Tag Archives: creative writing

  • Skiing Out of Darkness Mount Baker Washington by Jay Goodrich

    Owen Dudley skis out of the darkness during a brief clearing in the backcountry near Mount Baker Ski Area.

That is the Sound of Inevitability

by

I stood there looking at myself in the mirror. The scene unfolding was reminiscent of a Hunter S. Thompson novel. Gritty face. Bloodshot eyes. A general foggy demeanor spiraling around my hungover head. The girl that was to become my wife was lying naked in the bed behind me. It was my first commercial photo shoot, there is absolutely no reason that I should be feeling this way. I grabbed for the Advil, Alka-seltzer, and water, need water. My tongue felt like I was a cat preparing to cough up a hairball. It is safe to say there were sweaters covering my teeth. I heard the music of last night’s party still ringing in my ears. I vaguely remember some nakedness to the point of mild porn in the gondola last night with hand-held flash going off as random as a dance strobe in a techno bar, but the fog was doing its best to hide any and all of those embarrassments. Did I really take it this far? I mean, I got paid to do this to myself. This was only a wedding for god’s sake. Was this going to be the rest of my life and career?

Almost two decades later, I was in the same place. A mirror, in a bathroom, with sweaters on my teeth. In Vancouver this time, not Vail. Yes, I was shooting an assignment. This time about the Olympics and ski dirtbags. It’s good to see that many things have changed and many things have not. I am married with two kids now. My wife told me to go and have fun. This wasn’t feeling much like fun. The dirtbags woke me up off of my couch at about 2am as the whole party went nuclear. Much like the light porn I still vaguely remember from the wedding in Vail so long ago, it began with a concept, a contract, and unlimited handshaking, touring, and of course skiing. I only remember my friends prying my eyes open and asking if I was awake. The smell of spilled red wine, tequila, and beer permeated the condo. We were supposed to ski today and the snow was falling out of the sky like never before on this journey. Very similar to the brain cells that were littering the floor before me.

My life consists of writing, photographing, and family. Sometimes there is a little sleep thrown in there, but most times not. I pushed for this career, I dreamt of it, I wished for it, and there are many times that the dream of frolicking through the wild flowers without a care in the world turns into the Freddy Kruger of nightmares. Like I have always said and probably always will, lob the grenade into the room first, then head in, resurrect the broken and busted survivors to do it again on another day. Would I change my life? Sometimes there are parts that I would. Spending more time with my family so they don’t hate me so much, and trying to be a better man, I seem to be caught in the phase of always trying. I am standing on the precipice of 15 years as a professional photographer and writer and I am only truly scratching the surface of that lifestyle and occupation.

Many ask me how I do it? They want the remedy to fix their dreams, hopes, and career paths. My advice is always-Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you cannot do something. Envision it and go after full-tilt, like you were running from that brown bear and your life depended on it. The results will be shocking, almost to the point of perfection, if you stay away from the psychotic episodes. I have brought my entire personal life to my career and vice versa. I live the dream and the nightmare, every day. It is safe to say that tomorrow I will drop another monster backcountry line full of cold smoke powder and on Sunday will be shooting another hotel for Hilton. It’s all about living in balance with the world, nature, family, and concepts. Some days it’s as perfect as three feet of consolidated, bonded, trackless powder and other times that it is as rotten as a freezing trend after ten inches of rain. It is safe to say that tomorrow, I will fix the hand grenades of today and the cycle will continue. Inevitably.

  • Silhouetted Against the Arch by Jay Goodrich

    A hiker stands silhouetted in Arches National Park Utah.

The Rise

by

I stand in the middle of a valley surrounded by rock formations. I can not see any of them yet, but I know they are there. It is so dark that I can not even tell if there are any clouds lingering to add to the drama of photography this morning. Red earth all over my shoes, my clothes. It is in my hair, my nose, my ears, and even my eyes. It was a little windy yesterday. I look to where I think the horizon is but I see nothing but a big black void. There is not a soul around, it is completely silent. I am for once, early. I head to the back of my truck to grab my backpack and my tripod. The rear bumper is covered in a layer of red powder about an eighth of an inch thick. I write “wash me” in it. As I open the door the dust stirs into little tornados before it falls back to the earth. My pack and tripod have traces of the deep maroon powder all over them as well. I stumbled upon this place yesterday afternoon.

I am a bit tired. I spent the evening shooting star trails only to realize that morning was going to come way too soon. There is a crispness in the air, it tingles as it enters my nose. It reminds me of that sound you hear when a person bites into the perfect fall apple. A little pop, followed by a sweet aroma; I can just taste the explosion of flavor. Vapor crystals leave my nostrils and mouth and scatter as far as I can see. I hope that my mission is going to yield imagery that ties over my soul for awhile – this is my last day here.

I pull the Petzl lamp out of my pack and wrap it around my head. I turn it on, throw the pack onto my back, adjust the straps and buckles, sling the tripod onto my shoulder with one hand, and close the truck door with the other. More dust scatters. I start to walk into the belly of monuments and darkness. I am now the only light source.

As I stumble to my location, a calm comes before me. It was like I donned that old comfortable shoe that was completely molded to the contours of my sole. I began to run on auto pilot. The light was starting to fill the sky. At least, enough that I could see those rock formations. They were looking a little pink. This place is so magical. I knew that would change as the sun began its race to the other side of the planet. It always starts as pink, or tan, something very subtle and muted, pastel. And depending on the atmosphere, the day could become, gold, yellow, orange, red, crimson, maroon, or any variant there of, a perfect contrast to that deep blue fall desert sky. The formations – sharp and jagged to smooth and bulbous. Why this place over any other? The mountains are my home, but this place speaks to me like no other.

As the sun begins to come up there is a slight breeze. It is the souls of those rock formations coming alive, they are looking for warmth as am I. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, like it does when I feel the gentle kiss of my wife. My pupils dilate. I feel the eye muscles tighten. The sun is showing her face ever so slightly. The warmth begins to bathe me and all of my surroundings. The crystals from my breath fall away closer to their origin. I quickly realize It is going to be a golden rise. Everything is covered in hues of yellow and orange. I look through my viewfinder one last time. God I love this place. And click.

OZ

by

The Oz Couloir Chugach AK

As the blades of the heli chopped hard at the air to move the machine off the ground, the wash churned up crystals of ice that scoured every inch of my exposed face. I had to watch. I was excited to watch. This machine defied all the laws. I looked to my friend Chris, he was staring as I was. I caught a wink from him out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe that I was here, for the eighth time in my life. That was the fastest it ever took me to get into these massive peaks. We hung on to a rocky outcrop that was as fine as a razor’s edge. HUGE drops to either side, eminent death.

I was quivering with excitement and fear. I knew what was ahead and was not totally sure if this dream was one I wanted to live down. Would reality kick me in the face like the rotor wash and send me cowering home? I clicked into my skis and stared down into the steepest line I have ever seen in my life. 3500 vertical feet of sustained 60 degrees in what looked like a band-aid strip of snow between monstrous cliffs to either side. I was off of my rocker. So were all of my friends. We even asked for this shit. Feared absolutely nothing last night while pumping the alcohol through our veins. Are you kidding? My stupid right leg began to shake. In the climbing world they call it “sewing machine leg” because you are so scared that something, some part of your body, has to release a bit of the tension, and it is usually your leg bouncing like a sewing machine.

The snow was the coldest I have ever seen. Three feet of untouched. If the beast didn’t let go and bury me under the “Alaskan Slough”. The Alaskan Slough is the equivalent of an avalanche anywhere else in the world. My eyes dilated. My heart was racing. I could hear my pulse. So could my friends. Our guide called out. “Jay, your first.” I looked up with blank stare. I was shaking my head on the inside in disbelief. I guess I asked for a little taste of OZ. Although, those monkeys were a little frightening. “It’s okay, ski that way until something gets in your way, then turn.” Stupid French girl, in that stupid 80’s movie. “5….4….3”, Al-Z shouts, “Stay out of the gutter.” Great, the avalanche rides the gutter. 60 degrees, 60 degrees, 60 degrees. Oh my god, is this truly what I wanted out of life. Hands shaking, both legs going, no way. I can’t do this. “2”. The radio blasts, “Al-Z are you sure you want them dropping into that? That thing is a slough monster”. Stay out of the gutter.” Pupils are so dilated they are going to burst. “1”. “Jay, DROP!”.

Fear pumped adrenaline, adrenaline brought excitement, a super deep breath, and all at once a calm came over me, I felt like I was home again.…“DROPPING”.

Where Does Your Inspiration Come From?

by

As I conjured up the words for this post in my head, I was convinced that I was going to discuss what has inspired me, what currently does inspire me, and what I think will inspire in the future. Lately, I haven’t been looking to photography for inspiration, I have been looking elsewhere. I have been reading about architecture, painting, and music, and I figured that would encompass what I would write about here. I think that has all changed now though, due to a beer, some in-depth thought, and a long, hot shower.

The video you see here is of Danny MacAskill, an amazing urban trials rider. I would be hard pressed to believe that anyone out there hasn’t seen this video yet, as it has been viewed over 14 million times on youTube. I myself first saw it in May of last year, then again when Heather’s father sent it to me in August, and then again last week when my own father forwarded it on to me. Yes Danny does inspire, if not put you right into a state of disbelief, he defies gravity. And no, I can not ride like him, nor would I really ever want to, I think, maybe I would, never-mind.

The answer came to me as I was toweling off from my shower. The past few weeks, I have watched my 4 year old daughter Jade become obsessed with reading. She wants to be able to read War and Peace so badly that she will try reading to the point that her head collapses on the kitchen table in exhaustion. She falls asleep trying. That was my answer, my moment, my epiphany when this whole piece came together. It’s not that Danny MacAskill can do those amazing things with his bike that inspires me. It’s the fact that he has tried so hard, probably to the point of falling asleep on that machine, which has allowed him to do all of those tricks on his bike that inspires me. The pursuit of something you want so badly that you are willing to fall, injure, fail, repeat, redo, ect., that drive, that stamina, will show you success never before imagined. Danny is proof of that, Jade, will be proof of that. My only hope is that I can continue to fall asleep everyday with my camera in my hand in pure and utter exhaustion from trying so hard. And if not, I know that some of the inspiration is currently sleeping a few doors down.

So tell me, what inspires you?