there.  Whether it’s lying in the mud with a new buddy after a hilarious crash or hugging a delegate from a far away country in a conference room, it’s all about making those connections with people.

    People truly make the adventure.

            I guess what I’m saying is, I’ll take the full-contact part in order to connect with people any day.

            One year ago last week I decided to give El Guapo (the van) the rest he deserved and set up shop in South Lake Tahoe.  The decision was based equally on business reasons and personal reasons, and if you have followed along on this adventure over the years you will remember the post, New Homebase / Road Reflection.

            The funny part is, I didn’t even realize it had been a year until I started to think about this post and all that has been going on lately.  When I did realize a year had passed, I was already smiling from ear to ear.

    And that is when you know you have made a good decision :-).

            When deciding the course of our lives (yes, DECIDING), it is very easy to get caught up in the tricky details.  Our heads can fill with questions like, “well, if I do this, then what if this happens, or that?”

            In the end, it is actually very simple.  All we can ever do is make rational decisions based on the amount of information we have at that time.  If something changes, then change with it, but never hold yourself from something because of the nagging “What If” thoughts.  It is not always easy (maybe it’s never easy), but if you can hold yourself to those parameters, big decisions become less daunting.

            This was the same process for me getting into the van full-time as it was getting out.

            It may sound crazy, but exiting the van-dwelling life was a little scary.  At that point it was what I knew, it was how I had lived my life for a long time.  Suddenly, I would be tied to one place, have to start over with making friends and becoming part of a community.  I would need to re-shape the entire business, put my name to a place.  Again, it sounds crazy because people think that moving back into a home is a return to normalcy, but it has nothing to do with social norms.  It has everything to do with making a big life change, which is scary every time.

            The long-winded point of all of this is that I cannot believe a year has gone by.  This has been, by far, the fastest year of my life and I think it is due to the types of projects I have chosen to get involved with.

            From working with Soft Power Health and Jessie Stone in Uganda to working with the High Fives Foundation based locally here in Truckee, CA, and everything in between, there has just been a very GOOD vibe during the last year.

            This also goes in line with the point made above about deciding the course of our lives.  Working with these groups on these projects was no accident or shift of luck.  There were very direct steps taken to make these possibilities a reality.

            Having just returned from an adaptive waterski program with the High Fives crew in Mississippi, I can say that I am glad those steps were taken.

            Last week it was my job to document this amazing group of adventure athletes with life altering injuries learn how to waterski.  They pushed each other, displayed the most positivity I have ever seen, overcame huge obstacles and, of course, gave out a lot of high fives.

            Being someone with a longstanding background in wakeboarding, I couldn’t believe some of what I was seeing and shooting.  For these athletes, everything is more difficult and they were showing me that they are up for the challenge, and that they will surpass every expectation, every time.

            The entire experience was amazing for everyone, and in my silent reflection behind the shutter, I know that I grew a lot personally from this trip.  My only hope is that the images do the story justice.

            I want to thank High Fives for bringing me along, but I also want to send out a HUGE Thanks to Bill and Denise Bowness of Unlimited Skiing and the Holland and Dunnaway families for their unbelievable hospitality.  You all made this experience what it was.

            In the end, all decisions lead us to something else.  If I had not chosen to set myself up in Tahoe one year ago, who knows if I would have ever had the chance to go to Mississippi last week.

(Nik Sullivan and Steve Wallace giving Landon McGauley a little extra encouragement.)

(Landon McGauley carving up the evening glass.)

(Some of the hilarity of the trip. Roy Tuscany and Steve Wallace deciding a spray tan in Mississippi would be fun, haha!)

(Mark Urich doing the impossible and slalom skiing on one leg. Mark, you are a BEAST!!!)

(I even got to do some riding. Sending a HUGE Thanks to Mark Urich for shooting the image!)

            A few weeks back I shared a link on Facebook to an article that I wrote three years ago.  It was an article about heading out on the road, and on my own to create a photographic life and business from the asphalt up.

I was very moved a few hours later when I checked my phone and saw how many people had responded to my post.  It was truly humbling to see all of the comments, “Likes” and even personal messages from people I have met along this journey.  One friend even suggested I write a response post about what I have learned in all of this. 

So here it is; what I have learned.

I have learned that you can do anything you put your mind to, but that most people don’t take that idea seriously.  I have learned that the only way to accomplish anything, no matter how monumental, is to just begin.  I have learned that fear is our only enemy, and that you can become comfortable with different levels of it.  I have learned what it is to sacrifice.  I have learned I can depend on myself, but that life is much better shared.  I have learned that the world is full of critics, but that you are the one who lives with your decisions.  I have learned to always be honest in all of my dealings, but to still be mindful of others’ intentions.  I have learned more patience, humility, respect and sincerity.  I have learned to keep the people I love in my life.  I have learned about loss, about pain, about hardship and about privation.  I have learned about rejection and I have learned about disappointment.  I have learned about self-doubt and its crippling toll.  I have learned about optimism and it’s power to overcome.  I have learned about confidence.  I have learned about the sweet taste of success when it is rightfully earned.  I have learned that working hard is my only option.  I have learned to be positive no matter what.  I have learned that if things are looking grim, life is giving you an opportunity to step up and turn it all around, an opportunity to learn what you are made of and use that for the rest of your life.  I have learned that a person will show their character in their eyes, but that you must first be aware enough to see it.  I have learned about beauty and about inexplicable moments.  I have learned about happenstances that seemed too coordinated to be chalked up to chance.  I have learned about hellos and about goodbyes.  I have learned about driving away from people and I have learned about driving toward people.  I have learned about passion and I have learned about process.  I have learned about perseverance and I have learned about strength.  I have learned to live, I have learned to dream and I have learned to be.

I have learned about my own life.

Some of those lessons stripped me to my very core, while others lifted me higher than I could have ever imagined.  If there is one thing to take away from all of this, it is that I will be forever grateful for the journey that has brought me to this point, and I am really looking forward to the journey that is still ahead.  This is just the beginning.

To read the articles I wrote about my journey for Canoe & Kayak Magazine during the first four of my thirty months spent on the road, please follow these links:

Post 1 – An Uncertain Path, A Journey of Paddling Discovery

Post 2 – Do Not Ask the Question

Post 3 – Trevor’s Excellent Summer Adventure Continues

Post 4 – Birthdays, Border Crossings & Skook

“Every search begins with beginners luck, and every search ends with the victors being severely tested.”

-- Quote from “The Alchemist”

            I have been truly humbled.

            Sunday morning I arrived at Miami International Airport after a weeklong shooting assignment on a remote island with no Internet or phone connectivity.  I powered up my phone as I stepped off the plane, went straight to my email and there it was, “Congrats!  Your Kickstarter project has been successfully funded!”

            I stopped dead in my tracks as the line of travelers behind me kindly pushed me aside.  I could not believe what I was reading and just stood and stared blankly.  I went numb and the raucous world around me went quiet.  All of my focus was on the subject line of that email.  I just couldn’t believe it.

            I slowly came back to the world and realized that I had another flight to catch on a different reservation, which would necessitate a visit to baggage claim, the check-in counter and security all over again in about 25 minutes.

            I didn’t make it, but that is a different story.

            I can’t remember another time in my life when I have been so overwhelmed with a feeling that I could not explain.  We know when something feels good or when something feels bad, but what happens when you don’t actually have a way to categorize what you are feeling?

            I guess it means it is a brand new one that deserves a new category.

            I think my new category is “Overwhelmed.”

            In thinking more about it, I realize that what I was feeling was this incredible rush of support from everyone who has helped this project along.  I am a lone photographer.  I work alone, travel alone and depend on my instincts.  I don’t ask for much help, and when I do, it is because it is the very last option.

            My momentary “What is this?” was me feeling completely floored about the fact that I had asked for help and that you all showed up.  My family, my friends, industry professionals, colleagues, clients and complete strangers all showed up for me, for Jessie and for this project, and for that I cannot thank you enough.

            Your support will give this project as much potential as possible and hopefully help spread the word about the GOOD work being done by Jessie Stone and Soft Power Health in Uganda.  There is still plenty more work to be done, but this is an absolutely incredible milestone!

            I would like to once again thank every supporter of this project, and in keeping with the promises laid out in the Kickstarter rewards program, I would like to extend a Special Thanks to:

Sabrina Lau                                                   Charles Adams

Jean O’Keefe                                                 Cristin

Vince E. Camiolo                                           Smith Tallant

Jonathan Greenlee                                        Ryan Grimm

Lance Adair                                                     Parker Gates

Mike C.                                                              Morgan Petroski

Jeremy Reppy                                                 Monissa

Derek Bradley                                                  Isaiah Downing

Lauren Gaines                                                 Krista Abbaticchio

Amy Marquis                                                    Marc

Morgan Heim & Joanna Nasar                     Jimmy Graham

Andrew Kuhlberg                                            Cindy Ruppenicker

Peter Dennen                                                   Karen Kraus

Cherie Ve Ard                                                   Randy White

Logan MB                                                          Mat Rick

Folia Yu                                                              Steven Rushing

Anthony & Michelle Klotz                                Kathly Trabert

Cartson Ko                                                         Andrew Luter

Jessica Stuart                                                    Biff Ramsey

Rich Kidd                                                            Alisha

Erica Willis                                                          Howard Alter

Anna Ruppenicker                                            Jose M. Rivera

Ken Gagne                                                         Martin Burns

Jennifer Chong                                                  Christie C. Salomon

Peter Hill                                                             Amanda Abegg

Charles Adams       Rose Demoret

            A few generous backers chose not to select a reward and for those reasons are not named.  Some may have chosen for anonymity so I have to assume that reason for everyone in this category.  If you are in this category and have no problem being named, please let me know.
    I would also like to especially thank the good folks at Patagonia's Cleanest Line for doing their part in helping spread the word.
    Thanks again everyone!!!

(Mark Wellman and Steve Wampler with their achievement awards at the Tahoe Adventure Film       Festival.)

            In-spire

            [in-spahy-uh-r] – verb – to fill with an animating, quickening or exalting influence; to produce or arouse a feeling; to affect with a specific feeling, thought, etc…; to influence or impel.

            In my life I work to surround myself with inspiring people.  I strive to use the lessons they impart and apply them to my own life, but in order for that to happen, sometimes you must first be humbled to your most basic emotions.  This has never been more true for me than when I had the recent fortune of meeting and shooting portraits with Steve Wampler and Mark Wellman at the Tahoe Adventure Film Festival.

            For those who haven’t heard of these two characters, Steve is an adult with Cerebral Palsy who recently pulled himself up the 3,000 ft wall in Yosemitie National Park known as El Capitan (literally, 20,000 pull ups).  And Mark, who has been in a wheel chair since a climbing accident in his early years, managed the same feat back in 1989.

            In spite of their disabilities, the two have pulled off incredible accomplishments and continue in their efforts to inspire others.  This year’s Tahoe Adventure Film Festival (TAFF, my favorite South Lake Tahoe event) seemed to stick with that theme, showing quite a few films about specific people who are just awe inspiring.

            Trust me when I say that the place was full of a brand of energy that only a love for mountain life can create.  As the TAFF founder, organizer and MC Todd Offenbacher said, it was “a meeting of the tribe, the mountain trib.”

    Most of the crowd in attendance will never be in one of the adventure films shown at this event, but we could all relate to being at the very edge of what you know you can physically and mentally do, and doing it anyways. 

    The energy exploded as the final scene of “The Swedish Machine” showed a man hell bent on one of the craziest missions anyone has ever seen literally sprinting to the top of the Eiger.  The crowd requested to see a wingsuiting film again after its brevity left people hanging just a little too much.  The crowd screamed and howled as Tahoe local Mike Wilson was shown launching a quadruple back flip off of a rope swing 100 feet above Lake Tahoe. 

    Then, as the short version of Steve Wampler’s El Cap mission ended and the spotlight fell on Steve and his family, the crowd jumped out of their seats screaming and applauding with goosebumps on their arms and tears in their eyes.  I say this with no embellishment.

    There was not a dry eye in the house. 

    Even typing this from my cramped seat on a flight across the country, I am having those same emotions all over again.

    Steve’s courage, confidence and perseverance truly inspired me, and it certainly humbled me to my core.  I cannot imagine what he has been through in his life, but he used every bit of his life experience to pull himself up that wall.  He is out there pushing as a positive role model for everyone with Cerebral Palsy, and everyone on the planet for that matter.  Steve, thanks for the inspiration, you are awesome!

            During the show Steve was awarded the Golden Camelot Award and Mark received the Lifetime Achievement Award (a red, white and blue Camelot) for their accomplishments on the wall, but also for what they do off the wall.  Please check out more about these two inspiring people and their work at the Stephen J. Wampler Foundation and No Limits.

            I want to close this post with a phrase that Todd emphasized throughout the night and that I try my very best to live by.

 “Never waste a day.” 

       
(Mark Wellman, Steve Wampler and the TAFF GoGo Dancers not wasting a day.)

(On assignment in the New River.  Fayetteville, West Virginia.)

            Time flies.  A few days after my last post about setting up shop in South Lake Tahoe I did what any sane person would do and hit the road again, this time only for one month.

            I flew to Georgia for a weekend to see family and friends, picked up a large vehicle remnant from my Mom’s days as a teenage-hauling Soccer Mom and turned the wheel toward West Virginia.  The following two weeks were spent shooting wastewater treatment plants, city storm drains, troubled creeks and abandoned coal mining projects as well as whitewater kayaking, rafting, squirtboating, hiking, climbing and even rappelling from one very tall bridge.

            It is amazing to me that this all fell under one assignment, but as I learned through the course of the project, West Virginia water quality is a very big, multi-faceted issue.  I only hope that my work will help draw more attention to the area.

            After finishing up in West Virginia on a Sunday evening, I dropped down to Blacksburg, Virginia in time to shoot another story on Monday morning.  I can’t say all that much about this one, but it is already getting some attention and my hope is that I will be able to share news with everyone about it soon!  I will say that it was very unusual, even by adventure sports standards.

            One hectic day, more driving and a few hours of sleep later I was in Washington, D.C. for a few meetings.  It all went well, but I unfortunately only had enough time to spend one morning in the city.  For scheduling reasons, I just had to get back to the mountains for a few more days of shooting before dropping back down to Georgia.

            In all of this moving around and shooting, I have been pleasantly reminded about one very important lesson.  As a photographer you get to be a part of many people’s lives, even if it is only for the fraction of a second that the shutter is open.  It is one of the most amazing privileges I know, and because of that you must treat it with absolute respect and care.

            I don’t typically strike up conversations with strangers, but when there is a camera in my hands I have no problem introducing myself and asking if they mind me photographing what they are doing.  It always leads to new conversations and I actually cannot remember one instance where the person refused or treated me like a weirdo (though that WILL happen if you don’t explain what you are doing first).  In fact, the whole scenario usually brightens both of our days.

            The point is, wonderful people are everywhere and everyone has a story.  My experience with cameras is that they tend to bring the good stuff to the surface.  Whether it is an older man telling me about childhood memories of fishing the same place I am photographing with his dad 50 years ago or a kayaker explaining his connection to a certain river, open conversations come up all of the time.  When it happens you can feel closer to a stranger than most people you know well. 

I can’t explain it and most people laugh when I try but you can feel it and you must try to project that same feeling of openness and trust to whomever you are photographing.  Once people let you in, it is your duty to step up and do their story justice by working your hardest to capture that moment.  In a sense, it is your end of the bargain for their trust.

I was fortunate enough to have this experience many times over in the last few weeks and even though I rolled back to my east coast home base exhausted, the whole experience left smiling in reflection.

I have learned that cameras connect me to other people, and my hope is that my images connect them to you as well J.


(The storm drain part.)
(Perma-grin after shooting an amazing sunrise.)
(Shooting from an 876 ft vantage point.  You can't tell but I was tethered.)

(The view over Lake Tahoe from my new home high on the mountain.)

            In life we make choices.  We decide courses of action over time and the resulting combination of experiences becomes our life.  It is a life defined by us, and if you don’t agree, look back on all of the decisions you have made and where you are today.  If you had chosen differently, would you be in the same place?  Would you even be the same person?

            I changed my life dramatically two and a half years ago when I stepped into the van full-time on a mission to start a business, career and most importantly, a new pathway of experiences that would narrow into my defined course of life.  It wasn’t an easy decision but it was the best thing I could have done.  It was the beginning of my mental development to move forward no matter how tough the scenario.

            I don’t really mention the rough spots in this blog because I am an overall positive person.  When the chips are down, I feel it like anyone else but I choose to learn from the situation and move on. 

            I have recently set up a home base back in South Lake Tahoe and with any life altering decision, there is always a time of reflection on one’s experiences.  This post is exactly that, except in this post I want to give some insight into the psychology and reality of living without an address.  I have already written at length about all of the wonderful experiences I have had on the road and now I want to pay homage to the difficulties I have faced and reflect on what I have learned.

From the exterior, my time in the van has appeared to be much like a vacation to almost everyone I have encountered.  I am writing to say, with a positive tone and an “if you only knew” kind of chuckle, that it has been everything but that. 

Starting and running a business from a van while being the new guy every time the engine turns over is demanding, stressful and socially awkward to say the least.  You don’t belong anywhere and as a result you miss out on some of life’s basic necessities, ones that most people take for granted.  Family, meaningful friendships and the one everyone asks about, relationships.  In fact, you inadvertently alienate yourself from everyone you have ever cared for while simultaneously hindering yourself from developing those fundamental aspects of life during your time on the road.

            If you do start to care for someone and you tell that person, that person may (or will) turn you down because there is no sense for your stability.  You live on the road and never know when you will be where.  At first glance the mystery of it all even sounds a bit romantic, but how can someone else plan on that?  If that person really cares for you and knows you well, they may just say they don’t feel the same way because they know how important your mission is and they don’t want to get in the way of your success.  And so it goes, unspoken or unknown and at the same time, understood.

The last paragraph is not an exact reflection of my life, but it is the kind of twist on personal relationships that I have come to understand.

            Your family, as proud as they may be of your accomplishments and your drive for success, would love to see you but are forced to plan all of their get-togethers without you.  Again, you never know when you will be where, so how can someone else plan on that?  You sit on the sidelines and hear about your family’s time together.  You see the evidence on Facebook and no matter how much you enjoy what you are doing and the reasons behind it, you will think, “What am I doing, is this worth it?”

            Your previously solid friends begin to know less and less about you while you know less about them.  You develop a nationwide network of friends but the reality is that you pop in on them only a few times a year.  It is not like you can call them up with your problems or know they will call you if there is an opportunity to go get a beer, go kayaking or even just watch a movie.  It takes a lot more effort to be social and it is almost never with people you know well.  You literally feel like the new kid at school a vast majority of the time.  Your vehicle becomes a time capsule in which nothing changes as you observe time and space passing by.

            This is the first time I have really tried to express these realities and I feel it was best done in type.  When conversations ensue about my thoughts on the road, people immediately hit on the girlfriend topic and they tend to stay there.  As a result, they think that is the only object of concern in all of this when in fact it only takes up its justified space on the pie chart. 

            I have reflected on personal topics because those are less obvious.  I also want to emphasize that there are as many or more business reasons to establish a home base because like any business, one of the main goals at TCP is expanding.  It doesn’t really matter what business you are in, if that is a priority, a home base or office is only logical.  I can still operate like anyone else during my spurts on the road, but this will add to my overall efficiency as well as my basic human needs.

            Even though I have described my time on the road as everything but a vacation, I did start this journey knowing a bit about what I was in for.  I also knew there would be exponentially more to figure out.  If had the chance to go back and change anything, I would not.  I have grown beyond my years and learned more about myself than I could have ever imagined.  I have made my own decisions and am a product of the experiences they yielded. I have learned from the hard times, rejoiced in the good times.  I have started a business and launched a career, defining my course of life.  I have no regrets.

This is not the end of anything; it is the beginning of everything.  My time on the road was always indefinite but never permanent.  My visual story telling and traveling days are just getting started, only now I have somewhere I belong J.

Lastly, to answer my own nagging question during the tougher times “Was it worth it?”

Absolutely.  Sometimes we have to make short-term sacrifices for long-term goals.  Just make sure to never loose sight of what is really important because it is easy to mix things up and make long-term sacrifices for short-term goals.

(Reflection of Ed Cazch grabbing his rain jacket as the rain begins while packrafting on the Kashwitna
River, Alaska.)

            Today is the first day of September.  I am back in Lake Tahoe and the air is cool and breezy with the definitive feel of fall on the way.  I know we are not quite there on the calendar, but I love fall and I couldn’t be more excited.

            It is not that I like one season more than any other, but that I love every season and everything each one has to offer.  I get a new but recognizable feeling each time my environment changes.  My association of time and place allows old memories to resurface and somehow lend to the notion of creating new ones just as meaningful, or perhaps more so.

            This reverence for the season started about a week and a half ago while on my last packrafting trip in Alaska.  A new friend and I set out to cover four mountain passes and two rivers in three days over about 66-miles of backcountry terrain.  It was an ambitious undertaking but most of it was above the tree line so we figured we would give it a shot.  By cautionary procedure, we packed about 4 and a half days worth of food and also decided that if something was wrong or we just didn’t have enough time to complete the plan, we could always paddle the first river all the way out to a road.

            It turned out to be a pretty demanding trip and in the end, we did need one more day.  With my friend’s looming work schedule and my Alaskan exit on the horizon we ended up paddling out of the first river.  I can’t say we weren’t disappointed, but it was still an amazing trip.

            Hiking above tree line for the majority of the endeavor (though we still had our share of bushwacking), I noticed the moss and lichen already transitioning in color.  They were not in their full array of purple, yellow and red yet, but they were well on their way. 

It was cool, sometimes rainy and sometimes sunny.  I thought about crisp mornings and the season’s first fire in the fireplace.  I thought about riding bikes through crunching leaves with my younger brother and about drinking my Mom’s famous Russian Tea.  It felt like fall.

            I have since left Alaska for a quick trip to Mexico to witness the wedding of one of my long-time best friends.  It was a great celebration with most of my core pals from a time and life long gone.  As with the changing of the seasons, old memories resurfaced and we enjoyed them as they were, knowing we would all leave to create new ones, hopefully just as meaningful.

            Congratulations Ryan and Jen.  May your old and new memories flow together as you embark on this new journey.  I love you guys!

(Ed Cazch working his way out of one of the many valleys we crossed to get to the Kashwitna River,
Alaska.)

(Myself and Ed Cazch taking cover under boulders during a storm.)

(Drying gear and cooking breakfast at camp before the next looming storm.)

(Mt. Jefferson at sunset.  This is why I always, always, always reserve a window seat.)

(Classic travel moment.  My flight landed 10 minutes after the last shuttle to South Lake Tahoe.  
Closed Shuttle office behind me.  Spent the night at a Casino.)

(Long-time pal Ryan Harris foregoing the Mayan ruins for some bouldering the day before his wedding.)

(Brian Kasavana giving Shay Coe a hand and rope through the never-ending bush.)

            “We’re back on the scale folks!”

            I was in a new place with new people, pursuing a new form of exploration (packrafting – new to me) when someone belted out this new phrase.  I had just enough time to take in the words before a rogue Alder branch slammed me in the face, quickening my understanding of exactly what it meant.

            It meant we were in it.  We were committed.  We were bushwacking until we found our river and there was no reason to expect anything different.  Rainy, thick, steep bushwacking.

            When pursuing a new activity, there is always some sort of learning curve.  For me it has been figuring out how to pack everything I need on multiday packraft trips without carrying too much weight.  When you factor in clothing for the Alaskan weather, cold water paddling equipment (drysuit, PFD, helmet, paddle, packraft and safety gear), camping gear, food, camera gear and special bags / holsters for carrying camera equipment accessibly, you have one mound of gear to deal with.

            Unfortunately, I chose this trip to experiment with the learning curve.  I learned very quickly that I had packed a very light, space-consuming item (PFD / lifejacket) near the bottom because I wouldn’t need it for a while.  In my thoughts of accessibility over weight distribution, I had inadvertently forced myself to pack a few heavier items higher in the pack, making for an exhausting top-heavy pack.  Not fun on the trail and definitely not fun in the bush.

            The reason I am spending some time on this is that like all decisions, it had a ripple effect.  Because the pack was tall and top-heavy it swung around at the shoulders.  Instead of asking for a stop and fix, I just kept going which was even worse.  Then my expedition size and strength backpack (which I have trusted for years under heavy stress) gave out and the right shoulder strap ripped completely free from the pack.  One bad move had led to another and before I knew it, I had dug my own grave.  This was only a few hours into a demanding three-day trip.

            I agree it was a rookie move but knowing that I will always carry at least twenty pounds more than everyone in every group I go out with, I think about weight a little differently.  Basically, I accept it.  In this case, I accepted poor weight distribution in place of just being heavier than everyone.  Bad move.

            The rest of the bushwacking endeavor was spent hauling all of my weight on my hips and left shoulder, which was of course not very comfortable or very efficient for my energy use.

            We were definitely, “on the scale.”

            My intent about the backpack and bushwacking situation is not to make the trip sound negative, but to show how important even small decisions can be.

            In all, the trip was a success.  We powered through a lot of northern jungle and even had some respite on the tundra here and there which gave way to amazing views and wildlife encounters.  We spent an unplanned night on the river, but one group member had it in him to stand in the freezing water and cold rain to catch a salmon for us to cook over the campfire.  Brian, you are my hero for that. 

The crew was very strong and I am happy to come out of it with a few new friends.  Thanks again for having me along!

            Aside from that trip, I have also had the opportunity to pull off packrafting trips on the Resurrection River, Kenai, Russian River and even a 40-mile day trip from Girdwood to Eagle River over Crow Pass.

            For some reason, packrafting seems to be synonymous with words like mission or epic (both of which I have used too often lately) but I wouldn’t have it any other way.


(A beautiful and deserved tundra breakfast.)

(Shay Coe pulling Devil's Club thorns out of his hands.)

(Morning on the tundra.  Note the big male Caribou on the hill.)

(Our unplanned river camp.)

(Shay Coe cooking up some salmon as the fishing hero Brian Kasavana looks on.)

(Inger Hanson on her way up Crow Pass during one of the most beautiful summer days the Anchorage area has seen.)

(Some logistics require hitch-hiking, which is less doable when you get off the river at 11 pm.  This day did not end until around 4:30 am.)