Ryan Vizzions

A rock nearly broke my computer and a photograph almost made me soil myself.

Added 2021-03-30 18:17:23 +0000 UTC

Photographically, this past week I wasn't able to focus as much as I wished towards exploring and making images. Instead, this past week has primarily been focused on printing my IN THE WILD prints and handling some personal errands so I could better focus on my work in the coming weeks. Nevertheless, I was still able to find some time to explore.

I once had a conversation with my friend Alex about what it's really like living on the road and working on this project. The best way to describe this adventure is this:

It is both a Monday and a Saturday - every day.

The concept of time often gets swept aside. The stories, roads, paths, and photographs become so melted together that whether it's a Friday or a Tuesday makes no difference. Instead of a hours, I operate off the sun. Instead of a calendar, I plan based on the temperature and clouds. Instead of a time clock, I work all the time in one capacity or another. If it's not chasing a photograph, it's driving to that location. If it's not driving, is giving the dog outside time. If it's not upkeep and cleaning (lots of it), it's editing and researching. Juggling funds, organizing the van, and making meals. It's planning where to shower, or use the restroom or buy groceries. There are no off days, nor are there days on the clock. It is everything, all at once, all the time. I sleep when I'm tired, start my day whenever I wake up, and move at all hours. There are 1,440 minutes in a day. Each minute is an opportunity for a photograph. Depending on many other variables makes that moment worth putting in the effort. But there is always an effort.

Imagine going on vacation and trying to squeeze in as many experiences as you can in that week. It's that, on steroids, with no ending in sight. Nor would I ever want there to be. At first, the sheer magnitude of what I am hoping to accomplish became overbearing. The first few months I had many mental breakdowns due to the shit show I had thrown myself into. I feel to have finally hit my groove, understanding I am at the mercy of nature and how she decides to work with me. Sometimes you drive 200 miles for a photograph only to find out the weather doesn't want to give you what you want. Not a damn cloud in sight. You sit, contemplating whether to leave or wait it out. That could take days, if even possible. It's a journey of choices. For every photograph shared, there are many that are not. A collection of duds, overwhelming experiences, and letdowns. Massive highs. Massive lows. Regardless, it's an amazing experience all the same. You learn patience, self-reliance, and how to entertain yourself. Usually, that last part involves lots of gasoline and dirt roads.

I first started writing this entry as a play-by-play of my daily life. It's been well over a week since I last updated here. The entry quickly became 10+ paragraphs, detailing where I was and what I experienced. I had only reached day 3. To sum it up, in the last week+ I have received my first vaccine shot, visited Nevada, Arizona, California, Colorado, and now Utah. I've seen snowfall, sandstorms, rain & sunny days. I tried printing photographs in heavy wind gusts, damaged my computer, finished building a storage system for my van, and more. I photographed Death Valley & Canyonlands National Parks. I slept in wildlife reserves, Daylight Pass, Walmart Parking lots, BLM land, and a hotel for a night. I had an old friend fly into Las Vegas for a couple of days, so we explored a bit, I showered for the first time in a travel center and I almost soiled my pants. I also realized the magic of a microwave in van life. That was a game-changer.

All in the last week.

So let me pick a story.

Let me tell you about how I almost soiled my pants. It was worth it.

Knowing I needed to stick near northern Arizona to receive my second vaccine shot on the 8th, I wandered my way north to southern Utah. With the intention of exploring Canyonlands National Park, I made my way up past Arches National Park to the lesser-known of the 2 parks on the edges of Moab. Arriving in the area, it was overcast in gloomy. Like much of my photography locations, I spend a full day scouting the area for the best locations before committing to where to try and photograph during sunrise and sunset. Photographing landscape isn't simply a matter of showing up and taking a photo. It requires a fair amount of planning, a lot of scouting, and developing a game plan of sorts. Canyonlands was no exception. I spent the day driving along the winding roads, stopping at every overlook, gauging trails, and determining where I wanted to be. Eventually, I found myself at Grand View, the end of the road in regards to the northern section of the park. Grand View is at the edge of a canyon cliff. You can see to the east from the parking lot, or hike a mile + along the rim to view the west. As I made my plans, I decided it would be best to photograph the east the following morning. The rain was beginning to turn to snow and I don't have 4x4 on my van. I needed to get down from the elevation before the brunt of the weather began to hit. I made my plan. I was coming back the next morning.

Sleeping at a nearby BLM campground, Willow Springs, I started my morning the next day around 3 am. I prepped my cameras, slugged down some gas station coffee and made my way up the 25-mile drive to the entrance of Canyonlands. I zig-zagged through the low lying clouds, dodged a few jackrabbits who love to dart in front of vehicles, and found myself at Grandview about an hour before the sunrise. Being the only person up there, I parked in a position that would give me a full view of where I had hoped to to photograph. As the sun began to rise, I hopped out of my van, grabbed my camera and tripod, and made way to the eastern view. It was underwhelming. The still overcast sky only brightened from darkness to grey. Not a color in sight. I picked up my equipment and turned around to head back to the van.

There it was. The cotton candy color. But there was a problem. The view to photograph the western horizon was over a mile away. I tossed my tripod in the van, locked the doors, and began bolting my way along the canyon rim, down the Grand View Trail. About halfway down the path, the amazing color was gone. By this point, however, I was already a half-mile in, so I may as well see what I could get. As I hiked down the rim, I eventually arrived to the western horizon. It was a nice view, but the moment I had hoped for had passed. After photographing for a few minutes, I noticed a large section of boulders to the left. They both towered over the surrounding landscape, but also slightly balanced over the edge of the multi-thousand-foot cliff. Now I don't quite know why my ass who is afraid of heights decided to climb this mound, but I did. The rocks, many still lightly covered with snow and ice from the mild storm the evening before slicked my trek on the way up. As I reached the top, to my left, was a boulder with a small crawlspace under it. Knowing the crawlspace would give the view I had been hoping for, I slowly crept along the rock, getting to my knees, and eventually sliding myself underneath this multi-ton stone. All I could imagine is slipping off, falling thousands of feet to my death, or the rock somehow breaking and crushing me like an ant. Regardless I made my way under. There it was. As the morning sun began to make its way between the clouds, the sunlight hit the icy edges of the canyons down below. I decided to try and stand, further closer to certain death and testing my nerves only to feel vertigo making my knees weak. Shaking and trembling, I sat back down and began to photograph. This was the view and all so worth it:

(Photo: Canyonlands National Park - Grand View)

Now I'm not a man of weak stomach. I have experienced a lot in my life, many things that should have made my stomach turn, but this was different. I have always had a fear of heights to the point it makes me dizzy. When I first slid down those slippery rocks and back onto solid land, it hit me. I needed to go number 2. Still a mile away from the parking lot and a park restroom, I was convinced I could make the trek. I was wrong. My stomach was in knots and turning more by the second. I quickly made my way off the path. Scanning the area for early morning hikers, with none in sight, I found a bush and handled what I needed to handle. Luckily being a dog dad, I always have a couple of poopy bags in my pocket. I never in my life would have imagined I would be using one on myself. After cleaning up after myself, I began making my way back towards the van only to pass the first surge of hikers coming to enjoy a beautiful morning. They never knew I literally scared the crap out of myself.

Here are a few of my favorites since the last update: