Wes Skiles was a man filled to the brim with curiosity for the natural world and whose nerves were electrified with the passion to teach others about his discoveries and adventures. He specialized in underwater photography and video. He collaborated with a host of professionals in the magazine and film industries, lighting and sound specialists, producers, divers, and explorers to bring to all of us the world that we don’t know, the world we take for granted – water. Wes was a world-class explorer, mapping, studying, and documenting the underwater abyss of North Florida’s artesian aquifer and other liquid realms across the globe.

One July 21, 2010, Wes Skiles died off Florida’s east coast in a diving incident. He was 52.
I didn’t know much about Wes. But that’s exactly what stings so much about him being gone. I knew enough to know that Wes was a man to be admired. I knew he had made several documentaries about Florida’s watery web and that he worked for National Geographic Magazine. So when the opportunity came to work with on a project together, I jumped at the chance.

 
The conservation project is called “The Blue Path.” About 10 of us met at Annie Pais’ house to talk about how to save Florida’s springs. Each of us had our own conservation specialties. John Moran, David Moynahan, Wes and I were the photographers. I was the youngest there and in awe by the intelligence and soulful wisdom filling the room. The people at the table had been fighting conservation battles for decades. Our group didn’t even have the name “The Blue Path” yet. It was the first meeting of what would become “The Blue Path.” He said to me afterwards that he and I needed to get together one-on-one more to discuss how to make our quest a success. We lived in the same town and now we were fighting for a common cause. The thought of meeting with Wes to talk about how to protect our springs, and getting to know him better in the process, was a feeling beyond excitement. I was within a group of accomplished professionals who shared a vision much bigger than ourselves. Wes was a leader amongst leaders. Solid, quiet optimism pumped through me.

“The Blue Path” will open its first exhibit at the Florida Museum of Natural History. The solace I take from Wes’ absence is that I have the opportunity now to step forward, however challenging without him, and begin the long road of personal and professional growth required to help fill the immense void left behind. He would want nothing less.

Rest in peace, Wes.

More info on Wes' death

John Moran, David Moynahan and I went to Keaton Beach on Saturday to get the "best damn scallop photograph in the world" as John puts it. It was John and David's mission actually. Without their vision, I would never have come home with images like these, images that look like they are of creatures from distant planets. I had no idea that scallops were so strange looking.

You can see that three of these images are close ups. The more distant image provides you with a view of what the whole scallop looks like. These images were made under controlled conditions. We brought an aquarium of sorts onto the boat and with a complex arrangement that included an alligator clip, a dowel, a base, weights, scallops, water, sea grass, off camera flash, a macro lens and high quality Canon 5D Mark II, all three of us were able to come home with amazing images.

But next time you are able to see a scallop alive, in its environment, take a close look with your naked eye. You don't need all this equipment to see that scallops are striking creatures. You can easily see their jewel-like blue eyes. When the sun hits them just right, even underwater, the black pupils light up white, like a diamond within a sapphire! It's crazy. Once they settle down, they open their shells, and you see them "breathing" the water in and out while they feed through an intimidating but harmless maw. SO COOL!

It's been a while since my canoe and paddle felt the tanic water of the cypress-lined Santa Fe. I listened to sounds more than I searched for photographs to make. The insects were buzzing their little heads off, especially the cicadas. The forest was a riot of sounds waving up and down in intensity. Birds were as much a part of the chorus as the insects (maybe because the birds eat the bugs). An occasional fish, turtle, or tree-trunk-scurrying squirrel added to the tapestry of nature's song.

I had not made one single image – well, not one that I liked – for the first two hours. A few snap shots here and there of reflections and textures of the forest, but nothing that I would call photography. Then, as I rounded a bend, I was reminded that a photographer never knows what might happen next in the pursuit a moment.

At a shallow spot in the river, there stood a deer, bright from the sun against a backdrop of dark forest. It was feeding on river grass! I had a clean line of sight but was at least 100 yards away. I knew that any minute it would see me and promptly scamper away. So, with only the flow of the current guiding me forward, I made as many images as possible before the inevitable departure of this lovely creature.

In the midst of photographing the deer, I got the idea to shoot a quick panorama, handheld! My goal was to for you to see not just the deer, but the whole environment in which the deer lives, from the cypress tree on the left to the dark, shaded forest on the right, and everything in between. I really love this "look" because it shows what is important. Our environment is not about one animal or one plant. It's not about us. It's about all of it together. This is our world. This is your river. It belongs to all the people you love and the people you don't even know. It belongs to the deer and every other animal in the forest.

While watching this deer feed, amidst my elation of experiencing this moment, the thought occurred to me how high levels of Mercury have been found in the Santa Fe. And I couldn't help but wonder that, if one day this deer is to feed a human, that person, or that family, will consume mercury. Mercury is highly poisonous and very difficult to chelate from the body! Think about that for a minute. Think about how everything you see in this photograph is attached to you. Even if you never eat this deer, or deer in general. You drink water don't you? You breathe air don't you? Everything you see in this picture is a part of you, directly or indirectly, spiritually and physically. Soak up what you see in this image. Learn from it. Study it. The world is a beautiful place. See it, know it, feel it, love it.

I'm feeling nostalgic for the west, for those wide open spaces that by the mere fact the combined feeling of smallness and awe bring tears to the eyes. The sound of Pink Floyd blasting through the car speakers, windows down, wide open road ahead and mountains in the distance. I can't remember the pain of hiking to 10,000 feet, alone and afraid that because of my aloneness I had better not twist an ankle because then, then I would be totally screwed. Living on the edge and knowing without a shadow of a doubt how fortunate I am to be alive. How much my family means to me, how much I miss them, and why, some day, they will be with me in these places.

I don't get out a photograph much these days, and that's OK. I'm doing what needs to be done so that one day, it IS what I will do. Today is my day to make that some day come true. Success beyond my wildest dreams.

For now, some images of the past to predict the future to come ...

The Tombstone Mountains in the Yukon Territory in Canada. This view is from the Dempster Highway, a dead end dirt road as long as Florida is tall.

My first solo mountain backcountry trek – Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho, 2005. Fifty miles in five days. This was the last time I shot film. Fuji Velvia. Digital ... it's a game changer.

Surreal Utah. Nothing like it. Anywhere. This view is of Sixshooter Peak and the plateaus outside the Needles district of Canyonlands National Park. I shot this a few feet from my car, parked off the dirt road in the Canyon Rims Recreation Area. Free camping on free land. The public owns this land. So easy. If the world only knew ...

Aaahhh ... and my beloved Cascades. Who would have ever thought a Florida boy would stake a claim in the most rugged the West has to offer, much less a claim staked on his own terms. Day 7 of my 14-day solo trek through North Cascades National Park. This is my Japanese Garden, a place of restful sleep for the spirit within, a place of peace, a place for God.