Appalachia:: Winter on the Farm

Sissified Artist vs - Wild Man

"Hey Forest, not to freak you out...but don't fall here." Scott calls as to me, as I gingerly balance on a spine of rock that moments before he had pranced across.

Earlier that morning, Scott, Blake and I loaded up our packs with climbing gear and left over pizza and headed out from Denver into the Lost Creek Wilderness. Two days mucking around out in the wilds with a couple of serious climbers was enough to expose rather blatantly what a sissified artist I've become. I never thought I'd use those words to describe myself. Yet as I panted up the trail to the approach, doding imaginary rattle snakes under every rock, inwardly weeping as shimmering mirages of cold beers dissipated, and eventually clawed my way up craggy faces that Blake and Scott very nearly walked up, I realized I was a lot less tough than I had thought. Oh and I also realized I have a slight fear of heights. That said, by the end of our time together I found myself "jumaring" up ropes to shoot from what I fondly refer to as "killing heights"; as well as laybacking, finger jamming, and blood smearing my way up a couple of pitches I would have scoffed at the idea of climbing a couple days earlier. 

In all this I found myself frequently chewing on my own advice that I so love to sling around..."photograph what you know". 

I do not "know" climbing, and it showed in my struggles to position myself, anticipate the "crux" moves, and execute the shots I had in mind. 

Of course, the best way to overcome this is to learn to climb. And so that is what I set out to do. 

Yet in doing so I found myself in the catch-22 that exists at the confluence of "doing" and "photographing".I cannot climb to the limit of my abilities with a camera slung over my shoulder, and I cannot photograph the way I need to without the ability to climb and position myself.

Enter the struggle between the "sissified artist" in me (who drinks orange-mocha-frappes and wears Sperry's and linen) and the ever-present "wild man" (who kicks cameras into the Aegean sea and kayaks off waterfalls). Did I mention I'm a Gemini?

While the symbiotic growth of artist and adventurer is is not always easily achieved, it is certainly something to aspire to, and I relish the trips such as this one that push the two to a head...

family time in the mountains = KaYaK

Growing up around the Woodward household there were a few certainties in life: you wore cloth diapers, thought granola was a food group, and you kayaked. Ol' papa Woodward has sometimes been referred to as one of the "founding fathers" of whitewater kayaking in the Southeast (you can check out his book here), and it followed logically that at the age of four I found myself on the river in a kayak, and at the ripe old age of six was kayaking class II-III whitewater in the NC mountains.

Since those early days, school, living in Chapel Hill + a whirlwind of other sports have often pushed kayaking to the back burner, but coming home is always special, and times spent on the river with family are some of the finest. Earlier this week, some heavy rains boosted all the rivers, and my older brother David (aka: woody) and I headed up to paddle Overflow Creek - a homegrown classic. The majority of the gorge that Overflow runs through is deep in the mountains and can only be accessed by those with the skills to navigate it's class V waters by kayak.

With a new tilt-shift in hand I jumped at the opportunity to bring the camera along and try to capture a bit of the beauty and adventure that draws us there. The reality of it was that I spent most of my time trying to keep the boat pointed down river and out of the manky undercuts, but I did get out to film and shoot stills at a couple of the nicer drops.

PS) I know some of you may have been worried about Ralph - my trusty helmet parrot. Not to fear, he survived unscathed...

Chalkin' up in CO

Seven or eight years ago Blake and I put on construction helmets and chalked up for the first time. We then proceeded to conquer some epic 5.6 routes along the freeway near Portland. Since then, Blake's climbing career has accelerated at a remarkable pace. My career has been more low key; primarily climbing in and out of bed or up and down stairs.

After a 13 hour drive on Saturday + 3 cans of over caffeinated road rage, I arrived in Denver. Waking up Sunday morning to blue skies and a forecast of record breaking October highs we threw climbing gear in the car and headed up to Rocky Mountain National Park. Under Blake's tutelage I learned a bit about climbing cracks, and had a fun time dangling around and photographing Allison and Kerry as they styled Pear Buttress and the Bat City Crack.