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 summer of 1976) climbing every peak over 4,000 feet in the White
Mountains National Forest of New Hampshire (48 peaks in all).  All my food and
equipment was toted along on my back.  At night the stars, the great-horned owls,
the white-footed mice and the vast forests spread around me as I visited some of 
the most remote places that trails never reached. I learned what it was like to live
outdoors during rainstorms, what the rugged earth does to tender feet, and what
animals see.  I walked 600 miles. 

 

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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.


1990
YELLOWSTONE
500 miles, 7 days, driving 

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
northern 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.

2002
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. 

2005
SOUTHEASTERN ARIZONA
1500 miles, 14 days, driving, hiking
Southeastern Arizona is one of America’s “hot-spots” for birdwatching.  Mountain ranges rise up from
the flat desert to form “sky islands” here that are green and alluring, attracting migrating birds on their
way north from Mexico and Central America.  The last two weeks of April 2005 I visited many of the
sites familiar to dedicated birdwatchers.  In the Chiricahua Mountains I visited Rustler Park, Cave Creek,
Southwestern Research Station, Cave Creek Ranch, Portal, and South Fork of Cave Creek.  In the Huachuca
Mountains I visited Garden Canyon, Scheelite Canyon, Ramsey Canyon, Carr Canyon, Miller Canyon, and
Ash Canyon.  Outlying areas included: Patagonia-Sonoita Creek Preserve, San Pedro River, Banning Field
Station, Buenos Aires at Arivaca, and Madera Canyon.  To top it off I drove nearly to the top of Mount
Graham where it started to snow at 9,000 feet elevation.  While my main interest was to capture images
of birds, not just check off a list of species' names, this trip provided a surprising array of new birds to
observe.  At least eight different kinds of hummingbirds (Violet crown, Broad-billed, Blue-throated,
Magnificent, Anna’s, Black-chinned, Broad-tailed, and Rufous); four tanagers (Summer, Western, Hepatic,
and Flame); plus Red-Faced Warblers, Painted Redstarts, Bridled Titmice, Yellow-eyed Juncos, and
Elegant Trogons.  The trogons I followed for more than an hour as they fluttered from tree to tree snatching
up large, juicy caterpillars.  Perhaps the most unexpected sighting was that of a Spotted Owl which was
pointed out to me by another birder during a hike up Scheelite Canyon.

 
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

 

2008 November
EVERGLADES
90 miles, 5 days, kayaking

I had intended to hike part of the "Florida Trail," but special restrictions (in effect during
the November deer hunting season) convinved me otherwise.  I decided instead to retrace
part of my 1993 sea kayaking route through the Everglades.

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.