Limited Prints

With the shipping of the second Edition of Home Is Where You Park It!, I thought it would be time to release some images from the book as well as a few other of my favorite shots from the last three years.  All photos are printed on on Hahnemühle Baryta paper by Prophoto Lab in Portland, Oregon.  Sizes range from 15x15 for square photos to 10x15 for the rectangular photos.  Each Print is limited to 5 copies and are signed and numbered by yours truly.

The cover shot from Home Is Where You Park It,  Ventura , California April 2013. Shot on a Mamiya 6 with Portra 400.  10 inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

Ryan Burch jumping off the wall in the harbor at Mundaka, in the Basque Country, January 2013.  Shot on a Mamiya 6 on Portra 400. 15inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper,  limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

Sleeping for two on a beach in Central Baja.  Shot on a Mamiya 6 with Portra 400. 15inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

Trevor Gordon skating on a dirt road in Central California,  July 2012.  Shot on a Contax T2 with Portra 400. 10 inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

Matt Whitehead's CT100.  He road this from Vancouver Island to San Diego, March 2013.  Shot on a Mamiya 6 with Portra 400. 15inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper,  limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Availablehere.

May showers in Western Colorado,  May 2013.  Shot on a Mamiya 6 with Portra 400. 15inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

A life guard from Ocean Beach, San Francisco's Baja set up,  February 2012.  Shot on a Contax T2 and Portra 400. 10 inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

Heading east on Highway 14 in the Columbia River Gorge,  November 2011.  Shot on a 5d Mark II. 10 inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

Triple decker hammocks in Big Sir,  July 2013.  Shot on a Mamiya 6 with Portra 400. 15inches by 15 inches, printed on Hahnemühle Baryta paper, limited to 5, Signed and Numbered. 150$ Available here.

All prints are shipped via shipping tube.  International shipping is available.  Thanks for the support and happy holidays.

Here are some links,

Store (Arestlesstransplant).



"This isn't looking familiar, but I think we're going in the right way,"  I announced as I continued hacking through an alder saplings with a machete.  My jeans were drenched from 45 mins of hiking on a compass bearing through dense second growth forest that more closely resembled canopy jungle than a Pacific Northwest forest.

Landon, Bill and Tucker acknowledged my reassurance with silence and continued their personal battles crawling over and under saplings.  The rain had subsided, but the trees, ferns and bushes held water like a paint brush.  Stopping,  I thrust the machete into a moss covered stump and pulled a rumpled up waterproof topo map with a handful of GPS coordinates highlighted in red from the pocket of my fleece.

"Tucker... I think this is where we are,"  I said, pointing towards a small plateau indicated by  a U-shaped flat spot on the map.

Tucker looked up and scanned the surroundings.  "It's pretty fucking tough to see whats going on here, but, yah that looks about right,"

"Do you hear that creek?"   Faintly, over the constant dripping of water off of the fooliage,  the sound of a small creek rushing through rocks was thinly audible.

"Yah, I do. Barely."

Pulling the machete out of the rotting stump, I chopped down a Devil's Club with a deft swipe. "Be careful of this shit," I said holding up a section of the recently severed Devi's Club with the tip of the machete before flicking it to the side.

Fifteen years earlier,  I spent time in the same woods with my Boy Scout troop, working on trails and building a makeshift camp.   The second growth forest had grown considerably in that time and the trails had faded from a group of 12's year olds most sincere attempts at trail design to obscurity.   The only mark of civilization was the lingering evidence of logging; giant old growth stumps,  the occasional road cut and sporadic steel cable rusting away at the hands of 70 inches of annual rainfall.

Taking a break from the progress at The Cinder Cone, we loaded into Lando's pick up and headed to the southern tip of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest during a break in the fall rain.  Inspired by childhood days spent building forts,  we brought food and minimal camping gear with the intention of building a shelter to protect us from the forcast rain.

Lando, time warped from 1971.

We found a clearing in the early afternoon and set off to work.

Starting a fire form the leftovers from the night before's fire.

Rise and shine.

We constructed the shelter out of alder logs and used lap joints with a few Gerber Hatchets, a folding saw and a machete.

Tucker owns this DVD.

The American Boys Hand Book was one of my favorites as a kid and has tons of plans for forts, boats and other good ways to spend a day in the woods.

Warming up.

We framed the fort between three conveniently located Y-shaped alders.  The platform was triangle shaped with a square, A-framed roof.  We built the roof out of layers of ferns,  maple leaves, and branches.

Early morning.

We worked feverishly for four hours,  finishing the roof shorty after sunset. Passing out after a gorging on a dinner cooked on rocks,  I prepared for the arrival of the predicted rain.   Waking up, I rolled over and looked at the fire,  the last remnants of a log were melting in to ash. Unzipping my sleeping bag,  I jumped down to take a piss.  There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"Guess we didn't need this fort after all," I thought to myself as I stared up at the stars through the Alder tree canopy.  The chilly October night ended my star gazing. I grabbed handful of logs and threw them on the fire before sliding back into my sleeping bag.

Here are some more links,

Out Of Reception (Tumblr),

Home Is Where You Park It (Webstore).




Summer at the Cinder Cone

The forced air furnace in my camper kicked on with a whir, signifying that for the first time in almost 4 months,  the temperature was into the low fifties.   Rolling around in my sleeping bag, I reached for my water bottle, gingerly unscrewed the cap and took a swig.  The air was by no means cold, but certainly cooler than it had been since May.  I looked out of my camper's screen window towards the east from the Cinder Cone's hill towards the Columbia River Gorge.  The first hint of sunlight illuminated the Oregon side of the Gorge. It was 6:54 on Tuesday, the 23rd of September; the first full day of fall.

The day before,  we installed the windows in the lookout, at octagonal structure 35 feet off the ground in a Douglas Fir.  Instead of hoisting the windows up by block and tackle and modified sailing rigging equipment like we have done with all of the wood, building supplies and tools, we walked the windows one at a time up 3 flights of stairs and across the cable suspension bridge.  Installation went off without any problems, capping off a summer that passed in the blink of an eye.  Her are some photos from the summer.

Tucker installing treads on the staircase.  If you're in the market for some design build carpentry,  check out Tucker's business here.

Taking a break and swimming in the Columbia.

Shooting the bowl.

Peter high-lining in the deep end.


Top down.

Dog day skate sesh.

Watching the sunset from the studio platform.

Swimming on the Washougal River.

Installing the sub floor on the Octagon.

Taco night.

The first night in the trees.

Tucker and Phil working on the burned out Douglas Fir Dunk Tank.

Michael Garnier directing from the ground.

Ansel and Brian after a long day of working on the bowl.

Dinner time.

Messy tools.

The jorts of wrath.

Spraying the bowl.

With all of the structures water tight,  we are starting to work on the interiors.   This move couldn't come at a better time as a the fall's first storm is projected to arrive in a few hours.  We've got lots to do before the winter starts.  I've been documenting the project extensively and am planning on turning images into a book after the build is done.  For more photos and information about the build,  check out the following links:

The Cinder Cone (Tumblr),

Fosterhunting (Instagram).


The Fourth

"Would you take 45 bucks a piece for those mortars if I buy five packs of those bottle rockets and some of those blackcat firecrackers?  Ohh and some of those waterproof firecrackers too?

"Ehhh normally we do 55 for those mortars.. Let me check with my boss.  You paying card or cash?


"Okay, I'm going to grab the boss," a partially toothed man in his forties wearing a Seahawks jacket announced as we left the firework shack and headed towards a nearby trailer.

After a minute or two,  the trailer's screen door flung open and out marched the matriarch of the firework stand, followed closely by her genuine Seahawks apparel-clad henchmen.

"You paying cash?" She said with out breaking stride.

"Yup." I said shifting my gaze away from the wall of fireworks and towards the 5o-year old Chinook women.

"Well pick out everything you want and we can go from there." Her demeanor and the way the other Chinooks hanging around the firework shed and accompanying trailers treated her with reverence reminded me of Pilar from For Whom the Bell Tolls.

I nodded in approval and returned to the  task of selecting enough  fireworks for the coming night's festivities.

As a young kid growing up in the Columbia River Gorge,  we would head east down the 14 to a handful of Native fishing camps and buy fireworks in the days leading up to the Fourth.  Starting in June, I'd scrape together as much allowance as I could to spend on Mortars, M80's, bottle rockets, Saturn Missiles, and assorted firecrackers.  Overcome with excitement,  I would blast off my bag of fireworks before sunset on the fourth.

Years spent on the East Coast and in New York City where discharging the fireworks of my childhood would earn you an interview with a few men with suits and ear pieces, built up a strong yearning for the sizzle of a fuse and the smell of discharged gunpowder.  This year, for the first time in the last three, I was in Washington for the fourth.



One of my favorite movies.

"Ohh Shit"

Tying off three mortar fuses into one.

After Half an hour of haggling,  I exchanged with the firework Matriarch a wad of bills for a box full of fireworks and headed towards my truck. Heading west on the 14 through Bingen and Underwood,  hundreds of of kite boarders punctuated the Columbia's whitecaps.   I had two hours or so before the sun started setting.  With any luck, I'd get to blast off my first mortar before it was dark.

Here are some more links,

The Cinder Cone (Tumblr).