A Mountain Life

For those of us in the American West who own hiking boots or mountain bikes or skis, it is a generally-accepted fact of life that there is no such thing as a bad day in the mountains.

If you don't believe it, I offer five photographs today as proof.

Most weeks I spend at least one day getting high -- hiking up, up, up into the mountains, I mean. More often than not I go with a friend or two or three, and we just have a hell of a time -- talking or not-talking,  but always enjoying the peace of the woods and the wild places.

Just being.

I shot the above photograph on one of two hikes a friend and I did last weekend in the Wallowa Mountains of northeast Oregon. The pictures below presented themselves yesterday as three buds and I trekked in Central Washington near Lake Wenatchee.

This is a wonderful part of the world where I live, and I will never, ever,  not feel fortunate for the life I have.

Gone 'Round the Bend

Two friends and I made a trip to Bend, Oregon last weekend, a Pacific Northwest outdoor mecca I had never visited before, which is weird, because that North Central Oregon locale is My Kind of Place. There are a b'zillion trails and beautiful, snowy peaks in the Bend area, so that one can hike, mountain bike, or climb by day. And by night, Bend has enough brewpubs to keep a thirsty outdoor guy or gal smiling for a lifetime.

It is a six-hour drive from Seattle to Bend, so the area is much further afield than I prefer to travel when I have a hankerin’ to play outside. I try to be aware of my carbon footprint, you see, so North Central Oregon is not a place I’ll visit too often.  But, if you look at the pictures I’m posting today...well,  you’ll perhaps understand why this photographer does hope one day to go back.

I shot the above image on Sunday on the rim of the summit crater of South Sister, which, at 10, 358 feet of elevation,  is the third highest peak in Oregon. The first picture, below, is sunset that same evening in Bend.

The other images were made Monday morning at Smith Rock, a place that one could spend years and years photographing and still barely do it justice.

What a weekend!

Happy Fair!

I was a bit too young to appreciate the ‘60’s.
I was only 16 in 1969 when 500,000 folks headed to Max Yasgur’s 600-acre farm in upstate New York for the Woodstock concert, an event that Rolling Stone has since labeled as one of the Fifty Moments that Changed the History of Rock and Roll.

Yes, I was young, but I read a lot and was aware enough of what was going on in my world to be outraged by the war in Vietnam, and was sympathetic with the peace movement. But I was, after all, just 16, and I remember now (with some chagrin) that a centerpiece of my young life was something pretty lame: Anticipation of the date I’d finish my driver’s training class and be able to test to get my license.

Not that I would have gone to Woodstock, even if I had been able to drive.
I was just a kid.

***

Leah and I made a five-hour drive south this past weekend to attend the three-day Oregon Country Fair, a time-honored Pacific Northwest happening that’s now been going on each summer for 42 years. Held in a rural area outside Eugene, “Fair” -- it’s simply known by that one word by the many who attend regularly -- might appear to be a 1960’s-throwback kind of event. But I went to Fair for a day last year, and for two days this year, and I’m reluctant to pigeonhole the experience, or make generalizations.

An incredible 46 thousand people attended Fair in three days this year, and how can you generalize about that many individuals? I suspect that some Fairgoers were there primarily to attend the awesome concerts (there are by my count 18 venues and stages on the grounds, all with performances going on all day long.) Others were there to wander around and look at the accomplished art and crafts that vendors had for sale. Personally, I just enjoy people-watching, checking out (and being amazed by) the colorful rainbow of folks: Adult human beings in costumes and masks, little girls dressed as butterflies or fairy princesses.

I'm told that those who attend Fair every year get a bit mystical about the experience. You’ll sometimes hear the veterans refer to the Fairgrounds as a kind of “Home,” and their fellow, regular-attendees are “Family.” I can tell you that most people I met at Fair were incredibly friendly. “Happy Fair!,” is the greeting I heard most often.

I know this for certain: For a visual fellow like me, Oregon Country Fair is really something to see.

No Assumptions

It might appear that I packed my cameras, donned a space suit, and talked NASA into putting me on a rocket and flying me to two entirely different planets.

If you look at my photographs from my last two posts, shot just five days apart -- images from the Fourth of July celebration here in the small Seattle-area town where we live; and photographs I did yesterday at the annual Oregon Country Fair near Eugene -- you’d probably draw the conclusion that the human beings who attended the two events could not be more different. The parade pictures look All-American, red-white-and-blue-star-spangle-bannered; the images from the festival in Eugene have a feeling of a blast from the past, a 1960’s-style hippie gathering.

I personally am not inclined to make too many assumptions about the personalities or values of the people I photograph. I learned very early in my career as a photojournalist the truism about the word “ass-u-me”...that it “makes an ass out of you and me.” If you go around looking for black-and-white in people, you’re missing all the wonderful shades of gray or even color that human beings bring to their lives.

Mostly, I’m just happy that people let me hang around and take photographs of what ever it is that they’re doing. The world outside my door is pretty damned cool and I move around in it with my eyes and my mind wide open.