“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.

            This post is long so I want to start by getting to the point.

            For as long as I can remember holding a camera, I have wanted to use it as a tool for GOOD.  In college I really thought about documentary and war photography, but I struggled with the lifestyle and mostly with the subject matter.  To be completely honest, I found myself very depressed about embarking on a life that would not be for me.  I knew that if I went down that road, I might never see real happiness for myself.  You may think that a lifetime of good deeds could bring only happiness, but it is in fact quite different when you are the one holding back your tears and swallowing the lump in your throat because you HAVE to shoot images of what is in front of you, no matter how tragic.

            I have never been in a war zone so I cannot pretend to understand what the people in those places go through.  In my short career as a newspaper photographer I did shoot car accidents, plane crashes, wildfires and random acts of violence.  I saw a deranged husband shoot his wife and then himself and families running in terror as their houses burned to the ground.  I shot funerals and crime scenes.  One Sunday morning I found myself kneeling over the burned and lifeless body of a man who was just pulled from a private plane crash.

            It was the news, it was what was happening and I had to report it.  I had to make the photographs.  Even without looking around I could feel the disdain coming off of every police officer and firefighter in the vicinity. 

In their eyes, I was the scum of the earth. 

In their eyes, this was a good morning for me because I had a story to report.  I overheard one firefighter’s comment about how these people had families and didn’t I care about them at all.  I felt so many horrible emotions that morning that I finally walked up to the fire Chief and told him face to face that I did not want to be there.  I had no choice in the matter and that I would shoot the scene as fairly and respectfully as I could.  I had a job to do just like everyone else and if my photos could help in their investigation they would have all access.

            That move changed the tone for the scene and I was slowly accepted, but it didn’t make me feel any better about shooting it. 

An hour later I was assigned to shoot a community tennis tournament.  I showed up still down about the morning and realized I needed to be happy and approachable in order to gain access to the court and players.  It was a hard thing to do, but I put on my happy face got what I needed.

All of this is not meant to bring pity on me for what I went through.  I was not the one that died.

The point I am making is that I think some people are built to tell certain stories.  There is no mistaking the James Nachtways of the world who spend their lives in war zones or tragic natural disasters.  They do it because they are built for it. They see more human suffering than anyone else on the planet and manage to keep shooting.  They do it because they owe it to the person in the photo to tell their story in hopes of change.

In college, I applied for an internship with VII Photo Agency to work under James Nachtway and his very like-minded compatriots.  I made it to the second round of interviews but never heard anything further.  I breathed a deep sigh of relief and the world seemed to open up for me.  That was when I knew I wasn’t built for tales of human suffering.

I have since put all of my efforts into the adventure and outdoor world of imagery, but there has always been something missing.

Maybe I wasn’t built to tell stories of tragedy and despair, but I was built for sharing tales of GOOD; stories of GOOD people doing GOOD things.

I have been waiting patiently since that realization, hoping for something to come up; a story, an assignment or a project someone pays me to go shoot. 

I have waited and I have realized that you should never wait to do something GOOD. 

They say timing is everything, but it never seems like the right time to take a risk.  You can talk yourself out of it every time thinking that way.  That is why I have decided to pursue a personal project and head to Uganda to share a story about an amazing person doing amazing things.  I would love to tell more about the story, but nobody really wants to hear the ending before they watch the movie.

If you are truly interested and want to learn more about this big undertaking and how you can be a part of it, please click on the image below.  If you cannot donate, the very best thing you can do is help spread the word.

I feel strongly about this and am taking on this project whether I reach my funding goal or not.  The donations will determine how far we can go with the project or how much I am in the whole after it is all said and done.  Please help spread the word.

(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.)

(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!

“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.

            (Me terrified, keep reading.)

Cray-Z.

One phone call changed my entire situation from traveling in a beater van on Maui one week ago, to my brother’s boat on O’ahu two days ago, to my folks’ house in Georgia today, to a big trip with El Guapo (the van) to Tennessee tomorrow. 

Yikes!

You may be wondering what kind of phone call would make me leave Hawaii in such haste to come back to winter in the southeast, but unfortunately, I am going to have to keep it hush hush for now and fill you in at a later date.

In the meantime, we’ll get caught up on the happenings in Hawaii.

After changing my schedule and realizing I could no longer plan very far into the future in Hawaii, I tried to take a mini vacation.  I say I tried because I ended up shooting during three of my last seven days in the islands.  That said, my time was still very relaxing. 

My good friend and traveling partner, Mike D, and I took a few nice drives, including the infamous Road to Hana.  It was one of two places our beater van rental company told us not to go (because the tow back would cost more than the entire rental), so naturally, we deemed it good and took the risk.  My feet were up, we had freshly picked avocados and starfruit on the dash and I was doing a little bit of Twitter bragging before we ran out of cell phone service.  Of course, as Karma would have it, my envious audience was granted its wish and by day’s end my photo taking, Twitter posting iPhone was nothing more than a paperweight.  No qualms here, I deserved it.

It all came about with a mini expedition up four waterfalls that entailed tossing our gear into a drybag (I never leave home without one) and hiking and swimming our way as far upstream as possible.  We made it to the fourth waterfall, and as I worked through the gear in the drybag, I accidentally laid the iPhone on a towel on top of a very slippery slide shaped rock.  You know where this is going.  I grabbed the towel, the phone went down the slip ‘n slide and off of a very nice ramp and into the water.  The funny / ironic part is that when I made it to the phone, I could see that under three feet of water, I had a voicemail.   It was the voicemail I had been expecting.  It was the one that would change everything or change nothing.  When I tried to check the message, the phone merely dribbled water into my ear.  Yep, I had that one coming.

Losing a phone is not a big deal to most people, but for me, and especially in this situation, it is my lifeline.  I run every aspect of my life and business through my phone, and particularly when I am away from El Guapo.

(When the trail disappears into the water, swim.)

Seeing no immediately helpful alternative, we finished the drive to Hana with old stories, jokes and thoughts of the future, then headed back to town in order to hit up the AT&T store the next day.

Our remaining time on Maui was consumed by one last evening of hanging out and shooting with Waveskier extraordinaire Tyler Lausten at his waveski shop in Ha’iku and one amazing Thanksgiving with great people in Kula.  It was a holiday of all sports.  If there is a backyard game that you can think of, we played it, and we played it with all of the intensity you might expect from a Superbowl matchup.

(Tyler Lausten working on a new board in his shaping room.)

After the holiday of team sports was over, we made our way back to O’ahu where I spent the next two days kiteboarding and teaching Mike some of the basics in Kailua.  After being skunked by wind and adverse conditions for nearly four months, I finally got out on the water with good wind.  The icing on the cake was spending that time under a beautiful sunset while riding full speed only feet above intricate reefs in turquoise water.  It was one of those perma smile experiences that I will not forget.

Suddenly, it was our last day.  I shipped a few reflectors (too fragile and expensive to check w/ my luggage), made some calls, packed my bags and finished off the trip with a last minute one man outrigger canoe shoot.  I had been trying to shoot this during my entire stay, so there was no way I could pass it up for a lack of time.

Always working for a new take on things, I talked the folks in the support boat into letting me jump in the water with my housing.  Of course, I was doing this at sunset in known Tiger shark waters.  Not smart, but I had been talking about this forever and it was time to walk the walk.  After all, if it was easy and less scary, everyone would do it, right?  That’s me justifying a dumb move.

(Kamanu Composites team paddler near China Walls, East side of O'ahu.)

The real fear hit when I entered the water, looked down and could only see blue.  I spend my life in water, but the thought of a predator grabbing me from below while my mind is focused above the surface is just plain terrifying.  I worked my way over to some impressive walls, hoping for shallower water and a nicer background and found it.  Not saying I helped my chances at all, but being in 30 feet of water and seeing the bottom helped my psyche big time.

We shot until the water turned black, then kicked it in gear, showered up and made it to the airport, soaking wet camera bag carry on and all.

My time in Hawaii was shorter and much different than I expected, but that is the name of the game.  If we could somehow expect the outcome of our adventures, then what would be the fun of swimming in the unknown.

A big thanks goes out to John Puakea and Kamanu Composites for making that last shoot happen.  You guys are great, and I hope to meet up with you again sometime soon, maybe in shallower waters.

(SPAM and avocado wrap.  Bad idea.)

(Leaving our mark.)

(The new "office" and old windsurfing van / home for a few weeks.)

The return to van living.  My last update left you all with images and tales of living a life of comfort on a cush sailboat in Honolulu, HI.  I even named warm weather as my toughest adversary.  It was pretty hot, but honestly, that is weak sauce.  I deserved any amount of razzing and “tough life” comments that came my way after that one.  The truth is, I actually WAS pretty comfortable, and that was my toughest adversary.

Sounds crazy, and might even insight more razzing, but let me explain.

The feelings of routine comfort and I have never really see eye to eye, and probably never will. Routine is something I have tried to step away from for as long as I can remember, and as nice as it is to have somewhere to be and somewhere to go back to, I find it keeps me from the world I work so hard to be a part of.  The world of random happenings, chance meetings with great people and the beauty and power of the unexpected.  That is the world I love, and there is nothing I won’t do to stay in it, making photos.

So I did what any sane person would do when they have it made.  I left.  I jumped ship, flew over to Maui and moved into an “old windsurfing van.” It is more stalker-ish and creepy than anything I have ever been associated with, but I love it.  The second I moved in, I felt instant freedom.  Freedom to go wherever, whenever with no concerns for planning around any one place I have to be.

No qualms with the sailboat or with my brother, I just needed to be mobile again. After all, it is all I know.

On another note, Maui has been great.  I have connected with a few great people here and have enjoyed some of that unexpected.  I have had beers with local fisherman on a rock for an evening, been pounded in the surf while shooting one great waveskier, almost kiteboarded my way back to Oahu, slept in houses and on driveways and beaches, had an in-depth paddling conversation, eaten sand-blown chicken wings, listened to an amazing Ukulele player, laughed with new friends and welcomed an old buddy into the Maui van life for a few weeks.

It’s all part of the beauty, as long as you leave yourself open to it.  Change is scary, and so is the unknown, but the fear of not photographing and experiencing everything I can plays heavier on me than the thought of changing my entire situation.  Maybe I’m crazy, but it’s all I know, and I love it!

(Tom Albritton throwing down on his skimboard at Sandy's Beach.)

(Waveskier Tyler Lausten watching the surf in Paia Bay.)