Photo: Kayaking at Salamonie

I took this photo in 2009 at Salamonie Lake in North Central Indiana. You can order prints in my Etsy store. Use coupon code 5OFF2013 and receive $5 off any purchase of $15 or more.

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO...

I set an alarm so I’d wake up a couple hours before sunrise. Between the silhouettes of trees, the lake’s black surface sparkled under a starry sky. I switched on a lantern and rolled out of my hammock. 

At the edge of my campsite was an eroding hillside that sloped into the lake. Barefooted and with a lantern held out in front of me, I climbed down the crumbling dirt to the water’s edge. My kayak bobbed slowly on the waves, bumping into the fallen tree trunk where I had it secured with rope. 

Years before it became the primary focus in my life, this was one way I satisfied my need for adventure, short camping trips fifteen miles from home. 

I climbed into my kayak, scooted away from the shore, and paddled toward an island in the middle of the lake. When I was close enough, I fastened the paddle to the top of the boat and slid forward into the hull, so I could lie on my back for a better angle on the stars. 

I couldn't help but doze in and out of sleep. For a time, the only sound was water lapping against the boat. Then the sun came. 

This moment was the main reason I was on the water so early. A few weeks before, I drove out to the lake at three in the morning to paddle around in the dark. Moments before daybreak, I heard a lot of commotion coming from a small island, so I paddled closer. It seemed every bird in the county decided to rendezvous here that morning. Soon there was so much chirping from so many species of birds that it ceased to sound like chirping, like when a clap becomes an applause.

I’m not sure why they all flocked to this place, but it wasn't only birds. After the sun peaked over the horizon, two river otters surfaced only a few feet from my kayak. One swam straight toward me so fast I thought he might try to leap into my boat to either lick my face or rip it off. I had zero river otter experience, was this aggression, curiosity, or playfulness? I was so excited to take their photo that I momentarily forgot how to operate my camera. I snapped a couple shots of unidentifiable brown blurs then they were gone. I did manage to gain my composure enough to take this photo, which I like well enough, but I'd love to see a river otter in the shot. 

After the sun was fully above the horizon, the birds quieted down, but I saw two deer on a peninsula jutting out into the lake, so I paddled closer. While one grazed the other suddenly ran toward the water and leaped in with a big splash. It swam like a Golden Retriever toward Monument Island, a nature preserve in the middle of the lake. I paddled as fast as I could to coast along beside her, but my presence scared her off course. I wasn't sure how long deer could swim and I wasn't prepared to save a kicking and drowning deer with my kayak, so I backed off then paddled to her other side to steer her back toward the island. 

Then I saw another brown mammal swimming along the shore. I paddle toward it quickly hoping to have another chance to get my river otter picture. It was a beaver. I took a few unimpressive pictures. Soon the surge in wildlife withdrew and the lake would go back to its normal self. Full of motor boats and skiers, fisherman and loud radios blaring from pontoons. But I felt like I learned one of the lake's great secrets. And so, like the crowd of birds who packed themselves together on every available branch on that little island; I came back to this place at this same time every chance I got.

  

  

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

Photo: Bee at Devil's Tower

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO...

I hiked all day around Devil's Tower National Monument, in Wyoming, to find a better angle to take its picture. I took dozens of photos, but didn't love any of them. I decided I needed to be by the river, which required climbing a fence and trespassing. Many prairie dog heads popped out of the ground to keep a close watch on me. After a few photos, I still wasn't in love with any. Then this bee started flying around me, so I increased the aperture, sped up the shutter speed and took its picture instead. The bee is still a bit blurry, but I like it anyway.

  

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

Photography: The Rocks at Ryan Mountain

I took this photo in March 2012 in Joshua Tree National park. You can support my blog by ordering prints of this or other photos in my Etsy store. Use coupon code 5OFF2013 and receive $5 off any purchase of $15 or more.

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO...

After we climbed about halfway up Ryan Mountain in Joshua Tree National Park, my friend Liv pointed down to this huge rock and said, "I'm going to climb on top of that when we get down."

While traveling across the country from national park to national park, it amazed me the places she would climb without the safety of ropes and harnesses. Sometimes I would hear strangers whispering things like, "look at that girl over there, she's crazy," or "you'll never see me doing that."

After leaving the Ryan Mountain summit, she beat me to the bottom, but I couldn't find her anywhere. I waited by the car for a little while then walked around to look for her. I started to wonder if she took a wrong turn. Then I heard a familiar whistle.

Liv and I met on the Appalachian Trail. When we couldn't find each other, we'd whistle back and forth until we honed in on each other's location. So, I whistled back. She whistled again. It was coming from the top of this giant rock. Suddenly, I remembered her saying she said she was going to climb on top of it. I looked up and there she was. She's a woman of her word.   

  

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

Photography: Tendril at Indiana Dunes

I took this photo in Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore in 2010. You can support my blog by ordering a print in my Etsy store. Use coupon code 5OFF2013 and receive $5 off any purchase of $15 or more.

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO...

While traveling in the Pacific Northwest, after I told people I was from Indiana, they acted as though their immense soaring views must be utterly mind-blowing to a flatlander hayseed like myself. It almost solicited a feeling of Midwesterner pride in me. Although they were right, of course.

I've long held romantic ideas of the west. As a kid, traveling west seemed like travelling to another world. They had mountains, geysers, and wildlife that didn't exist in my small patch of Earth. My world existed in a place where the views through the windshield were largely determined by the current height of the corn.

Sometimes I think my appreciation for nature and romantic view of the west wouldn't exist if not for my Midwestern roots. Might I have grown up thinking mountain views were ordinary? Would they have the same power over me? This picture, however, reminds me that my love of nature goes deeper than that. I look at this photo with the same sense of awe as any grand mountain view.

I spotted this tendril grabbing onto a branch for support while hiking through Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore. I tend to forget that plants aren't stationary. In fact, they are rarely still. They simply live by a different clock than we do.

No matter where I live, a major part of me will always live somewhere out west, but beauty in nature is everywhere. You just have to stop and look.

  

  

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.   

Photography: Deer at Mokowanis Lake

This is Mokowanis Lake in Glacier National Park. I took this photo in August 2012. You can support my blog by ordering prints in my Etsy store. Use coupon code 5OFF2013 and receive $5 off any purchase of $15 or more.

THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO...

To access Mokowanis Lake you must get off the main loop and stroll down a quiet spur trail, so it was a peaceful, less frequented, spot to set up camp.

The distant sound of a waterfall gave a constant background of white noise while I sat by that unbelievable turquoise lake for hours reading a book. Occasionally, I saw a deer grazing on foliage or sipping the lake water. It seemed as approachable and unafraid of people as a stray Labrador Retriever. It even wagged its white tail.

After the sun set, I retreated to my tent. I was still reading after dark under headlamp light when something moved outside my tent. I slowly poked my head out to see what it was. It was just the deer. I zipped the tent shut and went back to my book. Then I heard my trekking poles clack against a log. I stuck my head back out and saw the deer with one of the handle straps in his mouth sucking on the accumulated salty sweat.

“Hey! Stop that!” I yelled. Its eyes shifted over to me and it paused for a moment as if contemplating its next move. Suddenly, it grabbed the pole's handle in its teeth and took off into the woods.

“I paid $80 for those you son of a bitch!” I yelled while shoving my bare feet into my shoes. She didn't care though, what’s $80 to a deer? Chump change is what. I ran into the woods after it, leaping over logs and trampling through leaves. After a short chase, she stopped with the pole hanging from her mouth. She looked at me with that long dumb deer face.

“Drop the pole, you stupid deer!” I yelled and the pole dropped to its feet.

“What? I ain’t got anything,” its expression seemed to say. “Nah, nah, man. That was that other deer.”

For a moment, we stared each other down like it was high noon in Dodge City. Suddenly, she bolted into the woods leaving my saliva-drenched trekking pole on the ground.

I walked back to my tent with my pole in hand, victorious.
  

  

A Backpacker's Life List by Ryan Grayson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.