Riding the Fall Thermals

We’d locked eyes as it had slowly flown through the high canopy. The tall oaks rooted in the bottom of the rocky rimmed grag on which I stood filled the gap between cliffs with their wide spanning branches. I’d been perched here for a long time, waiting as I sat on the edge listening. The sudden sound of an alarmed squirrel indicated a predator in the area. Thick pines that defined this ancient forest stood sentinel at the head of the grag. As I slowly stood and readied my camera I routinely glanced at the top menu window. Just then the battery life indicator blinked a few times and the screen went dead. Timing.

Knowing that I’d never be fast enough to swap batteries before whatever lurked in those green shadows emerged, I simply enjoyed the moment. I made eye contact as it wound it’s way slowly through the wide spanning branches of the oaks. Chuckling at my own fortune, the “mass” of its presence captured my imagination for a moment. I remembered something from my past.

Photos would have been amazing but the experience would have been removed by a filter of glass and circuits. Remembering who I am, and what I was about I made my way down the valley. As I stood next to a small trout stream this particular bird you see here seemed fixated on my position. Odds are good it was just after some small snack I was flushing from cover.

Either that or it was the same bird, only this time saying, “HEY! Look! I glow with the Sun now! Take my picture already!”

So I did.

#thedriftless #driftlessregion #driftlessart #driftlessadventure #driftlessarea #wisconsin #discoverwisconsin #wisconsinphotographer #wisconsinlife #wisconsinartist #wisconsinoutdoors #wisconsinart #pinerelictforest #pinerelict #naturearea #wisconsinbirds #birding #birdingphotography #birdinginthewild #RedtailedHawk #Buteo_jamaicensis #Buteojamaicensis

Driftless Strong 2020

Black Hills Uplift

Dark thoughts lifted away. Their wings feathered with the moments that torture me. The times I’ve forgotten myself. They turn and bank into enveloping mist which carries them away to be lost in an undulating horizon.

The smoke stained skies blur the definition of what is water and what is earth. Banking away from me they swoop through that margine and vanish.

For the first time I just let them go. Without anger.

Feeling somehow “different” I got back on the road West; I had to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Fleeting Thoughts

As I coasted to a quiet stop a small herd of pronghorn grazed on patches of green just to the side of the road. The second fastest land animal topping out at 55mph for about a half mile distance, they can cruise around at 35mph for about four miles before stopping. The cheetah may be faster but these fleet footed relatives of giraffes can run for longer periods of time. They fill a parallel niche on this continent as the antelope do in Africa and Eurasia. Out running their ancient predators through eons they outpaced extinction only to be nearly wiped out at the turn of the 20th Century by mankind.

They also make for horrid art on the roadways. I began to just think of them as “blood bags.” The scattered frequency of their exploded remains decorated the highways in Romero tones of color. Sometimes there's only one and sometimes there’d be a small group all killed together. The semi-trucks towing up to three trailers leave little but a rouge, chunky spatter.



No matter how much I tried to just ignore it, the sound of them passing under my wheels would always register in my mind. A mind rolling over its own splotches of roadkill as it explored the back roads of my memories. Just about every bloody, intense encounter of my life decorated the way. I tried not to look too closely at what bright, alive part of me had been pulverized by the hauled freight of trauma, all three trailers driven by myself of course. Cruising in my rig of pain I also began to realize that a lot of the freight was not my own.



This very real journey was different though. Instead of just dashed remains I began to take note of every living prairie antelope I saw. By the time I came to a stop to look back I felt hope for what lay ahead.

I was going to leave as much freight as I could on the road I was taking to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Cretaceous Contemplations

As I left the hotel to start my second day of driving I was in much better spirits. The route I had taken the day before had helped make this trip somewhat enjoyable. I picked a random spot on the map to go have my coffee and breakfast. Not knowing really where I was, it was sheer randomness that led me to the perfect spot.

The sign said, “Road Impassable When Wet” as I made my way up a dirt track. It wound through the edge of some very hilly, scenic terrain. The blood red sun was rising in the smoke filled skies lending warm colors to the cool, fading night sky. I found a small ridge overlooking the plane below. A view to the distant, hazy night stained horizon toward the west. I parked on the side of the dusty road and got out to stretch and enjoy my breakfast. Alone on the knee of a giant, silent except for the faintest of sounds from a highway far off to my west. I actually relaxed.



As I indulged in the creative act of taking photos a private rhythm built in my heart. It was lent to me by a dark line of pines combing through the blushing dawn smoke. The smell of dry grasses, juniper and sage wrapped around my mind like the long hair of a lover’s embrace. The texture of the soil under my feet grounding my fears into the scarred, exposed bedrock I felt in my heart that everything was going to be fine on the other end of this trip. My mind stilled. The chaotic thoughts of the day before calmed.

It wasn’t until I came home to look at the location information of my cellphone photos that I discovered it had been the Northern Black Hills that had given me courage that morning. Also coincidentally, it was a land made unique by repeated, vastly powerful deformations in the very strata of the Earth. Geological chaos. I was “Home.”



I knew then I was going to make it all the way to go get Peggy. I’d decide the “bring her home” part once I actually met her. We’ve more than our share of real maniacs on all sides of our family. What if she’s dangerous? I’d have to take the heat from everyone if I did so. The Black Hills had spoken.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Ȟe Sápa Dawn

I’d left our home in Wisconsin and driven for nearly fifteen hours the previous day. Had I taken the main roads I may have saved a few hours but I would have woken less rested. Doing this trip “my way,” rambling down dirt roads when I could. It wasn't just about trying to explore or find a thrill. Ever since my very first jeep gave me the means to escape everything the sound of tires on dirt has soothed my mind. I think it’s a personality trait directly influenced by my mother’s father, “Papa” as I called him.

In fact there’s not a day that passes where he’s NOT in my thoughts at some point. “Crazy Louie” would just roam in his car indulging his obsession with CB radios during his later days. Character voices played out their roles on a stage built of radio frequencies. A staticy echo of when he drove a forward spotting jeep during “The War” for Patton’s artillery. From Tunisia, through Sicily, Italy, France, Germany and into Eastern Europe he rained hell on his enemies. In his later years it was the radio waves that he vented that same hell onto. His broken, angry mind free to reach as far as his voice could be carried on the ether. His sharp, “friendly” banter on air is usually dark and harsh. He laughs only at other’s folly. People often hate him and he thinks it’s all a joke.

And I’d be a kid just riding along in the backseat. Listening.

The sound of the road seemed to soothe his anger. He’d relax. So would I.

The sound of gravel on dirt connects me to who I am, which is not my grandfather. His wounds are his own, and mine are mine and together we share anger. The drone of gravel had sanded away much of my anxiety and chaotic thoughts of the day before. I woke feeling ready. It was going to be an awesome day to get back on the road.

I still had two days to go before I could pick up Peggy, whoever she may be.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Tilting at Windmills

My prolonged isolation in the tiny patches of Driftless prairie remnants has made me somewhat “elusive” with other people. I’ve only been speaking in person to my very immediate family or my Doctor. Even that contact is fleeting at times. I do post online and communicate so I am not a total lunatic. Just a bit of one.

I have been open about my struggle with drinking but not the root causes of my strife. My family knows that when I do drink you can get either of two Rons. Usually it’s the relaxed, happy to tell crazy, funny and perhaps inappropriate stories. Occasionally it’s “Tormented Ron” who nobody should have to endure. Least of all those closest to me.

Thankfully I began getting real medical assistance. It's been helping. Simply being officially diagnosed with PTSD, being able to discuss some of my darker experiences is like dragging these tar-like skinned, tentacled, writhing, shrieking “moments” out into the light. It seems to help dissipate the dread. A dread that isn’t always present, only sometimes; like when I go into the madness of a burning, sick world.

I have been the family peacekeeper for about half of my adult life. There have been many, varied, horrible situations. Mental, emotional and spiritual upheavals are no strangers to me. Nearly always the potential for violence or extreme emotional meltdowns is present. Usually by myself when dealing with these things, there’s no backup. Knocking at doors at dawn. Entering other people’s turmoil. There has been blood. Screams. People who do this 24/7 as First Responders amaze me. For me, it's just dealing with family craziness as we try to “keep things quiet.”

My wife says I'm really good at it. That it's when I'm at my “best.” It takes a crisis I guess.

Smoke shrouded wind turbines spun on smokey winds. They generated electric power not unlike my dark fears of what may lay ahead. If no one has seen this family member in over fifty years, what trauma has driven her away? How broken was this soul going to be? What kind of madness was I driving into now?

I lowered my lance and charged.

I had to get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Much Maligned

I needed to relax, otherwise I’d arrive in Oregon an exhausted mess. I had no intention of adding to the crisis. There’s already enough pain. I needed to get Peggy. So I paced myself and tried to nurture my mind and soul. It’s always me that goes on these “there’s trouble in the family” trips. I’ve learned how to manage my mental resources. Stopping to be creative is one of my most effective tools.



I’d noticed a break in the trees on either side of the road. Two lakes came together, the waters of both mingling together under a small bridge. Slowly I made my way down the dirt roadway seeking signs of wildlife. I’d seen a variety of species earlier so I knew there was a wide variety of waterfowl in this wildlife refuge.

What I didn’t expect were these double-crested cormorants. I do not believe I could have picked a better “avain metaphor” to fold into this tale of “high adventure” to save an unknown soul from out of control wildfires, all during a major pandemic, and just before a potential civil war begins.



Why so? Well, these particular birds are a controversial upper midwest native. They are traditionally seen as “undesirable” and as competition for fishing resources used in human consumption. Their range of nesting colonies have been exterminated across the north. People would kill these ungainly looking, dark feathered large birds that look to be a cross between a goose and crow in a variety of creative manor. One that stands out to me are the small fleets of boats full of folks firing silenced “22s” into the nesting sites.

A number of recent scientific studies has proven that they actually feed on smaller fish that compete with the fry of “desirable”fish and may indeed benefit the fishing industry more than harm it. But emotion still rules over scientific facts. I was very lucky to stumble into one of the few remaining sanctuaries these unfairly maligned birds enjoy.

A near complete expatriation of an entire species driven by emotions and traditions and not facts.



I chuckled to myself darkly as I got back into my Jeep to go get Peggy and bring her home.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

A Prairie Wetland Refuge

I’d passed through Iowa like a great blue comet. My mostly straight, white tail of limestone dust trailing out behind my jeep as I rode up and down gently sloped gravel roads. I began engaging the various breathing, meditation techniques taught me by some unique practitioners I’ve had the fortune to learn from. My mind calmed as my tires ground out rhythm, a song composed of the crushed dust of long dead oceans fanned out as I passed over the land. I was in the same sort of “zone” I get into when really into a gym routine or trail run. It was to be a state of mind I'd keep for nearly the entire trip once I’d crossed the Mississippi.

Pandemic? Check. Wildfires burning out of control? Check. Going to Portland during major political and civil upheaval? Check A divided Nation that could break into civil war? Check. Unknown family member who could be “ANYTHING?” Check. Getting her home alive when a cough could kill her and I’m already driving in smoke? Check. The responsibility of taking on another elder? Check. Concern over my preteen daughter when so many kids seem to be contemplating suicide and knowing your own issues aren’t helping ANYONE?! CHECK.

Check. Check. Check… the backdrop of this journey to the west couldn’t be more extreme for me spiritually, emotionally, or mentally. Or could it? By this point I fully expected Yellowstone to erupt in volcanic fury as soon as I passed the Rockies. At the time of this writing it hasn’t but it’s early yet and the story’s not over…

I still had to get Peggy. I needed to rest and gather my strength so I randomly turned aside and found myself in a wildlife sanctuary in Minnesota. Of course it was just what I needed.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Limes Springs, Iowa

Having no real knowledge of Peggy’s medical condition, other than “Coughing = Death,” I tried to keep to myself so as not to catch the Covid. For months now I’ve been very removed from mankind. Kicking around tiny patches of natural prairies and savannas as I struggle to keep my sanity in this ever more crazily unfolding world. Islands of native soil either tiny, roughly terrained remnants or restored patches of plowed or grazed land.

My goal was to make it all the way to Peggy with as little risk of Covid exposure as possible. I wasn’t going to kill anyone. Especially the woman I was being asked to go save.

So to that end I found hidden places to stretch my legs. I’d sometimes take photos and do my martial arts warmups. I had a long way to go and gravel roads make for slow progress. I felt like a bootlegger trying as I made my way undetected to go get Peggy and bring her home.

**Note how harsh the lighting is from the very high layer of smoke particles filtering out the sun’s full spectrum of colors. It’s not dissimilar to my own internal, smoke filled skies.**

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Island 172

When I had set out in the morning I’d hoped to see at least one eagle before leaving Wisconsin. I have a certain “quirk” wherein I believe their appearance during certain of my life events gives me “Luck.” For insurance the very moment a small town Mayor declared my wife and I officially married two of them began to circle overhead and cry out. We’d eloped to the Tioga County area and it was just the three of us and the eagles at our ceremony. They later sort of traveled along the same valley with us for a while as we stopped to take our wedding photos.

Back to the point. I hoped to see one.

As traffic at the end of the bridge leaving Wisconsin into Iowa slowed to a stop I spotted one! We were still in WI territory so it counted for “LUCK!” Pivoting in my driver’s seat I had to twist to my 8 o’clock position in order to capture a shot. I only got one in focus before I could see that traffic was going to move once more.

It was then that I resolved to trust in myself and that no matter what lay ahead I was going for it.

I’d finally left Wisconsin to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Apalāla

This is not a jeep ad. I just am really into Jeeps. I’m a Butler, PA native. It’s the very birthplace of this vehicle design. It’s what my grandpa drove from Tunisia to Germany during “The War.” He was a driver for the forward artillery observers as they’d rotate out of service. Or die. It’s a “Jeep Thing” as they say.

This is my fourth. Each has been more of an extension of my imagination when it comes to how I enjoy myself. I’ve used them to explore, camp, fly fish, romance, family fun and these days as a photography platform. I have done the majority of the “mods” myself. Each and everyone piece was carefully chosen and researched and bought at discounted prices. This vehicle was literally a gift from Santa. And by that I mean for real as it was an amazing stroke of good fortune that found this in my driveway on Christmas week. Totally by coincidence too, but that’s a different story.

I digress. Just to answer what everyone usually asks. The Sanskrit writing on the hood says, “Apalala.” It’s the name of a legendary river dragon from Buddhist mythology. Why so is also a story for another day, as are the “why so’s?” to the rest. They are boar and ravens and little stuff just for fun.

I once heard someone say Jeeps were for people with no personalities. OK.

All I know is I was going to finally wear out my stock tires! It was time to earn some new shoes going to get Peggy and bring her home. Whoever the heck may be.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest #Apalāla

Dawn on Mount Hope

As I drove down a nicely packed, crushed limestone gravel road it’s tiny fossil packed pebbles made comforting music as I randomly turned off course. Having chosen to simply follow my instincts on when to have some creative play I found myself on N Irish Road. The view to the far ridges on the other side of the Wisconsin River valley was the background to a small barn with around a dozen cattle (see it on my site in highres) The foreground was covered in crops.

The early morning light emphasized the fertility of this labyrinth-like land. The northern slopes all descend quickly into the basin below. The bruised dawn sky is split in two as a first wave of particles wash high over the land. The west coast wildfire smoke was just beginning to reach this particular part of western Wisconsin.

This is also the very first place that I felt it was the “right moment” to get my dSLR out and be creative. I wanted to capture the amazing landscape I was passing through. This crazy moment in my life. I’ve learned to trust the process. You can’t force these things. I had to pace myself.

The stop was brief and by total coincidence was in Mount Hope, Wisconsin. Perfect because I was full of HOPE as I took this photo. I hoped going to pick up a fragile, total stranger and her cat wasn’t total madness. I was getting close to the Mississippi River. I had to go get Peggy. And I really HOPED this all went well.

*This is a very detailed photo that will not translate well on most social media. It will be on my site via the homepage on my profile. Just look for the Gotta Get Peggy! Gallery.*

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

EndemicTaxa

As dawn broke behind me smoke bruised the distant horizon. The morning weatherman mentioned that Wisconsin would begin to see noticeable effects from the massive wildfires a couple of thousand miles away. The urgency to get to Oregon and back initially had me consider taking the main highways all the way. Once I realized it would take three days to get there, no matter which way I went, I began to pace my journey and just ramble.

My own troubles sunk into the ancient bedrock. The oceans that once flourished over this land left little evidence of it’s passing. It’s packed layers of compressed remains nestle dark, misshapen voids of dissolved matter that can never be remembered. It’s not unlike the porous-like nature of my relationships with those I’ve truly hurt. Little tiny vugs of blackness fill me with those moments in which I’ve truly wounded other souls. Each chamber hollowed out nothingness. Lost forever. They’ll be the only sign of what will be left of my personal mass extinction of self loathing moments in time.

Passing through the lush and fertile ridges I let myself just head West. Driftless hills carried me towards the Mississippi.

I had to get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

A Damsel in Distress

All right. I guess I should tell you who Peggy is? I hadn’t really heard about Peggy until a couple of weeks ago. It was September 15th, 2020 when I got word of her plight. Fires raged out of control in the wilds on the western coast of the continent. The air had become the most toxic on the planet. Peggy was eighty five, living with no direct personal family relations able to assist.

I was informed that coughing would kill her. That she had a cat. A room full of stuff in a senior living facility, and hadn’t been seen in person for over fifty years by my wife’s family. Also, she was so high risk of death due to her condition she was prohibited by her Doctor to use any form of public transportation and given papers for a medical evacuation. Nobody knew anything else about her.

In other words, I had no clue what waited for me on the other end of this trip. All I knew is that I had to go get Peggy and bring her home.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Lunation 1209

I passed the Blue Mounds a few minutes after leaving home at 6am. Uncertainty and determination made for an interesting combination. I’m not alone in feeling that way these days. The growing chaos of 2020 as families, friends and neighbors is being torn about by zealots of every stripe and color, all against the backdrop of a pandemic that’s taken nearly a quarter of a million souls.

I drew strength from the Mounds as I rolled past. It’s a place tied to my very soul having been a battleground for my struggle with alcoholism. I spent over a year burying myself in labor on and under the land. The total darkness of the caves is where I began to drag the monster within into the light of the dawn. To face the pain caused when anger slips. But especially when I have a severe relapse with drinking and I vent my anger on the people I am supposed to nurture.

The ever recurring role of my internal rage over unresolved frustrations I have with my own self, and how it affects my child and family weigh heavy on my mind as I set out. I’ve three days to cross 2000 miles in my Wrangler. I am not the hero of this story. This is not a Jeep ad.

All I knew is that I had to go pick up Peggy and bring her home. So began my personal Journey to the West.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest