Katie Ives recently asked me to write a photo essay for Alpinist Magazine. Over the phone, I paced the room. One foot in front of the other across a deteriorating section of shag carpet. The thought of writing for Alpinist concerned me because I was rusty. My last piece of writing was probably mummified under a decade of digital dust. I feel rusty when I haven’t picked up my camera in 3 days, what happens when I haven’t pick up a paragraph in 3 years?
The following week I texted James Lucas, ex editor of Climbing magazine and wrote: “I hate this.”
Writing felt like a I was pruning a shrub during a teenage growth spurt. The process felt endless, and frankly I was frustrated that it felt this hard.
When I was in my 20’s I blogged religiously to my 7 followers, including my parents. The era when J Star was in orbit and Joe Kinder’s psyche was still radiating from the tips of Dave Graham’s hair follicles. I did photo dumps, I wrote about adventures and hardships. I wrote blogs on planes, I wrote blogs while drunk, but most notably I wrote blogs all the time.
Last week I finished my Alpinist article, and Katie even said she thought I was an OK writer. Truth be told, I had her in email checkmate and her only real option was to serve me a compliment.
Regardless, I proudly pruned my teenage shrub into a tangible shrub shape, with of course, a little path down the middle. The process was longer, and harder than I wanted it to be. My only solution is to continue to write often enough, to prevent my skills from further digital mummification. A place for photos, words. Etc.
[Holler if you’re the only one who got this Monty Python reference]
End of an Era - Daniel leaves bend.
My birthday was nothing special, but at least I made special pancakes.
I took this photo in between burns on my project. The guy didn’t want the photo. “Nah, I’m good”. He said.
Looking for warmth on very cold nights outdoor dining.
That heat lamp was not really doing it. Jacksons Corner.
I took a photo of hangdogging that I liked.
Jules and I went out to Smith so I could show her how I film climbing.
Smith Rock is basically like the Ceuse of Oregon. Is usually what they say. Just kidding, this rock looks like absolute choss. At least Mira made it better.
I am crushing his head.