“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.

            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.)

(Not the best framing, but hilarious upset Lulu after an unexpected swim.)

            Ten weeks of marathon traveling, logistics, meetings, shooting, planning and overall just being “On” (even in my sleep) have come to an end.  I am, of course, still the wandering vagabond photographer, but my schedule is finally a bit more open, and a bit more up to me.  You can argue that it is always that way, but I had purposely set up a very rigorous and inflexible timeline of goals and objectives over the last few months, and it is finally complete.

            Now it is back to the best part, shooting.

            We last left off in Fayetteville, West Virginia where I had imbibed in some good ole’ R&R for a few days.  After realizing that my time was up and the schedule beckoned, I bolted over to Blacksburg, Virginia for a great reunion with my buddy Luke Hopkins of Stride Stand Up Paddleboards (www.ridestride.com).  We caught up, did some scheming in the backyard (while planning out livestock possibilities in his mountain landscape), and delayed the oncoming 5-hour drive to Washington, D.C. where I had a meeting and we wanted to do some shooting.

            The next three days were very sleepless, but very productive.  From before sunrise to after sunset, the agenda was shoot, drive, plan, shoot, drive, plan, ending in an 11-hour rainy drive home to my parents’ house in Georgia.

(My tool of choice. I once had a teacher who told me to always carry a ladder and a shovel.  

Around water you don't need a shovel.)

            Comprehending that it (10 weeks of being “On”) was all over, I hugged my parents’ hello and collapsed on our couch.  After all of that, and a 10-month stretch of sleeping in my van, in driveways, on streets, mountaintops, next to rivers or wherever, I couldn’t even make it the last 30 feet to my own bed.

            I slept solidly, and immersed myself in the comfort of being at my parents’ home.  I probably would have snoozed just as well if I had passed out on the tile floor because when you are that drained, it is not about physical comfort; it is about peace of mind.  I had reached a personal and business milestone, and now it was time to revel in it by turning “Off,” at least for an evening.

            The next week was still very scheduled and productive, but it was spent with freshly brewed coffee and sweatpants while on my computer and phone in my brother’s old room overlooking beautiful Lake Lanier.  The weather was cold, rainy and perfect for my situation.

            Like I said, it was pretty busy, but I did manage to mingle with some old friends over the weekend, and I even had one amazing blowing blue sky day of sailing on Sunday.

            Of course, that all culminated into one massive Monday morning that held through all the way until right now, in a plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, on my way to Hawaii. 

            As these things go, there was just too much that needed to happen to worry about sleeping.  I am not too concerned about it though, because it is only in writing this update that I am getting a grasp on the gravity of my newest adventure.  It has been a temporary trip on the calendar for more than a year, and something I said I would do (although I am pretty sure I had some neigh sayers), but never really saw coming.  I’m not sure how that makes any sense, but that is the best I can explain it.

            So after 3 hours of sleep in the last 42, and a month’s fuel allowance on oversized and excess baggage, I am trading out El Guapo, the van in my parents’ driveway in Georgia, for Adventuress, my brother’s 37-foot cutter-rigged home in the middle of Honolulu, Hawaii.

            Aloha to my next marathon of shooting goals and objectives.

(I love black looking water in low light.)

(What a duo.)

How did I get here?

I ask myself this question all of the time, and as I am typing this in a first class seat while sipping on a cocktail and reminiscing about shooting two days of surfing with great people in the Channel Islands, I ask again, how the heck did I get here?

However you want to look at it, the whole first class thing was either pure luck, karma (for patiently enduring some flying hassles on the way to CA) or just a really nice woman working at the check-in counter.  I’m thinking a combination of the latter two.

But seriously, how did I get here?  Where did it all start?

You can track backwards until the day I was born to answer that question (or even before that), but a big part of it stems from a trip I made to Ventura, California (the very same place my brother calls home and where I have spent the last week) to see about a van.

            I was terrified.  I had just quit my job, sold my car, moved out of my apartment, started a business and was ready to blow all of my savings (and then some) on a van.  El Guapo (the van) was going to be my house, office, vehicle and only source of familiarity.  Again, I was terrified.  So, voice cracking, hands shaking and stomach turning, I made the deal and drove away with leftover jitters, adrenaline exhaustion and a new world of possibilities.

            But before leaving town I did three things.  I drove to the beach and stood in the Pacific Ocean long enough to get wrinkly feet, I mailed a birthday card to a friend from a local post office and I went to a grocery store to stock up for the trip (and life) ahead.

            This week I ended up at those exact three locations again and it made me think about what those seemingly insignificant places actually mean to me and how I have changed since the last time I soaked in the energy from that beach, walked those grocery store isles or dropped some mail in that same metal box.

            I have changed a lot, my view has changed a lot and my life has changed a lot, but that same passion, drive and desire that put me there in the first place has not wavered.  In fact, I would say it is even stronger.

            And that is how I got here.  So we are clear on this, HERE is not this first class seat.  HERE is living the photographic life and meeting up with new and interesting people along the way.  HERE is a no holds barred, all in style of living, working and being. HERE is swimming and shooting in the surf on a secret break wearing a smile and listening to everyone else laugh, whoop and kid around with each passing wave.

            HERE is what I strive for.  HERE is where I was headed when I first drove the van away from Ventura.

(Wax on, wax off?)

(Thanking the powers that be for this wonderful day.)

(The Dingo keeping other folks on their boats.)

(The Uh Oh feeling.)

            I cannot believe 15 days have passed since my last update.  The only word to describe it would be whirlwind.  There have been too many experiences to go through one by one and I can’t do them justice by picking out which ones are more worth mentioning than others, so I came up with an idea sometime in the wee hours of the morning while laying comfortably (in sheets!) on a bed in my brother and his fiancé’s house in Ventura, California.

            I thought I would just re-post all of my Facebook Status Updates in chronological order and let that help tell the story.  Here goes:

-Working out the next 5 months of traveling, shooting and meetings.  Crazy to think about all at once.

-Busy computer morning, but heading out now to shoot some kiteboarding for the afternoon, awwwe yeah.

-Heading out to the dessert to camp and shoot kiteboarding, in the water.  Crazy.

-El Guapo just got jacked by his own tire.

-Doublejacked.  Immobile on the side of the road round 2 for the day.  Same wheel, new problem.  I’m in for a long tow.

-Van update:  We’re rolling… on a tow truck 80 more miles to go.

-Violent blowout, body damage, shoddy AAA replacement, near wheel loss on interstate, dead studs and wheel, 80-mile tow, 2 a.m. ending.

-Airline lost my flight itinerary = airline reinstating my ticket 20 minutes before takeoff and making me run.  Made it!  (Meant to throw that update on FB)

-On a shuttle to Santa Barbara / Ventura for 2 weeks of surfing, camping, shooting, friends and family.

-Driving through Malibu.  Nutty.

-Ahhhh, San Onofre.  Beaching it till Sunday.

-Driving through Malibu again.  Ferraris amungus.

-Showered and shaven in Ventura, CA after 4 days of surfing, celebrating (brother’s bachelor party) and camping at San Onofre.

And here we are two weeks later.  Even that doesn’t quite tell it, but hopefully it gives you an idea for what all has been going on.

The eastern Oregon camping and kiteboarding trip was amazing!  It was the perfect way to cap off my time in the northwest.  Good people, good wind and a great spot.  Aside from all of that, time allowed for two sunsets of shooting, 3.5 hours of riding (without stopping!), an awesome video edit of the trip (http://www.vimeo.com/6041412) and some much needed time away from technology.

(Morning coffee and kite repair.)

(We camera folk can get a little stir crazy when waiting for a picture to formulate.)

As always, the trip ended and so did my time in the northwest.  We said our sad goodbyes and drove off in separate directions, everyone else back to Portland and myself on to Seattle to catch a flight to Los Angeles.

Enjoying my first long drive in almost two months, I sat in silent reverie, going over my summer of experiences.  It was very peaceful and relaxing and then BOOOOOM!!!!  SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Adrenaline blasted me out of my zombie-esque state of reflection and put me in priority mode.  I grabbed 10 and 2 (Driver’s Ed. folks) and quickly looked back at the sound to see if the right rear corner of the van had dropped (indicating a blowout).  Nothing, it was really weird.  Knowing something was up with that tire / wheel, I slowly decelerated and got off of the road.  Expecting to get out and see a punctured tire losing air, I was shocked when I found a near perfectly bald donut of a tire left still inflated.  The van was sitting on the inner tube of the tire, and no air was coming out!  Minus one flap of tread, almost everything else was gone, and had obviously given El Guapo a good spanking on the way out.  The whole right rear side of the van was covered in black rubber marks and scratches from the metal interweave in the tire.  Not only that, but the remaining flap of tread had slapped the muffler into the body of the van and taken out the brake lines (found that out later).

In a state of disbelief, I pulled my jack out and had my biggest concern of vulnerability confirmed.  It was the missing scale on the dragon’s belly.  The van was way too tall and way too heavy for my current jack.  I had to call AAA and have someone do it for me.

In that process, we learned that the only jack powerful enough to pick up ole’ Guapo is the “tire lifter” on the back of a tow truck.  Oh yeah, and the threading on two of my studs was stripped.  With six out of eight lug nuts on, I was told I would be fine to go the remaining 120 miles.  Wrong.  Forty miles later I found the same tire / wheel wobbling its way right off the van.  Another AAA call and an 80-mile tow truck ride later, it was finally over and I had 24 hours to get repairs organized, bags packed and plans confirmed before flying to southern California for my brother’s 4-day surfing / camping bachelor party.  It was nuts.

(The remaining tread that slapped El Guapo silly.)

One day and some crazy airport drama later, I landed in L.A., jumped on a shuttle to Santa Barbara, rented a car and sat down for a burrito with my younger brother (taking documentary film courses in SB since he left me two months prior).  I inhaled the two-pound monster and finally felt a bit of relief.  Next mission:  Older brother’s bachelor party.

(A little R&R.)

(Warren, our brave boogie boarder, surveying the scene before shredding it.)

(Our awesome beach.)

I won’t go into too much detail on this one, but logistically speaking, we had 10 guys from different parts of the country join us for surfing and camping at San Onofre State Beach near San Clemente, California.  It was a good time had by all, and the man of the hour said it best on our drive back yesterday. 

“Guys, I had a great time with you all this weekend… but I’m glad it’s over.” 

Bleary eyed and exhausted, we all agreed.

It is a day later and our group emails still attest to the amount of fun we had this weekend and to the extent of how beat we are.

So here’s to you Rush.  May you and Sarah live the life of your dreams.  From the San Onofre crew, we love ya buddy.

            What do full-time van dwellers do in the middle of a heat wave?

            We find a friend with AC and politely work our way into that friend’s home, desktop computer, clothes, groceries and all.

I typically strive to be completely self-contained and parallel the wilderness leave no trace ethics when I stay with friends, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  Last week the Portland, Oregon area saw temperatures hovering around 104 degrees, rendering a very miserable egg in a frying pan kind of existence in the van.  I had no choice.

I am incredibly lucky to have an old high school pal with a commercial freezer for a studio apartment (not literally) and an open door policy smack in the middle of the city.  I moved right in, set up my computer and enjoyed all the high speed internet one could ever wish for.  It’s a small thing for some, but a complete luxury for me.  I even found myself saying something that I am not sure I really meant.  I actually exclaimed, “man, I love working at a desk!”  I’m still not ready to believe it.  I think I was just caught up in the moment and will pass it off as that for now.

But seriously, all amenities aside, it has been great to catch up and be in the company of an old friend.

The second thing van dwellers, or people in general, do is find water and get in it!  From fountains in the city to the Columbia river and the nearby coast, people were doing anything possible to be in water.  It was one of those few circumstances where everyone could understand where everyone else was coming from and it made it acceptable to do whatever possible to regain a sense of comfort, even if that meant leaving work early, etc…  Of course, I followed suit and turned one day into a full on beach and surf kayak mission.

            The Butter.  It’s a phrase used throughout board riding sports, and one that always takes me back to my wakeboarding days.  It is used to physically describe a scenario with perfectly smooth water, but emotionally, it describes the epic aura of being somewhere with the skills, the time and the friends to ride with on a surface that melts underneath your edge.  It IS like riding a knife through warm butter.

            It creates a feeling that cannot be described and sharing in it with your friends is very special.

            Last Saturday, I found myself in “The Butter” at sunset with a camera in hand.  I can’t even describe what I saw as I know it is a secret stash around here and I want to respect that.  All I can say is that it was beautiful, and seeing grown men kiteboarding and laughing like children will attest to that.

            As the sun set, the wind changed directions and everyone had to book it out of there in order to get across the river.  Within minutes, everyone was gone and I was standing in a rising tide without a way back to the beach (I was brought over by a jet ski).  I was already coming up with a plan for handling the situation when I saw a small zodiac in the bay.  I walked right out into the water directly between the boat and the setting sun so they could see my silhouette and I got really lucky.  They came over, picked me up and took me all the way back to my van on the beach.  Thanks again, I REALLY appreciate it.

            As the weekend morphed into the work-week, I faced a few new challenges, and though it was more about keeping my head down and grinding through than shooting or planning, that is still a major part of it all, so I am okay with it.

            That being said, my favorite challenge of the week was not about grinding through at all.  It was about feeling.  It was about intuition.  It was about ripping across the Columbia River behind a kite, and it was incredible.  I finally put down the camera for a solid week and spent that time honing in on some new kiteboarding skills.  I have a long way to go, but one solo sunset session in good wind was enough to let me know that I am hooked.

            Unfortunately, that same solo sunset session ended abruptly when I caught a little too much power in the kite while jibing (turning down wind) back toward the beach.  I boosted straight out of the binding straps and landed in the water about 40 feet away from the board.  I have had this happen before and it normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but this time was different.  This time the wind was coming from a new direction, creating a wind shadow that threatened the very flying spirit of my kite.  That is again something that is very manageable, but not this time.  This time I was sitting in the middle of a shipping lane with a barge bearing down on my location.  I made one attempt to tack upwind and grab the board, but the current was carrying it too quickly.  Suddenly, that same decision-simplifying question I mentioned in one of my first blog posts struck me (“at what cost am I willing to pursue my endeavors?”) and it became clear.  I needed to get out of there, even if it meant losing borrowed gear.

            I kept the kite in the air and body dragged myself back to the beach where relieved onlookers were waiting.There was no time for storytelling, I had a board to go find.  I grabbed my creekboat (whitewater kayak) and started the long battle against wind, waves and a really strong current.  The light was fading and I searched every wave and ripple for as long as it made sense to be alone, in a kayak, without a light or radio in oncoming darkness.  We even thought that a newly anchored Coast Guard ship had found it, but a quick paddle reassured us that they had not seen the missing board.

            Talkabout a 180.  Life was stellar, then moments later it was in jeopardy.  That seems to be par for the course in the types of activities I participate in, but that is why you always need to know the dangers, have a backup plan and be ready.  Thanks to good instruction, I knew what to look out for, when to bail and how to rescue myself.  Eli, I owe you a board, but I really owe you so much more.  Thanks for making me very aware from the very beginning.

            On a complete side note, Sportsmobile integrated El Guapo (the van) and myself into their website this week.  I’m glad they feel we are worthy of showcasing their brand.

            Another week on the Oregon coast and I am STILL psyched!  I have had solo morning kayak surf sessions in the fog, beatdowns while shooting in the surf at sunset, lens changes in a paraglider at 4,000 feet, a fire writing experience on the beach at night (tough one to explain), unseasonably good kiteboarding conditions, landboarding lessons, random kitebuggy images, an hour long paramotoring flight, time for creative flexibility and again, great company.

            In my life, I have learned to savor every moment because you will never get them back.  There will always be a time of transition, a lull in the action, a period of unknown outcomes, loss, loneliness or simply downtime.  We all deal with it.  And it is during those instances that I reflect on the lasting moments like the ones I had this week. 

Last fall I had the privilege of meeting renowned paddler Luke Hopkins while on a run of the Upper Gauley in West Virginia.  We hit it off pretty well and ended up having a great day of paddling, laughing and doing the “shakey face” in front of his new HD video camera (I still think mine was the best).

Like all great days on a river, we learned a lot about each other.  He learned about my journey through the photo and adventure world and I learned about his recent passion for stand up paddleboarding (SUP) on rivers.  I could see in his livliness that he was genuinely excited to tell me about his new discovery. In his words, he had found an entirely new way to experience all of the rivers, lakes and inland waterways that he loved so much.  Not only that, but he was going to start his own SUP company.

I was floored. Here was a guy with intense passion and motivation breaking new ground with a little known (and still new in the main stream) sport and going against all convention to start a company in completely unknown territory.  I only had one thought.  How do I get in on this.

We talked, went over some ideas, exchanged contact information and decided he would call me whenever he was going out.  All in all, we ended up getting in another great day on the Gauley, one on Summersville Lake and two more in the true testing grounds – Great Falls of the Potomac.  From flatwater exploring to the unknowns of standing up in class V whitewater, Luke truly showed me what it is like to be a guinea pig.  To our knowledge nobody else had ever attempted these rivers, lakes and rapids on a SUP.

We sent a few photos to the publisher of Stand Up Journal and had an amazing response within minutes.  He (and most others) had never seen anything like this and wanted more.

It ended up turning into a full story about Luke, his life and his new dream.

The spring issue of Stand Up Journal hit newsstands in late March and had a great response. I am a little late posting this, but I would still like others to read and learn about Luke, his experience, my experience with him and the new ways to get on the water.  The magazine is still available at any Barnes & Noble or Borders, but the summer issue will be replacing it soon.

I will always remember those few weeks last fall, and I am proud to have played a role in the inland SUP movement.  I know there will be more to come.

Keep an eye out for Luke’s new boards which are hitting the water as I type this. Like everything else in this whole experience, they are very innovative and I expect will become the standard for inland SUP.  For board info, tour dates and anything else, go to:

http://www.ridestride.com/

Thanks again Luke!