Feel the Wild Read online

  FEEL THE WILD

  By Daniel Fox

  Contents

  INTRODUCTION

  ARTIST STATEMENT

  MY STORY

  A LITTLE SOMETHING MORE ABOUT TRAVELLING

  A LITTLE SOMETHING MORE ABOUT KAYAKING

  A LITTLE SOMETHING MORE ABOUT OUR CULTURE

  A LITTLE SOMETHING MORE ABOUT PHOTOGRAPHY

  JOURNAL

  CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN

  GETTING LOST

  CONNECTION

  WILDLIFE

  CURIOSITY

  EQUALITY

  THE POWER OF THE VOICE

  BILL OF NATURE

  WATER

  SEEING WHAT WE WANT TO SEE

  SYMBIOSIS

  TIME

  WAIT

  DISRUPTION

  ONE STEP AT A TIME

  CHANGE

  SEA CAVE

  RIVERS

  CHILDHOOD MEMORY

  STRIPPED

  BLISS

  S + S = C + P

  TENSION

  STRONGER

  TOMORROW

  SHADOWS

  INNER FIRE

  FIRE

  STARS

  BREATHING

  ALONE ISN’T LONELY

  YERBA MATÉ

  CONCLUSION

  WILD.ECO

  THANK YOU

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  stop

  relax

  listen

  breathe

  Self Portrait, Mendenhall Glacier, Alaska

  ISO 1000, 10mm, ƒ/3.5, 1/250s

  Introduction

  I am a professional photographer and a solo wilderness explorer. I am an artist who goes out into the wilderness for two to three weeks at a time. Wilderness is my studio. It is where I go to create – to photograph and write. But, most importantly, I go there to meet with my mentor and teacher, Nature.

  Since my childhood, Nature has always been a place of comfort and an endless source of inspiration. By opening myself and listening to it, I came to understand the value of life and death, and learned the dynamics of change and evolution. Nature guided me to discover who I am. It taught me about challenges and perseverance, about perspective and balance. Most importantly, it motivated me to become a better citizen of this planet, humble and spiritual.

  Through my experiences and observations, I have come to believe that Nature is more than a destination, more than a “place.” Nature is a mindset and a way of looking at the world. It is a set of values and principles upon which one chooses to live accordingly; a framework for personal transformation.

  It is an energy that can be deadly, strong, destructive, intimidating but also beautiful, relaxing, humbling, uplifting, motivating and inspiring. Beyond these things, it is resilient and a source of priceless insights. It teaches about connectedness, reciprocity, duality and the necessity for disruption and tension.

  Nature is life – life is Nature.

  All this time alone in the wilderness has led me to experience many epiphanies, moments where I felt the veil of mystery obscuring some of life’s most precious secrets had disappeared. I realized along the way these revelations appeared in a certain pattern, a certain formula that seemed to work as a calling card for these insights to sneak up into my mind and reward me with a “eureka” moment. This pattern I have observed has translated itself into one of my most powerful mantras: Stop, Breathe, Relax, Listen. These four words have helped me manage my way out of challenging and struggling situations. They have given me a way to connect with life, with the world and with others. By following them, I have come to understand who we are, individually and collectively, how we learn, grow and adapt. Through this book, I’m going to share with you how feeling the wild transformed me and how it changed the way I experience life.

  Artist Statement

  Dialogue and Introspection through Intimacy and Perspective

  I want to receive the shot. I don’t want to take it.

  I don’t want to be an observer but a participant.

  Dialogue

  Down to the smallest of elements, everything exists in relationship to something else. Nature has taught me that connectedness, reciprocity and symbiosis are dynamics that are at the foundation of life. From within these forces, we learn to communicate and value our differences. Whatever our background, whatever our beliefs, the dialogue is our tool to expand our horizons and find commonality. Through my work, I seek to create relationships, whether they are inward or outward. My images and stories are not meant to tell the full story; they are meant to start a dialogue.

  Introspection

  Within this dialogue, the way we perceive the world, the way we create our stories and the way we interact with others is a mirror to the way we see ourselves. Through my work, I seek to inspire introspection and awareness. The images and stories are guidelines that lead to a place where we can connect with our inner self. The simplicity and seeming emptiness found in nature has a powerful purpose: it creates a place for us; it is an invitation for symbiosis. We are part of Nature. We are Nature. Just like Nature is within us, it is us.

  Intimacy

  Photos are a manifestation of light. But beyond the light, beyond the photos, there is shadow. In the shadows we lose our sight but gain more intimate senses. Our hearing intensifies. Our sense of smell tunes in. Control gives way to intuition. Instead of reaching out and introducing ourselves, we become vulnerable and let the world in. From this vulnerability, intimacy sets in. Our connectedness deepens and our humanity heightens. Through my work, I seek to bridge an intimate place that is beyond the images and stories, where we can explore these places that celebrate life and our humanity.

  Perspective

  The stories we create have a complicated origin. We each have a unique perspective through which we interpret and process information. This lens stems from a combination of beliefs and personal and public experiences. We each see and experience differently. In some of my photos, I purposely take the context out so those perspectives are brought to the surface, forcing us to acknowledge the subjectivity of reality. Through my work, I seek to elucidate how something so clearly apparent can become something so interpretative. What is reality for one is an illusion for another.

  My Story

  My childhood memories are vague and distant, like glimpses of a movie played behind a smokescreen. When I look at photos from my past, my brain recognizes what they represent; it recognizes the places where they were taken, the people it sees. But beyond that, the images seem strange, disconnected and impersonal. I can’t seem to attach a feeling that ties me to that moment; I look at my younger self captured in a picture, a place in time I can confirm and remember, but I have no emotional memory of being there. I want to remember the specifics, but, for some reason, my past has become a timeline divided into themes, periods defined by an emotion that summarizes those years, thousands of memories put together, merged into a single block and stamped with a single word, an emotion that overrides all the others. Of those themes, the emotion that stands out is loneliness.

  My life was for a very long time filled with a feeling of loneliness. For decades, I didn’t know where I belonged. I was born in Levis, Quebec, but my parents moved around a lot when I was a child. By the age of 15, I didn’t have enough fingers to count all the different homes we had lived in. There are places I remember and places I don’t. Some left a deep imprint within my subconscious and others – well, my brain didn’t waste any memory cells on them. What I do know is th
at my most vivid recollections involve Nature.

  With every move, I had to leave behind whatever world I had been able to create with the limited time I had been given and focus on recreating a sense of belonging in new surroundings. Houses changed, friendships vanished as quickly as they were born, cities became backdrops for momentary plays. While the world around me was in constant motion, sweeping away any hint of foundation I was trying to build for myself, one place remained constant and offered me salvation, peace and a purpose: Nature. Everywhere we moved, there was always a local park, a forest where I could roam and get lost; trees I could climb, creeks I could explore, dirt I could dig. That loneliness that dominated my world was nowhere to be found the minute I stepped into the wilderness. There – in this world of silence – I found solace. I was alone, but I was connected. I felt part of something that was bigger than me. Within that silence, I found comfort; within those trees, I found a tribe that listened. Within Nature I found the family I was looking for, the structure of values and insights that would teach me about life, about what it is to be human and what it is like to live on this planet. That deep connectedness has never left me since. I carry it with me everywhere I go, wherever I find myself, whether I am alone or not.

  As a teen, I dreamed of sailing the oceans and studying whales. The ocean fascinated me. In fact, I applied to the University of British Columbia in Vancouver to study marine biology. But sometimes life has other ideas. Without being aware of it, we can travel a path that carries us in a different direction. As a child, without a care in the world, dreams are pure and innocent. As we grow up, we learn about responsibilities and obligations. Dreams that once felt big start to feel infantile and we soon conform with everybody else, relinquishing our grand plans. One day, we wake up and notice that we have lost our spark, our smile, our joie de vivre. We catch ourselves staring at a dog chasing its tail and realize that, deep inside, we are doing the same thing. Life just feels like an endless, futile race. When facing that moment, each of us must choose: continue along the paved road of emptiness, or head out into the bumpy unknown.

  When I faced that choice, I remember longing to feel like the happy little boy who used to roam the woods and the ocean shore. That child who found magic in simply climbing trees or digging in the dirt. I felt that my life had become empty. I was missing that deep sense of being connected. I was a ghost wandering without any purpose, a soul without any meaning, unrooted. What happened to that boy who loved and laughed, who sang without a care, who saw a world of possibilities and endless discoveries?

  After years of living in New York City, I was still trying to find my place, my tribe, my purpose. I worked in an office and performed a job I had no passion for. Day after day, I acted my way through the part, feeling as if I didn’t have enough to give to my work. And I didn’t. I wasn’t energized by my work; I was drained by it. Like a stabled wild horse, I wanted out. I needed to find that child again, to be alive once more. So I called it quits.

  I sold everything, bought a camera and persuaded some companies to help fund my equipment. I took out a world map, put my finger on New York and started moving south until I reached Patagonia. This land had been many things to many people. For Ferdinand Magellan and Francis Drake, it was the land of giants. For Charles Darwin, it was the place where his theory of evolution began to take shape. For French author and pioneering aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, his time in Argentina led him to write his first bestseller, Vol de Nuit (Night Flight), establishing him as a rising star. Writer Bruce Chatwin’s first book, In Patagonia, made him famous and revitalized the travel book industry. For me, this country is where I returned from the depths of unhappiness and reconnected with my true self. Patagonia is where my story began.

  I was standing on a beach at Punta Norte, on the Valdes Peninsula in the Chubut Province, a place famous for orcas beaching themselves to snatch young, careless sea lion pups. Looking out and watching black fins knifing the shallow waters, I unexpectedly started to feel like I was choking. I don’t know why. I can’t explain what happened to me. Instead of giving in to the anxiety of the moment, I gathered my wits and took a deep breath. I felt the south wind pushing its way into me. This cold air had travelled north from Antarctica, passed Tierra del Fuego, followed the rugged coast of Argentina and now settled into my lungs. And with this new breath of icy air came a release. It was as if I was taking my first breath. My lungs opened, like the petals of a flower stretching out to receive all the light around it. And I felt a sudden awareness, as if I was unexpectedly waking up after decades of hibernation.

  I started to write and take photos, so I could tell a story. A story about our relationship with Nature, about our relationship with the world and about our travels in this universe. My stories are about what it means to be human and the existential issues we struggle with. Our species loves to see the world within a structure we can explain, control and manipulate. When I am in the wilderness, the notion of human grandeur quickly disappears. My perspective changes. There is a moment when the world around me becomes mightier and greater, when the forces at play are revealed to me and my insignificance and vulnerability become obvious and unmistakable. This is when I find myself at ease.

  Together, as we journey through these words and photos, let’s stop, breathe, relax and listen to that wild place we all come from.

  Self Portrait, Big Island, Hawaii

  ISO 320, 17mm, ƒ/13, 1/250s

  Self Portrait, Ruby Beach, Washington State

  ISO 320, 10mm, ƒ/6.7, 1/1000s

  A Little Something More about Travelling

  The road is my home. It’s where I feel alive. It’s where I breathe and nourish myself. The road feeds my craving for discovery. Being on the road calms my restless mind, which is hungry for new experiences. My dreams are blank canvases that paint themselves as I move toward new destinations. I am like a river that needs movement to fill itself with oxygen. Let me dawdle in a pond and I start to suffocate. It’s not that I can’t stay in one place; it’s just that my energy vibrates to the rhythm of the unexpected and continuous change – endless journeys filled with discoveries.

  Self Portrait, Eden, Utah

  ISO 250, 11mm, ƒ/8, 1/1000s

  Self Portrait, Admiralty Island, Alaska

  ISO 320, 33mm, ƒ/11, 1/500s

  A Little Something More about Kayaking

  Kayaking is my intimate relationship with water. I feel vulnerable and at its mercy. Sitting in a boat, only millimetres of carbon and fibreglass keeping me dry and protected, I feel every ripple, every current and the slightest breeze. I am exposed to all elements – and they keep throwing my inferiority back at me. Whether I am paddling the fjords, exploring the surf, following the river or just riding the ocean swells, I am nothing but a tiny speck riding on the back of a giant – one that can’t be conquered and that forces me to adapt and prepare for the unexpected. A giant that reminds me of the control I don’t possess. For me, kayaking is a meditation on humility.

  A Little Something More about Our Culture

  In our modern technological culture, Nature has become something of a concept. It is a pretty picture we put on the wall or an animal we support with the click of a button online, projecting ourselves onto its evolutionary plight. Afraid of recognizing the animal within us, we have isolated ourselves in an artificial world that we rule. Focused on societal expansion, humans have built with little concern for the consequences. But in that existence we have separated ourselves from the magical, minimizing and rationalizing the immense magnitude of the universe. This way of life comes with a price: anxiety, guilt, loneliness and a general sense of emptiness. We see disruption as the enemy. Time and change are elements we try to defeat. Instead of embracing them and their power of discovery, we often try to eliminate them. Instead of inspiring and teaching each other to find the positive in what may feel like situations beyond our control, we propag
ate the message that life is unfair and someone else is to blame. Instead of seeing possibilities for growth and wisdom, we try to sanitize our lives, believing that every obstacle, every challenge, is a threat to our assumed rights to happiness. We are products of Nature. We are bound to it, dependent on it and are hungry for it. Not only is Nature our food source but it is also the source of our sanity. It is the Great Book of Life and within it are the guidelines for understanding ourselves and learning to live in a meaningful way. Above all, Nature reminds us of what matters most: love, compassion and caring for ourselves and all that surrounds us.

  Self Portrait, Kodiak Island, Alaska

  ISO 320, 20mm, ƒ/6.7, 1/1000s

  A Little Something More about Photography

  Growing up in the ’80s and ’90s, National Geographic magazine fed my imagination. It’s no wonder I mainly use the written word and photos to express myself and to share my observations.

  Photography has changed a lot since the days of film. Back then the craft was expensive and time-consuming. Every time you pressed the shutter, you were mindful of the outcome, both financially and in the amount of work it took. Scarcity was dominant. Film rolls contained at most 36 photos and the number of rolls you could or would want to carry was limited. Once the pictures were developed, you manually placed them, one by one with care, into an album with the intent of telling a story with a beginning, middle and an end. These visual stories were crafted with time and commitment. By actively participating in the creative process, and developing the narrative, people took ownership of the stories they told. There was a certain pride in opening an album and showing it to a friend or family member, and for them the experience was meaningful.