Our alarm clock was that of a small child screaming at the top of his lungs then bursting into tears. I referenced my watch and learned it was 08h30, a decent night’s sleep but from the way my body felt, not a restorative one. We emerged from the tent half an hour later to find the campground quieter and far more empty than when we went to sleep the night before. The large family behind us was packing up their belongings into the car, and the couples on either side were already gone leaving vacant campsites around us. The weather was a bit chilly, cloudy and in the mid 50s, and we decided that with it being a Monday we both had a little work to get done. We cleaned up our campsite and headed back to downtown Banff to find a coffee shop to work out of.
 
Setting up shop at the White Bark Café right on Banff Avenue, Dani ordered something coffee-like and I settled into a comfy chair in the lobby of the connected hotel to edit some photos and get a little writing done. She went straight to e-mails as I had a chance to look over the time-lapse images from the campsite on the Athabasca River the night before, elated to find that the Northern Lights had in fact been captured by my camera. I spoke briefly with some other photographers who were editing images in the lobby seats, discussing the wild fire’s impact on the visibility and sky, and how clear Jasper was further north. After an hour or two of working Dani and I closed our laptops and went in search of a grocery store for a few key gluten-free items we needed for dinner. By this point town was full of sunshine and quite warm, making me regret the jeans I was wearing. We toured through a few grocers until we found what we needed, then decided we’d find somewhere picturesque to have lunch.
 
About ten minutes out of town we arrived at the parking lot for Two Jack Lake just past the notable Two Jack Campground. Curious as to what parking was available we drove straight down the hill to the lakeside lot and found an empty spot that backed up directly to the water. I put the Jeep between two other SUVs and we got to work setting up our cooking station, the same Coleman grill we’ve been using all along atop a collapsible table. She had a toasted cheese sandwich with cucumber and tomato, and I made a bowl of spicy white queso rice with chicken sausage. Despite the gorgeous scenery there were occasionally massive gusts of wind, and we unexpectedly were joined by a Park Warden who arrived to issue a ticket to a family for operating an engine on their inflatable dinghy in the lake. The father got argumentative with the (armed) Warden and basically refused her ticket, so she issued him a court date and the whole thing turned messy quickly to the point where another Warden showed up. In the guys defense, it was a battery powered engine, not a gas one, but apparently they still frown on that. 
 
Having had enough of the scene, we packed up our lunch and cooking station and began a short drive around nearby Lake Minnewanka as a massive storm cloud blew in and soaked the world around us in torrential rain. We scrapped the remainder of our scenic drive, opting instead to return to the campsite and put a tarp up over our tent as an extra measure of protection against precipitation. Honestly I’ve been quite disappointed in REI’s Quarter-dome 2 for its moisture management during colder and more wet nights. We’ve had to use towels to mop up vast amounts of precipitation off the rain fly on multiple occasions, and even had to throw it in the drier on a delicate tumble dry at one of the Airbnb’s to make sure it was usable the night instead of soaking wet. I had an 8x10 tarp in the Jeep that was easily died between trees around our tent at the Tunnel Mountain campsite, and I’m now a little more reassured that it will stay dry in case of unexpected downpour.
 
With the sky still looming with darkness overhead and thunder threatening another storm, we decided that it was a great time to do laundry, and headed into town with two full bags of clothes and towels. I did some more writing in the Laundromat as the watched the new(er) JFK movie Jackie on her laptop, and within an hour we were folding our clothes and headed back to the campsite to cook dinner. I played the role of Dani’s sous chef as we made a ground-turkey taco dinner, and after the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, we retired to the tent in hopes of a few hours of sleep before enacting an ambitious plan to drive an hour north and photograph dawn at Lake Louise. Having spent the last years chasing dawn's colors and other epic early-morning photo opportunities, these plans are always great in theory, but don't always work out... so I’ll just say I have my fingers crossed we actually make it up there in time for the 06h20 sunrise. 

My alarm quietly went off as programmed at 01h45. I rolled over and silenced it, putting my headlamp on and unzipping the tent door despite the majority of my body begging me to go back to sleep. The moon shone brilliantly as I slid my shoes on, lazily stepping outside and fumbling to locate my camera’s tripod. I was immediately disappointed with the angle the moonlight was hitting Jasper’s mountains, but made a quick decision to change the angle of my intended shot for something facing more north. I framed the Big Dipper in my viewfinder, knowing that the nearby star Polaris would find the entire night sky circling around it. I adjusted my settings in accordance with the light I was working with, attached my remote shutter trigger, and went back to bed. Over the course of the next two and a half hours the camera would take roughly three hundred images of the night sky, hopefully leaving me with something beautiful to work with in the photo’s post-production phase; I was by no means let down. While I didn't attach the "star trails" image, I did include a single photo of the northern lights below.
 
Dani and I woke up at 08h00 to much colder temperatures than either of us had expected. With the day before peaking in the high 70s, I was a bit shocked to see the high 30s on my thermometer. She, a true Florida girl, was frigidly cold, lying in the sleeping bag with a long sleeve top, my REI quarter-zip fleece, and my Patagonia down jacket on, still on the verge of shivering. As the sunlight crept its way through the sky and began to cast shadows on the tent, I convinced Dani that we should get up and get a move on the day. We packed up lethargically, still in awe of the mountains that surrounded us, filtered another two liters of gorgeously clear and delicious mountain water, and headed up to the communal picnic tables to eat a small breakfast. We spoke again with Jessica and Jessica, the two women we had met the night before, and talked more about long distance trails, the National Parks we were visiting, and how it was absolutely necessary for Dani and myself to visit British Columbia for more exploring. By the time the two of us were on the trail it was nearly ten, but the opportunity to talk with two provincially-local hikers was unique, enlightening, and well worth the time.

 We climbed back out of the river basin as the air temperature began to rise, and I was immediately grateful to have shed all of my insulating layers before we left the campsite. I’ve found over the past few years of more aggressive hiking, mainly on Vermont’s Long Trail last winter, that keeping my SmartWool skull cap on and nearby is one of the easiest/fastest/lightest ways to adjust my internal temperature. It doesn’t involve taking my pack off, stuffs into my pocket, and has a surprising amount of sway in my overall warmth, while not being bulky or limiting my movement. I kept the hat on for the half hour or so before eventually taking it off as we began to climb out from the Athabasca River. While the majority was a gradual incline, there were a handful of sections that had rather steep ascents; we slowed on those parts, as the elevation (my maps say roughly 4,400’) were quite a bit over the sea-level elevations Dani is used to exercising at. Even with pacing ourselves and enjoying the morning hike, we were back into tourists and civilization by 11:30, packing up the car and heading up the road from the Sunwapta Falls trailhead to a small café for lunch.
 
After hot sandwiches, cold drinks, washing up, and a quick outfit change, we were turning out of the parking lot and making our way south on Alberta-93, or the “Icefields Parkway”. With over 200km until we reached Banff, the drive would take us on a winding route through some of the most impressive mountains and landscapes I’ve ever laid eyes on. The road changed elevation frequently, taking us from a just under a mile high to well over 6,500’. We followed different river systems, each seemingly more vibrant and turquoise than the last, and gawked out the window at the monstrous rock formations that make up the Canadian Rockies. As I drove, Dani used our dash-mounted iPad to reference GPS software for the heights of the peaks that surrounded us – many were well over 10,000 feet tall.  About an hour into our drive we arrived at the Columbia Icefield Discovery Center, a jam-packed tourist destination where we had the opportunity to walk up towards the ever-receeding Athabasca Glacier. I was not surprised to see that despite multiple signs warning of crevices people have fallen down and died, visitors were still stepping well beyond the marked boundaries, crossing over ropes to get a “better” view or just to take a selfie. We snapped a few photos, spent a moment or ten in awe of the scale of the glacier and the impact it has had on the surrounding area, and then walked back to the car to carry on with our drive.
 
The rest of our drive was continually gorgeous and relaxing as we made our way south. We’ve been making the most of my Sirius XM satellite radio, not having to worry about switching out iPods or CDs, and settled on “Siriusly Sinatra”, a station dedicated to Frank and the rest of the Rat Pack. The sun shone through the open sun roof and Dani took a brief nap as the car began a 2 mile climb to the Bow Summit parking lot for Peyto Lake. After a short hike up a paved path we found ourselves on a wooden deck overlooking Peyto itself; one of the most vibrant lakes in the Rockies, it boasts an incredible turquoise hue that stands out against blue skies and evergreen trees surrounding it. I snapped a few photos and we bathed in the sunlight before walking back down to the car for the final stretch to Banff.​

The next day was again relatively unplanned, however we had a new campsite reserved in the backcountry wilderness of Jasper National Park and would need to backpack a few miles into it before the sun went down. I was excited to get away from the heavily trafficked areas of the Park and actually spend a quiet night in the woods. We woke around 08h00, immediately getting to work as Dani made sausage breakfast sandwiches on the camp stove and I broke down camp. We had a few hours until we needed to be out of the campground to make way for the next people staying at our site, but each wanted a quick shower before we headed out into the world. Cleaning and packing up our cookware and utensils into their Pelican case, we made a brief stop at the campground showers and then turned back onto Alberta 93 North to head back towards downtown Jasper.
 
One of the points of attraction we had wanted to visit the day before was the Maligne Canyon, located just a few miles up Maligne Lake Road on the outskirts of town. The parking lot was absolutely packed when we arrived so we backtracked a few hundred yards to the same scenic overlook we had visited the day before and parked in the relatively empty lot. After a few minutes walk we arrived at the trailhead for the Maligne Canyon walk, a graded and paved trail that followed along the Maligne River as it downstream from Medicine Lake to the Athabasca River. Over the course of a few kilometers walk you can see 5 different waterfalls within the canyon walls, the water flowing nearly 160 feet below the spanning bridges at the canyon’s deepest point. We visited the first three waterfalls, sharing the limited space with countless other visitors before heading back to the car, turning our sights an hour south to Athabasca Falls where we’d stop for another quick visit to soak in the scenery.

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In the early afternoon we arrived at the Sunwapta Falls trailhead/parking lot where we finalized our gear packs for our overnight backpacking trip to the remote campsite along the Athabasca River. For the trip I chose to bring my Cold Cold World “Chaos” backpack, a 66L alpine mountaineering bag that I purchased for my Long Trail thru-hike attempt last winter. Made by hand in Jackson, New Hampshire, it’s as sturdy a bag as you could ever imagine, with a mono-tube design and 1.2 million attachment points for extra gear (i.e. snowshoes, crampons, ice axes, climbing rope, water bottles, etc) on the outside, making it a great option for a versatile backpack for the duration of our Canada adventure. I filled it up with most of our gear and food, packing Dani’s ~30L Mountainsmith backpack for our sleeping pad and her clothes for the overnight. It took about an hour to be ready to hike out, first passing on a bridge over Sunwapta Falls itself before carrying on down the Fortress Lake Trail. Our hike to the Big Bend backcountry campsite would cover 6.3km on a moderately wide trail, mostly downhill through endless pine forests. Dani had never been backpacking before so we stopped a few times to adjust the shoulder, waist, and sternum straps in an effort to make her more comfortable. The time and terrain passed quickly as the afternoon sun baked down on the woods, and within two hours we arrived at the Big Bend camp, nestled in along the indescribably blue Athabasca River.
 
Big Bend was comprised of four tent sites, two picnic tables, and a bear-bag hanging line to suspend food fifteen feet in the air overnight. The entire area was subject to panoramic views of the surrounding mountains, and the warm air and sunshine made for a gorgeous scene as we set up the tent alongside the river. We wandered around for a little with the cameras, and after checking with the five or six other backpackers staying at the site, I took a few minutes to fly the drone and capture the area from the a few hundred feet above. We cooked a pasta dinner at the picnic tables using the frigidly cold glacier river from the Athabasca River that I had filtered with the same Sawyer Squeeze I carried for all 2,200 miles on the A.T. three years prior. We made friends with Jessica and Jessica, two other hikers from the Alberta area who were out for the weekend, talking for an hour or so about hiking and the vast beauty of the National Parks as the sun set and cast warm light on the glacially capped peaks to the south.
 
Rinsing out our dishes and hanging the food bag on the bear line, we sat on a log bench by the river and watched the water flow by without much conversation between us, simply enjoying the serenity of the mountains around us. Retiring to bed around 21h30, I set my phone’s alarm for shortly after midnight in hopes of waking up and capturing photos of the stars overhead in the night sky. After a busy day and great hike in on the Fortress Lake Trail, we fell fast asleep to the white noise of the Athabasca River rushing by, our short time in Jasper having already seemed to desensitize us to the bright glow of the sky in the late hours of the evening.

It's hard to imagine that it has taken me over a month and a half to write about my last day in Italy, but I wanted to wrap that trip up before I started posting about other happenings, and before the summer gets crazy with planned trips and adventures. With that, here we go... from Venice to Rome by car.

Despite the relatively late night shooting the rainy scenes around Venice, Brad and I were up early to begin what would be a long day of travel. When we made our plans to visit the northeast coast of Italy we weighed out a few options of how to get back to Rome. Having taken the train on our way to Venice, we decided that renting a car and driving back to Brad's house would allow us the great opportunity to see Pisa and the Leaning Tower while on the way. To pick up a rental car we'd have to get to Marco Polo International Airport, about 4 and a half miles north of Venice. We packed our bags, made our way down the windy streets towards the train station almost entirely be memory, and purchased bus passes to the airport in short order. After almost an hour of traveling by bus, watching our GPS dot move sporadically around the map on my phone screen, we realized that we had boarded the wrong bus and were going to end up nowhere near the location we were aiming for. Exchanging glances on the very crowded bus, we simultaneously hopped off at the next stop and re-evaluated our situation. Some quick time spent on the Internet left us with a new game plan, a 20 minute walk across a quiet suburban town on a lazy Sunday morning. We found the correct bus stop, narrowed down the correct bus route to get on, and waited for it to arrive. All said it took nearly two hours to make the 45 minute trip to the airport from our Airbnb in Venice, but upon arrival we were able to quickly find the rental car desk and get the keys to our tiny little Renault.

The irony of the rental situation was that Bradley had no clue how to drive a 5-speed. As we made our way across the parking lot he tossed me the keys, verifying aloud that I could drive a manual transmission car. I laughed as we struggled to pack our bags into the tiny back seat, adjusting the driver's seat and taking a moment to figure out the gearbox pattern. Brad became navigator as I found my way out of the parking garage, and before long we were zipping down the highway as I searched for some kind of speed limit sign with which to gauge our rate of travel. We stopped for a quick fast-food breakfast as I searched for a Venice postcard, ultimately finding that we were too far from the city proper to find a "local" card to mail back to the States. As we drove along the suburban scenery turned to luscious green mountains and a the road began disappearing into a whole heck of a lot of tunnels. Growing up in Boston and having lived through the 20 year process of "The Big Dig" where our entire city highway system got buried underground, I'm used to driving in long tunnels. The northern region of Italy, however, blows the sox off any tunnel Massachusetts is home to. The perfectly paved two lane highway would go from winding though hillsides to entering a continuous tunnel that would last us five or ten minutes at a time to get through... it was impressive to think of how long it must have taken them to build these monstrous underpasses. 

We arrive in Pisa shortly after lunchtime, both hungry and anxiously awaiting some form of nutrition. I found us a great parking spot on the street a quarter mile walk from the Piazza del Duomo that is home to both the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Cattedrale di Pisa. Packed with other tourists enjoying the history, architecture, and gorgeously sunny Sunday, Brad and I would our way through the lines of people waiting to climb the Tower, and as I turned to look down the length of the Cathedral, my eyes settled on what may have been the most beautiful sight of my entire trip to Italy. When we had begun planning our trip in the months before, one of the most important things for me was to go to the Ferrari world headquarters in Modena, Italy to see either the Ferrari Museum or, if possible, to get a tour of the factory itself. As we considered other things we were interested in doing, it became apparent that there likely wouldn't be time to visit Ferrari if we wanted to see Venice. With that backstory, I will tell you that I nearly shed a tear when we wrapped around the backside of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and found the road closed off and full of vintage Ferraris lined up for a celebratory car show. I had died and gone to heaven.

After an hour or so comprised of staring at this behemoth tower as it leaned into the pull of gravity, admiring the incredibly sexy array of vintage Prancing Horse automobiles, getting gelato and another small snack, and (finally) finding a post card, we were back on the road. The tiny gas tank of our tiny car was getting low, and as we stopped at a gas station, Brad and I discussed the urgent need for him to be able to drive the 5-speed in order to return the car from the airport after dropping me off for my flight home to Boston. It was there and then on that sunny spring day that I found myself doing circles in a dirt parking lot as I taught him how to use the clutch and gearbox simultaneously. As we were running out of time to get back to Rome in time for a Cirque du Soleil cast/crew party we were expected at, I deemed Brad's driving skills acceptable enough to try on the main Italian highways, and with a tiny bit of hesitation on both of our parts, we were off. He got progressively better at shifting as we made the nearly 4 hour drive from Pisa back to Rome, and even did a great job in the latter city's rush hour traffic.

We parked along the Tiber River nearby to where I had walked a few days prior, and I packed up my camera and tripod before walking over to a bridge I had scoped out in hopes of photographing sunset there. With a gorgeous view of Vatican city and flanked by a hundred other people with cameras, Brad was politely impatient with me as I clicked away with the shutter of my dSLR. I took only ten photos, doing my best to be respectful of the time while still doing my best to ensure a usable photograph from the pitstop. We hopped back in his car and made it across town in no time, each taking quick showers and changing for the Cirque event. We didn't stay as long as either of us had planned on, but seeing his coworkers outside of the Big Top was a great experience, especially having seen the show just three nights before. We were back at the house around midnight, having been awake for nearly eighteen hours. With my boarding pass downloaded to my phone and the alarm set for early the next morning, I passed out after an awesome day discovering a totally different kind of Italy.

The flight home the next day was simple, and Brad managed to get our tiny car back to the rental company without leaving the clutch to die on the streets of Rome. I made it back to Boston before the sun set, after a brief stop at New York's JFK International Airport. Luckily, despite some initial confusion as to whether not my suitcase ever left Europe, I was reunited with it before my Uber driver arrived outside passenger pickup. I had a great week with a great friend, traveled a country I had never experienced before, and took a whole heck of a lot of photographs. I'm thankful to have accomplished all this safely, and look forward to returning abroad again in the near future. 

Final note - thanks for the hospitality Brad, I had a blast :)

More to come as life returns to normal domestically, and plans for upcoming summer adventures get solidified.

​- Ryan

Truthfully, I had nothing but the best intentions with regards to waking up early Saturday morning. I set my alarm for 04h45 with the hopes of photographing the partly-cloudy sunrise over the Grand Canal, but despite my best efforts didn’t end up falling asleep until about 90 minutes before said alarm would first go off. It woke me up, but not with enough influence to get me out of bed. I read e-mails, texted friends in the US who were still out on Friday night, and didn’t fall back asleep until 6. My plan was to take another nap, but by the time I opened my eyes for good it was after eleven… I was speechless, and shot out of bed to get ready and out the door before I lost any more of the day.
 
Brad was ready to go before my eyes even opened, so by the time my camera bag was on my back he was halfway out the front door. We decided the first order of business was going to be food of some sort, so we made our way down to the Canal near the San Polo side of the Rialto bridge, finding a table at a restaurant along the water where we could watch the gondolas, water-taxis, and tourists parade by on either side of us. I ordered a smoked salmon dish with ricotta cheese, and a liter of water to start my day’s hydration, a delicious meal that I wrapped up as the temperatures began dropping and wind picked up outside. It was becoming more overcast, as we knew it would be before the rain began, and temperatures were already in the low 60s. Once the bill was paid we made our way over the Rialto and headed towards the waterfront of the San Marco area, home to the Piazza San Marco, the National Library, and San Marco’s Campanile, the famous bell tower of the Basilica. This area was one I was familiar with from that opening scene of The Italian Job as Donald Sutherland calls his daughter, played by Charlize Theron, to tell her they’re doing “one more heist” before he retires. I used my phone to navigate us through the narrow and exceptionally crowded streets, and after ten or so minutes we laid eyes on the side of the Basilica di San Marco, a gigantic and beautiful church built between 978 and 1092 AD and has an incredible presence over the plaza.
 
After wandering around, photographing, and putting our jackets on to combat the growing wind, we made out way back to the Campanile tower, standing in line to take the elevator to the top of the 100m structure. For a reasonable $8 we bought our tickets and piled onto a tiny elevator for the quick ride to the observation deck, adorned with massive cast bells hanging overhead. I began photographing the island from the elevated position, my ideal kind of vantage point in any city. As I snapped away, I was startled (many other spectators more than me) when the bells shattered the otherwise quiet atmosphere to ring the half-hour chimes. Watching them swing overhead was an incredibly unique opportunity, and one I’m glad we were there to experience. As more people came up to the observation deck, we made our way back onto the elevator, packed in like sardines, and descended back to the street level. Our next adventure would be taking a water ferry over to Murano, a small island a thousand feet off the northern shore of San Polo, so off we went, jackets blocking the ever-increasing wind, to find the water taxi terminal.
 
Though Brad might be mad that I sell him out on this, he took the lead for our navigation to the taxi, and despite my questioning our direction a few times while walking, we spent nearly 30 minutes walking and ended up at the water taxi dock no more than a hundred feet from the base of the bell tower we had left from. I teased him relentlessly for this snafu as we bought a round trip ticket to Murano, boarding the water taxi as the waves from a windy bay slapped up against the side of the 60-foot passenger boat. The ride across the harbor was entertaining, as it was fascinating to see what the tiny islands that Venice is comprised of looked like from offshore. The ride to Murano took no more than 20 minutes, and before we knew it we were docking on the small island, the vibrantly painted buildings popping out against the grey skies behind them. Known around the world for their famous hand-blown glass, we knew that along with a few notable architectural destinations we definitely wanted to see glass being blown by local artisans. Utilizing the narrow concrete bridges to cross over the causeways between the island’s lagoons, we stopped briefly at the Saints Maria and Donato Basilica, home to an expansive mosaic tile floor that dates back to September of 1141 AD.
 
We wandered up and down the town streets following the main canal, stopping into dozens of stores looking at glasswork, watching glassblowers, and keeping an eye out for the window sticker denoting the products being sold were actually made in Murano. After we each found a few gifts for friends and family at home, I stood on the sidewalk as a light rain began to fall and Bradley wrapped up the purchasing of a locally made bottle of cologne in a store nearby. We walked back towards the watertaxi stand as the rain turned to an almost downpour, causing us to duck into a hotel lobby restaurant for an afternoon cocktail and appetizer to hold us over until dinner. By the time we finished our drinks and snack the rain had only gotten worse, so we quickly ran over and boarded the taxi back to the closest stop to our Airbnb.
 
After rushing through the wet streets with no jackets or umbrellas, we got to the house and took a quick nap before turning around and heading back out into the weather so that I could photograph the sunset in the Piazza San Marco. I had the forethought to bring a rain jacket and waterproof cover for my camera, and Brad brought his umbrella, so we were much more prepared to stand in the rain for an hour or two while the overcast skies caught whatever color the sun allowed them that evening. We made our way over the Rialto Bridge for the third time that day, arriving in the Piazza as the sky began its shift from grey to a deeply saturated blue. The streetlamps glowed, casting an orange hue in the sky and shining back in the reflective puddles that covered the ground. Faint sounds of a saxophone reverberated across the centuries old stone buildings as a small trio began playing covers of Sinatra, Billie Holiday, and other Rat Pack tunes. It honestly was akin to standing on the set of a movie, the rain pouring down overhead as couples with bright umbrellas made their way across the courtyard and the music surrounded us from seemingly every direction. My camera stood faithfully atop a tripod, and Bradley did a fantastic job sharing his umbrella with it (adding to the protection of the waterproof camera cover) as I did my best to keep the wind from blowing raindrops on the lens. Despite my best efforts, in the end my most favorite photograph of the night is adorned with a handful of rain droplets on the lens that caught the light of the Piazza in the most incredible way.  I’m sure we looked odd to the people rushing by to locations more suited for waiting out the rain, but in looking over the photos later that night, I’m so incredibly glad we stood in the rain to photograph this breathtakingly gorgeous city.
 
The rest of the night flew by after we packed up the camera, and before I knew it we were back at the house and I was passing out on my bed. It was our last night in the city, and the next morning we were headed to the airport to pick up a car to drive back to Rome, breaking the tourism mold and sightseeing our way across the country out the windows of a two-door five-speed Renault.
 
I hope you enjoy the photos... there are a few more than usual, but I couldn't bring myself to be more selective.
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​Having finally drifted to sleep after 0330hrs, my alarm blaring in my ear a mere four hours later was not a welcomed occurance. I got up and quickly packed my gear into one of my hybrid hiking/photography backpacks, the LowePro Rover 45L.  It’s got some nifty removable interior compartments for holding camera gear, some straps for trekking poles and tent attachments, and a built-in rain cover. I threw my camera gear inside - five batteries, three lenses, three filters, and one body – and then packed the clothes I’d need in the remaining space. Brad packed his stuff simultaneously, and by 9 we were hailing a cab across town for our train that left an hour later.
 
The ride to Venice on the ItaliaRail took three and a half hours, bringing us through lusciously green countryside, moving along at speeds of up to 240 mph. I got some work done writing, edited some photos from the night before, and stared out the window watching the world fly by. When we arrived at the Venezia Santa Lucia train station in the early afternoon, the host of the Airbnb we had booked to stay at met us and was going to bring us to the apartment. Originally when we heard she was bringing us there I envisioned a small car, typical of those that are seen buzzing everywhere around Europe. Having no real clue as to the ins and outs of Venice, shy for a few movies (namely The Italian Job’s opening heist scene), I had no idea that we would be snaking through the labyrinth of stone streets, through countless courtyards, past compact glass storefronts with every kind of souvenir and local artistry you could ever imagine, and what seemed like a million small footbridges crossing the causeways. I was enamored, my camera’s viewfinder pressed against my eye as if I was running out of time alive to take photos of my gorgeous surroundings. At one point the hostess turned to Brad, noticing I was no longer with them, and asked if I was going to be okay navigating on my own… he laughed and explained that I’d catch up shortly as soon as I had snapped a photo of whatever scene caught my eye.
 
We arrived at the house in about 15 minutes and after being acquainted with the sparse second floor apartment, were left to our own devices. Having not had breakfast we arranged our stuff in our respective rooms, and headed out for lunch at one of the many courtyard restaurants, sitting at a table in the sunshine and people watching as we ate. After settling up our tab with the hostess, we attempted to recreate our path back to the train station, knowing it was the most centrally accessible area we could wander from. The narrow streets made for an exciting walk, and we made a lot of u-turns at dead ends where the walkway would simply give way to a river with no forewarning. I took pictures as we walked around the Venice, and we stopped after a while for Brad to get some gelato. As the afternoon hours passed, the sun made its way across the sky and the shadows on buildings became too harsh for me to photograph. We went back to the house to hang out for a while, and each inadvertently passed out on our beds for close to two hours. Waking up to the sounds of people in the streets outside my window, I swapped camera batteries, loaded up my tripod, and woke Bradley so our adventures could continue into the night.
 
Venice is famous for the Rialto Bridge, a behemoth of stone originally constructed in 1531, that spans over the Grand Canal. I figured that would be a good place to start shooting during sunset, but turned away when I found the bridge covered in tourists taking their own photos; it didn't speak to me the way I hoped it would, and I was envious of painters who can simply opt to leave people out of their images. Not one to let a good sky go to waste, I led us back across the San Polo district of Venice until we arrived back at the train station. I set up shop with my tripod on the north side of the city, my lens aimed east down the Grand Canal as ships made their way down the river. As the sky lost its bright blue tones and settled into deeper hues, we moved to a different location to shoot. I spent quite a while taking pictures down a small causeway, eventually getting enough material to put the lens cap back on and meander on towards dinner. I’m immensely grateful that Brad has been on enough photo adventures with me in the past to know that I say “just one more shot” a hundred times before actually being done; his patience was not taken for granted... sometimes it really is worth while to stick around for one more shutter click.
 
Despite being in an incredibly old Italian city, the fact that it was Cinco de Mayo left us in the mood for margaritas. We used Google to our advantage and found a Mexican restaurant a fifteen-minute walk away, making the perfect destination for dinner. We were seated after a short wait, a table for two outside the restaurant where the waiter would occasionally remember to check in on us, refilling drinks and eventually bringing our meals. We called it a night around 23h00, getting incredibly lost on the way back to the house when Brad’s iPhone kept suggesting roads that ended at the water instead of those with bridges to where we needed to be. I eventually ruled his phone out of our navigation equipment list, and used my own to get us back to our apartment.
 
After rinsing off in what honestly may be the world’s smallest shower (it’s literally 22”x22”, impossible to move around in without bashing elbows on the frosted Plexiglas sides) I sat on my bed and talked to Bradley between the walls about what was on the schedule for tomorrow. The weather is supposed to turn to rain in the late afternoon, but if we manage an early start we can probably get most of our itinerary completed before the skies open up. We walked eleven miles around Venice today, most of which I did with a heavy backpack on… Not bad for a guy who isn’t actually hiking anywhere.
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Arrivederci, friends.

It's been a while since I've been able to post; work has been crazy and I've basically been traveling non-stop since mid-January. Time home has been short, and is usually allocated to projects that need to be done around the house or spending time with friends, leaving me little opportunity to get out and explore in the mountains or accomplish anything worth reading about. I'm thinking that for a few days I might be able to change that by adding some atypical content to the site and your inbox.

Bradley, one of my closest friends and an old touring/production co-worker, left the United States a year ago to begin a new life traveling with Cirque du Soleil as a lighting engineer. He's since lived in Brussels, London, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, and Austria, setting up in the big-top tent and working on performances for two months at a time before the show packs up and moves onto the next city. When he initially departed from Florida, I promised I'd visit him overseas, though life "happened" and schedules never seemed to allow for it. This past February I decided to look at flights, and grabbed a round-trip ticket to Rome, his new location as of April 27th, for $750 round trip on Delta... hard to pass that up for a flight to Europe on an airline I know won't beat me up or lose my stuff.  Packing up a handful of clothing and a lot of camera gear, I flew over via Amsterdam on Tuesday night, landing at Rome's Leonardo da Vinci-Fuimicino Airport shortly before noon on May 3rd. Brad picked me up from the airport in an Uber and we took the half-hour ride back to his new accommodations in downtown Rome. Situated in a perfectly sized Air-BnB he's renting for his time here, he's walking distance from famous local attractions, and has a fabulous roof-deck which I'm currently sitting on as I write this, soaking up the sun and occasionally glancing over in awe at the dome of St. Peter's Basilica as it towers over the other rooftops between us and Vatican City. After storing my suitcase in his house we took off to explore, making the short 5-minute walk over to the Vatican where we scoped out the plethora of options for guided tours. Picking to go with the least perpetually annoying tour solicitor, we paid $41 euros each for what became an informative, somewhat hectic, two- hour tour of the Vatican Museum, St. Peter's Basilica, and the Sistine Chapel.

They say that over 6 million people visit the Vatican on an annual basis, a whopping number, but still only a third of the attendance numbers Disney World pulls in a year. Unlike my times at Disney, the chaotic experience of walking through the Vatican is something I will not soon forget. Wide hallways are packed full of tourists from around the globe as dozens of tours simultaneously take place, and there were many moments where I felt like I was drowning in an ever-moving current of people.  We listened to our tour guide describe the statues, tapestries, and artwork around us via a small FM receiver and tiny, stereotypically uncomfortable earbuds, though due to the unavoidable separation between guide and group, I found it to be more of an un-synced but interesting narrative. I shuffled my feet in the crowds of people moving forward at a glacial pace, snapping photos when I could, finding myself in awe of all that surrounded me. Over the course of the first 90 minutes we moved through a few courtyards, many hallways, the Gallery of Tapestries, the Gallery of Maps, and towards the entrance to the Sistine Chapel. Being reminded constantly that it was a holy place, I removed my hat as we stepped down wide staircases quietly into the chapel itself, stopping for a few minutes as our tour group joined another thousand people standing admiring the walls and Michelangelo's world-renound paintings adorning the nearly 400-year old building's ceilings.

Leaving the Chapel we moved along to the outside of St. Peter's Basilica, overlooking the Square, as our tour came to an end. We handed back the guided tour ear-buds, and the group dispersed. Brad and I decided at this point to spend the extra $6 to climb the 500+ stairs to the top of the St. Peter's dome (we saved $2 by not taking the elevator, ha!) which was an incredibly unique climb as the staircase got shorter, more narrow, and even pitched sideways as we continued up. The last hundred steps or so were up an incredibly tight spiral staircase, maybe only 4-feet wide at it's diameter, eventually bringing us to the top of the dome's cupola where we soaked in the panoramic views of Rome. We lingered for a while, meandering around the circumference of the cupola before descending back the way we came, pitched hallway and all, and exiting ten minutes later into the Basilica itself. I wandered around the church for a half-hour taking as many photographs as I could, using an ultra-wide angle lens to convey the sheer scale of the building and its expansive ceilings and embellishments, and we eventually departed to find somewhere to eat.

A brief dinner at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant just outside the Vatican walls was washed down with a glass of red wine, leaving us ready to wander a little longer, visiting more with the city as the sun went down and the amber-cast lights illuminated the centuries old structures on every street corner. We took a taxi to the Colosseum, snapping a few pictures before the photographer in me deemed the area overcrowded for any kind of good imagery, and then slowly walked back through the city as the night went on. We saw the famous Spanish Steps, the beautiful and incredibly well attended Trevi Fountain, and the massive Altare della Patria, or "Altar of the Fatherland" and its Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. With the clock striking midnight, and me being exhausted from the little sleep I got on the airplane and plenty of foot-travel throughout the day, we hailed a taxi back to Brad's apartment and called it a night.

The plans for the next few days includes more time in Rome, a train ride to Venice for a few nights, and hopefully a stop in Pisa before I fly out again. I'm looking forward to taking a ton more photos, and sharing them and some stories with you all as the trip continues on.

Ciao!
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I spent last week in Dallas, and flew to Las Vegas late Friday night for another event this coming week. With no work to be done Saturday, I arranged a rental car and planned an itinerary of 450+ miles of driving to visit two different locations in Utah with the hopes of hiking, photographing, and exploring the region a bit. 

I woke up Saturday morning at the MGM on The Strip and began a three hour drive to Kanarraville, Utah. With 75 and 80 mile-per-hour speed limits my rental Jeep and I made our way through Nevada, into Arizona for a while, then into our destination state of Utah. It's been years since I finished the cross-country drive with a few Appalachian Trail hiker friends, but seeing signs for Salt Lake City brought back memories of our journeys and adventures. As the dusty and pale deserts of Arizona gave way to more green landscapes in Utah, I got off of Interstate 15 (which runs from the San Diego area up through Vegas, Salt Lake City, and Montana before ending at the Canadian border) and began a slower paced traverse through a local road in the small town of Kanarraville. One of my favorite parts of traveling the country is the constant exposure to different people and townships, and this was no different. Small houses were packed tightly together with American made pick-up trucks in every driveway. I followed my GPS and local signs to a small parking lot where the trail to Kanarraville Falls began. A large signboard warned of the duration of the hike, certainty of hiking through water, and potential for flash flooding in the canyon during rainstorms. I filled my Nalgene water bottle, checked my watch and hiked on, almost immediately regretting my decision to wear jeans despite not having another option in my suitcase wardrobe.

​The hike itself to the Falls was only about 2 miles, throughout which I happily maintained my typical 3 mph pace despite the lack of obvious trail at times. The further in I got, the more the trail began crossing a river, and eventually I surrendered to the water and stopped trying to rock hop across it, instead just stepping straight in and walking on. Eventually I came to a clearing where the trail took a sharp left turn into the canyon. With no hesitation I hiked on, despite the minor fact that the trail turned completely into the river, leaving me to walk in ankle deep water as I made my way upstream. Upon reaching the log ladder that aids hikers with ascending the nearby waterfall, I set up my camera and tripod and began to frame my shot, pausing occasionally to let hikers make their way up the ladder. After 90 minutes or so I had all but lost feeling in my feet which caused me to pack up my tripod and make my way out of the ravine and back out to the dirt portion of the trail. 

I shed my shoes and socks quickly upon returning to the Jeep, and utilized the rear heating system to dry out my footwear as I drove the 90+ minutes to Zion National Park completely barefoot. Leaving Kanarraville I watched a few locals ride their horses down the  streets while guys around my age drove their girlfriends on the back of their four-wheeler ATVs. A quick drive south on I-15 dropped me 1,000' of elevation before I took the exit towards Zion, paying a $30 fee to enter the Park, despite my short itinerary. The Jeep handled well as I made my way up the park's winding Mount Carmel Highway, stopping in a short line of cars before the entrance to the Mount Carmel tunnel. Originally constructed in 1930, the tunnel is just over a mile long and operates as a one-way tunnel throughout the day, controlled by park rangers on each end. Narrow and extremely dark, they allow only a few cars to pass at each time before reversing the tunnel's direction.

Immediately after exiting the tunnel I turned right into a small parking lot where the Canyon Overlook Trail began. Gathering my backpack, water bottle, and camera gear, I started the mile long hike to the famed park overlook. I passed a dozen other park visitors ascending from the roadway, and very much enjoyed the change of scenery from where I had been just an hour earlier at the Falls. The ground beneath my feet was a smooth red rock, with loose sand of the same color filling in elsewhere. Upon reaching the overlook itself I was quick to get my camera and tripod situated before exploring the area. The gorgeously vast view has probably become one of my new favorite places I've photographed to date.

I hung around for just over two hours photographing the sunset over the canyon. The shot I had in my head was one of the canyon itself, the sunset in the sky, and the headlight streaks of park visitors descending the squiggly Carmel Highway roads below. While the sunset wasn't spectacular in traditional fashion, there were a few brief moments of color in the sky shortly after the actual sunset time. I packed up and hiked out in the dark, the record-sized full moon curtained by thick cloud cover overhead. The 3 hour drive back to Vegas went quickly, and despite being exhausted I stayed up to look through the photos from the day before falling asleep. I'd never been to Zion before, but I can tell you that from the few hours I spent there, I look forward to going back someday soon.

I'll fly back to Boston on Friday night, and will turn my sights towards finalizing my gear situation for my Long Trail hike. It's hard to believe Santa and I begin hiking in just over a month.

​Onward & upward!

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I usually allow for 10% of my flights in any given year to have substantial delays, cancellations, etc. Out of 100,000+ miles of air travel annually, that gives me 8-10 flights to have severe issues with. Why it is that a two day cancellation had to surface during a personal trip, my first in who knows how many years, is something I'll never understand.

I spent Wednesday and Thursday packing, picking up a few things at West Marine, and studying for the American Sailing Association written exams that I'll be taking once I reach St. Vincent. After getting everything set yesterday, visiting the bank for cash and triple checking that I had packed all that was needed, I walked to my front door to await the arrival of a friend who would take me to Boston's Logan Airport. It was while I was standing at the door that JetBlue called to inform me that my BOS to JFK flight was cancelled due to weather, and that they had automatically rebooked me on a flight for Saturday, nearly 40 hours later. This did not sit well with me. 

Scrambling to find alternatives, seeing that my JFK flight to Barbados was still on time, I repacked my checked bag and carry on into one large carry on bag and headed out the door. As my friend drove to the airport I used my Delta iPhone app to book another flight, finalizing the purchase with air miles as we pulled up to the departures door. TSA PreCheck was closed, a huge surprise as I've never seen it closed at Logan before, so I begged and pleaded my way through the normal security line with 10 minutes to go before the boarding doors for my new flight to New York closed. Making it through security quickly thanks to the kind hearted other travelers who let me through, I rushed to the gate itself only to find out that that flight, too, was delayed due to weather. It took me only 43 minutes from flight cancellation phone call to walking back out of Logan after the valiant effort to get on another plane to New York. I never made the Barbados connection, which ironically didn't take off until well after midnight. Had I stayed at Logan and waited out the delayed Delta flight I would have made it to Barbados a few hours late, but would have missed my puddle jumper connection flight to St. Vincent.

After a few long phone calls to JetBlue this morning in an attempt to find other ways to Barbados, I'm taking a 0730 flight tomorrow which will get me to the island around 1500hrs. It cost $237 to book a one-way ticket on a different regional airline to get to St. Vincent, as the only flight remaining had one seat open, and leaves at 1600hrs tomorrow. I'll get to the marina where I had reserved a little oceanfront hotel room by dinner time, and in the end will hypothetically make it to where I need to be on time.

I'm frustrated over losing out on a few hundred dollars of non-refundable travel costs, but am most disappointed to have lost the two days of "me" time on an island I've never seen in a hemisphere and region of the world I've never been to before. Not that I'm a cocktail on the beach kind of guy but I had hoped for some relaxing sunset photo shoots with lazy palm trees and white sand, and especially some exploring on a lush green volcanic island. We'll see, maybe I'll find time to make it work.

That's all from me for now... I'll keep you updated once I actually reach my destination :)

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