Buenos Aires, Argentina - Walking around the streets of Buenos Aires is like visiting the Louvre, but without all the French people. Around every corner is someone's creative prowess splattered all over a wall. Some of the art it is really beautiful, while other pieces leave much to be desired. Regardless of quality, it's great to see people expressing themselves in a creative manner.
The Great and Black Expanse
Iceland- The lighthouse. A beacon on a stormy night. To those on land, it is a monument. A reminder of those who have perished on the waters. To those sailing out in the great and black expanse, it is a savior, A reminder that there is someone watching over them, keeping them safe, giving them hope.
Northbound
In the predawn hours on a sweltering day in September, a crowd of shadowy figures gathers in an old decrepit rail yard, waiting for their salvation. The sun hasn’t even begun to rise and the sweat has already started beading. The smell of garbage and decay hangs in the stagnant air. A man with his pregnant wife and two young children stand on the outskirts of the crowd, looking tired and desperate. Each child is holding onto a leg, trying to not to get washed away in the sea of people. I watch as they circle the crowd, looking for an opening. Finally, they push their way into the crowd, joining all the others trying to board the train.
For over two days, migrants have been pouring in from all over southern Mexico, looking to gain illegal entry into the United States. Entrepreneurs eagerly pace back and forth below the unmoving train, hawking food, water, cardboard, or whatever else might come in handy on the journey. The mood is anxious, dire, but with a hint of excitement. For some, this is new territory. Others are all too familiar with what the next 3 weeks will hold.
As the crowd pushes toward the train, a morning breeze picks up, carrying away the putrid smell. The sun is just below the horizon. Light illuminates those already on the train. Hundreds of migrants silhouetted against the deep blue sky, waiting. They stand by, quietly watching as the rest of the crowd climbs up the rusted ladders onto the boxcars.
Far ahead, the roar of diesel engines coming to life interrupts the morning silence. A nervous excitement reverberates up and down the cars. The booming sound of metal on metal is deafening as cars slam together. The occupants grip tightly as the booming gets closer. Boxcars lurch forward and slowly start moving down the rickety tracks. Children’s eyes widen with amazement while their parents look longingly out over the landscape, thinking of the home they left behind in search of something greater. Nervous whispers slowly turn to talking as the train picks up speed. Their excitement is an overtone to the dangers that lie ahead.
Murder, rape, and theft, are all possibilities for most of the migrants. Living in a state of fear for the chance of a better life. Payments must be made to board the train, or they risk getting thrown off. At every step of their journey, the dark underworld is very present, always around the corner, watching, waiting for opportunities to present themselves.
The train gets up to speed; slowly winding it’s way through marshes, jungle, and farmland. Rows of avocado trees pass by, stretching out toward the horizon. The smell of diesel mixes with nature. Warm morning temperatures give way to blistering heat as the harsh sun beats down. Dehydration is a constant battle. Looking back over the 30 something boxcars packed with migrants, I notice the excited conversations have all but tapered off. Most sit quietly, shading themselves from the heat, soaking in the desperate adventure they are embarking on.
The specific reasons for heading north differ amongst the group. Some are trying to meet with families that have already established themselves in the U.S. Others are fleeing gang violence, not knowing where to go or what to do. Mixed in among the hopefuls are those working for the cartel, smuggling anything from drugs to people. Most will meet up with a coyote, a person who specializes in getting migrants across the U.S.-Mexico border. Some coyotes are legitimate, while others use the opportunity to steal, rape, or even hold customers hostage until their family pays a ransom
The midday sun is unbearable. Cardboard purchased before the ride becomes makeshift hats. Young men looking to show off, stand up on the moving cars while the train lumbers across the land. One of them jumps to the very front of the pack. Sitting down, he solemnly looks back toward the end of the train. He sits, swaying back and forth. The monotonous sound of the train is interrupted by a shout. “Rama”, meaning branch in Spanish, is passed down the train. Everybody ducks as the low branches sweep overhead. Branches scraping the side emit a high pitch screech.
The squeal of brakes announces a stop ahead. Grinding to a halt, the train stops just outside a small town and I get off with a handful of people. I watch as the train starts up and continues its journey north. The migrants sitting on top slowly fade into the distance. To me, it is baffling. It is an unknown that no one but the participants can truly comprehend. Those that make it will live with a lifetime of paranoia, wondering when they’ll get caught and sent back. For those migrants that survive the border crossing but get captured and deported, most will be shipped home, where they will once again find themselves sitting on the hot metal roof of a train car, slowly meandering north through the mountains and valleys in search of a better life.
Giant Steps in Silence
Siem Reap, Cambodia- Leaving town early in the morning, I pedaled swiftly along the road, inhaling fumes as cars whizzed dangerously close by. For some reason, I thought that riding a bike was a good idea, despite almost hitting a cyclist on the bus ride into town the day before. The sun wasn't up yet, but the traffic was already dense. Thousands of people were vying to get the best seats for watching the sunrise over Angkor Wat, and I was one of them. The sweat poured from my body, soaking my shirt in the morning heat. I passed through the compound gates and continued, feverishly pedaling toward the temple. After locking my bike to a rack, I joined the throngs of people heading toward the temple, its towering pinnacles stretching to the sky. As the sun rose, I remember being somewhat disappointed with the event. Whether it was the thousands of people surrounding me or the cloudless sky, I don't know, but it didn't feel special.
While people started walking back to their cars, looking forward to getting back to their hotels for breakfast, I continued my exploration around the giant stone structure. On the west side of the complex, shaded from the sun, a staircase rose sharply from the ground, extending up toward a giant doorway. An old woman sat on the giant steps in silence. This was the special moment that I was looking for. I stood back through a couple doorways so as not to disturb, and fired off a few photos. Feeling somewhat euphoric, I continued my walk around the ruins, but I never shot anything else that made me as happy.
I find it a little funny that the old woman will never know that she played an integral role in shaping my future, but I like it that way. It makes me realize how easy it is to effect those around us and how sometimes we help others when we're not even expecting to.
Shadows and Textures
Simferopol, Ukraine- I love photographing people. Not anybody specific, just every day people that are going about their lives, doing what they need to do to survive. They're so mysterious. Full of emotion. One way I enjoy shooting them is finding a backdrop that I'm really in love with. in this case, i was really drawn to the long shadows cast by the air conditioner and the texture on the wall and window covers. When I find my backdrop, I'll start to people-watch, which is really my favorite part. When you find someone that you really want to shoot, you have to make sure that their body positioning feels natural. You either get this by being a badass and shooting exactly when you need to, or you do what I do and shoot a as much as you can.
Pushing the Limits
Joes Valley, UT- One of the things I love about living in Utah is the rock climbing. Any direction you go, there is good climbing. Joes Valley, down near Orangeville, is one of those places. I first started going there about 10 years ago with one of the rowdiest groups of climbers I've ever met. Loud, obnoxious, immature, idiotic: All are adjectives I could use to describe us, however we all had fun, and that's what is most important. A couple years ago, we started hiking up random drainages to find new boulder problems. We had seen a particularly tall one from the road and had even walked up and looked at it, but it looked impossible, so we went on in search of other climbs.
Last year, Griffin Whiteside and I, along with some others, went back to it, and started cleaning it, brushing all the gunk off, making sure certain holds wouldn't break off. It was a necessary evil. A couple weeks after we had cleaned it, A group of us headed back up to it carrying large crashpads so that Griffin could try it. Nobody else had any desire to try it. It's tall and scary, thus the name #Tall. The moment I captured on Griffin's first ascent, is one of the critical moments on the climb. Your right foot swings out, something climbers call a barn door, and the weight of your body starts to shift. If you're not strong enough, your body will continue to swing to the side, your hands will pop off and you will land on your head and die.
The shouts of "come on" and "stick it" went quiet as Griffin's right leg started swinging back. He looked down in fear, eyeballing the landing. Chad, moved some pads around, while scott feebly held his hands up, getting ready to make sure he didn't land on his head. A breath escaped Griffin as he put his right foot back on. The screams from below started back up again as he finished the last couple moves to top out. Easily one of the tensest moments I've ever witnessed while climbing with some of the best friends i've ever had, except Scott.
The Simplicity of it All
Dubrovnik, Croatia- Walking atop the wall that surrounds the old city, the sun sets around me, shadows growing longer by the second. There is a line of people on both sides of me, all present to walk along the wall, taking in the sights of the city. A series of shadows catch my eye and I stop abruptly, causing people to bump into each other. Clothes hanging on a line, drying in the afternoon sun. I love everything about it. The simplicity of it all. Because of the high flow of traffic, I have to wait maybe 5-10 minutes for there to be an opening. My head stays bent down, staring into the top of the camera, watching shadows walk through the frame. I glance up, waiting for a lull, and I notice one approaching. With just enough time, my frame clears and I take the photo.
Mostar, Bosnia: A Hopeful City
Mostar, Bosnia- Coming to a stop, the sound of tires rolling over gravel is second only to the wind racing through the grass nearby. In the distance, clouds move swiftly as the sun sinks lower toward the horizon. Before me stands an enormous 100ft. tall cross, overlooking Mostar, Bosnia, a city rife with a history of violent religious intolerance.
As I lean against my tiny rental enjoying the evening, a car full of teenagers passes by, parking in front of the cross. They get out, snapping pictures, and running around laughing. Their carefree attitude perfectly aligns with the scene surrounding me. After about 10 minutes, they pack up and drive off, leaving me to enjoy a golden sunset above a hopeful city.
Walking through old town, a familiar feeling fills the air. Cobble streets wind through tight alleyways, with buildings on either side stretching up toward the sky. Vendors beckon for attention while children run unhindered through the crowd. Mostar however, is different than other small towns across Europe.
Since the war, back in the 90's, the city has made a point to keep buildings that have been destroyed and left abandoned as a reminder of the atrocities that had taken place. Walking through town, new apartment complexes stand side-by-side with vacant, bullet-ridden hollowed out shells.
Two women walk their infants past a nondescript war-torn building. The echoes of drunks and junkies from inside reverberate out toward a bustling city, teeming with a generation of youth ready to rewrite history.
Christians and Muslims peacefully go about their lives, aware of their differences and the underlying tensions that go along with them. Struggling not to relive the atrocities that remain just below the surface, waiting to be unearthed.
Sea Breeze
Burgeo, Newfoundland - One thing I find particularly amazing about being near the ocean is the sea breeze. There is nothing like the smell of the clean salty air or the feel of the cool wind against your face. It really is one of my favorite experiences. While we were on a climbing trip for The North Face, we stopped off in Burgeo, a small town off the southern coast of Newfoundland. While we were waiting to board a boat to Francois, I wandered up from the docks, enraptured by the flowing garments. I shot a couple photos, then went and sat down admiring the view. The wind whipped through the grass next to me, keeping the bugs at bay. It was a perfect spring day.
The Outward Expression of Emotion
Santa Monica, California - The outward expression of emotion in this photo series is incredibly simple, however what's occurring on the inside is beyond me. I can see that one of these people is really enjoying themselves, and one isn't, but I have no idea what is going on inside their heads. And that's amazing.
Heaven and Earth
Washington - Heaven and earth pass before us, arcing out across the skies, and yet we are transfixed on what is out of reach. The inconsequential buries us beneath a mound of insecurities, consuming our lives but we rearrange our priorities to accommodate. For what? Is it isolation that we seek? Is it solitude?
When we wake do we dream of the eternal, or do our dreams waste away in a sea of likes and comments? Our infinite wasted, our potential squandered. We float through space, among the stars and galaxies, selfishly consuming the vast quantity of garbage that inhabits the void, but the world rotates and we continue our journey on an unknown path.
The path leads us into the woods, walking through the trees, feeling the mist of water against our skin, the thundering sound reverberates deep within us. hope illuminates the horizon, trees silhouette against the mountains. The earth exhales and we feel it's warmth. It speaks and we listen. If only we listen.
Just Enough Time to Get Antsy
Idaho -Sitting in our ready room while listening to morning briefing, our crew boss came in with orders. We were headed to a fire in Idaho. Instantly, the excitement grew and the chatter increased. He calmed everyone down, briefed us on the situation and told us to get ready. In an instant, 20 of us were filing out the door, tidying up any last minute items that had come up. Within 20 minutes we were loaded into the crew carriers and headed toward the fire. It was about a 5 hour drive to get there. Just enough time to get antsy. When we arrived, we could see the fire ripping up a hillside, the column rising up into the clear blue sky. When a fire is completely out of control like that, there aren't many options. Our crew boss tied in with the Incident Commander and talked out a plan. We headed over to a portion of the fire that was manageable and started burning out off of roads. The winds were steady and twice we had to stop our operation and get to a safety zone, only to head back in minutes later when it was deemed we were safe.
At one point, a lone buggy was sent in with a crew of 6 to tie in with an engine and perform a particularly scary burnout. They would start lighting along a road, the engine going one way, the buggy going the other in hopes that it would create a black line, a buffer that would stop the larger fire. The winds had picked up and the fire was closing in on our line. It became apparent that the operation was wasn't going to be successful. The crew members on the ground, were ordered back into the buggy. One hung on to a railing on that back and continued to burnout as the buggy raced up the dirt road back toward the safety zone. We watched from afar as the fire blew past our line, knowing that we would regroup and try some more. As the sun set, the fire died down a little bit more and we continued the burnout into the night. After burning out for the majority of the day and night, we tied it into an anchor point and settled down for the evening. The fire would continue ripping for another couple days before we, along with several other crews and a few air tankers, could finally get a handle on it.
Red Plastic Chair
In Vientiane, the capital city of Laos, a structure that looks coincidentally like the Arc D'Triumph in Paris looms over a bustling square. As you approach the massive structure, you realize that it is in fact a replica of the one in Paris, except with a little Asian flare.
Back during the cold war, The U.S. Government gave Laos massive amounts of concrete to make another runway at their airport . Instead of making a runway, they decided to make the replica (ballin!).
Wandering up the stairs, past all the merchants selling souvenirs, I passed a young boy, sitting in a red plastic chair. He seemed bored, as if his youthful adolescence was being squandered. His father, close by selling trinkets, loudly beckoned to me to purchase some wares. I smiled kindly and declined, interested more in the suffering taking place nearby.
I chuckled as I shot the photo, amused by the irony of being bored while sitting in a giant replica of the Arc D'Triumph in Vientiane, Laos.
A Smoggy Feeling of Desperation
Simferopol, Ukraine- After spending a couple weeks filming rock climbing in Ukraine, I was able to take a day or two for myself and wander around Simferopol, one of the larger cities on the Crimean peninsula. The lackadaisical people floating in the sea were replaced with anxious workers scurrying about, trying to find a means to an end. The cool breeze coming off the sea was replaced with a smoggy feeling of desperation, perpetrated by industry and the old Russian cars clogging the streets.
In a quiet square tucked away from the mayhem of the city, a few people walk by heading to work. As they pass, their long shadows extend toward a large statue built by the old empire. Continuing, they cross the square until reaching a massive building looming overhead. Quickly ascending the stairs, they disappear inside, away from the traffic and haze of a city desperate for change.
The Great Salmon Adventure
In 2011, Luke Nelson and Ty Draney ran over a hundred mile length of the salmon river in the remote Frank Church wilderness area. Luke, a friend from college, asked me to come shoot photos and I eagerly agreed to it. We packed up, and drove north, stopping in a town so the two could eat some giant hamburgers, carbo-loading for their "fun run" the following day. We picked a spot at the beginning of the course to crash, while Luke and Ty ran over gear. Between the two of them, they were packing a Spot Tracker, which is a device that allows them to send out texts, as well as allowing others to follow them via GPS. The only problem is that it's one-way communication, meaning they can send out texts as well as their GPS location, but can't receive any, nor can they see where they are. Accompanied with a map, and enough food for about 24 hours, they set out early the next morning. Their quiet footsteps slowly fading into the distance was an indicator that I needed to start my 3 hour drive to find a trailhead where I would hike in from the following morning.
The next day, I woke up at 3 and set out, holding a monopod in one hand in case I was attacked by a bear. Running through the wilderness at 4 in the morning by yourself is a very interesting experience, jumping at every sound. Birds and bunnies turned into bears and cougars. After waiting for 13 hours in a location that I thought they would run through, I watched the sunset and decided to head back to the car. Running back, I wondered If I had gone to the wrong location. I drove back to where I thought they would finish, thinking that they were waiting there without a ride, but when I showed up, they were no where to be seen. I camped close by, thinking they might show up at any point, but the next morning, when they still hadn't arrived, I set off up the canyon in search of the two.
After a couple hours, the trail disappeared, which left me wondering if I was even in the right canyon. I climbed halfway up the canyon wall to get a better view, and continued onward. An hour later, I saw them far down below in the river bottom, bushwhacking through thick brush. I shouted and started running down toward them, relieved that I had found them. I met up with the two survivors and found out that they had taken a couple wrong turns and were also concerned that they were in the wrong drainage. I gave them some much needed food and started heading toward the finish. When we got out of the canyon, we slowly crossed one last river, found the truck and plopped down, exhausted. Luke and Ty both completed their journey after more than 40 hours on the move. When we finally got cell phone service, I received Luke's text message from the day earlier saying "very lost getting serious more soon". As we drove away, I chuckled at the cryptic text that spawned several distraught messages from family members, relieved that we were all safe, ready for our next adventure.