How Different We Are

I often struggle with how much the world hates itself.

We’re all floating around, packed together on a microscopic speck in an infinite universe, and the only thing we can do is point out how different we are from those around us. The more we point out the differences, the more glaring they become, as if they actually matter. We forget about our basic needs and instead make choices based on fear of the unknown. We spew vile rhetoric with the single goal of alienating those who are already alone, and shirk the responsibility as a species to help those less fortunate.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe as a species, our only goal is to further our own interests. I hope that’s not the case.

Life in a Nutshell

I started skiing back in 2009 when Tim Kemple asked me to pick it up in order to assist him on shoots. Shortly after, I went out with a buddy in the back country and had the worst day ever. I didn’t realize that breakable crust sucks no matter how long you’ve been skiing, but I didn’t know any better. I just thought I was really shitty and that when I got better it’d be more fun. This went on for quite a few seasons. I’d go skiing in the back country, do a big lap, tomahawk my way down the hill, have an internal debate on whether or not it was actually fun, then try it again the next weekend. As the years went on, the internal debates subsided and I started to feel like I genuinely enjoyed it.

This is life in a nutshell. At first, you suck at it, but you do it because you have to, and eventually you learn to love it so much that even when you’re having bad days, you’re grateful for the experience.

In The Aftermath

My finger tips hover over the keyboard momentarily while my eyes shift focus.

From my hands to hers and back again.

I trace every line, every wrinkle. Her story etched into her skin.

It’s sometimes hard for me to reconcile with the world

And its flagrant disregard for order.

Choosing simply to devolve into a chaotic system.

Where one choice offers an infinite amount of possibilities.

And each person is subject to the choices of others.

Left to fend for themselves in the aftermath.

The only comfort I take out of the chaos,

Is knowing that everybody is most likely confused

About what actually constitutes happiness.

Born Into Chaos

If eyes are a window to the soul, what would we see?

Would we see wealth or oppression?

Would we see a life used as the foundation for other’s success?

Or would we see a reflection of who we are?

A child, born into chaos, floating through the ether.

We breathe the same air, and walk the same soil.

We wake up to the same sun, and stare in awe at the same starry night.

We all feel love, comfort, sadness, hope;

The chill of winter, and the warmth of spring.

But over time, we learn about hatred, intolerance.

We are taught to unravel the common threads that bind us together.

One-by-one, we cast off those who are different.

We cut the perceived blights from our collective family tree.

Burying them with our own ignorance.

And for what?

The Romantic Facade of Solitude

To describe Greenland as beautiful is an understatement as epic and vast as the surrounding landscape. Massive icebergs jut out of the ocean reaching skyward. Glaciers and fjords battle for dominance in a fight that can be felt miles away. It’s hard to imagine that a place with such beauty could hide such sadness. As a visitor, it’s easy to get caught up in the romantic facade of solitude, but under the surface is a larger issue that beauty cannot fix.

NPR did a really interesting article about arctic suicides that can be found here. If you have some time, it’s worth a read, and it will give you a better idea of the issues that face Inuit villages throughout the north.

Dreaming of Winter

When it’s hot outside, I find myself dreaming of winter adventures; trudging up a sketchy spine ridges, or skinning up toward a summit before the sun breaks. I love seeing my breath in the light of my headlamp, and listening to my slow and steady breathing. It’s therapeutic. Winter can’t come soon enough, but I will settle for fall.

The Next Misadventure

The low hum of a stirring city creeps through the window. The alarm goes off and my eyes flutter open. It takes a few seconds for everything to come into focus. I lay in bed and stretch my legs, pointing my toes toward the opposite wall. I don’t want to get out of bed. I never want to get out of bed, and yet I know that I have never regretted it.

I love running. I love being up high on ridge lines, looking down into valleys, traversing over mountain ranges, drinking from streams, and feeling as if I am the only person around for hundreds of miles. I also hate running. I hate bushwhacking up drainages filled with stinging nettle, getting dehydrated, tripping, falling into the dirt, feeling like a bag of shit. And yet, as miserable as I am sometimes, I find myself on google earth, plotting the next misadventure. Surely I am not alone.

The Void Between

Portraiture is one of the most difficult types of photography for me. More difficult than shooting in the mountains, or in the back alleys of third world countries. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why this is, and I haven’t figured it out. I’m an outgoing person, but there is something so raw and intimate with the interaction, it makes me uncomfortable. The void between the camera and subject is essentially nonexistent, leaving me with nowhere to hide. I’ve been trying to overcome my anxiety and certain things help put me a little more at ease, like in this instance, being longtime friends with the subject.

Luke Nelson, who I’ve known since college, is a talented ultra-marathon runner for Patagonia. He loves suffering, but more than that, he loves suffering in the cold and excels when the temperature drops. One of my first adventures with him was documenting a hundred plus mile run that he and Ty Draney did through the Frank Church Wilderness area in central Idaho.  I had photographed the beginning of their run and didn’t find them until well past the time they were supposed to have finished. We stumbled upon each other 15 miles up a drainage. I had hiked up the side of the canyon to get a better vantage point and saw them thrashing around in the brush at the bottom. I yelled and started running down toward them. Even after hearing my shouts and seeing me from a distance, both Luke and Ty weren’t convinced I was real until I was handing them a couple of apples I had pulled from my backpack. The two of them had been without food for quite some time and informed me that they had spent a couple of hours that night, huddled under a map, shivering on the banks of the Salmon River.

I think that seeing Luke at his absolute worst made the portrait possible for me. Allowing me to witness a part of him that not many people ever get a chance to see definitely put my anxieties at ease. Thanks Luke.

Hotdog Princess

A photo has been circulating around the internet showing a group of young girls dressed in princess costumes, except for one girl who is standing on the end dressed as a hotdog. When I first saw this, I laughed as anyone would, but as the day went on, I referenced it a couple more times to friends and I started to realize that the photo was so much more than just an internet meme; It spoke to me. Not because I’ve always wanted to dress up in a hotdog costume, although i’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy it. It spoke to me because I have a really deep respect for people who shrug off the norms of society and live their lives how they want, regardless of how weird it might seem. I respect them because they don’t go along with the crowd just because everyone else is. I think being a hotdog princess applies to all genders, not just to women. We get so caught up with who is doing what on social media and trying to find ways to feel validated by others that we forget who we really are; just a bunch of total weirdos trying to find a weird little place in this world. So I say to everyone. Be the hotdog princess that you know you are.

The Right Call

A few months back, my friend Dan Stucki and I went to go ski Monte Cristo, a classic line in the Wasatch range, just outside of Salt Lake City. I’d never done it before and the conditions were mostly perfect. When we arrived at the parking lot, we realized our wake up time hadn’t been early enough. Both Dan and I silently scolded ourselves as we watched the line of headlamps that stretched to the saddle below Mt. Superior slowly work their way up in the darkness. It was unusually cold outside, which meant for a brisk start to the skin up, but it also meant that the fresh snow would be light.

After a few hours, we arrived on the summit of Mr. Superior. The sun was up and it warmed our faces, however the temperatures were still relatively low. I stayed on the summit of Superior while Dan walked across the saddle over to Monte Cristo, kicking off small cornices along the way. There had been wind that night that continued into the morning, but nothing too strong. Nobody had skied the face yet, and we were looking forward to fresh tracks. While I was waiting, A group of about 5 or 6 came up behind me, eagerly watching Dan work his way over. We chatted for a bit about the weather and the Wasatch, until I noticed Dan was coming back. One of the cornices he kicked off, pulled a slab that continued down toward the rappel. It wasn’t a huge slab, however it was big enough to make both of us slightly uneasy, and decided to just ski the south face of Superior instead. As we made our way down the south ridge toward our drop in point, we noticed the small group that arrived after us were skinning toward the summit of Monte Cristo. I can’t deny that this made both of us question our decision and left us feeling a bit defeated.

The skiing down the south face was just as fun as we had predicted. The snow was deep and the turns were epic. We got to the bottom, hitch hiked back to our car and loaded everything up. On the drive down canyon, despite just having had a really good run, Dan and I both acknowledged that maybe we should have skied Monte Cristo instead. By the time we pulled into the park and ride, both of us grudgingly agreed that it was fine to bail, even though we didn’t want to. I’m not sure either of us really actually felt that way, but we knew that we should have felt that way.

The next day, Dan sent me a link to the avalanche report. Two people were caught in a slide on the face where we would have skied, about the same time we were up there. I don’t recall if anyone was injured. I’m pretty sure they weren’t, however it was enough to validate our decision and left both of us knowing we made the right call. Who knows? Maybe it would have been fine. Maybe we would have had a really fun run? It’s impossible to know for certain what the outcome would have been, but as I get older, I realize that it’s better to just stack the odds in your favor so you can continue to do what you love.

Leading Lines

I’ve never believed in fate. We live the life that we do based on our experiences within our environment. The choices we make, right or wrong, guide us through life, connecting our past with our present, pointing us in the direction of our future, but that’s where it ends. Our future isn’t set. It’s an unknown. There are no leading lines showing us where to go next. We stand, looking out toward the abyss, filtering millions of decisions, hoping that the lessons we learned from our friends and family were close enough to the truth. It’s exciting to think about all the possibilities that lie ahead.

A Necessary Escape

Sometimes I feel like a bird in a storm; completely out of control, moving whichever direction the wind takes me. I also feel like that’s ok. You’re never going to have complete control of your life and the key is to find a way to manage. For me, I like to shut my phone off and go on an adventure. Sometimes it’s on a big run, but other times, I’ll try something new.

A few years ago, after I worked on a film documenting the Trans American Bike Race, I purchased a touring bike with big plans to ride around the west, and while I haven’t found myself planning any huge rides, I have found time to do some smaller ones. One in particular was down in Death Valley with my older brother Mike. We didn’t cover a ton of ground, but I remember the silence and the feeling of freedom, being out in such a vast landscape. It was definitely a necessary escape, and one that I look forward to revisiting.

When All We Can Do Is Suffer

When all we can do is suffer, we realize the true meaning of desire.

The Path That You Take

It’s funny how sometimes you think that you’re headed in the right direction, but when you stop and take the time to look around, you realize that you need to tweak your priorities just a little bit. The end goal is usually always the same, it’s just the path that you take to get there might be a little different than what you had imagined.

An Objective Observer

I think a lot people who are looking to get into photography are really concerned about the technical specifications of different cameras; which camera shoots more frames a second or which one has a higher pixel count, but I think those are the wrong questions. To me, the main question is what kind of camera is small enough that I’ll want to take it with me on my adventures, but good enough to express what I’m seeing in an adequate way. Maybe that’s more about the style of photography that’s being pursued.

I very much love trying to be an objective observer, documenting the realities around me, so for me, accessibility is key. There in no sense in bringing any camera if it’s just going to stay in my backpack. Having it in it’s own pouch, or in my chest pocket increases the chance of pulling the camera out in time to document a moment that will only happen once. This is something that I’ve known for a long time, but have only recently put into practice. It’s definitely been a learning experience, and I’m excited to see what comes out of it.