To me, Nature is God. Without it, we simply would not exist. Conserving the world’s natural spaces and the creatures that live there is paramount to the survival of humans as a species, and I have therefore dedicated my life to studying environmentalism in order to help people co-exist more successfully and sustainably with the natural world.
All natural materials I use in my creations are either sourced from roadkill, Fish and Game, secondhand sources such as fellow artists and estate sales, or are antique. In this way, I'm ensuring that no animals were needlessly killed for the sake of the artwork I produce. I fully believe that no part of any creature should go to waste if a purpose can be found for it, but I do NOT support trophy hunters or overseas fur farms by buying 'byproducts' like bones, skulls, or claws directly from them. The only exception I make for this rule is for parts from animals legally culled for population control programs approved by Fish and Wildlife.
As a photographer and wildlife enthusiast, I've been involved with many fantastic organizations such as Images4Life and Wild Tiger, as well as the Sierra Club and many smaller, local groups.
I've been published, interviewed, and even featured on Rainn Wilson (Dwight from “The Office”)'s personal networking website, SoulPancake.com.
I’ve also been blessed with the opportunity to visit many of the world’s most amazing wild places, like Komodo Island, Bali, Lombok, Malaysia, and the Cayman Islands, and have even documented entirely new species previously unknown to science.
Other interests include: Wilderness survival, primitive skills, backpacking, fishing, kayaking, boffing, airsoft, snowboarding, meandering around town, and caving.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
Take me here.
Kongsvinger Forest - Norway
(Source: observando)
This photo reminds me of the time at wilderness survival training when we were hiking through a gorge carved out by an annual creek. The creek was dried out and the ground was rocky underfoot, but, being devoid of plant-life, we used it to speed up our progress in the ascent toward Jenny’s Peak.
At one point, the creek had reached a flatter area of land and swept outward to form a pond. In the middle of the dried and cracked mud where the pond used to be was the bleached white rib-cage of a cow which had wandered too far from the herd. It poked up through the ground like dead sage. A shoulder blade, chewed on by porcupines and other rodents seeking calcium, lay a few feet away. All the rest of the bones were scattered about nearby.
The cow’s whole skeleton could more or less by accounted for, except for one thing - the skull. It was nowhere to be found.
We stopped for lunch there, and my friend Otter and I looked for it, but we couldn’t find anything at all. It was as if it had been scooped up and carted away.
It obviously hadn’t been taken by a person, since we were on private land, barred from the general public - not that the general public would have been able to able to reach our current location anyhow, seeing as there were no trails here. Even our group leaders admitted that they’d never attempted to reach Jenny’s peak by this direction before. We were treading on ground which probably hadn’t been seen by the eyes of any human for decades. And still, the skull was missing. So we chalked it up to coyotes, then continued on the way.
I lead this time, and kept a slightly faster pace than the previous leader. Before long, we found ourselves about waist-level with the ground around us due to the depth of the creek bed we were walking in. At that point, I stopped to examine the scenery and take a drink from my canteen. And that’s when I spotted the skull, hanging from a branch almost directly overhead about fifteen feet above the forest floor. It looked even taller from where I was standing, and my mouth hung open in astonishment as I pointed it out to Otter. She gave me a look that read, “What the hell…?” and soon, everyone in the group was staring.
“Well, that’s gotta be about the strangest thing I’ve seen out here in a long time,” one of the leaders mused. Then, he shrugged, capped his water canister, and took the lead, drawing us away from the scene. I still have NO idea how the skull got up there.
A person, even if they did manage sneak onto the property and find this place, would not risk climbing fifteen feet up a lodgepole pine just to hang a skull up there where no one would ever see it. I considered that maybe a mountain lion had grabbed hold of the skull while there was still flesh on it, to drag it up the tree like a leopard to eat in safety. But in addition to being no thick branches on the tree which could support a large cat, I’d never heard of this behavior in cougars before. Besides, the skull looked to have been placed very deliberately. I found it most uncanny.
And yet, things like this happen all the time in the woods. Things you can’t explain, which make your mind roil in an attempt to find explanation. So, like our guide, all I could really do here was shrug and continue on…
(Source: morgondagg)
Just keep dancing!
jeremy hush in progress. this one particularly kills me. would be a great tattoo !
This prettymuch sums up last night’s dream…
(Source: nogodtojudgeme)
My newly-created ‘blonde’ wolf headdress which Casey photographed at the Living Enrichment Center. This one will not be for sale, but I have another which is similar to it that will be. You’ll be able to find it on Etsy here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/NaturePunk
On a side note, I feel the need to stress the fact that this wolf was not killed by me, nor was it purchased from anyone who did. It was deemed unsuitable for taxidermy and would otherwise have been sold on the fur market to be made into coats.
Take me with you!
I need this because of reasons.
(Source: newyorkisking)
Re-blogging (again) because original poster didn’t credit me.
I once found a boy in one of the forts I’d built along the riverside. He ran when he saw me, and I thought little of it until I walked to the store later that day and spotted his picture on a missing person’s poster. He was labeled “Endangered Missing Youth” so I called the number about his whereabouts.
Later that night, I saw online that his status on the missing person’s website for Oregon had been updated to “found”. I have no idea why the kid had run away, but it was apparent to me that his attempt at surviving in the woods was not going to work out.
I used to run away a lot when I was his age. But I also took courses in wilderness survival, and practiced my skills as often as I could.
Really, I think that it’s an important thing for humans to know - if ever we end up in a survival situation brought about by war, nuclear attack, or a zombie apocalypse, those people with survival skills will surely be the ones repopulating the earth. Maybe that’s why I find outdoorsy guys sexy.
On Running Through the Woods…
The thick, flat blades of grass stood as high as my waist, so that I had to wade through the field as if it were a pool of water. The swaying stalks tickled my bare ribs, tugged on the fibers of my cargo pants, and made an honest effort to bar me from my destination, but my movements were too practiced - I knew how to lay my leading foot sideways, pushing hard as I strode forward so as to bend the stalks of the grass before me. Travel was slow but steady.
At last, I made it to the edge of the field near the stream and hurried across the footpath so as not to be seen. I had blazed my own trails here, and since I was shirtless, crossing the ones used by birdwatchers and dog-walkers was a bit risky. It was only a matter of seconds before I was safely concealed again within the thickness of the trees and shrubs.
I hurried over and under the branches, making my way toward the rocky outcropping beside the creek where the water grew deeper and the ground underfoot grew moist and swampy. Even in the summer heat, my private island in the marsh was completely surrounded by water and was therefore safe from those who did not know how to access it.
The logs which I had arranged as a makeshift bridge were still there, undisturbed, and as I emerged from the trees to cross it, a heron took notice of my presence and flew away with an indignant “AWK!”
I smiled to myself and scrambled up the bank of the island, which rose from the swamp like a dewdrop on a leaf. It had about the same shape to it, too, and aside from the few trees overlooking the largest portion of the marsh, it was covered only in tall green grass.
The tallest tree in the aforementioned grove on the island was about four stories high - a sturdy Pacific Coast alder. I hauled myself easily up into the branches and sat with my back against the trunk of it, one leg stretched out before me on the branch stemming out from the tree, and braced the other on a different branch nearby. There, I closed my eyes and began to meditate.
At only 17 years old, that task was harder than it seemed. Looking back now, I envy the physical prowess I had just a few years ago, but the trade I made for that was the ability to meditate with far more focus and understanding.
More than anything, I managed to let my thoughts wander back to the events which were stressing me out in life at the time. But then the sound of a meadowlark or a red-winged blackbird would bring me back to the moment, and I remembered that I was free from all of that, because this was my moment. Sitting there in that tree in the sun, half-naked and proud, overlooking the beautiful Oregon marshland, I didn’t have a care in the world.
I could sit there for hours, but I usually didn’t. I would put my bra and shirt back on so that I could run as fast as I could along the trails, as if sitting still in that tree had made me restless to move, and I was now attempting to release all the pent-up energy. In reality, the exercise was, in itself, a further form of meditation, and it was how I taught myself to run through the woods - a skill which I had honed so diligently that I was once mistaken for a deer and was shot at with a pellet gun.
Running in the woods is hardly the same as running on pavement or a track. There are dramatic drops and rises in the trails, and rocks and roots and logs to bar your way. You must be able to take in what lies before you and make the split-second decision on how you will react. It makes your brain work faster, your muscles work harder, and, somehow, it seems to bring you closer to Nature.
I was aware that some part of me felt as though the ability to maneuver quickly and proficiently through the forest was just as vital to my survival as the practices of fort-building, tree-climbing, and fire-making; thus, it was something I spent a lot of time on.
Nearly four years later, I have still maintained my skills of running in the forest, though I’m not as in-shape as I was back then. In college in Ashland, I would practice along the trails on my way to play my flute, or to visit the Owl Man. And when Brown Bear came to visit me, he had a hard time keeping pace despite his greatly superior strength. I think that it impressed him, though I assume by the looks I sometimes get from hapless joggers who pass me on my runs that I appear pretty ridiculous with my low posture and manner of scrambling over boulders with assistance from all four limbs. Nevertheless, I manage to pass them on the trails going to my destination and, oftentimes, on the way back, too. So I’m not complaining. :)
In the summertime, we used to spend days on end in the forests away from home, skinny-dipping and building forts like feral children. We snuck out at night and ran through the neighbor’s sprinklers buck naked, and ran when the cops showed up. It was bliss.
I know now that those moments in the woods, covered in dirt and sweat, smelling like bonfire smoke and pine needles, are what defined me - more so than any prom, college house party, or dance club ever could.
(Source: pagans-path)
