August 12th. I found myself in a Turbo Twin Otter – the work horse of the North, blasting through turbulence above Northern British Columbia’s Skeena mountain range – a beauty not easily surpassed by many other places in the province (to be fair, most of the provinces ranges are stunning – and to categorize is to diminish). En route from the small town of Smithers to a place with no roads, only rivers: the Spatsizi plateau. On assignment for Coast Mountain Culture magazine, I was there to write and photograph a piece about the prolific anthropologist/ethnobotanist and author Wade Davis, and to bear witness to the story of Spatsizi Wilderness, an outfit run by the Collingwood family that lies adjacent to several large scale development projects that threaten the integrity of this vast and unique wilderness park and it’s rivers. Stay tuned for the article in the spring.

Billy Labonte flies his 1960’s canvas Cub over the Stakine river, where the mighty river is only in it’s infancy.

Ray Collingwood has lived in the Spatsizi Wilderness since the 1960s.

Double rainbow, anyone?

One of the best things I’ve seen in a while.

I’m stoked to see that one of my images from last summer’s Deep Summer photo competition was selected for Bike’s Photo Annual issue. Bringing the image to life is the revered freerider, Thomas Vanderham. And it gets me thinking of the past.

Above, one of my early mountain bike (film) images. Thomas Vanderham, circa 1999/2000. Mount Seymour, BC.

During high school Thomas and I rode bikes together with my twin brother and a group of other friends at school. The freeride scene was really just developing, and we felt like we were a part of it on the North Shore. I got my start making photographs and little movies of our group of friends riding the North Shore mountains, simultaneously trying to emulate the cutting edge bike movies of the day, and the athletes that were pushing the limits of what mountain biking could be. Though, it wasn’t long before Thomas was making his own ascendency into the star light of the mountain bike world – his masterful and unparalleled stylistic command of a mountain bike caught the attention of the industry’s best – freeride legend Wade Simmons, photographer Sterling Lorence, and film maker Bjorn Enga, to name a few. By the end of highschool, Thomas had a secured firm place amongst the freeride greats.

Following different paths, it would be a long time until Thomas and I would shoot together again. Last year, we reunited for the Deep Summer photo comp along with Darcy Turenne and Mike Hopkins. We were fortunate with great weather (the rainy and foggy kind) and we captured some keepers, evidenced by the forthcoming Bike magazine cover.

Below are a few other covers – with my great friend Andre Charland bringing those to life!

I haven’t shot a sports event for quite a few years now, and generally don’t consider it within my bracket of comfortability. However, 2 days prior to the BC Bike Race start I received a call from David Reddick, the long time photo editor of Bike (and Powder) magazine, to shoot the event for a Bike mag feature. I packed my bags and joined the travelling city that is the BC Bike Race.

The event is a 7 day stage race with 450 people that gives singletrack trail precedence over fire road – a true mountain biker’s race. Beginning on Vancouver Island in Cumberland, it ascends northward to Campbell River, then hopping back to the mainland at Powell River, down to Sechelt, then Roberts Creek/Gibsons, over to Squamish, and finishes in Whistler. It relies heavily on the BC ferry system for 4 different routes – indeed the great part of the race is that you can go swimming in the ocean (or a lake) at almost all of the finish areas (and I did).

I had a great time with the other photographers, racers, and the event’s staff. And fortunately to gather images for the story I had to enjoy 7 days of riding a healthy amount of amazing singletrack in places that I had not yet explored – shucks. Keep an eye out for the Bike mag feature in the months to come.

As evidenced by the content of this here blog, I’m not partial to blogging about photography equipment. There are a million people out there who do it, and I don’t really have anything to add. However, I feel like there is a bit of a vacuum of knowledge and resources that photographers can access with questions about preparing for photography/video expeditions.

The reality is, film cameras were significantly superior to digital with regards to both power and memory. The batteries lasted forever, and film was relatively compact. Of course we’re now firmly in the digital era – batteries do not last forever, and memory cards need dumping. Indeed, power and memory are the two critical problems to overcome for an expedition (or any trip where you can’t plug things into the wall).

Power

I have used both Brunton solar systems, and more recently, Goal Zero solar systems. To Baffin Island I brought both a Brunton system and a Goal Zero system (upon Tim Kemple and Jimmy Chin’s recommendation). Both systems rely on a battery unit that is charged by the solar panel, and then your camera batteries etc are charged from this battery unit via an inverter. The Brunton panel is far superior to that of the Goal Zero in terms of form. It is very light weight, and rolls into a tube which works very well. The Goal Zero panel is much heavier, bulkier, and doesn’t seem to handle wet as well. However. The Brunton battery system seems to be less than reliable. The power indicator lights are fickle at best, and the battery quit working on the second half of the trip, leaving me to use just the Goal Zero system. Had I not purchased the Goal Zero prior to the trip, I wouldn’t have been able to shoot the second half of the trip. The Goal Zero worked reliably and the battery indicators were always spot on, and despite the fact it was twice as bulky and heavy as the Brunton system, the Goal Zero worked.

There was more than enough power each day (keep in mind I was in the Arctic with almost 24hrs of light) to charge both a Nikon D3s battery and two D700 batteries, and the odd iPod charge.

A side note, tents are a great (and obvious) place to strap the solar panels on, while running the power cord into the solar battery unit inside the tent so it is protected from the elements.

Memory

I brought a 15″ MacBook Pro on the trip, along with a lightweight external travel HD to back up my photo and video files. The computer is definitely a heavy option, but at least you know you have your content transfered securely, and backed up to an HD as well, forming a layer of redundancy. Having a computer also extends the value of your digital files – you can review your images and make sure you’re capturing on the trip, and that your camera is functioning properly. I also brought about 8 x 16GB memory cards in case things went weird with the computer – but for the record, this wouldn’t be enough space if I was shooting both photos and video every day for 3 weeks – but it would give me a chance to sparingly get by without dumping.

Bring two of everything that can fail. Seriously.

Tim Kemple told me this before I left for my trip, and it is damned good advice. As evidenced by the Brunton system failing, it paid off big time to have two complete solar systems to keep the show on the road. One of my D3s batteries also failed – having two was critical. Next time I will bring 3. Bring two cameras – I have never had a Nikon camera fail on me in all my time shooting, fortunately, but of course is possible.

Notes on the {cold} Arctic.

I should start by saying that I have been very impressed with the batteries that the Nikon D3s uses over all the time I’ve spent shooting with them in cold temperatures – they last a long time shooting both photos and video, even in the cold. Thus, heading to Baffin Island, I didn’t think I would have to baby the batteries too much. I was wrong. I guess it was just that cold there. Typical days were between -15c and -25c. Batteries simply weren’t lasting as long. Especially after my second D3s battery quit working, I made sure when I wasn’t using the camera I would take the battery out and keep it zipped in my long johns pocket, next to my body. I found that leaving the battery in the camera overnight would result in battery drain. Thus, I slept with my batteries in my long john pockets. Extra batteries with full charge would live in my long john pockets too (along with any food I wanted to eat unfrozen). I found that I also had to run the camera battery charger/battery in my sleeping bag at night (connected to the inverter and solar battery unit, outside the bag). Otherwise, the battery would potentially not charge all night but still drain the solar battery unit.

Before using my computer, I would tuck it into my jacket around camp, or in between my legs (!) if I was in my sleeping bag. I found below -15c the computer’s fan would make a weird noise. Even though I warmed the computer up prior to use, if it was below -15c it would quickly get cold again with use. And my finger on the track pad would begin to become at risk of frost bite.

Bitter sweet indeed is my re-entry into the world of connectedness. The remote nature of living in the fjords on Baffin Island was a cushion against receiving much, if any, information except via the occasional satellite check-in. Upon re-entry I learned that a friend, Kip Garre, passed away with his girlfriend, Allison Kreutzen, after having been hit by an avalanche while backcountry skiing in the Sierra Range, California. I knew Kip from our trip to Antarctica together, skiing in Kashmir, and from shooting photos together in Chamonix last February. While my time with him amounted to no more than a month over the course of the past few years, it was more than enough opportunity to discover his selflessness, his consistant and contagious passion and energy for the mountains, and his prowess moving through the mountains. He was continually “fired up” [he'd always say] about rounding the next corner in life and discovering new and exciting places to travel and ski. I think those who came in contact with him had their days brightened, even just a bit, as his energy rubbed off on them.

His abilities in the mountains, too, rubbed off. I remember last year in Chamonix watching him clambering down technical rock lines, with skis on, and off, and thinking I’d never seen anyone conduct themselves so proficiently, and eloquently in technical, high consequence terrain like that. Rather than intimidating me, Kip inspired me. His immense talent corresponded with a quiete confidence, and a profound sense of humility, which was refreshing. I realized that Kip was an unsung hero of ski mountaineering that did things not because there was a camera around or someone was watching, but because he loved the activity – plain and simple. When it was my turn to follow him through those critical steps through the rock into the couloir, his patience and concurrent calm encouragement helped me get through the crux. Below, we shared what was my first “real” run in Chamonix together, ecstatic by the time we’d reached the valley floor 7000′ below.

I will miss that I won’t be able to share any more time in the mountains with Kip, but am at least happy that I do have some great memories of our time together sharing the alpine beauty. My heart goes out to his family and those that were closest to him.

about the photos. top, Kip in an ice cave along the Vallee Blanche in Chamonix, France.

bottom, Kip in Chamonix staring up at the mountains in Chamonix. While this photo of Kip was shot during a commercial shoot and may have been a bit contrived at the time, I think it represents Kip’s outlook well: always smiling, optimistic, and energetic about life in the mountains and the next challenge ahead. It is that spirit I will remember Kip for.

caption. An eratic, deposited in the terminal moraine of a large glacier at the confluence of Stuart Valley and Walker Arm.

Prior to leaving, Baffin Island was a dream. Upon returning home and reflecting on the trip, Baffin Island is a place where dreams come true. I have never visited a more arresting landscape. I have never been anywhere and felt so remote, and so completely reliant on my own capacities and that of my team’s. In short, I have never been anywhere like it – and from research and experience, it would seem there is no where else quite like it for skiing on the planet.

The trip was the subject of the second episode in the second season series of A Skier’s Journey, sponsored by Arcteryx and Goretex [for last years episodes, see: Kashmir, La Grave, and Freshfield Icefield] . The team was Chad Sayers, Tobin Seagel, Marcus Waring, Jamie Bond, and myself. I spent the majority of my time shooting video with the episode in mind, though I did make an effort to do still photography as much as possible. Below are some images and captions that shed some light on the trip, though you’ll have to wait until the episode launches in the fall to get a better taste!

Our starting point – the remote Inuit village of Clyde River, Nunavut. Population: 500. Clyde River, like nearly all towns in Nunavut is not connected by roads. It has an air strip with regular flights in and out, and boat traffic can reach it during the ice-free summer months.

Seal hunt.

Locals in Clyde River.

The dotted line marks the route of our 6hr, cold [-30c], and bumpy snowmobile/komatik ride from Clyde River to Sam Ford Fjord and Walker Arm, and return. Part of the route passes over low lying land, while half the route travels through fjords on the frozen sea ice. Sea ice, that would become our platform for our camps, and moving from couloir to couloir up and down the fjords.

Our camp, dubbed “Camp Paradise” tucked into the side of a bay in Walker Arm. On the right stands the Walker Citadel, containing two of the highest cliffs on the planet, at over 4,000ft tall. Placed next to Yosemite’s famous El Capitan, the Walker Citadel would rise more than 1000ft taller. To give a sense of scale, it was 1.2km to the base of the big wall [on the right], while it was 2.5km to the head of the bay [to the left].

If anything were to go wrong and a rescue be required, the 6hr snowmobile ride would likely be the fastest, if you could get a local Inuit via satellite phone with any haste. The nearest helicopter would have to fly nearly 800km from Iqaluit, if there was one available. Most likely, the RCMP told us, a rescue helicopter would have to come from Halifax, nearly 3000kms away. Needless to say, we were out there, and getting ourselves in a situation requiring a rescue was to be avoided.

The walls of Walker Arm in Sam Ford Fjord. Each day we would walk by these juggernauts en route to the couloirs that hide between each face.

Old polar bear tracks – the snow around the imprint carved away by wind action. We never did see a polar bear, even though we were told by locals that would would see one, without doubt.

Couloirs were the principal ski objective for our trip. Side by side, world class couloirs run between 2000-4000ft granite walls, spires, and caverns. It is always difficult to judge distances on the ice, and lengths of couloirs in the fjords because of the massive character of the adjacent rock walls. Here a couloir splits at 1000ft and carries another 1200ft+ both ways, making for a beautiful double objective.

The Polar Star couloir. Over 4000ft of 35-55 degree skiing. We didn’t make it to the top of this gem, as snow conditions didn’t permit safe passage. Fortunately there were many other couloirs we did get to safely ski in full, some with excellent snow, others with not so good snow.

The group hanging above yet another amazing couloir, 3000ft below. Several days later I roped in and dangled my feet off the cliff, shooting the guys in the couloir from nearly a kilometer straight above.

Lake ice – likely 8-10ft thick but incredibly clear.

Saying goodbye to Sam Ford Fjord and making our way back to Clyde River. ‘Komatiks’ are the sleighs hitched to the snowmobiles and carry both passengers and gear, or seals etc. They are very efficient for transport, but incredibly uncomfortable to ride in when bumping across the wind hammered snow pack and ice for 5 or 6hrs – especially when it is -30c [like the ride in - the ride out was a more reasonable -15c].

Even through it seems winter is hardly over in British Columbia, I spent the first two weeks of April mountain biking in New Zealand, on assignment for Bike magazine. Along with rider/digger/writer Seb Kemp and writer Rob Story touring the South Island. It was my first time to NZ and it was incredible to witness all the different landscapes and biological environments within such a relatively small area. Look out for the feature in Bike’s upcoming Photo Annual issue a few months from now.

Above, Seb Kemp bandages my bleeding mitts after the boulder I was standing on fell out from under me, leaving me flying and my camera smashing into the rocks…breaking my lens. Just my luck.

As soon as I got home I was on to the focus of my season, Baffin Island. I’ve been thinking about doing this trip in some capacity for a while, and decided this spring was the time for it. Along with friends Chad Sayers, Tobin Seagel, Marcus Waring, and Jamie Bond, we’ll be living on the sea ice in Sam Ford Fjord for 2.5 weeks; climbing and skiing some of the most amazing couloirs that exist on the planet; and producing the 2nd episode of A Skier’s Journey for next season.

The last 5 days have been non-stop trip prep (in addition to a bunch of prep before I was in NZ). All the stress, money, and energy spent pulling everything together is about to pay off (we hope!). I’m fortunate to have such a patient and understanding girlfriend!

¹slow-roast adj \’slō\ˈrōst\: To wait, slowely, for the weather to clear so the helicopter can fly.

I’m in Kaslo, BC with the Sherpas crew who are filming for their 2 year film project, All I Can, with Chad Sayers, Lynsey Dyer, and Matty Richard. We’ve seen a bit of beautiful terrain with Stellar Heli Skiing, but we’re waiting for some more windows in the weather. With any luck, we’ll get it soon.

Chad and I spent the last two weeks up in Terrace, again, finishing off our Skier’s Journey episode #1 for season 2. This time we nailed the snow conditions and spent some time with our friend Brad Zeerip, exploring some amazing couloirs around Shames.