A GALLERY OF
ORIGINAL PAINTINGS
BY JAY J. JOHNSON

ADVENTURES IN NATURE
1960's, 70's, 80's, 90's to 2009
Photography by Jay J. Johnson

The 1960'S
MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS

My earliest recollections of exploring the outdoors begin with childhood
memories in the green woods of Maine. My parents had a summer cottage
there on a pond where my father and I would wander the uninhabited
shores and deep forests. No trails, just meandering through tall fern and
birch to see wherever we would end up. 
      I remember how we often launched a small rowboat into the misty
pre-dawn waters of swamps and rivers no one ever visited except us. 
And I remember the reason my father gave me, “just so we can listen for
beavers.” Nature was a dream. 
      Just sitting close to the mossy edge of a clear brook, riffling over golden
ledge-rock, was as addictive as TV. My mother often took me on bird-finding
trips to National Wildlife Refuges where I added to my “life-list” of bird
species, and of course I always drew and painted whatever I saw.

1976
WHITE MOUNTAINS, NEW HAMPSHIRE
600 miles, 76 days, backpacking

By the time I was seventeen, just out of High School, I set off on a long solo hike (76 days in the

1981 - 1982
TEN THOUSAND MILES AROUND AMERICA
10,000 miles, 476 days, backpacking, rowing, bicycling


In 1980, having just graduated from Cornell University, I spent a year planning one of the longest treks on record:
16 months of wilderness travel, covering 10,000 miles of America’s natural environments.  I had grown up as most
Americans do: surrounded by buildings, traveling by motor vehicle, watching TV, going to school.  I had been in touch
with Nature only in passing, never completely surrounded by it (as our ancestors had).  This journey would be my
opportunity to set man-made things aside and experience the natural world in a way few people ever have an opportunity
to do.  I would spend 16 months living completely on my own out-of-doors. 

TEN THOUSAND MILES  '81 - '82

Beginning in the springtime atop Mount Katahdin in Maine, I walked 2,100 miles south along the
Appalachian Trail, a footpath stretching along the rocky spine of this ancient mountain chain to
Georgia.  It took an entire summer to walk it with just the barest essentials of food and survival
gear strapped to my back.

TEN THOUSAND MILES  '81 - '82

By autumn I reached Alabama where I started rowing a Gloucester-gull dory down-river to the
Gulf of Mexico. Winter was a series of gusty shorelines - sandbars and marshes, across the vast
labyrinth of bayous and swamps of the Mississippi Delta, along Padre Island National Seashore
to the southernmost tip of coastal Texas.  Each evening I came ashore and slept beneath the stars
on what dry land I could find.  With the wind behind me, allowing me to ride the waves, I might
make 30 - 40 miles in a day.  Other times storms bore down so hard I was confined to to shore
for several days at a stretch.

TEN THOUSAND MILES  '81 - '82

From South Padre I set off on a heavily loaded bicycle to explore the desert-lands of Texas,
New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and California, crossing several thousand miles of
deserted roadways, linking tiny towns, sometimes as far as a hundred miles apart.  No tent
needed in this arid land.  At night I simply rested in my sleeping bag on the parched earth. 
Shooting stars seemed a common sight with unimpeded views all around and crystal clear night
skies above.

TEN THOUSAND MILES  '81 - '82 

The desert had come into full spring bloom when I neared the Mexican border in California. The 
last leg of my journey began here, walking and climbing the "Pacific Crest Trail,” a footpath that
straddles the mountain ranges of the Sierra Nevada in California, and the Cascades in Oregon/
Washington.  A compass and maps were essential since the trail was often buried beneath snow
high in the mountains till late June.  It was 2,700 miles from Mexico to Canada along the PCT. 
The mountains were both steeper and higher than the Appalachians, but the vistas that spread out
before me atop each crest were awe-inspiring.   
      It is hard to describe in words the effect of travelling self-propelled through the wilderness. 
The accumulated impressions of months spent outdoors are quite unlike anything experienced in
daily life among towns and cities (where so much insulation seperates us from the natural
environment).  After sixteen months, spanning ten thousand miles, living and breathing outdoors,
how can I adequately convey the change in my perception?  Needless to say it has had a great
impact on my art.
 

1988
NEWFOUNDLAND
1500 miles, 14 days, driving, kayaking

Living in New England, I had always been fascinated by the idea of just heading
due north by car up the coast as far as roads would take me. So in 1989 I loaded
the Subaru with piles of canned foods and set off -- “just to see wherever I would
end up.” Newfoundland was more spectacular than I had ever expected with towering
marine cliffs white with gannets, and barren grounds brown with caribou. I paddled
along the coastline in a kayak of my own design and was awed by the vast tranquility
of countless miles of rough uninhabited shores. 
 

1989
ST. LAWRENCE RIVER , CANANDA
1000 miles, 7 days, driving

In the autumn of 1989 I drove north into Quebec along the Saint Lawrence River to
witness the annual snow geese migration.  As the geese fly southward from the Arctic
breeding grounds, they converge at a particular point on the St. Lawrence before
dispersing southward to their winter ranges. 

1980's & 1990's
NEW ENGLAND KAYAKING

My love for kayaking bloomed in New England waters; the isolated lakes of northern Maine, the
long ocean paddles out the length of Monomy Island on Cape Cod, the river journey’s, the
swamp journeys, the rocky, wave-bound island chain journeys along Maine’s Atlantic coast.
There wasn’t a truly wild place in northern New England that I didn’t paddle at one time or another. 
      Having grown up in the town of Marblehead, a peninsula literally surrounded by ocean, and
having known so many summer weekends of boating with my father in Maine, I’ve always felt a
special connection with water. Kayaking allows an “up-close and personal” experience.  When
paddling, I’m “among the waves.”  I’m feeling the water on my hands with each paddle stroke.
I’m catching the wind and sun on my back. Water-birds and shoreline mammals such as moose, 
mink, and otter, all seem more accepting of my presence.  With camera in hand I’ve photographed
animals that could never have been approached using a larger boat.  I’ve paddled late at night
out on the ocean, rewarded by sparkling bioluminescence, the countless glow of tiny organisms
brought to life with each paddle-stroke.  I’ve sat eye-ball to eye-ball with muskrats and herons.  
Reached down to pluck sunning turtles from their logs.  Had dragonflies and damselflies alight on
my paddle.  
      (Just down the street from my studio is a river I've enjoy paddling every month of the
year in every type of weather, even in winter when the kayak creaks along through a skim
of ice.)  

1990
WIND RIVER RANGE
250 miles, 16 days, backpacking

If you’re familiar with the history of American wildlife painting, you know about Carl Rungius
(1869 – 1959).  His oil paintings of large mammals set a standard that today’s wildlife artists still
measure themselves by.  Venturing into the wilds to hunt and observe animals was a way of life
for him.  Starting in1895 he spent part of each of the following five years in Wyoming’s Wind
River Mountains.  

WIND RIVER RANGE '90
   
The “Wind Rivers” are part of the Rocky Mountains, containing some of the highest and most
rugged alpine terrain in America.  I wanted to walk the entire length of the range and experience
these mountains the way Rungius had: without the aid of marked foot-trails.  Most people today
follow the well-worn “Highline Trail” which remains well below the high peaks.  I planned to
forge my own route wherever I could to stay above timberline -up on the crest of the Continental
Divide.

WIND RIVER RANGE '90

Starting in Jackson Hole, I first had to walk across the Gros Ventre Wilderness to Green
River Lake.  From there it was all compass and instinct across a grey landscape of broken
rock and glacial lakes.  (No trails.)

WIND RIVER RANGE  '90
 
Past Daphne Lake and Bear Lakes I had my first glimpse of bighorn sheep (painted
so many times by Rungius).  This was a male with curled horns, peering down at me
like a gargoyle as I climbed up a narrow rocky ravine.  Atop Flat Top Mountain was
a small herd of mostly females and young.  I spent a day there with them, keeping my
distance, observing.

WIND RIVER RANGE '90

Descending down Elbow Creek from between Lost Eagle Peak and White Rocky, I hit the
Highline Trail for the first time in a deep wooded valley of the upper Green River.  I followed it
for a while, but I’m not entirely sure where my own route diverged next.  As I write this description
years later, I wish my notes had been more complete.  I simply remember departing the heavily
used trail somewhere around Stroud peak and not seeing it again for a few days.  My visions are
of panting hard for air up in those high altitudes; of slopes littered with shards of rock; of walking
for miles along intensely bright ridge crests under wide open skies, looking down upon awesome
glaciers and glaring September snowfields.  Camped at a high pass one evening, the weather
flipped suddenly from gorgeous sunset colors to dark thunder clouds that made the ground dance
with hail.  I could easily see what drew Rungius back here time after time.  The light, the colors,
the form of the mountains were uniquely Wind River. 

WIND RIVER RANGE '90

When the sky was clear it was flawlessly blue.  I often set up a lightweight tripod to mount the
camera on for landscape photography.  The possibilities and compositions were endless.

WIND RIVER RANGE '90

From the Cirque of Towers I wandered south toward a 13,192 foot peak bearing the name of
these mountains.  It wasn’t the highest (Gannet Peak to the north was 612 feet higher), but being
isolated at the southern end of the range with no accessible trails in the vicinity gave it an awesome
vantage point.  The north face dropped vertically hundreds of feet to a mile long glacier.  The
south offered vistas of where I would now descend to the Popo Agie River and the vast plains
that fanned out into the distance.

WIND RIVER RANGE '90

From Sinks Creek State Park at the mountains’ edge I followed a highway by foot into the town
of Lander.  I don’t really know how far I walked; I guessed roughly it was about 250 miles from
Jackson Hole.  What left its mark was the incredible visual experience.  My wife met me at a
main junction in Lander driving a rental car, and together we spent the following week exploring
Yellowstone by vehicle.

In a few days of driving my wife & I criss-crossed every road in Yellowstone, walking
many of the side-trails along the way.  Some of the boardwalks led across geyser
basins like the one shown above.  I felt like a bonafide tourist visiting Old Faithful. 
We learned to spot wildlife by watching for cars pulled over along the roadside. 

1991
COLORADO & UTAH
3000 miles, 10 days, driving, hiking

My rental car beneath a rainbow in the Rockies during a 3,000 mile solo tour of
Colorado and Utah.  The state of Colorado had Bristlecone pines, mountain goats,
bighorn sheep, alpine flowers, and giant sand dunes.  The state of Utah had colossal
Arches and expansive Canyonlands, cougar tracks, lightening and swarms of evening
bats.  I shunned motels during this road trip, prefering to park along the roughest
unpaved roads my little car could handle, then hike into countryside where I could roll
out the sleeping bag and enjoy the wild surroundings.  I definately prefer to sleep on
the ground rather than a motel bed. 

COLORADO '91 

Bristlecone pines, the oldest living trees in North America.  I snapped this photo as a dark storm
cloud passed over the far mountainside.

COLORADO '91 

Attending Robert Bateman's Colorado painting
seminar during my driving tour.

COLORADO '91 

Deer at Great Sand Dunes National Monument, Colorado.  These dunes formed from sand
trapped by the San de Cristo Mountains.  The late afternoon sun caught the deer perfectly as I
watched them cross beneath a giant hill of white sand.  Not far from here I spent the night in my
sleeping bag, far from the nearest intrusion of humankind. 

UTAH '91

Hundreds of square miles of wide open spaces and spectacular scenery.

UTAH '91

This backcountry road gave new meaning to the phrase"falling rocks." 
My little rental car was put through its paces.

UTAH '91

A little rainwater.  A little flash-flooding.  The road in Canyonlands National Park. 
Beneath an overhang of rock a long hike in from the road I rested as thunder
reverberated across the odd sandstone formations.  At dusk the bats came out
swirling into the air by the hundreds as I prepared to sleep.

1992
TEXAS COAST
750 miles, 10 days, airboat, driving

During my 10,000 mile journey in 1981 I had rowed the entire length of the Texas
coastline.  In 1992 a Texas print publisher lured me down to their state with all
expenses paid coastal tour.  It was exciting to see stretches of shoreline from the
comfort and speed of an airboat that I had previously spent weeks rowing slowly
along.  
 

ZION NATIONAL PARK  '92

Another print publisher brought me to the southwest again where I re-visited
the Grand Canyon.  This time on the north rim I observed the unique kaibab
squirrels.  Pictured above is a walk upstream into Zion National Park.

NORTH RIM GRAND CANYON '92

Kaibab squirrel among the pine forests of the North Rim.

   

1993
KAYAKING THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES
100 miles, 9 days, kayaking

Sea kayaking brought me back to Florida in the winter of ’93 for a serious hundred mile paddle
through mangrove swamps, tall-grass-wetlands, and mazes of uninhabited islands along sandy
Gulf shores, all within Everglades National Park.  

FLORIDA EVERGLADES '93

The National Park encompasses broad stretches of uninhabited coastline along the Gulf of Mexico where I paddled
from one sandy island to the next.  Dolphins and seaturtles played in the calm waters, while at sunset raccoons
roamed the mudflats searching for treats left by the sea.  

FLORIDA EVERGLADES '93
 
A moment before dawn in the grassy Everglades.  Many envision
the Everglades as simply waterlogged grasslands, but there is much
more to this area than grass; mangrove trees grow along the salty
waterways near the coast; trees, bushes and epiphytes grow on any
spot of dry land inland; and channels of water (streams and small
rivers) penetrate much of the area.

FLORIDA EVERGLADES '93

Night view of a mangrove swamp/forest.  When I returned home, people often wondered whether I was a little frightened
sleeping in the swamps at night surrounded by alligators.  However, the National Park Service is fastidious in maintaining the
environment and requires all visitors to use only designated campsites where human activity provides a safe-haven. 

BRITISH COLUMBIA '93

View from one of my campsites on one of the many uninhabited islands I visited
.

1993
PACIFIC NORTHWEST
1000 miles, 7 days, driving

A thousand mile drive south along coastal roads from Vancouver, BC to morthern
California brought me through Washington and Oregon to visit sea lion caves,
moss-laden rainforests, and enormous pinnacles jutting upward out of sandy beaches. 
   

1994
CORKSCREW SWAMP
500 miles, 7 days, driving, hiking

In the winter of 1994 I returned to Florida to follow the pale gray boardwalk of Corkscrew
Swamp. It puts Disney World to shame. A mile of wooden, hand-built walkway is suspended
above the swamp and penetrates a lush world of cypress trees, owls, night herons, wood-storks,
ibis, and alligators, a world we would otherwise never have an opportunity to see.   It has since
become one of my favorite haunts.  I returned to Sanibel Island to see the sunrise over Ding
Darling National Wildlife Refuge.

1997
NORTHERN ROCKIES, MONTANA & CANADA
1500 miles, 9 days, driving, hiking

The National Museum of Wildlife Art featured their annual “miniature” show in September of
1997 in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. This was another good reason for a long serious solo trek,
heading northward through Yellowstone to Glacier National Park.   I spent time observing grizzlies
and mountain goats. Northward by car into Canada, the flat grasslands spread for hundreds of
miles before relinquishing to the Canadian Rockies and eventually culminating at Banff where elk
walk through the town’s streets at dusk. One of the highlights of this tour was an unexpected stop
in the “Bugaboo” Mountains where I climbed hundreds of feet up sheer cliffs to a hut overhanging
a glacier.

1998
COLORADO ROCKIES
1000 miles, 7 days, driving

The "Artists of America Exhibition" was held in the city of Denver at the Colorado
Museum of History.  While taking part in this black tie gala event was entertaining,
it just couldn't match the backcountry roads of the Rocky Mountains! 
Pictured is Ophir Pass.

2000
BAJA MEXICO, KAYAKING THE SEA OF CORTEZ
300 miles, 21 days, kayaking

In May of 2000 I embarked on a journey into a completley new realm, the vast uninhabited
shores of the Baja Peninsula in Meixco. For nearly a month I paddled across aquamarine waters 
of the Sea of Cortez where people are scarce and roads are non-existent. Using a new "folding"
sea kayak which I brought with me on an airplane and a bus, I paddled along three hundred
miles of the driest, most rugged coast I've ever seen, where the arid desert meets the flourishing
sea.  Beneath the water were colorful fish of all shapes and sizes.  Only two small Mexican villages
in three hundred miles - the rest simply timeless wilderness where temperatures daily reached
110 degrees. 

BAJA 2000

Scorpion six inches long

BAJA 2000

Cliffs rising out of the sea at sunset.  I often paddled until after darkness fell to take advantage
of the cooling temperatures.  In complete darkness with the distant coastline just black outline
against the stars, my paddle-blades stirred up a spectacular display of bioluminescense, glowing
plankton in sea water.  Perhaps the most breath-taking moments of the entire journey took
place when a large group of dolphins passed beneath my kayak, their forms ghostly illuminted by
the phosperescense. 

BAJA 2000
 
Dolphins at sunrise.

BAJA 2000

Along the three hundred miles of coastline I paddled, there
were only two tiny towns.  The rest simply a timeless wilderness
of desert.

NEW ZEALAND 
3000 miles, 30 days, driving, kayaking, hiking

I am committed to exploring nature not just in North America,
but around the world. 
During the northern hemisphere's winter, I spent a month in
New Zealand's "summer," traveling alone from its northernmost
point (Cape Reinga) to its southernmost point (Stewart Island),
experiencing all of its diverse natural environments.  With my
folding kayak I was able to descend rivers, navigate freshwater
lakes, reach offshore islands, penetrate saltwater lagoons, and 
cruise the coastline.  Here was a country full of fauna & flora
completely new to me.  Birds such as penguins, kiwi, kea, kaka, 
tui, and weka.  Trees such as the giant kauri, the flowering ratas, 
the ancient mountain beech, and the silver tree-ferns.  In just one
month I traveled thousands of miles, criss-crossing the country
from one end to the other, discovering just how incredible life on
this far side of the world can be.

2002
SAN RAFEAL WILDERNESS, CALIFORNIA
100 miles, 7 days, backpacking

The following November I visited one of the least visited areas in America.  The San
Rafael Wilderness seems to be a well-kept secret along the coast of California.  It's
the last remaining refuge of the American Condor.  For a week I rambled along its
rocky ravines and up over its steep mountainsides, basking in the intense quiet of this
roadless paradise.  

 

 

---

2002
GUATEMALA

Just before Christmas 2002 my wife & I traveled to Guatemala to bring home our son, Alexander,
who was then just an infant.  Little did we know how much he would change our lives with his love
& happiness.  Four years later my wife took this picture below as we had fun exploring the deep grass
of a hayfield near our home.
 

 

---

2003
BELIZE TROPICAL FORESTS & CORAL REEFS
1000 miles, 14 days, buses, kayking, hiking

While exploring the Cockscomb Jaguar Preserve by foot, I paused beneath this
giant tropical hardwood.  At my feet was a dancing parade of  leaf-cutter ants,
known locally as the "wee-wees."  Overhead a hen-size chachalaca roosted
among the dense foliage.   I spent the first two weeks of March experiencing the
natural environments of Belize - a Central American country bordering Mexico, 
Guatemala, and the Caribbean ocean.  
         My folding kayak enabled me to paddle out to some of the offshore
islands, fifty miles of crystaline waters colored turquoise from one mangrove
caye to another.  Snorkeling on the barrier coral reef (extending the entire length
of Belize: over one hundred eighty miles), I observed colorful marine fishes,
stingrays, and bull sharks; recording what I saw through underwater photography.  
         Ascending a Mayan temple above the hilltop canopy near the Guatemalan
border, I was provided with a tremendous view of inland forests - endless shades 
green - home to toucans, parrots, howler monkeys, and agoutis.  This was my
first experience with both tropical forests and coral reefs.  
         It was also the first time I utilized local public transportation to journey
from one end of the the country to the other, enjoying the company of the mayan,
creole, and garifuna peoples, all of whom spoke some dialect of English.  I won't
soon forget being the only American on a four hour bus ride, standing room only,
sandwiched and packed with laughing native holiday travelers, the bus-driver
roaring past every other vehicle on the road.
  
 
Spider Monkey quick sketch from digital camcorder (pencil on paper).  

 

---

2003
ALASKA
2000 miles, 14 days, driving, boat cruise

The last two weeks of August were spent in Alaska with my family; a much less rigorous trip
than I'm accustomed to.  With my wife, her father, her sister, and our 12 month old son
Alexander, we toured the easily reached areas of the state by van.  I hope to someday return
for a more extensive wilderness adventure.  
      Shown above is a view of the "Harding Icefield" seen from atop a ridge - the only hiking
I did during the whole two weeks.  Along with driving, we also took a day-long boat cruise
off the coast of the Kenai Fjiords National Park and a guided shuttle-bus tour along the 60
mile Denali National Park road; seeing just about every form of wildlife known to inhabit
Alaska (tufted puffins to grizzlies to caribou).

ALASKA  2003
 
Kenai Fjords National Park.  A typical view from the deck of our ship. This was by far the most
rugged and spectacular shoreline I had ever seen. 

2003
THE BAHAMAS
100 miles, 9 days, kayaking
 

 

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2004
NEW ENGLAND SUMMER

Kayaking on Henry David Thoreau's Walden Pond.

 

 

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2004
THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE, MONTANA 
100 miles, 6 days, backpacking

In my New England studio I often-times find myself wanting to re-visit distant
environments I have especially fond memories of, such as my 1990 trek atop the
alpine crest of the Wind River mountains in Wyoming.  Those remote, wind-swept
peaks with their intense sunlight and autumn colors are hard to forget.  I dreamed
of following the “Continental Divide” north through Montana and revisiting similar
alpine wonderlands.  The Ananconda-Pintler Wilderness seemed best for me, since
it lacked the tight rules and regulations of Glacier National Park and its crest was
much higher than that of the Bob Marshall Wilderness.   I brought six days worth
of food and just the bare essentials of survival gear – that’s all.  Alone I hiked three
days without seeing another human being.  
         At night - herds of elk thudded through the woods, and bugling bull-elks 
brought the dark woods alive.  At dawn - woodpeckers woke me by trout-filled
lakes as the early morning sun made cliffs far above into glowing reflections on the
water’s calm surface.  
         Trips like this are essential to my artwork; they re-establish an awareness
of the unique color-pallette found here; and they allow me to fill in gaps in my
knowledge of things like flora and rock formations that I may have been missing
from previous trips.  Most important to me is the emotional connection I gain 
from these wild places, without which true art is impossible to create.

---

2004
WYOMING
2000 miles, 9 days, driving

A week after my hike in Montana, my wife, son, and father-in-law joined me in Jackson Hole
for the second phase of our trip: observing wildlife of Yellowstone, the Tetons, and the
surrounding countryside by car. 


A few of the many quick sketches I did from my camcorder recordings when I got back to
my studio.  I like to start the day off by doing 5 or 10 minute sketches for half an hour before
getting started with oil painting.

Sitting in front of a computer monitor, I work quickly for 5 minutes.  When a timer beeps, 
I move to next image.  This helps focus my attention (and loosen up my hands) before painting.  
The close-up raven above shows one sketch that I spent a few more minutes. 

 
The Sonoran Desert with its characteristic saguaros

Huachuca Mountains

Elegant Trogon, as seen in a creekside forest.  Its mate was perched in another tree close-by

The Magnificent Hummingbird, so named for its large size and magnificent green and purple head.

A Vermillion Flycatcher, one of several that I observed closely as it hunted for flying
insects from its perched along the edges of riparian areas

Some quick sketches of gila woodpeckers done in my studio from videos I made in the field.

2006
FLORIDA
2000 miles, 9 days, driving, hiking

Florida was once a paradise for wading birds; large plumed birds such
as herons and egrets.  And, while their numbers have been drastically
reduced since the arrival of human settlers, they are still here in concentrations
rarely seen elsewhere.  
            May 4^th I embarked on a nine day odyssey by car to visit the major
hot-spots.  I logged over 2,000 miles and shot 3500 digital images and recorded
countless camcorder images.  By the time I was finished I had closely observed
26 species of birds in flight: Great Egret, Snowy Egret, Reddish Egret, Cattle Egret,
Little Blue Heron, Green Heron, Tricolored Heron, Great Blue Heron, White Ibis,
Glossy Ibis, Wood Stork, Roseatte Spoonbill, Anhinga, Brown Pelican, Laughing
Gulls, Royal Terns, Sandwich Terns, Brown Noddy terns, Sooty Terns, Black
Skimmers, Willets, Black-bellied Plovers, Dunlins, assorted Sandpipers, Black
Vultures, Swallow-tailed Kites, Ospreys, and a Red-Bellied Woodpecker. 
            I chose the first two weeks of May because this was nesting season, and
they would be so busy feeding their young that they'd hardly notice a photographer.   
Arriving at Miami airport at 5:30PM, I started off by driving 230 miles north to a
campground near Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge; I’d be there at dawn the
next morning.  Then on to the St. Augustine Alligator Farm, another 120 miles north. 
This was a haven for Egrets & Herons. The alligators swarming the waters beneath
the nesting trees and shrubbery created a “predator-free” nesting environment
(no raccoons).  A boardwalk conveniently allows photographers to closely observe
the birds while staying out of reach of the hungry jaws below.  I stayed till dusk 


Great Egret             

            Next morning I drove up the hard-packed sand of Huguenot
Beach off Jacksonville (almost to the Georgia border), where a thriving
colony of raucous Laughing Gulls and Royal Terns provided lots of
flight-shots.  The following morning I remained perfectly calm, sitting in
cool, damp sand on the edge of a small lagoon at Fort DeSoto State
Park (hundreds of miles away on the Gulf side of Florida near St.
Petersburg) surrounded by dozens of resting Black Skimmers and
hundreds of sleeping sandpipers until the rising sun brought the first
beach-goers - and the birds flew away.  Following the "Yellow Trail"
at Oscar Scherer State Park a few hours later in the hot midday sun
I watched an endangered Florida Scrub Jay feed some tasty morsels
to its youngster as the two birds moved among the limbs of Slash Pine.


Reddish Egret
            
            The loop road at Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge has
been one of my favorite places since I first visited it in 1984.  I sat
for quite a while watching a pair of Ospreys bringing fish to their
nearly full-grown off-spring.  Later, miles inland, I hunkered in the
shade of a bush watching dozens of Ibis and Anhingas fly overhead
as they returned to roost at Lakes County Park.  The park was
within a network of rapidly expanding urban environments just south
of Fort Meyers.  I discovered the Gulf coast from St. Petersburg all
the way to Naples, a distance of 180 miles, was under massive
development.  Everywhere I traveled, heavy machinery was clearing
the natural vegetation, replacing it with huge upscale shopping centers,
car dealerships and more and more cookie-cutter housing.  I usually
take development in stride, but the pace and aggressiveness of this
widespread transformation had me wondering.
         Next morning I stepped into another favorite place: "Corkscrew." 
Twelve years had passed since I'd been here last, but it seemed like
yesterday.  The 2 mile boardwalk through mature cypress was still
incredible, but this time the sounds of bird calls were accompanied
by the distant droan of motor vehicles from highway 846 as commuters
from more than thirty square miles of brand new suburbs poured
westward toward the coastal city of Naples. 

Along 75, turning southward on Rt. 29 into Fakahatchee Strand and Big Cypress
preserves, the sprawl ended abruptly and miles of uninterupted green "wilderness"
stretched ahead with only a few cars on the roads.  I walked the Fakahatchee
boardwalk, and enjoyed the vast solitude of Route 41, crossing the northern boundary
of Everglades National Park.  The Anhinga Trail, the most popular destination
within the Park, was deserted early the next morning before the sun rose, but
alligators were literally swarming in the waters beneath the boardwalk.  

The Anhinga (or "Snakebird") after which the trail is named

Snorkeling the John Pennekamp reef is like entering one of those colorful and hard to imagine
TV nature shows where schools of brilliantly hued fish light up the screen in your living room. 
Parrot-fish deep violet (the size of my cat) grazed on crunchy mouthfuls of coral within arms
reach (I could actually hear them chewing).  I swam with barracuda, became part of a glittering
wall of big silvery fish, and marveled over even the littlest creatures with neon colors.
         Down the Keys to Key West by nightfall.  By morning I was aboard a high-speed
catamaran headed for the Dry Tortugas, a group of tiny islands 2 1/2 hours due south where
Noddy Terns and Sooty Terns nest, and Cattle Egrets stalk the courtyard of an ancient fort. 
This was my last day in Florida.   
 

Cattle Egret searching for insects

2006
NEW MEXICO
750 miles, 7 days, driving

Close view of the cliffs on Sandia Peak above Albuquerque.  This New Mexico trip was mostly a
family vacation, but did include a tram up the mountain, a visit to the Jamez Mountains, and a tour of
the Acoma Pueblo (in October).

---

2008 May
PUERTO RICO
700 miles, 9 days, driving, hiking, snorkeling

 
A defining east-to-west range of interior mountains as high as 4,000 ft. creates a dramatic rain-shadow along
the south side of the island.  This is a land of extreme opposites from the rainforest.  In Guanica State Forest,
the land has been preserved much as it was before humans began clearing and building.   The sun is blazing hot. 
Cactus grow tall here.  With wind whipping up fierce gusts off the turquoise sea I walked the shore trail for
miles along this isolated coast.  Inland were trails to explore; parched forests of stunted trees covering low
rolling hills.

Of the 700 miles recorded on my rental car’s odometer, many of these were along the
intensely winding mountain roads of Puerto Rico’s interior.  At Maricao State Forest
Adrian Munz, the forest manager, pointed out 5 species of endemic birds (Puerto Rican
Tanager, Elfin Woods Warbler, Puerto Rican Woodpecker, Puerto Rican Tody, and
Green Mango)  Above the ranger station a Euphonia was gathering moss in its beak
to build a nest above us. 

El Yunque is what they call the National Forest that encompasses Puerto Rico’s 28,000 acre
rainforest.  As night fell on terrain sloping steeply in all directions, I strung my Hennessey Hammock
between two trees for the night.  

An abandoned road within El Yunque National Forest.  

Rain caught up with me at Rio Abajo State Forest in the northwestern corner of the
island.   This is “karst” country, a topography of abruptly rising isolated hills of
limestone (similar to those seen in ancient Chinese paintings).  Here in the darkness
when the rain fell silent and I was cozy in my tent, the forest came alive with the
sound of the “Coqui,” Puerto Rico’s symbol of sound.  These tiny tree frogs produce
such a musical call so loudly and in such numbers that you can hardly believe your
ears.  I’d never heard anything like it.   The sound was the same in Toro Negro and a
little different in Susua Forest where I camped.

       At Las Croabas I joined a group of kayakers on a commercial tour of bioluminescent
"Laguna Grande" on the coast, where the water literally glowed with each paddle stroke.  

       On Isla de Culebra an hour’s ferry-ride off the coast, I entered the marine environment. 
I‘m a novice when it comes to snorkeling, but I do have a mask with prescription lenses
and the world’s most comfortable fins (as advertised) which are stubby enough to fit in
my backpack.   As I entered the water along a deserted stretch, I was greeted by two
cuttlefish (squid-like creatures) that hovered motionless, staring at me like I was the
oddest thing they’d seen that day – and I probably was.  Within a hundred yards of shore
was a maze of coral reef with passages and drop-offs and caves inhabited by every color
fish under the rainbow.  If only birds were this easy to observe!  I could float within arm’s
reach of most, watching them eat, watching them socialize, watching them swim with a
leisure humans only dream of. 

Old San Juan 

 

I usually try to avoid cities, but Old San Juan (dating from the year 1520) is one of those special
places that blends wonderful old-world architecture with a stunning natural environment - San Juan Bay.  
Today it is but a tiny fraction of the sprawling city of San Juan, where international flights now arrive
instead of sailing ships.  

 

In a hidden corner of the old city was place where "nature" touched people.   

___________________________________________________________________________

 

While visits to preserved areas creates an impression of natural abundance, much of the island has
been greatly altered by people. 

 

---

2008 October
LAKE KAMESTASTIN, LABRADOR
14 days, hiking

       Rob Mullen, founder of WREAF (Wilderness River Environmental Art Foundation),
invited me to join his latest expedition to the boreal forest of Canada, which brought seven
wildlife artists and one photographer to a very remote area of Labrador accessible only by
bush-plane.

There are only a few towns in Labrador and just one unpaved highway - across which we had to
drive 500 miles to reach the airport.  From there it was 250 miles straight north to Lake Kamestastin
where the native people (the Innu) had established a camp consisting of small log cabins and a
lodge which was still under construction. 

Here we spent two weeks exploring the surroundings, returning each evening to the warmth of
the cabins.


Lake Kamestastin has been known to the Innu for thousands of years as a unique place in the migration of caribou
(which today number more than 400,000).  Caribou cross here at the narrow end of the lake, making them easy
targets.  We found them easy targets too - for our cameras.  And the possibilities for paintings endless.



At this latitude in October the daytime teperatures were mostly in the 50's, dropping
to below freezing at night.  In the sun one day I managed to do some plein-air painting,
but mostly I wandered with my camera and a few other artists, recording whatever
crossed our path. 

 
Besides caribou, there were numerous close encounters with black bears, porcupine, ptarmigan - as well as small
creatures like crossbills, grey jays and red squirrels.

LAKE KAMESTASTIN, LABRADOR 2008

 

Everglades National Park encompasses the entire southern tip of Florida.


 
I started in Everglades "City," which is really a quiet backwater village at the northern perimeter of the Park, and
paddled the "Wilderness Waterway" southward through mangrove swamps to Broad River as it flows westward to
the coast.  Anyone wanting a glimpse of primal Florida need only visit the Broad at dawn.  Egrets erupt by the
hundreds along the shore.  Alligators catch morning rays on dry mud-banks.  At the coast a tail-wind pushed me
along so fast I actually ran over an alligator resting in the shallows (I could feel it squirm beneath the boat as it arched
its back in only a foot of water).  In the surf of Highland Beach sharks with three dorsal fins slithered after schools of
fish.
      Having just turned 50, I was proving a little something to myself each day: that I could still keep up a steady rhythm
with the paddle.  Day one and two were tough.  There had been strong head-winds, but I still managed 40 miles. 
Today with a tail-wind I would make nearly 30.  I guess all those years of weight-lifting and running were paying off. 
The last two days I would take it slower and soak up the environment; observe white pelicans & terns diving; relax
ashore a deserted island.

2009  WINTER

 2,400 miles, 12 days, driving, hiking

GREATER YELLOWSTONE

 Making the decision to paint mammals once again (after seven years of studying birds), I

decided to visit the greater Yellowstone area during the first two weeks of December 2009. 

Big game animals come down from the high country at this time of year to escape heavy

snowfall and find better grazing.  Landing in Salt Lake, I drove north to Dubois, Wyoming

to see the Whiskey Mountain herd of big horn sheep.  It was minus 17 degrees when I

arrived at dawn.  Two rams were keeping a ewe and its lamb company as I approached by

foot wearing my Cabella’s “Winter Range” boots (so cozy).  I got in close and the big guys

hardly cared.  Fortunately digital cameras are unaffected by the cold. 

Along the South Fork of the Shoshone River just west of Cody (a 240 mile drive north of Dubois), the weather

had warmed up to eight below and the sheep were so plentiful they were jumping over the fence along the roadside. 

I spent the day among them, observing & photographing.

Another 250 mile drive brought the small town of Gardiner into view on the northern boundary of

Yellowstone National Park.  Out along the gravel road past the high school a herd of pronghorn were

grazing, looking especially beautiful as the early morning sun graced their winter fur.   

Above is a series of “captures” I made from a video I shot of a coyote hunting mice along the only plowed roadway 
in Yellowstone National Park this time of year.  (The road stretches from Gardiner to the eastern boundary of the
Park about 57 miles.)  Out of 14 tries, it caught 4 mice.  Not a bad harvest.

 

 

 About 50 miles north of Bozeman I joined Pam Knowles and her husband

(both field biologists) at their bison ranch for some bumpy fun riding around

in the back of a pickup truck while bales of hay were tossed out.  Bison came

galloping in from all directions.  You get some interesting action shots this way.

 

One of my favorite places from past visits to Yellowstone is a little town on the western border aptly

named: West Yellowstone.  It’s where the Grizzly & Wolf Discovery Center is located.  The grizzlies

have a wide open area strewn with logs & large rocks where the keepers hide food for them to find. 

The wolves have a habitat full of interesting terrain and vegetation.  I pulled into the parking lot after

a ninety mile drive through blowing snow and found the sun just beginning to filter in.   The wolves

seemed to sense the change in weather and were living it up.   

   

I got into Jackson Hole after dark - 150 miles later.  The Discovery Center closed at 4:00 and I
wanted to get an early start the next morning.  There was no telling what I'd find next, but that’s

the joy of exploring outdoors: it’s always a surprise.  Some blazing red bushes caused me to swerve
off the road at around 9AM.  I needed some photos.  The sunshine was brilliant.  I turned down a
rutted side-road in Grand Teton National Park, leading past the bushes to a small pond kept open by
geo-thermal energy.  
      "Now this is what I'm talking about!” I said to myself as I rolled down the window and stuck a
telephoto lens out of my mobile blind.  Trumpeter swans were sunning themselves within a stone's throw. 

 

It was later in the afternoon further along another back-road that I noticed a couple of cars pulled over at the edge
of a heavily wooded riparian area.  People don’t just park out here in the middle vast open country for no reason. 
They must have spotted something, I thought.  It was moose; two big bulls, a cow, and a calf browsing along the
creek side.  I had the rest of my afternoon planned for me now (I’d keep a reasonable distance and follow along till
sun-down.)  The other sight-seers soon headed back to their cars as the moose moved deeper into the woods.  It
was one of those special times when everything was working right.  Just me and Nature.  I was alone with the beasts
and had the whole forest to myself now.  Just the way I like it.

2010

COLORADO - AUTUMN
1,600 miles, 12 days, driving & hiking

Crouched in a soft pocket of grass among a herd of mountain goats, I look a thousand feet down the mountainside
to a road I just climbed up from.  Mountain goats are such trusting creatures.  Their clear brown eyes watch me
innocently as they graze.  Their fur so soft and white it seems like fresh fallen snow.  I'm part of their little troop this
afternoon, up here in this thin alpine air, moving slowly as they do, enjoying the radiant sunshine and spectacular
vistas.  THANK YOU mountain goats.
        Mount Evans is a few hundred miles into a 1,600 mile tour I planned - to see wildlife in Colorado.  October
is aspen season, and down below the forests glow brilliantly gold.
        I had started at the town of "Estes Park" where elk are so common they forage on bushes outside McDonald's. 
I hiked in Rocky Mountain National Park, then swung south along the highways through forested valleys. 
Tomorrow I'll re-visit a grove of bristlecone pines I haven't seen since 1991.  Using some "off-roading"
guidebooks I ordered on Amazon, I intended to trace a route over as many high passes as I could.  Some are
well-know, others are accessible only by 4-wheel drive.
       Sunrise, day five, I roll out of my sleeping bag atop Paradise Divide.  Years have slipped by since I last awoke
anywhere so quiet as this.  I'd forgotten what it was like.  As a young man, hiking, rowing & bicycling across
America for 16 months I became well acquainted with the slience of the wilderness, but rarely have I encountered it
since then - in man's world of towns & cites.
       Later in the day I park the car and wander into a cathedral-like grove of aspens near Kebler Pass.  Aspens
grow in such homogenous communities that you become swallowed up by the overwhelming array of tall narrow
trunks, pale as ghosts, above which spreads the dense canopy of yellow gold.  Sunlight filters through, tinting
everything below, coloring it.
       Weather on this trip is unseasonably warm.  Seventies.  Perfectly clear skies.  It's now day seven and still no
rain.  I'm up on the high crest of sandstone that forms Colorado National Monument.  Not the kind of environemt
we usually associate with the Rocky Mountain state.  But I love exploring arroyos and I'm now in some deep
(unnamed) shadowy place once carved by rushing water.  The thrill of arroyos comes from the feeling of being so
isolated and at the same time so vulnerable.  With their steep slick sandstone walls and obstacle course of boulders
along the floor, they provide a place where you trully feel immersed in the environment.

       I had shot 9,200 digital images so far, and would eventually reach 11,600 by the time I finished this trip and
headed home.  I wanted to gather all the little pieces necessary for creating paintings of mammals in their natural
environments.  This means focusing on everything within view.  Close-ups of lichen, beautifully sculpted boulders,
tufts of grass, forest of golden aspens, dramatiuc slopes strewn with rubble, distant mountain ranges, the outlines
of tree-tops, or the wind-hewn shapes of evergreen shrubs clinging to barren ridge-tops.
       I find myself most at home in these wildest places and wish I never have to leave.

 
I had been running almost every day this summer with my family's new dog, Robbie, a Brittany Spaniel, so I was
ready for some all day hikes in the Rockies.  July 19th I shot this photo near Arapaho Pass in the Indian Peaks
Wilderness.

Elk cool off and evade biting flies by migrating upward to the
lingering snowfields in Rocky Mountain National Park.

With my backpack loaded (camera gear, food, and raingear) I hiked up toward Pawnee
Pass above Lake Isabelle one morning, then hiked up Granite Pass near Longs Peak in the
afternoon.  Another day I wandered past some of the well-known sites in RMNP: Dream
Lake, Emerald Lake, The Loch, and above Haiyaha Lake left the comfort of the trails to
explore Chaos Canyon and find some unique perspectives I might be able to use in my
paintings.  Pika (pictured above) played hide & seek above treeline.

A trip to Colorado wouldn't be complete without a drive up Mount Evans.  Resident mountain goats grazed close
to the road this time with little ones hugging close by their mothers.

One of the advantages of observing wildlife in national parks is their "tameness." 
An hour went by as the sun slung low through the pines and I hovered within
20 feet of this mule deer buck, never once sensing fear.

So productive is the vicinity of Yellowstone National Park that I was back again for another whirlwind tour, including
a foray 250 miles north to the National Bison Range, westward through Targhee National Forest, and southward
200 miles to the Taberancel Buttel area of Wyoming's high desert grasslands southeast of Pinedale.

 

A Yellwstone hot spot:  Norris Geyser basin at dusk

The National Bison Range is what Montana used to look like before the
arrival of settlers.  It's comparatively small (19,000 acres vs. Yellowstone's
2,219, 823) and is surrounded by farmland, but once withiin the perimeter
you quickly lose sight of what's beyond as White Horse & Red Sleep
Mountains rise up to overwhelm the horizon.  A large herd now moves
steadily across yellowed slopes, rising up over a dip in the ridgeline ahead
and behind me.  One of those Big Sky days, crystal clear.  Sunlight intense.

 


Back in Yellowstone a coyote fills up on grasshoppers.  (See that tiny
white spot in front of its nose?)

 

Out of the way places are my favorites.  This time it was off trail near Ross Lake in the Fitzpatrick Wilderness. 
Some very rugged country along a bighorn migration route.  Signs of grizzly or black bear digging through red squirrel
middens (fresh dirt, seed hulls & bear dung).

 
View from a ridge top near Tabernacle Butte.  I now have a front leg and a hind leg of a pronghorn in my studio as
a result of this meandering.  Down near the car (see that red arrow) someone had blown a hole in one many months
before, leaving the carcass to sun cure.  (Ultra-light lower legs are one of the attributes that make pronghorn fast.) 
Looking directly straight ahead it's 120 miles of pronghorn country till you arrive at Interstate 80.  (See that other red
arrow for the dirt road I came in on.)

 

Pronghorn antelope reflect a time more than 12,000 years
ago when more dangerous predators roamed these lands:
North American versions of cheetahs, lions, and hyenas. 
Today, speeding at 60 miles per hour, they're "over-equipped"
for the likes of coyotes and wolves.  They can cover the
length of a football field in 3.5 seconds or cruise for miles
at 40 mph.  The competition thousands of years ago led to 
evolution of a heart doubled in size, 50 percent more blood,
a windpipe capable of moving volumes of air in and out,
and lower limbs slender and lightweight.