Raw Are the Bones of My Earth

Wet, shivering, precariously climbing around granite pinnacles with a sheer 800 foot drop below, the wind howls and I call back to my partner that we have to keep moving, we need to beat this storm. But inside the questions gnaw at me, did we push it too far this time? Why are we even out here in the middle of nowhere? I swallow my fear and after a few more tense pitches we are at the summit, a tiny block of granite suspended in mid air. The clouds part and admit the sun, raking light across a breathtaking landscape below. My body is rent with exhaustion, but suddenly it was all worth it. My eyes fill and the emotion is overwhelming, like a religious awakening. I lift my camera and press the shutter.

For the last ten years, I committed to taking a plastic panoramic film camera on every backcountry trip I did. The camera is nearly weightless, suitable for ultralight travel. It has almost no settings and focuses by guess. Creating these images of my wilderness travels has often been an act of serendipity, much like the journeys themselves. Whether attempting remote western peaks, paddling backwaters in the Adirondacks, or climbing and hiking in the Hudson Valley closer to home, I wanted to evoke the raw pleasures and rewards of immersing myself in the rigors of nature. The panoramic frame takes in a wide view of the land, and yet my feelings in the moment stretch even further beyond that. For me, adventuring in nature isn’t about doing the biggest or hardest thing, but about finding my wild edge, wherever that may be.

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