Welcome to America. Steady stream of camper vans, thirty and forty feet long, blast south toward the city after invading semi-remote mountain spots over the prior two days of holiday. Memorial Day. Honoring those who served and those who died, but we’ve lost the plot amid crypto scams, insider trading, illegal deportations, chronic greed, and corruption. I look around at America and ponder how we got here. I need freedom. It overpowers me at times. Waking up, I say to her, “We are going.” “Where?” she asked.
“Not sure, driving north, that’s all I know.”
Reduction, reduction, reduction. I watch a film about one of my favorite filmmakers. This is his advice. Reduce to what is essential, then back it out and let it breathe. I know now, with certainty, I will never be a filmmaker. I don’t want it. It’s counterintuitive. I will continue to make what is required, but when it comes to my itch, that will be scratched with stills and copy. This is enough for me. Quiet, still, simple. Little boxes framing up what appears before me. There is no agenda other than drive and look. Wait and see. Watch. Enjoy. We crest the pass in a snowstorm.
Litter is about a lack of education. It’s that simple. Simple-minded people doing simple-minded things. Selfish, detached, short-sighted. The parking lot is filled with $200,000 worth of brand new Landcruiser. What started as a quiet stop along the old rail line is now a family-on-holiday madness. Kids. So many kids. Liquid parents with a hippy vibe, but most likely a counterbalance to jobs in tech or finance, or DOD. South from Colorado at eighty-five miles an hour. Invaders. Consumers still chasing what’s left of the American Dream. They forget the avocado, and the fish is from a box. Tiny portions, subpar quality. Less than satisfactory, and for $36, it’s reflective of the new norm.
Along the edges of the poorly maintained road are fences, differing mile by mile. A reflection of private land where once stood a wild range of public America. Sold off to the highest bidder. Fenced, signs posted to the rest of us rabble. Stay away. Stay out. This is no longer yours. Windfall heavy across all elevations. Bark beetle quiet but relentless. Taking what it wants to take. Scorches of brown across spotted masses of green. White stalks of aspen stand as a striking contrast to the darkness of the land.
She holds her breath and the handrail as she nears the center of the bridge. “You can do it,” we offer in encouragement as we pass. Rusted but beautiful, the flex evidence under my feet with each passing vehicle. What a way to go. An impromptu base jump if it comes tumbling down. Small speaker stands at the center of the bridge, offering last-minute help to those pondering a step over the railing. “There is hope,” it says underneath the panic button. Is there? Says who? Is there anyone at the other end of the line, or have they too been relieved of active duty?
This might seem simple to you, but it’s not for me. This is everything. Out there looking for what exists. It’s been a curse for thirty years. Earthships on the plateau. Hail and rain and sun and wind and the smack of stone on glass. Warmth of the valley next to the piercing cold of high above. Game trails narrow and curved like veins through the light of the canopy. At the summit, we stop and look around. The only car. Winds blow the parking lot debris into the depths of the pristine. Marlboros and Corona caps. Fireball and fast food.
The only thing I can think to do is record. Capture it all. Whatever is here. It’s not about the photographs, it’s about the data. Evidence, proof, testimony. Downloaded and stored. What’s the meaning? God, if I know. I’ll let the survivors sort that out from Mars or Saturn or some other remote and unsuspecting planet. Tiger’s Eye solid and brown. “You can test it by tapping it against your teeth,” she says. “How do you feel about wearing that? she asks. “I don’t,” I answer. “It’s just there.”
There is an unsettled peace in open spaces. Enough room to let the mind and eyes wander, but the patches of man across the landscape can’t be ignored. Some like castles or playhouses. Unique, one-off dwellings that make me smile. Good on ya. Anarchist. Pioneer. Stranger. Wish we had more of you. All it takes is one day. One day away from basecamp, and now it’s all I can think about. “What a day of freedom,” she says to me with a small piece of dried fruit stuck to her upper lip. This is one of my favorite things about her. She often wears her food.
Through the window, I see an older woman unwrap a taco from white butcher paper. Crispy chicken, perhaps. She is made up. Showing her respect on this day of remembrance. The underserved are most often those who serve. She is part of a community. Small, impoverished, but proud. A perfect example of what made this place this place. English is her second language, but she speaks it with style. Everyone knows her, staff and patrons alike. Conversations fly across the interior. Spanish to English and back again. I sit watching the sky as hail begins to fall. The casino sign flashes. Come try your luck. Go ahead, America, roll those dice.
Comments 14
This is how you hang on. To the magic. To your aliveness. Our aliveness. My aliveness. I refuse to let that be stolen. There is so much ridiculous bullshit, sometimes it feels like we’re drowning in it. But we have the ability to create our own life preservers and we have to do what we can to maintain the capacity to do so.
Author
Yep. Record. Take notes. Make pictures. Save it. Wait it out.
That bridge used to be part of my trip to go grocery shopping. Unless I wanted to shop in Espanola, which just didn’t have the same stuff. Heavy on the processed food. I haven’t been in a while… I’m told by friends still there that there’s a heavy gang presence — that wasn’t really happening in the 80’s. But I guess the locals woke up to being treated like garbage. There’s a short cut – Hwy 567, but it may shorten your life with the sketchiness of a jeep road going down the gorge. Frequent cave-ins and slides make it maybe not such a great idea. Lots of people living in the area to just keep away from everyone else.
Author
The entire state has a heavy gang presence. Lots of side roads to take still. 4×4, high clearance or a moto required.
We’re quickly approaching the hot season here in Southern Nevada, where my air conditioned home tends to preempt outdoor forays with my Fuji camera. Your post offers a reminder. Gotta get out there. Go early. Or after dusk. Document the exploration. Thanks for the push.
Author
Yep. Gotta shoot, write, record as much as possible.
Good stuff Dan. I hope I can say hello in person while you’re in Seattle this year. My schedule looks ok so far.
Author
Yes, be there soon. Come see me!
Trying to make sense of this wreckage by documenting it through your lens is fascinating (gives me an idea for a project). It brings the gritty reality of where we stand as a species right to the fore.
It might be America you’re writing about, but dare I say, the rot runs global. I think back to growing up in Australia in the 80s and 90s, things felt grounded, real, and definitely more relaxed and with a heavy amount of respect toward each other, our surroundings and our way of life. Now? We’re watching our way of life get chipped away and calling it progress. Politics, bureaucracy, corporate greed, corruption, inequality, social decay, apathy, etc etc etc…..it’s all eating away at what we used to have. Right off the bat, I’m calling out the pollies and their token policies that do sweet bugger all to save what made our countries good or fix what’s gone pear-shaped. And yeah, I still blame them, mostly. But a fair dinkum chunk of the blame’s gotta land on the suburban blokes and sheilas who take the piss with impunity, slowly gutting our way of life. Feels like we’re living in an age of zero care and zero responsibility and a neverending supply of self entitlement. And the pollies? Well, conveniently they’ve never properly clued up on what “by the people, for the people” actually means. Convenience trumps all care and responsibility, I suppose.
On a side note, I see the Fjord 50-C is getting its first serious outing 🙂
Author
Well said, Art. It’s a combination of so many factors, but going along with the grift is the part that startles me. The hate vote here in America, those who voted for Donny because of their hatred of the other side, are watching their 401K’s go down, watching their friends and neighbors get fired, watching food prices rise but their hatred allows them to eat the grift like its nothing.
Hey Dan, you seen this? https://disrupted.visura.co
Author
No, haven’t seen it yet. Looks up my alley!
That’s why I immediately thought of you.
Author
Gracias!