The 5 Rings

A couple of weeks ago, our family ventured to Belmont Plaza Pool in Long Beach, CA for a swim meet. Certain parts were largely the same as at any meet. An announcer calling out heat numbers, the smell of chlorine in the air (which I love), plus wet towels and lycra clad kids everywhere. The meet was open to anyone, so long as they met minimum qualifying times. Anyone also happened to include several Olympians with a passport stamp from Beijing including Katie Hoff, Jason Lezak and some guy named Michael Phelps. 

We generally have a rule with our daughters. No TV on a school night, which only gets broken for random select occasions including major national news events, ACC College Basketball and once every two years, the Olympics. For me, the timing of the Winter Olympics could not be more perfect. The volatile map of what these athletes have faced to become the worlds best is both staggering and inspiring. For nearly all of them, every waking and sleeping moment for the past several years has been dedicated by an opportunity of a few minutes. One by one, they each step forward and take their shot at destiny. 

Back at Belmont, my oldest daughter is called out of the stands by her coach, who walks her to meet and spend a few moments with his friend, Jason Lezak: the Savior of the Men's Relay in Beijing. Two years ago, Jason's moment with destiny came and he nailed it. Behind by a body length, he chased down one of the top swimmers in the world to touch first. The swimming equivalent of lifting a car above his head. Magic of the 5 Rings. My daughter returns to us floating above the ground because she has met royalty. Then there's Michael, the most celebrated olympic athlete on the planet, standing 30 feet from us wet from warm up. No entourage, no logos. As he takes his place to start, what strikes me is all the corporate sponsorship and PR hype is vacant. He's just a guy with no place to hide, no lip-sync track or second take parachute and 7 others gunning for his place as the best. 16 lung burning laps later, he proves he is yet again. 

That night my daughter writes on her bedroom wall "Push Hard to make JO's (junior olympics) and I just smile knowing it's the first of many notes to come. 

 Jason Lezak with my girls

Phelps after winning the 400 IM

Mark, the Master's Trail

Several weeks ago, my friend Mark quietly slipped away. His unlikely journey started before Christmas: a result of a motorcycle accident that injured his brain. He was 31. For 36 days, I was welcomed into his big, warm, faith based Clan of a family - to cry, to laugh, to talk, to Pray, to eat junk food... Walking through adversity naturally brings people together. Strange how life is deliciously alive while suffering heartache and loss. I have always loved the adage "it takes a village to raise a child" I can also attest to the comfort of a village during tragedy. I have to admit, I knew Mark in a very small slice of his life. We had backpacked together over the past couple of years. For a few hours a day, over several days and many miles of trail, we talked - especially this past year. Talked about marriage and how to work at it, raising kids, finding a path for life, for work, the struggles, frustrations and joys of it all. In between, he would fish... and this past summer, I photographed him doing so. Just two guys following what their heart's told them to do.  

Village: There's a ton of Lamberth's. Mark's family is big and full of boys.... add in wives, in-laws along with friends and one needed a program to keep everybody straight. For 36 days, nearly all were there. Staff updates with all of us were held in shifts because the conference room couldn't hold everyone. There was a Prayer blog and Flicker page started that had over 200,000 hits within a month (link). Mark worked at Mission Hospital in Orthopedics. Administration at Mission all but demanded him from the county hospital he was first taken to (they air lifted him two days later). 

Co-workers of both Mark and his wife Angie donated 100's of vacation hours allowing her to be there nonstop. The teddy bear from 3rd floor that Mark modified to help kids understand how a cast works. His boss, who insisted on being the official MD to shut the machines down. My small part came from pictures I had taken last year. Early on, I made several large prints for his room - to remind us all what we were working towards. Then the pictures became a window view of who he was, an experienced mountaineer who loved the High Sierra. Mark and Angie have a young son Nolan - who no doubt will hear 100's of tales (some of them tall) from his Mom and various Uncle's about who his father was. I'm glad to know a few of my images will be there to help.

Mark

I woke this morning to the sound of steady rain. Living here in Southern California, it's a welcome feeling. My mind wandered to the nearby hillsides that recently burned and how quickly from the ash, life will start to grow. My next thought was the nearby Sierra high country that Mark loves so much. There in the alpine air, winter has clearly arrived. Rain here means snow there - deep and pure white. Bears fat with berries and trees drunk with sunshine are settling in as the Mountain nods to sleep. All will be quiet now. 

The Mountain does not fear Winter. Warmth and Spring will once again come to melt the drifts, expose the rocks and fill the rivers with spectacular power. Then as before, the trail will lay waiting to guide Mark on his next adventure - and the Mountain will smile. 

Mark is a friend from Backpacking in the Sierra. He has a warm heart, a comfortable smile and an endless sense of adventure. First day out this year, we're about an hour into the hike on a dusty trail. I'm just settling into the weight and altitude - my mind is focused on the 10 miles and 2000 ft of elevation we plan that day. First river we get to, He yells "lets go swimming", drops his pack and boots and jumps in the icy flow clothes and all. Yes, I followed him in and it felt amazing. I was reminded at that moment that the destination is not ahead - it's right here. Unfortunately, Mark shared the lesson this week all over again. A significant accident has left him on the edge of life. My heart goes out to him, his wife Angie and their son Nolan.

Firehouse

Some of my earliest memories as a child revolve around a firehouse. My father was a volunteer fireman in the Virginia town we lived in at the time. Now the memories are fragments - helping to wash the truck, hanging hoses, riding in the 4th of July parade, and the amazingly loud sirens. There was lots of laughter and joy associated with the work and my father seemed to love it - which meant that I loved it too. A lesson I hold close to this day. I also learned process. There was a rule - if they had a run while I was there, I was to stand in a certain spot of the house until the trucks were safely away. One time, being a veteran now of I guess 5-6 years of age, a call came and I stood where I knew I was safe - but it wasn't the spot. At the last second I hedged and ran to the spot, right in front of a truck about to pull out. I still remember that lecture when they returned. Couple of years later, we moved to California so my father could go to work in a family business. He still has his Helmet hanging on the wall of his office. It's funny what triggers memories. Recently, Southern California had another round of fires in the open scrub lands surrounding paradise. This time, it was fairly close to us and took a number of homes with it. Just about everyone in our circle of friends knows someone who lost. My parents house was close and my Sister-in-Laws house was within a block. The immediacy and randomness of it all can only be considered after. Through a connection and a favor, I was able to get access to the burned area before people were allowed to return. I stood in what was the living room of a home. Although the house was missing, the front lawn was fine. Power poles were being replaced as the bases were gone - they were hanging from the wires at top. Walking in the hills felt like winter as the ash crunched under foot like 6 inches of snow. Snow on the moon.

Rea Lakes Snap Shots

Rea Lakes Loop

My feet are still a bit swollen, my calves ache and the few clothes I took my wife thinks should be burned rather than washed. I just returned from backpacking the Rea Lakes loop in the California High Sierras. Here's the overview: 5 days, 45 miles, climbed 6,500 ft. to Glen Pass listed at 11,978 ft (let's just call it 12,000) and back. Rain one evening, Bear with his nose in one of our tents, Snow covering the trail near the pass and two days on the John Muir Trail. It was fun. As you're reading this, you're probably thinking one of two things. Wow - that's cool, I would love to do that. OR Are you freaking nuts! why would anyone want to hurt and be that uncomfortable by choice. Honestly, depending on the moment, I agree with you both - but I can't wait to do it again. The trip seems to be two parallel experiences at once. First is with the landscape - which dominates everything and constantly reminds that you're the visitor. The scale is so huge that at times it almost seems fake, then the boys catch another trout or you see a deer 30 feet away and it brings you back. The second track is the personal challenge of can I do this... I'm cold, I'm hot. Are we there yet? my lungs feel like they're going to pop out of my chest. What I love about shooting on location is exceptionally true here as well: things are changing all the time. How you adjust to change makes the difference. There's something very satisfying knowing that your completely self contained. Every bit of food, shelter, and creature comforts is on my back. Do I really need this? gets asked of every single object. My camp towel folds to become a pot holder at dinner and then becomes my pillow at night. I made up my own concoctions of dehydrated chicken, couscous, vegetables and spices. If the mantra of most restaurants is location, location, location: then dinning at sunset by a campfire with my polycarbonate spork, surrounded by granite peaks makes this a five star event. I even squirreled a single bar of extra dark chocolate and a tiny 4oz flask of Tequila to ease the evening chills. This is my second trip with the Lamberth clan. My buddy Tim, his three nephews and young Chance (Tim's son) is 10 years old and going into the 5th Grade. Before you call Child Services, you should know that last year Chance did 52 miles with us and this year he was the first back to the Ranger Station. Imagine what he'll be able to do when he's 20. For brothers Matt and Mark, this was a fishing trip - with a lot a hiking in between. As a result, they became the focus of many of my images. David provides the comic relief and overall boyish humor that is really necessary to keep it all in prospective. Couple of quick plugs: Found a terrific resource for dehydrated food - wildernessdining.com that had many great options including a Gluten-free section, which we need for Tim. Also, met a number of nice people on trail including Jim McCrain - who has traveled the world, is a filmmaker, and is working on a 7 year documentary of the John Muir Trail. To check out his project go to theclimb.com More pictures from this trip can be seen at my website smontgomery.com

Trev's coffee tip

Lately, my Mom has been pretty sick - which among other things has brought my brother Trevor down from San Francisco for several extended stays. It's been great to hang out with him again and share thoughts and love. Among his life's passions is coffee which he holds as one of the purest expressions of humanity (when done right). It's safe to say, he's an expert. He lives in North Beach (SF's Little Italy) just above Cafe Trieste where he once worked as a barista and still visits daily. He once told me an older Italian customer would not accept his espresso because he did not make it with a pure heart - his feelings created bitterness in the shot. If I remember correctly, many months went by before the old man would drink his efforts. Today's entry comes from Trev - it's on blooming coffee if you are using a drip maker. Basically, dry grounds do not always get covered evenly by hot water (the edge gets less than the center) and why cone shaped filters often work better. Pre-moisten the grounds just a little bit, and then let them sit for 30 seconds or so before you start the maker - it allows for all the grounds to hydrate and settle. Less air, more even hot water contact = more flavor. Does this make for a religious coffee experience - no, just a better cup than would be without. The next time your in the City, I encourage you to stop by Trieste and have a real cup. If you see a really tall skinny guy with long fingers and flip flops - it's probably Trevor. Tell him I said Hi.