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) 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.

            I will be 27 years old in two days.  It is my birthday and like all birthdays, it is special.  I am sure I will talk with my family and friends, and I am hoping to be out shooting (the ultimate present for me), but it is today that is the real celebration day.  Two years ago today I had my life changing moment; my epiphany, my realization, my shot of clarity.

            March 8^th, 2008.  It was a perfect Saturday afternoon in South Lake Tahoe.  I was relaxing in front of the gas stove in my cozy studio apartment after a blissful powder day with friends.  I was sipping a mug of hot tea and was completely content with the day and with my life in general.  I was pretty busy smiling from ear to ear when my stomach hit the floor.  I felt terrible and even a bit panicked.  My elation had turned into near depression and the toughest part was that deep down I knew why.

            The same reasons for my happiness were actually the root of my despair.  I realized that I was comfortable.  I was sitting in that grey area between doing something and talking about doing something.  I had moved to South Lake Tahoe to work, learn and grow, but now it was time to make a decision.  I could keep living a fun, enjoyable and stable existence or change everything and challenge myself to move forward into the unknown.  My sinking feeling came from within because I knew which choice I would make.

            Three days later I called my Dad and gave him the news: I needed to move on.  He was proud of where I was in life and I was afraid he would think I was spoiling a really good thing.  I kept waiting for the sound of disappointment in his voice, but he just took it in, thought about it and replied, “Okay, so where do we go from here?”  Shocked and stuttering, I hit him with the second, and most outrageous, aspect of my plan: I would move into a van.

Over the course of the next month and a half, I quit my jobs (photographer at local newspapers and Digital Asset Manager in another adventure photographer’s office), sold my car, moved out of my apartment and flew down to Ventura, CA to shakily hand over a check to my future.  It was a future on wheels and my ticket to adventure, freedom and above all else, my own career path.

It was by far the scariest move I have ever made, but looking back on my life and work since then, I know it was the best thing I could have done.  I am busier, happier and working harder than ever.  Ideas have become realities and previously distant thoughts are now on the calendar.  I am pitching stories, earning assignments and talking about projects far down the road.  This is it.  This is what I was envisioning two years ago on this day and I just can’t explain how powerful that is for me.

I want to thank my family and friends for their support from the start.  I know there must have been a point (maybe there still is) where you were all thinking, “Oh no, what is he getting himself into?”  You didn’t want to see me struggle or face more hardships. You were wondering when enough is enough, and whether or not this might be the right time to intervene, but nobody expressed any of this.

Instead of showing me fear and doubt, you all gave me encouragement. It sounded crazy on paper, but those who know me saw beyond the black and white description.  You saw a defining moment in my life and I know you were all scared because of the decision you knew I would make.  All I can say is thanks for sticking by me.  You may never know how much it really means to me.

            So on this anniversary, I want to send my greatest appreciation to all of those who supported me from the beginning and who support me today.  To my loving parents, siblings, relatives, friends and perfect strangers, I would not be here without you.  Thank you.

            Today is a special day.

***Sorry there are no photos in this post, but I wanted it to be more about the words.  If you would like to check out a few new images, just click on the “Latest Photos” block on the Homepage or “Latest” in the Portfolio Menu.***

That’s right folks, after a month of rest, catching up, planning, holidays, family time and van upgrades, El Guapo (the van) and I are finally rolling again, and IT FEELS GOOD. 

A full month sounds like a long time to rest, but after an eleven-month stretch on the road, it was a wonderful respite. The truth is, I actually had no idea how run down I was until my head hit the pillow for the first time, inside the house and on a real bed.

Life has been very busy, productive, and fulfilling, but in different ways.  I traded shooting, driving and outside time for planning and family time, which proved invaluable.  I never know when I will see my family next, so for the past few years I have dedicated this time of year to just being there, enjoying morning conversations over coffee (where any topic is fair game), watching movies after dinner (when I might usually be working) and, of course, eating a lot of good food and laughing as much as possible.  On top of all of that, I was able to reconnect with a lot of old friends.  It was a great month.

I do apologize for taking a little break from updating the blog, but time just went too quickly.

Since leaving home on Wednesday morning, Guapo and I have already driven a full day to St. Louis, met up with an old friend (and made some new friends), met with our web designers (www.simpleflame.com) to discuss some new projects and the upcoming year, started hands on work with this year’s Trevor Clark Photography swag (among other fun things), shot cycling in freezing fog and we are currently parked in the driveway of one of my favorite families.  The upcoming schedule is more of the same craziness, with a drive to Denver on Monday, Boulder on Tuesday and Salt Lake City on Wednesday, complete with meet ups and meetings along the way.  It’s life back on the road, and I love it!

(Great friend Blaine Deutsch working hard.)

(Great friend Blaine Deutsch playing hard.)

            It’s that time of year again.  Yep, the holidays, but also my time at home to hunker down and plow through mounds of catch up work while also pulling off all of my Christmas duties and planning for the next year on the road.  It’s like working forward and backwards at the same time, while still having plenty to do in the present.  I don’t want this to come off as a complaint; I’m really just explaining what I have been up to.

            Filling the desk jockey role for the last few weeks, I have definitely neglected my need to be outside for all but two half days and one amazing full day.  That is not much outside time for someone who, for the most part, lives outside, but it has put a few things into perspective for me, and that is what I would like to share.

            Life is short.

            We have all heard this phrase as an inspiration to go do whatever it is that makes us happy or fulfilled.  It seems to reverberate deeply into our most basic understanding of life as a timeline and the idea that what is most important should not be pushed aside for what is (in the big picture) less important.

            I bring this up because a week or so ago, I was sitting at my computer, handling my workload while witnessing a perfect blue sky, 20 mph wind day on the lake pass me by. 

I was going through some files in a storage room when my Mom came in to look for Christmas decorations.  I mentioned what an amazing day of sailing we were missing, which prompted me to ask if she thought my Dad would drop his home repair project for an afternoon on the water.

Always the responsible one, I was surprised to hear my Mom blurt out, “Oh my goodness, ask him, go sailing, life is too short!”

Done.  Life is too short.  It is such a simple phrase, but it does it every time.  Suddenly, nothing was as important as spending a few quality hours in a boat with my Dad.  I asked, and he reacted the same way my Mom did.  He dropped everything and even beat me in getting down to our little 30-year-old J-24.

I don’t need to describe the day any more to let you know that it was completely worth it.  We came in at sunset, warmed up and I hopped back on the computer and worked late to finish everything I had planned for the day.

The next morning, I opened my Facebook account and saw a few comments on my update about sailing and life being short.  It seemed that quite a few people agreed, and the father of a friend even wrote me a note about taking advantage of every moment available, especially with family.  He had just come in from a funeral for his son’s 18-year-old friend who was killed in a car accident.  It is extremely unfortunate, and my heart goes out to the family.

The lesson is, unexplainable and tragic events happen, and we never know when or how, so we must try to remember to live everyday.

The following weekend, I had the opportunity to spend a morning mountain biking with two old friends.  It was a Saturday, and I had plenty to do.  I was hoping to take advantage of time with no business communications (being a weekend) and hammer out other tasks that get set aside during the normal week.

Same thing.  I thought about my afternoon on the lake and the advice from my friend’s father and realized that everything else could and should wait, so I went mountain biking with my friends.

We had a great time, got some exercise and reconnected in a beautiful setting.  And all of that aside, we also shared something that you only get (or maybe I only get) from being outside.  It is a comaraderie among those who experience life outside together in its simplest form.  Everything else fades away when the situation demands only one thing; get up this hill, get through this rapid or over that next ridge.  It is simple, it is pure, and it is beautiful.  Once again, it was completely worth it.

Those are the two half days, only a few hours each, but they meant so much.

The one full day was this last Saturday.  A rainy Friday meant the rivers in the area would be up.  A buddy’s text message and a phone call later and I was set to paddle a “southeastern gem” called Overflow Creek.  I haven’t paddled anything really steep and challenging in months (many months), so I was a little hesitant until my paddling buddy said something that was all too reminiscent of my mom’s life is too short comment.  He said, “Man, this creek is a gem, when it’s running, you paddle it.”

And once again, done.

He was right, the creek is a gem and I was truly lucky to catch it with water and such a great crew.  I was the only one who had never been on the run, but everyone made me feel completely comfortable with it.  Good decisions were made, beta was given, safety was set when we needed it and there were no bad lines (Although I missed two strokes that would have made my life a little easier.  Still, nothing serious.)  Thanks again guys!

Hours later, I met up with some old friends and ended up climbing for a few hours.  I am no climber, but I had a great time challenging myself in something different and clowning around with old buddies.  I honestly cannot think of a better way to spend time with people than being active outside.

Whether it is biking, climbing, kayaking, sailing or anything else, being outside in open spaces actually brings us together.  It shrinks us down and separates us from everything that seems so important when we are inside.  Be it an email, a phone call, paper, proposal or whatever, it is all very insignificant when you are staring down a waterfall with butterflies in your stomach or cruising a wide open lake at sunset with your Dad.

My thought for the day is, do what is really important for yourself and those around you, because life IS short.

As I finished that closing thought, I received a text message from my friend.  It reads, “If I get home tonight and my extra light works do you want to go night riding?”

I answered, “Yep.”

            (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.)