Lay it all on me. Pro Surfer Shannan Brown.
Pat Curren synching up with nature.
“Price Is Right” rule. Camping is great because you lose track of time. With 4:30 sunsets (#GoldenHour) you fall asleep early and wake when you please. I think this is because all screens are out of service, out of country or dead. But sometimes you camp with that one asshole who has a working phone. They check the football score every 15, and then tell you the time even though you didn't ask. Therefore, breaking your timeless zen state. In this scenario my favourite game to play is “Guess What Time It Is!” Right before he tells you the time, everyone takes a stab at the current time. Closest to the time wins!
Yeap, no waves here...
Have you ever played the game #RoseAndThorn? Every weekend after a #camping/ #surftrip we all say ''rose and thorn'' like a hundred times, then one at a time we share our shittiest moment of the trip and the best one. So, I'll got first! My Thorn of the trip was leaving the beach just as the waves were getting jumbo and clean. My Rose of the trip was super gluing a loonie (Candadian $1 coin) to the floor of the ferry and watching people fail to pick it up.
Onshore, I meet Gordie's wife, kids and grandchildren. He see’s his family off and comes to meet Logan, and the boys. He joins us for a beer and fills us in on the history of generations, the land, and the other possibilities of waves. We exchange emails so Gordie can hold onto some photos from the day. He gives me his home address, offering us the cheapest snow crab we’ll ever find. Then he points behind him “Just drive up the hillside there and I’ll take you boys fishing next time you’re in town.” On the way home we decided to name the wave after him.
In the morning we took off down the road and found a shoulder high left. I shot some photos on the sidelines as I watch Logan Landry land a couple airs. An old man drove down the valley in his blue beater pickup, got out and walked towards me. I waved politely, unsure if I was trespassing.
To me, creating a photo where I feel a connection to the work and people involved is what authenticates one shot from another. At that point, it doesn't matter if I'm doing commercial work or a personal project. To me, what gives work soul isn't just a pretty image, but one that brings the characters traits to the surface. My favourite work is when I've unveiled moments in time where a facial expression, a human action or piece a of nature collide with beautiful light and mirrors my current state. "You're going to face yourself a lot, whether you like it or not."
Broken by the ocean.
A while ago I spent some time at Logan Landry's home in Nova Scotia. We surfed and traveled and I got to hang with some rad east coast fellas, as well his family. Here is a photo of Logan's Grandfather, Reginald, holding an antique gun in their barn. There was a small beam of light coming in through the stained glass window, so we propped a chair up on the 4ft. high pile of rickety stacked wood and took 35mm portraits of him and his grandson.
Living on the devils dime.
It was either the heat of the sun or the fact that I had just destroying everyone in a game of Settlers Of Catan, but everyone was hot as balls. With zero convincing, we jumped up, slapped the sand from our asses and paddled out into the surf in boardshorts and cutoffs. Remember, this is British Columbia, not Oaxaca, so the waves are small and cold year round. I wish I could show you the juxtaposition of everyone else wearing wetsuits booties, gloves, hoods but that shot didn’t turn out... After shooting a few laughs with my 35mm thrift store reusable waterproof film camera, I surfed one in with my shorts on my head.
Moments before we watched two eagles fly towards us, through a gully. Like acrobats they tumbled in the air, as they fought over a fresh caught salmon. We all had cameras on us and none of us got the shot...
It has been raining on and off all day, and will continue all week. Or year round for that matter. We find ourselves constantly camping in these conditions, and I’m slowly learning why. When water particles add up between camera and subject, the light diffuses into something soft and delicate. This is a contrast to the landscapes and people with whom I connect. The fog sits heavily, muting the colors into black, white, and greens like a watercolor painting from my grandparents’ house. These dreary, isolated elements of the Pacific Northwest are where I draw inspiration for my work.
The scars became the lessons, but I only got love for you now.
On the drive to the beach we laughed about the size of our campfire we would have since we all had axes and a chainsaw. Rene bucked the driftwood while Will and I split the chunks and we all high fived over the smell of fresh cut cedar. It was a late rainy evening so we needed the water proof red cedar and we only had yellow. 45 minutes of fire building techniques and we still didn't have anything hot. So I poured some gas on the tiny flame to speed things up but the fire crawled up the fumes into the jerry can and I threw the blaze. With no threat of an explosion, I hung my head at the melodramatic scene of red plastic melting and laughed. That's when Will placed the logs around the flame and built the second largest fire ever.