In a very real sense, we are the stories we tell ourselves.  They create and impact the way we experience the world.  As we continue to outgrow our old lives, often through loss and tragedy, we need to immerse ourselves into larger, deeper and more compassionate contexts to deal with new and familiar surroundings we ourselves may be experiencing.

I can easily remember two such times in my life.  The first was one of untold learning and coping.  The gentle shell I had immersed myself in for years irreparably shattered the morning I found out my roommate died  To experience the array of emotions surrounding death is difficult enough.  To further shoulder the burden of an insensible loss of seeing an 18-year old pass at the cruel hands of fate is a forced growth I would subject no one to. 

Immersed in the joys of freedom of the time of living on my own and balancing the juggle of the financial burdens, college life and emotional repartee, as anyone would, I enjoyed my late teen years. I was attending full time courses and working a part time job, I remember that day as if it was yesterday.  A late night the previous evening had left me with very little sleep.  So when I quietly trod through the living room the next morning on the way to work and saw her door closed, I thought the logical.  That she was either sleeping or had met someone the night before.

Yet when the phone rang that afternoon at the dealership and I heard the labored breath on the other end, I knew my life was about to change forever.  Not only did I lose a friend that day; I lost a sense of normalcy that would evade me for years to come.

In times of crisis or grief, I have always had the odd habit of focusing on a situation that is ongoing in my life.  Even to the point of dwelling on the smallest of details.  And yet the situation has nothing to do with the circumstances of tragedy.  So too is the memory of when she passed.  If someone were to stop and ask me what I remember about the situation leading up to her death, I of course would mention the eerie conversation focusing on death just a few days prior, but I would also mention a project that I was immersed in for weeks after.

I can still remember the smell of Formaldehyde that rocked her hospital room.  The nurses must have known at the time that her circumstances were most dire, as they had not even set her broken leg.  Since we of course were not direct family, they were unwilling to tell us that she was already brain-dead by that point.  If I even smell something that smells the slightest bit of that chemical all these years later, it still causes me to get ill. 

Just like if I hear the song “Dock of the Bay” by Michael Bolten, my head will start swimming with memories.  Playing the constant repercussion over and over in my mind.  And yet, that sole song is the detail I chose to focus on.  Rather than that of the picture of her laying in front of me, I chose that song.

Thrown into a project when I returned from that week of personal leave proceeding her death, I had stringent deadlines approaching in my photo styling course.  Not at ease with the professor, I was very obviously one of his least favorite students.  As I was always leaving early to go to work.  So when the situation arose on the subject of missed assignments, I took the way out and immersed myself into the complexity of making a commercial.  Of course I chose the more advanced assignment.  I could forget about my life and focus on the details.  Something I do so well.

The Arizona sun was blazing down off of the Lake Shore subdivision off of Baseline Road.  I had chosen to build upon the subject of tanning lotion and was directing the schematics of the shoot.  It was quite simple really.  A girl would be sunbathing on the dock and the song would be crooning in the background.  She would look up and see a guy walking down the remainder of the dock and lather himself in suntan lotion.  She would pull her sunglasses down to view the vision and the image of the guy would disappear as he dove into the water.  His image would disappear, as would the bottle of suntan lotion.  That would be the que for the end of the song.  She would look down at her own lotion that lay just a few feet away, and notice that it was the same brand the vision had used.  An assignment that normally would be easy for me, but yet with circumstances I had trouble concentrating on.

So imagine my surprise when I chose yesterday to drive down to the docks and gaze out of the beauty of Cook Inlet.  I began to pen whatever came to mind.  As these words began to fill the page of the notebook before me, but what should come over the radio.

Imagine a small town of nearly 7,000 people milling around in an area less than a square mile and you will have an idea of the 2007 Heart Run that occurred on Saturday morning here in Anchorage.  Known as the first race of the season, it is an event that brings everyone out in force.  From the highly competitive runners, to the elementary school children, to the survivors that have fought and won against this devestating medical condition.  And for those like me, it was a chance to join in and get some much needed exercise.

It was the start to my Saturday morning and as I pulled into the parking garage over across the Providence Health Campus and began to walk the 1/2 mile to the starting line, I began to see the hordes of people milling around.  The closer I came, the more people I began to see.  So much so that it wasn’t until I reached the starting chute and made every effort to dodge the local news media (I’d rather be behind a camera, not in front of it - thank you very much) that I truly began to realize what lay ahead. 

The chute was long and narrow and I couldn’t for the life of me imagine how they were going to get all of these people through it.  After the competitive start, we began to line up for the non-competitive event that would begin some 1/2 hour later.  Finding my place directly behind the heart survivors, I spent the next bit of time being jostled and shoved while I could feel my legs begin to stiffen up from lack of activity.  Yet there was no place around me to really stretch given it was such a massive crowd.

Finally a little after 10:00 a.m. beneath party sunny skies, the air horn sounded triggering the start.  Given my shin splints had begun to give me problems only a few days prior, this was as non-competitive of an event for me as it could have been.  I spent the first 1/4 mile grimacing every time my feet hit the pavement.  Shortly after the 1 mile mark, my muscles began to loosen up enough to where I could begin to enjoy myself.  I turned up the volume on my MP3 player, waved at some familiar faces in the crowd and in the end finished well under the hour mark.  Despite the fact I wasn’t overly pleased with my finish time.  But what can one do?

And as the day progressed, I was reminded once again:

(a) I’m not much of a crowd person.
(b) I’m not much of a short distance runner/walker.  Give me long distance and give me endurance.  That is where I excel.

But in the end, it was also a reminder of the fight that continues to exist and the war that needs to be waged against Alaska’s number one killer.  The fight against heart disease.

Bull Moose
Girdwood, Alaska

A few nights ago I decided to take advantage of the beautiful spring day and take a jaunt down to one of the nature preserves that in reality is not too far from my house.  It is a place that has always been not only pleasing on the eye but also one that will truly throw you into the wilds of Alaska.  As I drove down the hillside towards the trail head, my eyes were swept up to the sides of the valley.  Surrounded on all three sides by a stunning array of mountain peaks, you feel like you are being transported into the middle of nowhere where only you and the wildlife exist. The valley floor was a havened mist of remaining occasional patches of white snow flouring it, and papering it between the pine woods.  A certain furious river runs curving down the valley, its pace never varies, as it has not been a pool for as far as you can follow it.

What glimpse this valley chooses to give you on any given day is ever changing.  This day the day broke with the rarest gold upon the mountain spires, and creeps, glowing and glowing down into the valley.  From end to end the snow reverberated the sunshine; from one end the air tingled with the light, clear and dry like crystal.  It was hard to fancy a more engaging feature in a landscape.

One thing that has always caught my attention this particular day was the intricacy of the patterns that wove their way through this scape.  From the papered birch trees with the bark peeling back to show the new layer underneath, to those of the lush green vines that hibernate beneath the waters edge but have begun to make their appearance. Awaiting the air to strike them so that they may burst forth with the climax of summer.

Their bounty is one I hold dear and their promise of seasonal change is something I continually yearn for.  That of spring and the journey into summer.

Nature works in the smallest of ways, and indeed today has been a reminder of that. While most areas of the country are besieged with their last remaining remnants of snow, we here in the north are winding our way into the promise of the spring season and and hints of leaves bursting forth and the flowers being in full bloom within the coming months. It is hard for me to believe that we are nearing the birth of the month of May, just a week off. I am left thinking of course the standard Alaska fare of aren’t those leaves budded yet?

It is hitting especially a little too close to home this day knowing that other than that day trip to Denali on Sunday, I haven’t explored or taken advantage of any road trips as I should. My camera has become rather quiet by my side the past few weeks. Waiting for me to whisk it away to capture yet again the scenic panoramas around me. Rather I have found myself sticking fairly close to home and getting to know the city once more.  Scouring the trails through a series of evening walks that not only seems to add miles to my pedometer but continues to intensify my love of the outdoors.  Though I admit my calves were not screaming much love at me last night after my feet did the walking to the tune of 10 miles.

Afterwards, I can imagine I looked quite the fool while sitting at my desk that was covered in clippings from the eraser carving I had set my sites on. It reminded me of the messier is better attitude of certain hobbies. My brow furrowed in concentration, with each stroke of my lino cutter I would grin maniacally from the memories of early childhood. From the masterpiece drawing I created from melted crayola crayons, or the finger paintings when I usually ended up covered in more paint than the canvas did. Every nook and cranny, every piece of hair literally covered.

Last night was indeed the reminder that I have been away from the essence of creativity just a little too long. I don’t have much this morning to show from my journey into eraser carving except the lesson that my original design was a little too detailed for a beginner. But alas I shall put my nose to the grindstone once more and see what I can come up with.

So with gazes of pussywillows filling my eyes and eraser still clinging to my hair, I am left with a wide smile this morning knowing life is good and that perhaps a fieldtrip tomorrow shall set the tone for the day.  That and the fact that tonight I shall indulge in a hike with a friend over the grounds of the Turnagain Arm makes life that much brighter.

Is this a moose hoof print or a crab claw?  Needless to say, the BIG.WILD.LIFE logo choices have been released.

Not what I would have expected.  But make sure your voice is heard and go vote!

We live in a land of free thought forms and processed mind clutter. And in some cases it’s not always a safe thing, especially on those days you can see wind blowing through the air. That free floating, weightless, non-cluttered enigma often known by the name as Mr. Simpleton. Now Mr. Simpleton doesn’t always make his visits known. Usually they are the independent order of when one is lack and verbose, simply suffering from exhaustion or the infamous and impending doom of mental fog.

And then there’s those others. The type where you look into their eyes and see vacant expression. Like that of a permanent vacancy sign hanging out in welcome. We see these individuals and are often left wondering, “Am I ever like that?” Those that give us and make us pay homage to the grains of knowledge that will one way or another infest themselves into our brain. But Mr. Simpleton missed class that day!

I’ve lived in a world full of Mr. Simpletons today. Experiences crazed and flippant. In the day known as Mr. Simpleton, I feel like the perpetual version of Where’s Waldo.

The concept of time has always been an interesting one to me and I often realize how truly dependent we are on it.  Just like we watch the seconds passing into minutes and hours, we even track those days passing into weeks.  After all, how often does Friday roll around and we raise our fists as if to pump the air in excitment? 

Much like when I come in to work every day I find myself caught up in the litany of the passage of time.  I have always been one that runs pretty much by the books when it comes to schedules. I come into work and grab my bottle of water from the fridge and sit down to read e-mail.  While my outlook is booting up I pull my desk calendar towards me and note what day it is and glance my fill over that particular days calendar entry.  Sometimes laughing in amusment because much like my life I find that my desk calendar is filled with common anecdotes, trivia and quips.

This morning I realized that there seemed to be a particular day for everything.  Do you ever notice we tend to celebrate any and all given subjects and identities?  It is like we look for a reson to celebrate.  For instance, did you know last week was National Bird Day?  Just as I am told that there is a National Raven Week.

I have no idea who comes up with these designations and, in fact, I suspect that many of them are somehow designed to be self-serving. I know they are to me - especially with me on the subject of ravens.  After all, when there exists a story telling time about the antics of ravens, I will typically be one of the first waiting in line.

Now my dear friends, do we see where this particular entry is going?

You were brought up more respectably than I was if you have not heard anyone referred to as a “birdbrain.” My American Heritage Dictionary, for example, defines birdbrain as “a person regarded as silly or stupid.” Birds have never been cast to be one of an overly smart animal. Indeed, it seems befitting that most would cast them as “bird brains”. But who in this case would admit the birdbrain was in fact, me?!

I have always had an affinity for birds, especially that of Ravens. Often times, if I ever found myself sullen and withdrawn and wanted a good laugh, I found the easiest way was to watch the antics of these miraculous birds. About five years ago, some friends and I decided to journey to the shores of the Olympic Peninsula for a fourth of July celebration. We spent a week in a mountain lodge. It was a week almost exclusively devoted to cooking, eating and good times.

When I wanted some alone time and didn’t feel like being caught up in the crowds, I quickly found my own solace — by wandering out on my own to look for animals.  Most of those hikes provided me with pleasant experiences in territory largely new to me. But I was particularly interested in seeking out Cougars in any size, shape, or form. For we don’tt have cougars up in Alaska, and I have always found them to be majestic animals. And darnit, I wanted to see one in person. No matter what danger it held.

I was then told the best place to find these were in the mountain passes of the Olympic Peninsula. Determined, I set off to find one.I parked at a pass and hiked up a steep trail. There were no trees and the views in the early morning sunlight were spectacular. But I spent most of my time focusing binoculars looking for any sign of the illustrious Cougar.

Suddenly I was startled by the hoarse cruck of a raven. I turned and there he was, almost within reach. He was easily distinguished from his crow cousins by his call, his larger size and his even more outsized bill. How remarkable, I remember thinking. At a time in my life when I had only seen ravens at a distance, there was this big bird strutting among the rocks a dozen feet away. I watched him for several minutes. All that time he circled around me maintaining that same minimum distance. What in the world was he doing?

After enjoying several minutes of this odd two-step I climbed on up the trail to continue my fruitless search for those Cougar. Not only did I have no luck, but I found as I turned back toward the car that I had lost my glasses.I searched everywhere for them and I even went back to the lodge, gathered my friends and returned to have them help me scour that hillside. No luck. Finally I realized where those glasses went.

Somewhere high in those mountains remains a raven’s nest adorned with a pair of glasses. I wonder if those glasses improved his vision any more than they improved my apparent lack of sensibility?

Bird brain, indeed.

Mt. McKinley
Denali National Park, Alaska

We are on a countdown to perhaps one of my largest photography dreams to date.  That of sharing Katmai with its wild inhabitants.  Those of the Ursus Arctos.  One whose image can convey both fright and amazement at their sheer will and power.

To say that this trip is especially meaningful to me would be something that is being said lightly.  After all, it is happening exactly on my birthday this year.  I find it extremely ironic that it was the only day available when it came to scheduling.  Coincidence?  I think not.

And in that time since the initial reservations have been made, I have been penny pitching for a dream lens specifically for this trip.  That of a 500mm telephoto lens.  I happened to be doing my weekly pricing search yesterday when I found in horror that this lens is now sold out in virtually every online store that normally has it available. 

Only six weeks before I leave. Oh Sigma, what art thou doing to me?  Do not let me down. You have six weeks to get that lens back in stock.

All I want for Christmas my birthday is my two front teeth Sigma 500mm lens.  I’m certainly not above groveling if so needed.