scottfoto@gmail.com – Page 5 – D. Scott Clark Photography

Cuba Part II

I woke up the next day, and hoped to find a nearby bank to exchange money. The closest bank had a long cue that I waited in for thirty or forty minutes without any real idea of what was going on. It didn’t seem to be moving. I walked the forty or so minutes to Michel’s house in Central Havana hoping to find another bank on the way. I reached Michel’s having not found a bank almost an hour late for our meeting time. We walked to Habana Vieja and found a bank with a shorter cue. Of course the rate was quite a bit lower than I was expecting, but there were no other options I knew of.

As we left Habana Central, we entered “Chinatown” marked with a pagoda arching over the street. “There aren’t any Chinese in Chinatown,” declared Michel. He stopped and told me, “The police don’t like seeing Cubans from Central with Tourists, they don’t want you to know the real Havana. Walk with some space between us. I could get in trouble with the police if they think we’re together.”

Michel led me through the touristy areas of Vieja where the fancy hotels, nice restaurants, and street performers, which I did not find very interesting. He saw I was bored and not taking any photos, so he took me back towards Habana Central, stopping at a few markets along the way. I finally saw where the locals find there produce.

Yelling into the second story of a typical central Havana building, the door opened in front of Michel. I walked through the small door finding a staircase immediately behind the door and no person that opened it. A small string ran down the wall of the stairs and attached to the lock on the door, which someone could pull from the top of the stairs.

The stairs led to a courtyard in disarray of construction never finished, but behind the door to the left a large woman greeted us. Giving Michel the customary kiss on the cheek, she invited us in. A pretty black girl was busy making cupcakes in one side of the room, and the large woman returned to putting icing on a cake. Michel explained that they were his aunt and cousin.

The aunt kept pressing sweets into my hands, a cupcake, a tart, custard… I’m probably forgetting some. It’s definitely understandable how she got to be in her current state. It was all delicious.

Yesabel, the cousin, told me that she was a musician, she plays the bongos. When I said that I played guitar, she looked excited and disappeared into a back room. Returning, she thrust an old classical style guitar into my hands. With one strum it was painfully apparent the guitar needed new strings and a tune. I sat down on the couch and pulled up my tuning app on my phone. Yesabel looked amazed. As I tuned, she disappeared into the back room again. She brought out her smart phone, opened an app and thrust it at me. I looked at Michel confused. “She wants you to transfer the app to her.” “No entiendo? I don’t know how.” Apparently there is an app in Cuba that allows people to transfer apps via Bluetooth. I did not have this app so I could not help her.

“I’m done here,” said Michel after a while, “are you ready to go?” With kisses on everyone’s cheeks, we make our way back to the street. I couldn’t really imagine trying to balance a cake while going down that steep staircase. I take a few more photos on my the street, then we’re back to Michel’s house.

Michel is very proud that he has Univision and Telemundo on his TV, two illegal stations that he buys on the way black market. “The Cuban station is just boring talk all day long. No novella, no international news.”

He lives in a simple apartment on the second floor. The door opens to a small living room with a balcony, a couch, two chairs and a TV take up most of the space. A small kitchen has enough room for the a couple burner stove, the sink and a bed opposite. Passing through the kitchen you get to the toilet, opposite to the bedroom. Michael’s wife is a tired looking short and fat woman who didn’t seem to have much to say. A transvestite named Havier lives with them, but I was unclear of their connection. Havier was very nice, all smiles while she cooked for us.

The Internet was generally accessed In WiFi Hotspots near public parks. You buy a scratch off card that gives you an hour of connection. Michel said the cards cost $3, but there were black market Hotspots for $2 in his barrio. Before dinner, all of us go to one of these, which was a dark street filled with glowing faces looking at screens. Michel handed my phone to a young man with a girl sitting on his lap. He purposefully closed all my running apps, which apparently all Cubans have a penchant for doing. (Android states that it takes less processing power to keep them all open, hence why they took away the option to Close All Apps. Every Cuban that held my phone, to use the translate app, went through and closed all my apps, repeatedly). The connection was very weak, but I was able to get some emails and chat briefly with my girlfriend who was happy to hear I was still alive.

Dinner consisted of rice, pork, tomatoes, and a small sweet banana; simple but delicious. After, Michel led me back to Avenida Simon Bolivar and instructed me to get on the first bus that came.

The passengers in the front of the bus helped me to get off at Calle Zapata. The walk home in the dark was a nice stroll, but the heat of the day still was not done. I was quite sweaty when I got back to my room. I slept with a fan blowing on me all night, covered by a light, silky sheet. As soon as the fan hit, I was at the right temperature.

My only plan for the day was to meet Rodney and more of his friends for photos, hopefully equally tattooed and in a different location. We were supposed to meet at 1, so I decided to go in a new direction for the morning. I wanted to check on the bus for Viñales and the station was south.

I stopped at a cafeteria for breakfast and asked the pretty black server what they had for desayuno. She rambled off a bunch of things I didn’t understand, so I said, “el primero”. “Pan y queso?” she clarified. “si.”

A foot long piece of bread overflowing with pre-sliced cheese came out. Eh, good enough. I had tried to order “jugo fresca,” fresh juice, but an apple juice box came out with the bread. When the server handed me the bill, it said, “Pan y queso: $4, jugo de manzana: $2. En Total: $6.” $6! For bread and cheese! Bread should be at most $.50 and cheese, the same. The juice boxes are $.80. At the very most the total should be $2. I was upset. I argued with the pretty black girl for a while. I have no idea what she said. “This is my most expensive meal so far in Cuba. For Bread and cheese!!” I said. She tried to bargain with me, “cinco dòlares.” I eventually gave up, I’m in another country and I have no clue what the person I’m arguing against is saying.

After I gave her 5 cuc, she asked, “Que pais?” (what country?)
“estados unidos”
“ooh! Que parte?” (what part?)
“Colorado”
“Tienes novia?” (do you have a girlfriend?)
“si”
“Es ella aqui?” (is she here?)
“uhh, no?”
“(some things I couldn’t understand while smiling flirtatiously)”
“yo voy ahora por Via Azul, much gracia” (I go now for the bus, thank you very much)

…. This girl, over charged me, argued with me, then basically came on to me. A very confusing ordeal.

Taxi drivers intercept me at the bus station. “Viñales?” they asked? I bypassed a younger, more aggressive driver and came to a jolly older man. “Viñales por $20?” He made the case that he would come to pick me up at my house, which makes up for the difference in price from the bus. I agreed, and he said he’d come at 9am.

Rodney’s house looked pretty lifeless. I knocked on the back door and found him mopping his tattoo studio. He said his friends came the day before, not today. He said if I returned at 5pm, maybe they would be around. I told him I would possibly be back,but knowing I didn’t want to backtrack that far. I had plans with Michel for dinner.

I typically take street portraits with only my small flash and a 12 inch pop up reflector, but since I was expecting to shoot with Rodney’s friends I brought my much more powerful bare bulb flash and 18 inch beauty dish. I decided if I was going to get portraits that I really wanted I might as well break out the big gun. It was better than just carrying it as dead weight.

I walked a new way into Habana Central and came across a school just as it let out. The students responded with differing levels of interest. Right as the kids started to dissipate, older teen boys and 20 somethings appeared carrying baseball equipment. They were playing a pickup game in the courtyard. It was beautiful and incredibly interesting to watch. A young boy, Daniel, took it upon himself to be my assistant and carried my light for me all around the field. I almost took several balls and one flying bat to my head, but I wanted to get the photos. Definitely one of those magical moments in travel that doesn’t happen unless you put yourself out there, one of the benefits of traveling alone.

After the sun had gone down and the game got more aggressive with lots of yelling, I continued on towards Michel’s house. I still had over an hour till I was supposed to meet him, so I made my way into Vieja to try and use the fancy hotels’ Internet. After catching up with my girlfriend and some emails, I walked back into Central. “Eh Cot! Eh Cot!” I heard yelling from across Avenida De Simón Bolivar. Michel was waving to me from the opposite crowded side walk. He was coming from having a drink with a friend. (It just struck me that it must have been at his residence because all the bars were still closed in respect for Fidel’s death).

A family friend and her 20 something daughter were visiting with Michel’s wife when we came in. Michel showed them my photos of the baseball game, which was at the school he grew up in. The friend exclaimed, “Esa es mi hijo!” (that’s my son!) in one of the photos. They inspected all of them to try to see more.

Havier and Michel made basically the same meal as the night before, but definitely still delicious. Havier and Michel’s wife left to get Internet, and Michel and I talked for a bit more. He walked me to Avenida de Simón Bolivar and put me in a shared taxi. I hugged him goodbye and wished him luck. I’m pretty sure he was skimming money off of most my my transactions, but he gave me an experience I was glad to have, very different than the typical Havana you’ll see as a tourist. I’ll let him have that.

I was feeling very fat in Havana despite all the walking I was doing, so I bought a tub of chocolate ice cream to really seal my obesity.

>>>>>>Continue Reading Part III!

Cuba Part III

The taxi came right at 9, I was quite surprised by its timeliness. A classic maroon 4×4 that spewed black exhaust every time it accelerated, the model I couldn’t figure out. I was directed to sit in the rear, on a small bench facing the opposite side. I was in with the luggage, just like it always was on family vacations when I was a kid. Five other foreigners joined us, filling the luggage compartment. A young lawyer from Switzerland and Portugal joined me in the back, separated from the rest by the wall of luggage. We struggled to find a comfortable way to sit on the tiny seats.

In general, most travelers you meet in places like this are agreeable, easy to get along with. But every once in awhile I come across a westerner that conflicts with something inside my inner being, I despise their presence before they even open their mouths. I met such a man in the collectivo. The 4×4 taxi sat parked in the narrow street of Chinatown for 30 minutes waiting for the skinny, hunched, no neck man in his late 30s with shifty eyes partially obscured by aviator sunglasses. I feel like it’s rare to come across a face more in want of being punched. I’m not a violent man, but my fists clenched unintentionally when his image was burned into my brain. Then he opened his mouth, every word spoken with an angry self-importance which just intensified my desire to hit him. I don’t know what causes such a animalistic response to someone’s mere presence. I wish I did.

Cuba seems to be mostly flat farmland, but towards the end of the two and half hour journey we left the highway and got on a narrow, winding mountain road, mountains that are very reminiscent of Thailand, Laos and China.

Viñales is a small, colorful town where every house seems to have a room for rent. Lots of tourists come here to explore the coffee plantations and take horseback rides. Everyone seems to be surprised I’m staying for eight days. Most are here for only a day or two.

The driver dropped me off in the central park. I asked a local if they could call my AirBnB host, when soon enough a man comes by asking if I’m Scott. We walked further than I would have liked from the main strip into a quiet neighborhood and are greeted by a lovely, girl-next-door sort of brunette white young woman. Marisex (Marisay?) is the owner of the Casa Particular, and is expanding. Her mother is the cook and her boyfriend, a lawyer, seems to run all her errands.

I settled into my small but nice room and ask for a suggestion for lunch. The boyfriend led me to a restaurant filled with tour bus patrons, but with an awesome view of the mountains and limestone cliffs. The menu didn’t have any prices, so I asked. $10 for any item which included the “buffet style appetizers”. I don’t know what they meant by buffet style, but they just kept dropping off more and more food on my table. There was no way one person could eat even close to all of that.

I’d been communicating with Raul via Facebook before my trip, and he found me at my table. He announced he was taking some friends climbing and described how to find them at the cliff. After I finished what I could of the meal, I changed and went looking for Raul.

The road gets progressively worse as you walk further from town, and digresses to a dirt path. I reached a metal gate with the sign, “la cueva de la Vaca,” (the cave of the cow), and followed the arrow to a group of small houses. The path continues through the patio of one small hut, which offers fruit and drinks to the hikers and climbers who pass through. From there you can see the cave where Raul told me to meet him. There are a hundred broken concrete steps that lead straight up the mountain to the entrance of the cave.

George and Imarta were preparing to climb a 5.10c. It was their last day in Viñales, and they were trying to make the most of their five days here. The next morning they were returning to Havana where they are professional dancers. George let me climb the route with the condition that I cleaned it.

After I cleaned the route George asked if I wanted to do one more. He pointed out a line of bolts that skirted the entrance to the cave I later realized passed all the way through the mountain. I jumped on, unsure of the grade, but it looked easy enough. I clipped the first two bolts with no problem. As I reached toward an undercling I felt a sharp pain in my right arm. I looked to see a swarm of wasps coming out of the undercling. Another stung my arm as I swatted them away and simultaneously moved up the rock to the left, away from the bolt line. The wasps gave up as I moved a satisfactory distance from their nest. I had officially met the Avispo de Viñales. I finished the route, moving around their nest to the left and extending a draw from the route to the left. I think I missed the crux because the route I did didn’t seem to have a crux besides the wasps.

Raul, Henry, and Tito were trying a hard route with an extension out the roof of the cave, which they thought was 5.13. I watched them climb the first part before the extension and thought it looked fun. Raul told me it went at 5.12b. The draws were already up, so I might as well try it. Raul shouted Beta as he belayed me, not expecting me to get far since I told him I generally climb 6c/6c+ (5.11c/d). The route was powerful and gymnastic, just my style, and with Raul’s beta I ended up flashing the route which went through a series of toufas and stalagtites! I hadn’t sent 12b before, so that is very exciting!

Raul cleaned the route on top rope, flying up with no problems. It was getting a bit dark, but he recommended I try a 6c+ before I left for the night. I got into the crux and fell several times in a row, getting my right hand stuck in the sharp pocket. The light was low and Raul recommended I try again later. He finished the route easily and cleaned it.

I was still full from the massive lunch, so I skipped dinner and took a short nap before going back to the parque central to meet all the climbers at 10pm. I was finally a bit hungry and went to grab a sandwich for dinner.

Three fat, older Israeli men (who easily could have been mistaken for cubano) sauntered down the street and into the small restaurant. “I want a cola,” said one. “I want orange juice. Oraannge Juice,” said another to the server who looked lost. “orange juice. Orange Juice!!” he said again. I spoke up. “Jugo de Naranja.” The server understood and left. “Why doesn’t anyone here speak English,” said one of the men in a heavy Israeli accent. I laughed. “You’re in Cuba!” I thought to myself. I chatted with the men from my table, and they continuously conferred amongst themselves for the correct translation in English. They barely spoke English; I laughed more to myself.

I stayed in the plaza with Raul and the other climbers, as they were wishing the prohibition of Fidel would be lifted. Finally I said my goodbyes just before midnight.

The breakfast Marisé made for me was far too much for one person to eat: an omelet; 3 pancakes (the flat, dense, sweet kind, more similar to a crepe, that most places outside of the US make); a plate full of sweet bananas, pineapple, and papaya (which for some reason is always terribly disagreeable to me, the smell and taste are nauseating); bread with butter and chunks of ham and cheese; and some sort of pie, maybe coconut, with flan?? I think. I made a dent and definitely didn’t eat lunch.

Raul greeted me in the street outside of a casa particular where he was waiting for two guys he was guiding for climbing. I was joining and helping put up easy routes for the two. Andrew from Seattle and Johannes from Austria had both climbed a little before. Raul took us to another area, further south than the Cueva de la Vaca, a narrow slot between two tall cliffs, maybe 15 feet apart. We climbed three 5.8s for the two, and I tried an 5.11c. I fell at the powerful crux, not seeing a jug on the top of a toufa nor the feet in the low light of the cave. Raul put up and Andrew attempted a 5.10c. For me this climb was pure type 1 fun. Big moves through a long overhang on amazing holds. I kept shouting, “wow! The perfect hold!”

After collecting the gear from his clients, Raul wanted to go to the cave and climb with his friends, but when we got close, all of them were on their way out. It was maybe 3:30 and just getting to the right time for climbing in the cave, but at 4pm the prohibition ended and everyone wanted to drink.

We climbed onto the roof of Henry’s bare bones house still under construction while Raul went to find rum. Raul’s best friend, Fidel, described for me how close knit their friend-group is. I’m always jealous when I find friends like this because it’s something I’ve never really had, being the social butterfly jumping between too many friend-groups. (Also, how Cuban – Raul and Fidel).

By 4:30 I was drunk on Havana Club (I quite like their spiced rum). I understood very little of what was actually said between friends, but they were hilarious and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I was thankful that such a tight knit group allowed a stranger into their circle.

We separated to get food and then met at 10 in the plaza, like every night. More rum flowed and kept finding a full glass in my hands. Thankfully, I remembered to drink water before I passed out, and I woke up with no hangover.

Marisé had set up a touristy horse ride for me, and a man with a bicycle walked me to a tobacco plantation where the tour began. A man with character and decent English pulled a group of foreigners into a barn and described how tobacco plants are selected and grown, and why Cuba makes the best tobacco. He then showed us how they roll the cigars and gave us each one to smoke. For the best cigars they take out the stem of the leaf which apparently contains the nicotine, so the cigars had a very neutral odor and flavor, far less harsh than anything I’ve smoked. They used honey as the glue to keep the cigar together, and dip the mouth end in honey, so you get a sweet flavor through the smoke.

The horse I got really liked to trot, the bounciest thing to ride. Walking is somewhat smooth, and when a horse breaks into a canter or gallop it’s easy for your body to move with the horse’s. Trotting jars your body with every step, but I finally figured out why English Style makes sense, standing in the stirrups and sitting in the saddle in a rhythm that matches the trotting, making it a far less jarring experience. It would have been easier if I didn’t have a backpack full of photo gear bouncing with every step.

My guide took me solo along the established tourist route, stopping at a coffee plantation and a beautiful vista. I tried to take portraits of as many of the farmers that caught my eye, but I had yet to capture a portrait I really loved.

I know my Canon system inside and out, but I brought my Sony camera and Flashpoint strobes. With my Canon I can set my camera to aperture priority ⅔ stops underexposed and set the off camera flash to plus ⅓ automatic exposure, and the mix of overall exposure and added light is beautiful and just a bit past natural looking. Most viewers wouldn’t notice that it’s artificially lit. The results on the Sony and Flashpoint with the same settings are completely unpredictable, but the strobe is typically the key element of the exposure, making the appear very artificial. I can find the right mixture with manual, but it takes experimentation and time that my subjects don’t always give me.

I had worn shorts, which was a mistake, my legs rubbing on the leather saddle. My butt was also quite sore by the end of the 4 hour tour.

I found Raul guide two girls from Bulgaria in another area of the climbing. The girls were beginners and already tired by the time I arrived. Raul was going to set up a rope swing in the cave and invited me to come. We climbed the steps to the cave and Henry and Fidel were waiting for us. Raul climbed a long, severely overhung 7b+ twice to prepare rope, once leading and again to clean. The other end of the rope is walked/climbed to a comfortable stance between a stalactite and the wall. The swing takes you far out into space beyond the cave and pendulums you back toward the rock. It was definitely a freeing feeling.

A house I passed everyday walking to the climbing at Cueva de la Vaca

The two girls invite us to join them and several more friends from Bulgaria for a family style dinner at the cafeteria next to the climbing area. I arrived after dark and Raul, an older farmer that runs the farm, was waiting expectantly. No one else was there yet and he had prepared an impressive table of food. He asked where the others were, but I had no idea. I had had no contact with them. We waited till 8:30 and Pablo got increasingly more anxious. Finally they showed up, the two girls and two couples. We had quite interesting discussions on politics, traditions, families, relationships, and the state of North Korea.

The food was served family style with plantain and banana chips as starters. We had some sort of meaty, salty blackened fish, and goat with the bones just chopped into it making it hard to eat with any real style. There were green beans, a pear/potato like fruit called choyote with a nice subtle flavor and a similar starch called chuma/Yuma? Both were quite nice.

I was just glad not to be eating another meal alone. I expressed thanks that six Bulgarians were speaking English so one American could be a part of the conversation. They said something to the effect of, “we can barely understand each other in Bulgarian, so why not English?”

I met Fidel and Raul in the plaza and went into the bar next door with a live band playing pretty amazing regatone and salsa.

I woke up late and rushed to meet Raul in the plaza. He was helping me find subjects to shoot and working as my assistant. We went back to old Raul’s farm and took portraits of several of the workers and an older woman in a house a bit further away. After, Raulito found some La Sportiva Solutions that were the perfect fit so I didn’t have to walk all the way back to my casa, and we went up to the cave.

I climbed an overhanging 11a, scaring up wasps every several feet. I did not want to get stung again and tried to stay at a safe distance from them, the crux of the send. Raul cleaned the route, stopping to swing his chalk bag at the wasps, destroying the nests and scaring away the wasps he didn’t kill. He came down upset, two wasps had stung him.

After I jumped on the severely overhanging 12b(7b) that Raul had climbed to set up the rope swing. The first part was maybe 11b, and you skip some anchors, back clean a couple bolts while moving between stalactites in the roof and get a no – hands rest, straddling a stalactite, before attacking 20 feet or so of 35 – 40 degree roof. I fell making the last move, a mono for your right hand, an undercling for the left. I moved my feet up, and my finger in the mono was stuck and quite painful. After taking and changing the finger in the mono, I made the throw to the last jug before clipping the anchors.\

I was absolutely wiped after. Raul cleaned again, stopping to swat some more wasps and getting a couple more stings.

While we were shooting, my legs suddenly became very itchy. Raul said maybe it was ticks, which I thought he was misinterpreting chiggers. When I got back to my room I used the flashlight on my phone and started seeing barely visible objects moving on my legs. Looking closer, they were in fact tiny tiny ticks looking to bury their tiny tiny heads in my skin. I pulled off probably close to 50. I must have crouched in a nest in a field while I was shooting. I’m hoping they are all gone.

I received several emails in a row about job requests, all for the week I was supposed to get back in Boulder. I’m thinking of cutting my trip short and buying a new ticket home Sunday night, skipping 2 days in Cuba and a day in Miami. I would have to forfeit my original ticket, but it could be worth it.

I found a last minute ticket on Delta for $180 from Havana to Denver on Sunday, which simplified my return by quite a bit. I was going to have to get to Santa Cruz from Havana, then I had a 24hr layover in Miami before finally returning to Denver on Tuesday. I bought my original tickets from Miami round trip for $205, then used Southwest points to get to Miami. But it ended up being a pretty big hassle since Southwest flies into Ft Lauderdale and I flew out of Miami. On the way in, I ended up having to pay for a hotel room in Miami which pretty much negated any savings I made by this schedule. So, by just missing my original return flight (net loss $102.50) I didn’t have to take a taxi to Santa Cruz ($25), find two more Casa Particulars ($40), pay for a hotel in Miami ($80) and Uber to Ft Lauderdale ($45). I guess I saved $90….oh and I got my Southwest points back to use again later.

I was planning on going to the beach with Raul today. I woke up early to try and rent a scooter, but I could not find one available in all of Viñales. So, I thought I could quickly buy an Internet card. I stood in line behind maybe 5 people waiting for the telecommunications company to open its doors. I was in line for over an hour. It’s amazing how slow some people can move. An Israeli man came in line after me and we talked for a bit, the usual things travellers talk about. But then I realized that they might ask for my passport, which I don’t carry. The Israeli man asked if they would take Euros. He told me they will definitely want my passport and I told him they definitely won’t take euros. So we ended up combining forces. He provided identification and I paid for his card as well as mine. He then paid me back in US dollars.

My climbing pack had been quite badly ripped for some time, I had performed ill-advised surgery on it, causing it to rip even more. I walked past a warehouse full of women wearing matching candystriper uniforms working away behind ancient looking industrial sewing machines. Raul had mentioned that one of them women might be able to fix my bag. I ask the man who appeared to be in charge, and he disappears with it into a back room, motioning one of the women to follow him. After 20 minutes or so, the woman comes back out with my bag looking better than it had in years! I ask how much. “No es nada,” she said with a smile. It’s nothing. I insist, but she insisted harder.

I ran into an American climbing guide who had come to check out La Cueva de la Vaca the day before. He had come solo and was looking for someone to climb with, which was perfect. I had neither rope nor draws, and since I wasn’t going to the beach I might as well climb.

I took Pete to the other side of the cave which has morning shade. It was definitely cooler than climbing in the sun, but not by much. The air was perfectly still and the humidity swallowed us. We climbed a 6a, 6a+, 6b, 7a+ (5.12a, but definitely easier than a lot of 11s I’ve climbed). By the time we finished these it was 2:30, perfect time for the sun to be leaving La Cueva de la Vaca. Pete put up the draws on the 7a/7a+ that I’d failed to finish a few days before, struggling at the crux but sending. I led again and felt much better going into the crux, but a foot slipped and I fell. When I tried the move again, right hand in a painful undercling, left hand on a bad pinch, feet awkward, I was able to get my left foot high and reach static with my left hand to the good pocket. Pete said it looked far too easy. He convinced me to leave the draws and try again. He then onsighted Wasp Factory (7b, but more realistically 7a). I tried the 7a+ again, failing again to go static to the pocket. Once again trying the move I was able to go static. I was pretty tired after and told Pete I would belay him, but I was done. He tried La Playa (7b+) at my recommendation, but futzed around on several parts, tiring himself out before he reached the crux, at the top of severe overhang making several hard moves separated by short rests on stalactites. Because it is so overhung it’s pretty much impossible to clean while on lead, so I volunteered to try to follow it. I ended up feeling quite good, floating up the 6c+ first section and through the 7a+ section before the severe overhang. One of the cruxes felt pretty strange, and I don’t remember how I pulled through on my onsight attempt, but the last crux went much better. From a rest on a small stalactite, my right hand was on an undercling of another small stalactite, my left foot pasted on the side of the resting stalactite and my right toe hooked behind it. My left hand went a little far left to a pretty good undercling. With the right toe hook, I could move my right hand to a mono I took with my pointer finger. I bumped my left hand far left to a small but positive flake. Moving my right foot to the smaller stalactite, I set myself up for the dyno to the finish hold, a thin but positive triangle flake. Pete was thankful he didn’t have to climb it again, mentally preparing for the possibility if I was too tired.
We made plans to climb the next day and separated to find dinner. I was going to go back to the plaza after a shower, but… sleep.

I ate breakfast at the casa and walked to meet Pete and two Germans in the plaza. We were taking a taxi to a climbing area a few kilometers north, Cuba Libre, above a cabaret club built into a cave.

The taxi driver promised to come back at 6 to pick us up, and we found our way through the jungle to the steep approach trail, 5.2 scramble up loose rock. Pete had downloaded the guide book on his phone and went to work locating the climbs. We warmed up on the easiest climb that wasn’t in sun, a 6c that was very difficult to spot the bolts from the ground. It was incredibly weird, awkward movement to get through, around, and over several stalactite features. Not my favorite. Pete lead and it was overhanging enough that I needed to follow to clean.

We jumped straight onto a 7b/7b+ we thought was called Moscow Mule, but wound up being a new climb not in the guidebook. It was proper hard and realistically 12a, but very good. Steep climbing out several stalactites brought you to the crux, a bit of an awkward stance on mediocre holds and a deadpoint/dyno cross with the left hand to a progressively better hold the higher up right you go. With 2 inch advantage on me, Pete was able to get it a bit easier. But after you’ve expended your energy on the dyno, the struggle isn’t over. Several big moves left, then right, then left, then right lead you to another crux, a throw to a die shaped hold and cross with the right to a better hold, this being your first rest since before the first crux. To gain the ledge both Pete and I took an extremely painful hand jam with the right and carefully move across a slab to the anchor. We both took at both cruxes the first go. Pete sent his second go and I cleaned, taking again at the first crux.

Pete climbed the route to the right, which was apparently actually Moscow Mule, but he felt the 7b rating was quite the exaggeration, 6b+/11c was more accurate. I elected to spend my limited remaining energy on the 7a+ on the arrete to the right. I got my hands mixed up in the crux and took a big whip out into space. I was able to get back to the wall by a combination of boinking and swinging, which for some reason is becoming more and more worrisome in my head. My trust in ropes and equipment is for some reason diminishing, and I can’t figure out what is going on with my head. I took another short fall at the top when another German told me the holds were left but meant right. I had found a mono crimp inside a scooped sloper and was pulling up, only to find more slopers. I had ignored a large tufa to the right that had several good holds that you couldn’t see from below. Pete climbed and fell at the top in the slopers, and I climbed again to clean, absolutely destroyed and taking my way up after the first crux. I felt my climbing trip coming to an end, my body was tired.

Pete wanted to climb a 5 star 6c in the next alcove, which required down climbing and re-approaching another sketchy loose scramble. Pete struggled through most of the climb, muttering about how terrible it is. I followed up to clean with Pete top belaying me, grabbing a couple draws instead of the shitty holds. He was not mistaken, it was an astoundingly terrible route, the 5 star rating a complete mystery.

We waited to well after dark, the taxi failing to show. A couple from Spain offered up one spot in their car, which I said Pete should take, since he spoke the best Spanish, and send back a taxi for us. A worker at the restaurant told us it was unlikely Pete would find a taxi willing to come that direction at this hour. About 20 minutes later another couple from Spain drove up with enough room for myself and the German couple. They dropped us off at a vegetarian restaurant. Apparently, Pete did find a taxi and went back to find us about when we left.

The previous day my stomach had been quite unhappy. I woke up with an emergency run to the toilet and 4 or 5 more after. By 10, it had calmed enough I could go out.

I was dedicating my last day in Viñales to taking more portraits, and I figured out a system for my light where I didn’t need an assistant.

I was trying to meet Pete and Raul in the plaza before they left for climbing, but I got distracted taking a couple people’s photos. I arrived 12 minutes late and they were already gone.

I walked around the streets for three hours taking portraits of anyone that allow me. I was surprised at how willing everyone was. I would walk up to a house with everyone out on the porch and ask to take portraits. The parents would smile and send their kids out to have their pictures taken. I don’t think I had any negative responses to my request; lots of smiles and laughter.

I finally found my brain starting to make sense of Spanish, able to comprehend some of what people were saying and formulate a somewhat intelligible response, something resembling a conversation. Of course, the day before I’m leaving I’m starting to be able to effectively communicate. Everyday, Marisé’s mother asked me about my day, and I was happy I could actually respond.

Marisé called a friend who had a collectivo going to Havana and we waited on the street for them to pick me up. A panel wagon full of Europeans drove down the dusty road. A man threw my bags onto a roof rack and I took one of the last remaining seats. The wagon had two from France, two from Spain, two from Greece ( and a couple more, I can’t remember) Most were headed to Trinidad or the National Parks, I was the only one actually heading to Havana.

Listening to the two Spaniards, who were strangers to each other, converse in Spanish, I thought, “It sounds so crisp and clear!” I could understand so much of what they were saying compared to the Cubans, who’s thick accent and use of slang makes it very difficult for a novice to decipher.

The driver pulled off the highway into a rest stop and everyone was confused. The driver told everyone to get out and grab their bags from the roof. He was continuing to Havana, and I was his only passenger. Everyone else was transferred to another collectivo going to Trinidad.

The driver drops me close to the address of the AirBnB my girlfriend had booked for me (the AirBnB website refused to let me book it while currently in Cuba), and I wandered around the block looking for the correct address. I stepped into a coffee shop and asked to use their phone. The madre de casa particular told me which house it was and to ring the buzzer when I got to the door. It was a large brick building and setup much more like a guest house, taking over the entire 3rd floor with five or six separate rooms, shared living room and kitchen.

After settling into my room, I went in search of internet. I walked the several blocks to the Riviera Hotel, but as I got close I watched massive waves crash over the Malecón waterfront promenade. The high tide and an incoming storm were causing larger than normal swells. I tried my best to capture the swells without getting myself and my camera soaked.

The kids getting their internets

I had picked this casa particular because of it’s vicinity to Fabrique de Arte, a club in Vedado that featured art galleries, live music, and interesting culture events. I had been told by many people I had to check it out, including by Cubans. I arrived before the doors were supposed to open, and despite the rain showers there was a line wrapping around the block to get in.

I liked their system of payment. As you walk in you receive a card that gets filled out by the bar staff or food vendors. You hand the card to a cashier as you’re leaving at the end of the night to pay for everything all at once. If you lose your card, you pay something like $30, which depending on how much you drank, might be a deal.

I ran into some friends I made in Viñales and spend the night watching a fashion show, looking at the galleries and listening to some awesome jazz in a room that makes you forget you’re in Cuba, although I’d guess 50% of the patrons of the club are Cuban. Definitely worth going to on your trip!

The madre de casa particular called a taxi driver friend to take me to the airport and a small Russian made car arrived on the curb. I arrived at the airport several hours early, hoping to not have the same holdup I did at the Santa Cruz airport. I was let through security and immigration without issue. With two relatively quick flights I was back in Denver.

I loved my time in Cuba, despite cutting it short by two days. Travel was quite easy, the landscape beautiful, but really the best part was the people. They are so incredibly hospitable and laid back, an amazing combination. I worried going in that the people would (rightfully so) have a negative opinion of America, but everytime I answered the question, “Que pais?” “Estados Unidos” was received with a huge smile and the response “I love America!” There were more American flags worn casually on clothes than anything I’ve seen outside of a NASCAR race. I wondered to myself if they knew the extent to which the American American embargo on Cuba caused much of their country’s poverty. But they remain an beautiful, happy, fun loving people, welcoming strangers into their lives and wanting to share whatever they can. I cannot wait to go back!

Travelers

I regularly get bored in airports. Last year I did a post from the Phnom Penh Airport in Cambodia. This year, on my way back from Cuba in the Havana Airport I stopped several fellow travelers and asked if I could take their portraits.

I asked this beautiful woman if I could take her photo for my portrait series. She smiled slyly, and slowly stood up. I took a couple quick shots, and she moved expertly between each one. I joked, “seems like you’ve done this before.” “I’m a model, I was here for a Italian Vogue shoot with some of the old Cuban cars.” She pulled out her phone and showed me some behind the scenes shots. After looking at the photo I took of her, she said, “That’s really nice! My name is Monic Perez.” When I got home I had to look her up. She is a former Miss Universe contestant from Puerto Rico and a quite successful model.

Coincidentally that morning, a woman staying at the same Casa Particular as me (Anne Bichon, a photographer from France) had told me she had come across a large photoshoot production and snapped a photo of one of the models between shots.

Tools: Sony A6300, Sigma Emount Adapter, Sigma 35mm f/1.4 Art, beautiful window light

Faces of Cuba

When travel to Cuba was opened up early last year I knew I had to take advantage of the opportunity. I know there were workarounds, but I hadn’t had the draw to take me to our neighboring island yet. I took off at the end of November, my only plan to do a portrait series around Havana and the small, western city of Viñales. I tend to jump around when I travel, and I really wanted to concentrate on fewer areas this time. It didn’t hurt that Viñales has stellar climbing.

People want to know about your experiences in Cuba. The thing I tell everyone that asks, the Cuban people are amazing. They made my trip incredible.

Rodney, a tattoo artist who lives near the skate park, acts as an older
brother to a lot of the young kids that skate at the park.

One of the things that surprised me about Cuba was the diversity – there were people of every color of the spectrum, from Caucasian with blue eyes to very dark African. It was pretty amazing seeing no discernible difference in how they treated each other.

_{Raul is a climbing guide in Viñales, and he not only showed me the best climbing but also brought me into his tight-knit group of friends. Traveling alone can be…lonely, but the people you meet along the way always make it worth it.}

I might get into more details about my trip later, but overall it was an awesome trip. It was easy to get to and easy to get around; the people are so welcoming, hospitable and friendly; and the country is incredibly beautiful. I definitely want to make it back as soon as possible!

Way Rambo

Finally getting some time to get to my backlog of edits. Last November I shot my badass roommate, Kathy Karlo of For the Love of Climbing, climbing the Indian Creek route Way Rambo (5.12a). It’s a stunning and jagged crack with a couple no-feet traverses. The crux is keeping the pump away through a long .75 ringlock section. It was awesome watching Kathy send and her friend, Devin Horgan, work the climb. It was also exciting to figure out how to do ringlocks for the first time! I topped roped, but in editing this post I’m getting more and more psyched to go back and try on lead.

Women’s March in Denver

Saturday I was proud to march alongside an estimated 200,000 people, mostly women, protesting the election and publicly stating we are not ok with the direction Drumpf is trying to take this country. Now, my hope is that we can continue to organize is such numbers to take back control of our government, keeping our elected officials accountable to the people. We cannot stop at merely marching and holding signs, we must continue to take action.

Boy was angrily singing “Jingle Bells” and his parents couldn’t stop laughing.

Acro Yoga with Michelle and Sylvan

I met Michelle and Sylvan in Bend, OR this summer and shot them highlining in Smith Rock. Michelle is from Colorado and was excited to come back and visit. She hit me up and wanted to do some acro yoga shots. I had been wanting to shoot in the Boulder Bandstand for a while and thought it a perfect opportunity.

City of Boulder workers were working on the lights when we got there and were super gracious, even changing the color of the lights to what I thought looked best. I had two shots in mind, so I didn’t really vary too much from my vision. Pretty happy with the results!

Fall Trip to Red River Gorge

I’m from the Midwest, and I don’t particularly like leaving Colorado to go back, but I regularly have Red River Gorge, KY on mind. My girlfriend can attest that I compare pretty much every climbing experience to ‘the Red.’ Basically, most complaints fall under “it’s not overhung enough.” I was psyched when she said she needed to use 5 vacation days and wanted to see what climbing in Kentucky was all about.

Melissa getting a sit-down rest on EGBG (5.10a) before 60 feet of overhanging jugs at the Chocolate Factory

She loved it! I love it. And I can’t wait to go back.

I got to explore some new areas and go back to some of my favorites. The first day I accidentally took her to Bruise Brothers at Muir Valley (was aiming for Tectonic Wall, but I went on autopilot and walked almost all the way to BB before I realized it). Rat Stew and The Return of Manimal are superfun routes to really get you in the RRG mood. We then explored Bibliothek, an area I’d somehow never gone to before. Incredibly aesthetic, overhanging jug hauls, a less steep Motherlode. I jumped on a Josh Thurston original with a tag at the base that says 5.12a, The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I was psyched to get the onsight but felt it was easier than 12a. Turns out most everyone agrees that it’s 5.11c. I then tried The Fury, which is a beautiful arching overhang that you see from across the amphitheater. My leftover pump from Unbearable was too much, and I ended up taking 2 or 3 times.

Day two we drove down to the Motherlode area by PMRP. I’d spent a lot of time at the PMRP but never stopped at the Motherlode. Cars were parked all over the road leading to the big hill down to the parking lot, which I thought was odd. In the past, this was frowned upon. As I make the turn to go down the hill, spray painted signs warn entrants, “4×4 only!!! Do not drive 2WD Down.” Typically the low flats areas are the problem, mud pits that I used to rally my Mazda Protege5 down with mostly no problem. So in my dad’s 2wd Toyota Tacoma I thought it would be fine. The hill was the worst I’ve ever seen it, enough I worried about getting stuck at the Motherlode parking lot.

“We can deal with that later.” I wanted to check out The Chocolate Factory since it had several highly rated moderates. Wonkaholic 5.10a felt quite a bit harder than the previous day’s Rat Stew. We then did EGBG, which is new and not in the book. Fantastic! Way better than Wonk.

Melissa after finishing EGBG

I tried the fun Hip to the Jive (11b), which starts with a superfun handcrack at the bottom and moves into shallow pockets in an overhang. I missed a hold at the top while above a clip and took a 30-some foot whip, sending Melissa far into the air. My thought while falling, “Man, I hope I don’t hit that face to the left!”

We climbed the classic 10’s, just to the left of the incredible looking 5.14c, Pure Imagination. The Glass Elevator, Oompa, and Loompa. All felt hard for their grades but are fun routes.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention, the best part of going to Red River Gorge the first week of November was being in the magical sub-tropical forest with all the beautiful changing leaves.

We met up with an old friend and her boyfriend, and climbed at the Gallery on day 3. I forgot how awesome this place is. The classic five star warmup, 27 Years of Climbing, had a line, so I put up A Brief History of Climb (5.10b). So so very good, and incredibly beautiful arching overhang. I quickly ran up a second time with my camera so I could shoot Melissa on her Onsight attempt.

Melissa concentrating through the overhanging jugs of A Brief History of Climb

Johnny B. Good, Guernica, and Preacher’s Daughter rounded out the climbs in the main area. Preacher’s Daughter is soo soo good! (this is a continuous theme in the Red. Even 2 star routes here would be 4 star classics in most climbing areas)

Another climber on A Brief History of Climb

I tried Gold Rush with our friends, a stellar 5.11d with a stout, overhanging crimpy crux to a dyno finish. It’s exciting! Then after I was pumped out I tried Random Precision and felt rather shut down. I put up the draws again on Johnny B. Good and Melissa one hung her first 5.11a!

Thursday it was supposed to rain, so we went to the area near our cabin, Military Wall. Always a classic with climbs like Fuzzy Undercling and Tissue Tiger, it’s a safe place to climb it does start raining. The start of Fuzzy has been eroded down, and so the climb has been upgraded to 5.11b, purely because of the very powerful, hard boulder problem start, getting to the second bolt. Day four on and my skin was finally tired after pulling on the crimp undercling too many times. once to the second clip you get to enjoy overhung plate goodness to a no-hands knee bar rest and fun jugs to the finish. Our friends put up Tissue Tiger (5.12b), so I gave it a try. I was very surprised how easy the bottom 3/4’s of the climb felt, just good-enough jugs to a couple of rests. But then you hit a series of big moves through powerful crimps and side-pulls. It’s going to take me a few more times of sussing out the crux before I’m able to clip those chains.

My goal for the trip was to send one of my two 5.12a projects, so after 3 climbs on day 4 decided to take it easy, especially after the rain came. Melissa and I went to discover what Natural Bridge State Park had to offer.

Awesome views on a moody late afternoon.

We woke up on Friday surrounded by a deep fog. I wanted to get on my project early so we could get back to Bloomington at a decent hour to see old friends. Driving to The Zoo I couldn’t help but stop and photograph this scene before sunrise.

But even after sunrise I couldn’t help but shoot some more.

Finally, we get to the Zoo and I warm up on my project, Hippocrite (5.12a). I thought I might send, putting up the draws, but messed up what has been my crux, clipping bolt 3. I’ve tried this climb for years, and I was ready to put it to bed.

Melissa wanted to record my attempts, which I’m happy she did. I’ve never had a video of me climbing before.

I love Red River Gorge. No matter where in the world I’m climbing, I don’t think I’ll find a place I love more. I can’t wait to come back!

Editorial Portraits for Bicycling Magazine

This year I got connected with Bicycling Magazine, and they have been assigning me editorial portraits around Colorado. Here are the ones I’ve worked on so far this year.

Pro Tour Cyclist, Kiel Reijnen started making his own BBQ. They wanted to feature him at an interesting BBQ location and picked Yum Yum BBQ in Larkspur, CO.

Megan Hottman is a lawyer in Golden, CO that focuses on cyclists, and just happens to be the 2015 Gravel World Singlespeed Champion. I shot her on North Table Mountain in Golden.

Nick Basalyga rode across the country, mostly solo, for his non-profit, In the Saddle. Follow the link to find out more about him. I shot him north of Fort Collins, CO.

Desert Weekend + Ancient Art

My girlfriend had never been to the desert near Moab, a mecca of crack climbing. So, along with Vincent, we make the 7 hour drive on a Friday night to get to Indian Creek. We drive in under a clear night sky filled with an almost full moon and a multitude of crisp, bright stars, arriving just before 1am. We find our campsite, and get some sleep. I’m excited to get up early to get as much climbing as we can in.

I wake up to see the alpenglow on the Bridger Jacks and the Six Shooters. Sometimes, it’s hard to get out of my tent early enough to catch these things, but when I do I’m always glad that I did.

We go to check out Pistol Whipped, an area I’d never been to, down Beef Basin Road. A pretty quick approach gets us to the base of the climbs with only a few other climbers at the crag. We “warm up” on the 5.10 Cowgirls Like ’em Big. One hell of a warm up! I forgot that #5’s are perfect butterflies and teacups, and I wished that I’d had two #6’s for the top.

Melissa channeling her inner Pippy Longstocking

We then climbed Wounded Knee (5.10+) and Coyne Crack Simulator (5.11-). I forgot to use the left crack and fell in the .75 size crux of Wounded Knee. After you find #1’s and #2’s, you find yourself in a super weird wide pod that’s best protected with a #5 (which I didn’t have). I don’t know that there is a smooth way to do that section, but I definitely understand why it’s named Wounded Knee.

Vincent sending Wounded Knee the hard way, without the left crack.

Coyne Crack Simulator starts with a .5 and .75 lieback to progressively bigger, perfect hands, with a short finish. I was excited to on-sight this one, and it was the only thing I sent all day.

Vincent making the lieback look easy

The fall colors were on point that weekend. The desert is always beautiful, but this is extra special

Vincent really wanted to climb a tower while we were out there. I was resistant, I wanted more crack cragging, but time-wise it made sense. We drove in the morning into Moab, got breakfast and slowly made our way to Fisher Towers. After a 4×4 detour down Onion Creek, we made it to the parking lot, left the crowds behind, and found ourselves at the base of Ancient Art (5.10)

View of Ancient Art, the corkscrew tower on the right.

There was only one party ahead of us, which I think is rare. Another party arrived a few minutes after we did. Since Vincent had led all the pitches on another trip, I led pitch 1-3. Pitch one starts with an easy scramble to a 4 bolt bolt-ladder that goes free at 5.10 (hard). It’s incredibly balancy and tenious and requires good footwork.

Melissa climbing the crux of pitch 1

Melissa belaying Vincent up with the Titan in the background

Pitch two was an incredibly fun section with several roofs and decent gear up to a chimney. I probably could have protected the chimney, but by the time I realized I was pretty far above my last piece the options were pretty slim. I ran it out till just before the anchor ledge.

Pitch 3 is a super short, stout 5.10 (or 3 bolt bolt-ladder) that you climb pinching tiny pebbles. The exposure starts to get to you here.

Melissa and Vincent preparing to climb the money pitch!

I made Vincent lead the money pitch again because I wanted a photo of him on it. Definitely worth it.

Vincent attempting to show how windy it was…it was windy!

The run across the spine is pretty intimidating, with a several hundred foot drop on either side. You have to jump across one section before coming to the awkward diving board.

A 30+ stitched image panorama of Vincent topping out. This image is HUGE!

Vincent missed my jump, but got the awkward, manditory hump of the diving board.

Now watch Vincent Whip…right before he Nay Nays.

Melissa takes in the view on our double rope simul-rap from the top of pitch 2

What she’s looking at

The whole time we were on the route there was a team climbing the Titan. Was pretty cool watching their progress. When we got down, I realized that in the confusion of trying to get Melissa onto the simul-rap and sharing an anchor with another team, I left all of my cams attached to the anchor. So, we got to wait. It wasn’t all bad, though. We got to watch an incredible sunset.

Melissa finds a boulder to play on

The view of Castle Valley at twilight from the Fishers Tower parking lot.

The desert will always hold a part of my heart. It is such an incredibly beautiful place! I just wish it wasn’t a six or seven hour drive. Can’t wait to go back!

Riding the Monarch Crest Trail

Sunrise on Mt Silverheels

A couple weekends ago I woke up well before sunrise and drove my friend Vincent into the mountains. We were supposed to meet up with some other friends in Crested Butte, but when we got to Buena Vista, the other side of the mountains looked completely socked in. We checked the weather and CB was supposed to have rain and snow all day. BV had a better outlook so we looked for some mountain bike trails nearby. We found the Monarch Crest Trail was the highest rated ride in the area so we decided to check it out. We met the Valley High Shuttle in Poncha Springs and were delivered to Monarch Pass. The pass was covered in an inch or so of snow, with no breaks in the clouds in sight. We started up the trail, leap frogging with most of the group from the shuttle all the way to Marshall Pass, 8 miles of uphill. Once the downhill starts the group fans out and we’re mostly on our own. The snow definitely added a bit to the riding, making me stay on my disk brakes a little too much.

But, it was beyond beautiful.

Once we dropped into the trees, the snow went away and the leaves littered the trail.

The trail continues for 30 miles, joining the Colorado Trail for portions of it. You climb for close to 2,000 feet for 8 miles from the pass, then get to descend 6,000 feet over the next 22 miles. The trail varies quite a bit, from flowing single track to incredible rock gardens. There are several cut offs if you need to bail, they take you down forest service roads back to the highway. We stuck it out and took the last bit of trail, Rainbow Trail, my favorite part. Most of the people turned off before this section, but it’s not to be missed. After you descend the steep last 1/2 mile down to the road you get to cruise 5 miles down US285, which brings you right back to your car.

Beautiful spot on the Arkansas River next to our campsite north of Buena Vista

I just started mountain biking last summer. It’s been fun learning a new sport, but it also a steep learning curve. The Monarch Crest Trail is definitely my favorite trail that I’ve done. Can’t wait to explore more of the trails around the central Colorado mountains.

A Boulder for Travelers

I often get stuck in a mental state with my photography where I rarely capture the place that I live. It’s been a bit different with Boulder, because beauty is all around me, but I still haven’t looked at Boulder like a tourist might. I recently received a prompt to shoot Boulder for a higher end travel magazine. It was interesting trying to see it in a different light. Where are your favorite places in Boulder?

Boulder Public Library

St Julien Hotel

Rayback Collective

The Flatirons on a moody morning.

The Road to Wild Iris

Over Labor Day weekend, I went with a group of friends to climb limestone pockets in Wild Iris, Wyoming. It was great fun…and I didn’t take any photos of climbing. But I did shoot the Landscapes leading to and surrounding the climbing area. Needless to say, it was beautiful!

The sunset outside of Frederick, CO was pretty awesome

I took this with a $30 lens. I’m continually impressed by the Fotasy 35mm f1.7. (If you have a sony, you should probably buy it)

These two were also shot with the Fotasy 35mm F1.7. This was our campsite in Wild Iris, with the Wind River Range in the background.

Danielle not modeling, just doing Danielle things.

Danielle and Tyler had the better tent spot for photos. My tent had a more treed backdrop.

That night had one of the brightest Milky Ways I’ve ever seen. And there were some meteors that night too. Much better show than during the “climax” of the Perseid Meteor Shower.

I found another solo tree that I love.

Can you guess what this canyon is called? It’s Red Canyon. Because it’s red.

Pacific Nothwest Landscape

As you probably gathered from my previous posts, I took a road trip around the Pacific Northwest last month. It was awesome to get into an area of the country I absolutely love.

I landed at 12:40am in Seattle. I didn’t want to pay for a hotel and the first shuttle to Whidbey Island wasn’t till 6:50am, so I found a “quiet” corner, blew up my Klymit Ozone sleeping pad, donned my sleeping mask, and tried to get a few hours of sleep between the security announcements over the speakers. My uncle graciously let me borrow his Ford Taurus to drive for my two-week trip – not exactly the adventure mobile, but it worked. I crossed from Whidbey to Port Townsend and drove US101 to Forks, WA, stopping at Lake Crescent along the way.

From Forks, I drove to the coast, to La Push, home to the Quileute Tribe and beautiful beaches. I walked around Beach 1 for a bit before searching for a place to camp.

I was told by a young girl working at the RV park that I could car camp at Beach 2, where I found a relatively flat spot, made dinner, then walked the 3/4 mile to the beach through the rainforest just after sunset. The colors were going off when I got there.

In the morning, I kept driving down US101 towards Astoria, Oregon, and got sidetracked by a sign that simply said, “Big Tree”. It was a short easy hike through the rainforest, then there it was, a really big tree.

There really wasn’t anything else there.

I drove through Astoria and searched for waterfalls nearby. Youngs Creek Falls came up, near the Lewis and Clark Historical Fort Clatsop. Another short, easy hike down to the river revealed this falls.

I planned my road trip completely separately from the knowledge that my family was going to be in Portland for a conference. I met up with my mom, dad, sister and two nephews for dinner, then my sister and I went climbing the next day at Broughton Bluff, near the mouth of the Columbia River Gorge. We first stopped at the Wahkeena Falls and Multnomah Falls. Definitely a beautiful place, even with the hundreds of tourists. The climbing at Broughton was short, but fun and stout (I only climbed trad, but I took a pretty awkward fall on 5.9, watched a strong climber struggle on 5.8, and took a knee shaking fall on two lobes of a .2 on a 5.10a I’d watched an old timer climber aid up).

After a few days in Portland, I made my way to Bend, a city many compare to Boulder, CO. The access to adventure is great, but I wasn’t swept off my feet by the city. Boulder still is the only place I’ve ever felt at home.

I met up with my longtime friend, Allison Osantowske, and she took her visiting mother and me up to the Cascade Lakes, past Mount Bachelor. This is Sparks Lake, a beautiful spot.

I drove to Pacific City with Allison and crew to try surfing for the first time, incredibly hard. I made my way back to Bend to try and find someone to climb with in Smith Rock. I got to Smith just at sunset as it was pouring down rain. I waited it out and the rain cleared. The almost full moon came out, and I took this 12-minute exposure well after dark.

I woke up in the morning to more rain, so I skipped Smith and went back into Bend to shoot some acro yoga with Dani Whitehead. I met Michelle and Sylvan who invited me to shoot Highlining in Smith the next day. I had planned on driving roughly half way to Index, WA that night to find climbing partners in the morning. But I elected to stay and shoot highlining, then drive 7 hours straight to Everette, WA. Thankfully, Mark came with us and I was able to climb one, very hard, 11d route at Easy’s Playhouse.

I ran back to my car from the top of the Red Wall in (I think) an impressive 15 minutes, trying not to push gaping tourists off the trail. I had started climbing past my planned leaving time, so I was getting on the road later than I wanted. I drove up US 97 through northern Oregon to Yakima. I was stopped twice for extended periods because of construction, but only stopped and got out of the car once in the 7 hrs to take photos of this derelict gas station.

The landscape of eastern Washington was so far different than what everyone thinks of the PNW.

I wish I could have spent more time in Eastern Washington, but my trip was winding to a close. Leavenworth seemed like a really interesting place surrounded by extremely beautiful mountains, lakes, and awesome climbing. Stevens Pass definitely made me want to come back and ski.

I spent a couple days in Seattle then headed back to Whidbey Island to spend time with two sets of aunts and uncles and return the car. I always love traveling, and I haven’t done a trip like this around the US before. Would love to do more.

Surfing on the Oregon Coast

Allison put the idea in my head to try surfing on the Oregon coast during my trip, but with the weather it wasn’t worth it for them to make the four-hour drive the first weekend I was out. I’d never surfed despite traveling through amazing surfing locations in South East Asia, so I was pretty disappointed. When I got to Bend the next weekend, though, I was pretty set on trying downhill mountain biking at Mount Bachelor, but Allison decided to make the trip out to the coast at about 2pm Friday. So flipping my psych from mountain biking to surfing, I made the four-hour drive through west central Oregon to Pacific City.

My first time surfing, I stood up and rode a wave all the way in for the first time after an hour. I think I spent a total of six hours in the water the first day, not coming in for a stretch of 3 hours before I realized how exhausted I was. Holy hell, surfing (and the waves) beats you up. Every part of my body hurt, my climbing injury in my shoulder sprang back to life, and the board torpedoed my hip which made me hobble for a week. But I kept going. I was determined to be proficient. I tried again on Sunday and had to relearn how to stand up, tried a short board (easier to maneuver in the waves, fun to ride on your knees, but seemingly impossible to stand up on), and figured out bigger waves. I enjoyed myself, tried hard, and was exhausted. I didn’t catch the “Oh my God! I need to do this every day!” bug, which I’m fine with. I don’t live next to any surfing. I didn’t really take the time to shoot anyone surfing, but I shot the crew I was with getting ready, Max, Jonny, and Allison, on a beautifully foggy morning.

After the first day of surfing, Jonny was determined to get on his skateboard in the impressive Lincoln City Skateboard Park at Kirtsis Park. Definitely the coolest skateboard park I’ve seen.

This only shows a small section of the complex

Jonny Sischo riding the wave

I don’t know who this kid was, but damn he could rip. One of the most impressive riders I’ve seen in person.

Yoga with Amy

On my trip through the Pacific Northwest I stayed in Portland for several days. I got to see some family that was traveling through and climb with my sister in the Columbia Gorge. I also got to hang out with my friend and fellow photographer Amy Rollo (check out her work www.amyrollo.com) that I met in Chiang Mai, Thailand. We got to do a quick yoga shoot in the International Rose Test Garden right before I left for Bend. Always fun shooting with other photographers.

This kid really wanted his photo taken.