The Last Piece of the Puzzle

I've always been lucky.

You would think that suffering a massive heart attack in 2013 would sway that opinion, but I survived, so I stand by that statement. Good fortune doesn't dispel fear and doubt, however, and I needed to know - "Will I ever be able to get back to doing the things I truly love, such as running and hiking?"

My Cardiologist answered with a resounding "Yes, but not all at once!"

Almost two years have passed since then, and the pieces of my life's puzzle have mostly fallen back into place, exercise, healthy diet, quality time with family & friends, but one piece remained elusive, demanding attention. My desire to stand on the summit of another mountain, and complete my recovery.

The opportunity to do just that came a couple of weeks ago, as a friend & I headed to the Nevada desert to make our first attempt on the state highpoint, Boundary Peak. At 13,140 feet above sea level, it is the second highest peak I've ever attempted, and my first carrying not just a backpack, but also the weight of uncertainty on my shoulders. Determined not to allow my condition to dictate the terms upon which I live, we set off up the trail.

Camped at around 9,200 feet, the air temperature hovered around freezing as we began the day. The trail gained elevation quickly as it found it's way to the crest of a long, gently graded hill, taking us from shade into the early morning sun. We lengthened our stride as the sun warmed us, enjoying the easy walking and magnificent views. Our false sense of security soon caught up, as we came to the end of the rise, and above us loomed the next challenge; a steep hill, littered with loose rocks, gravel, and boulders, the top of which lay 1,000 feet above.

Over an hour later, we sat, breathing hard in the thinning air, happy to have one obstacle behind us, gazing upward with trepidation at what lay ahead between us and the summit. Our route climbed sharply from where we were resting, along an increasingly narrow arete, to the summit itself. The flanks of the ridgeline were, as below, a rockslide waiting to happen. Our progress became slow, route finding among the boulders being the main concern. Slipping, sliding and scrambling, we continued upward.

At 3.40pm, almost 8 hours after leaving camp, we stood on top. Stepping on to the largest boulder on the summit, and letting out a huge roar of joy, I used all the energy and oxygen left in my body. The emotion of the moment washed over me, the tears coming easily. We congratulated each other, basking in the glow of our efforts, spending almost an hour on top, before heading back down.

As momentum helped speed our descent, I felt the last piece of the puzzle fall into place..... and I couldn't stop smiling.

Guilty Pleasure

Mount Davidson Cross in San Francisco, California, is 103ft tall, and stands on the highest point in the city by the bay. Completed in 1934, it was constructed to commemorate the early California pioneers. In 1997, it was sold, at auction, for $26,000, to The Council of Armenian American Organizations of Northern California, who installed a bronze plaque at the base, memorializing the victims of the 1915 Armenian genocide.

The Gamble House in Pasadena, California, was built as a Winter home for David Gamble, a second generation member of the Proctor and Gamble Company in Cincinnati, and his wife, Mary. The house, and all the furniture within, were designed by architects Greene & Greene, at a total cost of $50,000, at a time when the average wage was just 2 cents per hour. Considered a prime example of the American Craftsmen Style, it stayed within the family until 1966, when it was deeded to the City of Pasadena, and subsequently declared a National Historic landmark in 1977.

FDNY Hook and Ladder Company No. 8 has been at 14 North Moore Street, in New York City, since 1904. Originally a double company facility, the building was literally cut in half in 1914, when the width of Varick Street was increased from 70 to 100 feet. In 1916, Fireman John Walsh brought accolades to the already distinguished firehouse, through his daring rescue of factory worker Ida Goldberg; by swinging his scaling ladder "like a pendulum" from an adjoining building, and grabbing her, from a 7th story window, by just her arm! Hook and Ladder No. 8 were also one of the first departments to arrive at the World Trade Center on September 11th 2001.

This brings me to the string that will tie these disparate elements together, my guilty pleasure; I love finding locations that were used in movies. It brings out my inner child, and the sense of wonder that a visit to the cinema bestowed upon me as a young boy. Standing at the foot of Mount Davidson Cross, I imagined the tense stand off between Dirty Harry and Scorpio, and indeed "felt lucky". Walking up to the bright red door of Hook and Ladder No. 8, I could hear the strained siren of the Ghostbusters converted ambulance, and knew instantly "who I would call" should there be something strange in my neighborhood. Touring the interior of The Gamble House, my mind conjured up a wild, white haired scientist, and a teenage boy asking why "he'd made a time machine...out of a DeLorean?".

It is the little things that give us great pleasure in life, and often, they are a connection to our younger selves, when the world seemed magical, and full of possibilities. The child in all of us is kept alive through such folly, activities that serve no purpose other than to put a smile on your face, and that alone should be worth the indulgence.

Failure to Communicate

For two million years or so, the human race has been attempting to communicate.

Stories, ideas, emotions, questions and answers. We've tried fires, smoke signals, drums and horns, all effective, but ephemeral in nature. Then came cave paintings, petroglyphs, pictograms and ideograms, from which was born a form of writing, and led to the development of the first alphabet.

Nothing could stop us now.

Cell phones, Twitter, Facebook and Instagram have taken the dissemination of information to a level that was unimaginable not too long ago, sharing our opinions, thoughts and photographs with the world, every minute of every day. We all do it with the best of intentions, but how is it being received? Our perception of life is determined by our experiences, our reality, and that is as unique to each person on the planet as their fingerprint. I choose to bare my soul through photography, an art form, like any other, open to a vast spectrum of interpretation, and therefore, meaning.  

Once we venture past the monosyllabic, communication, by it's very nature, is fraught with ambiguity, but that should never stop us from trying.

Analysis Paralysis

I need a new camera bag.

In fact, I’ve needed one for about two years now. My search has been quite passive, and sporadic, but, as all purchases of photographic equipment, with great attention paid to detail. Apparently, it’s where the devil lurks, waiting to pounce upon unsuspecting indecisiveness. My current bag has been with me for ten years, and accompanied me on many adventures, so the replacement, in addition to being the right size, weight, shape, capacity, color, and function perfectly, also has to overcome the emotional hurdle of ousting an old friend. Is there a bag out there willing to meet this challenge? Sadly, relationship advice for photographers and their equipment are not included in product feedback online, however, illumination can be found. A review of one item stated that his wife had purchased the bag for him as, faced with too many options, he was suffering from analysis paralysis, frozen in the face of choice. Hmmmm….

On the same day as this realization struck, I read an article describing an assignment National Geographic had given a photographer. The coast off Recife, Brazil, has become a hot spot for shark attacks, and to illustrate this, the magazine wanted a specific image taken at water level, showing a shark close to shore, with the city skyline in the background. The photographer chosen for this, Daniel Botelho, has experience with sharks all over the world, but even his editor believed the assignment impossible. Daniel spent more than 200 hours in the water over the course of 30 days without success. On his last day, he spotted a fisherman bringing a fish up from the sea floor, and a shark in pursuit. He only had time to grab two frames as the dorsal fin broke the surface, and the moment was gone, but he’d captured a stunning photograph, and exceeded all expectations. All his experience, planning and tenacity came together, producing magic.

Fulfilling a dream assignment is something all photographers aspire to, myself included. I just need to choose the right bag first.

http://www.grindtv.com/outdoor/nature/post/stunning-image-illustrates-urban-shark-phenomenon-at-recife-brazil/

Redefined

"Sitting there at that moment I thought of something else Shakespeare said. He said, “Hey… life is pretty stupid; with lots of hubbub to keep you busy, but not really amounting to much." Of course, I’m paraphrasing: “Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” - Harris K. Telemacher, LA Story

I love this movie, and listening to Steve Martin speak this line always struck a chord in me. Life is chaotic and tumultuous, sometimes beautiful, occasionally brutal, intermittently dull. As much as we shun predictability in our youth, the repetitive nature of each day can be soothing, lulling us into a feeling of security or confidence. Life also has a way of disrupting this rhythm, punctuating the ebb and flow with events of great magnitude, forcing us into changing course, shifting our perception, and even redefining who we are. Some are bright and happy, and of our own making, such as getting married, the birth of a child, climbing a mountain, or changing your citizenship. Others are darker, unexpected and unimaginable.

One such episode was bestowed upon me last November in the form of a heart attack, so powerful it almost ended my story. No warning. No explanation. In an instant, all I took for granted was turned upside down, as if a rug had been pulled out from under me.

Thanks to an amazing medical team, and my own generally good state of health, I am still here today. My lack of invincibility, and the sheer beauty of this life, have never eluded me, but now seem magnified. The sheer pleasure of holding my family close, the pride and joy of watching my daughters play, learn and grow, the promise of climbing more mountains, pursuing my photographic dreams, and smiling while doing it all, is overwhelming. 

Life may be a tale told by an idiot, with lots of hubbub to keep you busy, but that is what makes it so interesting and rewarding. While we cannot control, or foresee, all that comes our way, we can choose what we make of it. Enjoy every minute, bask in the positives, learn from the negatives. Adapt. Shift. Redefine.

Shanks' Pony

Once I learned how to walk, I’ve never stopped.

Not literally, of course, but using my own legs and feet as a means of getting from point A to point B, or just to meander aimlessly, feels as natural as a heartbeat to me. Even as a toddler, my parents would bring a stroller on long walks, but it remained empty as I stubbornly marched on ahead. As I grew up, this has morphed into a love of hiking. A college friend and I walked across England one Summer, following the Coast to Coast trail pioneered by noted British fellwalker Alfred Wainwright MBE. My cousin and I put one foot in front of the other on many of the peaks in the Lake District, a beautiful corner of northwest England, in the dead of Winter. At 40 years old, my aching feet took me to the top of Mount Whitney in the Sierra Nevada mountains. 

When it comes to walking, I am infected for life.

Most of my wanderings these days are between the school my daughters’ attend and home. Rushing back and forth, feeling that I have no time to enjoy my surroundings, I keep my head down, and that has turned out to be more interesting than it sounds. My adopted town of Hoboken is rich in history, first settled back in the 17th Century, it became a resort before a township, and finally a city in 1855. The wealth of detail in the landscape beneath our feet here in the Mile Square city is vast, encompassing not only the usual urban suspects of concrete and asphalt, but also intricate tile work in shop doorways, cobblestones, wooden piers, splash pads and parkland, a broad tapestry of textures and colours. By bringing together my love of walking, and passion for photography, I have started documenting this realm.

Left, right, left, right…..

Movana

I love fads and trends. They come in all shapes and sizes, and range from the banal to the outrageous.

I grew up in the fad-filled 80’s, a decade of decadence, big hair, big trousers, where bigger was, indeed, better! Portable entertainment came in the form of immense boom boxes, hacky-sacks, koosh balls, and Rubik’s Cubes. We dressed in hyper color shirts and jelly shoes, or aspired to the cool stylings of Don Johnson in Miami Vice. Hung out in video arcades, even as gaming went portable with the advent of Nintendo Game Boy. My older brother had a wonderful shirt that was black on one half, and white on the other, which, when worn with pants that changed color from one minute to the next, was an outfit designed to grab your attention by mugging your senses! I loved it all.

In the last decade, a new fad has emerged that, at once, leaves me both amused and bemused - MOUSTACHES of all things, aka the lip blanket, mouth brow, crumb catcher, and the cookie duster to name but a few. How this began, the fascination with facial hair, I will never know, but it seems to have grown beyond a simple fad. It’s snowballed from drawing simple ‘tashes on fingers, and then held below the nose, to stick on versions that double as unibrows, moustaches on sticks, clothing, footwear, the creation of International Fake Moustache Day (Feb 3rd) and to Movember, an excuse to not shave for a month to raise awareness and funds to help prostate cancer research. Movember was conceived 15 years ago, in Adelaide, South Australia, by a group of men in a pub, and has blossomed into the global Movember Foundation, one of the world’s top NGO’s (non-government organizations) and has raised over $174 million to date.

With such impact, I think it’s fair to say that the moustache trend is hair to stay!

Back to the Future

1992. Twenty two years old. My first visit to Walt Disney World. 

Traveling with my brother, his wife, and my parents, we stayed at a Travelodge on Route 192, and ate breakfast, almost every day, at a little Waffle House across the parking lot. Sitting there, with the early morning sun coming through the windows, planning our days, bellies full of hearty american fare, it all felt so carefree. That feeling, and in particular, enjoying those experiences with family, meant the world to me.

2014. Twenty two years later, the opportunity to revisit my past presented itself, and was too much to resist. Accompanied this time by my wife and daughters, we stopped by for a late breakfast, taking the table by the window, bathed in morning sunlight. Once again, the sensation of insouciance washed over me. Enjoying sharing the experience with my own family, the familiarity of it all was overwhelming, the staff friendly and accommodating as always. Sadly, we lost my father back in 2011, but today, the elements of location and nostalgia were conspiring, and for a brief moment, I was once more enjoying coffee with my Dad, and wondering what to do with the day.

Smiling to myself, I took a sip, and wallowed a while....

The Return of Colour

On February 2nd this year, Groundhog Day, Punxsutawney Phil, the Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, awoke from his Winter nap, saw his shadow, and predicted six more weeks of Winter. I just discovered that this ceremony has it's roots in a Celtic tradition that says if a hibernating animal casts a shadow on February 2, the Pagan holiday of Imbolc, Winter will, indeed, last another six weeks.

Phil has been hard at work predicting the weather since 1887 and, during that time, has only predicted an early Spring sixteen times, and has an accuracy rate of just 39%; this year, he hit the nail on the head. Fourteen snowstorms have come through the New York City area, delivering four feet of snow, turning everything into, as my daughter puts it, "a Winter Wonderland".

I am still a kid at heart, enjoying sledding, making snowmen and snowball fights. Despite it's impact on our city, and our morale, the fleeting beauty that snow brings, transforming the noise of a metropolis into a tranquil world of black & white, will always bring me back to the joy of childhood.

That doesn't stop me from wishing for the return of colour, and the onset of Spring!