Feel the Wild
Page 3
Having identified the noisy culprit, the hunter in me subdues itself and the photographer in me arises. I take a branch in hand and break it. The cracking sound it makes reverberates through the air and the bear abruptly stops, his ears aiming toward me. His eyes lock on my position and, without any hesitation, he starts walking toward me. In that moment I find my camera, take a deep breath and connect with the power within me, generated by a species that has evolved and successfully spread its reach throughout the world. For thousands of years, my ancestors stood in a similar situation: two predatory species facing each other, judging what is at stake and considering the possible outcomes. I am not a threat, but I must communicate somehow and transmit my intentions. As the bear maneuvers his way through the moss-covered trees, I let the moment sink in as I keep eye contact with the wild animal.
The wilderness demands to be valued and honoured. I am a visitor and my intrusion is not to be taken lightly. I have imposed myself on the bear, affronted his intimacy. Now I must answer for my actions in a humble and respectful way.
Kneeling on the ground, I announce my position. I am not going to disrespect the bear further, but I am also not going to give away the control of this situation. When wild animals meet – and right now I am one – it is all about the bluff: who holds the fear and who owns the moment. The bear, in theory and physical power, has advantage over me. Yet I must show him I am not afraid. I am to convince him that attacking me will be a waste of energy and not worth the effort.
As he moves closer, I begin talking to him: “Hello bear. I’m not here to take anything away from you. This is your territory and I apologize for the intrusion. I will respect you as long as you respect me.” My words fill the silence. While they communicate my intentions and presence, my tone and calmness of my delivery is reassuring to me. The voice carries a lot of energy. The sounds that emanate from our mouths, carried on the air from our lungs, are pure vibration. They are alive. They have power – and can also show a lack of it. From the dawn of life, every single species has used its vocal capabilities to communicate with the world. And, right now, my words are carrying my intentions and making a stand.
The bear stops on the mount of a dead tree. He studies the situation. What am I? Does he think I’m a threat to his territory? To his food? Whatever he thinks, I am certainly not something he is happy to have around. He moves forward and closer. I continue talking to him. But my tone and assertiveness change drastically when he moves from the tree and comes within seven metres of me. At that moment, my voice gets deeper and sturdier. I remember that scene in The Lord of the Rings when Gandalf stood on a bridge, hit the ground with his staff and shouted, “You shall not pass!”
I don’t have a grey beard or staff, but my command to the bear resonates and echoes across the forest. As my words fade into the distance, the bear stops, stares at me, turns around and returns to the place he came from. The dynamic has been established. While I have taken control of the moment, from the bear’s perspective, I am not a menace. He resumes tearing at whatever he is focused on before my interruption.
With a mix of curiosity and pride, I decide to stay where I am and keep observing. I am still clueless as to what the bear is eating, and, perhaps deep down, some dominant species behaviour is forbidding me to leave. I sit there, not moving for another 20 minutes, glued to my binoculars.
My visual stalking must have annoyed the bear, because he comes back. This time, everything feels different. I can see it in his eyes – they are defiant and purposeful, his stride is solid and grounded. He is not charging, but he is coming toward me with intent. As he passes the dead tree, my Gandalf move falls on deaf ears and I suddenly must change my strategy. I stand up.
As we face each other – eye to eye, predator to predator, mammal to mammal, survivor to survivor – I reach down into my inner core and connect to a primal place I am not even sure exists in me. I don’t carry firearms, but I do have ways to defend myself. Attached to my belt is a long machete with Velcro securing the handle in place. Pulling a John Wayne stance, my hands hovering at my waist, I tell the bear that if he wants to come at me, I am not going down without a fight. If one of us ends up beaten, I swear to him, it is not going to be me. On the last word, my fingers slowly pull the Velcro strap. As the sound of the fabric tearing away fills the air, the bear slowly lowers himself back onto four legs, his ears showing signs of defeat and his eyes avoiding contact with me. He throttles back to his spot and proceeds to gnaw at something very energetically.
To my surprise, I gaze at the bear running away with half a leg of deer. There was indeed an unseen carcass beneath the tree – and all this time the bear was protecting his food. With adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I sit down once more and take a deep breath. I thank the forest and my ancestors for their protection and apologize to the bear for the trouble.
Our voices and words have tremendous power. This age of technology and science might have reduced them to simple phonetic products, but the truth is they carry much more. They are vessels filled with subtleties, nuances, emotions and intent.
If the roar of a lion can dominate the Serengeti, if the howl of a wolf can conquer the forest and if the unique sound of a baby penguin can be recognized by its mother among millions of other cries, imagine what your voice can do.
Black Bear, Vancouver Island, British Columbia
ISO 2500, 84mm, ƒ/5.6, 1/60s
Black Bear, Vancouver Island, British Columbia
ISO 2500, 84mm, ƒ/5.6, 1/60s
Humpback Whales, Alaska
ISO 1250, 280mm, ƒ/8, 1/2000s
Humpback Whales, Alaska
ISO 1600, 100mm, ƒ/6.4, 1/2000s
Bill of Nature
Nature is the framework of values and principles from which all life and products of the universe are created. It is neither a destination nor a place to go but rather a mindset that ignites personal spiritual growth. Nature is a wise and profound teacher from which individuals can derive their unique perspective of the world around them.
These values set the direction on how citizens of this world should walk into the future. This is not about measuring or quantifying Nature or life but creating a framework for human growth and establishing a set of values that we prioritize culturally and individually:
Humbleness not Righteousness
Better not Easier
Respect not Protect
Consciousness not Senselessness
Reciprocity not Opportunism
Community not Individuality
Slower not Faster
Local not Global
Accountability not Dishonesty
Long-Term not Short-Term
Forward not Backward
Optimism not Pessimism
Dynamic not Static
Evolution not Perfection
Resilient not Intransigent
Kodiak Island, Alaska
ISO 200, 19mm, ƒ/9.5, 1/1000s
Sea of Cortez, Baja California, Mexico
ISO 320, 18mm, ƒ/7.1, 1/1000s
Water
Science describes it with a formula. The dictionary says it’s a colourless, transparent and odourless liquid. Geographers define it only by its location. Our forebears considered it one of the four basic elements. But, for me, water is simply one thing: life.
It feeds my body, nourishes my soul and carries my dreams. It is my meditation, my refuge and the source of my strength. I was born of it and, one day, it will take me away and carry me into another fascinating journey.
Everything is connected to water. It has shaped this world and continues to do so. While we breathe the air and harvest from the soil, water is the key to our survival and sanity. Why else would people pay a premium to live by the ocean or a river? I believe this is why skyscrapers exist; so that from their tops we
can see the distant water and be reminded of where we belong.
Admiralty Island, Alaska
ISO 125, 10mm, ƒ/13, 1/125s
Self Portrait, Eden, Utah
ISO 250, 24.3mm, ƒ/16, 1/250s
Seeing What We Want
to See
I am standing atop a mountain, looking out, mesmerized. The landscape upon which my eyes are feasting is an intense dynamic sea of clouds. There are clouds below in the valley rising, as if the ground is boiling. There are clouds above in the sky that grow exponentially and create an unexpected optical illusion, like fractals expanding continuously yet occupying the same space. There are clouds in front of me, blanketing the horizon, covering the slopes of countless mountains, their peaks appearing and disappearing like floating islands playing hide and seek in an ocean of cotton balls.
Every time I see clouds, or fog, I think about all the treasures, worlds of wonder, truths and realities that remain hidden, away from our existence, away from our consciousness. Not because they are unreachable and unattainable but because we let ourselves be blinded by something that is nothing more than a smokescreen. What we choose to believe, what we choose to see and hear, is only a perspective of a much bigger reality. A perspective defined by our chosen beliefs, values and fears. In other words, what we see is what we want to see. We believe what we want to believe.
Yet these narratives we create are like the clouds that magically take away mountains, bridges and cities from our visual realm. The limitations and boundaries we perceive are nothing more than an illusion, a perspective relative to a wide range of preconceived notions.
When I look up to the sky, I see the clouds that hide the blue atmosphere behind them. When I do see the blue sky, I am blinded by the universe that lies beyond. At night, when I look up and marvel at the sky saturated with stars, the gargantuan and unimaginable world of wonders that exists beyond, outside of our realm of comprehension, remains hidden to me. When I look at someone, despite being able to see them, touch them and feel them, what is inside of them, not just physically but emotionally and spiritually, is a complete mystery.
Eden, Utah
ISO 200, stitched panorama, ƒ/13, 1/500s
Symbiosis
Sitting on a log, with my head slightly tilted forward, I noticed an ant on the ground moving among the pine needles, the same needles that at some point resided on the tree above. Once, they fed a wooded giant by collecting sunlight and capturing the air. Now they create an obstacle of monumental proportion to a species 2,000 times smaller than me. There is a beauty in this observation. When alive and green, these coniferous leaves were to the benefit of one organism. Now dead and brown, they were finding a new purpose. Fallen and released from their host, their collective sheer number covers the ground and acts as a blanket that keeps the heat trapped underneath. The heat is necessary to energize the micro-organisms that feed on organic matter, needles included. Decomposed and turned into nutrients, these needles are now feeding the soil, the same soil in which the tree is rooted, the same soil from which the tree feeds itself.
Nature is an endless cycle of dependency and duality. Nothing in the world exists by itself. Everything and everyone “is” because of their relationship to another, or to others.
Sheep, Patagonia, Argentina
ISO 200, 160mm, ƒ/8, 1/750s
Lava, Big Island, Hawaii
ISO 5000, 200mm, ƒ/8, 1/250s
Time
I stand in the middle of a black lava field that stretches for miles. Before the eruption, this landscape was lush with trees and filled with life. There was a beach so beautiful that it was the island’s official postcard, promoting this divine location of palm trees keeping watch over black sand. But time has scorched this beauty; it is now covered in molten black rock, twisted and burned by fire, trapped under a blanket of desolation. It’s easy to lose hope in this no man’s land, a place where even the strongest of gods would feel abandoned. Hades never forgave his brothers. But all this is part of Nature’s plan.
Past sunset, the sky and the horizon become one. The darkness takes over, and if it wasn’t for the cloudless night, with its myriad stars and gravity keeping me grounded, I wouldn’t know which way was up or down. Despite the eeriness of the moment, something incredible is happening.
While daylight reveals a tortured landscape, at night the blood of the planet comes to be seen. And there is nothing tortured about it. Life flows under my feet. I feel it all: the earth, its force and its intensity. It is then I realize this place is not about death and destruction; it is about life and creation.
Time is Nature. It is the force that drives everything. As I find myself next to a boulder the size of a bus, slowly cracking its way forward, I come to understand the pace and rhythm of life.
Nature has given us time to evolve and develop an intelligence that is unmatched on this planet. But, like any good fable, with such an incredible gift came an even greater burden – self-awareness. As much as we tend to think of ourselves as omnipotent and capable of outstanding feats, we are nonetheless mortals who will fade away over time. Independent of whatever legacy we may leave, even the greatest of us will be forgotten. Our existence might be relevant to us and to the ones we care about and love, but in the scheme of the universe, we are just a footnote in the story of evolution, a humble servant to life’s mission of expansion.
Facing our mortality and insignificance, we see time as a disease, as a theft, as an injustice, as a destructive force and as the most valued currency we possess.
But isn’t it through time that the most beautiful things are created? It takes nine months for a human to develop. It takes years to find that peaceful place in your heart. It takes a lifetime to realize your most precious possessions were the simplest things you tried so hard to avoid.
Time is the complexity I taste in wine, or the beauty of an oxidized piece of copper. It is the essence of everything I cherish, and it is my mentor as it brings me back to reality and makes me understand the universe.
I once read the words of an African Elder to a young European woman about her frantic pace and need to get things done on schedule: “You have watches but no time. We have no watches but plenty of time.”
In this culture of speed, where even the simple gesture of saying “thank you” is seen by many as a waste of time, where anything longer than 140 characters is not worth reading, how will we ever understand and appreciate the beauty of life? How will we achieve wisdom if we can’t even take the time to become wise? Have we become spoiled and arrogant, basking in a society of convenience and overnight deliveries? Maybe it’s time to stop, breathe, relax and listen to the world around us and discover what we have been missing.
Wait
I have been lying on the sand for 30 minutes, my eyes glued to the camera. My bones ache. My skin itches. My fingers are numb. I am getting cold. I wait for my subject to move. I wait for my shot. Most of the time, the shot never happens, adding another 30 minutes to the previous hours of waiting. The subject will not move in the way I want it to. Not with the right background, or right light. I will wait for 30 minutes without a pause, and the second I break my stare is when it happens. And then I wait some more.
Today, a person through the course of a lifetime will spend approximately three to five years waiting – 35,000 motionless hours – expecting a desired outcome. We wait for the perfect moment, for the right woman, for the right man. We wait for the perfect conditions. We wait for the rain to stop, for the sun to come out. We wait for the bus, the train, the subway. We wait in traffic, at the bank, in the grocery store. We wait on the phone. We wait for a phone call. We wait for people. People wait for us. We wait for salvation, for forgiveness. We wait for inspiration.
François Rabelais said, “Everything comes in time to those who can wait.” Abraham Lincoln believed, “Things may come to those who wait
, but only the things left by those who hustle.” Lenny Kravitz has always waited for inspiration to write his music. Sean Lennon instead writes every day, convinced that inspiration comes with practise. Alexandre Dumas wrote, “All human wisdom is summed up in two words – wait and hope.” Alternatively, W. M. Lewis said, “The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.”
Nothing would ever be accomplished if we just waited for things to happen. But, then again, nothing would ever be accomplished if we were not able to wait until completion. Some people don’t hesitate to start but have trouble finishing. Others can’t seem to find the will to start, but once they do, they finish what they have started even if they must wait a lifetime to see the results. We can’t wait for the right conditions. We can’t wait for things to come to us.
But we must be able to wait for the unique to manifest, and when it does, all those minutes, all those hours, all those years waiting are suddenly worth it.
Burrowing Owl, Buenos Aires, Argentina
ISO 320, 300mm, ƒ/5.6, 1/800s
Self Portrait, Big Island, Hawaii
ISO 250, 49mm, ƒ/13, 1/250s
Go Where There Are No Paths