Blog

Posted on

What’s this all about?

I spent the better part of my life trying desperately to find my place. To find where I fit in. Where I could be a part of and contribute to something bigger than myself. I, of course, did not realize that was what I was doing. It took an incredibly traumatic experience in my little world that resulted in me having essentially no one left in my life for me to realize…that I didn’t have any idea exactly who the hell I was.

So, with no one left in my life to fill up all of my interpersonal time slots, I had to find something to do with myself so that I didn’t end up as a statistic. So I did the only thing I could think to do with myself…which was something that I’d always had, that had always called me and fed me…I went into the backcountry. I went to the river. I got out my camera and my fishing pole. I strapped on my hiking boots and went exploring. Ultimately, I went out experiencing.

Unknowingly, these steps I took out of self-preservation were the first steps towards my healing…the first steps towards discovery of my true self. As time passed I started to recognize that there was a draw deep in my chest towards the outdoors, to the fringes of development. You know the place, that urge right under your sternum, the place that always tells you when you’ve done something wrong, the place that, if you listen to it, always knows what’s best for you, what you truly need….that place felt as if it were being drawn to the experience. To go and capture that experience and bring it back for others to see. With words, photography and video. Why? I don’t know. A lot of people do this, and far better than I no less. But it’s drawn me to it. As I began to listen to my sternum I began to see a pattern:

Feel down

Go explore

Take pictures

Be edified

In this the picture began to take shape. Who am I? A chaser of the experiences this incredible planet has to offer. And someone who wants to share the beauty I see in it with others. And ultimately, hopefully…encourage others to do the same.

My career granted me the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live on the central California coast for two months at the beginning of 2019. I found myself in an existential vacuum. Devoid of any family or friends, in a strange but magnificently beautiful land with nothing but time on my hands to explore, and ultimately, ponder the philosophy of my own life.

And there, in California, knee deep in a frigid creek amongst the redwoods in January trying to take a photograph…I found myself.

Limekiln Creek, Big Sur CA.

This…this…is me.

The sharp rocks against the bottom of my nearly frozen feet, cold, clear, rushing water around my legs beneath the towering redwoods…this is me. This is experiencing this world. This is where I fit…and don’t fit…in.

It does not matter if someone else thinks it’s weird, or thinks that I’m crazy. We all have our own truth. We have our own place. This is mine. It says far more about those who have enough time on their hands to be critical of the things I love, than it does about me, by far.

I heard a poem that inspired this idea of mine on a podcast called Paddling Adventures Radio some time ago, as mentioned by an incredible man named Mike Ranta (Google him…absolute treasure), and it resonated with me. It spoke of men and women who simply do not conform to everyday societal expectations. It described me to myself. It described how others see people like me. And it all came together for me. My place in this world is simply being me. Embracing myself for all of my quirks and idiosyncrasies and simply being that. No matter how others see me, or what they want me to be.

This is what the concept is all about. Be yourself. Embrace your truth. I Believe that every human being on this planet has intrinsic value simply because they are alive. We, of course, have every bearing on whether we maintain our value through our actions in the world. But at a basic, core level, you have value. Just as you are. Not because of what you can offer to other people. Just because you exist. As I’ve gone about my adventures I’ve met many people. I am a talker as anyone who knows me will tell you, and I wear my heart on my sleeve. My life is an open book. When I begin to share with others, they tend to share back. In these interactions I’ve learned something. Everyone has their own tragedy or trauma. Everyone needs to be reminded they have value. Everyone needs to know they aren’t alone. As it turns out, sharing seems to facilitate healing. That is exactly where this idea came from. To provide a place for everyone to share their stories. I’ve had some very emotional conversations with near-complete strangers on the edge of a river bank somewhere, or on a trail deep in the mountains. They were all out there finding themselves, finding their peace, their healing…and ultimately, their truth.

So, after a lifetime of trying to be a version of me that’s tailored to the comforts and tastes of other people, I’ve finally discovered some truths I believe we can all use in our lives. One of which is that you can overcome traumatic life experiences, you can overcome being victimized and lead a full, happy, healthy life. You don’t have to be what anyone expects of you. You only have to be true to yourself. And that is how this all ties in. This is how my outdoor adventures tie into this idea I keep talking about…healing, finding and embracing yourself. My adventures are simply me showing you that a life full of adventure and fulfillment is possible beyond the events that negatively impact your life. And I hope to be able to use this more broadly interesting platform of outdoor adventure to share the lessons I’ve learned as I’ve travelled this path of my life. And moreover, provide a platform for everyone to share their stories of self-discovery.

Find yourself. Be yourself. Embrace your story….without apology.

~ Wayward Son 12/01/2019

Posted on

Walton Lighthouse in Santa Cruz

When work took me to the central coast of California last year, I spent almost every day after work at one of the many beaches or coves. One of the areas that I was continually drawn back to was Twin Lakes State Beach in Santa Cruz. It was only about an hour drive from my Hotel room in Morgan Hill, and to be completely honest, the drive was part of the attraction. The first half of the drive was across Hecker Pass, a steep, winding trek through a redwood forest before spending the last half on the Pacific Coast Highway.

The beach itself is not overly unique amongst all of the many others that line the coast of California. Among things that do make it attractive are the picturesque Walton Lighthouse and an amazing Hispanic restaurant with the most incredible 25$ enchilada you’ll ever eat. But what makes it really special are the people.

It’s always the people that are the most interesting thing to me about anywhere I go, and there are always amazing people to meet no matter where you are. But this beach, for whatever reason, seems to have a much higher rate of cool humans per capita.

The first time I went, within ten minutes of being on the beach I stumbled upon a man blowing on a Conch Shell.

I, of course…had to meet this guy.

I do not recall his name at present. And on that day, neither did he. He was, by every quantifiable metric, baked out of his mind. But damn could he rock a conch shell. It also just so happened that I was there during an extremely low tide that exposed several hundred more feet of beach. The sun was just right, and coupled with the contrast of the exposed ocean bed…created what I felt was a great opportunity. I asked if I could take a picture. He was agreeable. But to be completely honest, I probably could have asked him if I could staple his scalp to the pier and he would have agreed. He was pretty much cool with anything. Regardless, it’s still one of my favorite shots I’ve ever taken.

Walton Lighthouse supports the sun for a sec so I can grab the shot

After our impromptu photo shoot, he, I and a couple of his equally stoned friends talked for a bit…who we were, where we were from and what the true meaning of the color blue meant to us all. You know, the important stuff.

On another trip, I was taking pictures of the lighthouse when a couple of women came walking up, wine glasses in hand and smiles on their faces.

“So what are you doing there, eh?”

Canadian. They were Canadian. You may have heard that Canadians are exceptionally friendly folk.

“Just trying to take some pictures.” I said.

“Well let’s have a look then!”

The Walton Lighthouse is the ultimate wingman

We spent quite some time discussing life and it’s many trappings. They were indeed the epitome of the friendly Canadian stereotype. And to think, I would have never made those new friends. You gotta get out there people. I’m just sayin’.

On another trip, I started talking to a man about fishing. I soon discovered he was there with his family. Because his daughter was a pitcher for a Division 1, top 25 softball program in town for a game. I met his family and shook his daughter’s hand. She nearly broke mine. I have so much respect for high-level athletes. That was just a really cool experience for me.

Like I said, what makes a place really special is the people. And these examples represent just a few of many awesome people I met on the beaches around Walton Lighthouse. I’ve found that only two things are required to get to know people out there in the world. A smile and a “how are you doin’ today?” I highly recommend taking the time to start a few conversations next time you’re out and about. Seems to me that the world is a better place when we’re all on speaking terms.

Sooooo annnnnnyway, it’s about time for me to wrap this post up. If you’re ever anywhere near Santa Cruz, take the opportunity to head down to Twin Lakes State Beach and watch the sunset behind Walton Lighthouse. Keep an eye out for a stoned one-man Conch band, a couple of very polite Canadian ladies and a softball pitcher who can crush coconuts with her handshake. Oh, and don’t forget to enjoy the hell out of the most amazing 25$ enchilada you’ll ever meet.

Posted on

A Slice of Route 66 nostalgia

Early in 2019 I had the opportunity to travel to San Francisco for work. I, when given the choice to drive or fly, chose to drive. That’s kind of what I do isn’t it? I want to explore the world, not watch it go by beneath me. Out of all the traveling I’ve done in my life, one place I hadn’t experienced and had always wanted to was the desert Southwest. Given that, of course finding a long, still extant stretch of old US 66 was a major priority. Route 66 is an interesting oddity to me, kind of exposing a strange paradox in my brain. The ideas of old Route 66, the iconic American thoroughfare that represented the economic boon experienced by the post WW2 generation, evokes a nostalgic feeling for me. But…how can you have nostalgia for something you never experienced? Regardless of my mental gymnastics, some research gave me a target stretch of 66 to explore. It’s an approximately 31 mile stretch between Kingman, AZ and Needles, CA.

Views to the north on the first leg of old 66 out of Kingman.

As it was, I was on a pretty tight schedule. I had to make a 27 hour drive inside of a 48 hour time frame. As my route happened to fall, I stayed the second night of my drive in Kingman, and had to leave out before 5am to make San Francisco by nightfall. So my drive west into the desert on old 66 started out with sunrise at my back. Which was nice. Lots of mesa’s, cacti and red boulders make for some great light/dark contrasts in the morning hours. One of the first things I encountered out of Kingman, just as I started up the elevation change towards the mountain pass was an old service station that fit the stereotypical Route 66 vibe to a T. And I was in heaven. I couldn’t help but edit the photo with a tone that has that 1960’s Kodak Film feel.

A well-maintained service station in the Route 66 tradition helps to set the vibe for the drive.

I left the old service station and continued west up the mountain. On the east face of the mountain, in a tight hairpin corner…a set of stairs carved into the side of the mountain caught my eye. There was no sign indicating what the steps led to, so naturally I had to stop and see what was at the top…you know, like you do.

She’s buying a stairway…to god knows where.

At the top, I found something surprising….a freshwater spring. With a sign (finally).

Shaffer Fish Bowl Spring

A great many websites and blogs record the history of the spring, so much so that I couldn’t find an original source for citation. But they all tell generally the same story. Sometime in the 1930’s a man by the name of Shaffer, working for the WPA, noticed the spring seeping from the side of the mountain and set about building the small reservoir you see in the photo. Locals were known to keep goldfish in it to keep algae from overtaking the container. Hence, Shaffer’s fish bowl.

Water in the desert

With this discovery now firmly located under my belt, I drove on. The next notable thing I came upon was the top of the mountain, at a point just where old 66 changes from its westerly course to a more southerly direction. It’s a place known as Sitgreaves Pass. Just over the pass a stunning vista overlooking the Mojave desert lies before you. I pulled over to take a few pictures, and as I was kicking around I noticed something that looked like a cross in the scrub on a slight hill above me.

Justin’s brain: “WTH IS THIS!?”

As I went up to explore, more and more monuments came into view. Being as that I love history, I immediately thought this was an old cemetery. But as I looked about I couldn’t find any old headstones, only these many small monuments. Some made of cobbled together wood, others painted on rocks. So what does the intrepid explorer of the 21st century do in a scenario like this?

Google it.

As it turns out, this vista offers you a view of 3 states. Arizona, which is where you are, Nevada to the north and California to the south and west. At some point someone thought this would be a good place to spread the ashes of someone they loved, and the practice caught on.

3 states lie before you…

Now there are dozens upon dozens of memorials and, ostensibly, cremated human remains. The gravity of that was not lost on me. Old or new, I was standing in a cemetery of sorts indeed. Some of the memorials were quite touching. One that struck me particularly, was that of two bottle of alcohol placed on a memorial, one empty, assumedly consumed by the yet living, and one unopened…

One last round before we go…

There were many others, all of them poignant and meaningful to the ones who created them I’m sure.

Finally leaving Sitgreaves pass and continuing on, I found myself surrounded by dilapidated equipment dotting the mountainside. Clearly old mining equipment. Once again, as a history geek, I was in heaven. Unfortunately I was also an alien in a foreign land, and assuming this all to be private property, I did not get out to explore. Soon I found myself in the small village of Oatman, AZ.

Welcome to Oatman, y’all.

Now this place was awesome. Unfortunately, having left Kingman so early, none of the local shops were open, so once again, I didn’t get to do a lot of exploring. But I can tell you this: it’s every bit the abandoned mining town of days gone by. I kid you not, the only signs of life in town were some men with shop brooms sweeping donkey poop off of the streets. Another google revealed that Oatman had a long history of being settled, but boomed from 1915-1917 when a massive gold vein was discovered. It was the catalyst for what has been called the last major gold rush of the mining era.

Moving on from Oatman and its piles of donkey poop, I had to kick things up a notch and get back on schedule. The final leg of the drive was due south towards needles, and offered more beautiful, desolate views of the Mojave desert.

Nissan should pay me for advertising
There’s more green to be seen in the desert than you might expect
Don’t expect to travel highway speeds…

Finally arriving at needles and back at interstate 40, you pass beneath the BNSF railway tracks, formerly the ATSF. Which any of you history nerds or rail fans Know just SCREAMS desert Southwest nostalgia. It is, quite honestly, the perfect end cap to a drive through some of the SW United States most iconic history…from a pop-cultural perspective anyway.

I gots water in the tank tank, shawty whatchu think think
The ATSF Super Chief once plied these lines