Osa Expedition

Finally the boats arrived and we managed to get on the road. With about 8 and a half hours of driving and 9 rivers to cross before we get there, it still doesn't quite feel like we've started, but at least now we know that the expedition will happen. We only have to do our time in the truck and we will soon be on Playa Carate pushing out into the waves. Before we arrive however, we will drive through much of the inner coastline of the Osa Peninsula, and through the cloud forests that don't just catch the moisture in the clouds but produce it. As we drive we can see puffs of cloud rising off of the trees, it's as if it's the breath of the forest. The land here is becoming alive!



Part I

We spent a night on the beach at Playa Carate, and set about getting geared up for the trip. All the while, the waves break heavily on the shore like the teeth of the ocean gnawing away at the land. Scarlet Macaw, Howler Monkeys, and Poison Dart frogs
keep us entertained, and we get to test our system as the tropical rain pours down almost dousing our camp fire, and threatening to drown us in our hammocks.

Finally, after dozens of unexpected set backs, our boats are packed, our hearts are racing, and the waves aren't letting up. We decide it's time to make a break for blue water, and one at a time, peel out into the rip tide, hoping against all hope that we will be swept into the blue and not catapulted back onto the beach in boats weighing upwards of 200 pounds full of gear.

I pull Jesse through the head high shore break to give him a head start and as he gets up to speed, he begins to break through the white wash from waves the just broke a few meters in front of his boat. My stomach begins to drop when I see what in surfing we call a "cleanup set"
forming in the distance. The set rises above the rest of the waves and charges the shoreline, it's obvious Jesse sees the set coming, because his arms have started pumping like cylinders in an engine to get him through the coming battle between man, boat, and the pacific. Two more meters and he would have risen gracefully over the wave, and he would have had a magnificent vantage point to look out to sea for more waves, but instead, the wave broke just in front of his boat, and the whitewash blew the sprayskirt right off of his boat. In a moment, his boat was full of water. When they get this way, they are almost impossible to control, like paddling a telephone pole through the water, there is no chance of turning. Perhaps, that is why Jesse didn't turn around and try to make it back to shore. With his boat now going through the waves instead of over them, Jesse managed to get into the blue water and begin to bail his boat. I'm obviously relieved, but I turn around and find that Izzi doesn't look so good. She is fair skinned, but she is now as white as a pearl. She doesn't hesitate, and gets in the boat, weakly commanding me to help pull her into the water.

In only a few meters, Izzi hits her first wave, her first wave ever actually. As it turns out, she's only sea kayaked once before, and that was in a harbor. I push her forward, hoping to save her some energy for when the big waves come. The rip tide as stopped going out, now it's coming in, the waves are steadily marching forward, and Izzi looks like she is towing an anchor. After a few minutes, she is still pushing forward only to be pushed back nearly to shore, and she's obviously getting tired. With the coming set, she gets turned sideways, and then inevitably, upside down.

I prepare myself for an angry or demoralized team mate, but as soon as the boat is empty of its water, Izzi is back in it. This time I tow her out until I can no longer stand and we wait there with me holding her boat for a break in the waves. In a mad dash, Izzi makes for the blue water, and cresting the peak of the last threatening wave, she now only has to worry about coming back in further up the beach.

Part II

We arrive at the first ranger station, only about 3 miles up the coast, and we have to check in with the rangers and pay the park fees. Coming to shore was easier than going out, and Izzi amazes us with a natural ability to side surf a kayak, never having done it before, still though in a comical collision, she and Jesse get tangled up in the shore break and both end up in the water trying drag their boats to shore. At the station, we hear that since nobody has ever done a trip like this in the Osa Peninsula, that it must not be allowed. So the ranger says that he is going to have to call the "director" to see if Sea Kayaks are allowed in the park. I doubt he ever called, but the word was that we would have to hike it. No boats. As he said this, we could see fishing boats motoring up the coast without so much as a glance from the rangers. We could get in the boats and paddle forward, and they would have most likely been unable to have done anything, but we decided that we would do our best to work with the park instead of against it. The only problem being that we are in no way set up for the 16 click hike that we have in front of us. Jesse has a drybag with shoulder straps, and a pair of shoes. Izzi and I are equipped only with our Hammocks and soft bottomed neoprene surf booties. The trips status as an expedition is waning the only thing we have left to call it that is our firm resolve to work through all of the obstacles that stand before us. So, we throw our gear in Hammocks, put our heads down and start walking.




Part III

There was once a time, when the sharks came up the Rio Sierpe in such great numbers, the locals say that you could have practically run across the river on their backs. Now, with sport fishing boats and longliners just past the breakers, it's no wonder we saw a mere 3 sharks the entire time we where at the river. I don't know much about the range of these sharks, but they are known to stay near this river mouth, and with no protection whatsoever, their numbers have dropped drastically. There is no enforcing of the law in Corcovado when it comes to fishing in the park, and the park only extends 500 meters out into the ocean. One of the locals of Playa Carate just told me about a battle that she and a few locals had against the powers that be who had planned to put a tuna farm at the mouth of the sierpe river where the ocean floor drops off to as deep as 2oo meters. I am not a biologist and I don't know the impact of putting a tuna farm in the area, but I do know that any time I've seen nature messed with, the only things that happen are bad.

Part IV
While sitting on shore and waiting for the bull sharks one evening, we saw a the back of a crocodile with all its serrated ridges moving up the coastline through the waves. It disappeared rather quickly, and our interest returned to looking for sharks. The river water was clear, and so as we stared into the depths, with my underwater camera at the ready, we felt confidant that we could not be snuck up on. With the light failing, I moved up river to photograph a few smaller crocodiles (2-3 meters) that where lounging in the shallows. Just upstream of Jesse and Izzi, a fully grown crocodile popped it's eyes through the surface of the water, obviously the one we had seen in the waves, and quite undetected by our vigilant eyes. Crocodiles most often attach from downstream is what we were told by Dr. Brady Barr, and this one had just swum up from downstream and passed within a few meters of us without ever even causing a ripple of concern from our team.

Preperation

I've come down to Costa Rica a few weeks early to get everything set up for the expedition. After working in Central America on a few previous trips, it is painfully obvious to me that even on a bare bones trip like this, things will come up, pieces of the puzzle will be missing, and nothing will happen like you plan it. At a certain point, it's always necessary to just take what you have and go for it. Like deciding which stroke is your last on a painting that has taken hours or days to complete, a certain point comes where whatever you do will only complicate things further. In a few days, Izzi's plane will land in Liberia, Costa Rica, and we will head south on our 8 hour drive to the Osa Peninsula where, with all the planning that has been put into this trip, plans will change and it will gain a mind of its own. These are the best kinds of trips. We have goals, but how we get there will be a fluid and entertaining process.

Corcovado Expedition

My Brother, my friend Tony a girl (who has yet to be decided) and I will be following up on my Cocos Island Project along by Kayaking around the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica, going through the Sierpe Reserve, Drake Bay, Isla Cano National Reserve, and Corcovado national park. The trip will be fully self supported, living mostly off of the land (coconuts and speared fish), and will take about a week of kayaking through mangroves, open ocean, and uninhabited coastline to complete.

The trip will be going through a number of ecological habitats known for sharks, Rio Seirpe and Rio Sirena are fresh water hunting grounds for inumerable Bull Sharks, and Isla Caño attracts some of the same schools of hammerheads that we documented off of Cocos Island. Isla Caño is only 10 miles from shore, and about 40 miles from some of the closer fishing villages, so I am anxious to see how much more affected it is by the fishermen than Cocos Island.

Our plan is to sleep in hammocks on the beach, eat coconuts and catch fish for food, all the while surfing what waves we can on the secluded coast line. This adventure is to be an example for other young people, by showing that adventure can have a purpose.

This expedition will be taking place the first week of January, and we will be covering it with HDV video, and High quality still imagery above and below sea level.

An Interview for Global Warming 101

Sharks

Here's a quick video to give you an Idea what it's like filming and shooting on Cocos Island. When you're lucky that is.

Preperation

A new generation of explorers has been invited to sit around the same table that has been Will Steger’s base of operations for over twenty years. The biggest difference between the planning of our expedition and those before us is the road that allowed our easy access to Wills cabin, far removed from the town of Ely Minnesota which itself is far removed from the city life that has become all to present in my life. It used to be that to get to wills cabin, skiing, dogsledding, or canoeing across the lakes was the only way in, and this is exactly how Will brought in the supplies to build his cabin.
Few buildings sidetrack my gaze as I scan the shoreline along Wills lake. Steam rises from the lake and a stairway descends almost directly into the water from Wills sauna. After letting the sauna wring the sweat from us, the cold water is as inviting as a tropical beach and for hours we trade off between hot and cold..
We are here because Will has chosen each of us to join his latest expedition. We are from around the world, and we all have different takes on life, but we come together for a single task. Through the Circumnavigation of Ellesmere Island in the high arctic, we will be bringing back first hand accounts detailing the effects of global warming. My job is to capture the many critical moments on camera and to bring home the imagery that will inspire people to take action.

Gili Air

It seemed more like a vacation, a month in Indonesia shooting surfing is nothing to complain about. I left the US again, but this time took a few extra weeks to just do some freelance work before the surfing shoot started. I found a small Island called Gili Air just off of North Western Lombok and took a transport out to the Island. With no motorized vehicles on the Island, I walked the extent of it over the three days that I was there. The Circumference was dotted with the occasional restaurant or hotel, (an expensive one being $5Us) But the interior was tranquil and untouched as the few tourists who visit never venture far from the turquoise waters and the local dive shop. Once beyond site of the beach, paths disappeared, and plots of land with little thatch huts started to pop up under the coconut trees. The people here work mostly as coconut farmers and are happy with their quiet lives. Soon I was to return to the dollar soaked tourist town of Kuta, Bali, and when in need of an escape, I only needed to imagine I was once again on Gili Air.

Bali Surfing

The colors are brighter, as they usually are in a dream. The water is bluer, and the horizon is rippling with steadily marching clones of the perfect wave. Through the ethereal water that moves more like a fog than an ocean, the corral is stretching toward my feet, and tiny jewel fish take refuge in the shade below my surfboard. In the dream, I’m riding a fluorescent green board, and wave after wave wraps around me, carrying me all the way to a beach covered in seashells and coral. It’s a dream that I struggle to keep myself from waking from. It’s the inevitable grumble of my fully awake stomach that finally rattles me out of bed.

I walk the quarter mile to the beach and check the swell with a fresh cup of coffee. The swell has risen, and although not the ribbed ocean from my dreams, waves twice my hight stretch to the distant horizon. Nobody is out, and I grab my board and run down the beach to the most manageable peak. With a quick stretch to wake up my muscles, I slip into the water, letting the rip tide drag me beyond the peaks quickly.

My first wave comes, and I turn to face the shore. Less than halfway into the wave, I get thrown in front, into the teeth of the ocean, where water gnaws away at a retreating shoreline. Thrown over myself again and again, I watch the light change directions around me, and try to keep track of which way is up. By the time it’s done, I am standing somewhere between where the sand is churned up in the wave and where it makes up the solid floor of the ocean, and this time, I’m not in the rip-tide, so the paddle out takes twice as long.

Again and again, I’m thrown into the churning white-water, and it seems impossible to get my board into the wave before it pitches over. Demoralized I head for the beach and with my head down, I walk back to my hotel to rinse of the salt and the memories.

That afternoon, I walk through Kuta, and stop into one of the back alley surf shops where other travelers have sold their boards desperate for cash or just demoralized like I was. There, sandwiched between a pair of old beat up boards, a sliver of fluorescent green catches my eye. Curiosity couldn’t possibly describe what I felt, but that is the closest word I can think of. I pull it off the shelf, and right there in front of me is the board from my dream. Hardly a pressure ding in it’s smooth glassy surface. And it’s cheap.

Before I know it, I’m standing up on a set wave, gliding over the coral and under the waves pitching teeth, caressed by the ocean. The colors are brighter, as they usually are in a dream. The water is bluer and the coral waves at me as I surf by, and in the half-speed world that comes around during these moments, the water moves more like a fog than an ocean.

An afternoon in Singapore

Greenish storm clouds roll off of the frothing ocean and collide with the Decrepit buildings of Singapore’s red light district. The sun as strong as it is, only just filters through the clouds enough to give an eerie glow to the buildings.