On Gratitude and Living for Yourself

Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.
10:08

It felt like the valve had been pulled on my anxiety. I could feel the weight of dammed up sadness, depression, stress, anxiety, and resentment pouring out of me. You could almost hear the whistle as I sat there in Spoken Moto deflating. Sinking deeper and deeper into my chair. A heap - grateful and exhausted.

I was finally full-time truck living. From conception it took a little over two months to prep the truck, purchase gear, and adapt my cooking and storage to the space of my 4Runner, Rhyhorn. Then there was the chaos of downsizing and moving what things I needed into Rhy and what I wanted into a 5 x 5 storage. Every free moment before and after work as well as all of my weekends were dedicated to the cause.

Even before the dust began to settle I knew that I wanted to end my old chapter and begin my new chapter at Spoken Moto, with a hot coffee and closed eyes. And so I sat. Writing, drifting, and soaking in the quiet cold of my first night.

I had no idea that so much of my anxiety and depression was tied to my belongings and my space. There was something about having a room, a bathroom, a kitchen, a pantry, a closet, a garage and having all of my things spread across them that filled me with a strange sense of responsibility and commitment. I felt like I needed to keep track of all of those things, to take care of the spaces themselves, to fill them with more things, and to start and end my days with them nearby. Not to mention having to share some of these spaces with others and that I had to PAY SOMEONE ELSE’S house off just to have a roof over my head as I buried myself in depression and anxiety. Getting rid of things that couldn’t fit in my truck and storage unit lifted a lot of these self-imposed commitments off of me and I felt lighter and happier with each sentimental thing I donated or threw away. Moving away from my roommates freed my mind and gave me back the power to invest my time, energy, and money into a space and a life that I owned.

Being back in Rhy meant that my life was once again on the road and on the go. I could choose where to end and start my days and no matter where I travelled everything I needed would be with me: the sentimental, the functional, the meaningful. Organizing, cleaning, and maintaining Rhy was no different than the everyday chores I did living in remote Hawaii and Alaska - taking care and ownership of a space that takes care of you. I didn’t realize just how much I missed that.

I have been blessed to be able to start this journey in Bend. My friends have generously shared their spots with me and have offered their driveways and homes if I ever need a warm place to stay. In the lonely weeks leading up to a holiday about reflection and gratitude I unexpectedly found myself surrounded by love.

My former living situation combined with a fresh batch of romantic rejection, terrible (and expensive) food, and an increasing feeling of isolation had formed a new weight on me since deciding not to blow my brains out over the love-of-my-life in May. The added stress of not making nearly enough money to pay for my anxiety-filled home, food, and actually have savings pushed me to consider leaving Bend for somewhere where at least I would have community (and better food).

The move into Rhy came as an immediate, desperate solution to the housing and money parts of the problem but what I didn’t expect, and am so incredibly grateful for, is how it brought me closer to my friends.

There is something easy but powerful about spending simple time with the people you care about. It feels better, it feels good, and it feels natural. I have spent my whole life building communities filled with love and friendship but have spent that same time moving all over the country, and away from them. Caught up in the bleeding chest wound that has been my crash landing in Bend I have been so preoccupied with triaging my anxieties, fears, heartache, and insecurities that I have barely made time to spend simple time with the people around me.

Like my grad school advisor told me the day I wept in her office as the pressure and sadness of a spiraling PhD program, moving back to Virginia, losing my grandpa and grandma and uncle and other grandma and other grandpa and cousin, and my crumbling partnership poured itself out of my face and all over my meeting notes -

“I think maybe you should try spending time with the people, who want to spend time with you”.

With what felt like the suddenness of a pulled power cord the pace of my life changed completely once I moved back into Rhy. Suddenly I was 25 and in the Klamath mountains again. Experiencing the West Coast for the first time, living and working odds and ends ecology jobs out of Rhy, getting nakey nakey outside every chance I could find, and exploring as much as I could on my days off. With the change of pace also came a simpler way of living, one that helped to open my heart up again in a way I have not felt since I first moved to the PNW.

The sacred timing of the Universe could not have been better. It was with a present mind, an open heart, and god-willing the lowest anxiety I have had since 2015 - that I got to spend Thanksgiving with three wonderful groups of friends.

The land here is beautiful and sacred and the smell of juniper will always bring me back to the high desert but it is community that would make me stay. I spent Thanksgiving with three different groups of friends that reached out and wanted to share time and space with me. Of all the things they could have been doing with their lives and partners, they decided to share those moments with me. For the first time since moving the Bend I felt like I could see the beginnings of a community I could be a part of.

On gratitude and living for yourself I have these last things to say. I am 32. I don’t own my own house in Southern California or work in IT. I don’t make 6-figures or have a job where I can work from an airbnb in Thailand. And I absolutely will never own a Tesla. But I do want a family. And I do want a partner that will love me and us and themselves. And I will do everything I can to see as much of the beauty left in this world, with what is left in me.

I think that’s what it’s really all about.

Chris

Written to: “Hawk is a Mule” by Andrew Marlin

Onwards Again: My Journey to the Atoll

Honolulu, HI
Elevation: 19ft. 

Likean old scratched up transparency the dark sky slidbeneath me endlessly reaching for the sunrise. Mount St. Helens rose out like a silent island. To me the clouds were nothing more than another ocean rocking my ship back and forth. I was on my way home.

Traveling through the sky I closed my eyes and let myself float away into the peaceful sway of my music. Anything to get my mind off of the violent throes of turbulence and the fear-laced, steel entrapment around me. Visiting home was going to be big for me, it was the last time I would see my friends and family before I left for the Kure Atoll. It had been 8 months since I first pulled out of my driveway and began my journey out west. It was a moment of fear, excitement and uncertainty but with each passing mile - courage. Blasting above the clouds I felt like I was unceremoniously backtracking my voyage and in many ways I began to feel my courage disappear. Since I had left Virginia there really hadn’t been a moment I wasn’t working, traveling or experiencing something new and different and as I got closer and closer to home I began to feel a surge of responsibility and reality settle back upon me. Though I have been exploring, growing and learning more each day my family has, at the same time, been carrying on working hard and missing me. My grandparents grow older everyday, my parents and aunts and uncles ever more weary and anxious for retirement and my dear brother and cousins growing up and preparing to begin their independent lives. To me, I was returning to a home that was quickly fading away.

To my brother: It has been my honor to cook hotdogs and pasta roni for us all these late nights. Through all the different years, girlfriends and versions of Halo I could always count on you being there for me. Here’s to many more years to come. 

For the next 7 months I would be living and working on the Kure Atoll as part of a team sent to eradicate an invasive weed displacing native plants and killing albatross chicks, golden crownbeard (Verbesina encelioides). With little more than a satellite phone for communication contact would be limited to occasional, text only emails. And because of the remote nature of the island there would be no leaving until our scheduled extraction in November.

To my beloved NoVa family: Elementary school, high school and college. We have grown up together and I cannot wait to grow old with you punkasses. 

With a strange sense of symmetry I carefully scheduled and planned who I would see on what days of the week. In very much the same way I planned my goodbyes 8 months ago, I had scheduled a different group of friends to hang out each day down to the hour. Each meeting was a roller coaster of emotions: catching up and filling each other in on almost a year apart, talking about how much had changed and how much I missed being there and then explaining my new job and saying goodbye again for the foreseeable future.

To my father: Ramen, sushi and life advice - it was at Blue Ocean that you taught Alex and I many unexpected lessons and was a tradition we enjoyed every time we were back home. Thank you for the years of full bellies and full minds. 

Though 7 months can hardly be called an eternity I knew it was enough time for things to change. Returning home I was surrounded by love and excitement. Endless questions about what my jobs this summer had been like (brutul)? How was it like living in Portland (cute hipsters, artisinally vague foods, amazing beer)? When was I going to cut my hair (never)? Am I dating again (no, I am going to die alone)? It was the crazy rush of story telling, pantomiming and unending laughter that reminded me I was home but it was the quiet moments in between that made me realize how much I wanted to stay. 

To Tim: During our last drink together you told me that you loved everything about the PNW, that it gave you a new sense of hope. I promised you I would find Base Camp Brewing Company and drink in your honor - it became my favorite Portland brewery and I couldn’t wait to get this growler to you - you deserve it brother. 

To my dear, sweet, darling Mason: Thank you for always being there to set me straight. Through elementary school and college you and I were always learning what it meant to be socially normal together. Thank you for sharing your Taiwanese-ass whiskey with me. I hope to see you escape out west soon!

The regulars. Of all the tables I’ve eaten at I’m going to miss this one the most.

Proper log-splitting technique. 

My mother saved my “Goodbye Week” schedule from April. It was surreal experiencing the same feeling again. 

To my little cousins: It has been my pleasure and honor watching you all grow up. I wish I could still be there as you all approach the trials of adolescence and adulthood. Just know that I will always be there for you all, no matter where I am. In the famous words of my generation, “text me, beep me, if you wanna reach me”.

To my grandma: I will never be able to cook as well as you do. Thank you so much for feeding our family for all these years. No one will ever put up with my pickiness as well as you have. Alex and I owe our height, strength and discerning palates to you.

To my grandpa: You always knew how to dress well. It was only the finest things on sale for you and Alex and I have benefited for years from your adventures to the mall. I will miss your laughter, your burps and your love of eating out. I know you want nothing more than for me to return to Virginia but I promise I will be back sooner than you think, home will always be with you and the family.

It was waking up in my empty room to the shuffling sounds of my grandfather’s footsteps downstairs. The distant rumbling of the washing machine, the echoing beep of a door opening. It was the sound of my mom calling out Levi’s name in the backyard and it was the gentle vibration of the garage door opening and closing beneath my room. It was these quiet, familiar moments that made me reflect on the people and moments I took for granted, these quiet sounds of my family and their existences that let me know that I would miss my home so much. It was seeing all of my dearest friends and holding them tight that made me realize how much love surrounded me, how rich a life I have been blessed with. 7 months isn’t forever, but it’s long enough for life to happen and each time I let go and said goodbye a part of me knew there was a possibility that it was for forever. 

To Erik and Lydia: You two are the hardest working people I know. Thank you for the countless words of kindness and wisdom. It was the compassion you showed me and the advice you gave me that helped me muster the courage for my road trip. Don’t stop chasing your goals! You guys will always be my Fairfax REI family!

To my Bestest Buddy: It’s hard to believe how far we have come since high school. A long far way from those late nights spent on AIM and xanga! I am so proud at how far you’ve come with your career. You were always an unstoppable force. When I come back I hope to see you running the neo natal ward!

To my dear, beautiful Jerry: Where have the years gone? We have seen each other at our worst and have pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps countless times. Life is a never ending battle but damn it you always manage to capture the sunsets like no one else. Best of luck with the Air Force brother, I can’t wait to hear your stories!

To my dear Kaitlin: What a wild ride it’s been huh? Life can be crazy and all over the place and I think we have both gotten extra heaping helpings of “all over the place”. It is a fateful dance that we are able to find each other when we do. I’m going to miss your kind words and your gentle spirit.

Something I realized as I saw friend after friend and had coffee after coffee, life had not stopped just because I had left. In my mind my family and friends had been frozen in place. Solid and static, preserved in a film of oozing sentimentality. But NO. The friends and family that I left behind were fiery beings just as aggressive and hungry for life as me. They were progressing in every way I could have hoped – time does not bow to sentiment.

To my SCBI family: No where in my travels has a place held so much for me. SCBI was my beginning, my first steps into the world of conservation. In it’s fields and forests I made some of the best friends I will have in this life and it is in it’s dark streets and green hills that I have left a lot of my heart. You all have done so well and I can’t wait to see where this year will take you all. I’m honored to be fighting the good fight by your sides.

I didn’t realize how precious a few fleeting hours in an old house could be to me until I sat down with you guys. It was as if I could feel the moment slipping out of my hands and into the darkness of the room. I felt like I could have gotten lost in the blurry familiar sound of our laughter. More than any other moment that week, it was sitting there that I realized how unfair goodbyes can be. It was hardest saying goodbye to you four – you are my family.

To my beautiful, ageless, benevolent dragon-tiger mom: You have been the ground beneath my feet for my entire life. Selflessly you have provided for Alex and I pushing us to be the best we can be and in return you only ask for our love and our virtue. A large chocolate Costco cake will occasionally do it too. Since leaving the path to Pharmacy I have often struggled to find a way to make you proud of me, though perhaps it was only in my own eyes that I fell short. Standing in our store surrounded by the rings and bracelets and watches you and Dad have so tirelessly worked to sell I gave you my best photograph and it still didn’t feel like enough to me. To me it was a physical culmination of all of the years I have grown and learned and explored because of you both – a product of the man that I have striven so hard to become. To you and Dad I owe my life.

To Rirrian and Afrodesiac: You two were always ones to go against the grain. Whether it was striving to create your own business, constantly pushing yourself to surpass your creative limits or just being the brashest, baddest, ex-slapping best friend a guy could have – you two have always been the wild ones. I owe breaking out of my shell to you both and am grateful to have you as my family.

It still surprises me how much an aggressive barbarian like Rirrian can like art so much.

I’m going to miss having you by my side through natural disasters, awkward social situations, parties, restaurants and naps. When I come back we are going to have to get you suited up for the backpacking trip of a lifetime – then you can finally really get me killed.

To my FCA family: Oh the countless memories we have had. And by that I mean how many embarrassing versions of Chris you all have had to bare witness through the years! You are my FCA family and I owe so much of my confidence and, honestly, social skills to you. It was those ragtag college years where I grew into my own skin and found the real Chris that I could be happy with. Thanks to you guys I reached my final form (and you know it’s over 9,000!!!!!!).

To my beautiful sisters: After all these years we are still forever the triangle. Thank you for dealing with me through all of my strange phases, exes and for putting up with me never returning phone calls. But above all thank you for always making me look good in public – trust me when I finally do find that right lady you both will make amazing groomsmen.

To my brother: It has been a pleasure and an honor. My only regret is that we never hung out sooner – oh the adventures Rhyhorn and Yoda could have had! I don’t know where life is going to take us but I do know it’s going to be in 4 and it’s going to be covered in mud. Here’s to us one day finally adventuring together!

To my beloved uncle: I regret not spending more time with you and the kids all these past years. Saying goodbye to you when I first left for Oregon was one of the hardest goodbyes for me. You have always looked out for me growing up and I hope that I can return the favor one day with Grace and Mason. Family is first and it’s the most precious thing we have. I’m gonna miss your humor Koo. Here’s to planning an awesome vacation together soon!

To my Fairfax REI family: Nevermore was the passage of time more obvious than when I returned to where it all began. People come and go, such is the passage of life, and it was good to just see a few old faces. It was 2012 when I approached its doors as a desperate college graduate with nothing more to his name than a dream to work outdoors and 4 years of irrelevant pre-pharmacy courses. It was in this REI that a manager took a chance on me and it was here that I first entered the world of outdoor recreation. I owe so much to this humble little store – here’s to making the co-op proud wherever life takes me!

To B-randon: You god damn Brit. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I first picked you up at IAD airport. It all started with an internship and look at you now! A jeep, a pup and fiancé!? B-randon you are doing it more ‘merican than you could have ever have hoped! I’m going to miss our belligerent conversations, our whiskey tastings and our hilarious parties at Leach House. Best of luck with what lies ahead of you dear friend!

To the wonderful, loving, unbelievably kind-hearted Mandolia family: I can’t believe how much warmth and love pours out of your home. From the first time we met you all took an interest in me and my hopes and dreams. Though our time together has been brief returning to your home on the last night of my visit home was the perfect ending to a week of overwhelming emotion. No where else do I feel so welcome, so unabashedly comfortable. I will miss your open hearts and will take the lessons of kindness and adventures you have taught me everywhere I go. Above all else, I will miss your heated bathroom floor – simply genius.

To my beautiful boy: It feels like yesterday that I held you for the first time. Raising you was a trial but one filled with joy. Long gone are the days where you would follow close behind me, beg to be held and ate regular dog food. You are grandma’s big boy and the protector of the house. Daddy will miss you but he will be back sooner than you think. Keep the family safe and stop letting grandma dress you up in silly outfits, have some damn pride, son.

Iremember hugging my mother for the last time at IAD. It was a draining week to say the least and after all was said and done I spent less than 10 hours with my own family. The familiar feeling of her arms and the smell of her hair was almost too much. As I walked deeper into the airport I waved goodbye to my father illegally parked in front of the departures and held back a floodgate of tears. What was a trip initially filled with sadness, longing, fear and homesickness ended in the resetting of my soul. Hearing how many of my friends were inspired by me and my journey was surprising and humbling. Hearing how many of them were proud of me for facing my fears was heart breaking. For so long now I have been battling my fears of being alone and pushing myself to be able to stand strong on my own in the face of the wildest unknown. I have become stronger and hearing my friends recognize that inspired me, broke me and rekindled a fire in me. As I tore through the sky towards Oregon I knew that I was ready for the next step.

Breaking the news about Kure to my Oregon friends and family proved no easier. In the time I’ve been out here I have created a home. Familiar roads and places fill the spaces where I would drive lost for hours panic-stricken by the pace of the city. I have a regular commute, I have a regular job, I have a regular doughnut shop. And what’s extraordinary is that, in the three months working at Hillsboro REI, I have made close friends. I wasn’t able to reconnect with many of my Klamath crew after breaking the news but in a similar fashion they were already all over the world. With the exception of Charles who I was finally able to get that climbing trip in that we had talked so much about over the summer: best of luck with your upcoming projects and pass on my love to your family! With my departure fast approaching I made sure to act on the lessons learned in Virginia and put time with friends and family to the forefront. For the last month there hasn’t been a moment not spent living.

To Chris: It was good meeting you man. You’re young, driven and wise beyond your years. Whether it’s the Marine Corps, Firefighting or getting sponsored by GoPro I believe in you. Just don’t die!

To Easewryder: It’s funny how much we have in common and how cool we became after just a few short days. It was unlucky that we met so late but it was good fortune that we met at all. Best of luck with your passions and send Mistor Falcor and the lady my love!

After my string of field jobs ended in October, I entered a spiraling descent into a dustbowl of unemployment. No longer was my life filled with sunkissed days and star-filled nights. No more was that constant feeling of purposeful adventure. It was after a solid month of trawling USAJOBS and Texas A&M to no avail that I decided it was time to reapply to REI. Within days Hillsboro REI responded and within a few weeks I was standing in a green vest again. With the crazy unstructured chaos of being unemployed, having to reacclimate to city life and the ever-growing pressure of finding that stable permanent job bearing down on me, REI was a safe haven. A familiar home where I knew the rules and I knew the people but above all where I knew I had purpose. Within weeks I was exploring the Portland area and getting into the groove of a schedule again. Despite being surrounded by people everyday I kept to myself and maintained my solitary style of adventuring. It was a surprise to me when I began to descend into loneliness. Without a physical job or a family of field techs to distract me I began to succumb to a concrete, urban depression. That’s when I began to find my new REI family.

To Mike: It was a blessing to meet you my dear friend. I’ve never met someone so full of knowledge and good intention. You were born a natural teacher and are destined for great things. I wish you the best of luck with everything you pursue – the next time we meet let’s make it the summit of South Sister!

To KATIE JEAN!: Hands down you get the award for planning the most adventures packed into a single day! My only regret is that we didn’t start earlier! You have a good heart and are beyond fun to hang out with. I know you will bring honor to our hiring generation. Next time we see each other again let’s do it all again dear friend.

To my darling Tummybummers: What will I do without your forlorn glare from frontline? Or the way you would snipe me with your light-footed fairy dance. I will never look at coffee or Mt. Hood the same thanks to you and I wish we had more time to adventure together. Thanks for showing me that great strength can come in the form of great patience.

To A-aron, erbear11 and Overlord: Easily the three easiest people to hang out with I have had to fortune to meet. Thank you for welcoming me into your lives and showing me how Oregon transplants throw down! You all have had such diverse lives filled with such great stories and experiences. I will take your humors and your wisdoms (and your love for the Kendama) to the island and I will return to Oregon and we will party into the sunset.

To my dear dear dear beccaklassy: Where do I even start? In the few short months I worked at REI, and lived in Portland for that matter, you have become my best good friend. You showed me how to climb, you showed me how to be spontaneous and you showed me how to be a good friend. Thank you for making me open up despite how stubborn I was. Our adventures hold a special place in my memory and I can’t wait to come back. I wish you the best of luck with everything you aspire to do. You. Are. Unstoppable.

To Hosh William Swanson: It’s been an adventure getting to know you my friend. I wish we had the chance to hang out more. I loved our conversations about the island; your curiosity and fun-loving attitude has rubbed off on me in a good way. I wish you only the best with whatever comes your way. Always remember, the fannypack of fun. (Photo Credit: Becca Klassy)

I am honored to call Hillsboro REI my home away from home and have been so fortunate to meet so many amazing people. You all welcomed me in with kindness and were always down to adventure. It showed me that there is a value in enjoying solitude but that there is also value in opening up and letting people in. Thank you all for giving me a new place to call home and a bunch of amazing people to call family.

I remember it vividly. Driving out of Yellowstone National Park I turned my wheels westward and began the last leg of my solo road trip. The mission was Boise, ID and it was going to be the first time since Indiana that I would see family. Two weeks of being on the road and I wanted nothing more than to see a familiar face, to hear a familiar voice and to feel at home again. To my cousins I owe the most. Without them I wouldn’t have been able to actualize my dream of moving out west and pursuing a life out here. It was because of their generosity and support that I was able to create a new home base and slowly begin to work, live and build. To them I owe my PNW experiences.

To Khem and Amanda: Thank you for all of the wonderful experiences. From my first view of the Gorge to my first Tonalli’s doughnut you both have always been there to hit the town with me. Our progressives will always be a thing of legend and I will continue to honor your names with mountains of tots, craft beers and artisanal obscure ice cream flavors! It didn’t take long for us to fall into a comfortable groove. I will miss waking up to the sounds of our creaky floors and the smell of fresh coffee. Our living room conversations and musubi nights will also be missed. I hope you all the best this year and I can’t wait to see you both again! Whatever changes may come they will be good and we will tackle them as a team. You can trust that I will bring honor to our remote seabird field work family! #wowfreshfamilyforever

To Judy: Thank you for always making time to see me all these years. You are a wise and caring person and I am grateful for our talks on life, love and family. I hope you find everything that you are looking for in Oregon and I can’t wait for our next brunch! Keep true to your heart and I know you are going to kill it this year!

To my dear Lombard St.: I will miss the sounds of your train tracks, your forlorn horns echoing through the night lulling me to sleep. Many a late night you have led me safely home and many a busy day you have shown me the way to Fred Meyer and Costco. Perhaps most of all I will miss they way you lit up on bright, clear days your colors bursting, Mt. Hood looming ever regal in the distance. Alas. You, Rhyhorn and I will reunite again one day.

:DEEP EXHAUSTED EXHALE:

Thank you for putting up with me. Without a doubt this has been my longest, most prolonged blog entry. It has been a wild ride these past few months and I have lost a handle on a lot of different aspects of my life. But if there is anything to take away from this crazy explosion of emotions and words and photographs it is this: There are things in this life far greater than ourselves. We all have different things to fill in the blank but it’s as simple as that. 4 years ago I was sitting in a massive lecture hall surrounded by bleary-eyed, exhausted pre-med students. Like a room full of zombies we stared blankly at a faded screen of endless powerpoint slides awaiting any sort of stimulus, hungry for any sort of change. It was at that moment that I realized that there was too much to this life to not chase my dreams. I realized that my path was going to be one spent making as much of a difference in this world as I could. Clichés aside, I will finally put this post to rest. It has been a wild ride this year and I couldn’t have spent it with better people or in better places. My next steps will be into the Northwest Hawaiian Islands and I will carry the weight of everyone’s love with me into the unknown. Here’s to next steps and never slowing down. See you all in the Fall.

With all my love,

Chris So Grateful

Multnomah Falls: Exploring the Gorge

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft. 

With my cousins traveling through South Africa and REI having me on a regular schedule I have been in the city more consistently now. It’s been lonely and has been driving me a bit stir crazy but that’s what the days off are for. This week I decided to explore more of the Portland and Columbia River Gorge areas. Since arriving her in May I have travelled all over Oregon and much of Northern California but have deflected the natural areas around my own home base. Hiking part of Forest Park yesterday I was inspired to get further away from the sounds and smells of the city and decided to hit the gorge today. I hiked a loop that started off by none other than the famous Multnomah Falls!

Multnomah Falls (620 ft.), 2nd tallest year-round waterfall in the U.S.

A view of the gorge. 

A view down from the top of Multnomah Falls. 

Another view of the gorge with I-84 in the foreground and Washington in the distance.

Past the falls the trail becomes unpaved and more natural.

And more so - if this were pokémon I would need a Rhyhorn to cross this.

Log POV.

Welsendanger Falls (55 ft.), one of the many smaller waterfalls along the Multnomah Creek.

Wet with fog and rain, the mossy forests of the PNW create an almost haunting energy. 

At times the water and trees seemed two parts of an endless corridor. 

After a certain elevation a fog bank settled into the forest giving me very strong “Over the Garden Wall” vibes.

Inspired by Ant Man. My Banana Slug friend.

Fall is here in the PNW and the Big Leaf and Vine Maples are casting their eerie glow through the wet wood. 

mëh.

Breaking through the fog I began my descent. The hike to Larch Mountain would have to happen another day.

This small fall flowed straight over the trail. 

Downstream of another large waterfall. 

Fairy Falls (20 ft.)

Cedars frame the babbling creek.

This part held a bittersweet reminder of Dolly Sods.

50/50

A memorial to a fallen firefighter. 

The gorge.

Wahkeena Falls (242 ft.) 

Wahkeena Creek’s junction with the road. 

My first journey into the gorge was a success. I had to cut my hike short because of sunlight but I am certainly smitten with the gorge and will be back soon!

Love and miss you all,

Chris

Torrent Sedge, Wet Pants and Hennifer Lopez: A Much Needed Break

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50 ft.

Just as job applications and a lack of general movement started to drive me completely crazy I managed to get out of the city and back into the country this weekend. The mission was northeast Oregon, more specifically, the John Day River. Since arriving in Oregon in April I have been traveling up and down and across this beautiful state and have nearly covered everything west of the cascades. Eastern Oregon had been shamefully neglected but I was going to make part of that right this weekend. Driving out of eastward out of Eugene Friday evening I was met with familiar sights as we passed through Blue River, Sisters and Redmond. I fell in love with central Oregon during my time at the H. J. Andrews and was eager to see more of the high desert landscape so characteristic of the state’s “dry side”.

My mission’s mission was to help Matthew Goslin, a PhD student at the University of Oregon, with his study on Torrent Sedge (Carex nudata) in the middle fork of the John Day River. He is working on determining the environmental drivers behind CANU distribution as well studying the sedge’s role as an ecosystem engineer. The study site couldn’t have been at a better location. Nestled south of the Blue Mountains, the John Day River winds its way through high desert and a complex history. Having been aggressively dredged for gold in the past, the John Day River has been on a path to recover as restoration projects in the Oxbow Conservation Area have begun to slowly and steadily reshape the river. Matthew’s study sites were located in this beautiful conservation area. 

My role was to assist Matthew with measuring and resetting erosion pins, essentially painted steel pins set into the banks of sections of the river, while his other assistants, Alex and James, photographed and TopConned the banks of other sections. Laying down the transect tape, Matthew and I walked along the river bank checking to see how much soil had eroded away from around the pin since the last measurement. It was an ingenious way to measure erosion and working along the cool river was a nice change. 

That night we returned to Boulder Creek Ranch for warm showers and warm food. I treated the crew to my famous (work in progress) Japanese curry couscous and kale.

The next morning ripped into my consciousness with a mix of redtails, horses, dogs and my phone blaring the Turnpike Troubadours. Located on a functional ranch, the Boulder Creek cabin that we stayed at was hands down the best deal for any adventurer/ field tech traveling through NE Oregon and will be a staple stay next time I come through. Stepping out into the cold fall air I was greeted by a Rhode Island Red intensely staring at me at the bottom of the cabin’s stairs. Walking up the steps it inspected me and crooned. 

“Hello, chicken.”

Stepping foot on the gravel I got my first look at the ranch and felt a dozen pairs of eyes settle on me. Goats and horses and more chickens seemed to welcome my appearance as a breakfast bell and four goats started slowly for me. I have always like goats. There was a super pregnant one and there was an affectionate small one and stooping down I gave the small one all the scritches. Moving on towards the horses the affectionate small one became aggressive and gave me a hard tackle to my bocci balls but it barely missed.

“Hello, horse.”

“Her name is Hennifer Lopez.”

Packing up the van we headed out for the field. Little did we know that it would be a day of technological trials. Setting up the TopCon proved to be much more difficult today for Matthew and James and ended up eating up much of the second day. 

The TopCon serves the purpose of a GPS unit on the finest most powerful steroids one can find. The base station communicates with satellites while the user takes a second antennae attached to a pole and a controller and maps points accurate down to a millimeter. Matthew is using the technology to map hundreds of points along his study sites. By getting points on the bank, the floodplain and islands of CANU he will be able to create a detailed map of the rivers in ArcGIS. To complete the picture, pun intended, he is also collecting photographs of the banks from 90º, 45º and 180º. These will be stitched together to form a larger continuous photograph. Conservation is pretty damn high-tech.

I spent the rest of the next two days helping Matthew reset erosion pins and soaking in the John Day water and sun. 

All said and done, I loved working in the river. I wished I had brought my quick dry hiking pants as well as some closed toe water shoes, but it was a much needed change of pace and a desperately needed break from the jobless, depressing, computer screen life I had made my reality. A huge shoutout and thank you to Matthew, Alex and James for the great time I’ll definitely join the team again (if I’m still unemployed). I’m looking forward to my next chance to get out east and to explore more of what this crazy amazing state has to offer! 

As always, love and miss you all.

Chris

Oregon Country Coast - The Fair, The Coast and Existentialism

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090 ft. 

I had never seen a play. Well, I suppose I have seen plays in grade school and certainly have dabbled in acting in college - but I had never seen a professional play. Driving into Ashland I was excited to see one of the Shakespearean plays the Oregon Shakespeare Festival was so known for. The play was Much Ado About Nothing, one I hadn’t read yet. I was surprised to see that it was done in a contemporary theme with the soldiers in modern combat attire and the actors and actresses in hip clothing. The actors playing Benedick and Beatrice were sassy, full of attitude and on point! I had never had so much fun at a play before. After the play we roamed about Ashland’s downtown. I had driven past the little town on I-5 so many times before without giving it a second thought but walking past its many storefronts and restaurants I was overcome with the feeling that I should live here. The mix of tourist shops, local foodie spots and wandering, eclectic, dreadlocked youths (homeless or hippie, never sure) made the little thespian town all the more quaint. Did I mention that they had a restaurant that, coming from the BBQ coast, slow cooked the best damn pulled pork I’ve had in a long long time? Hands down the meat cup I got from Home State BBQ set the tone for my 4th break!

After lunch and much meandering we met up with Kim and her friends Teresa and Ben for a free show at OSF’s Green Show stage. It was the Chickspeare Improve group and they were a riot! Taking suggestions from the audience for a play on love they had everyone laughing. One of them even got off stage and began kissing random women in the audience (she was playing the role of a man trying to see which woman would be her true love based on their kiss and she broke the 4th wall and started kissing the audience too), it was hilarious and it was also how I knew I wasn’t in Virginia anymore haha.

We spend the night at Teresa and Ben’s cozy home in Medford. Full of musical instruments, pine cones and all around adorable collected things their home reminded me of the home I want to eventually own. Their backyard was filled with native grasses and plants and their dog, Sandy, was the absolute best!

The next day it was off to food shop and then back to Klamath River to gear up for the rest of break. The mission was the Oregon Country Fair and then a journey down the southern coast. 

The fair was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The only fairs I have been to were small local ones as a child, big state fairs as an adult but never the Oregon Country Fair. in a few words it was like the naked bike ride met a renaissance festival and then crashed into a watered down Burning Man. The sprawling fair took place in the heart of a forest in Veneta, OR just west of Eugene. Vendors sold things ranging from leather belt pouches and wooden wares to edible plants and sustainable energy. I was blown away by the number of colorful costumes people wore, the number of dreadlocked folks (fight the good fight!) and the sheer amount of music. There was a main stage, a second stage and then buskers littered everywhere in between. And food. So much food going from Indian food to vegan BBQ! Unfortunately I was too stingy to pay for a lot of the options. So often were to portions small, the lines long and the prices high. I also didn’t buy much because there simply wasn’t anything that I needed and everything also seemed overpriced. Instead I people watched, listened to music and kept a tally of how many boobs vs. asians I saw. Yep. As wonderful and beautiful and adventurous the PNW has been so far I have to admit it isn’t very diverse. Save the city of Portland of course. Oh and that ratio was 13:8 with boobs being “pair of boobs”, of course. Towrads the end of the day we met up with our friend Matt who was volunteering at the Native Plant Society of Oregon booth. The booth featured edible plants and explained many of their everyday uses. Stinging Nettle even had a place. 

That night we headed westward and camped halfway between I-5 and the coast. Our first stop the next morning was Seal Rock, OR where I finally got to the sea. Walking along the cool, windy beach I dug my feet deeply and longingly into the wet sand. For too long now I have been craving the ocean. The hot, dry days out here in the mountains have so been wearing down my soul (as you know). I love the work I am doing, mostly, but I know more than ever now that I will settle near the sea.

Driving north towards Newport we hit the Oregon Coast Aquarium and the Rogue Ales brewery! The aquarium was the perfect place to start our trip down the coast. It was filled with animals and displays pertinent to the tide pools and beaches we would eventually see. The aviary was filled with coastal birds that reminded me of my cousin Amanda and all of her work she’s been doing with them. I’m not much of a bird person but hiking with her and Khem and learning about the coastal species along the shores have been so interesting to me (a possible future job perhaps). 

Rogue Ales has to be, currently, my favorite Oregon brewery. Their beers are always so imaginative and full of flavor. Their artwork is reminiscent of the work of Shepard Fairey and it’s obvious that they are a brewery serious about brewing quality beers as they are serious about having fun. Did I mention their parking lot is always filled with big rigs?

Next we hit the road and gunned it south. Our fist stop was Cape Perpetua where we hiked down to the coast and through tide pools. The hike was the perfect mix of well-maintained trail, aromatic conifers and salty ocean air. God am I dreading work tomorrow. 

Leaning down close to an evaporated pool of sea salt I angled my camera low to the ground. My hopes was to capture an out of this world macro landscape. The rim of the pool becoming the distant ridges of some forlorn planet of slat and rock. The distant blues of the sky painting its clouds as the sky of this forgotten Interstellar-esque planet. 

Stomachs grumbling we headed further south. Sunlight was starting to wane and we still needed to find camping. The mission was to be as far south as Coos Bay (the middle point of the southen half of the coast) by nightfall. Stopping in the cozy seaside town of Florence we were greeted by the smell of coffee, waffle cones and seafood.

On the road again we headed south. The sunset was quickly blotted out by stormy clouds. As we passed ATV-filled campsite to ATV-filled campsite we quickly realized that the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area was just that. It wasn’t the pristine dunes of northern Minnesota and Michigan that Eleanor and I remembered. As we approached Northbend, OR we hit a fog bank. It swallowed the trees and the shore and it painted the world a cloudy, forlorn white that I had always associated with the PNW.

Running out of battery so I will have to speed this up, damn the gods for not placing an outlet on this porch. We camped at Eel Creek Campground. At a pricey $20 we were reluctant but it was better than the local KOA or Walmart’s parking lot. We discovered the next morning that it was the trailhead to a 3 mile roundtrip hike to the shore over the dunes the coast were named after. I ran into a guy in the bathroom the night before who described the hike as simply, Tatooine. And Tatooine it was.

As far as the eye could see the sand sprawled endlessly away. In the distance only a faint line of trees could be seen, a long hike lay between us and the cold, sweet ocean. Hiking on sand. It’s hard but something everyone should do. Cool to the touch, it broke away underneath our feet testing the strength of our thighs and knees with each step. After what seemed an eternity the sand broke away to reveal the edge of the forest. Their a well-worn path led through the trees to a boardwalk.

Which then opened up to a coastal shrubland. The likes I’d never seen before.

The ocean was sweet as ever it were. She greeted me with gently waves and a cooling breeze. Why ever did I forsake the gentle power of the ocean for such callous, malicous mountains? Like the Avett Brothers say, we all have worries to give to the sea. 

Travelling ever southward we took a dead-end route down 540 to Shoreacres State Park. What we had hoped was to be on the scenic route that took us along the coast from Coos Bay to Bannon but seeing as how we had taken a wrong turn we decided to explore it anyways. Stomachs rumbling we grabbed a bag of nuts and explored the old estate. But first, here is a rock o’ sea lions. 

The old estate was owned by a very unfortunate Mr. Louis J. Simpson. Who essentially preserved the southern qoarter of the Oregon coast by buying up all the and over the course of his life. Why? Because he was a self-made man and loved the ocean. He built a lavish mansion for his wife for Christmas and she soon later died of illness and a wildfire razed the mansion and his gardens. Bad things happen indiscriminately my friends. Walking along the edge of his old grounds I had an eerie feeling of being in a place rich with history and loss. Through so many things the shore had remained in place. Steadfast and ever flowing the waves were here before him, they are here after him and they will be here long after me. The values we humans place on things and each other seem so small compared to the rest of the world. Us transient, self-important things. The whole notion of our egos are as pointless as war. Unimportant we have only succeeded in ruining this earth. If I don’t dedicate myself and my life to fighting the good fight then I will die a leach like the rest of this wretched world. Anyways. His gardens were magnificent. 

Our last stop before heading eastward for Medford was the South Slough National Estuarine Research Reserve. Estuaries, where the salty waters of the ocean mix and mingle with the fresh water of streams, have always been an interest to me. Since I first learned about it in Ecology 101 I have always been curious about learning more about the types of life that spring up in these diverse ecosystems. Following the trail down through the woods we wound closer and closer to the estuary. The vegetation transformed from coastal forest to a riparian forest rich with moisture loving plants like ferns and the skunk cabbage (one I had never heard of before).

The estuary itself was oddly low. Judging from the time I didn’t think it had to do with the normal tides. It was curious. 

On the road again we began the long drive east. We needed to reach Medford, resupply for the spike and then head to the cabins. But as the miles wore on the heavy weight of sleep began to pull at my eyelids, stronger than the grumbling pains of my stomach. Heart pounding I nodded awake and gripped Rhyhorn’s wheel tightly. Pulling into the small fishing town of Bandon, OR we parked at the Old Town and began looking for coffee and food. It would seem the pattern for small towns across america to close at 1600/1700 and we were out of luck. walking up and down the street we were met with stores either closed, too expensive or too sketch. I felt like this trash fish.

We ended up finding a little oyster shack on the boardwalk that served Americanos and chowder and we were on the road again. Tired but satisfied I started the engine and settled in for the long drive back. Turning onto 42S I thought of how good a warm shower, a hot meal and a soft bed would feel.

Till next time my dear friends,

Chris

Spike 4: Field Karma, Blizzards and Stir-Frys

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090ft. 

One by one the team started to arrive. It was Tuesday night and a somber feeling seemed to float around the stuffy cabin. Packing away clothes and food everyone already seemed tired and injured. My back was aching, my knees were shot and I already missed my warm bed. None of us were ready for Spike 4.  Because of the increasing heat wave we were assigned to high elevation fires in southern Oregon’s Rogue River-Siskiyou National Forest not too far from Cave Junction, Selma and Grants Pass. Tossing our dirt and sap covered packs into the trucks we assumed our familiar places, powered on the GPSs and gunned it north. 

We stopped in Yreka for gas, a printer and a few provisions and headed west on 96. Turning onto an old gravel road we climbed northwards. As we climbed and climbed the dry chaparral mountains gave way to beautiful meadows and vistas unlike anything we had ever seen before. The temperature rose even as the air thinned and we all already began to grow weary from the heat. The road turned to dirt and we followed the ridge of a great valley. Turning out of the forest we came face to face with alpine meadows and mountain tops the likes that haven’t been seen since the Third Age.

I couldn’t believe our luck. With my hand stretched out the window I embraced the warm, sweet scented breeze and really believed Alan had decided to treat us this week. The campsite we planned to stay at was full so we drove further towards our first plot and set up shop in a mining claim campsite surrounded by posted signs that were alarmingly clear that this was a protected area. Strapping on our packs we began our hike. We would tackle the plot as a 6 person team because of time constraints and had chosen a plot that Alan had placed off of a hikeable road. There was no road. It took us almost 2 hours to get to the site because we had to bushwack up a dried out blowdown. Gone were the meadows and flowing hills and gone was much of the energy I had left. By early evening we had reached the polygon.

“Gods help us, for we are lost”. We didn’t get the plot set up until 1600 hours and by that point we were out of energy and I was running low on water. Plowing through the protocols we gassed it with all we had. The sun was no joke even at our higher elevation. I found myself parched yet constantly sweating. The air was thick and heavy and the ground was littered in blown down snags. We made it back to camp with little light left. Bathing in the nearby creek we gathered hungrily around the stove for Lily’s mac and cheese like moths to funeral pyre. It was Day 1.

We awoke with the sun and birds. Something that books make sound amazing but in reality it’s a pain in the ass. It was Day 2 and our last plot in the Quartz Creek Fire. Our hopes weren’t high which made getting ready and gearing up for the day much more bearable. 

I suppose I should reiterate what it is exactly that we do. We are a 6 person field crew collecting data for a project studying the effect of climate change on conifer regeneration after high-severity wildfire burns. We are sent to old burn sites of various ages and aridity and collect data on the types of shrubs and trees present. This is the only field season that the grant is able to pay for so it’s important that we get ALL of the projected plots before our contracts run out. Which means no breaks. Packing up our samples we hiked back down to the trucks and headed towards Selma, OR and the famous Biscuit Fire. 

It was July 2nd and we were getting dangerously close to the holiday. Camps were getting full for the weekend and people were getting rowdy. The sounds of drunken screams, loud music and barking dogs echoing off the valley walls would be a part of our nights for the next 3 days. Waking up to the sounds of birds and cell phone alarms I peeled back my sticky sleeping bag liner. We weren’t able to make it to a higher elevation that night and had to try to sleep though noise and through a 80º night. The time was 0600 hours.

The Biscuit Fire burned for 5 months straight. Started by dry lightening on July 12, 2002 it burned a total of 500,000 acres of southern Oregon and northern California. You could see the name thing from space. It was a fire so large and long burning that it provided the canvas for a lot of ecological research down the road. It was a fire that rang a tone in the local ecology community akin to 9/11 (but not as tragic), everyone knew what they were doing when the Biscuit Fire started. It was a fire so big that we would spend the rest of the spike collecting data from plots within it. 

The next day we had a city break. We returned to Cave Junction to rendezvous with Dunbar Carpenter, a personal friend of Jonathan Thompson (our PI) who was going to volunteer with us the rest of the spike. On the way in we stopped by Dairy Queen for much needed Blizzards. I don’t think I had ever been so happy to see a Dairy Queen in my life. Or people and roads and buildings and AC for that matter. Waiting for the Blizzard, Charles and I filled our nalgenes with water form the soda fountain machine and its sheer coldness gave us headaches but god damn were we happy. I ran to the head before leaving for the ranger station and came face to face with my reflection. I hadn’t seen myself for 3 days and I already looked insane.

Having Dunbar on the team was a breath of fresh air. He wasn’t the old, crusty, bitter old forester we thought we was going to be instead he was a cheerful, light-hearted PhD who loved to climb, wore a straw hat and never had anything negative to say. I gotta admit he was the new face and the positive push we needed. 

Day 4 came. To birds again. But this time it came to us after a sleepless night. Drunken townies blasted music and shot fireworks until 0200 at least and like clockwork the sun comes out and the birds start singing at 0500. It took a lot to get into the truck that day. Clothes still soaked and sour from 3 sweaty days. My favorite boots had started losing chunks of their soles to the rugged terrain and the right boot had its side blown out from all the skirting we did on these steep slopes and without the side support it felt like a worn out clown shoe. My face and lips were burnt and my eyes were weary from staring at a bright white data sheet all day and the poison oak was starting to set in. Looking out over the farm fields on the way to the day’s plot I began to think about Laurie again and things never seemed so far away. 

Hiking into the plot we were surprised at how open it was. All around us were the stumps of cleared trees - evidence of the severe logging that happened after the fire. In the distance we could see where our polygon lie and it didn’t look much worse. The slope was steep and the ground was sheer but our hope rose with each step.

Getting to the plot we couldn’t believe our luck! The shrubs stood no more than 2 meters and there was no poison oak in sight! “Alan akbar!” A praise to our wrathful god we would start to use more as the spike continued. 

But a wrathful god he is. Though that night was filled with relief, laughter and our neighbor’s fireworks it would be first and last of easy days for me. From Day 5 till the end it was hell days. Situated at Josephine Campground we set up shop for the last time. It was from here that we would tackle the next half of the spike. It was here that good food, good music and good laughter was had. It was here that our spirits recovered each night and it was here that I realized that despite all the pain and abject suffering I was feeling at these plots I was in the mountains working with earth every day and sleeping under its stars at night. I was out here with the best crew anyone could have the honor of working with and damn it it’s better than 1,000 good days in an office. 

But what good would a journey of tests and beauty and loss be without a hard last day? Climbing into our trusty F250 I assumed the navigator’s seat and grabbed the 1996 forest service map, the only map we had that covered the township ranges of our plots. The GPS flashed to life and off we were for BIS-12. Following Alan’s instructions (Alan akbar!) we kept on a forest road until it merged with a smaller one that would put us on a ridge above our plot. It should be a reasonably pleasant hike down. And then the road ended.

Classic Alan. Gearing up we prepared for the little-over-a-kilometer hike down. Looking around us we could see down into the valley into Selma and, as pointed out by Matt, could just make out the Siskiyou Field Institute. Looking at the sloping hills and low shrubs around us I had high hopes for the plot. But not until mid-day would we learn that we would all leave pieces of our souls in that plot. 

As we descended lower and lower the amount of Tan Oak and hidden snags began to increase. It became difficult to walk and soon we had to grab and pull ourselves through the terrain any way we could. Unfortunately the dominant tree was Tan Oak (Lithocarpus densiflorus). The powder from the Tan Oaks became too much. We all hated Tan Oak. It was just a part of the vegetation that grew in this area but never before had we been in such a dense forest of it. It seemed to be the dominant tree and its fiberglass-like powder seemed to fill the air. 

Descending into our plot it only got worse. Alan (Alan akbar!) had managed to find a polygon void of the small shrubs of the surrounding area and was instead nearly 75% filled with ripe, powdery Tan Oak. 

For the most part we had all stopped wearing our bandanas. 1 because of the intense heat and the need to breathe and 2 because the amount of Tan Oak in our plots were usually a bearable amount. Wrapping my handkerchief around my face I loaded up on data sheets and water and tackled the plot like a silverback in a fiberglass factory. 

Wiping the dust and sweat off of my face I could feel the burning in my throat and eyes. It was like asbestos met fiberglass met pollen met pepper spray. It was bad shit. Looking over at Matt and Kim I saw Matt dead-eyed staring into the plot. 

“Do you think we’re gonna die in here?” 

No Matthew. We will die but not today. 

That night we ate like kings. I cooked up my famous couscous and curry (with 3 vegetables this time and tomatoes on the side) and Kim busted out red wine she had been saving. I don’t think a pot of curry had ever been drained so quickly. As the sun began to set a surreal orange overtook the campsite. It got suddenly brighter until it got so absurdly bright it was like the day had restarted. Matt called it Alpenglow. It was my first one and no picture I took could do it justice. It was just one of those moments that one had to hold on to. And then let go.

Until next time my friends.

Chris

Crater Lake National Park

Klamath River, CA (aka the bowl the PNW shits all of its heat into)
Elevation: 4,090ft.

It was good to be on the road again. Loaded packs pressed against extra gas and water, beers chilling in the yeti and assorted gear hanging about Rhyhorn’s trunk - I was finally on an adventure again. Work has been wearing me down mentally and physically and the heat has been a cruel bonus. Gripping the wheel tightly, sitting back in my seat I pulled out onto Hwy 96 east - the destination was Crater Lake.

Driving northward on I-5 we passed the familiar, steep windy roads we usually drove for work. Passing lumbering tractor trailers we chugged along towards Ashland. In my mind we were heading to the bluest, deepest lake in America and, hopefully, cooler weather. Pulling into the park we headed westward along the Rim Drive figuring that we would hit as many overlooks and hikes as we could, camp in Mazama Village in the south for the night and then tackle the bout tour and Wizard Island the next day. 

Hiking through the sandy soils of the caldera’s rim we encountered a lot of sun-bleached snags and exposed rock. No matter where you hiked you could see down into the massive lake. It clocked in at 80ºF which, while not as cool as I would have liked it, was a welcome respite from the 100ºF averages we were working through last week. We stopped at a lookout and hiked up to Discovery Point where gold prospectors first encountered Crater Lake. 

From the Lightning Spring pull-off we hiked northwards towards the Watchman Overlook. The winding road tok us up a few mild switchbacks but granted us amazing views of the lake and the lands to the west. To the northwest you could see Desert Cone, an old cindercone, a landmark I would rely on several times over the rest of the trip. 

Much like any major National Park, CLNP was extremely built up and accommodating to the average tourist. This meant well-maintained trails, nice roads, occasional restaurants and gift shops and signs. Signs signs signs I love signs! Signs and maps always translate to not being lost. The comforts of the park were welcome luxuries and made the lake all the more enjoyable and vacationy for us. 

A view of the road below where the hike started. 

Driving northwards we passed Cleetwood Cove Trail where we would eventually board the boat tours that take visitors down to Wizard Island in the center of the lake. But that was for the next day. Today was “hike all the overlooks” day. On the east side of the park we parked Rhyhorn, geared up and made our way up Mt. Scott. The 2.5 mile trail would gain us 1,479 feet and would be a test to our underfed (our faults) and field-tenderized bodies. Gazing up through the thick air I made out the small dot that was the watch tower. 

“Fuck”

Making our way up the trail a cool breeze whipped at our sweaty bodies. Everything seemed to hurt. Disproportionally so. We were both realizing how much this season was affecting our knees. I like to think that I am fairly resilient and built fairly tough but at my ripe age of 24 (going on 25) you begin to realize that there is “good hurt”, “hurt that hurts but then heals stronger” and then there’s “fuck these are my only knees and it hurts to squat down to shit I’m in trouble”. But for now, there was this lovely cool, moist-ish breeze cooling down our elevation-stricken panting light headed bodies. Looking out to the south I could see misty blue mountains topped by endless skies.

To the west I could see storm clouds coming to kill us.

Getting worried about the encroaching storm we sped up our pace. We were so close there was no turning back now. Turning the last corner we could see the watch tower.

Plunking down at the tower’s base we busted out some snacks and took in the well-earned view. There was still a surprising amount of snow scattered about the summit. Not enough to really warrant being called significant snowpack but enough to breed “snow mosquitoes” which promptly attacked the hell out of us. The good thing was that, unlike the smaller lowland variants, these were big, brown and clumsy. Killing them was child’s play.

Sweaty, tired and satisfied we pulled into Mazama Village wild-eyed and ready for bed. Unpacking our gear it was funny to look around at the assortment of car campers that were our neighbors and seeing how much fun they were having. I personally love seeing people, no matter how tacky and over prepared, out and about enjoying nature. Put it simply, if they were here sweating, hiking, complaining, driving, gazing through the window of a massive camper at the lake with us they came here for the amazing experience of sharing these natural places with others. In a way I realized, as I systematically set up my tent and ate a cold can of Chef Boyardee, that I missed when the outdoors were fun and not work. I realized that I was dancing on the edge of the fragile balance all people face when their passion becomes a job and they just need to let go of the gas a little lest they burn out. I know that I want to work for the earth. I want to work long and hard and to spend my days out here for as long as I can and that it just means climbing the conservation ladder systematically and tactically. Choosing jobs wisely and not being too picky - but making sure that each one counts and pushes me further. I am determined not to burn out. The next morning started at 0545. We needed to get to the boat dock by 0730. 

Looking down into the water, no matter where you were on the caldera’s rim, it was clear that getting down and back up was nearly impossible. The soft, sandy sediment of the inner walls of the caldera were constantly eroding into the water. To think how early adventurers and animals made it down to the water was mind-boggling. We were lucky in that there was a reinforced 1 mile trail leading down to the dock. We were part of the first tour that morning and it was obvious that the other early birds waiting at the dock with us were prepared to hike and explore.

The climb was steep and, as we neared the top of the cindercone, sandy and barren. 

Reaching the top of the rim I was unsure of what to expect. It was the first time I had ever seen a cindercone let alone climb one and here I was face to face with an old volcano. 

“It’s crazy to think that, at one point, this was the spot that it all went down. Everything around here knew that it was going down. This is where all of the shit gathered to hit the fan.”

Realizing we were the first folks to summit the island we laid our packs down and I grabbed my DSLR and we hiked around the rim. From the top of Wizard Island it felt like we were in a gigantic bowl; deep blue water stretching out below us towards towering walls of rock, the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed flowing around us through the dry heat. 

The red soil contrasted so beautifully with the blueness of the water. These were the first DSLR photos on the blog that didn’t need to be edited.

The ridge across the water is Mt. Scott which we hiked the day before.

We stopped for lunch before hiking back down. Sliding as close as I dared to the rim of the cindercone I ate my nuts and meat sticks. It was definitely the coolest lunch spot to date. 

We had about an hour and a half before the boat returned to get us leaving us just enough time to hike down, hike to the bay and take a quick dip. At the bottom of the cindercone the soil became much more volcanic and by that I mean it was hell to hike in chacos. 

It was hands down the coolest place I’ve stripped down to my undies and washed myself in. 

Back on Rim Drive we headed clockwise south and hit overlooks we didn’t have time to hit the day before. In the bright summer sun we could see further to the east than we could yesterday. 

From Cloudcap Overlook we could see the tiny island we had just climbed. 

Our last stop of the day before heading back south for home were The Pinnacles. Hardened pipes of exposed fumaroles that gave the dried up stream valley an eerie look. 

Driving closer and closer to the cabins we watched the temperatures climb. Stopping in Medford for a resupply for the nest spike the temperature clocked in as 107ºF. This spike will be mainly southern Oregon and at high elevations. Fingers crossed that that means less mosquitoes, poison oak and cooler temperatures but I have learned not to really rely on these mountains for reliability. Halfway done with this season and it will be back on the market for work. Fall and Winter will be around the corner and I can be back in my element. Until the next adventures my friends.

Chris

Spike 3: A Closer Look, A Harder Feel

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090ft.

The birds and the sun woke me up before my alarm. The room was quiet, the AC was loud and my blanket felt warmer and safer than anything I had ever felt before-VBRRRROOOM came a logging truck tearing up the hill behind our cabin and I was up. The alarm went off, Charles’ alarm went off, Matt’s alarm went off and a resounding round of “fuck” was exchanged. Starting up the stove, Matt boiled water for tea, Charles started packing his pack and I stayed lying in bed. Next door I could hear the girls stirring and I knew it was time. Spike 3. 

Slamming the dusty tailgate of our white F150s we gathered around to look at our instructions for the week. The mission was to get to Yreka, have our radios looked at (again), then to head south towards Weaverville to make contact with the Shasta-Trinity National Forest Ranger and Dispatch. We were going to be spending this spike in a new forest and so we needed to establish check-in/check-out protocols and emergency protocols. Radios couldn’t be fixed (the tech didn’t have the right cord, not his fault, we are using Oregon radios in California) and Weaverville didn’t know what we were meeting them for. A hectic 3 hours of driving the winding roads between Northern California’s towns and a few confusing conversations with the Forest Service later and we were on our way to our first camp site. Thank god for driving days. It was already hot, our sore bodies weren’t really recovered from the last spike, we were all tired and it felt like, at least for me, we were starting with an already low moral. But one good thing about all of it that won’t ever change - it’s beautiful out here.

The goal was to stick together as a 6 person team for the first 3 plots and then to split into 3 person teams for the rest of the spike. It was always planned that we would function in 3 person groups but two spikes of working with 4-5 people (Kim joined us this spike making it 6) didn’t really prepare us (me) for the added pressure and labor. 

Right off the bat Shasta-Trinity proved to be a different type of beast than I was prepared for. Over the course of the last two spikes I learned a lot of lessons concerning field work and field dress primarily because of the heat and the terrain. I had to give up on being clean, ditched the carhartts for breathable field pants and accepted the thorns and poison oak (that shit is just too hot for hiking up and down mountains) and lost the wool buff and used my face mask buff for my head instead. That was perhaps my biggest trade off. There exists a tree in Northern California that epitomizes suffering. Lithocarpus densiflorus (LIDE3) aka Tanoak. This tree grows dense and prolifically with multiple boles stemming from a central bole or from a pre-fire stump and it’s leaves near the ground can be spiky. But worst of all it’s leaves are coated in a fiberglass-like dust that will explode off into the air if you so much as brush the branches aside. Hiking through it we churn up clouds of this dust, so much that it sticks to our clothes making us appear fuzzy and yellow. You can imagine how his dust just burns our throats and eyes. But, because of the heat (hi 90s is the norm), we have all but abandoned our bandanas in exchange for air and not having a heat stroke. Anyways. Shasta-Trinity was filled with Tanoak and Poison Oak (Toxicodenron diversilobum aka TODI) and the slopes were near impossible to climb. 

Pacing my breath, I grabbed LIDE3 and QUCH2 (Quercus chrysolepis) hand over hand to get up the slope. My task was to measure the woody fuel load along the top and bottom lines of our rectangular 30m x 15m plot. What this meant was categorizing all of the twigs, sticks and logs that the tape crossed into either 1, 10, 100 or 1,000 hour categories. This meant how long it would burn in a fire and how much it would help fuel the fire. For the most part this is a pain in the ass because you have to crawl along the ground over and under whatever is there and count each stick for 7.5m but sometimes the forest gods put you under a LIDE and on top of a massive pile.

Our first campsite was by far one of our best. Denny Campground was situated between the two tiny mountain towns Daily and Denny and was just a short walk down to a beautiful emerald pool formed by two gravel bars along the New River. On our last day there we gathered around the truck to gauge our water supply and to divide up trees for processing. But first, as was our usual custom when a stream was nearby, it was bath time. Taking off our clothes we joked around about our cuts and rashes and passed around the communal Tecnu bottle. It was then that Eleanor uttered my favorite quote of the season thusfar, “I hope the things on my legs aren’t- horse”. “Horse?” I asked looking at her like she was crazy. “Horse, there’s a horse”! I looked up and there trotting towards us through the dusky lught was a brown orse with white freckles on its face and chest. I was both panicked and awed. 

His name, as we later learned from Lily who drove into Denny asking around if anyone had lost their horse, was Orion after the constellation. He was a free-range horse who’s owners let run loose during the day and he returned to their ranch at night. Denny was a town small enough and removed enough that that would actually work. Orion hung out with us for a bit as we worked and then we headed down for a cold refreshing bath. 

It’s the random horses and the cool cool streams that keep me from burning out. It’s the small simple things like looking forward to breakfast for dinner after a nice bath that remind me why I chose to take the leap into this fied. Life if full of perspective and I have learned more in this month than I could have imagined. B for D!

We ended our last plot as a full team on a “hell plot”. From the topo maps and the information given to us about the plots from Alan we could only get a ballpark idea what the plot was actually going to look like. It was going to be a wet plot that burned in 1999, so big trees and a lot of brush. The topo map told us it would be a long, steep hike in and out and that the plot itself was on a steep slope. 

Despite the hot day, the shit tone of LIDE3 and TODI and the exhaustive amounts of large trees we had to cut and carry out of the field (30) we kept our spirits and humor high. 

Jackson Hole to Portland: Closing Words.

Portland, OR
Elevation: 1,073 ft.

Driving slowly through Jackson Hole I felt a weight begin to pull at my chest. I didn’t know if it was the bad Thai food I had the night before or if it was the weight of the realization that my trip was almost over. Climbing higher and higher into the Teton range I began to feel the effects of the sudden spike in elevation. My head began to hurt, my breath became shallow and my hearing began to dull. The music and the passing trees seem to cross senses and blended into my emotions like a slow-churned, low-fat gas station custard - I was starting to become extremely sad. For nearly two weeks my only responsibilities were to keep my eyes on the road, to keep my belly reasonably full and to make sure I had somewhere to sleep at night. In every sense I was living the road tripping life of a modern day nomad. It was a lifestyle I had first found stressful and anxious but soon became a carefree, life loving feeling I couldn’t possibly let go of. Knowing that I still had a long way to Yellowstone, as well as the time there, I put the feelings away and pulled over to an overlook.

“Gotta’ learn to roll with the punches, Chris. Gotta’ learn.”

Because the Yellowstone’s south entrance was closed for the season I needed to enter from the west which required me to drive northeast into Idaho and then west through Montana and then back into Wyoming. The whole drive only took 3 hours but I couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t worth it knowing that I needed to be in southeast Idaho that night. I popped another piece of Kroger jerky into my dry mouth, wiped at my eyes and refocused on the bug guts. Here I was nearly a continent away from my problems and I was overthinking the logistics of enjoying one of America’s most spectacular national parks. 

Pulling into Yellowstone I really wasn’t sure what to expect. I had long done away with my typical preparations, i.e. trolling wikipedia and Google Maps the night before, and had embraced a much more free-spirited approach. Just drive, experience and live. The first thing to greet me was the beautiful Madison River.

Driving towards the middle of the park I knew that I needed to make some decisions. Yellowstone’s roads are shaped like the outlines of a vertical rectangle with a line drawn through the middle. Knowing that a number of roads in the eastern half of the park were still closed I ambitiously decided to cover the entire western half, the middle road and the northern border. Hanging right I drove as fast as I could south towards none other than Old Faithful. Passing overlooks, hikes and bison I bit my lip telling myself that I was already running out of the day and needed to make some hard decisions. I couldn’t afford to really be out on the road much longer. Pulling into the Old Faithful parking lot I was surprised. It had a parking lot. I didn’t know what to expect honestly, I had forgotten just how built up these popular parks could me. Grabbing my camera I crossed the parking lot and into the mall of gift shops and information centers. Crowded around a smoking mound in the ground where easily a hundred people sitting on the longest, widest benches I had ever seen. I found a spot in the center on the ground and waited for what seemed like forever, surrounded by shouting kids complaining about the wait, parents promising it was only 4 more minutes and teenagers shouting “3, 2, 1!” and then giggling. Just as my eyes started to glaze over the elbow of the little boy next to me dug into my arm waking me up enough to fully hear him shouting, “It’s starting! It’s starting!”

Gunning it back to Rhyhorn I started the engine and pulled out my map. It was already 1600 hours. Cruising northwards I decided to hit as much as I could. Worse case scenario I would camp out that night and rendezvous in Boise the next day. Yellowstone is a massive national park (as well as the FIRST national park!) and, appropriately, the terrain is incredibly different depending on where you are in the park. The eastern side is predominantly hot springs and geysers. On the southern end is Old Faithful and on the northern end are the Mammoth Hot Springs. My first stop northward would be the Midway Geyser Basin. The landscape reflected prehistoric elements and made me feel like I was in the middle of Jurassic Park. Stepping out of Rhyhorn at one of the pull-offs I held my breath and took a wide shot of the geyser basin. I paused an extra second legitimately expecting an adult T-Rex to come tearing down the corner. 

The Midway Geyser Basin was my first encounter with natural hot springs, geysers and fumaroles. It was truly unlike anything I had ever seen. Water collected in deep, porous rock heated by magma even deeper down was being forced to the surface of the earth just to explode out and into the cold Firehole River. It was an unreal scene that evoked the primeval forces of a time long ago and it took my breath away.

Once I reached the Madison Junction I had to decide whether or not to continue north to Mammoth Hot Springs or to head east towards Canyon Village and potential campsites. Weighing my options and remaining daylight I decided that capturing some images of the famous Lower and Upper Falls would be a perfect end to the first day. It was 26 miles of driving and it was nearly 1700 hours and the sun was starting to wane behind the ridge line, I was getting worried about what I would do if there weren’t any campsites. Like clockwork, mother nature intervened and snapped me back to a more pertinent reality, a constant theme for my two days in the park - Bison.

Pulling over to a bridge crossing I grabbed my camera and climbed down the bank towards a resting herd. People where cautiously hovering around the road, rightfully unsure of how close they should approach the huge animals. A young lady, an older man and myself ventured the closest. 

Continuing eastward I began to get worried as more and more people were passing me fast in the opposite direction. I didn’t have any signal so I couldn’t call ahead to ask if the campsites were open. Chasing the potential of an amazing shot and an equally amazing campsite I pressed on. When I reached Canyon Land I was greeted by an empty parking lot, empty buildings with “closed for the season” signs and an hour of lost time. Frustrated I took a piss, looked at my map and started on the road back west. I would check the Norris campgrounds and if they were closed would head north for Mammoth Hot Springs. 

Norris was closed too. Heading up towards Mammoth Hot Springs I began kicking myself for being so damn free-spirited. Why didn’t I think to ask the Park Rangers which sites were open? This early in the season I was running into seasonal problems. It made sense. The road quickly turned into a dirt road - there was a lot of construction happening. I started seeing more and more people turn around joining an ever increasing stream of people driving back southward with disappointed, worried looks in their faces. Spurred on by my there’s-no-turning-back attitude as well as the fact that all the Jeeps and trucks were keeping on keeping I manned up and kept on too. The road was getting dusty, muddy and narrow at the same time and I pulled over a couple of times to ask sedans pulled over with their hazard lights if they needed help. They were either waiting on someone or were consulting their maps. I finally ran into a young man pulled off into the brush that seemed to know what he was doing. I pulled up to him as he was happily thumbing through his case of CDs (I dug it). Looking into his old school BMW I could see scattered clothes and some pillows, he was down with the #vanlife. I asked him if he knew which campsites were open and he told me that Madison was (too far and I ain’t turning around) and that Mammoth might be but that it filled up quickly. I thanked him and asked what he was planning to do and he replied, “I’m just gonna find somewhere here and kick it for the night, it’s getting dark and ain’t no one gonna come find you just as long as you get going early in the morning”. I thanked him and wished him the best. Pulling into Mammoth Hot Springs I breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly I was surrounded my tourists and buildings. Who would have known that there was a huge built up town around the Springs? Turning the corner I had another sigh of relief as I gratefully pulled into a full and lively camp. Throwing some duffels on the roof I began my campsite procedures. Within minutes I had water boiling, tunes playing and a cold beer in my hand. Watching the sun set as The Head and The Heart played in the background I finished up my Backpacker’s Pantry Pad Thai and Snake River Lager and crawled into Rhyhorn. 

The next morning I explored the Mammoth Hot Springs itself. A far bigger set of hot springs than Midway Geyser Basin, I was happy with all of the different colors I found. The forest and landscape around the hot springs were just as amazing.

Heading south back towards the west entrance I had made the decision to fully explore the rest of the western arm of the park. I decided that I would come back one day to fully do the central and eastern tours of the park justice. I am glad that I did because the drive turned out to be a totally different experience in the daylight, unsullied by the wicked stress of my insatiable control freak tendencies (I am working on it, it is one of my greatest vices and I have paid far too much a soul should for it). Rock formations.

In the daylight I was able to see vistas that captured perfectly the range of ecosystems Yellowstone was made up of. I mentally refer back to Pokémon for a lot of my inspiration but also for a lot of basic ecological dynamics. Every ecosystem has a variety of different flora and fauna and every ecoregion has their own set of these subsets and shit, every ecoregion of different continents have their own species and don’t even get me started on biomes. From day 1 of the trip I was encountering new trees, new birds, new mammals and came into contact with my first mega fauna - Bison. It really has opened my eyes even more to why I love the field I am in. And it has helped stoke stoke stoke a fire burnin deep within me to keep going. 

My last geyser stop of the trip was at the Norris Geyser Basin. By far the largest basin I had visited I was blown away at the size of the Porcelain Basin (the smaller of the two basins).

The light blue of the hot springs contrasted with the stark whiteness of the dry sand and both worked to make the dark greens and blues of the trees and ridges pop. It was both a complex of nature as well as artistry. And was a bitch to photograph. 

Pulling out of Norris (hehe) I gunned it for the west entrance. It was already 1400 hours and I had a 10 hour drive ahead of me. The mission was Boise, ID where my cousins awaited me, and where my solo trip would end. Driving as fast as I could I hurtled past overlooks and Bison like I just got the Warden’s teeth and didn’t have no time for Tauros. But a herd grazing along the Madison River I hadn’t seen during my trip in caused me to stop. Sitting along the riverside smoking a cigar as he gazed into the valley was an elderly man wearing a leather hat and jacket (cowboy not biker). I approached him quietly and shouted, “Howdy, how are you sir?” “Doing good, just trying to stay downwind”. I made small talk with him as I framed and shot a few pictures of the Bison. He was from Idaho Falls, ID but his family was originally from Roanoke, VA. I told him that I was from Virginia and had a good friend that lived in Franklin County just south of Roanoke and that I really like Roanoke. I told him that I was headed towards Boise, ID to which he grinned, took a deep hit of the cigar and gave me a thumbs up. “Boise is a great city, lots of bars. Lots of bars. It’s like a college town. You’ll like it there”. I told him I was excited and that I had a long drive ahead of me. Then he gave me some damn good advice, “It gets worse before it gets better to Boise. The state troopers in Idaho are all back and don’t give you any warning”. I thanked him saying that the innocuous, pastel blue police of Michigan caught me off guard. Taking one last breath of Yellowstone I walked over to him and asked him what he thought. 

“That’s a beautiful camera and a damn beautiful photo. Well done.”

Pulling into Boise, ID I felt a feeling of relief and accomplishment. I would soon join Khemm and Amanda and would be the closer to Oregon and my new life than I had ever been. The Gladics family really opened their doors to me and treated me far better than I could have ever asked for. The last time I had seen them was at Khemm and Amanda’s wedding back in 2011. At the time I knew them as a shy, polite and reserved family. With the exception of her eccentric brother who had the perfect curly mustache and tophat I believed them to be quiet homebodies. But I was wrong. Both of her parents had careers in forestry. Her father had hitchhiked across the United States, was a wildfire firefighter and spoke on environmental issues at the congressional level. To put it simply, her parents are O.G.’s. Her and her brother, Pat, didn’t fall far from the tree at all. Think the incredibles. Amanda went off to study wildlife as well and works badass jobs off the pacific coast riding the seasonal waves of fishing boats up as far as Alaska and her brother is a former Hotshot turned Smokejumper turned Helitack that spends the off-season sewing custom firefighting gear and basejumping. The Gladics name is a name anchored in badassery and badassery. Not to mention they have a beautiful home and Pat has an awesome camper (set up on a RAM 2500 running a cummins).

Heading out on the road the next day I was, for the first time in a long time, part of a caravan and the mission was none other than Portland, OR. The drive through Idaho was tiring and surreal at the same time. I really wasn’t sure how to handle the fact that I was driving behind my cousins towards their home. It has been 4 years since I started talking to them about moving out there. Since I started asking them for help and advice on getting my feet wet in conservation. It was at my lowest point after a big breakup, jumping ship from pharmacy and full on taking the hit of unemployed, existential crisis that I started this blog. I wanted something that I could look back on and reflect on. Much like the ink and paper journals that I have been keeping since the 3rd grade, I believe that there is so much intrinsic value to words. The words we speak and write. They are us, they are real and they are proof that for a time we breathed and lived in this world. Aside from courage and action I don’t think there is anything in this world more powerful or as beautiful as words. It was a lot to handle as I drove into the afternoon sun. 

We stopped in Pendleton, OR for lunch and yes, Pendleton as in the American heritage brand Pendleton. The gear junkie and gear history buff in me was freaking out to be in the town that the old woolen mill was founded and still operated. We stopped by the store after lunch with hopes of me finding a nice pillow case for my favorite pillow. Once we got in there the reality of how much a heritage brand can charge for their products. I’m talking an average of $200 a blanket and about $40 a set of pillow cases. Albiet the products were wool and still made in the USA (most of which literally in the next room) I just couldn’t afford them right now. But I enjoyed being in the first store and watching the information videos and gazing quickly into the museum. I am a sentimental person and, as natural and simple as I am trying to live, I am admittedly materialistic. Not in the shop till you drop sense but in the sense that I place a lot of sentiment into the things I own. My truck, my tin cup, my first Patagonia t-shirt I got 5 years ago. I don’t own many things but the things that I do purchase are usually aligned with a special moment in my life and I figured that when the moment came that I would get said blanket it would have been for a good reason. I’m sure I will find a great one one day by chance in a Goodwill or from a friend and I think that’s the best way to come across the things we carry. Besides, for that kind of money I should just invest in a good sheep. I know some people. 

After Pendleton my cousin Khemm took over giving me the chance to focus on taking pictures. We were heading westward and would soon join the mighty Columbia River and descend into the Colombia River Gorge of legend. If you are a close friend of mine then you know that Foster Huntington has, for a long time, been a big inspiration of mine. Not just because of the nomadic lifestyle that he chose when he left his design job in New York to drive across the U.S. and surf up and down the west coast, but because of the earnest way he looks at life and how unabashedly sentimental and grateful he is for the simple things. Finding his blog in 2011 incepted me with an idea that my life was meant for something far greater than the pharmacy counter of a CVS and that there was no such thing as “too late” until you gave up. It set into motion a domino effect of changes that culminated in me starting Rhyhorn’s engine on April 19th 2015. My eyes watering as I held back tears and my muscles cramping as I waved goodbye to my family and my home and my state. I think that life is too short and too precious not give our dreams the weight that they deserve. I think that life is to long to carry with us sadness and hurt. And I think that our souls are reflected in the people that we keep around us. And finally, I believe with all my heart that there isn’t anything in this world as important as how you treat another life…My apologies for the deep tangent. The Colombia River Gorge was a home base for Foster during his formative years and is now his current home base when he isn’t adventuring. Check out his amazing Cinder Cone project that him and his friends created. As we descended further into the Columbia River Gorge the landscape changed dramatically from the open farmlands and barren hillsides of Eastern Oregon to the lush greenery of the west. Shooting out of my window into the setting sun gave me the perfect lighting for what I like to call the “classic road trip photo”. 

Pulling into Portland the feels were at an all time high. My trip had come to completion but in a much more significant way it had come to fruition. I had done it. I had driven across the United States by myself. I had completed my mission and had taken an idea and made it into a reality. This was the beginning of a story I couldn’t possibly begin to predict. All I knew, as I unpacked the truck that I had come to call home, was that everything that happened from this moment on was going to be new and was going to be significant. I was starting anew with a clean slate and nothing but potential and I knew it was all dependent on how much i put into it. You make of life what you make of life. You can’t control what happens to you completely but you can control what you choose to do next. This marks Day 1 of the next chapter in my life and I am so happy and so grateful for all of the people that have made this possible. I am grateful for my loving family that has cared for me all my life and whom became my closest friends. I am grateful for my amazing friends who have believed in me every step of the way and who have inspired me with their own courage and their own battles. You have taken care of me beyond what I could have ever ask for and you have treated me with the kindness and love of a family. This trip wasn’t just for me, and I’m not accepting an Oscar, this trip was for all of you. In my darkest times of fear and loneliness I thought of everyone and how much they were all going through and how much they were counting on me. I know I’m not the center of the universe but from the sheer amount of you that told me that you were proud of me and that you were inspired by me - I did this for you. I am so privileged that I could make a trip like this and, though it was just a road trip it meant so much more than that to me. Here’s to life and taking the leap. Here’s to courage and the beauty and strength that it represents. Here’s to who the hell can possibly know! Cheers from the west coast my friends, let’s cross paths again soon.

Chris