Looking far back into my childhood, I can remember childhood summers spent in the mountains of Colorado. Many such days spent in the thick underbrush of a sparkling stream, fishing for brookies. Hard work was always intermingled with those seasons, and each fall was given over to a long standing tradition of my grandfathers; hunting elk.
I still remember the first couple of excursions clearly, as we penetrated the woods further and deeper then I had imagined possible, hours from any trail marked by man or machine. Once I was in college the opportunity to tag along for the weekends was no longer feasible, and the notion itself faded. I was no hunter. I much preferred to take my time off, and seek adventure in the high desert, mountain bikes and camera equipment traded for heavy boots and rifles.
Years would pass before I was given the opportunity to delve into the rocky mountains at my grandfathers side. I packed a light lunch and filled the rest of my satchel with camera, lens and a few extra rolls of film. It was autumn of the same year I returned from just over two years on African soil.
On Wednesday morning I set out on the same steep road, camera and rifle in hand, frozen earth under heavy boots.
The nature of a long term photo project is that one can take the time to understand a subject, evaluate and improve. Their is more opportunity for the unexpected, and lot of opportunity to improve on the expected. Ones own perspective is bound to change as time goes on, and the story itself is destined to develop with each years passing. So I ask myself, what do I hope to accomplish this time, what is missing? Is the story almost complete, or just beginning?