Metamorphosis

I am slowly learning that haste is not conducive to good landscape photography. I guess that's why, nearly seven months after my first glimpse of the Tetons, I was back again on a chilly November morning next to the icy edges of the Snake River, wondering what would become of the cloud-covered mountains before me. I'd seen pictures of the Tetons like this before, but I simply wanted to capture them for myself. I didn't even know where exactly Grand Teton was in the darkness of early dawn, but I waited, blowing on my hands and shifting my feet to stay warm. I was hoping that I was in for a show. Slowly, the clouds began to drift and I caught glimpses of the jagged peaks that form this spectacular range. The light was beautiful enough before the sun painted the pinnacle of Grand Teton and a curtain of pink sunlight raced down the slopes as I stood there in awe, adjusting and readjusting my composition to make the most of my opportunity there in the silent chill, alone with the mountains in their speechless beauty.

Hotshots pt. 1

Watching fire take its course is mesmerizing. Standing on mountainsides few have ever stood on is inspiring. But being a hotshot wouldn't be the same without the other people on the crew. I have learned something from each one of you, and I will be forever grateful.

My Office

It is not always tranquil. But the moments when your arms tell you that you can't lift the chainsaw once more, or your lungs tell you that you can't take another step, or your bone dry mouth tells you that you need water "now" - each make the moments of tranquility more poignant when they come. Moments when your colleagues break to sing you "Happy Birthday" as you cut line around a remote lightning fire far from home; when the boss tells you to bathe in the cool lake to rid your body of the oils from the poison oak you've been swimming in; when you lay on your back at night, exhausted, in your cozy sleeping bag and behold a sea of stars above; when a hazard tree meets its doom in a violent, limb-crushing thud on the forest floor; when you sit in silent vigilance by the crackling fire you have fought to control; when your crew is firing on all cylinders, moving with unity and purpose like a giant yellow caterpillar along the fire's edge. Few get to see what I have seen. Few get to do what I have done. Few get to rub shoulders with the remarkable people who have a seat at the table in my office. I am truly blessed.

California Love

Because of my father, I know that true love keeps no record of wrongs, for when I rebelled against his rules and cursed him to his face, he gave me love.

My father came to Cali for two days and I wore him out. Dad watched as three firefighters tried painfully hard to get wet wood to burn, stood by the measly fire and listened to some sweet guitar picking into the wee hours (despite his long journey), gazed in awe as the sunlight turned pink on the majestic slopes of Shasta, and offered fatherly wisdom to a burdened son. Thanks for making the trip, dad. I love you.

White Deer Prescribed Fire

We stopped by this fire on the way home from feeding sticks into a chipper all day, and were treated with the opportunity to put fire on the ground, stand around and watch it for a while and make sure the line was secure, then head home. Dream assignment, and hopefully not the last fire I'll see this season. Something tells me the 20 inches of rain we got last week will have a say in that.

Swift Fire

The Silver Fire