Highway 191 continues south from the Grand Tetons in Wyoming to the desert canyons of southern Utah. The drive is beautiful and it’s good to be back in the desert. The Tetons may be breathtaking, but there’s a heightened anticipation as the landscape turns sandy and red. It feels like coming home.
This trip has been a gradual removal of the conveniences of urban life. From the house to the camper van, we went from several rooms of living space down to one room of fifty square feet. Compared to what I’m used to, I’m living simply. But, those fifty square feet are packed with running water, sink, toilet, bed, futon, stove, heater and electricity – more accomodations than most people living on this planet have. From the camper van to the trail, I have with me only what I can carry on my back: a pack, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, tent, water, some food and a stove. And, the heaviest single item: my camera. I have to plan carefully to only bring that much.
The transition to living out of a backpack takes some discipline. Water is rationed until the next spring can be found, and I can only stay out until I run out of food. The days are hot and the nights cold. I like to stretch out and roll around in my sleep, but the mummy style sleeping bag binds me in like a straightjacket. I suppose this is “roughing it”, but how rough can it be with my high tech, ultra light, weather shedding, water wicking gear?
I am well equipped, but while out in the wilderness, I leave much behind. There’s no internet, no phone, no social network. There’s no career, no mortgage. I’m not concerned about if anyone appreciates how I look or dress or what I own, or how clever I am. Who am I without these things? How can it be, that while in the desert, without these decorations of identity, I can feel so fully alive?
I’ve spent more nights in the desert than any other wilderness climate. Within the scarcity, there is a richness. The rugged twisted juniper trees. The ecstatic explosion of desert flowers. The towering rocks and the stillness. Its inhabitants scrounge for food and water, living close to death yet full of life. “…perhaps that is why life nowhere appears so brave, so bright, so full of oracle and miracle as in the desert”, says Edward Abbey. So much is taken away that what is left is precious. Every bit of it. I re-learn what it is to appreciate. What’s funny is, that I suspect the world outside of the desert is like this too – every bit precious.
What does all this have to do with photography? From what I experience, from who I am, is what I see, becomes the pictures I create. I love that desert.
