The hour before sunset is especially magical to my eyes. The light is softer and seems to take a rosy cast. Long shadows race across the landscape. For a photographer or artist it is wonderful drama.
Lately I have taken to walking just before sunset. We have lived for over two years here in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, Mexico and up to now never really walked around our area. Partly a fear factor for there are stray dogs and we are “gringos” that do not know the community for the most part.
We are half way into the dry season. It has not rained for three months. All the green fields have turned brown. Somehow, there are trees that maintain their green leaves. Of course the cactus plants have not a care in the world.
There are many dirt roads that meander over the hills. I follow them, sometimes venturing into a dry field, relishing the space and quiet.
“Be safe,” “Safe travels”, “Take care”, were frequent
Facebook comments when the post about my upcoming travel to Mexico,
Ecuador and Bolivia arrived on the platform last weekend. I recently said the same thing to my daughter Sarah when she set out in a blizzard to go ski in Colorado. I wished her to take care so as not to come to harm. If I could I would envelope her with love like a shield.
I
understand others concern behind the words, and am grateful for the
sentiments. In part there is precautionary warning because life has many uncertanties. In
fact, when I told my brother I was going to Mexico he said he
recently cancelled his trip there with his Mexican girlfriend because
it is alarmingly unsafe. A Mexican friend of mine, an undocumented
worker who I have hired occasionally for years also warned me. When I
said, “I am going to Mexico Sergio!” he looked into my eyes for a
second and smiled, then looked down at the ground and said, “Don't
go.”
Buddha boy at Angkor Wat, Cambodia, Christmas 2015
It reminds me of 2008 as I prepared to journey for a year around
the world. I knew I wanted to visit Egypt. As the day approached to
fly to the middle east, I had some dark thoughts because Islamic
extremists from Egypt flew the planes into the world trade towers. I
almost changed my plans but went anyway. Now when people ask what is
my favorite place in the world, I often mention Egypt.
External threats are apparent on the news. But what of threats
from the inside? Years ago I remember seeing a news article in the
local paper about a woman and her sick daughter. A photo showed them
together in their living room. The woman had a long syringe in her
hand and forlorn look. She had to inject her daughter with medicine to relieve pain. I
felt pity that these two lives had become so narrow and miserable.
Little did I know that within a few years this scene would play out
in my life. A serial killer lurked within my daughter's body. No one knows how long this beast stalked her, but it grew and made itself
known, wreaking havoc. Within two years of our discovery of cancer,
it killed Naomi. She did not have to set foot out of her house. The danger was within. (A Heart Traced In Sand).
I believe everyone carries malevolent germs and organisms that
given an opportunity can cause death. Our body holds them in check.
My cousin went to Cost Rica, picked up a germ and died of spinal
meningitis within weeks of returning home. Early in life he had
leukemia and almost died. Furthermore, our brains and nervous system
are highly tuned. People can become unhinged, mentally “ill”.
Quality of life is severely diminished from trauma. How many are on
prescriptions?
I learned when Naomi fell ill that there is no safety in life. We
assume there is, but there is not. So I will go on my work/adventure
and realize that anything is possible. Even death. But my body knows
that already. And I do not want to live without thrill and discovery.
That is worse than death. During her time of ordeal, Naomi always looked to the positive, to beauty and light as powerful allies that would enable her to overcome.
I leave January 11. The US State department lists travel warnings
everywhere in the world. (See International Travel). There are many places in Mexico with
warnings, but the place I am going is without apparent peril. From
there I go to Ecuador for a month. I had planned to go to Bolivia for
a world-class carnival but could not get a place to stay. It is so
popular that people make bookings a year in advance.
Another time maybe.
A few days ago I was in New Delhi, India biding my time waiting to go to
the airport and catch a plane scheduled to leave for Thailand at 15 minutes after
midnight the next morning. I had to book my quarters again from the
previous night so as to be able to relax with my luggage in the room
until 9 PM. The last time I had such a flight, I missed it because
the 00:15 confused me. I arrived at the airport in Rome, Italy the same day but thought the flight to Nairobi, Kenya was in the afternoon. The attendant sadly told me I had missed my flight, so I had to
book again at considerable cost.
This time, I was careful and while I
waited I also made sure to check Thai visa requirements. I knew
Thailand does not require US citizens to have visas on entry. But on
one website, a British site, mention was made of the thirty day
maximum stay requirement and I was surprised to see that a return
ticket must be shown. A slight panic ensued, as I did not have one.
Not recalling being checked on my previous visits, nonetheless I was
uncomfortable at the prospect of being turned away at the airport. I
called the airline and a lady in Thailand told me to check with the
embassy! This, with only five hours to go.
In this day of instant possibilities via the internet . . . I
began plotting. First, I took out my map of the world and looked to
see where I might go in thirty days. I have been planning to possibly
visit New Guinea, but in the end I chose somewhere nearer that I
could get to from Bangkok for less than 100.00 dollars. In ½ hour, I found a deal and reserved my flight to Siem Reap, Cambodia, where I
will be near the famous Angkor Wat temple, the largest religious
monument in the world, originally constructed as a Hindu temple
around the 12th century for the Khmer Empire, but now a Buddhist
temple.
At last, with all my proper paperwork in hand, I arrived at the
airport and caught the flight to Bangkok and Chiang Mai. And guess
what? Nobody asked to see my ticket out of Thailand.
Dragons, guarding a temple entrance. Chiang Mai, Thailand
The high desert terrain stretched all around me as far as the eye
could see—rolling hills dotted by short, round, Pinon and Juniper
trees, with mountains in the distances and a vast cloud strewn sky above.
Waving my hand, I proclaimed, “This is my studio!”
Yesterday I drove to a familiar place along the Rio Grande River
between Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico. I have painted the landscape
there in all seasons except winter. This day, the clouds were rolling
low over the mountains that rose from either side of the narrow
gorge, and I had to wait until a light rain shower ended. The air was
perfect and I made my oil painting, standing on the river bank. After
I was done, I put on my bathing suit, marched up stream and waded
into the rapidly flowing water. Soon I was floating, bouncing over
rocks in the shallow area and then drifting free in the deeper part
of the river. When I returned to my van, I looked around and gave
thanks for such a wonderful studio and a beautiful life to
experience.
Some people thrive on surprise and are more willing to take risks,
other folks are the opposite—more comfortable with predictability,
structure and what is familiar. Psychologists offer their own
explanations based on the type of person and their traits.
Temperament is another explanation of how people learn and behave.
One my favorite books is Narcissus and Goldman, by Hermann Hesse (German: 2 July 1877 – 9 August 1962).
He describes the lives of two friends who are similar and very
different. They meet in a monastery. Narcissus is older and preparing
to be a monk, while young Goldmund is brought by his father to live
at the monastery and be trained.
The two bond in friendship and Goldmund comes to revere Narcissus
and tries to emulate him. The two share in the practice of prayer and
austerity. They have deep conversations, and Narcissus soon observes
that Goldmund might not be cut out for a monastic life. Goldmund is
handsome and has an earthiness not easily given over to the cerebral
disciplines. Narcissus intimates this to Goldmund but it hurts the young
devotee.
Before long, Goldmund leaves the safety of the monastery to explore and
discover life in all its aspects. His adventures are myriad and he
throws himself with abandon into every experience, tasting life and
death, becoming an acclaimed artist, knowing many loves, accumulating
vast experience and growing wise while he finds his true nature being one with the world. He never forgets Narcissus, but is
following his own course which pulls him inexorably forward.
Narcissus remains austere and in sacred study. His life is
strictly disciplined and he becomes an initiate of the inner verities
of the spiritual realm. He knows his loneliness and accepts it. He
gains peace through rational thought and surrender to the divine.
Through plot twists and turns, Narcissus enters Goldmunds life at
the end and saves him from execution.
I identify strongly with both of the characters and it is why I
have read and re-read this masterpiece.
Some of my other favorite books are by Russians: Anna Karenina,
and War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy (28 August 1828 – 20 November 1910), and The Idiot, and The Brothers
Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (11 November 1821 – 9 February 1881).
I have been traveling for two
weeks—first Egypt and now Morocco. The experience has brought me
to THE DREAM, where surprising pictures transform, and situations are
often unpredictable and lead to unexpected destinations. I have
awakened and opened my curtains to see the Sphinx gazing back at me
near the pyramids in Egypt, played with children on earthen floors
along the banks of the Nile, been made sick and dizzy by traffic
snarls in Cairo. I have at times been lost, bewildered, confused—and
also content, happy, and have felt deep love among people. I have
walked the ancient, narrow passages of the old medina in Casablanca,
Morocco and smelled the spice, fish, bread and fruit. I've thrown myself in
the cold Atlantic Ocean and reveled in the surf, with my bedroom just
steps away. At night, sleeping in strange places, sleep sometimes
does not come easy. At least once, the noise was loud downstairs, and when
I complained, I was asked to join the party—and did, dancing until
3 AM amid the raucous laughter and fun. Now, I find myself in a
village of blue walls clustered on steep mountainsides, with a maze
of passages that zigzag and twist in all directions . . . like THE
DREAM.
My hotel in Cairo is so close to the
Pyramids, that when I wake up in the morning and open my curtains and
stand on the balcony, the Sphinx is looking at me with its
imperturbable gaze. The face is that of a man, the hair of a woman,
and body of a lion. Close by, three pyramids are prominently in view;
Cheops, Khufu, Khafre. Six more are in the vicinity.
The streets bustle with chaotic
activity, and as I walked yesterday I realized that Heidi Of The
Mountains would have no taste for walking with me through the grimy
avenues, full of the stench of cars, garbage, and animal waste;
camels, horses, and even sheep. It reminds me of other cities I have
visited that are disheveled and crowded, and without beauty—like
Calcutta, and Nairobi. Local people are oblivious of the mess, never
having known anything different, and have a gritty determination. Be
that as it may, there are many gems in the coal pile, and I find
them. Adventure calls me forth, and with an open heart, THE DREAM
unfolds marvelous circumstances. I have met Abdúl, a man in his
fifties who speaks good English and has befriended me. After
consideration, I accepted his overtures, and went to his home near
the pyramids and had dinner with his family . . . even dancing with
his little grandchildren while Arabic disco music played from the
popular television station. At night we sat on his roof and watched
the fantastic light show that plays every evening after dark at the
pyramids. It is complete with dramatic music, narration, and shifting
colors of lights that play on the Sphinx and pyramids.Today, in a
barber shop I had the best shave of my life. I had asked my friend
where I could buy a razor to shave, and he said no, “I take you
someplace much better.” Sure, the place was rundown and grimy, but
the shave was perfect—better than I do to myself.
This afternoon, I fly one hour down the
Nile to Luxor, and when I return to Cairo in one week, I will stay
with Abdúl and his family.
It has been wonderful gaining so many
new collectors and having grand art openings. I appreciate the
positive, and feel relieved too that the huge financial obligations
are ending.
Recently, sales have been occurring
outside the gallery that make me think I will do as well or better on
my own. I get orders from my online presence, and recently drove to
Tulsa, Oklahoma for an artfest where six paintings sold, along with
many prints. Very profitable without the vast overhead. And this
satisfied some of my wanderlust too.
Heidi Of The Mountains encouraged the change, and hopefully, this September we will be able to go forth together to Europe.
“Once
you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and
over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off
from the journey.” – Pat Conroy
“Our
battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer
ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” – Jack
Kerouac
The experiences of life away from the
familiar that comes from distant travel are not for everyone, but for
me, the exciting effects of combining known elements with unknown
ones is essential. I need to travel, to experience the freedom of
motion that carries the possibility of expanded consciousness.
Written upon the tablet of my memory are indelible streams of life
that have come from living like the wind carving through space and
time without inhibition, even circling the globe. I feel the fire of this passion that
burned so bright and joyously unencumbered for the entire year of
2008, and is still alive with burning embers of that lovely flame—ready
to leap into intensity again at the slightest opportunity.
Masai youth, herding cattle . . . Tanzania
Camel at the Great Pyramids, Egypt
The feeling to explore new life is
coming these days like an imperative. The flames that died down now
long to spring forth once again. It almost hurts me to be settled. The strange apparition of a whirling dervish must
challenge most peoples consciousness. Who could possibly care to live
without being the occupant of a home? For most, home is where the
heart is, but I also observe it is where stuff accumulates and that
stuff requires guardianship. I don't care to be watching over stuff.
To do so requires maintenance and expenditure. Let loose I say.
Material possessions do not hold
more for me than a soft breeze and warm sunlight upon my skin, a bird song in my ears, the sight of new terrain to explore, and
the incredible luxury of time, with the only requirement being that of
awe and wonder.
At Ipsos, on the island of Corfu, Greece
Halong Bay, Vietnam
Come, Come, Whoever You Are
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of
leaving.
It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of
despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow a thousand
times .
There is no escaping racial issues
when one is an American. It is in our history, from the days of slavery,
and a terrible civil war was fought over the matter. I grew up in
Washington D.C. during the days of the civil rights movement, and
experienced forced de-segregation at my high-school. Black inner city
kids were bussed to schools away from their neighborhoods, and in my sophomore year my classmates went from 95%
white to more like 60%. I found that the experience of meeting the African-American youth added greatly to my
education—not in a scholastic way, but rather a social one.
Back in 2008, when I had determined to
leave the familiar comforts of my life and begin a year-long solo
sojourn around the world, I chose to go first to Belize, a country on
the northeastern coast of Central America. It is the only country in
the area that has English as the official language, and is primarily
black. And I wanted to live in a black town, so I chose Dangriga.
Perhaps I thought that this would awaken me for what was ahead—all
the cultural surprises, and experiencing being a minority.
As an adventurer, pressing beyond boundaries
and exploring outside of comfort zones is essential to the
experience. From the start, when I first set foot in Belize and
realized I was in a new world with different rules and scenery, I
began a shift of consciousness, and instead of
trying to hold on to what my comforts were, I let the the surprising events unfold
and decided to live in the unfolding drama, calling life THE DREAM.
The storehouse of my mind is bursting and begs to be released. The
most fluid, direct, and succinct way to accomplish this is by
writing. Writing from memory is typically in the form of memoir. For
a good memoir, there needs to be vivid recall, and studies have shown
that our memories are more profound when they are accompanied by
emotion. In other words, a boring life does not make for a good
memoir. My life has been far from boring—especially the year that I
gave up home, car, typical security, and traveled solo around the
globe . . . feet firmly on the ground. I have begun writing chapters
from that year; and chosen to write in the third person.
Here is a sample, taken from a chapter on Belize:
They ambled casually together, past the
run-down shops, enjoying one another enough that each day when they
happened to meet, they grew friendlier. The black man, Hugh, had
buttery cocoa skin and wore his hair in dreadlocks. He wore old jeans,
a tank top, and flip-flops on his feet. Outside a cafe one afternoon,
the traveler asked Hugh if he would have his picture taken. Hugh
posed bashfully, eyes twinkling and lips tightly shut. The traveler had to put down his camera and smile himself
before Hugh at last grinned. Then the best picture was taken, with
Hugh smiling broadly and showing a gaping hole in his top row of
teeth—so that his tongue pushed through the gap.
One afternoon, Hugh took the traveler
to his house. They walked out of town, about a half mile along the
beach, past some respectable private homes until they reached a
curve, and then, looking past a little fresh water stream emptying into the
sea, Hugh pointed toward an area where it appeared a jungle had
marched to the shoreline. "My place is back there," he said. They walked on and soon could spot a
ramshackle hut. “My girlfriend Susie is home . . . we been
together awhile . . . she is good!” He said, winking at me with his
toothless smile. As we neared the hut, I noticed how primitive it
was. “I built it myself” he said, “out of stuff I found.” The
traveler peered into the windows lacking glass or even screens and
imagined what might happen during a storm. “What about when it
rains?” he asked. Hugh grinned and replied right away, “My
girlfriend and I fight over the dry spots.”
We came to the front steps and Suzie
stepped outside, smiling broadly. She was plump and homely and
had dreadlocks like Hugh. They went
inside. There was nothing there but a few kitchen utensils and
dilapidated sticks of furniture. They went out back and Hugh showed
his primitive operation for collecting juice from harvested Nomi
fruit, which he marketed. The traveler suggested photographing Suzie.
She perked up to the idea, put down her glass of rum and changed into a hand knit dress in
Rastafarian colors, barely covering her torso and ended just above
her knees.
For some reason, Hugh decided to leave.
He gave a knowing smile, and said he needed to go to the store and
get something. Inside with Suzie, she flopped down on a chair, leaned
backward with her eyes half open and spread her legs. The episode
seemed odd, and he got her to stand up and pose on the front porch
for photos. In a reverie, she acted sexy and posed like a model. The
air was perfect and the sky clear.
Hugh did not come back before the
Traveler left. That afternoon, he burned a cd with the pictures of
Suzie. The next day he went back to Hugh’s but the place was empty.
Looking around at the shack one last time, he placed the cd on the
kitchen table and left.
To arrive at the Bisti Badlands in New Mexico is like landing on another planet. No paved roads, no trees or shrubs—only barren, rocky land for miles. What is attractive is the pristine space, carved by rock forms shaped by time, wind, gravity and the elements.
Heidi Of The Mountains and I take one day a week to relax and spend time together away from pressing cares. We usually choose an adventure to share, although one day, we did nothing but sleep, read, and do some gardening. We chose to visit Bisti, and arrived at the Badlands in the dark, after driving 3 ½ hours from Santa Fe. The last two miles were dirt road, with no light. I parked at the end of the road and we got out to walk with our puppy, Chamo. The air was warm and noiseless. We tried to stay on the road while walking beneath a half full moon. We could only barely make out the forms of the rocky hills nearby. Heidi said, “As long as we have each other, we don’t need anything else.”
Later that night, the temperatures dropped and I argued with Heidi who did not want me to put the dog, who is getting hefty in size, outside. We were crammed into the back of my van, sleeping on a foam pad. The dog went out, but soon was scratching to get back in. Once inside again, he fell asleep with his head on my chest and started dreaming, then twitching in his sleep. Eventually, I settled him next to Heidi who does not mind him lying next to her. We all slept together until I woke at dawn and saw a rosy sky outside. The air was cold, but I arose to go out for a walk and photograph. Chamo came with me and we explored the stunning landscape. Despite my frozen hands, I took some nice pictures.
I had walked around mesmerized by the scenery and light, still sleepy—and got lost. Chamo did not understand my entreaties to “find Heidi.” We found the road, but I began walking in the wrong direction until I decided to turn around. At last, we arrived back to the van, and Heidi was waiting, concerned we had been gone so long.
When the three of us set out walking together into the badlands, we felt free and happy to be in such unusual and intriguing surroundings. Nobody else was around, and Heidi modeled nude among the rocks, under the big sky.
I had intended to paint in the afternoon, but after lounging in the van for a nap, the sky grew cloudy and a wind picked up force. We began driving back to Santa Fe. Along the way, we occasionally noticed derelict homes dotting the landscape. Heidi said, “How can people live out here?” I reminded her what she had said earlier, that we had each other, and so could be anywhere. She said, “I could not live here.” Then I smiled and kept my mouth shut.
While still in Paris, the night before leaving, a dreamy transport came over me and a rhapsodic tingling flowed from my feet to my head—and I knew. The certainty came as a surprise because a bomb had recently blasted through the medina in Marrakech, killing tourists. So my spiritual confirmation that I would love Morocco came as relief beforehand.
Heidi of the Mountains and I arrived to the airport in Marrakech, rented our car and set off to find our riad, (hotel in a former home). I am a more experienced traveler and have been to several African countries, including Egypt (see Steven Boone Photos from Around The World), so the dusty, crowded and derelict streets did not startle me, but for my companion, having just come from sophisticated Paris, the scenery was a surprise for her eyes and maybe a bit of a shock. Before long, as we looked about for Riad Nesma, trying to discern where our riad might be, a man on a motorcycle sped up along side our car and speaking in English, asked if we needed help. He directed us to a car park and from there helped us to hire a fellow with a big wheelbarrow to carry our luggage down a narrow street to our hotel. Once we were situated, Abdel stuck to us like glue, offering to take us places. I asked him how much and he said, “No worry, just pay me what you like, and if you don’t like me, do not pay anything.” This was our introduction to Morocco.
The colors, sights and sounds are fantastic. The souks (markets), in Marrakech are a virtual smorgasbord of brightly colored shoes, textiles, sacks of spices, earthenware, aromatic tinctures and creams, mints and foods, decorated furniture and artwork. Nothing is behind glass, rather it is within touch and ready to be handled. Merchants greet you with a smile and are ready to bargain. They are expert at selling, and even though you get something for half price, later you might regret that you paid too much.
This Berber Woman is over ninety years old!
From Marrakech we drove to El Kelaa M’Gouna, a town in “the valley of roses” in the Atlas Mountains. It is an area famous for producing rose water and perfumes. Each year, the first weekend in May, is the Festival of Roses. We have arrived just in time, but the trip from Marrakech took twice as long as I anticipated, especially because of the slow driving along twisting roads over the mountains. Our hotel, called Dar Timitar is owned by two brothers, Ahmed (pronounced Ak-med) and Rachid (Rah-sheed), and sits in a spectacular situation atop a mountain, overlooking the valley and villages below.
Most tourists in Morocco are French, since it is a former colony and French is widely spoken. Ahmed speaks French and Rachid speaks English. They are both hardworking and kind. Rachid becomes our guide for the next three days and we quickly bond as he takes us hiking through fields of roses, over gurgling brooks, among walnut, almond and peach trees, through fields of wheat and barley, and into the Berber villages made of earth. He is a devout Muslim, as are most everyone, and is expert at explaining the Berber culture and traditions. The leisurely walks are wonderful, especially since the roses perfume the air while birds add their songs to the sounds of the water flowing in ditches.
Life is simple and often we see women in the morning and evenings, returning from the fields, bent over, carrying piles of fresh cut alfalfa to feed their animals. Children play, and old men sit by the roadside and daydream. When I meet other men, they tap their heart, shake my hand and say “Salaam”, which means peace is with us.
Today we leave the mountains and begin driving to the sea. Our next stop is the coastal town of Essaouira.
Note: Have arrived in Essaouira after a day of driving. It is a fantastic city on the coast that reminds me of Venice, Italy. Within the walled old town where no cars are allowed, are mazes of narrow walks lined with shops similar to those in Marrakech. Our room is in Riad Mimouna, built at the ocean edge and the windows open to the west upon the Atlantic sea.
The adventure to Colorado began in earnest when my partner, Heidi of the Mountains, and I pulled off the road between Albuquerque and Durango to rest a moment and pee. A spectacular profusion of chamisa bush bloomed bright yellow in the late afternoon light, and as I exclaimed aloud in delight and dropped my zipper behind a tall bush, a distinct warning sounded. I looked to my side and barely a couple steps away a rattlesnake stood coiled, rattling its tail and staring at me. I remained relaxed, then after finishing my routine, I thanked the creature for the heads-up alert and left.
From past experience, I judged that the fantastic changing of the color of aspen tree leaves would begin the second week of September. Here in Santa Fe, because we are further south, the change is usually first week of October. The “quaking” aspen is Colorado’s state tree and the name is ubiquitous and used for towns, hotels, restaurants and more. Aspen leaves turn golden yellow when conditions are right—shorter days and cooler temperatures—and can be seen en-masse on mountain sides since they grow in clusters, sharing their root systems. The display is only one week long, and it is difficult to pinpoint start and finish times. I felt crestfallen discovering that most of the trees were green when Heidi of the Mountains and I arrived in Ouray, sometimes called the “Switzerland of America”. I kept wondering how I could have misjudged the seasonal change, but determined to enjoy the moments anyway and said to myself “what you see is what you get!” I produced a painting in the countryside and made the aspen trees golden rather than the green that I saw.
The day I painted, we hiked and took a trip to Telluride where a blues festival was happening for several days. The town is in a fantastic setting and has good shopping and easy access to fun outdoors activities.
On Saturday, Heidi of the Mountains and I rented a jeep and headed to stark and unforgiving territory, on roads only accessible by all-terrain vehicles. Surprise! As we left town, whole hillsides had turned golden; seemingly overnight. In the morning light, it seemed as if nature had flipped a switch and turned on the color. The natural performance dazzled the senses and confounded the mind. Witnessing the sudden change turned my disappointment into joy and came as a gift: to be amidst the change as it occurred. Our jeep took us to dramatic places above 12,000 feet altitude, and along the way, the aspens blazed upward until they reached the end of their climatic comfort zone and where only fir trees grew. Higher up, in tundra regions, only small plants existed among the rock.
At times, the roads were so rocky and broken that the jeep rolled wildly from side to side as we inched our way along. Drop-offs were steep and perilously close to the narrow trails. Heidi of the Mountains insisted several times that I stop to let her walk rather than be in the jeep. We became lost a couple times but the views were so fantastic, I hardly cared. At the end of the day, we chose a route home that proved to be perilous and although I tried to assure Heidi of the Mountains that I would not let anything happen to her, she broke down crying. When we made it to the smooth highway, she was mad at me, but I could only say, “Look, Stevie has brought you back safe and sound! He won't let anything bad happen to Heidi of the Mountains.”
Our last day was spent hiking near Silverton. I returned to the same trail I had been on three weeks earlier with my ex-wife Jean and daughter Sarah. It is a hard hike from 9000 feet up to a lake basin area over 12,000 feet. Now, the aspen trees blazed gold colors along our mountain trek and when Heidi of the Mountains and I at last, with sore and trembling legs, gasping and out of breath, reached the top of our climb, an exquisite pristine and incredibly blue lake in a lovely basin surrounded by peaks dazzled our eyes. That evening we finally reached home at 11:30 PM exhausted but satisfied that we had experienced the fantastic.
I took many photos on this trip, and will share them after I have sorted and processed the best.
"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.” John Muir
“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.” Edward Abbey
My daughter Sarah, my ex-wife Jean, and I went for a four-day excursion to Silverton Colorado. Silverton only has about 500 residents, but swells with visitors in the summer because of its spectacular surroundings. It has been called “A gritty little mining town with Victorian pretensions.” The elevation, 9305 feet, makes it one of the highest towns in the United States. Originally it was founded during a gold rush, when silver and gold was being mined in the late nineteenth century.
The first day, we drove up to Animus Fork, to the ruins of old mines and miners structures. While Jean and Sarah hiked, I made a painting of an abandoned house with the mountains in the background. In the evening, we went to a restaurant, then came home and played cards. The next day, we hiked a rigorous trail up into the mountains to Ice Lake, a climb of about 3.5 miles from an elevation of about 9,900 feet to 12,000. We started late, and about half way up, hikers were already descending to return to town. Some people are hard-core hikers and even ultra-fit enthusiasts—and its always amusing to find that we are huffing and puffing and stopping to get our breath, when one of these people casually jogs past us. Our efforts were rewarded by late summer colors, wildflowers, mushroom varieties and astonishing mountains, but we were quite sore when we got back.
The other highlight of our trip was a jeep trip high in the mountains on roads only passable in all-terrain vehicles. The day went like this:
Sarah is the last one up in the morning, and when we arrive at the Jeep rental the time is 10:30. Jim, the owner, is a rough-cut mountain man who begins gruff but warms up as we go along. He tells us we have to wait until 1 PM to contract a half-day rental and have to return at 5. We look a little disappointed and he says okay, he can give us a new jeep that seats four, with a hardtop (good for rain) and he doesn’t care if we get back late. He plots out a course for us that includes going over mountaintops, visiting Lake City and Colorado’s 2nd largest lake, and then looping back over Engineers Pass and back into Silverton. Clouds are gathering and I ask him if he thinks it will rain, and he looks out the window and says, “Yes, I am pretty good at guessing the weather.” In fact, it did not rain that day. Jim gives me a lesson operating the four-wheel drive gears, and the most difficult part is that I have to have the jeep in neutral and rolling slowly to get into 4 wheel drive low-gear for steep terrain. Well, how am I supposed to be in neutral and rolling up hill when I shift in the mountains? He seems satisfied I will figure it out and then we say good-bye.
We take off driving the Alpine Loop and arrive at our first steep ascent, called Cinnamon Pass. I manage to jam the gears into 4 wheel low and begin the slow treacherous crawl upward over boulders and ravines. For those of us used to driving on smooth roadways, off-road mountain climbing in a vehicle on old mule paths is an extreme adventure. At times, you find your heart in your throat. Jean kept both her hands grasped firmly on the handle jutting from the dashboard . . . a well-placed jeep accoutrement. Occasionally vehicles could be seen coming the other way, but the right-of-way belonged to the vehicle climbing. It could be difficult passing because few places are wide enough to allow it.
At the top of Cinnamon Pass we are astonished at the view from near 13,000 feet in the tundra setting. I get excited and sprint a short ways to a rocky knoll to take pictures but immediately become out of breath and gasp for air. Soon, as we continue the course, Sarah asks to drive . . . I agree and let her take the wheel—unless we come to extreme driving conditions. She does fine, and I am proud when other toughened drivers pass and notice a beautiful young woman at the wheel of the jeep on the hard mountain roads.
We are continually amazed at the settings we are in. Late summer wildflowers are in bloom and we see marmots, a furry mammal that looks like a prairie dog but is more related to squirrels.
After driving about 3 ½ hours, we arrive in Lake City and stop to rest and eat. Jean is told of a nearby hiking trail and we find it, then hike to a waterfall in the forest. I imagine that in a few weeks the Aspen trees will be golden and shimmering, and determine to come back then. Sarah and Jean take their shoes off and put their feet in the ice-cold mountain stream, giggling and laughing. We revel in the sound of the gushing, splashing water and pristine mountain surroundings. On the way back, Sarah collects wild raspberries. They taste very tart and fruity.
I am a bit concerned about time, and do not want to drive on off-road trails in the dark, so we forge onward along steep narrow passes that hug the mountain side with steep drop offs to oblivion. Switchbacks can be so severe that the jeep is barely able to make the sharp turn. The late afternoon light makes the mountains even more beautiful and we stop frequently to revel, despite the time. Near Engineers Pass we turn a corner and suddenly come to a big flock of grazing sheep. The scene is almost incongruous in such a harsh setting, but about 800 sheep are meandering over the mountain, grazing on the rich fauna. No shepherd is in sight, only two big Great Pyrenees dogs and their pup. The sound of “baaah, baaah” is everywhere.
When we come to Engineers Pass, at 12,800 feet the panorama is breathtaking. We can see mountains and valleys in almost every direction. The light seems to hang in the fresh, summit air. I feel like I am in heaven.
Eventually, we arrive back in Silverton at about 6:30. The owner’s wife checks in the vehicle and I tell her we had a great time.
“Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!” William Butler Yeats
It seems I am breaking new ground in bringing photography and painting together in my larger-than-life portraits and mixed media artwork. The opening last Friday of my new exhibit, called, The Earth Is One Country attracted a steady crowd for two hours, and I am pleased at the excitement it generated. Especially gratifying is to be congratulated by other artists. One artist friend of mine told me the exhibit felt “rich”. Of course, he meant the dazzling experience of traveling around the world, living in nineteen countries and meeting so many different people in diverse cultures, then bringing it together in an exhibition. The great French painter, Georges Braque (1882 - 1963) said, “I could not do otherwise than I do. The picture makes itself under the brush. I insist on this point. There must not be a preconceived idea. A picture is an adventure every time. When I tackle a white canvas I never know how it will come out. This is a risk you must take. I never visualize a picture in my mind before starting to paint. On the contrary, I believe that a picture is finished only after one has completely effaced the idea that was there at the start.” And this is the way that I traveled and worked for one year. My adventure evolved from moment to moment, and I called it THE DREAM. It was a risk that I took, and I believe I grew tremendously, personally and artistically.
"The earth is one country, and mankind its citizens." Baha'u'llah
