This post has been inspired by the numerous text messages, e-mails, and social media PM’s from friends of mine wanting to see the trophy that was collected on Saturday night in Las Vegas, NV.  Super-sorry to have to disappoint you.

But, I can tell you what happened.  And what it felt like.

Coming home empty-handed from Las Vegas is not an uncommon occurrence.  It’s probably fair to say that it happens to most of us.  It happens to the best of us.  You gotta expect it, almost.  Even if you’re relatively lucky.  That’s just the chance you take. You shake your dice, give ’em a kiss for good luck, and let ’em roll.  Sometimes it plays out in your favor, and most of the time, it just doesn’t.  Still, you’ve had a beautifully fun time giving it a shot.  Hopefully.

In this case, though, coming home empty-handed was not what I expected.  Not even remotely.  Hadn’t even crossed my mind.  This was supposed to have been a sure thing.  Kind of makes me chuckle.  A little.  Ahhhhhh, Vegas.

The pool area at Caesar’s Palace. Pretty cool.

A little over a month ago, I had received an e-mail from the American Advertising Federation (AAF,) stating that a photography series I had created last year for Seneca Park Zoo Society‘s big fundraising gala, Zoobilation 2014, had been selected from a massive field of entries, to receive an AAF National American Advertising Award.  Sweet! Unbelievable!  Awesome!  (They don’t tell you, see, whether it’s a Gold or Silver Award.)  That would be revealed at the June 13 awards ceremony, held at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas.  So, long story short, before I know it, I’m on a plane bound for Sin City, and looking forward to meeting up with my good buddy, Joe Mayernik, whom had flown out the previous day to attend #Admerica15 and tend to his duties as one of the members of the National Advertising Awards Committee.

The view of the neighbor’s place, The Bellagio, from our room on the 38th floor of Caesar’s Palace.

The work for Zoobilation 2014 – A Night to Shine had been done in collaboration with art director, Rachel Spence, who developed the concept and theme for the entire campaign, and writer, Brian Rapp, who provided the headlines and copy.  Both Rachel and Brian are key players at Roberts Communications in Rochester, NY.  Rachel had given me a really good, strong idea and direction to follow with the photography, and though we struggled a bit with creating the images at times, it all came together nicely in the end.  It really didn’t feel right to me that I was heading to Vegas on my own to receive the Addy Award.  The project had been a big team effort all along.

The Zoobilation 2014 photography campaign, as it hangs outside the Palace Ballroom, among the other winning entries.

Poor Joe hadn’t been very lucky on his outbound journey.  Thunderstorms and other difficulties created enough of a mess that day, that he wound up having to sleep in the terminal at O’Hare that night, and get out to Vegas early the next morning. Along with Joe’s National Awards Committee responsibilities, he was part of a panel of judges that would be analyzing entries in a student competition for public-service announcements.  One little kicker – Joe’s luggage didn’t arrive with him.  So, off to Caesar’s he goes, rolls into the judging, probably a bit disheveled and not-so-fresh – Hours before he’s able to even check into our room and wash the Terminal 1 grime off his face.  Ugh.

Heading down from the 38th floor to the Casino level on our way to the big event.  Yeah, the guys watching the elevator security cameras probably got a chuckle out of this.  That, or they’re just numb to it all by now.

As soon as my flight was wheels-down on the runway, I had a series of texts from him, describing the situation, and any chance I might see if I could get his luggage before leaving the airport.  He’d sent along photos of himself holding his baggage-claim tags, so once I had my own checked-bag in hand, I made it back through the sea of carousels in Terminal 1, went outside and hopped a shuttle to Terminal 3, where his bags were hopefully sitting in the United Airlines office.  Little bit of sweet-talkin’, and show the attendant the picture Joe had sent, and next thing I know, the very nice woman from United was helping me load the bags onto a luggage cart, for ease of transportation.  Sweet!  I responded to Joe’s earlier string of text messages with a picture of our bags all piled up together on that cart.  Needless to say, he was very, very happy about that.

Winning an AAF National American Advertising Award is, to me, quite a tremendous honor.  It means that work that you’ve created during the previous year has been judged (in this case by a panel of creative, heavy-hitters in NYC,) and has won an Addy Award at the local (Rochester, NY) level, among a very strong field of entries, which then makes it eligible to be forwarded to the regional level, (AAF District 2,) to be judged again by a second group of people, and if an award is won there, the work can then move on to the AAF Nationals for another judging.  This year, in March, our Zoobilation 2014 project had an incredibly overwhelming evening of recognition at our own 2015 RAF Advertising Awards – Winners, and had gone on to claim a Gold AAF Addy and two Silver AAF Addy Awards at the District 2 competition.

The gathering in the Palace Ballroom at Caesar’s Palace on Saturday night, for the 2015 AAF National Addy Awards ceremony.

Sitting in the Palace Ballroom at Caesar’s on Saturday night, at the awards show, I had mixed feelings.  Oh, I was so thrilled to be there, and especially to know that our work had been recognized at that level!  It’s a very different vibe, though, from our own local awards gala.  I suppose that most of it is that when you’re on your home turf, you’re in a room of 400 or 500 people, most of whom are friends and acquaintances.  You’re pulling for each other.  It’s so much fun, and there’s such great energy coming from that group of people, and they’re celebrating right along with you.  On Saturday night, I was sitting there alongside Joe, and a handful of friends that he’d introduced me to on Thursday evening.  The whole thing was, surprisingly, pretty low-key.  I was trying hard not to get my hopes up that my award might be a Gold one.  That’s not the easiest thing to do.  Still, there’s a chance.  Hey – we’re in Vegas, after all, and the night is young.

It was either in the second or third block (I honestly can’t remember which,) of the Gold Addy presentations that the Zoobilation 2014 photography was projected on the big screen above the stage.  Holy smokes!  I could hardly believe it! Again!  It stirs up the emotions inside every time.  I got a little choked up.  Joe and my new friends were hooting and cheering loudly, while scattered golf-claps emanated from across the room.  I think I was just sitting there, taking it all in and shaking my head in disbelief.  Again!  Felt pretty fantastic!  (Golf-claps fade out.)

Celebrating at Mesa Grill on the Casino level of Caesar’s. (l to r,) Liza, Nicole, me, Adrienne, and Jenn. (Not seen here – Matt and Joe. Sorry, guys.)

When the time came to make the walk to the stage and be presented with the trophy, I rose, buttoned my jacket, and made my way past the awkwardly-retracted legs of Joe, (who has long ones,) Adrienne, Matt, Jenn, and Liza.  Now, walk yourself up there, and don’t trip on the carpet in front of all these people.  Up the steps to the stage, and a firm handshake from Mr. James Datri, AAF President and CEO, who said to me, “Hey, nice to see you again this evening,” (we had taken the same elevator to the Casino floor earlier,) and then, the trophy was handed to me.  Turn this way, please, pose for a photograph with James, another handshake and a “Thank you so much, Sir!” and back down the stairs and toward my seat among the crowd.

“Grant.”  “Grant!”  “GRANT!”  Someone behind me was calling my name.  I turned around to see one of the women from AAF beckoning me back toward the stage.  “I need to get that trophy back from you, please.  We’ll send yours to you in a couple weeks.  Okay?  Thank you very much.”

More golf-claps from around the room.

Rats.

Unfortunately, in the excitement of the evening itself, I wasn’t able to – well, none of the winners were able to snap a picture of their award and get it into their social media feed amid hashtags for the event and the host organizations involved.  We didn’t get to clunk that sucker down emphatically onto the bar at Mesa Grill before ordering a round of fifteen-dollar margaritas at the end of the night.  We didn’t get to see if a Gold National Addy Award would get us into the High-Rollers room at Bellagio.  I just sat there in my seat and watched the other winners accept their awards, only to be very politely relieved of them a moment later.  I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed the process earlier on.  From what I could gather, two trophies must have been in play all night long, presumably – repeatedly shined-up backstage with a soft cloth, and handed off to the woman that brought them out to James for recycling to the next winner.  Oh, well.  I didn’t have that much room in my luggage, anyhow.

Rats.

So, for now, all I can provide is an FPO.  (In our industry lingo, that’s “For Position Only.”)  A low-resolution, un-retouched placeholder that we can work with until the real thing shows up.  Have a look at this for a minute go ahead and click the picture to enlarge it.  If you squint your eyes a little, THAT’s kinda what it looked like.  Pick up a foot-long piece of pressure-treated 4×4 wood post.  That’s about what it felt like.  Up on that stage on Saturday night, though, it felt like that, but better!  The lower three-quarters or so is brushed, gold-anodized aluminum, and the top quarter is a gleaming cube of etched lucite.  Man, the thing had some real heft to it, too!  Solid!  It was a gorgeous trophy to see, and it felt great to hold. Even if it was only for a moment or two.

The FPO 2015 American Advertising Gold Award. This will be in a place of honor on a shelf in my office, until the real thing arrives in the mail.

We still had our margaritas at Mesa Grill.

Vegas was really, really good to us, but man, it sure feels great to be home.

The post Sin City Gold appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

The blustery scene and biting, below-zero temperatures just now outside stand in stark, nasty contrast to the days last spring, when this body of work was created, and though I’m only separated from those Arctic-legit conditions by mere feet, the confines of my office stand as a warm, sound and cozy outpost in this barren tundra of Caledonia, NY.

Taken during a time-lapse photography session while camping in Idaho, this image was chosen for the opening spread of Camp Sight.

Part of me would like to pretend that the conditions outside require me to hunker down here for days on end, in this remote cabin, waiting for the weather to pass, surviving on the supply of venison we have stocked, and maybe some decent wine, and having to do my work by a good fire, and the light of an banged-up, old, hissing Coleman lantern.  The reality, though, is that I’ve got a quietly-glowing electric heater keeping my office warm, and need to leave shortly to bring my girlfriend’s daughter to her volleyball practice.  So much for wilderness solitude.  I suppose my short-lived daydream is driven by the state of mind that camping can bring, and a part of me is longing for the days when I used to do more of it.

The idea of getting away to enjoy time outdoors, leaving behind the responsibilities and pressures of work and our daily lives, unplugging from our electric umbilicals, and simply allowing ourselves to relax and breathe fresh air, is such an incredibly appealing one.  A bit elusive at the moment, perhaps, but the sentiment is there for me today, and I’m seeing this wintertime inspiration as an opportunity to plan ahead – to put that early-season camping trip on the calendar and just get out there before the lawn-mowing and garden-weeding days of summer take over.  Difficult to imagine today, but those humid, pickle-making summer afternoons will be here before we know it.

As a creative professional, one of the most important things I’ve always tried to do (for the good of my soul and sanity,) has been to carve-out time for personal work, especially when done in collaboration with good friends whose talents complement each other very nicely.  While not what I’d consider strictly “personal work,” the photography assignments I’ve had for Post, a fine, Rochester, New York – based magazine, have allowed me to do some much needed “creative-core therapy” on several different occasions – stuff that’s right in my wheelhouse, and some of what makes me tick.  In this case, the camping-related images were made to help illustrate a beautifully written Post magazine article titled Camp Sight, that was published in the July / August issue of 2014.

Written by Matt Smythe, and with layout and design by Rachel Spence, the article, through it’s storytelling, imagery and design, conveys the wonderful essence of camping and the importance of time spent in nature, of slowing down and recharging the soul, while offering its readers ideas and information sources to help those inspired to get off the couch and hit the great outdoors.

Following the direction of the story Matt had written – part of it inspired by some of our experiences camping together out west, the three of us talked about what we each thought were important points to communicate visually, and how to do that.  I did a little sketching-out of some of my ideas – the pictures I was forming in my mind, and began placing phone calls to a few friends, who would end up being my subjects for the photographs.

The deadlines that were being driven by the magazine’s production schedule were suggesting that I needed to get cracking and start executing the photography in late April – not exactly prime-time for creating imagery that revolves around what would normally be a heart-of-summer type of activity for most.  Trees were only beginning to bud at that point, and part of my creative thought-process was whether the lack of much greenery would detract from the emotional response we were hoping to achieve.  After a short bit, though, those thoughts had to be tossed aside, and the camera simply needed to be picked up and put to work.

We wound up arranging five different photography sessions during a couple of weeks straddling April and May.  The first three focused on the human element – people enjoying the outdoors through camping-related activities sort of thing.  Again, because of deadlines and everyone’s real-life schedules and responsibilities, we didn’t really have the luxury of actually getting out to go camping together on a long weekend.  For the most-part, I needed to get things done in the comforts of our own back yard.

Tents were set up out back on a couple occasions, sleeping bags were hauled-out of their storage totes in the basement, firewood and blankets were arranged just-so, and grocery-store trips for hot dogs and marshmallows were made in preparation for the photo-shoots.  In-between photography sessions, I found myself re-reading Matt’s manuscript to more fully absorb the message and soul of it, and Rachel was letting me know when I wasn’t hitting the nail on the head with the photographs – keeping me visually on-track.  The project turned out to be a great excuse for us to gather up some close friends, spend some time around a few campfires, get the kids all together to roast-up some Zwiegle’s hot dogs outside, and just enjoy being out in the fresh, spring air.  After having been pretty well cooped-up during the winter months, it was just what we needed to cure the cabin fever that we’d been plagued with.

Written by Matt Smythe, the Camp Sight story began with a handwritten journal entry that was inspired by our time spent camping in Idaho.

Today might just offer some of that same relief for me.  The sun is out, the temperature is in the low twenties, and we’ve got at least a short break from the extreme-cold days that were present when I began writing this post.  Looks like a good afternoon to put the snowshoes on and explore the trails for a while, and try to soak up a little bit of winter sun before hitting a busy work week, and the returning cold.

Camera:  Canon EOS 5D Mark3

The post On Campfires and Coleman Fuel – Photography for Post appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

A near-full moon rising over The Owyhee, while Rebecca and Matt get after some rising browns.

September has long passed.  The seven-degree air and new-fallen snow on the boughs of the backyard fir trees seems so far removed from the dry heat of the desert canyons we camped in just a few months ago.  Those canyon-river days are just below the surface, though, and if I close my eyes against the winter scene outside, I can be back there in just a few short moments.

Colby at home on the South Fork one evening, with a moose in the shadows of the riverbank downstream.  This is Idaho.

It has been incredibly interesting and inspiring to witness the evolution of this film project that began taking shape on great trout waters in southeast Oregon in September of 2011.  Not long after our return back home from that first trip out west, came the realization that there was an important story to be told, and after a couple of phone calls between here and Kansas, a few Friday lunch meetings over bacon cheeseburgers and cold beer, Matt Smythe and I suddenly found ourselves flying out to Kansas to get the ball rolling.    We had made the trip to connect and work with the lads from Rockhouse Motion (Matt White and Dustin Lutt.)  In doing so, the heartbeat of A Deliberate Life had begun to thump.

Matt and Dustin, of Rockhouse Motion, conferring while framing up a scene on The Owyhee

The intent of this initial excursion to Kansas was twofold, really.  While a collaboration of this sort had been the topic of discussion for a short while, the four of us were still just getting to know each other, learning how to work together for the first time.  We also needed to create a promotional video that would serve as a statement of intent for the larger film project, and that could aid us in drawing some support and sponsorship to move forward with.  The resulting video was a four-minute piece that was filmed with a RED Epic and Canon DSLR’s, edited and finalized in a little over two days.  Click here to watch the video.  (It was during this trip, also, that Silo4 was formed – the name we’ve given to the collaboration of creative minds responsible for A Deliberate Life, but also one that will continue to live, and be a platform through which Matt and I can tell great stories and create cool stuff with other similarly-minded people.)

Rebecca on the Henry’s Fork during a morning session.

September 2012 found us heading back to those same waters we had been on twelve months prior.  This time, though we had new friends along, and had a greater purpose – beginning to capture the story and imagery that would eventually become the final film and its trailers.  Matt and I had flown across the country to Boise, Idaho, and were met at the airport by Matt White, Dustin Lutt, and Bryan Keeler, who had made the trip from Kansas and South Dakota, arriving just ahead of us.  From there, we headed into town and connected with our friends, Rebecca Garlock and Robert Nelson, with whom we’d begin our journey.  After gathering up our gear and taking on a few days worth of supplies, we headed west into Oregon.

The Coleman 8-Person Instant Tents we were provided with really did set up in one minute, and proved to be perfect shelters for our expedition!.

Robert exhibited great prowess in keeping us all well nourished with his camp-cooking talents.  I think we were all wishing he’d be along for the whole trip.  We had been really nicely outfitted by Coleman Camping Gear, with tents, sleeping bags, folding chairs, headlamps, flashlights, lanterns – enough stuff to very comfortably allow nine people to stay on the rivers and film for ten days time.  I really can’t say enough about what that kind of support meant to our project.  A handful of other important backers had come on board very early on, too.  Kast Gear, Thomas & Thomas, Howler Bros., SmithFly, Rio, Loon Outdoors, Fly Fusion, Brower Moffitt – all pitched-in to a lend a hand in a tremendous show of support for what we were doing.  For all of that, we are so very grateful.

Settled in around a good fire on a chilly night along the Henry’s Fork.  (Each tent is lit with a single pod from a Coleman Quad LED Lantern.)

After a few days of filming in southeast Oregon, on the Owyhee River, we traveled eastward back to Boise for a brief re-charge, and then onward to the Idaho Falls area to continue filming on the South Fork and Henry’s Fork of the Snake River.  Colby Hackbarth and Brent Griffeth, of Kast Gear, were our hosts on the South Fork, and their families greeted our arrival with bear-hugs and a beautiful, Mexican dinner one evening.  As with Rebecca and Ross, Matt and I had fished with Colby during our 2011 trip and had formed a friendship very quickly.  During our few days with Colby and Brent on the South Fork, we set up camp at a site in Caribou National Forest.  Our days on the river each began at one of the boat launches in Swan Valley, Idaho, that were within a short drive and would end around the campfire in the evening.  (Due to a ban on fires during our time in Oregon, we hadn’t been able to enjoy any good campfires until now, and now, in the chilly evenings, we felt fortunate to have them.)

Ross changing flies during a morning on the Henry’s Fork.

The final leg of our trip saw us meeting up with Ross Slayton for a few days on the Henry’s Fork.  Ross was fired up to be back out on his favorite waters with us in tow, and was, once again, a great host to all of us during our time with him.  During our final day together, we took a trip into Yellowstone National Park to check out some of the wildlife and geological wonders before rounding out the day with some fishing on the Firehole and Nez Perce.  It was heartbreaking to only be in a place like that for a day, but I’ve got it marked high on my list of places that need a return trip.

Matt Smythe on the Nez Perce.

The following month, Matt and I made our way back to Kansas to check out the three-minute trailer that Dusty and Whitey had created, spent a couple days laying out the structure of the 18-minute trailer, recording voice-overs and sifting through a mound of audio clips to pull out the key components for the greater story.  Whitey had also connected with a very talented musical artist in Kansas named Tim Coons, who had graciously provided some of his gorgeous pieces for use in the film’s soundtrack.  All of it just fit together so very nicely.

Ross Slayton on the Firehole.  Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming.

Before we knew it, the film had been invited to be part of the 2013 International Fly Fishing Film Festival, a.k.a IF4, and is now making its way around the U.S. and Canada, with future stops in South America.  The “touring version” of A Deliberate Life is an eighteen-minute, extended length trailer that sits among some very fine company on the festival tour.  The three-minute version of the film trailer can be seen on the Silo4 Vimeo page, here.  Matt Smythe and I had the pleasure of representing Silo4 and attending the film tour kick-off in Denver, Colorado in early January.  We’ve just recently made arrangements to schedule a stop in our “hometown” of Rochester, New York.  The films of the IF4 will hit the screens of Little Theater on May 17.  Tickets for all of the shows along the film tour may be purchased here.

Aileen Nishimura enjoying an early evening on the Owyhee River.

I really need to give a huge holler and thank-you to a small handful of core-group friends who have given of their talents and their time to help Silo4 piece together some missing parts of our thousand-piece puzzle – logos, promotional and press-kits, web sites, movie posters, DVD packaging, so many things that have been made possible because of folks like Tim Winter, T.C. Pellett, and Rebecca Garlock.  Another loud shout needs to be hollered at Luke and Michael Bantam of Dreamcast Idaho, Aileen Nishimura, Rachel Jean Morgan and Brian Forsmann for bringing their wonderful energy to our time together on the Owyhee.  See you all again soon, hopefully!

Luke, a good fishin’ pup, from Dreamcast Idaho, cooling off in the Owyhee.

I feel a bit compelled, too, as I sometimes do, to apologize for the sparse nature of this post.  I could share so much more, and hate to sometimes have to condense things into just the basics.  I think that to really tell the whole story of how this whole thing came to be, the energy and emotion that went into creating it, the friendships forged and the territory explored, so much more needs to be said.  For now, though, I think it’s wise to simply let the film trailers and photographs express some of those things on their own.

Find Silo4 on Facebook, and give us a holler!  To download the official, 33-minute version of A Deliberate Life, from Vimeo On Demand, please click right here!  If you’d prefer to own a stunning, Blu-Ray Disc version of A Deliberate Life, please visit the Silo4 site!

Camera:  Canon EOS 5D Mark3

The post A Deliberate Life – Part Two appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

Matt Smythe, gathering tailgate thoughts.

When I think of what the past two years has brought, I’m simply fascinated by the fashion in which paths and lives intersect.  The way dots connect, lines form and then branch off at different angles, each leading to new connections, collaborations, opportunities, and friendships.  Energies collect, combine and build.  All of it seems to just propel you forward.

Matt White, visualizing the opening scenes for the promo video from the bed of his pickup.

When I first began publishing posts in this blog section of my web site, my intent was to tell stories about projects I had photographed, show new work, to use each piece as a vehicle for prospective clients to get to know a little more about me, and what it’s like to work with me.  This was a place for me to talk about my work and myself, and what I’d been up to lately.  I’ve enjoyed that part of the creative process, and that type of outlet.  It just seems like a fairly natural extension of what I do and who I am.  In some ways, this post isn’t much different from the others.  My gut, though, tells me that this one, or at least the reason for it, is maybe more significant.  Deeper.  More meaningful.  For a wealth of reasons.

Dustin Lutt, doing his thing with the Red Epic.

I have sat at this computer to write this post on four separate occasions.  Each previous time, I wasn’t satisfied with the direction I’d headed in.  Now, I just need to get this thing out.  It’s probably not going to be the profound outpouring I had hoped for, but I’m going to be away from the “internet umbilical cord” for a few days and need to gather up a few of these scattered thoughts and jot them down.

The still images you see embedded in this post are from the production of the promo video we had created this past April, in central Kansas, to gain sponsors and supporters for the project, and to help describe our intent for the greater project, and the flavor in which it would be produced.  Captured afield using a RED Epic and Canon 5D Mark 3 in the hands of cinematographers Matt White and Dustin Lutt, the promo video came together in just two days time.

Danny Williams, fresh-out of rotator-cuff surgery, still had enough sand to help lug gear afield.

In a handful of days, I’ll find myself standing on some stunning ground in Idaho, and in the company of some very, very wonderful people – Rebecca Garlock, Ross Slayton, Colby Hackbarth, Dustin Lutt, Matt White, Matt Smythe, Robert Nelson, Aileen Nishimura, and a sprinkling of others. We are converging on a handful of Idaho’s great trout waters to begin and complete the filming of A Deliberate Life, our short-film project. (Click in the film title to view the promo video.)

Matt and Dustin filming in a gorgeous, spring-green field of Kansas wheat.

At a time when I’m struggling to find my own explanation for this project, I think it may be best to offer a statement that Matt Smythe had written a short while back for the Vimeo page that had been created to house the promo video.  He writes:

“There comes a time in all of our lives when we let ourselves dream about living life on our own terms. When we wrestle with the decision to take a step into traffic, follow our passions and live deliberately – or simply let another day, and daydream, pass.

This promo video is the initial statement of intent for a much larger film project that will be set against the diverse, rugged and breathtaking Idaho landscape and three of its most celebrated rivers. A Deliberate Life will explore the stories of five unlikely friends who share the same love of fly fishing and their choice to lead a life according to their passions.”

Danny, keeping an eye on the baby.

It’s difficult for me, also, to truly define when this project really began for me.  If I trace back all of the different lines and connections and events that had to occur in order for this thing to happen, the trail seems to go back for quite some time.  This is likely a conversation best had around a good campfire.   It’s pretty cool, when you think about it.  All of us involved are excited about this thing.  There’s a really great energy about the whole collaboration, and it’s only beginning.  The promo video has received some really nice feedback since we started making it visible.  Last week, Matt shared the following e-mail he had received from someone who had come across the video through a blog network that he follows.

I’m still trying to understand how a South Dakota guy comes to wear a Boston Red Sox ballcap.

That e-mail reads:  “This morning one of the shops I follow posted the link to your A Deliberate Life trailer. The video was inspiring and hit close to home, because after 7 years in the Army, a couple of front line deployments, and 3 corporate years in and out of airports running the suit and tie gauntlet, I decided three weeks ago to no longer be that guy. The time has come to pursue my own passion for the outdoors and fly-fishing, versus “the expected.” The decision, completely outside my box and against the safe approach, finally just came easy, as also mentioned in the video. Freaked out and trying to figure out how it’s all playing out, I’m just running with it and seeing what the adventure brings.   Anyway, the only reason for writing is to voice encouragement and to thank you. The video strengthened the confidence in my own personal decision and I look forward to the final video.”

Soaking up the quiet of a fine, spring morning in-between takes.

I suppose this collaboration means something different to each of us involved.  Though hearts and minds are aligned in this mutual vision, Each person has found their way to it by their own path.  We’ve been thrust together into it somehow, though, because our passions in life have led each of us to this very point.  Next week, the path leads us to Oregon and Idaho, and for a couple of us, Wyoming after that.  (But that’s another project.)

Set up in the midst of a tiny riffle on the slider, Matt captured the one rainbow trout in Kansas getting hooked. Whew!

You’ll have to check back now and then, please, for further posts, because surely they will come as this thing unfolds and evolves.

For now, please take four minutes to see what this is all about, and watch our A Deliberate Life promo video here.

There will be much, much more to share a bit farther down the road.

Fishingpoet, zonked out in the brain-cave at Rockhouse Motion. Hell of a journey.

Camera:  Canon 5D Mark 2

Promo video:  RED Epic and Canon 5D Mark 3

For further exploration:  rockhousemotion.com,  dustyimages.com,  fishingpoet.com

The post Film Project: A Deliberate Life appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

Morgan Kennedy, photographed February 26, 2011.

This post has been a long time in the works.  Not the mere writing of it, really, but the getting-into-place of the “necessaries” that all combine to make the post even possible.

For quite a few years, I’ve had several clients (from my previous place of employment) come up to me and ask, “Grant, when are you going to start your own business?  We love what you do.  When are you going to get out there and just do your own thing?”  Well, I’m very proud and excited to announce that time has finally arrived.  It’s here.  I’m doing it.  Now.  I’ve spent the past several months preparing, getting geared up, and learning a great deal.  I went “official” back during the weeks leading up to Christmas, already have some good projects under my belt, and a few others looming on the horizon.  It’s rolling.  Grant Taylor Photography has finally arrived.

Kristen Cammeyer, photographed May 26, 2011.

It’s been a very unusual, crazy year with all of the huge changes that have gone on, the shifts in thinking and routine, the obstacles, the unknown.  I’m feeling really good about it all, though, and am happy to say that this has likely been one of my favorite years ever.  I’ve had some wonderful creative collaborations with very good friends, have met some truly remarkable people, gained some new clients, and I’ve put together several bodies of personal work that contain some of the strongest photography I’ve ever created.  To me, that’s extremely energizing.  Really cool stuff.  The neat thing, too, is that this is only the beginning.  Things are just getting warmed up.

Jinelle Shengulette, photographed March 13, 2011.

One of the most (symbolically) important steps in my process of the past few months has been the development and production of my new business card.   The printing of the cards seemed to really legitimize what I had set out to accomplish.  It affirmed my intentions.  It made this whole thing mine.  I’ve been extremely fortunate to be surrounded by good friends who are talented beyond description, and am thankful to have had their help and involvement along the way.  Tim Winter is one of the people on that list.  Tim is the brilliant mind behind my business card design, and the rest of my identity kit as well.  It was a really neat process to go through with him, to see how he transformed and updated my existing name treatment, applied his own creative sensibility and what he knew of me, then projected it to the card, letterhead, envelopes, labels, website, all that stuff.

Matt Smythe, photographed April 16, 2011

The business card was the first of the stationery pieces to be produced.  Through the course of meeting with Tim and Kathy Prozeller, of XPEDX, we finally arrived on the right paper to use, and Tim’s idea for the use of silver ink not only would look cool, but also speaks to the use of silver in traditional photographic processes.  More importantly, the combination of the two, married with the character of the letterpress method of printing, would really help to convey the look, feel and soul of Grant Taylor Photography.

Rebecca Garlock, photographed September 2, 2011.

We enlisted the expertise of Dock 2 Letterpress in the printing of the business cards, and their partner-company, Weekend Printer for the letterhead, envelopes and labels.  I had met with Tony Zanni at Dock 2 for a couple preliminary tests, Tim finalized the artwork, and Tony placed the order for the plate.  On the day  we went to press with the cards, I was able to join up with letterpress guru, Dave Eckler at Dock 2, and photograph the entire, wonderful process as Dave printed my cards on a 1953 Heidelberg “windmill” press.  From the initial mixing of the ink, through to the finished piece, I was blown away by the beauty of the process and the “stuff” involved.  Gorgeous.  It was fitting that these earthy, traditional-feeling cards be printed on an antique press, using old methods.  My face hurt from smiling that afternoon.  It all just felt perfectly right.

The polymer plate for my cards, and a few other necessary tools.  Dock 2 Letterpress, December 9, 2011.

Dave was really incredible to work with, patiently answering all my curious questions, and explaining the hows-and-whys of each step in the printing process.  After running some initial tests, he discovered that the openings in the small type would fill with ink, if the volume of ink on the plate was too great.  After a few rounds of adjustments, he had it all dialed in very sweetly.  Dave had also decided to reduce the amount of pressure that the polymer plate was being hit with.  In the end, two gentle hits of silver ink, with a 24-hour drying period in-between each, followed by a harder, blind-deboss on the third day would get the cards where they needed to be.  Gorgeous and legible, with that wonderful look and feel that only the letterpress process can provide.

Dave, mixing the silver ink with an amber-colored compound that gave the ink more backbone.

I need to take a moment and express my great thanks to the handful of people who have been directly involved with the developing of my identity, branding and marketing pieces, for without their passion, talent and commitment, it would have been a real struggle:  Rachel Spence, Tim Winter, Matt Smythe, Tony Zanni and Dave Eckler.  I also need to give a shout-out to my very good friends, Dean Milliman, T.C. Pellett, Katelin Ryan, Mieke Smythe, Sherry Jackson, Kristen Valent, Stephanie Miles and Lisa Jane Roman, for the support, smiles and insight they’ve provided along the way.  Thank you all so very much!  It’s wonderful having you in my corner.

Dave, inspecting the legibility of the small type.

A sample of the cards with one hit of silver ink.

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark 2

The post Kickoff appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

A carved, plywood map of Riverside Campground and the Henry’s Fork.

September 9, 2011

We had truly been smiled upon these past eight days.  Someone up there must really, really like us.  I can’t explain it otherwise.  I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sky, soaking it all in once more, taking one long breath.  The water here was slow and slick.  Only the warm breeze of the afternoon made its surface imperfect.  And yet, still incredibly perfect.  I turned back around to look at that one lone tree, half a mile off on the plain.  A single cloud poised over it in a wonderful symmetry.  Tall, golden grasses played in the wind all around us.  The mountains on the horizon seemed a thousand miles away.  Matt was twenty yards out beyond me in the river, and Ross was just downstream from us.  Both of them were just tying, onto ultra-fine tippets, whatever size 22 something-or-other they had so very delicately selected from their very best fly box.  Perfect presentation was of the utmost importance here.  Weeks later, Ross would tell us, “Boys, that’s probably one of the toughest places in the world to catch a trout.”

Ross Slayton chatting it up with us at the river access.

The morning was filled with mixed feelings.  Both Matt and I arose with purpose, and were eager.  At the same time, we knew it was our last day on the water in Idaho for quite some time.  We hated for the end of the trip to be close at hand.  We would head back west to Boise the next morning, and hop our eastbound flight the day after that.  During the planning stages of our trip itinerary, Matt had received an invite from our new friend, Ross Slayton, through their social media connection.  Ross had so very graciously offered to show us around the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River.  The details had all been worked out, Ross took the day off from work, and picked us up at the hotel around 7am.  We shuttled the gear into his Chevy Blazer and hopped in for the ride.  Along the way, we got acquainted and listened to Ross spin some great yarns about his outings on the river, about fishing, and about life.  He’d told us that today, were going to be fishing two of his very favorite sections of the river.  The first was in the upper reaches of Cardiac Canyon, and later in the day, we would find ourselves farther upstream in the Harriman Ranch section.

Matt and I stood there at first, and wondered how the Hell we were ever going to wade that river.

This was one of a few days in the trip on which I’d decided to focus my efforts strictly on photography.  It has often been a dilemma for me, having to choose between two things that I love so much, but realized that my greatest priority was to collect as many great images as I could before heading home.  I kept my camera kit pretty light, with a Canon 5D Mark 2 body, a 50mm f/1.2 L-series lens, and a 28-70mm f/2.8 zoom.  Spare batteries, lens cloths, Compact Flash cards, waterproof bag, that’s it.  Even the laptop would stay in the truck today.

The Henry’s Fork of the Snake River. Not too awful far from Island Park, Idaho.

We paid our usage fee at one of the area campgrounds, and drove through the site to arrive at the river access.  We’d be leaving the truck here and hiking a little over an hour downstream, then working our way slowly back up.  The thin line of trail that wound through the woods along the river took us over boulders and deadfall, and occasionally made it necessary for us to wade the river where the trail became impassable.  Wading the river was no cakewalk, either.  Hard-edged rocks of all sizes lay under the dark water, sometimes obscured by vegetation, just waiting for the chance to threaten any shins or ankles that might come along.  The going was slow.  I’d often pause to photograph the guys ahead of me, and amidst Ross’s energetic chatter, Matt kept pausing to see if I was following along alright.

At times, wading the river wasa better option than toughing-out the deadfall on the trail.

The country here was gorgeous.  Again, different from any other place we’d fished in the days that had passed.  Near the beginnings of the canyon itself, blocky, gray basalt ridges began to emerge from the soil.  Downstream, these ridges rose up to become the canyon walls.  Solid sentinels.  Protectors of these waters.  Along the trail, trees scarred deeply by the clawings of bears reminded us of our true position in the food chain.  Usually not too much of a concern back east.  (A week or two after our return home, the owner of one of the fly-rod shops we visited, and his friend, were attacked by a grizzly while hunting elk not too awful far from where we fished this day.)

Matt, way out in the sweet water.

Once we had arrived at our goal, Ross stood with Matt and shared some great insight on this section of river.  Ross was an incredible wealth of information, particularly in the area of entomology.  Bugs.  Bugs that trout like to eat.  Ross had vials in his pack that contained everything from stonefly larva to grasshoppers and emerging caddis.  He’d collect these specimens during an outing to reference when tying his own flies to mimic them.  At one point, Ross had reached into the water and pulled out a clump of aquatic grasses that were hung up under a log.  He sifted through the vegetation, and pulled out several different types of bugs, explaining to us what each one was, and why they’d sought shelter among the grass, rather than under the stones in the river.  We listened.

“Good Bugs,” Ross told us. “Good Bugs.”

While the guys sought their own spots to fish, I began to work from the woods above and behind them, photographing the land, environmental details, and shots of Matt and Ross from that high perspective.  It was important to me to pull back a bit, and create images that conveyed a true sense of space.  Then, I’d find some good, flat spot for the camera bag in the woods, and wade into the river alongside them to shoot from very low perspectives, too.  Back and forth, all morning.  A couple times, I sat with Ross on the bank as he changed up his rig.  We’d visit some, and I’d make some detailed images of his process.  Each of the guys had some bites, and Ross landed a couple smaller rainbows.  We were really hoping for something solid, and with some nice color, that we could photograph.  Come on, boys.  Catch something, will ya?

Ross, standing in the shadows of the cliffs, and Matt, beyond him.

Hours had passed now, and I was starting to feel shot-out.  The week of travel, early mornings and late nights was taking its toll.  I’d accumulated over ten-thousand images at this point.  Enough.  Plenty enough.  I moved a hundred yards upstream, and found a great tree-stump among some blow-downs on the trail, and set up camp there.  I had packed the camera away, figuring the guys would be done soon, and kicked my boots up on a boulder to relax for a few.  I had watched Matt pick his way across the river to a really good looking run.  Ross was upstream from Matt, probably halfway between us.  I think I closed my eyes for a few minutes.

Sitting with Ross as he selects a new fly.

My head lolled, and I snapped back awake.  Trying to shake it off, I reached into my pack for a Coke and some beef jerky.  Matt had settled into a nice rhythm out where he was, and I watched him.  All of a sudden, during a drift, I saw him strip-set and raise his rod high.  It was on!  Crap! I could see that he was looking upstream for me, but we were too far away from each other to communicate very well.  There was no way I could make it back down the trail through the blow-downs in time to photograph that fish.  No way.  “Aw, Hell,” I said to myself, grabbing the haul strap of the camera bag and slinging it over my shoulder.  I whistled loudly to Matt, and motioned with my arm for him to come back across and meet me.  I clambered over boulders and fallen trees, making the best time I could.  I could see Matt picking his way back across, and still, he had his fish on.  No way.  Minutes later, we met up in a little protected eddy near the edge of the river.  The sun was getting lower in the afternoon sky, and was behind all the pines on our side of the river.  Miraculously, there was a six-foot-or-so area that was bathed in sweet, gorgeous, perfect light that filtered through a gap in the trees.  I had Matt join me there, and we set to photographing his “Eleventh-Hour Rainbow.”

Matt’s “Eleventh-Hour,” Henry’s Fork Rainbow.

By now, the two of us had established a pretty nice routine.  We wanted to have gorgeous shots of the fish, but not at the expense of stressing the fish out.  Gentle handling and frequent underwater resuscitation were the key, mixed with short periods of photography.  We’d got some good practice during the past week, and had it all down cold.  That fish looked like Old-School Christmas ribbon candy, the iridescent way he glistened in the sunlight.  Gorgeous color.  Though he wasn’t huge, he seemed to pack a fair amount of attitude.  We liked him plenty.  Especially at this late-stage in the game.  Within a minute or two, the fish was released, and he swiftly made his way back out into the currents.  Twenty minutes later, we were back at the truck, and heading into the town of Island Park to check out the two main, local fly-rod shops.

Pretty, pretty work.

After a bit of a break and chat with the fly-shop owners, and a couple of lousy Idaho Spud candy bars, we hopped back in Ross’s rig and headed up into Harriman State Park to fish the ranch section of the Henry’s Fork.  Keeping with the rhythm of the week, it, too, was different from any other place we’d been. The Snake flowed in relaxed fashion through a broad, flat plain.  God, it was beautiful out there.  Stunningly serene.  The afternoon sun bore down on us, and the breeze was warm as we geared back up.  Realizing that this would be the last couple hours on the water for us, I did my best to absorb as much of it as I could.  Every little detail.  This stretch of the Henry’s Fork seemed to be a very fitting place to end our expedition.  We wound down and relaxed.  Wading was easy here.  The landscape seemed vast, unlimited.  Lone trees stood far off among the prairie grasses.  The mountains in the distance were faint.  Being there reminded me of how very small and delicate our spot is in this world.   I could have stayed there forever.

Looking out onto the plain in Harriman State Park.

I worked around the guys with the camera, getting some great casting shots of Matt, and some beautiful portraits of Ross.  The fishing was slow, with Matt only getting one solid hook-up, only to have the fish come unbuttoned moments later.  Defeated, perhaps, but not unfulfilled, the three of us stood there together in the water before turning our backs to it and heading out to the truck for the ride home.  Until next time.

Matt, lining up the guides one last time.

Ross Slayton, of Idaho, photographed September 9, 2011 on the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River.

Ross, all smiles. In his element.

Matt’s persistence would pay off at Harriman Ranch. Well, sort of.

One brief moment of near-perfection. Almost.

Looking eastward.

I really need to take a moment and express a tremendous, heartfelt thanks to the people that helped Matt Smythe and I make our journey truly incredible:  Jason and Vicki Lindstrom of Flytooth (and family,)  Rebecca Garlock and Robert Nelson, Sarah Bridges-Heusser, Colby Hackbarth of Kast Gear, and Ross Slayton.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Pretty sure we’ll see you all again – hopefully very soon.

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark 2

The post Henry’s Fork appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

Matt, in the bow of the boat, chucking a Sex Dungeon to likely spots along an undercut bank during a drift.

September 7 and 8, 2011

Neither Matt nor I were moving very quickly this morning.  It actually felt pretty nice not to have to be geared-up before sunrise, hustling out of the hotel with camera bags and peanut-butter toast.  We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, got the room all squared away, loaded the Highlander and checked out of the hotel.  Our drive to Idaho Falls would take about four hours.  On the other end of it, we’d be meeting up with Colby Hackbarth of Kast Gear, and fishing with him on the South Fork of the Snake River.

The road to The Snake.

Matt was at the wheel as I was editing images on the laptop and running the iPod playlists on the car stereo.  Johnny Cash, Soundgarden, Ryan Bingham, Led Zeppelin, Grace Potter and The Nocturnals, Townes Van Zandt, Reckless Kelly, Beastie Boys, Alice in Chains, Chamberlin, Alison Krauss.  Oh, and Iron Maiden.  We passed through the lava fields and on up to Idaho Falls.  If you ever find yourself traveling this stretch of highway, be sure to pull in to the truck stop at the exit for Eden.  It has all the regular truck-stop stuff, but also boasts a “Garden of Eden” themed sit-down café, complete with a giant, red-eyed snake.  The bathrooms were pretty clean, too, as I recall.

Colby’s 8-weight rig that I would later use to hook my “freight-train” brown.

Once we had checked in to our new digs, Matt raised Colby on the phone and arranged to meet up with him in a church parking lot about 20 minutes away.  We found the place eventually, exchanged handshakes and introductions with Colby, shot the bull for a few minutes, and transferred our necessary gear into his truck for the ride to The Snake.  Colby had so very graciously offered to take us out on the river in his jet-boat, and we were not the sort of guys to turn an offer like that down.  While most of the other folks fishing the river would be floating along with the current in drift-boats, Colby’s rig would allow us to cover more water with far greater ease, and to re-fish hot stretches that we had drifted through just minutes before.

Jetting back upriver to find some new water.

On the way up the road, we stopped at South Fork Outfitters to gather a selection of flies that were the “hot tickets” for this river.  Sex Dungeons.  We found them in brown, olive, black and white color variations.  Gorgeous, fat, drive-the-trout-crazy flies filled the sectioned drawer that the shop attendant had set on the counter for us.  Somebody had been busy at their fly-tying vise.  Matt also found himself a cool Simms camo hoodie that, as far as I know has been on him (or his daughter, Aleida,) every day since we got back east.

Countless gravel bars on the South Fork offered great opportunities to beach the boat and wade some really gorgeous stretches of water.

At the boat launch, Colby filled out the necessary paperwork while Matt and I transferred gear into the boat and got into our waders and boots.  Once the boat was in the water, Colby took us downstream to give us the lay of the land and find a good spot to start fishing.  From the very beginning, I was really impressed by Colby’s knowledge of these waters and his relaxed prowess as he navigated around boulders and challenging currents.  Occasionally, he’d pull the boat onto a gravel bar and have Matt cast flies along a good looking run.  If there was no action within a short period, we’d move on.  It wasn’t too awfully long before Matt had his first fish.

Matt’s first South Fork cutthroat / rainbow hybrid.

And (yawn) Matt’s first South Fork Brown.

Thunderstorms were threatening in the skies to our South, but they never came close enough to be of any real concern.  We just kept fishing as the afternoon wore on.  I was keeping pretty busy with the camera and laptop as Matt cast and cast and cast.  Gravel bars, undercut banks, hot-looking stretches, bald eagles, and several really good fish.  Rainbows, browns, cutthroats and cutty-rainbow hybrids.  Oh, and those stupid whitefish.  Yet, for every good fish brought to the net, there were probably something like ten strikes or slashes that weren’t capitalized on.  That made the netted fish even more rewarding.  Furthermore, they were absolutely gorgeous.

Rigging up the big stick with a Sex Dungeon and preparing for a drift.

Just before dark, Colby ran us upstream to show us a pretty cool waterfall on one side of the river.  As the boat ran swiftly upriver, our eyes and faces had to be covered against the blast of all the caddisflies that were coming off the water.  Millions of them.  The next day would be similar in structure, but on a section of The Snake that was farther downstream.  It was this morning that I would hook a fish that will probably haunt me for the rest of my life.  It likely would have been the largest trout I’d ever caught, probably a 28″ class brown.  Only, I didn’t catch it.  Oh, I hooked it soundly, alright, and that sumbuck ran hard upstream for Montana, putting a gorgeous bend in the 8-weight rod that I had borrowed from Colby.  My “moment of greatness” lasted all of ten seconds.  The fish decided he’d had enough of that nonsense, and broke off in the rocks.  Gone.  Deflated.  Humbled.  God, I love Idaho.

The last, and happiest, image in a short sequence that Matt captured just before the “unbuttoning.”

We had a really great second day.  The fishing was quite good, I was pretty excited with the photography I was getting, and the setting was stunning.  We were in a dream-world.  Gorgeous land, perfect weather, and fantastic people surrounded us.  Oh, and the fish!  I fished more today than I had on the previous one, but never did bring one to the net.  I was enjoying photographing Matt’s successes, and all of the goings-on, and that was alright.  For years, I’ve been torn by the sacrifices made when laying the fly rod down for the camera, but somehow, on this trip, I had come to terms with it a bit more than usual.  Perhaps the photography aspect has become more important to me as time has gone by.  Great successes can also come when the camera is in-hand.  Still, it felt awfully good to have a handful of cork and a solid fish on the other end.  Some days, though, it’s still a painful struggle.

Relishing every moment and stowing it all away for vivid recall during the long months of winter.

This river offered so many opportunities for different styles of fishing.  I said to Matt at one point that Colby seemed to have a nearly “tactical” approach to his methods.  Not overly aggressive, but decisive and purposeful.  Well thought-out.  Always moving, seeking good-looking water, deciding how to fish it, getting it done, and if it didn’t produce, you moved on to the next thing.  This approach surely comes from years and years of experience.  Colby has fished these waters since he was just 8 years old.  We waded and fished gravel bars, we drifted and cast into sweet runs and undercut banks, but not once during those two days did we stop moving.  Not once.  Colby’s camouflage boat and its 90-horse Johnson seemed to add a poetic attitude to the whole tactical approach, and was far removed in style from the relatively graceful Hyde and ClackaCraft drift boats that navigated their own ways downstream.  It allowed us to get to where we needed to be.  It got us there swiftly and surely, and with just the right amount of attitude.

Rapidly switching tactics. Matt, whopping Sex Dungeons at the riverbank while Colby controls the boat during a fast drift.

I hated to see these days with Colby end.  We were just starting to get in a really solid groove.  Over the past week, Matt and I had begun to establish a routine.  A lifestyle.  On this trip, each segment had been quite different from the one before.  Different in landscape, fish species, energy, fishing style, attitude, technique, and feel.  We were getting close to the end now, and in many ways, both of us hated to see it coming.  Matt was looking forward to seeing his wife and kids back home, surely, but I was really kinda wishing for another month or so out here.  There must be some way.  For now, for a couple more days, we would continue to live in this wonderful dream-world and soak up as much of it as we possibly could.

Colby hooking a really pretty Cutthroat along the canyon walls.

Canyon walls that describe the type of terrain we were encompassed by during our second afternoon on the South Fork of The Snake.

Gorgeous Idaho Cutthroat Trout.

The snake at the truckstop café in Eden, Idaho. Ultra-cool. So help me, he had red eyes.

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark 2

The post South Fork appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

A thin veil of smoke from distant forest fires hangs in the air over the crystalline Payette River.

It’s amazing how new events and re-adjusted priorities in the day-to-day routine can put an abrupt halt to the enjoyable process of writing and sharing stories and photographs right here.

I’ve been anxious to get back to finishing up the story of my trip to Idaho, but have had to keep it simmering on the back-burner the past couple of months.  New priorities still loom, and finding the right kind of balance and rhythm among everything is much like trying to catch a greased piglet in a dark barn.  It sure is fun trying, though.  This week, I’m going to attempt to complete the series of posts encompassing the Idaho expedition.  I’m going to try and keep things as condensed as I can, but we’ll just have to see how it all goes.  Some stories just have to be told.

So, let’s go back to September.  And Idaho.

Matt, on a stretch of The Payette, just taking it all in.

September 4 and 5, 2011

Matt Smythe and I met up with our good friend, Jason Lindstrom, of Flytooth, at the hotel on what would be our third day of fishing.  We were heading north out of Boise, into the National Forest, and to the Payette River.  Jason knew of my desire to capture an array of dramatically different terrain during the course of the expedition, and had chosen this river for the stunning beauty of the land through which it ran.  Nestled among steep, pine-laden mountains, the gin-clear waters of The Payette sparkled emerald-green as they coursed through the valleys that guided them.  Smoke from distant forest fires hung thinly in the air, creating a wonderful-smelling atmospheric haze.  Morning was cool, but as the sun rose high enough to shine into the river gorge, the day warmed up substantially.  Matt and Jason worked the fish while I went around with the camera gear doing my thing.  We regrouped from time to time, and once I swapped gear with Matt to see if I could coax any trout to the net.  No such luck.  I wasn’t overly disappointed, though, because we had come to such a visually gorgeous place, and I was getting some really nice photography done.  Priorities.

Sunlight filtering through lodgepole pines on the riverbank.

At some point early that afternoon, I must have decided that I’d worked hard enough for a little while, and found a great spot at the river’s edge that offered a perfectly-shaped boulder next to a small eddy.  I nestled into the spot pretty nicely with my lower half submerged in the cool water, and slept for about half an hour while the guys continued to fish that stretch or river.  It was one of the most wonderful naps I’ve ever had.

In the end, what The Payette didn’t give up to us in fish, she more than made up for with her stunning beauty and calmly powerful energy.  Surely one of the most gorgeous and inspiring places I’d experienced in quite some time.

The brilliant greens of the Payette River stood in stark contrast to the color pallette we had seen just days before on River-X.

The following day saw us connecting with Jason and leaving the hotel around 4:30 that morning.  McDonald’s.  Egg-McMuffins and coffees, black.  We had a bigger drive ahead of us today.  Up into the Sawtooth Range, beyond Stanley, to the Salmon River.  We had to stop and take a quick roadside break not long before sunup.  Unwittingly, we stepped out of the car and into 27 degree air.  Yikes!  It was nearly thirty degrees cooler than Boise had been, just hours before.  I don’t think either of us was quite ready for that type of transition.  Farther down the road, on the way to Stanley, we passed a frosted meadow in a large valley that was home to a gorgeous looking stream.  After a couple miles had gone by, I gave in to the urge and turned the SUV around so we could gear up and do some photography in that meadow.  The water in that stream was cold, and the air was even colder.  Matt had ice on his line before too long.  We shot a few different scenarios, and after about 40 minutes, headed back to the car and removed our wet boots and waders with numb fingers.

Scouting a stream in a frosty meadow a few miles outside Stanley, Idaho.

We rolled into the town of Stanley around 8:30 that morning, and found a great joint called Sawtooth Luce’s that seemed like our kind of place.  We joined the breakfast crowd, and enjoyed large plates of eggs, potatoes and some really great farm bacon.  Probably my favorite breakfast EVER.  Sitting there with our coffees that morning, and looking southward the craggy peaks of Thompson, Cramer and Snowyside, I probably wouldn’t have cared if I never made it back east.  After breakfast, we walked over to McCoy’s Tackle Shop to gather some new flies for our kits, talk with the shop owner and get the river report.  Back on the road.

Switching up flies on the Salmon River.

Similar to The Payette, the Salmon River was ultra-clear, and nestled into some really gorgeous, rugged country.  Calm as it looked, wading it was not easy.  It seemed that wherever I wanted to place my foot solidly, there was some odd-sized rock in the way that told me otherwise.  As I recall, both Matt and Jason came up with some decent rainbow trout that day, but not nearly the same caliber of fish as we’d seen on River-X.  This was completely different water, and a drastically different habitat.  Whitefish also seemed like a bit of a plague on this river, and it led me to wonder how their presence must affect the trout numbers.  We parted ways with the Salmon River in the middle of the afternoon.  We had a long drive back to Boise, and were feeling the effects of our aggressive schedule.  We headed east on the loop out of the Sawtooth Range, and then south, down through Ketchum, where we stopped for snacks and a stretching of the legs.  The road then turned us back west, toward Boise.

The road back.

The variety of landscape that we experienced that day was amazingly diverse, and all of it was impressive.  Breathtaking, really.  The vast, rugged mountains stood in such stark contrast to the flat valley floors that seemingly extended forever.  Fencelines, fields and small herds of Pronghorn whipped past the windows of the Highlander as the sun set in the western sky.  The next day, Matt and I would temporarily part ways with our friends in Boise and make the drive east to Idaho Falls to fish two more rivers.  Ahead were new adventures and more perfect, beautiful days.

Matt Smythe’s accounts of these excursions and so many others may be enjoyed by visiting  fishingpoet.com.  For Matt’s written pieces on the Idaho Expedition, please click here.

Cattle in the Sawtooth Range, just west of Stanley, Idaho. Moo.

Looking northward on the drive back to Boise.

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark 2

The post Back to September appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

Rebecca had the most wonderfully organized fly boxes I’ve ever seen.

The morning of September 3 saw Matt and I all geared up and standing in front of the hotel in a state of bleary-eyed readiness when Rebecca pulled in to pick us up.  We were a man down today.  Our good buddy, Robert had the launch of  a client’s web site to oversee, and had left the fishing to the three of us.  So, after stopping for coffees and more ice for the cooler, Rebecca drove us west again, into Oregon and toward River X.  We were sure going to miss Robert (and his grill,) particularly when lunchtime rolled around!  Luckily for us, we’d get to see him later in the day.

Heading into the canyon and land that is the home of River X.

After the performance of the previous day, I was feeling pretty optimistic about connecting with some more good fish.  As there often is, though, there was a bit of an internal struggle to balance my desire to fish with my need to photograph.  I usually have to allow one of the two a small victory, and so far this year, I had more images than fish to my credit.  I decided to take pictures while we were all getting ready at the truck, but then I’d stow the camera into the backpack and pick up the fly rod and see what I could do with the trout.  Today, the camera pack would come along and sit on the riverbank, just in case.  Priorities were now in order.  Sort of.

Morning lessons in the canyon.

We had planned to leave the river early that day and head back to Rebecca’s folk’s house to watch the Boise State Football game with them.  Truth be known, (and please don’t tell Rebecca I said this,) I was struggling internally a little bit with the thought of leaving such great waters to go sit on a couch and watch football.  I mean, Hell, I’m not even a football-watcher, and I sure as heck hadn’t flown across the country to sit on the sofa to chonk popcorn with Grandma!  I submitted without too much complaint, though, and rolled on with the rest of the crew.  Our fast new friend, Rebecca Garlock, was obviously being an incredible host to us, and I was pretty certain that if we were hanging out with her and her family, we’d probably enjoy ourselves just a little bit.  So, for now, we fished.

Rebecca Garlock and I, September 3, 2011.  Photograph by fishingpoet.

Because I was fishing this morning and not right next to Rebecca with the camera, I missed the chance to photograph her first fish of the day.  The morning seemed a little slower than the previous day had been, but we were still really excited about being on this amazing river.  Matt was downstream working on catching a trout that had been rising steadily for a while, so Rebecca and I sat on the riverbank for a bit, getting to know each other over Diet Coke, Coors Light and Snickers Fun Size.  We watched Matt change flies occasionally and continue in his pursuit of some unknown beast of a trout.  It was nice just to sit for a while and really soak it all in.  The aromatic smell of the surrounding sagebrush came to us on a perfect breeze, the sun felt great, the river and canyon were just gorgeous, and we were only on the second day of fishing.  Rebecca and I laughed together, popped another Snickers, and watched Matt some more.

Rebecca and Matt during the morning portrait session. “Can we fish now?”

Then, Matt hooked up.  I grabbed the camera and pack, and followed Rebecca through the rocky riverbed downstream toward Matt and his arcing fly rod.  We could tell it was a good fish.  I was excited to get there with the camera, but choosing my steps really, really carefully so I wouldn’t go down.  Rebecca got there just ahead of me and positioned herself to grab the fish when Matt could swing it toward her.  The trout flashed, all golden and beautiful in the water.  Nice fish, too.  All of 23 inches, easily, and stout.  Really pretty fish.  And then, he was gone.  As expertly as Rebecca had got her hands on him, though, he just spit the fly, and flopped free.  I had only been able to rattle off a few quick frames of him as he abruptly scooted to resume his search for bugs.

Hoppers and Buggers. I love Rebecca’s little labels.

We all took a break and visited some more, then decided to fish a little farther upstream.  I took the farthest upstream point with Rebecca below me.  Matt was around a bend in the river, and I couldn’t see him any longer.  I sat for a bit, and watched for rises.  After a short spell, I had located four rising fish.  One was directly across the river from me, underneath some overhanging willow branches.  The others were a little farther away, so I figured I’d give this one a shot first.  I tied on a size 14 or-so winged-ant pattern, knowing that many of these willows were laden with similarly sized black ants.  My target fish took the ant after just a few presentations, stayed there long enough to bend the rod for a few moments, and then was gone.

Matt with a good brown on. We didn’t quite get to photograph this one.

Pretty much the same deal with the others.  The fish, I mean.  I couldn’t seem to hook one today, no matter what I tried.  Rebecca hooked two good ones, but again, they came off.  She would later lay the blame on a faulty hook, though, for it had no point!  We decided to head back to the truck and drive up the road to where we had fished the day before, to The Land of Lunker Browns.  From high up on the bank, the three of us stood and located a BUNCH of good fish, rising with regularity to sip flies off the water’s surface.

Changing things up.

Matt made his plan of attack, choosing a spot that should put him within reach of a few fish.  I headed upstream to the area where I had caught mine the previous day.  I worked at it for a while, but in the end wasn’t able to bring any fish to the net.  I was enjoying listening to Rebecca’s direction and banter with Matt as she watched over him from her high perspective and told him where the fish were, relative to his position.  It almost sounded like a game of Battleship.  Well, curiosity and loneliness finally won over, and I clambered uphill over the boulders and ants to join Rebecca with a couple of cold drinks from the cooler and a folding chair.  Then, I started chiming in.  To help Matt, of course.  “Matt,”  I’d start, “There’s a Toad about twelve feet upstream from you, just on the other side of that submerged rock.  Wait, here he comes.  (Sip-slurp.)  There!  See him?”  “He’s got to be at least 26 inches.”  It went on like that for a while.  I was waiting for Matt to throw something at me, but he never did.  At one point, I’ll bet there were easily a dozen SERIOUS browns within reach of Matt’s cast.  Unfortunately, these fellas were being ultra-selective, and were stone-cold focused on whatever they were gleaning off the surface of the water.  I never did actually see what they were taking.  It sure as heck wasn’t anything that Matt was dishing out.

Wading shoes. Or, waiting shoes.

I suppose the hands of the clock were what really got Matt out of the river at that moment.  We had to get headed back to Idaho in time to watch the football game with Rebecca’s folks.  Had it not been for that distraction, we might have sat there until dark “helping” Matt in any way we could have.  I can remember feeling a bit empty inside when I saw the last little bit of River X out the rear-passenger side window of the truck.  I had hoped Matt and I could get out on that water again before we flew back East, but a busy schedule on other rivers would win over, and we’d have to back-burner that idea for our next trip.  Besides, we still had five more days of fishing to do and four more rivers to see.

Heading home for the football game. Boise State would win.

East, toward Idaho.

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark 2.

The post River X – The Second Day appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..

Matt tying on a new midge, just moments before tying into a really, really nice brown.

I never suspected that I would have found myself flyfishing for trout in what struck me as such a harsh climate and unlikely location on the map.  I am, quite frankly, still in amazement that those fish not only exist among that landscape, but seem to flourish.  Brown trout.  Big ones.  This river, for me, would, in part, set the “symbolic tone” for the rest of a journey that would exceed my expectations on many levels, especially in the very pleasant surprises it would reveal to us along the way.

Getting closer to the river.

The river that Matt Smythe (who also goes by the flashy, five-dollar handle, fishingpoet,) and I began our “creative expedition” on was one that we found to be swathed in secrecy.  It really has kind of a cult following among the hardcore flyfishing addicts of the area.  It seems to me, to be a very tight-knit group.  People who are “in-the-know.”  Our guides for the first few days of this journey were Rebecca Garlock, aka The Outdooress, and her (very cool) husband, Robert.  The two had invited us to fish and photograph these seemingly sacred waters with them, and in doing so, had generously allowed us into the fold.  The catch was, we could never utter the name of the river once we returned home.  From the moment we first wet our waders in that cold, rushing water, we had signed a blood oath.  This water would forever be known as River X.

Rebecca called “Shotgun” first.  That little skunk.

When Rebecca and Robert picked Matt and I up at the Hampton Inn / Meridian, Idaho that morning, we were all pulsing with the excitement of the coming day.  We’d had such a wonderful dinner the night before with Jason and Vicki Lindstrom of Flytooth, and had made our plan of attack over some really delicious food at a Basque joint called Epi’s.  Matt and I had rushed through our breakfast at the hotel that morning.  So much so, that I didn’t even have time for the “Make-Your-Own-Waffles” machine.  Rats.  Well, they didn’t stock Vermont Maple Syrup anyhow, and yeah, I’m a syrup snob.  So, jet-black hotel coffees in hand, we hustled our gear outside so we wouldn’t be late.  We had a bit of a drive to get to where we were going, and we were all excited to get there and start catching some good fish.  I was traveling fairly lightly with the laptop, one camera body, and a small handful of lenses, and was anxious to start getting some great photographs under my belt.  On the way to River X, we stopped off for fuel, ice, coffees, a huge Diet Coke for Rebecca, and a few bags of Jack Link’s Beef Jerky.  This would become the morning ritual for much of the remainder of the trip.  Matt and I must have eaten sixteen pounds of jerky that week.  Lord knows how much coffee.

Rigging up for the first morning on River X.

Matt and I were in awe, gawking out the windows of the truck and taking in the amazing, changing landscape as we headed into the desert canyons of southern Oregon.  Sagebrush, willows, rocky terrain, rugged hills and canyon walls.  To us, coming from the Northeast U.S., this was such a foreign landscape.  Fascinating and alluring.  It seemed to me, though, an unlikely area to find a river teeming with chunky  trout.  It was far too dry, hot and inhospitable for fish.  It went against everything I knew about trout habitat.  That’s what was going through my head as I rolled the rear window down to take a few shots with the camera.  That’s when we came around a sweeping bend in the road and got our first glimpse of the river.  It was gorgeous.

Reading the water.

Amidst a great deal of chatter, we parked the truck at a pull-off near the river, and geared up.  It was busy, energized activity.  At least, that’s how it felt on the inside.  I was pressuring myself to bring my “A-Game” today.  Kickoff time.  Outwardly, though, all of us seemed pretty relaxed.  Rebecca was rattling off a list of flies and tactics for Matt to try as he meticulously pieced his Scott 5-weight pack rod together.  I had my hands full with my waders, boots, camera rig, and a waterproof sling pack that turned out not to be very waterproof after all.  Thank goodness I had taken an extra level of precaution.  After a firm warning from Rebecca about the ant-laden willows, we clacked over the rocks in our studded wading shoes, through the bushes and to the water’s edge.  Robert had scoffed at us “water-swatters” and headed upstream with his spinning rig.  Slipping into the current, I was amazed at how very cool the water was.  I’m sure it wasn’t even 60 degrees.  Fed by snow-melt from a heavy winter in the mountains, River X flowed in stark contrast to the relentless sun striking our backs.  In the rising heat of that morning, the water’s coolness was welcoming.

Matt’s first nice fish of the day.  His initial entry into the “20/20 Club.”

I photographed around Rebecca and Matt while they fished different seams, and targeted pockets around structure, maybe a hundred yards or so from each other.  We talked, laughed, and got to know each other.  Rebecca was the first to connect with a fish, and then Matt would, a short while later.  Then, they each caught some more.  In the strength of that slightly milky current, with slick underwater rocks of different sizes and shapes, carrying the camera, I chose my steps very carefully, not getting anywhere too awfully fast.  Back and forth, between the two anglers.  Casting shots, portraits, landscapes, and pictures of some gorgeous fish!  Every now and then, I’d leave the river and head back to the truck to load image files into the laptop, chug down a cold bottle of water, grab a couple hunks of jerky, and head back through the willows for more action.

Good fish on.  Again.  About now, my rod hand is starting to get itchy for some cork.

That afternoon, in the shade of a big tree next to the river, Robert grilled us an incredibly tasty lunch of sausages and bacon-wrapped tenderloin.  All the fixin’s, too.  It was delicious.  Still, we didn’t sit too long.  I was ready to think of doing some fishing myself, and rigged up my Scott 6-weight, heading down to the water for a little practice session.  I was feeling pretty rusty.  Not long after, the others hollered to me, and we all hopped in the truck to head up the road to another spot, farther upstream, on River X.  Interestingly, this place offered a very different scene, where, from a high, boulder-strewn bank, we could gaze into the river below us and see the forms of large browns suspended in the water, feeding.  At different intervals these fish were rising to gently slurp unseen insects off the water’s surface, giving us a good look at each one of them.  Some of them were true horses.  Toads.  Bruisers.  It was so cool.  Again, more planning.  Further anticipation.

Robert, Matt and Rebecca scouting some rising browns.

After getting our non-resident licenses checked over by a friendly-enough, (but diligent) Oregon Fish-and-Game Warden, Matt chose his path to what looked like a prime spot.  Leaving the camera in the truck, I grabbed my gear and headed upstream from him to see what I could do with these bruisers.  I heard Matt holler something to Rebecca about ants, but quickly refocused my attention to a pair of side-by-side Salmo Trutta that were working on their lunch.  With my back to the bank, I cast out ahead of them into a nice looking seam, again and again.  Nothing.  But they were right there!

Farther upstream, where Robert would do well that afternoon.

Moving slowly upstream every couple of minutes, still nothing.  At one point, I heard a wet slurp behind me and to my left.  I could see the remaining swirl in the water when I turned.  I redirected with a couple of false casts, and laid my “hopper / dropper” rig, very sweetly, about twelve feet upstream from where the rise had been.  The foam grasshopper imitation I was using as an indicator floated along past the unseen fish, and suddenly disappeared.  Gloop! With a strip-set and a raised rod, the line came tight.  I had just hooked my first brown trout.  Ever.  He had taken the miniscule size 20 midge that Rebecca had given me that morning.  I whistled to Rebecca, and she came down the bank with the camera to get a few pictures of me with my fish.  One of her shots would be among my favorite photographs of the trip.  One that I wish I had taken!  That fish had some real character to him that seemed to fit what I was feeling inside about this place.  There might have been far bigger fish in that river, but to me, he was a real bruiser.  A beauty.

Rebecca’s photograph of me with my very first brown trout.  22 inches of attitude.  A wonderful “First.”

Now armed with a flyrod, Robert was doing pretty well for himself upstream.  We could hear him hoot now and then when he hooked a fish.  From several hundred yards away, I could see arc of his rod reflecting in the Sun, and the flash of a good trout in his hands as he released it.  I hustled upstream and joined him with the camera shortly after, but no more fish came along for him.  Hike back to the truck, and drive farther up the road for a relaxing sit in the grass, a Snickers bar recharge, and a visit before fishing a new spot to end the day.

Early evening recharge.

While the middle part of the day had reached the mid-80‘s,  the evening air in the desert had a coolness to it that made it necessary to wear a softshell jacket under my waders.  The water seemed colder upstream here, too.  Noticeably so.  Taking photographs from low angles, I realized, made it necessary for me to submerge further into the chilly water to where it threatened the top of my waders.  I shivered uncontrollably a few times as the rushing waters of River X sucked the heat from my core.  The light was flattening out anyhow, as the Sun slipped past the surrounding hills.  Time to put the camera away, get moving, warm up, and fish.

Fish stories.

I gathered my gear and waded downstream from Rebecca and Matt, but we were all still in sight of each other.  Robert sat on the bank watching the camera bag and relaxing some.  I had only gone about 20 yards when I spooked a big mule-deer doe that was bedded among the willows just feet away from me.  Sorry, darlin’.  Didn’t mean to make you jump.  I cast my line again and again into good looking spots as I worked along the river, a few swirls and half-assed hits here and there, but no solid hookups that I could claim as any kind of success.  In my mind, I reflected back to my first and only fish of the day, my first brown ever, and recalled how he’d felt on the end of that line, the bend in my rod against that stellar blue sky, and how the strength of him felt to my hands as he slipped back into the current.

Rebecca Garlock, photographed on River X, September 2, 2011.

We still had another day on this river, and now, we were in the groove.  Immersed in it.  Tomorrow would be an epic day.

Rear-window reflection.

Our very good buddy, Robert. One Hell of a streamside chef.

Robert’s photograph of us with Rebecca, at dusk.

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark 2.

The post The River of Secrets appeared first on Grant Taylor Photography, Inc..