|| Snow is always changing. Snowflakes fall from the sky pointy and perfect, and once on Earth they take on a more practical shape. Temperature, wind, and weight all work to melt, move, form and deform the snowpack. Individual flakes turn into multi-faceted grains; a little round over here and a little square over there. Over time, these grains lock together to form the surface that bears our weight when we take a walk or ski down the mountain. Here’s a small piece of the larger puzzle, an individual grain from the Utah snowpack.
This grain was photographed against a 3mm snow classification grid on a BCA snow card. I used a 100mm 2.8 macro lens, a Canon 580ex in slave mode, and a Canon 7D. ||
|| 5 A.M. rolls around and I give the alarm a slap. Botch the coffee (too early), don’t forget the boots, load the truck, and… dang, did I forget my headlamp? Nope, it’s on my head. Meet up with Adam, Erme arrives, load Adam’s truck, and start driving. Hit the trailhead parking lot, slap the skis on the ground, shoot a headlamp photo that might work out, and start skinning. My lungs hurt, bad. Skin, skin, and skin more until morning breaks. Pause on the skin track and take in the view. Meet the guys at the top, shoot another photo, pack the camera, drop into my line, and enjoy. I blew right by that perfect patch of shooting light. Screw it, this is too much fun. Hollar, high five, and head for home. ||
|| I shot this photo from the highest catwalk inside the Salt Lake City Public Library. Desks and sitting areas are hidden behind the square pillars to the right and the library proper is to the left. Every Sunday the ground level is packed with vendors selling crafts and customers milling about the vendors. Massive windows allow light to fill the building all day. After moving to Salt Lake City from Maine, I quickly discovered that this was one of my favorite buildings in the downtown area. ||
|| Sebago, Maine is a blip on the radar to most people. At the outskirts of town you’re an hour away from the nearest city, and when you’re in town you’re forty minutes from the nearest highway. Stop signs exist only when roads cross in a way that necessitates legal signage and stoplights are non-existant. Houses are spaced far apart and yards are given room to breathe. Really, living in Sebago is about living in a certain amount of solitude. Solitude is rare and replenishing; these days it isn’t often that you’re treated to clear skies, quiet nights, and unpolluted horizons. ||
|| Meggan bombs down dusty singletrack outside of Stanley, Idaho. Hot springs, the cold river, and the incredible mountain biking bring us back to Idaho year after year. ||
|| Small hills wind endlessly beside the highway that stretches from Utah to Idaho. You see nothing but rolling hills for hours and hours. Sometimes, in the fading light, a contour pops out or a horizon line defines itself in a way that makes a photo shine. ||