There was something about this trek that I still cant put into text, or words, or even vague gestures of hands accompanied by uncompleted sentences ending with my voice trailing off in thought. A certain reliance on myself that made everything I experienced rub off on me in a way that I can't relate to others who haven't felt the same. And those that have experienced the same know just as well as I the inability to speak well of it. The closest I can get to describing it is the feeling of waking up after a long frigid night, when the winds would build and build until they broke the ridge and flood the valley with a torrent of rain and gust, as if Zeus himself were blowing his over-salivated mouth upon me and my tent. Waking up, to a humid tent, and the knowledge that if you didn't get up immediately you might miss something wondrous, beautiful, and awe-inspiring. The kind of feeling that I just don't get when I wake up in a comfortable bed; the kind of feeling that made me realize what its like to want to live again. I don't feel like I captured this feeling in my photos, I don't feel like its possible for me to, not now when I understand so little about this new-found emotion. Its possible my documentary style of photography doesn't flex so far in that direction, yet.
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| Pull off site in Indiana; Testing the camera |
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| The Black Stallion - ready to ride |
In any case, it was a wondrous trip with so many new faces and places, all so welcoming for me to be there, and welcoming for me to come back. This post and these photos are for Andy, who organized this building and project; a big man with a big heart. John, who fed me gourmet foods even when I said not to bother bringing it up the trail; a man with a heart of gold. Erik, who taught me so much in the ways of building a shelter and a friendship (And who I didn't get a single face shot of! I'm going to take you up on those backcountry ski lessons, be sure of it!). Greg, the master carpenter who was so patient and humorous that I am certain I will not forget him. Paisley, the woman who has the strongest back of any woman I know or probably will ever know. Lion who... Well hell, what else is there to say about this cat? He has the name of the King of the Jungle. And Dave, Ken (Both of you guys!), Westley, Trent, Adam, Scott, Dustin, Kate, Micah, Peter and so many others that I hope to see very soon and shake their dirty and worn hands.
The trip started very sudden. Stress of an aging family and friends that still hurt to keep as friends, along with the restlessness that has endlessly plagued my mind ever since the camera came into my soul pushed me from my home state. When I finally got the clear from work to leave it wasnt more than 2 days before I got the gear together and set off to Winter Park, Colorado. I had originally planned on a trek that would be singularly dedicated to work on The Broome Hut (Last Paragraph). But, I noticed on the road-atlas that Theodore Roosevelt Nat'l Park was along a northerly route that I had been eying and, since I really didn't want to drive through Kansas, I chose that as a destination. So I took a route through Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesote to North Dakota where I would camp on my second night. The Badlands, though not necessarily as inspiring as the Rocky Mountains, were both beautiful and mysterious. I wrote down in my notebook, "Newspaper print mountains colored in with crayons" and I still think that describes them well. A certain ominous feeling surrounds the area as if tiny eyes crested every hill while the luminous colours of the soil in the exposed hillsides set you into a state of wide-eyed complacency. I reached the park around 6 and decided to skip setting camp and head out into the park. I didnt realize at the time that it was due to rain so I got a little wet upon returning to camp and pitching tent; it was worth the extra half an hour in the wilderness though. Most certainly worth it.
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| Doggin' it on the Prarie |
I left Theodore Roosevelt Nat'l Park early next morn and headed into Montana where I experienced the lonliest roads I have come across. I did a short hop-skip-twist-and-burn move that took me onto a vague road and into a Native American Reservation near Forsyth that yielded some gorgeous views and open roads for me to make up some time.
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| Cattle River Climb- v1 |
That night I slept amidst a good 30-40 horses in Aurora, Colorado at the fairgrounds; which was a damn good 4 hours of sleep.
Ill keep this paragraph short.
From Aurora I went to Winter Park and there within the trail head to The Broome Hut; a project that has paperwork going back to early '95 from what I hear. The project is headed by Andy Miller who is by all definitions a great man who I have the honour of saying shook my hand. Erik, John, Trent, and Westley are the men who are hired on for the project, the rest of the people shown are volunteers donating time and sweat to the project. For more information about The Broome Hut and it's history with the A-Frame Second Creek Hut please visit the website:
http://grandhuts.org/broomehut.html
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| Second Creek |
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| Tent View |
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| Ken & Ken |
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| Greg |
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| Erik; love this man |
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| Andy, Dave, and Ken |
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| Sneaky, the chipmunk mascot of Broome Hut |
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| A smorgasbord of fine foods here; courtesy of Scott & Lion |
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| Timber raising on the west side mud room |
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| Micah, keepin' it on the up 'n up |
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| One of the finest, if not the, sunsets I've ever seen |
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| Facing west on the main entrance to Broome Hut |
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| Facing east on the mud room entrance to Broome Hut with Peter |
