Call this a cry for attention
This is installment two, a double-size set, the latest in the series.
These are all from Alaska, to be most basic about it; I probably have about ten rolls' worth where these came from. I spent a lot of time there taking pictures. And it's hard to take a bad one.
I don't have the emotional energy right at the moment to talk about what these photos really mean to me. Hopefully a small blurb describing the setting will be enough to convey something like an understanding of the effect this place had on my life and the way I live it.
The first trio are of Mt. Anderson, the defining natural feature of the section of the valley where I lived.
These were taken on a trip my father and I took over the course of a weekend--we strapped on backpacks and set out right after we both finished work, in the pouring rain, headed for the waterfall in the picture. By the time we set up camp, it was dark--this was late August--and we spent the entire evening hunched over cookstove laughing hysterically, my father having turned to me and remarked 'this is so stupid!!' Finally, we came to the consensus that if the rain didn't let up overnight, we were headed home in the morning. We woke up to blue skies, and carried on.
That collapsed shack is about fifteen miles from the next nearest sign of human life--the lodge where we started from. It ended up being the turnaround point--we never actually made it to the waterfall, and I took that photo from the plane some weeks later.
This next trio was probably taken in early September. I was on my way home from here on September 11, 2002. It was snowing at the lodge by the time I left.
The last three are just beautiful. The Wood River Valley is one of the most unbelievable places I'll ever go. It played a part in defining my entire life's philosophy, and I'll never forget it.
That is all.
These are all from Alaska, to be most basic about it; I probably have about ten rolls' worth where these came from. I spent a lot of time there taking pictures. And it's hard to take a bad one.
I don't have the emotional energy right at the moment to talk about what these photos really mean to me. Hopefully a small blurb describing the setting will be enough to convey something like an understanding of the effect this place had on my life and the way I live it.
The first trio are of Mt. Anderson, the defining natural feature of the section of the valley where I lived.
These were taken on a trip my father and I took over the course of a weekend--we strapped on backpacks and set out right after we both finished work, in the pouring rain, headed for the waterfall in the picture. By the time we set up camp, it was dark--this was late August--and we spent the entire evening hunched over cookstove laughing hysterically, my father having turned to me and remarked 'this is so stupid!!' Finally, we came to the consensus that if the rain didn't let up overnight, we were headed home in the morning. We woke up to blue skies, and carried on.
That collapsed shack is about fifteen miles from the next nearest sign of human life--the lodge where we started from. It ended up being the turnaround point--we never actually made it to the waterfall, and I took that photo from the plane some weeks later.
This next trio was probably taken in early September. I was on my way home from here on September 11, 2002. It was snowing at the lodge by the time I left.
The last three are just beautiful. The Wood River Valley is one of the most unbelievable places I'll ever go. It played a part in defining my entire life's philosophy, and I'll never forget it.
That is all.