Over the Salal Fields And Far Away

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestIt was dripping; the sun shrouded by cloud, the cloud returning to damp where dew ran with rain and rain soaked into thick rivulets of sand. All these paths led to a tempest of gray salt, growling together as an always-temperamental Northwest coastline. We shouldered our loads, pack mules down scree slopes, each step sinking into the shifting earth.

The first day was different. From the golden sun reflecting off a classic green pearl, a perfect wave was ridden with friends yelping like small creatures in a wide world. Slowly, in its own time, the swell built into a fortress of play. A soft offshore breeze told ancient stories of the last days of summer, like secrets spoken only to the two of us out that morning.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestWalking off the beach, skin tensing from the drying salt water, we turned and marveled at the temptation we left, but the promise of additional companions and a new adventure forced us back through the thick fern fronds and salal fields that guarded those secrets. We pulled into a freshwater bay to meet our other companions: Sam from Ocean Beach and Kris from hometown.

As we spread our gear across the gravel, we reveled in what was just had and the anticipation of what was to come—a sea of imagination. Tents and tarps; jackets and neoprene layers; stoves, filtration systems and amenities; all stuffed into bear canisters and assertively packed within the confines of four new SealLine expedition packs. Canoes and paddles, boards, wetsuits, a small wooden door, screwdriver and hardware made the trip. Finally, amenities for the sun and the cold: beer.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestEach canoe weighed heavy in the soft mud as the four of us laughed, organized and inspected everything. We had the gear and a malleable plan. Now we needed waves. Under a milky afternoon, still with high, wafting clouds, we embarked waters teaming with perch, pikeminnow, coastal cutthroats and kokanee to a point of cache and then further across deeper waters into the middle of nowhere.

This was our annual expedition in search of far-away waves—often not there, often there. We scanned bays and points, searched maps and planned routes. One year the Lost Coast Range, another south to Baja. This year we wanted to stay home and discover the little-known secrets of our wild backyard.

On far western shores we moored the vessels under thick drooping cedar boughs and trekked into the shadows, dusk above us and wet bog beneath. We slipped on decaying boardwalks, falling sideways and forward as we toddled, drawn to the roar of a thundering ocean a mile away. Our boards acted like crutches under our arms and our thick waterproof packs like mattresses. As the trail rose and fell, twisting through the forest terrain and between protective eight-foot-tall salal fields, we were in a florist’s dreamland, as well as our own. Suddenly, darkness gorged upon the remaining light, birds fell still and night insects began their choir. Surf hissed as it crashed upon salty shores. Thousands upon thousands of pounds of hypertension breaking, tumbling over and over one another. The animals, the dripping canopy, the ancient muttering streams tinged brown by Fall leaves was drowned by excitement.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestCamp One welcomed us with an evening storm that lulled us to sleep with the soft, synthetic patter of raindrops on nylon. As we emerged into the light of day two, all was sodden, the leaching wetness of winter – the rotting season. Nothing remained dry outside our expedition packs. And as we cooked packets of instant oatmeal, we scanned the angry horizon for signs of contour.

North was a mark on the map, a point, as well as lingering deer tame enough to comb with a pick. South was a bay with few signs of humanity and, straight west, into the heart of the Pacific was a madness of gray matter combusting without pattern, ending in a wall of white frigidity. So we checked north. We ventured south. And came to the conclusion over much deliberation, pseudo-scientific nonsense and amateur forecasting that south was the answer to our dreams. There, miles from camp we witnessed a clean, A-frame peak dashing itself upon a hardened black shoals, falling to rest after its long journey. So we tore like madmen, over silky seaweed and mounds of purple bear scat back to camp in a rush to beat a pulsing tide. Packed a little lighter, we double-time over bleached-tree graveyards, through gaping stone holes and slippery cavernous passages.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestCamp Two was a sand bank, a small cove of great fortune that was ours, alone, for four days. From this vantage point, we watched the sea. Corduroy lines of swell marched like infantry. That clean A-frame was gone, replaced by a meaty little slab.

Wet in the water and wet ashore, the weather carpeted the coastline each passing day. We ate food the consistency of porridge and drank small cups of instant coffee. Shaded by the rainforest above, picking our way through fern and salal below, we scoured for any bits of dry wood we could find. At the end, we divvied the remaining food and gear between us to lighten our return. Mosses and lichen draped over any uncovered surface.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestThese instances were often the most memorable, the time away from time where scrutiny of an industrial civilization weighed weight upon a ticking time bomb. Omniscient and harmonious was the mind, free to soar in solitude like the eagles above, and glide like a Pelican upon the updraft of rolling sea. We found more scat; bear, raccoon, coyote. We stepped over the skins of dogfish and collected Japanese plastics from disasters far away and seemingly long ago. Then we ended.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestThe morning of our departure, the sun broke and alighted our long playful shadows across the sand as we slipped northward towards Camp One, back through the fern forest and salal fields to a freshwater point. We had work to do.

As we paddled towards our cache near a hollowed-out burnt cedar remnant, abandoned hundreds of years ago by the People of the Canoe, a fire blazed in a clear-cut swathe just over the park boundary lines. It filled the lake’s reflection an even deeper brown, eerily reminding us of the forgotten emptiness that now lies still on the coastal banks, watching the same shoal morph and erode with the ocean’s power.

© Cameron Karsten Photography of surfing the Washington coast, Pacific NorthwestWe slid onto the sandy beach, found our stores of wood and hardware, beer and fire, and set to work. Skyler repaired the lean-to with his fashioned door. Sam built a hot fire of cedar wood and lava rock, while Kris fashioned a shovel to carry the stones from heat to shelter. Over the course of three hours we took turns bathing in the sweet sweat of a traditional sauna, removing all traces of bitter cold from our bones. And then just before dusk we set off for home, just as we had done days prior when we entered the shadows of fern and salal that guarded the undiscovered surf in the wilds of our backyard.

Vodou Footprints: Photo Essay (Haiti)

A Haitian bathes and prays in the waterfall of Saut d'Eau during the annual pilgrimage.

A Haitian bathes and prays in the waterfall of Saut d’Eau during the annual pilgrimage.

Haiti is a magical island with a heart of generosity and resilience. It is a nation of peoples who were sent to their new home in the iron shackles and rusted chains, having crossed the tumultuous Atlantic Ocean in the bowels of wooden hulls, from a homeland of ancestral purity. The darkest hour of humanity was the Western slave trade, taking tribes from Guinea to the New World. One of their first stops, Hispaniola (Haiti). And there, centuries later, occurred the world’s only successful slave revolt. This, among many other feats of survival, including buckling before the atrocities of successive dictatorships, earthshaking natural disasters and a hopeless material poverty wrought with the inhumane forces of international policies and internal governmental corruption, couldn’t have happened without Haitians’ spirituality, the worship of the Loas, the great Les Mysteres, from the motherland of Africa.

A man spreads his arms under the falls of Saut d'Eau.

A man spreads his arms under the falls of Saut d’Eau.

 

A pilgrim at Saut d'Eau sits still in the rushing waters.

A pilgrim at Saut d’Eau sits still in the rushing waters.

 

Two pilgrims bathe with soap near the falls of Saut d'Eau.

Two pilgrims bathe with soap near the falls of Saut d’Eau.

 

A man sells candles for pilgrims at the waterfalls of Saut d’Eau.

A man sells candles for pilgrims at the waterfalls of Saut d’Eau.

 

A man finds stillness among the throngs of pilgrims who often get completely nude to bathe in the waters.

A man finds stillness among the throngs of pilgrims who often get completely nude to bathe in the waters.

 

Pilgrims gather to bathe, scrub and offer prayers to the Virgin Mary and vodou spirits Iwa Damballah (the snake) and his wife Ayido Wedo (the rainbow).

Pilgrims gather to bathe, scrub and offer prayers to the Virgin Mary and vodou spirits Iwa Damballah (the snake) and his wife Ayido Wedo (the rainbow).

 

In a moment of solitude, a pilgrim enjoys the cool healing waters of Saut d'Eau.

In a moment of solitude, a pilgrim enjoys the cool healing waters of Saut d’Eau.

 

A young man prays before the waterfalls of Saut d'Eau in the Artibonite Valley.

A young man prays before the waterfalls of Saut d’Eau in the Artibonite Valley.

 

A young boy is bathed by his parents in the sacred waters of Saut d'Eau. He will also be scrubbed with a mixture of herbs including parsley and tree leaves believed to cleanse the body of sins that also bring good luck.

A young boy is bathed by his parents in the sacred waters of Saut d’Eau. He will also be scrubbed with a mixture of herbs including parsley and tree leaves believed to cleanse the body of sins that also bring good luck.

 

A man climbs the slick rocks to retrieve water from the waterfall to bring with him on his return home.

A man climbs the slick rocks to retrieve water from the waterfall to bring with him on his return home.

 

A pilgrim cleanses and scrubs himself of his sins in the waters of Saut d'Eau.

A pilgrim cleanses and scrubs himself of his sins in the waters of Saut d’Eau.

 

A young woman goes through a consultation with a vodou Mambo. Haitians visit Houngans or Mambos, vodou priests, in search of health, happiness and prosperity.

A young woman goes through a consultation with a vodou Mambo. Haitians visit Houngans or Mambos, vodou priests, in search of health, happiness and prosperity.

 

Cemeteries are both part of the Catholic and vodou traditions. For vodouisants, many of the celebrations surrounding the dead are held at cemeteries, as well as the much misconceived zombie phenomenon.

Cemeteries are both part of the Catholic and vodou traditions. For vodouisants, many of the celebrations surrounding the dead are held at cemeteries, as well as the much misconceived zombie phenomenon.

 

Charcoal is a huge commodity for the Haitian economy, yet as of 2006 there was only 2% of Haiti's original forests remaining. From the city streets to the country roads, charcoal can be found in large white canvas sacks sold by the "marmit" and not by weight. A marmit is approximately the size of your average coffee can, which in Haiti is the equivalent of about $0.60 USD.

Charcoal is a huge commodity for the Haitian economy, yet as of 2006 there was only 2% of Haiti’s original forests remaining. From the city streets to the country roads, charcoal can be found in large white canvas sacks sold by the “marmit” and not by weight. A marmit is approximately the size of your average coffee can, which in Haiti is the equivalent of about $0.60 USD.

 

Construction vehicles and earthmovers dot the landscape from the failed efforts of international aid organizations to rebuild Haiti after the devastating 2010 earthquake. The earthquake registered a 7.0 magnitude, killing unconfirmed citizens. Estimates range widely from 100,000 to 316,000, leaving families ruined, debilitating the infrastructure and crippling an already suffering economy.

Construction vehicles and earthmovers dot the landscape from the failed efforts of international aid organizations to rebuild Haiti after the devastating 2010 earthquake. The earthquake registered a 7.0 magnitude, killing unconfirmed citizens. Estimates range widely from 100,000 to 316,000, leaving families ruined, debilitating the infrastructure and crippling an already suffering economy.

 

Haitians collect water and wash laundry in a dry river bed north of Port-au-Prince in the Artibonite Valley.

Haitians collect water and wash laundry in a dry river bed north of Port-au-Prince in the Artibonite Valley.

 

A view of the Port-au-Prince slum Jalousie, just above the affluent neighborhood of Petionville. Visible walls within the slum were painted a rainbow of colors to make the hillside more beautiful for Petionville residents.

A view of the Port-au-Prince slum Jalousie, just above the affluent neighborhood of Petionville. Visible walls within the slum were painted a rainbow of colors to make the hillside more beautiful for Petionville residents.

 

Sanba Zao is an internationally-renowned Haitian drummer with a rife knowledge of the history of vodou drums. Each drum has a specific role and is the key to calling Les Mysteres from across the waters in Africa to the island of Hispaniola.

Sanba Zao is an internationally-renowned Haitian drummer with a rife knowledge of the history of vodou drums. Each drum has a specific role and is the key to calling Les Mysteres from across the waters in Africa to the island of Hispaniola.

 

The Virgin Mary resides within an altar of a vodou temple, representing the facade Catholicism has played for the very survival of Haitian vodou.

The Virgin Mary resides within an altar of a vodou temple, representing the facade Catholicism has played for the very survival of Haitian vodou.

 

Catholicism and Haitian vodou are syncretic religions. Catholicism acted as the facade during the era of slavery, vodouisants utilizing the religion's idols to hide the true rituals of their African ancestors.

Catholicism and Haitian vodou are syncretic religions. Catholicism acted as the facade during the era of slavery, vodouisants utilizing the religion’s idols to hide the true rituals of their African ancestors.

 

A vodouisant prepares to receive the spirit Ogue Feray, the warrior spirit whose main color is red.

A vodouisant prepares to receive the spirit Ogue Feray, the warrior spirit whose main color is red.

 

The houngan Sanba Zelle excites his congregation at his hounfour in Montagne Noire outside of Port-au-Prince. Haitian vodou is as much a party for the community as it is a religious celebration. Vodouisants gather to sing and dance, shedding the hardships they face in a post-earthquake Haiti. As of 2011, 61.7% of the population lives below the poverty line.

The houngan Sanba Zelle excites his congregation at his hounfour in Montagne Noire outside of Port-au-Prince. Haitian vodou is as much a party for the community as it is a religious celebration. Vodouisants gather to sing and dance, shedding the hardships they face in a post-earthquake Haiti. As of 2011, 61.7% of the population lives below the poverty line.

 

Vodouisants pray in congregation at Montagne Noire outside Port-au-Prince.

Vodouisants pray in congregation at Montagne Noire outside Port-au-Prince.

 

A vodouisant in attendance goes into trance as the congregation calls Les Mysteres from across the waters in Africa by the sound of the drums, the singing and pure merriment of the people. Vodou spirits are believed to have been mortals in past eras. By entering the body of a human, trance is the spirit's way of enjoying the pleasantries of humanity once again.

A vodouisant in attendance goes into trance as the congregation calls Les Mysteres from across the waters in Africa by the sound of the drums, the singing and pure merriment of the people. Vodou spirits are believed to have been mortals in past eras. By entering the body of a human, trance is the spirit’s way of enjoying the pleasantries of humanity once again.

 

A woman in trance by Ogue Feray embraces another vodouisant. When in trance, vodou spirits are looking to experience the physicality of humanity.

A woman in trance by Ogue Feray embraces another vodouisant. When in trance, vodou spirits are looking to experience the physicality of humanity.

 

Two congregation members in trance embrace at a hounfour in Montagne Noire, Port-au-Prince.

Two congregation members in trance embrace at a hounfour in Montagne Noire, Port-au-Prince.

 

Sanba Zelle is a Houngan, or Vodou priest, leading his community of vodou practitioners in Montagne Noir outside of Port-au-Prince. As a Houngan he is a leader who contacts Les Mysteres from across the waters in Guinea (Africa), helping his people find health, happiness and prosperity through Vodou.

Sanba Zelle is a Houngan, or Vodou priest, leading his community of vodou practitioners in Montagne Noir outside of Port-au-Prince. As a Houngan he is a leader who contacts Les Mysteres from across the waters in Guinea (Africa), helping his people find health, happiness and prosperity through Vodou.

 

A sculpture by André Eugène. All of the skulls in his work are real human skulls. I asked him how he was able to get a hold of the skulls and he said, “Many things are easy to come by in Haiti. All my work is recycled. You ask for a human skull, you can easily get one.”

A sculpture by André Eugène. All of the skulls in his work are real human skulls. I asked him how he was able to get a hold of the skulls and he said, “Many things are easy to come by in Haiti. All my work is recycled. You ask for a human skull, you can easily get one.”

 

André Eugène, founder of Atis Rezistans in downtown Port-au-Prince believes that Haitian culture must be preserved, from its past to present. Vodou is a part of Haitian culture. It is said that 95% of Haitians are Christian while 100% are vodou.

André Eugène, founder of Atis Rezistans in downtown Port-au-Prince believes that Haitian culture must be preserved, from its past to present. Vodou is a part of Haitian culture. It is said that 95% of Haitians are Christian while 100% are vodou.

 

A sculpture of Osama bin Laden from recycled bits by André Eugène, founder of Atis Rezistans on Grand Rue in downtown Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

A sculpture of Osama bin Laden from recycled bits by André Eugène, founder of Atis Rezistans on Grand Rue in downtown Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

 

Vodou Footprints is an intercontinental multimedia project that traces this millennia-old belief system from its roots in West Africa to the shores of the New World and beyond. For most people, the word “voodoo” conjures up images of needle-pierced dolls, imbued with dark magic, made to harm unsuspecting targets. This project shatters these narrow misconceptions by documenting the truth, both positive and negative, about the clandestine practices that make up Vodou. 

logo_blackTrajan

 

Mexico: The Land of the Craft

2015_Mazatlan-2029

Mexico is a land of southern sun, warm sands, dusty cobbled streets filled with wafting scents of freshly grilled meats, buttery shrimp skewers and braying donkeys laying idle under the shades of ruffled palm fronds. It is a humble mix of ocean beaches to classic hacienda-style farmland below centuries-old ranches to the hurrying belches of city horns and graffitied buses intermixed within a colored historic city center. The people of Mexico know very well how to eat like ruling kings and drink like maddening queens. They choose their ingredients from the busy market stalls where meats and seafoods, produce and local spices and herbs carry lines of shoppers out to the homegrown rows of agave that stretch along arid rolling landscapes into the wild brushes of the traditional vaquero. Their culture very much resembles a barter and trade system of long ago, with real crafts-people, who to this very day continue to subsist on a technique passed down from generations.

There is pride in the people, the ones who truly know how to carve a cow into the choicest of meats, to the repairman that returns the hurricane-battered palapa back into that exotic specimen above brown leathery Texans and Californians. South of the border is where the Americas’ craftsmanship dwells, behind the colonial walls and feathered into the waves left by the dawn-patrolling ponga. What is in Mexico is from Mexico, built by the people.

2015_Mazatlan-1152015_Mazatlan-1282015_Mazatlan-6932015_Mazatlan-6252015_Mazatlan-10482015_Mazatlan-10572015_Mazatlan-10522015_Mazatlan-6852015_Mazatlan-13912015_Mazatlan-14382015_Mazatlan-14402015_Mazatlan-14982015_Mazatlan-15112015_Mazatlan-20242015_Mazatlan-20422015_Mazatlan-24412015_Mazatlan-24292015_Mazatlan-2461

logo_blackTrajan