My friend

A short dedicated to my dog and everyone who has said goodbye to a pet.


Cutting straight up the side of the mountain, I yell out, "Brutus! Brutus!", but to little avail.  A regular occurrence, it has become expected for my most loyal friend to take off up the side of a mountain with careless abandon at least once, each time we hike.
His favorite thing to do is to completely ignore me, running into the forest, and then about 15 minutes later be waiting for me further down the trail.  What a fantastic game right.
I was familiar with this game and we'd done this same hike together dozens of times.  Thus, undaunted,  I trek on. Around each bend I expect to see a tired and content Husky mutt laying on the trail waiting for his ever so slow "master".  I enjoy the scenery and the solitude for about 20 minutes then I begin to look around and call out, "Brutus! Brutus!" with increasing urgency.  5 more minutes pass and I am in a mild panic.  My mind racing with possibilities. Is he sparring with a mountain lion or black bear, did he chase an animal too far and lose his way, did he hurt himself dashing and darting through the trees?
I turn and head back up the trail, thinking that possibly he is waiting further up and I traveled to far.  My anxiety has made it impossible for me to walk at this point.  I am running back up the trail, "Brutus! Brutus! Where are you, you dumb dog?"  I sprint up and down a half mile area, thinking this to be the drop zone where he would exit the trees.
Okay, I stop to catch my breath, let's think for a second.  Maybe he came out much further up the trail.  Forget this half mile area, I decide to walk all the way back to where I left him.
Exhausted at this point, my sprint has turned into a jog/walk combination.  My mind races. Oh, I'm the worst dog owner ever.  I should of left him on a leash.  I know he takes off like this, what was I thinking?
Just as my anxiety is reaching a peak.  I see a familiar looking dog ahead on the trail.  And he's on a leash?

I run up to a friendly couple maybe in there early forties. They have 3 dogs on leashes, one of them happier to see me then the other two.  I put my thoroughly self satisfied dog on his leash and scratch behind his ear, I just can't stay mad at him, while I chat with the couple.
The woman explains, "We found him walking the trail alone, and couldn't get through to the number on his tag.  So we put him on a leash and were going to take him back to Boulder" (the opposite way then where we were parked). "but", she continues, "he just laid down on the trail and refused to move.  Eventually we decided okay let's walk the other direction. He seemed satisfied with that decision, and here we are running into you."
I'd rarely been so proud of Brutus.  I guess my rebellious dog is loyal after all.

Numerous stories like this have been flowing through my mind over the past week.
Saturday May 5th, 2012 we took Brutus to a quiet spot by a gentle stream, surrounded by woods and wildlife. An empathetic veterinarian who is also friend of my brother met us there.  Brutus was old and just not able to enjoy life like he used to.  On our last day together he ate steak, and we slowly walked a level path through the woods, until he was so tired his legs were giving out.  I laid with him on a blanket and as we watched the grazing deer pass by, we realized it was time.  It was his time.

He was my dog, my friend, my family.  We had him for 14 or 15 years, so long I can't remember which. Some may find that strange but it's the moments more so than the years that have meaning to me.  He was a constant,  always there, to go on a hike, to laze around, to listen.  He was stubborn, he was independent, but he was also defiantly loyal, in some ways I suppose a reflection of me.
Vacant spaces now occupy his favorite areas.  Physical and emotional places that are filled with memories of happiness, reflection, and loss.
I don't know what I've learned, or how to process this loss, but all I know at this point is I miss my friend.  And hiking is a bit more lonesome these days.

You Inspire my Face!

What inspires you?  To try something new, to work harder, to get out of bed in the morning?
Why do sometimes we feel uninspired and just sort of blah, and other times we feel like diving head first into the world with an artist brush, or a pen, or climbing shoes, or a surfboard, or a camera or whatever you happen to be into at that moment.  
More importantly, I suppose, is how can we stay inspired. 


It may always come in short bursts but here's 5 potential inspirations to creations. 


 - - - editors note: So I began with a rather pragmatic list of well thought out practical suggestions.  Then I read it again and again (not a hyperbole, I read it twice) and I came to the conclusion that practical and pragmatic basically sucks the life from inspiration and creativity.  So I hit select all, delete, and I bring you a more organic less thought out list to potential inspiration.  Feel free to offer your suggestions . . .  




1.  New Adventures 

2. Music - - Especially live.  (any type as long as it's heartfelt) 


3.  Watch the sunrise outside. Listen to the silence.

4.  Walk.  In the mountains or on the beach if possible.  

5. Perspiration.  Do.

"Inspiration exists.  But it has to find us working".  Pablo Picasso


In the end inspiration is individual, and we are all inspired by something or someone.  But usually it doesn't come knocking on the door or drag us out of bed, we have to get out there and find it.  




P.S.  Also, there is always Ice Cream.  

Post production or postmortem?

Your graduation picture is important.  For some of your friends and acquaintances it might be the picture they remember you by.  It will bring back all the memories they spent with you in the magnificent and miserable formative years.

 
Yet Sometimes that photo can be so over edited and "fixed", that the uniqueness of the subject (who in this case is you!) can be completely lost.  Thus was the case with my grad photo.  In an overly enthusiastic effort to polish over each and every flaw, my personality, my individuality was lost, destroyed even. Fittingly this picture has also been lost, or possibly destroyed as I could not find any to post.

This brings us into the much debated topic of post production in photography.

I embarked on writing this thinking I was for the most part opposed to post production in photography.  That is to say digital photography at least.  35mm Film post production, where you're hand deep in chemicals, working isolated in the dark, seemed more pure and true of an artist.
I felt that the instant gratification of quick fixes in a sub-reality "photoshop", or for that matter even the ability to instantly view your pictures on the back of the camera kind of destroyed some of the purity of an art revolving around patience, timing, and quick thinking know how.  Being able to snap a seemingly unlimited amount of pictures and then distort them to any end, in any number of different ways; to me simply destroyed, the beauty of patience, timing, and skill.  The ability to navigate a computer program gained precedence over the artistic eye, reflexes, and quick thinking required to capture a moment in time.

I admit most of this viewpoint was based on misguided romanticism and a general inability on my own part in using programs such as Photoshop.  Thus not really appreciating it and brushing it aside as cheating or laziness.

As I've done more research, I've gained more respect for those who excel at post production, and realized even with hours of post, garbage is still garbage, and beauty is still beauty.  Post production is just one more process in the art of photography.  In post you can saturate colors, dodge and burn just like in the dark room, soften, sharpen, and an endless amount of other manipulations or enhancements if you will.  If used with purpose and restraint, these tools can truly enhance the story, theme, and visual appeal to a photo.

That said, the over use of post production tools, or a reliance on these to fix boring or uninteresting photo's will be the death of your photography.  How, you ask? Reliance on post production will only lead to the endless taking of more and more boring and uninteresting photo's.
For example, imagine you are learning to grill steak.  If, right from the first steak you grill, you season that piece of meat to death, you'll lose an understanding of how really to bring the flavor of the meat out properly.  Just relying on the seasoning you limit your ability to truly cook a masterful meal.
On the contrary, if you cook, using very little seasoning, you will know best how to cook the meat itself.  Then down the road perhaps, you can use slight amounts of seasoning to best bring out the flavors of the meal.

Post production is a little seasoning to an already delicious meal, just a little finishing touch to highlight the tastes and aromas of the food.  Not half a bottle of hot sauce poured over a bland, dry meal simply to make it palatable.

So, here is my advice.
Don't begin your photographic career using photoshop or any other post processing program for that matter.  After you've discovered how to take a quality photo, then start experimenting with different tools, perhaps this could be even a year or two down the road.  In my opinion, at this point your eye will be sharper, what you wish to accomplish will be more clear, and in the long run you will truly have the ability to create art.

Thus is my opinion, feel free to comment and continue the post-production debate.


Here's a couple examples of Pre- and Post- Produced.

Photo straight from camera . . .

After editing in gimp (upon second look, I'm not sure if I improved it even) . . . .

Another example
straight from camera . . .

After photo has been gimped . . .

Speechless

It seemed like a fine idea.  Longs Peak is only 14,259 feet after all.  Why that's only 4,346 Meters.  What motivation to switch to the metric system.  (Disclaimer, these pics are from a later trek up Longs Peak then the one described)

The youngest of the group, with a friend from school and his older cousin and friends.  We left at a quarter past midnight.  Our headlamps casting dancing shadows in the forest. The evergreens still draped in frost.  The stillness of the night accentuating the beat of my heart, as the air gets thinner. 

Stopping 2 hours from the summit everyone pulls out sleeping bags.  Whoops.  I never have been one for preparation.  For the next 90 minutes I pace for warmth trying to invent an ipod in my mind.  I didn't succeed, it would've been nice to have some music I figured.

As the sun pierces the horizon, the trek continues.

We reach the summit, without much event.  A little chilly, a little tired.  Not my most adventurous peak, not even the most exciting up Longs.  But it was my first.  The first time I felt like I was at the top of the world, looking out at all the other ants.  And I found something so much better then my yet to be invented ipod. 

This is the first time I vividly remember that wave of emotion, that slows everything down and can't be caught by words or time.

You don't have to necessarily climb a mountain for it, but that does seem to work. 

It's that thing that makes you feel minuscule.  The awe inspiring acknowledgement that there is a bigger presence out there. 

 It's a sunrise in the desert.  It's a look.  It's laughing from your gut. It's a real connection with another person.

It's catching a wave. 

Realizing all you can do is ride the chaos if only for a moment.  

It's the abstract moments in life that can't be contained in typical words.  So we paint pictures, write poetry, dance in living rooms, hug, kiss, and even skip and jump on occasion.  

It's a million nuclear explosions inside the sun to warm our skin on a brisk autumn day. 

It's infinite different things that energize the universe around us.  That are so easy to pass right by on our morning commute. 

I suppose, it's probably something different for everyone.  More and more maybe we're just missing the point.  Maybe it's to mushy to acknowledge. or examine. or ponder over. 

Maybe.  
I live for these moments.  Yet, I don't find them everyday, hidden in the details.  Sometimes I lose them in a pile of wants and routine, stress and the feeling that any standing still is merely wasting time.  All the things that destroy mental clarity. 

There is not always a mountain to climb.  Take a deep breath, feel the oxygen invigorate from fingertips all the way into the wiggle of your toes.  Feeling. It's kind of abstract. But sometimes, it's just feeling. 

Filler while I procrastinate a blog on procrastination

 Putting pen to paper, whether your drawing realistic shapes, nonsense, or rattling off word after word.  There is something beautiful to the sound of pen to paper.  Go ahead, try it, it's nice.
 I also find a certain liberation in the clickity-clack of the keys when thoughts are flowing like a mountain stream through your mind.
Extended periods of busy-ness and stress,  without fail resulting in emotions that are tied up in knots all throughout our body need to find a way out.
In my experience, everything and anything can inspire the words that live inside, but I've found that music can be the great muse to draw them out.
Here's five albums, songs, bands (in no particular order) that inspire me, not just creatively (there's plenty of others for that).  This is the music that inspires me to pour myself out to an anonymous piece of paper . . .

1.  Miles Davis - - The Essential Miles Davis
2.  Sigur Ros - - Anything, stuff from "Takk", but really also anything
3.  Iron and Wine - - The Trapeze Swinger
4.  Death Cab for Cutie - - Transatlanticism, the album, but especially the song
5.  The Album Leaf . . . of course!

A introspective century

Buena Vista to Glenwood Springs.  103 miles through Colorado's Rocky Mountains. No doubt to be a long, enjoyable day; full off pain, adrenaline, endorphins, camaraderie, tired legs, light headedness, doubts, sense of accomplishment, and maybe a little dehydration.  Not necessarily in that order.

On a brisk Saturday morning the 25 or so riders chatted and emotionally prepared for the ride in the Best Western parking lot.  Meeting, re acquainting, and a few of us secretly wondering, "what have I gotten myself into"?
Nobody seemed to want to take off first so when finally ones did, I followed close behind.  This impatience, unfortunately caught me in a fast moving lead pack.   I'd repeatedly told myself that this year, I would ride "my ride", and not try to keep pace with superior cyclists.  Apparently the testosterone running through your system wakes up before your brain. Because there I was in the middle of a quick moving group fighting the wind and hills at a swift pace.  Fortunately my early morning digestive system is much less fanciful and more of a realist.  About 30 minutes into the ride, I pulled to the side of the road, stepped off my bicycle, and casually vomited the neon red sport drink I'd been sipping on that morning.

For those of you exerting yourself physically to the point of nausea and are fighting it.  Here is my advice, just let it go.  Yes, I was a new man.  Also I was able to get my head back on, and just enjoy the ride . . .  my ride.

So I continued to pedal, up and down the hills of Highway 24 and eventually Highway 82, in sort of a thoughtful, meditative state for the next 30 miles or so.  Not going fast, but enjoying the scenery and the experience immensely.  Looking back I'm somewhat envious of that person.

With such subtlety it crept in, at first I barely noticed it.  But there was the familiar dull ache on the outside of my knee.  I pedaled through, hoping it would go away.  I took medicine, massaged it, stretched it, rubbed numbing lotion on it.  But still any pedaling was accompanied by increasing pain. Regularly stopping to stretch, saw but a small, momentary bit of relief.  Finally I knew I wouldn't make it to the top of Independence pass, so I got in my SAG wagon of shame and rode to the top.  Demoralized I avoided being in pictures with the other cyclists, and sat and iced my knee.
But hey, it's all down hill from here right!  Unable to sit idle any longer, I pulled off the wrapping, got rid of the ice, and rode down the pass.  Incredible!  The downhill was amazing, unfortunately it was the last bit of riding I was able to do on my bike, on this day.

It was disappointing to not be able to finish, it seemed like a fun ride.  I wanted to be on my bike.
Yes, on the inside I pouted a bit.  Yet, due to the fine company, beautiful scenery, and perhaps the generous amounts of ibuprofen I still enjoyed the whole experience, it was just a different experience then expected.

Thus is life I suppose.  We're always saying it's the journey, not the destination which is important. True, But even then it seems we have a specific journey in mind.  And straying off that course, can really freak our system out.  Causing us to focus more on how much fun, how much more success, how much more or less whatever, everyone else is having and deny ourselves the beauty and originality of our own journey.  On a journey as long as life, we'll be strong and we'll SAG, I guess the key is to keep your eyes open.  Because in both cases there is beauty all around.

For more photos from the ride check out http://teamverticallychallenged.com/ . 

"Your gonna need a bigger boat"

It was a serene Sunday morning in the southern part of California.  As tradition, I woke early, strapped my board to the top of my car and raced the sun towards the beach hoping to beat some of the crowds and catch the morning swell.  To my surprise as I cruised along the dirt road to "Old Mans" break, the beach was nearly empty.  I figured maybe it was a holiday, like "take your grandpa to church" day,  or "pet day" or whatever people are celebrating these days.
The swell was not the biggest I've seen, but I did catch a couple pretty nice, clean, empty waves.  Just me and my 10 footer cruising in the crisp morning air.  It wasn't until later that evening when I discovered the reason for the abandoned waters that morning.  No it wasn't the apocalypse, or nuclear waste in the water, it was the most fear inspiring concept of the deep blue . . .

SHARKS!!!!!

Yes two teenage, nearly 9 foot long Great White sharks had been spotted near the popular break.  Now, while quite rare that close to shore, shark sightings aren't altogether out of the question.  And it takes a lot to keep devoted surfers out of the water.  So what was the hook,  well these two curious teenagers had been reported as knocking into some surfers in the water the previous day!  A classic shark display of either curiosity or aggression.  I guess most informed members of society decided it wasn't worth finding out which one this was.  Fortunately, I was not currently a well informed member of society.  I say fortunately, because I did catch some fantastic waves!

This story came back to mind because we are in the midst, of a week long celebration of all things shark.  Yes, my friends, it is shark week!  The fact that we have a week devoted, if only on the discovery channel, to all things shark is about as fascinating as the notorious fish itself.  What is it about such an able and mysterious predator that is so intriguing?  Humans do seem to love to romanticize killers, even if it is an animal.

The ocean is truly a world unknown and the shark is it's king.
But as a novice, land locked, yet enthusiastic surfer I just hope the sharks keep letting us ride the good waves.

So here's to a lonesome Sunday morning in the surf and in the wise words of Jack Handey "Contrary to what most people say, the most dangerous animal in the world is not the lion or the tiger or even elephant.  It's a shark . . .  riding on an elephant's back, just trampling and eating everything they see."