I am delighted to release my first multimedia presentation, "North Cascades Trek," about my 112-mile hike through North Cascades National Park in Washington State. It took me 14-days to complete, the longest I've ever hiked solo. I have always dreamed of creating a movie-like work of art that creatively documents my experiences in the wilderness, something that will fully engage the senses of my audience. "North Cascades Trek" is a 26-minute film that combines my photography with video, music, voice-over, and writing. You can watch "North Cascades Trek" on my Web site by clicking on the "North Cascades Trek" link under "Multimedia" in the main menu bar above. For your convenience, here is a link: "North Cascades Trek."

Or, if you don't have enough time to watch the full 26-minute version, you can watch a 5-minute highlight on YouTube. Click here.

WOW!!!!!!!!

What a great video!

Ever since I started combining backpacking and photography, I’ve dreamed of the places I could go that nobody else could go to get stunning images. I’ve dreamed of telling stories of experiences in wild places, of rivers that no one has heard of, waterfalls without names, giant trees that have never seen an axe or bulldozer, of one mountain in a sea of siblings.

I asked myself if I was capable of hiking for 28 days, without resupplying, through a mountain wilderness in the United States. Could I cross Washington’s Cascade crest, penetrate Idaho’s wilderness core, sail Montana’s Rocky Mountain Front, wade Florida’s River of Grass? Why would I do this? As a challenge to myself for one. To do something “of consequence” for another. Most of all, to share with people my appreciation for the majesty of natural things.

In 2002 I backpacked with four friends for 16 days through the North Cascades. In 2005 I started backpacking solo. A year later I attempted a 21-day solo trek into central Idaho's Boulder-White Clouds. That attempt failed when more than a foot of snow dropped where I was camped. Three years later, almost to the day, I gave myself another chance.

On September 22, 2009, I embarked on a 14-day solo trek through North Cascades National Park. It is a milestone as my first solo trek of two weeks or more. This is my story.

Day Two – My trip began slowly, hiking 11 miles on Cascade River Road because of bridge construction at Hard Creek. With an 85-pound pack, two days passed before I reached the end of the road. This arduous beginning was a blessing in disguise. It allowed me to get warmed up for the trail, and as one of the most beautiful roads in the Pacific Northwest, it allowed for easy, yet uncrowded (because of the closure) access to some of the most stunning scenery in the Cascades. Here, the hulk of Johannesburg Mountain rises 6,000 craggy feet from the valley below.

Day Three – That’s me hiking the trail just before reaching Cascade Pass. I photographed this with a device that allows me to delay the release of my camera’s shutter. Of course, I had to return to retrieve my camera!

Day Three – Sunset on the delicate grass slopes of Sahale Arm and into the Cascade River Valley beyond. 

Day Four – Sahale Arm embraces Doubtful Lake as the staggering scale of erosion by glaciation is revealed in the distant peaks. Sunrise on day four brought exquisite weather and tear-coaxing views. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in this spot and drift away. Progress was slow because I stopped too often to make any meaningful headway. I found myself just looking in awe, my mind walking a fine line between defining what I lay before as mere mountains and what they really were – pure, sublime, indescribable grandeur.

Day Four – I realized early that high altitude autumn color looked its best backlit. So I faced the sun often when looking for images contrasting the floral color with topographic features. The red leaves of blueberries seemed to glow from within, igniting like fire.

Day Five – I stopped for a nostalgic view overlooking Park Creek Valley. Four friends and I had traveled through Park Creek in 2002 (below). I am a totally different backpacker now, hardened by success and failure on the trail, including from that hike.

Day Five – Trying to keep up in my journal was very challenging. Wilderness photography is a full time job. Every day I rise before the sun to begin photographing. Then I pack camp and move on, eating only when it doesn’t interrupt my photography and always before nightfall to hang my food in a tree and away from nosey, hungry bears. I set up camp, organize my things, and prepare for the next day. This only when the weather is good. When the weather is bad, everything changes. Moments like the one depicted in this image are always a pleasure. Alone, surrounded by wilderness, warmed by fire, only my thoughts attach me to the world.

Day Six – Bears are everywhere in the high country in Washington during autumn because that’s where the berries are. They must fatten in preparation for a long winter. Fortunately that’s also where the best fall colors are, so for me, not only do I get to see stunning red and golden yellows, I also get a front row seat to a natural spectacle. I crossed paths with five bears on my adventure, two at Park Creek Pass. Not once did I feel fear, and no I didn’t have a gun. Instead I made a pact with nature: “I won’t eat your food bears (the berries), if you don’t eat my food.” I’m not starving. Mindlessly eating their food would’ve been an insult I thought. They need it more than I. It was a show of respect and admission of equality. Some might say this act was silly or crazy. Well, I watched bears inspect my campsite and be near my food (hanging from a tree), and not once did they act maliciously. Not once did they threaten me. In fact, they ran away each time they knew of my presence. We coexisted perfectly. The image above shows a dry channel on a shelf hanging above Park Creek Valley. The image below shows a bear resting in a dwindling pool of water only a few yards from where I made the image above. Wonder who left the footprints?

Day Seven – A visitor to Park Creek Pass in autumn will discover a finely sculpted garden of stone, weathered trees, and painted leaves, that when combined with the blue sky hues and towering rock give birth to heaven on earth complete with all colors of the rainbow (above four images).

Day Eight – Shortly after the first week passed, I cross a threshold of dramatic change. A storm dropped several inches of snow as low as 4,000 feet in elevation. Below that, rain. Everywhere, cold. Fifty miles of temperate rainforest lie ahead, grueling in its own right. Despite being surrounded by old growth trees 10-feet in diameter, both distance and terrain, combined with atmospheric conditions nearly pounded my body into submission. Not knowing what lie ahead –  hypothermia, snow-obscured trails – I almost called off the hike at my only outlet on the trail, crossing Hwy 20. I did not give up and my body paid the price.

Day Eight – A mushroom pops up through the evergreen carpet blanketing the North Cascades forest floor.

Day Eight – A doug fir and cedar dance by the light of a maple.

Day Nine – Old growth in the Thunder Creek Valley.

Day Nine – Resting with boots off to give my poor feet respite from the stank of perpetual walking in wetness.

Day 10 – The day after hiking 17.5 miles, my longest day of the entire trek.

Day 10 – Starting a fire at Pumpkin Mountain camp raised my spirits and dried my rain-soaked gear. It was the only day I spent more than one night in one place. I needed the rest. Nearly 20 more miles lie ahead before the next substantial mountain pass, the next place to gain an unobstructed view of surrounding peaks.

Day 11 – An ancient cedar grove in the Big Beaver Creek Valley is a marvel of nature. The percentage of old growth remaining in the Pacific Northwest is in the single digits. The Big Beaver Creek Valley has some of the most magnificent and extensive. The valley is, in my opinion, the most beautiful forest of the entire trek. Despite taking the time to compose panoramas like this one, I made 12.5 miles this day. I ate leftover rice and beans for dinner because I didn’t have time to cook before hanging my food in a tree for the night (bears) and retiring to bed.

Day 11 – Like the ghosts of earth itself, the mighty Picket Range, infamous for their isolation and ruggedness, reveal themselves through a gap in the trees on my way to Big Beaver Pass. I had fallen behind schedule at this point. Exploring this fabled region was a lost cause. I needed more days than I had. I would, instead, only see it from a distance. Good thing I lugged my telephoto lens with me!

Day 12 – Sunset at Whatcom Pass signaled storm clouds breaking (above), a sky on fire (below), and my first expansive views in almost a week. My feet were numb from the cold and wet, numb from the deadened nerves, which had forfeited to my persistence to walk, walk, walk.

Day 13 – Clear skies again. Finally! In my excitement to see the sun I spooked another bear this morning in the blueberry thickets just below the pass. I only saw its back end as it scurried away. 

Day 14 – Wet, frozen socks. The sun might have come out, but my feet could not escape the cold.

Day 14 – Descending Hannegan Pass, I could see the end in sight. Only four miles of trail to go! Two weeks and 112 miles after I had begun, my North Cascades traverse was over – almost. The two people you see in this photograph gave me a ride to the Mt. Baker Ski Area. I concluded my adventure by spending one night at the ski area, stealth camping just 50 yards  from the road but with one of the best views of the entire trip (below).

The Suwannee River flows for more than 200 miles from the swamps of southern Georgia to the heart of Florida's Nature Coast where it empties into the Gulf of Mexico. I've not hiked too much of the 1,000 mile Florida National Scenic Trail, but I've heard rumors that one of the most beautiful segments is a 50 mile portion  that hugs the Suwannee River starting at Stephen Foster State Park. From atop the Suwannee's high banks, the well-marked trail intimately follows the river, offering stunning views of its meandering course.  Side by side they wind through floodplain swamps and palmetto scrub. My good friend, and fellow photographer, John Moran, celebrated his birthday on this part of the Florida Trail within sight of the Suwannee.  Along with a handful of John's friends, we laughed and told stories over games of horse shoes and a dinner fit for a king. The images below show only a tiny segment of the trail. I captured them the morning after a hard rain the day before.