The places that are wild and free are special and deserving of our utmost attention. The places that are a faction of corruption and dismay are places that humans have altered to to fit only themselve’s, and by definition, are neither wild nor free, but instead are made swiftly to submit to and are held in bondage by a race set on domination and desrtuction for it’s immediate gratification of false pretense, only to be held responsible for not only their own destruction, but the demise of all those wild and free creatures around them. These are not notions I have learned in school, but ones I have learned in the forest and in the mountains an in the desert. I have learned this from listening to the animals that inhabit these places and from serving the woes of those who have not. I am not a wise man. I am a simpe man who desires and ultimately demands the best of those who’s intentions are pure and the downfall of those who’s are not. A world that is in harmony would not question such a notion or a man that speaks such. This I know, and I do not know this because the internet or the television or the media tells me so. I know it because I listen to a turbulent world of a struggling planet and it’s coherts in distress. For these reasons I do not believe in a system of politics or a system of voting; because a system of either is a system that serves only itself and nothing more. This is my truth. I know that I am rejected intelectually by many of my peers and my family for stating these neccesities, but I am not alone in saying. Unpopular beliefs have been punished for milennia and is nothing further from the truth than one who goes along with the status quo just because it is socially acceptable. The Human condition has been on a long and dangerous path for many, many moons and, since I was a child, I have known that a change has been occuring, at least in regards to the Human perception of the universe at large, yet perhaps it is not happening fast enough. Paradoxally, it is likely my own perception of the concept as a whole that permits me to think that this is happening too slowly, and yet the notion that things are happening at it’s appropriate timing is correct on a cosmic scale, and that all that we might do to carry our burden is to guide one another and help each other to listen to the forest, and the water, and the wind. To listen to the Animals, as they have as much to say as we ever have, and to forget that we are more important or more relevent than all other creatures. To think as such is a Christian doctrine that has misguided the Human Race and set back it’s spiritual evolution and higher calling for untold numbers of years. It is time to stop this madness and live the lives we were meant to live. If you think I am mad and don’t know what I am talking about, all you have to do is lsten to the wind speak to you and look into yor heart; then you will know all you will ever need to know.
Month: April 2014
A New Death
Pedaling up the Cassiar Highwhay in 2011 was a major turning point in my life. It was the first time in my life that I had become a part of the true north. It was an experience of gratitude and an observation of the world that I had dreamed of but not yet embarked. It was a place that reared an unspeakable truth to me and one that bears deep in my heart and cannot be let go or forgotten. It was a place that paved the way for an an unfounded way of life that I could only set forth dreams and revelations about the world that I had only glimpses of forlorn. It was on this journey that I died. And died I did. I died an unspeakable death of letting go of the prosperities and notions of a world gone totally mad. And then was reborn. It was this place that set forth the venture that I am now embarked on; the one that now allows me to live in the woods and ponder, as Thoreau did at Walden Pond, now in Alaska, and I am deeply grateful. Thank You David…
Spring Time in Haines
Another day to explore.. What to do, I ask myself? After putting another coat of drywall mud on my neighbor Kathleen’s ceiling, I load up the camera and fishing pole and set out. Sometime back, I drove out to Mud Bay and noticed several cabins, houses and dwellings with all sorts of solar panels and windmills adorning the beaches adjacent to said structures. These little set of homes are where the incoming tide from the Lynn Canal meets the long, forested ridge of Mt Riley’s south end, and it it fascinated me. These homes appeared to be accessible by foot alone and the possibility of setting out on foot and along the rocky coast line to reach the remote part of the Chilkat Peninsula and it’s coast line of the Canal might be a pleasure to see. I set out, crossing the muddy tidal flats of Mud Bay itself, and emerging at the first of the dwellings, I veer south along the rocky coastline and find myself entangled in a sea of rocks; literally millions of barnacles adorn these seaside rocks, and a footstep cannot be taken without some measure of disturbance. I gain the rocky point separating the Lynn from Mud Bay, and the omnipotent Coast Range of Southeast Alaska is dominant and towering. The surf is high, with mighty waves crashing. The views are whimsical and there affect on me great. After wandering the rocks for a spell, I emerge onto a beach head with some solar panels visible, indicating someone’s boat access only cabin. I figure that a stomp through the woods is a better alternative than retracing footing along the rocky shores for a return back. Into the rainforest I go, passing the cabin in question and bushwacking through Devil’s Club and Alder thickets. After a short bit, a trail engages my feet and I am happily trudging through the forest. The trees here are enormous and the forest floor covered with thick moss. It occurs to me; winter is over and springtime in Haines has indeed arrived. Finally, I can see the reaches of Mud Bay through the trees and another house, cabin, woodshed, and other adornments come into view. The trail I am on appears to dead end into this property and unwilling to commit to trespassing on someone’s beautiful setting, I once agin succumb to the great bushwack. Soon I am rambling down a set of back country stairs to the flats below and cross the tidal flats once more and back to the road to the truck. Not a bad way to spend a few hours.
It is still fairly early, So I drive north and find myself again at the Chilkoot river, where I proceed to fish for Dolly Varden under the blazing spring Alaska sky. No fish caught, but that’s OK. Soon the Salmon will be running…
Battery Point
Working Saturdays is never fun, and today was no exception. After a stint at my neighbors house doing some drywall repair for her, I then headed to my regular job to finish up on the custom shelve’s I am building so the owners can get to applying finish on them. By 1:30 pm I am free for the afternoon. What to do? Go fishing up on the Chilkat? Attempt a hike up to Mt Riley’s still snowy summit? I am tired from a long week and something mellow, yet engaging is in order. I decide to head out to the always straightforward and beautiful Battery Point Trail. I grab binoculars and camera and head over to the trailhead. There are Canadian license plates everywhere and I remember that it is spring break in Canada. The Battery point trail is a fine treat, and I never tire of it’s simple availability of gorgeous rainforest, open, rocky beach, and splendid views of the Chilkoot Mountains. Bears frequent the trail in season and it is common to see migrating birds, Orca’s and Whales out in the water. The rainforest section of the trail is about a mile or so long, and features a twisting, root filled trail that crosses bogs of muskeg, streams, and is as green a place as one is likely to find anywhere. After a spell, one emerges onto the rocky beaches of the Lynn Canal and the Chilkoot Inlet. This leads to a prominent point called Kelgaya Point. It seems that most folks stop here, but the “trail” continues on and becomes more fascinating with each step. Short trails break away from the coast line and across fields and into the twisted Spruce, all the while meandering through a maze of witch dens and goblin hollows creating an ethereal setting. Another long and curving rocky beach brings one to Battery point proper. I have never been past this place, but I would imagine that one could most likely walk all the way to Mud Bay….
Southern Stones
Way back, in the winter of 2010-2011, my last winter in Moab, I shot a series of footage featuring some of Moab’s best known bouldering and some of Moab’s best kept secret bouldering. The climbers featured in those shots were locals Jake Warren, Lisa Hathaway, and Jim Mundell. I wanted to show the enormous potential of bouldering in the Moab area and it’s diversity from one extreme to the other. Alas, that winter I was preparing for a 5000 mile bicycle trip departing in just a few short months, and spent most of the time riding my bike, training, working, and planning. Little time it seemed, was available for filming, and in the end, I got what I got. After moving to Alaska, I began sifting through the footage and realized there was not much of it, and the project got shelved. I wish there was a lot more of it, but there is not. These last few weeks, I re-opened the project and began to cut together what I had and came up with this; “Southern Stones”. It is not spectacular, but it is a snapshot of some of the bouldering that was going on at that time. So, it is what it is, as they say. Enjoy….
Just Rolling By 
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