It’s only the second afternoon of my trip and already I have no idea where the hell I am. I’m sure it won’t be the last time.

I crawl out of the sleeping bag in the back of my car, peek out of the window, and eventually I remember: West Yellowstone!

The previous night I watched Great Fountain Geyser erupt at 11 PM, all by myself, lit only by the light of the stars. It was the sound, not the sight, that alerted me to its presence, and I really hoped that I was outside the spray zone, and I was (but it was in mine, Yellowstone indeed!). The night before that I was racing from Seattle to make sunrise, and did, with five minutes to spare and no speeding tickets.

I’m in Yellowstone, the sixth time in two years, for a single purpose: to photograph fall colors in Colorado. While there aren’t a lot of Colorado fall colors in Wyoming (even in peak years) it’s only a few hours from Yellowstone to Colorado, and a natural stopping point on the way from Seattle.

All my non-photographer friends told me I should go to New England for fall colors. I told them New England can suck it, I’m going to Colorado. Where in Colorado? I didn’t know, but I knew John Denver wasn’t full of shit and was going to prove him right.

The colors are late this year, but I don’t really care when they peak, I just want to be there when they do. It should only take a few weeks. I have all the time in the world, and while that’s still not enough, it’s as close as I’m going to get.

Now it’s eight weeks and 12,000 miles later and I’m back at home with a handful of photos, a head full of memories and wondering what the hell just happened. I’m hoping it won’t be the last time.

From that foggy afternoon in Yellowstone until my return home, I would visit Grand Teton NP, Rocky Mountain NP, Western Colorado (Aspen, Ridgway, Crested Butte, Telluride, and points in between), Black Canyon of the Gunnison NP, Great Sand Dunes NP, Mesa Verde NP, Aztec Ruins National Monument, Shiprock in New Mexico, The Bisti Badlands Wilderness, White Sands National Monument, Saguaro NP and the Sonoran Desert near Tuscon, Red Rock country in Sedona, Grand Canyon NP (south rim), Havasu Falls, Zion NP, Bryce Canyon NP, Arches NP, Canyonlands NP, House on Fire and Fallen Roof ruins near Cedar Mesa, Monument Valley in Arizona, Lower and Upper Antelope slot canyons near Page, Horseshoe Bend, slot canyons near Escalante (Utah), Death Valley, and the Columbia River Gorge.

I said my main goal was to photograph the fall colors in Colorado. That’s actually not true. My main goal was to be flexible and go wherever I felt like going. Colorado was the start, but not the end. There is no end.

I drove on pavement, gravel, dirt, sand (red, brown, and white gypsum), snow, ice, and mud. Well I didn’t actually drive on mud, but I slid on it pretty damn good. I didn’t get stuck once and I’m going to attribute that to skill even though luck deserves all the credit.

I only got lost when following my GPS.

I was 12,000 feet above sea level in Colorado and almost 300 feet below it in California. I experienced temperatures ranging from 0F to 105F, and dressed so that I would be uncomfortable in any temperature.

I slept in motels (a few nights), a tent (many nights), and my car (most nights). I had no reservations, anywhere.

I showered. Rarely.

I had cold food and hot food but mostly bad food. Except for the free food, free food is always good food.

I met many old friends, made a few new ones, and didn’t lose any that I’m aware of.

I had weeks of complete solitude and peace and weeks with friends, laughter, and a different kind of peace.

I made a few jokes, some happened to be funny, most happened to be vulgar.

I saw uncountable crimes against photography and only a few of them were mine.

I had one lens spontaneously break, at Havasu Falls, ten miles down canyon. I had one tripod break. Somewhere. I fucking hate tripods. All of them.

I had bison surround my car when I was 200 feet away from it.

I herded cows with my car, more than once, and I also heard cows in the act, more than once.

I saw geysers, mountains, rivers, sand dunes, ruins, sandstone (rocks, arches, canyons, slot canyons, and hoodoos), forests of aspen and saguaro, salt flats, playas, waterfalls, the milky way, a couple full moons, and not a single ocean. I saw beauty both spectacular and subtle and it was everywhere.

But mostly I realized that experiences are the only possessions worth keeping and time the only price to pay.

Townes Van Zandt said that living on the road will keep you free and clean. He was only half right, but got the part that matters.

“Little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously. He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously.” — Bob Dylan

A Crazy Idea

I have spent twenty of the last forty-eight hours driving, covering over one thousand miles, fueled only by a single sub sandwich, a banana-nut muffin, and a few bottles of grape juice. I started in Jackson, Wyoming and am now at Eunice Lake in the northwest corner of Mt. Rainier National Park, one hour away from sunset.

I am not alone.

I inflict this sort of torture on myself all the time, alternating between extremes of food deprivation and disgusting gluttony, spending endless hours driving and even longer periods without sleep. Normally I don’t notice, and this time is no different. I’m always focused on getting the photo or just getting away. Food and sleep can wait.

Ana, who shared my diet (though she was able to make her sandwich last over a period of twelve hours beating my less impressive total of five minutes) hasn’t collapsed, and just asked in passing if I had a Clif Bar available. Of course! About a dozen of them. Two miles away in my car. I did have some lens wipes, spare batteries for my headlamp, and numerous other items of the non-edible variety with me in my bag. You know, stuff I might need.

Even though she is Slovenian, the look she shoots me is universal: What the hell did I get myself into?

At this point, a few thoughts are running through my head.

The first and foremost is disappointment at being informed that I too was hungry.

The second is that when traveling with others, one should compromise or at the very least empathize with their companions. I realized that thus far my idea of compromise was to act like I was alone and the other person wasn’t there.

The third thought is that for all my indifference to the plight of my companion, my only penalty was a brief sideways glance, and that maybe, just maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

The crazy idea I’m referring to wasn’t going 48 hours on an empty stomach (that wasn’t the idea, that was just something that happened). No, the crazy idea was agreeing to spend ten days with someone I had never met in person.

Planning the Trip

After learning of my voluntary unemployment, Ana approached me to see if I was interested in spending a few days shooting with her in Grand Teton and Yellowstone. Her employer, SmugMug, was having a week-long company retreat in Jackson, and she figured it made sense to extend her visit to the US another week to take in some of the spectacular scenery before flying back to Europe.

I said I would be interested as long as she was OK with switching Grand Teton and Yellowstone with Mt. Rainier, which is much more photogenic in August. She had the option of returning on a Friday or a Monday, I told her to pick Monday so that we would also have time to visit Olympic National Park, or anywhere else in the Pacific Northwest depending on weather and conditions.

I agreed first, and only began to rationalize my decision later.

I knew that Ana was willing to get up at crazy hours, willing to camp and forgo luxuries like showers, hot running water and cooked food, that she was in good shape (climbing mountains and hiking in Slovenia), and that she was passionate about landscapes and photography. She had a good sense of humor (which I strictly define as anyone who laughs at my jokes). I reasoned that if she was already 75% crazy, I could bring out the other 25% over the course of the trip.

Even with that, I realized I was taking a risk. Any minor personality mismatch would be magnified over the course of ten days. Even best friends (and spouses!) can find out quickly that they were not designed to travel together. There would be long hikes and even longer drives. We would be trapped with each other with no polite means of escape.

So I rolled the dice and hoped for the best, or at least the ability to tolerate the worst.

Notice how I didn’t even mention all the risks that Ana was taking? That’s that empathy thing again.

I Told You Rainier Was Better Than Grand Teton

I met Ana for the first time and some other friends who worked at SmugMug for sunrise at Grand Teton soon after making the fourteen hour drive from Seattle. After sunrise the SmugMug employees had to work, so I napped for the first time in several days.

A few hours before sunset Ana and I headed out in an attempt to find a captivating and original perspective on the Tetons. There were only a few small clouds in the sky, opposite the direction of the mountains. We encountered a small herd of bison positioned in exactly the wrong spot for any decent photographs. We drove around on dirt roads and found some cool red hills that were just outside the park with a scenic power line in the foreground.

The outing was a spectacular failure as far as capturing any riveting landscapes or even wildlife portraits. After we were done, neither of us wanted to kill the other, so we were off to a better start than our photographs would indicate.

Before we left, I put on my macro lens in an attempt to come away with a photo worth keeping.

Stars Now, Sleep Never

I wanted to sleep, I really did.

My friends were going to photograph the stars, but the logistics were complicated (they needed an extra tripod – I have one!), an extra intervalometer (I had two!), two cars (my car can fit everyone!). So I decided to join them and put the sleep off for some time into the future while Ana remained busy in Jackson saying farewell to all her coworkers that she met for the first time in person just a few days before.

It only took me about a dozen shots to make sure I had the focus correct (night photography is fun!). Having achieved that elusive goal, I left the intervalometer alone to do its work for over an hour while I shivered in the cold Wyoming wind and watched the moon rise behind us illuminating the most iconic mountain range profile in the United States.

The Road Trip Begins (Negative Seven Minutes Early)

I set my alarm for 5:00 AM. Ana woke me up at 5:37 AM. So much for alarms.

Our plan was to leave at 5:30 AM to shoot sunrise in the Tetons if the weather looked promising, if not, we would head directly to Yellowstone to photograph Moose Falls, Grand Prismatic Spring, and the Mammoth terraces, as well as anything else that captured our attention along the way, before heading to the Palouse in eastern Washington for sunset.

It was to be another cloudless day in the Tetons so we skipped sunrise and headed straight to Moose Falls in Yellowstone. The falls looked great, with plenty of water even for late summer and a layer of fog on top (they were missing the snow and autumn colors that I had on my previous visit, so I chose not to process any of the photos).

After Moose Falls we drove to the Fairy Falls trailhead to allow us to get a higher perspective on the spectacular Grand Prismatic Spring. In order to get that perspective, you have to scramble off trail and up a steep slope of loose dirt. Ana ended up with a bloody head after (loudly!) banging it on a tree that came out of nowhere, and the ground swallowed one of my 77mm lens caps when I wasn’t looking (much like the Merced River in Yosemite did the year before).

The views more than made up with it. The spring was dramatically side lit and the colors were indeed prismatic, as advertised.

We tried for some more close up perspectives of Grand Prismatic before heading to Mammoth. The light was harsh at both places so I knew I wasn’t going to be keeping any photos, but Ana remained cheerfully enthusiastic.

Race to the Palouse

When we got back to the car it was apparent that we were running a little tight on time if we were going to catch the Palouse at sunset, and we still were operating on empty stomachs. We got some food and gas just outside the north entrance and an hour later were heading west on I-90.

The GPS said we were going to be forty minutes late to sunset, but I figured I could cut at least ninety minutes off that estimate by averaging 15 mph over the speed limit. I had a lead foot and a radar detector, and I told Ana that she would have to be prepared to flirt with any cops if we got pulled over.

We managed to pass every car between us and the Palouse but several annoying construction zones slowed us down considerably. There were no cops and even less flirting. By the time we pulled into Steptoe Butte State Park we had about 10 minutes before sunset (peak light starts about thirty minutes before sunset). We rushed out of the car and setup our long lenses and managed to grab a few shots before the sun disappeared below the horizon.

Car Camping (Literally)

There are no campgrounds that are convenient to Steptoe Butte State Park. By myself, this dilemma is easily resolved by sleeping in the car, which is surprisingly comfortable (and warm) when the back seats are folded and all my crap moved to the side. The logistics with two people are slightly more complicated (everything has to be moved to the front seats). I was armed with a spare sleeping bag and a promise to behave myself. Ana was fine with this arrangement, which greatly simplified the logistics (and reduced the cost) of the trip.

For the first night in ages I slept for almost eight hours, and a few minutes after my purposefully shrill alarm went off, we were both outside shooting only a few feet from where the car was parked. There was excellent side light as expected, and some wonderful abstract patterns in the harvested fields.

When we were done shooting, a group of photographers showed up with thousands of dollars of gear, just in time to miss the peak light by twenty-five minutes. These people are everywhere.

To The Temple (Rainier)

Our campground reservations at Rainier began that afternoon, so we headed west, making a quick thirty minute detour to Palouse Falls which is always stunning but not particularly photogenic at 9:30 AM. We didn’t even have the pleasure of stepping on (or  seeing) any of the numerous rattlesnakes that call Palouse Falls home.

All of the trails at Paradise were covered in snow (unprecedented for this late in the season), which meant the best sunset spot was two hours away. We quickly set up camp at Ohanapecosh and then drove two hours to Mowich Lake intending to shoot at Eunice Lake for sunset.

Food Is Overrated

We quickly made it up the two mile trail and bushwhacked our way to a view of a cloudless, but beautiful, Mt. Rainier reflecting in the still waters of Eunice Lake.

There was no one to enjoy the sunset alpenglow besides us and a solitary pika.

We made it back to the car, and thirty minutes later, to the first hot food in forty-eight hours. I drove the two hours back to our campground, and told Ana to sleep and to only wake up if I started to drive off the road. This was immediately after I told her the old joke: “I want to go as my grandfather did, quietly and in his sleep, and not like the passengers in his car, screaming.”

My soothing words failed to ease her mind and she remained awake the entire drive back.

Rainier Throws A No-hitter

After a comfortable night in the spacious (2-room!) tent we woke up to completely overcast skies.

Our campsite was about 4,000 ft. below our intended spot for sunrise (Reflection Lake), and I knew there would still be a chance of decent conditions up there. As we were a few miles from the lake we finally cleared the fog layer and noticed much to our delight a large lenticular cloud on top of Rainier, some other fantastic clouds surrounding it, and a clear horizon to the east where the sun would be rising. This had all the makings for an epic sunrise, and it did not disappoint.

It was by far the most colorful sunrise I had seen at Rainier, out of dozens, and it was Ana’s first! The only equivalent experience in my life happened when was a kid. My parents and brother and I went to a Seattle Mariners game and brought along our aunt, who went to her first baseball game ever. Randy Johnson threw a no-hitter.

The color had peaked on the clouds so I suggested that we head back down the road to try and catch that fog we saw when we came up. It was still there and we came away with some more good shots on what ended up being our most productive day at Mt. Rainier.

Now That Is The Rainier I Know

At sunset and sunrise, Rainier was hidden beneath a thick layer of clouds.

Taking advantage of the overcast conditions, the next morning we made the hike to Comet Falls, my favorite waterfall in the park. On the way back to Ohanapecosh we visited several more waterfalls trying to take advantage of the fleeing overcast light, including Christine Falls, Narada Falls, an unnamed cascade near Stevens Creek, and the large and impressive Silver Falls, though by the time we finished the clouds had all but disappeared and the light was to contrasty for good waterfall photos.

For sunset, we again made the long drive to Mowich Lake, this time to photograph Spray Park, which has numerous reflective tarns and at the right time of the year, wildflowers. What it didn’t have on our visit was a view of the mountain, which was stubbornly shrouded in fog.

We stopped to photograph Spray Falls (arguably as impressive as Comet Falls) as well as the mossy creeks nearby. I wasn’t happy with any of those shots so I tried some impressionistic shots of the forest.

For sunrise, we went to Upper Tipsoo Lake, an extremely popular spot for good reason, it’s all of 200 feet from the road and is almost always still enough to capture a reflection of one of the more attractive faces of Rainier as it is bathed in sunrise alpenglow.

The alpenglow was great, as expected, and was preceded with some nice pastel colors at dawn, but like Moose Falls, Mammoth, Eunice Lake, and Comet Falls, I had already photographed it under better conditions.

The Wild Pacific

That was our last time photographing Rainier. We quickly packed and headed to Seattle to wash up, eat real food, and copy our memory cards over before taking a ferry across Puget Sound on the way to Ruby Beach in Olympic National Park.

Ana asked if we could swim at the beach. Ha! This is the Pacific Northwest. Nothing about the beaches is conducive to swimming, the temperature (of the air and the water), the wind, the huge variation between low and high tide. Even the sea stacks are so cold they grow hair (which some people confuse with “trees” or “vegetation” but we locals know better). There were no swimming trunks or bikinis on this beach. I did say that there was a lagoon at Ruby Beach if she wanted to splash around (and I would be more than happy to document the experience with my super telephoto lens) but I recommended against it unless she wanted to shiver all throughout sunset.

After visiting both sides of the beach, we settled on the north side. High tide would be just after sunset placing the water line right on the sea stacks on that side of the beach. Remarkably, we were completely by ourselves the whole time, except for the fleeting company of a bald eagle.

Just after sunset, Ruby Beach put on a light show that was more intense than any that I had ever seen on the Olympic coast. Again, this was on Ana’s first ever visit!

I performed the soon to be nightly routine of trying to find a level spot to park the car before we slept in it, and again I failed. I swear this was on accident and as long as I’m not under oath, I’ll stand by that.

At sunrise we had the entire beach to ourselves. The sunrise was actually pretty good, but was still dwarfed by the brilliance of the previous night’s sunset. Our original itinerary was to camp at Second Beach the next day and shoot sunset and sunrise there, but we knew it was unlikely that we would eclipse the conditions we saw at Ruby Beach. If I was by myself, I likely would have tried, but knowing that Ana was on a fixed schedule it made sense to try and capture as many things as possible, and save the other beaches for some future trip.

Off to Oregon

And that’s how we ended up at Crater Lake, eight hours and five-hundred miles away. This would be the final state on Ana’s first trip to the US, which included California, Nevada, Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, Washington, and finally Oregon.

Before getting to Crater Lake I needed to get an oil change, as I had driven 5,000 miles since the last one only two weeks earlier.

The conditions upon arriving at Crater Lake were great, with large puffy cumulus clouds and crystal blue water. Near sunset, all the cumulus clouds disappeared, as they have a nasty habit of doing in the Pacific Northwest, but the dazzling pastel dusk colors twenty minutes after sunset compensated for the lack of clouds.

We found another non-level place to park the car for the night, and got up early to shoot the sunrise, which was similar to sunset (no clouds with good colors at dawn), but I preferred the compositions we had at sunset.

I was looking forward to the banana pancakes at Crater Lake Lodge when Ana informed me that it was my birthday. Who knew?

Instead of sticking around Crater Lake, we headed to the Painted Hills near Prineville, OR. When discussing routes back to Rainier from Jackson I told Ana we could hit the Palouse or the Painted Hills, but not both. It turns out I’m a liar.

We were hoping for thunderstorms to materialize (as they were forecast), but they never did. Instead the entire area was choked in smoke via a nearby forest fire. This was actually OK as the hills look great when side and front lit by the sinking sun, even when there are no clouds, especially when shooting abstract shots with a super telephoto lens. We had about eight hours to kill before sunset, and attempted to nap outside on the manicured grass near the visitor center in the 90 degree temperatures. We were partially successful at napping, but very successful at being annoyed at all the ants that were crawling on us.

So far on the trip we had been good about shooting sunset and sunrise at the same location, minimizing driving while tired and at night. The Painted Hills are almost always more impressive at sunset, so we broke our rule, and headed to the Oregon Coast, specifically Cannon Beach and Ecola State Park. We arrived shortly after midnight, after a long and tedious drive through central Oregon and a windy mountain pass near Mt. Hood.

Ecola State Park has one of the best views on the entire Oregon coast. The light was mediocre at sunrise, but excellent twenty minutes before at dawn. After the dawn light had peaked we saw another photographer with thousands of dollars worth of gear show up.

The weather was unseasonably warm and Ana wanted to sunbathe having missed her opportunity at Ruby Beach. She has this weird notion that people are supposed to play and relax on the beach instead of suffer and freeze. I didn’t have any better plans so we spent the afternoon walking a few hours on the crowded beach.

Originally we were thinking of photographing Cannon Beach at sunset, but the low tides coupled with heavy foot traffic put a damper on our plans. I suggested that we head south to Cape Kiwanda to see what it’s like, it was further away than expected so we agreed that we would just take whatever we could there.

Of all the places we visited, Cape Kiwanda was the only place I had never been to before. I knew about the sandstone cliffs and the crashing waves. When we got to the beach, it was extremely crowded and there were cars parked on the sand! What kind of stupid place was this?

We climbed the sand dunes to the north and found the sandstone cliffs (on the wrong side of a “do not cross” fence). Flocks of pelicans were flying and diving into the beach. Even at low tide waves were crashing impressively into the sandstone cliffs below. All of the people were on the beach below, we had the cliffs to ourselves.

Cape Kiwanda ended up being a completely different experience than Cannon Beach and any of the other beaches in the Pacific Northwest that I have visited. The light was not spectacular, thick clouds all but eliminated any color, but like Ana, I didn’t have any better photos of this place so I’ll keep the shot for now, and unlike her, I’ll be able to return shortly to try again.

Summer in Seattle

Cape Kiwanda was the last natural landscape we shot on our trip. After getting back to the car we drove for four hours back to my apartment in Seattle, spent a few hours washing away the sand and filth, and got up early to photograph downtown Seattle and the Space Needle from Kerry Park at sunrise. As was the case with nearly all sunrises on the trip, the dawn colors were better than those at sunrise.

We caught up on sleep and then we did a walking tour of Seattle, Ana with her SLR, me with my iPhone and a bad impression of a tour guide. After being gone from Seattle for all of August I was elated that summer had finally arrived, the skies were blue and the weather was warm. During our ad-hoc tour we visited Glazers (a camera shop – it was on the way!), Lake Union, Seattle Center and the Space Needle, Olympic Sculpture Park, various piers along the waterfront, and Pike Place Market (for five seconds) before walking back to my apartment.

For sunset, we decided on the 12th Ave. bridge, which shows the winding curves of the I-90 and I-5 freeways in front of downtown, and by the time we left there were almost a dozen tripods, by far the most I’ve seen from that location.

Until Next Time

Monday morning I got up early, this time not to photograph sunrise, but to deliver Ana back to Slovenia. I dropped her off at the airport and said “until next time” not knowing if there would be a next time, and if there was, when it would be.

During our brief time together we managed to cover over three thousand miles in ten days, visiting Grand Teton, Yellowstone, the Palouse, Mt. Rainier, Olympic National Park, Crater Lake, the Painted Hills, the Oregon coast and Seattle. The distances were vast and and scenery was great but the time was far too short. By the end of the trip I was no longer worried that our personalities would clash, but I was worried that it was going to come to an abrupt and sudden end before I was ready for it to. We were having fun and had only begun to scratch the surface. I had found another photographer who was as passionate for landscapes as I was, who shared the same feelings of exuberance and joy at being able to be in them, and who knew that temporary lack of comfort is a trivial price to pay for the experience.

I’ve spent most of my life counting the ways in which I’m different from everyone else, so it always comes as a surprise when I find people who are like me. Perhaps I just need to start looking a little harder. And maybe start in Europe.

Beneath the thick external layer of sarcasm and indifference there exists an even deeper layer of sarcasm and indifference.

Beneath that layer exists this.

One of the many reasons I quit my job was that it would allow me to take risks with my photography. I could leap first and worry about landing later. I would have the freedom to fail. There would always be tomorrow.

Instead I’ve fallen into the familiar and comfortable pattern of scouring the western US for (often inaccurate) forecasts aiming to capture a previsualized image, driving for hours to get to my destination, and then repeating the entire process again, sometimes as soon as the next day.

Waiting three days for the right conditions to materialize seems impossible, but that’s only because I’ve bought into the myth that there are right conditions. There is no such thing as bad light, there are only bad photographers and bad photographs.

I need to start using my eyes more and stop letting my brain get in the way. I need to find creative ways of capturing and communicating the emotion of a scene rather than just recording its literal appearance. I need to start getting uncomfortable. At the very least I need to use the forecasts only as a mechanism for encouraging me to go somewhere and not as an excuse to leave or give up.

There is a cruel trick that my mind likes to play: The more often and (supposedly) competently I do something the more dissatisfied I am with the result. I can fool just about everyone but myself.

When the weather and my stubborn inflexible brain are in alignment and I get the conditions necessary to capture my visualized image, I’m rarely happy with it. I see it as derivative, boring, or falling short of my imagined ideal. The strong emotional high of the experience is dulled by my clumsy attempts to record it. Anyone able to drive 10 hours and be up at 4:30 in the morning at this spot could have gotten the same thing or better. My only talent is endurance. There is nothing exciting or groundbreaking happening here. This isn’t art.

I know that this is (usually) an irrational and emotional position. But it doesn’t matter what I know, it matters how I feel. The human race has been feeling a lot longer than it has been thinking. Bridging that gap for some people is easy. For me, there is no rational way to dig myself out of an emotional hole. I’m too close to it to view it objectively and all I’m left with is how I feel.

So my response has always been to keep moving. To trade the feelings of failure for miles, my current location with a new one, the being here with the getting there and letting the emotional highs of the experience carry me, all while hoping someday to be able to communicate those experiences with photographs, or at least start to be able to fool myself as well as I’ve been fooling everyone else.

Note that this isn’t a cry for help or a solicitation for sympathy or encouragement. This is just meant to provide insight into my thought process. Reading it again it sounds depressing as hell (and it is!), but my frustration is only in translating my experiences into equivalent photographs. If I didn’t enjoy the experiences I wouldn’t be doing it. I’ve seen many awesome spectacles of nature the past two years and I am extremely grateful for having that opportunity. I’m just hoping the photographs will catch up (once in awhile they do, not has often as I would like). I don’t really believe that anyone who is completely happy with what they are doing or where they are at can actually make any progress or produce anything of value. Struggle is part of it. Without the lows there are no highs, there’s just mediocrity.