Oh how I could use a sunset in the sage... 

Where noise only emanates from a few things, like sparrows and nighthawks, a gentle breeze. Or a pack of coyotes, howling in the distance, just over the ridge from the tent. Commotion knows no name here.

It does, however, know its name here, at school. But I am grateful for that. I love it here, regardless of how much I miss Montana. Plus, time away will only enhance the emotion of returning. I look forward to that day.



What Matters Most

I get so caught up in the competition sometimes. It is hard not to get discouraged by many things in today's world, including the art of photography. Everyone has a camera these days, and some people are really, really good with them. I remember vividly an afternoon in my favorite Red Lodge coffee shop, Honey's, I picked up a photo book about Yellowstone, created by an incredible photographer whose name has slipped my mind. The photos were beautiful, and so epic. Every one, too! I was in absolute awe as I flipped through page after page. The book was set up to follow the course of the seasons, similar to my favorite book of all time - The Outermost House. Everything was so spot on. The animals, the landscapes, even photos of snowflakes and wildflowers. I could not believe it. I was inspired for about ten minutes, until discouragement snuck its way into my head. It would not leave, and the book only got better with time. Not necessarily the combination you dream about... I eventually put the book down, finished my work and went back to my campsite.

The next couple of hours passed as I contemplated from my hammock what I could have done differently the week before. I had spent four unforgettable days with my camera beside me in Yellowstone, enjoying the experience in its entirety, but failing to create any real compelling images. I was down on myself, and my gear. Naturally, something had to change in that moment. I forget exactly what it was I said to myself, but it was probably along the lines of "Enough dude. Think about where you are!" 

Before I knew it, I was twenty miles up the pass, immersed into a herd of mountain goats, pinching myself just to be sure I had not fallen asleep in my hammock. The thoughts blew away with breeze and once again, I was reminded that the experiences are what got me here. Not the competition, not the "perfect" images or the best quality, but the subjects, the moments and the places they happen. Like this goat, missing a horn, but filled with character. And the backlight, so different and unique. Photographs only help us to relive the experience, and tell the story. This is the story of an evening that changed my life, and a not-so-perfect image to tell it with.





Look into the eyes of innocence. What do you see?


I see a memory, a moment, something unforgettable. I see stories, lots of them. Perhaps some like this, stood out from the rest. I see the whole state of Montana. I see the people that made this journey possible, the mountains and trees that kept me sane. Of course, I see a goat, and I can picture his mother not far behind. I can hear the camera shutter clicking, and imagine his reaction once again. I still remember the rock I sat upon, and how uncomfortable it was, just as I remember reassuring myself to stay still and be cool - it's just a goat man, it's just a goat. I can picture the look on my face, as I first glanced at the back of my camera. Tom's too, as I showed him the result of the encounter. Beyond the goat, I see my evening hikes in Yellowstone and Red Lodge, listening to the birds and the creeks rushing through camp. The marmots squeaking outside the tent, as I sat atop the Beartooths, braving the 40mph gusts of frigid wind. I can feel each breath of air I fought for up there, as I battled elevation and the thoughts in my own head. I can see the hikes out, and the drives down the pass each night. I can see the Flat again, as if I were still there. I can see the open road that never seemed to end, and how quickly everything changed once it did. In the end, I feel the drive to get back to you, Montana. 


As I sit on my summer porch in New York, I reflect. I will relive this journey through words, and photographs, and memories, until I experience it again, in all of its forms. 


Look into the eyes of innocence. What do you see? 

I see all of these places, the places I want to be.



I Missed You, This Time.

You were there, I looked for you. Through the woods, the bogs, the meadows. You never slipped my mind. An obsession. An addiction, to your presence, and your spirit. I missed you, this time. Come quickly, the opportunity to see you again. Until then, I wait.