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”

(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.)

(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.)

(Back in my Alaska uniform, rain gear and a lifejacket.)

            Twelve days of logistics, commercial flights, bush flights, shooting, fishing, paddling, sleeping on the ground, campfires, fresh fish, local culture, new friends and no showers.  And that is only the beginning!

            My time in Alaska started with an amazing assignment for Boys’ Life Magazine that put me on a 9-day river trip in the Arctic Circle with some of the most accomplished teenagers I have encountered.  Not many folks can handle remote wilderness for extended periods, and especially teens, but this group showed strength, aptitude and an overall desire to do something no other troop has ever done.  As much fun as they had on the trip, I might be able to say that I had more.

I have since had a few showers and recuperated from the last trip as well as the few months of travel and logistics that led up to it.  I have had a friend’s company, a house to sleep in and a puppy to keep me entertained.  The weather even cleared enough one day to hop into a friend’s plane and go flying and shooting around Mt. McKinley / Denali National Park.  We had a bit of weather and turbulence to deal with which made shooting a real challenge (seriously, I felt like I was being shaken like dice in cupped hands while looking through the viewfinder) but it was well worth it.  I even had the opportunity to take the controls for a little while and learn a few things.  What I realized is that this won’t be the last time you hear me talk about flying.  I am hooked!

The last few days have been a bit less exciting, but definitely all part of it.  Resting, editing, planning and gearing up for the next leg has been crucial.  Now it’s time to get back out there!


(Yes, 50 square miles of sand dunes in the Arctic Circle.  I had no idea either.)

(Somewhere on the river.)

(My craft.  Solar panel charging in the stern, full coffee mug waiting for me in the bow.)

(Flying with friends Inger Hanson and John Dieffenderfer.)

(Paying homage to Bradford Washburn.  If you don't recognize the name look him up, he was The Man.)

(And again.)

(Flying really close to the Ruth Glacier.  Too much going on to fit in a photo but I still tried.)

One month is a long time to pass with no blog updates.  I apologize for leaving everyone out of the loop but I hope it is an indication for how nutty things have been lately. 

My logistical marathon started nearly one month ago with an amazing weeklong assignment on the Rogue River in southern Oregon.  We had sunshine, cool water and big smiles.  I don’t know how else to describe it except that it was the perfect fit for everyone on the trip.

My four-day return to Colorado had me pulling off long sweat filled computer days inside a very hot El Guapo (the van).  It was rough, but well worth it as it allowed me the time to hop on another plane for six very nice, unplugged days in Georgia with my family and friends.  In fact, it was the first vacation I have taken in my adult life! 

I stepped back ten years and it turned out to be exactly what I needed. Board shorts, sunglasses, family, friends and my old wakeboarding stomping grounds on Lake Lanier.  That was all I wanted and it delivered.

My return flight to Colorado and El Guapo dropped me right back in the thick of things.  I managed a few hours of sleep then kick started my life again with a few hours of emails and an editor meeting coupled with a 500-mile drive, a few phone calls and the audio version of The Alchemist.  Seventeen hours later I pulled into a familiar spot in Park City, Utah at my friends’ cabin.  We had a short visit in the morning and I was off again for the final leg to Lake Tahoe.

I have been here for a week working on few new developments that I was hoping to share by now, but unfortunately it looks like they will have to wait.

As always, my time here is short. I will be taking a break from the lower 48 on Wednesday and heading to Alaska.  Two full days of travel logistics will have me on a ten-day river assignment inside the Arctic Circle and I could not be more excited!  If there was such thing as the perfect assignment for me, this is it.  I have spent a lot of time in Alaska and the Yukon Territory and so far in my travels, I have not found a place that I like better.

After that, I have set up three weeks of personal trips, stock shoots and a quick trip to Mexico for one of my best friends' wedding.  Most of my time will be in the field or on the move so please bare with me if I can’t get another post up before September.

Hasta!

    Being a solo traveler and photographer, I pride myself on my own resourcefulness.  I never set out to be a loner, but I can take care of myself and if the situation calls for it, I can go it alone for as long as necessary.  I feel like it is an essential and common trait for all photographers.

            I am resilient to adversity.  I take the hard lessons and keep pushing.  I seek out people and information from the ground up, face to face with honesty, integrity and compassion.  I work hard and I work independently, which usually means I work alone (**as before mentioned, by necessity**).

            I take pride in my approach and feel like I am stronger because of it.  It has given me a sense of power and control over my own direction.  It has given me confidence, it has taught me self-reliance and it has guided me through tough times.  My approach has always taken care of me, that is, until this week.

            This week my biggest strengths became my biggest weaknesses.  This week I found myself immobile, in pain and stripped of my usual self-reliant abilities.  I was sick.  I was defeated and incapable of even standing myself up.  Sweating, freezing, unable to swallow or walk, ears aching and head pounding, I laid in a cheap motel bed groaning in pain and disorientation for the better part of 96 hours.  I was helpless.

            I knew I wasn’t doing a single thing to help myself, but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t take fever reducers at the correct intervals.  I couldn’t prepare any kind of nutritious and palpable food.  I couldn’t change my sweaty sheets.  Most importantly, I couldn’t get myself to a doctor because I couldn’t even walk.  I kept thinking, “How did I let it get to this point?”

            In the days leading up to my predicament, I had been hanging out with some friends and kayakers at the Glenwood Wave in Glenwood Springs, Colorado.  High temperatures had worked their hardest on the high country snowpack and transformed the Colorado River into a 25,000 cfs (cubic feet per second) behemoth.  It made for some amazing playboating.

            On the last morning of our stay, I was feeling a little off and decided to rest in the van.  The day heated up and the inside of the van turned into a convection oven, aiding in my physical and mental plunge.

My buddies told me they were taking off for another part of the state and asked what my plans were.  In my self-reliant persona I said I wasn’t feeling well and that I would catch up with them later.  That was dumb.  Later came and I realized there would be no catching up.  I needed AC and somewhere to be for a few days.  The dizzying 2.4-mile drive from the wave to my motel should have been a strong indicator that I needed a doctor first, then a bed, but I felt I could just ride it out.

I was very wrong.

That one decision changed everything.  Once I was in bed, there was no getting out.  Eight hours into my stay, I started feeling a bit uneasy about my state of helplessness and sent my parents a text message to let them know what was going on and where I was.  Unfortunately they were in the middle of some marathon travels of their own and would not receive the text for another 24 hours.

When we finally talked, I was not myself.  In fact, I barely remember anything that was actually said.  What I do remember was the sound of concern my condition had put in my parents’ voices.  It is a sound you never want to hear, because as helpless as I was, they felt even more so.

With a new perspective, I downed a handful of Advil, waited an hour then made a run for it, literally.  In my state of self-destruction I had neglected to realize that there was a hospital three blocks away from my disgusting, sweaty motel bed.

I must have really looked the part when I walked in because as soon as I filled out my paperwork, the woman at the desk sent me to the lab for a Strep Throat culture.  I hadn’t even seen a doctor or a nurse yet. 

Soon afterwards I was in an exam room with a cheery female doctor who was so excited about my extremely advanced case of Strep Throat that she asked if I would mind being used as a teaching case for her interns.  I was so fired up to finally know what was going on and that I would have an easy remedy that I remember smiling and belting out the words, “Bring ‘em on in!”

You may be thinking, “Geez, what a wimp.  Who writes a thousand words about getting Strep Throat?”

Well, I am writing this because I learned a lesson.  Just like all of the lessons we learn in our lives, it can apply to nearly anything.

In my own self-described confidence, I failed to realize that sometimes you really do need someone else’s help and you need to ask for it.  I could have told my friend I really wasn’t doing well and needed some help getting to a doctor.  I could have asked a doctor for help before going to a motel.  I could have done a number of things that would have drastically shortened my misery, but I didn’t because I was overly confident in what I could do on my own.

Sometimes we just need a little help.  Don’t ever be too afraid or too confident to ask for it.

The room was artificially cool, my fold out stadium-seated desk was uncomfortable and the windowless walls and fluorescent lighting left me without any sense of time.  This scenario would normally rank pretty high on my torture meter, but there I sat taking it all in like a sponge.

As the Memorial Day weekend was in full swing and most Americans were out enjoying their afternoon barbeques, backyard football games or quality time near rivers, lakes and oceans, I was sitting inside.  

I loved it. 

I was in a classroom at the University of Colorado in Boulder wrapping up an educational and inspiring few days at the Aurora Multimedia Workshop.

            The line up of presenters ranged from photographers, film-makers, writers and editors to marketing directors, higher ups in the ad world, Pulitzer Prize winners, company Presidents and multimedia pioneers.  These were across the board innovators and media Ninjas in my mind.

            I watched and listened in awe as James Balog went through his Extreme Ice Survey presentation.  I forgot to breathe while Jim Sheeler talked about what went into “Final Salute,” the story of the Marine escort officer that returned the bodies of slain Marines from Iraq while tending to the needs of the surviving family.  Even hearing Dick Durrance’s account of how a 19-year-old kid (Dick) was able to shoot a cover story for National Geographic was unreal.  So unreal in fact that the audience’s uniform reaction was, “Holy s**t!”  For the techno folks out there, we even had an exclusive first look at Sports Illustrated’s new platform for handling this whole new / multi-media movement.

            Incredible!

In all, it was exhausting but completely worthwhile.  I walked out of each day overwhelmed with the potential we all have as visual communicators and a new drive to put everything I learned into practice.

There are stories around every corner and now we have a variety of new tools with which to tell them.  Why not adapt and evolve?  We have all seen the changes in the publishing world and though no one is completely sure what the new model will be, we should be working toward it.  Those are my two cents anyways.

This may seem like a far cry from my usual adventure story posts, but I disagree.  We are on the cusp of something very different, something very new and something nobody knows how to even describe.  I mean, what is multimedia?  That sounds like the makings of an adventure to me.

“Creativity without craftsmanship is like a million times zero.” 
-Dick Durrance (Aurora Multimedia Workshop Presenter)

“7 days of no kayaking makes one weak.”

This quote is from a bumper sticker that you can see going by on almost any rack-laden vehicle in the Reno area.  For me, it is a sight for sore eyes and I can’t think of a better way to describe this last week.

It all started with the annual Reno River Festival.  This year marked my fourth year in attendance, but was only my first year as a true spectator.  For one reason or another, I have always shot this event (mostly self-assigning), so it was a real treat to just hang out.  The camera was along for a few images but, for the most part, I just walked around and caught up with all of the kayakers that I have spent so much time traveling and shooting with in the past.


(Jackson Kayak team member Clay Wright during the Reno River Festival.)

We all did the whole story-swapping bit for most of the weekend, but it was also a great chance to talk with everyone about summer plans, future shooting and new ideas.  By the time it was all over, this week’s paddling and shooting thoughts were in motion and I was in full planning mode.

I had Monday to recover from the weekend, work through some logistics and make communications that would allow me to disconnect for a few days and wait for the call.  As it always does when it comes to kayaking, the plan literally came together at the eleventh hour.  It was eleven o’clock at night before I had a solid grasp on where people were going before all cell phone service would be lost in the northern Sierra.  I set my alarm for a 4:30 a.m. wakeup and I was set to go.

The next morning’s travel was just shy of epic with a random snowstorm slowing traffic on I-80, my limited knowledge of where I was going, last-minute grocery and equipment purchases along the way and a group of kayakers so large that we actually ended up with a convoy of nine station wagons, vans or trucks and one RV pulling it’s own shuttle car.  We were definitely a sight for each small town we passed through.  Oh, and the convoy basically started with individual vehicles in different places that all met up along the way.  To put it short, logistics were crazy.

As we closed in on our final destination, about an hour from any phone reception, you could feel the excitement growing.  I was especially psyched because I knew that instead of my usual two to four paddlers, I was going to have upwards of fifteen people to shoot.  Not only that, but we were all on a mission to be there because of this creek’s known “edge of the world” steepness.  All of the elements for a successful few days seemed to be present.

On top of all of that, I had an old college friend lined up to hang out and join us.  He had a great time, helped me out a ton (being the photographer, my logistics are usually harder than even the biggest group of paddlers) and even shot some images of me at work.  Thanks again Billy, I can’t wait until the next time we cross paths!


(Jackson Kayak team member Phil Boyer leaving the lip of one of the cleanest 50 ft falls on the planet.)

After using my first day mostly as a scouting trip, I realized that there was no way I would be able to get the image I really wanted by paddling.  My vision would require hiking all of my gear down to the river, then paddling across the river only feet above a 50 ft waterfall, then a burly bushwack of a climb up the other side of the gorge.  It seemed like a lot of work for one set of images, but that was the set I was after.  There was no question in my mind about whether or not to go for it.

I put in the time, the miles, the sweat, blood (no tears) and ensuing poison oak rash, but we got it.  The rapids lined up exactly how I had hoped they would and I was able to photograph one of the most impressive displays of athleticism and gumption I have ever seen.  It was beautiful.

It was so impactful for me to see this through my lens that I have decided to run this section of whitewater next spring.  I have some work to do before then, but I want someone out there to hold me to this.  I want to know what it is like to paddle up to the lip of this set of drops without any view of where it ends, and go anyways.

All of that aside, it was also just great to hang out with old friends and familiar faces on the water and in the woods.  After a few weeks of office work and a stomach virus, this last week really solidified why I do this.  I can’t imagine  any other life.

Now, it’s off to Downieville, California for a few more days of the same: paddling, camping, shooting and reveling in the state of being disconnected, even if only for a little while.


(Demshitz crew and Pyranha team member Jared Seiler styling "99 Problems".)


(Demshitz crew and Pyranha team members Jeremy Laucks and Graham Seiler doing a real man's portage.)


(Jackson Kayak team member Stephen Wright dropping in on 50 feet of free fall.)

This post is a part of a publishing experiment called A Steady Drip.  Go to the table of contents at www.asteadydrip.com to see more.

El Guapo (the van) and I have been on the road together for 733 days.

It all started with an epiphany explained a few posts down while I was splitting my time between South Lake Tahoe, California (SLT) and Reno, Nevada.  That epiphany snowballed into a master plan very quickly and here we are, back in the same area two years, 39,968 miles, hundreds of thousands of photos and countless experiences later.  Man it feels good to be back!

In no way is this a signing off post.  Guapo and I are still going strong with many plans for the future, but it really feels like we have arrived “home” after a long trip. This is something we can all relate to, but for a pair with no address, this “home” feeling does not come easily. 

There are a few other places I cherish the same, but professionally, it all started here.  This is the last place I lived, worked and shared a community of friends.  I love the people, the mountains, the rivers and lakes.  I am really happy that for the time being, the Reno / Tahoe area is “home”.

Last Saturday, April 17^th, 2010, was the official anniversary with Guapo.  It was on that day two years earlier that I flew from Reno to Santa Barbara to pick up the van and start a new life.  I have written at length in my posts about how that move and several others have added unforeseen value and experiences to my existence, so I won’t go into any more detail about the actual transition.  What I really want to commemorate is the fact that two years have passed and we are still rolling, still growing and still hungry for more.

So how did I spend the two-year anniversary?  I participated in a Boater-X event on Mt. Rose where about 20 of us geared up in a mix of skiing and kayaking equipment, sprayed Pam on the bottom of our kayaks and raced down a bobsled style course.  I definitely did not win, but it was fun to be around kayakers I have met, shot and traveled and paddled with along this two-year journey.


(Current World Champion Nick Troutman in first, Brian Tupper in second and me in third.  Many thanks to Reno local and photographer, kayaker and skier extraordinaire Scott Sady of TahoeLight.com for the image.)

Afterwards, I went straight to Downieville, one of my favorite towns in Northern California, to camp and kayak with some old friends.  I found them in a heap of wet gear on the side of Highway 49 after one long, failed attempt at hitchhiking the shuttle back to their car after paddling all afternoon.

I picked up the two stragglers and we caught up over a campfire by the river.  The sun was out the next morning, the coffee was strong and the water brisk.  We were all smiles as the day was spent dissecting rapids, taking in the scenery and talking and laughing about whatever we could think of.  It was the perfect transition into summer, and into being “home,” at least for a little while.

Here are a few photos of Guapo along the way these past two years.

This post is a part of the publishing experiment called A Steady Drip.  Go to the table of contents at www.asteadydrip.com to see more.

El Guapo (the van) pulled into a pretty special parking spot last night.  It is a spot that I first experienced with my older brother (Rush) four years ago.  We were unemployed, living in his Nissan Exterra and soaking in everything the winter west had to offer.  It was the first time either of us laid eyes on the Tetons and it was too overwhelming to keep going.  We parked, took some pictures, pretended like we were the characters in a Patagonia catalog and even went for a small (very small) backcountry ride on a nearby hill (fresh out of our Avy 1 course, we still had no clue so we didn’t take any chances).

When I woke up yesterday morning in Park City, Utah with the knowledge that my day would end in Jackson, Wyoming, I knew I had to go back to that initial parking spot.  I had to pay homage to that wonderful memory, and more importantly, that wonderful trip. 

  (Now you see why this parking spot is so great.  Reading and relaxing.)

It was a trip that changed our lives.  It taught us to trust our instincts and go after the things we want.  It was also the beginning of a few self-directed opportunities that snowballed into where we are today.  Rush is now married to the love of his life.  They have a house near the beach, a dog they love and jobs they look forward to.  In other words, they are psyched!

And you all know my deal.

Simply put, that trip was the first in a series of bold decisions for both of us.  Every turn we made and every lot we pulled into helped shape our future and the notion that we might have some control over it.  To others, we were just out being irresponsible and having a good time while we were young, but to us, we were learning very important lessons about the power of going and doing.  I can say with full confidence that it all started with that trip, for both of us.

Rush is busy with his life now and I am busy with mine.

Since my last post, I have been managing the usual responsibilities while also watching the weather, lining up athletes and shooting a lot of backcountry skiing.  I am working on a project that is taking me into a new field and testing every bit of resourcefulness I can come up with, and I couldn’t be more excited about it. 

This assignment has me shooting stills, video and learning about audio (really, I am learning about all three together).  Even better, it has me charging the backcountry to do so.

My legs have earned some elevation, but they will be resting a bit this week as I have another assignment that will have me shooting at Jackson Hole and Grand Targhee resorts all week; all chairlifts and no hiking.  Actually, I have only had one other day on my resort board this entire winter, so it is a welcome change.

The next few weeks will be really busy, and I will do my best to post updates as often as possible.  In the meantime, I will see if I can dig up some images from that first visit to this now infamous parking spot of mine.