Testing My Limits in Alaska: Kanuti Hot Springs

"We must go beyond textbooks, go out into the bypaths and untrodden depths of the wilderness and travel and explore and tell the world the glories of our journey." ~John Hope Franklin

My second week in Alaska a small group of us traveled to Kanuti Hot Springs. You won't find these hot springs in any travel brochure or tourist website however. Aside from my friend Ed's blog and a government site, there is very little mention of Kanuti Hot Springs...anywhere. Needless to say it was quite remote, four and a half hours north of Fairbanks and 14 miles away from the highway along the Kanuti River. I wondered how Ed found it in the first place!

Dan C's Car packed with five people, one dog, five rafts, five packs, gear and a lot of miles ahead of us!

Ed and his friends did this trip last year around the same time. Five of us went on this trip, plus Sky, Dan C's beautiful dog. The plan for the trip was to drive the 4.5 hours north of Fairbanks on the Dalton Highway, camp by the river on the first night and paddle 14 miles down the Kanuti River the following day. Then we would camp at the hot springs the second night and hike about 12 miles over Caribou Mountain and the surrounding peaks back to the truck.

I thought it would be difficult: I had no idea how difficult it would be.

The previous week I had hiked with Ed out to Bus 142 on the Stampede Trail. That hike was about 20 miles each way with two river crossings, but the trail was unmistakably there as it is used by dog mushers and ATVs quite regularly. The Kanuti trip had no such path for us to follow, which made it all the more exciting.

The landscape north of Fairbanks, especially with the sun going down, was rather eerie and disquietingly beautiful. There were no lights except from the sun and thus the land seemed ready to swallow the sky in blackness. It felt quite alien, as though I was on another planet.

Crossing the Yukon River

Once we arrived at the spot by the river where we were to camp the first night, Dan P, Lisa and myself drove about 10 miles further to reach the Arctic Circle. It was hard to believe that the sun had set at midnight. The Dalton Highway has quite a history and is frequented by truckers and intrepid travelers alike. The Alaska pipeline ran parallel to a good portion of the highway. Quite a sight to behold. The land seemed endless, with distant horizons and crystal clear air.

The official sign indicating The Arctic Circle. We made it!

The next morning we headed out in our packrafts towards the hot springs. Ed said that the previous year they had rounded a turn in the river and had seen a mother bear and her cub. Fortunately we did not encounter any bears on this trip but their presence were always in the back of my mind. We each had a little Alpacka Raft, the secret weapon that enabled Ed and I to get to Bus 142 the previous week. We inflated our rafts and set them in the water awhile before we left as the cold water would cause them to deflate slightly. Once we tied our packs to the rafts and broke camp we were off, heading away from the highway, and civilization.

Here you can see where we set out from on Kanuti River in the rafts. The Dalton Highway and the Alaska Pipeline are in the background.

Away we went. At the start of the rafting the water was nice and deep. However as the day progressed and we came across more rocks in the river, I had to continue to get out of the raft and carry it across barriers that I could not get around. This led to much shaking of my fists, gnashing of teeth and testing of my patience, but I did it. Ed said that the year previous the water had been about six inches higher, which would have made the paddling quite a bit easier on this trip.

The scenery was stunning and the knowledge that there was no one around for who knows how many miles, was humbling, intimidating and exhilarating. I had never before been so acutely in the middle of nothing and everything at the same time.

The view down the river from the raft with my pack fastened to the top of it.

These trees seemed ready to fall on us as we paddled past.

Our tent in the meadow by Kanuti River.

We arrived at the end of our paddle at about 9:30pm and made our way to a meadow next to which the springs run. There was wild onion all through the lea that we enjoyed the aroma of.This was due to the ground being heated by the hot springs. Thus we didn't need our super warm sleeping bags due to the more temperate climate. I slept like I had never slept before in my life, knowing that the hike the next day would be extremely challenging.

Here you can see the mist rising from the hot springs. Everyone else went in the hot springs after dinner but I was so tired that I went to sleep straight away.

You can see the meadow with the hot springs as the small green smudge below the darker trees. We headed out the next morning and bushwhacked for about a mile uphill, over dead trees, with packs (and rafts in those packs) on! I had never done anything like that before and I quickly became aware of how much more conditioning I needed!! My body wanted to give out very quickly but my will never did.

We traversed a succession of smaller peaks and eventually over Caribou Mountain. We encountered miles of tussocks which are designed to twist one's ankles I am convinced! The landscape was breathtaking and the fall colours were out in full force. To see 360 degrees of wilderness was unbelievable.

Climbing Caribou Mountain. We actually saw a caribou on the mountain. Sky took off after it but was left in its dust as the large buck took off across the taiga.

Sky was in her element out there. She didn't like the Alpacka rafts very much but when we were on foot she was thrilled to experience the hike with us.

A beautiful contrast of colours blanketed the landscape. We feasted on bearberries, crowberries and blueberries as we hiked.

Here we were about to enter the "saddle" portion of the hike. This saddle of land was composed of the dreaded tussocks, plants with the frustrating growth habit of being structured like wobbly cylinders that makes walking across them virtually impossible. Ed enters a race each year where they sprint across miles of tussocks. Yes, I am convinced that he is superhuman.

We came over the last rise of land and saw miles of beautiful ochre coloured earth below us. The entire hike took us about 7.5 hours. I remember looking around and breathing the pure air unblemished by pollution and seeing the blue atmosphere reflected perfectly in the small lakes below. The entire palette of colours in Alaska are forever locked in my memory....the hunter green of the river, the cranberry and white mountain and surrounding hills, the ochre-filled descent back to the truck and the cerulean hued lakes and sky will be a part of me always.

Beginning our descent.

These lakes were like saphhires on a necklace below us.

You can see the Alaska Pipeline here hugging the Dalton Highway which continues north all the way to Prudhoe Bay at the Arctic Ocean.

After we reached the truck and packed ourselves in there was one last stop before returning to Fairbanks. The Hot Spot, an eclectic assortment of signs, personalities and food is a popular rest spot along the highway. Stopping at the Hot Spot is a Kanuti tradition and to my delight I discovered that they actually had a vegan option!

The famous Hot Spot diner.

This sign hangs directly below the window where you place your order.

The Hot Spot seems to offer a bit of everything.

Looking back on The Kanuti River trip now I realize just how much it really did broaden my horizons as a human being and an artist. While I did not go on this rafting trip to gather reference for paintings, I went to see if I could do it and enjoy the experience of that effort. While I was very frustrated at times, I used this discomfort in a positive way. I knew that if I could do this, I could do anything.

Kanuti tested me physically and mentally like nothing ever had before and it helped me see what I am capable of. It is acute and intense challenges that define us more than anything I believe. The challenge does not have to be on a mountain or down a river, but it can just as well be an inward precipice that we have to surmount. As with everything in this life, it is all relative, personal, subjective. While I am the first to admit that I have feelings of doubt about myself and my work occasionally, this trip taught me to "bring it to the table" as my friend Conrad says. There is no time like the present...

"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it." ~Charlotte Bronte

Artistic Integrity

Sunset in Wesleyville, Newfoundland

"Doing things the way you see it, going by your own heart and soul, that is pure artistic integrity. Whatever the hair is six or sixty inches long, the eyes have make-up or not, the riffs are in 'E' or 'F' sharp, the amps are Marshall or not, all those things don't matter if you are not doing it for the right reason, which to me means doing it for yourself." ~Lars Ulrich, musician.

Being a full-time artist has its challenges, as does any job or path in life. The sporadic income and lack of a good medical insurance plan are two minuses I can think of off the top of my head but the pros far outweigh the cons for me. Setting your own hours, doing work that means something to you and sharing that message and those ideas to others are just a few of the wonderful things about being an artist. Seeing your paintings change in technique over time, catching patterns of inspiration that emerge, some conscious and some unconscious, is a joy that I never take for granted.

Integrity. There are many types: Intellectual, Moral and Artistic to name some. It is important to cleave to what you believe in, live your truth in your work and not sell out. In an ideal situation you create a painting that resonates strongly with you or means something to you and people purchase that work. I never want to paint things simply because I think they will sell. I have been very fortunate that up to now people have enjoyed what I produce and I have been able to make a living at it. I have also told people on more than one occasion that I am determined not to be dead to make a living as an artist. So far so good.

The Alaska and Newfoundland paintings are starting to come together. It is wonderful to see work come off the easel and be placed on the wall. I know many painters who will still work on pieces once they have finished them...I almost never do this. Otherwise I would drive myself crazy with touching up and reworking. It is also important to be your own worst critic and knowing what NOT to paint is just as important as knowing what to TO paint.

These two groups of paintings come from different sides of the continent yet are so very important to me and will evolve right next to one another in the studio. The stories behind each body of work is something I hold close and cherish. These paintings are something that I simply must do, as sure as I breathe, that is why a creative person creates. If you believe in what you do, if you do not deviate from that resolve, you can never go wrong. There may be naysayers, detractors and skeptics but if you believe in it, it will happen and happen with authenticity. If you hold fast to your vision then the paintings will follow. Even the most mundane of objects can be made interesting depending on how the piece is composed and how the paint is applied. If you believe in what you are doing, if you are INTERESTED in it and curious about getting to know it better through painting it, you can never, ever lose.

"Live your beliefs and you can turn the world around."
~Henry David Thoreau

Paddling down Kanuti River, Alaska. 4 hours north 

of Fairbanks and 14 miles into the middle of nowhere. 

Kanuti trip, climbing Caribou Mountain, Alaska.

Journey To Bus 142: Redux

"Because it's there."

~George Mallory

I have recently returned from an incredible journey to Newfoundland to shoot reference for an exhibition of new paintings. This show will take place in Ontario at Abbozzo Gallery next autumn. My mind however, is still filled with memories of my time spent in Alaska, and more specifically, time spent at Bus 142. I really do think about Chris McCandless every day at some point or another and after journeying to the abandoned bus on The Stampede Trail his story has settled more deeply in my bones than ever before.

From my previous post you might think that my adventure with Ed to the bus was the last that I saw of that special place for the rest of my time in Alaska. Not so. A small leg of my time in Alaska was spent at Denali National Park and I devoted two days to seeing what I could of the beautiful park. Bus 142 lies on a small panhandle of land that is surrounded by the park and so when I rented my car to drive down to Healy and Denali I knew that I would be very near to the bus, as close as you can get using the word "near" in Alaska anyway.

I had about five hours remaining on that second day in Denali before I had to head back to Fairbanks. I was sitting at the Black Bear Café amidst all of the shops and hotels that line the highway near the park entrance when it suddenly hit me: I needed to go back to Bus 142. I realized that when I was there the week previous Ed and I had spent a good deal of time cleaning and organizing the disheveled bus and surrounding area. Plus it was such an acutely intense experience being there after all of that travel that I had not processed it all, nor had I taken many pictures to develop into paintings.

This brought me to a crazy crossroads: do I head back to Fairbanks, knowing that I never really was able to just "be" in that place, without more detailed reference for paintings, without the chance to be quiet and contemplate there? Or, do I do something rash, impulsive, expensive yet unforgettable? The answer was clear: I had to go back. So that is exactly what I did, by renting a helicopter.

Hiring the helicopter was prohibitively expensive but worth every penny. It enabled me to see the Stampede Trail from the air, and we followed its course on our way to the bus. It was amazing to see how we covered in fifteen minutes what it had taken Ed and I nine hours and two river crossings to accomplish. To see the trail wend like a vein through the trees, the water we had slogged through reflecting up at me 500 feet above the ground, was emotional. To once again see the distance it had taken Chris four days of hiking across, hunting and foraging all the way, was particularly poignant.

Stampede Road, a short distance off of the George Parks Highway, before it narrows down to a trail.

The Stampede Trail as seen by the lighter colour

through the trees.

As we neared the bus from the air, Scot, the helicopter pilot exclaimed "There's another helicopter here! It looks like the military!" He was right. We touched down next to what looked like a Blackhawk Helicopter that was used by army medics. We set down on the gravel bar a short distance from them, walked over, shook their hands and they handed me one of their cameras to take a shot of them. They had also been at Bus 142 taking pictures. I wondered what Chris would think about his influence and life touching even the most stoic of soldiers.

The army and their helicopter on the gravel bar where Ed and I had camped just one week before.

The helicopter then took off and I then headed up to the bus for the next two hours. It was another gorgeous day, similar to when Ed and I had been there only the week before. I was so pleased to see that the bus was still as we had left it. Wes and Oliver, the two nice guys we had met just west of the Teklanika River had signed the journal in the bus, as well as two men we passed the week previous who had ended up chartering a helicopter when the Teklanika stopped their progress.

Fortunately Bus 142's interior looked just as we had left it.

Some examples of people signing the interior of the bus with positive messages.

Looking down the Stampede Trail.

One of the many bullet holes found all over the bus, some of which have been there for years. Many of the windows have recently been broken sadly.

To say it was an emotional time is an understatement. I was so glad that I had returned. I would have regretted it for many years if I had not gone back.

The flight back to Denali was beautiful The foliage was a spectrum of gorgeous hues with the onset of colder weather. Alaska was big in every sense of the word to me. The sheer scale of the mountains and skies, the huge feeling of accomplishment in doing what I set out to do there, the large part of me that feels so connected with that place on The Stampede Trail. I know that this energy will manifest into paintings down the road, after the Newfoundland exhibition is complete. These paintings will be symbolic of the experiences that I had there. Perhaps they will resonate with others too. I really think that Chris's life inspires people because we recognize a bit of him in all of us, an explorer of the inner landscapes of thought and philosophy as much as any road taken on or off a map.

UPDATE, April 2010: I am co-producing a book of Chris's photographs and my paintings that I have done based on his photographs. This book will be published within the next year. It is very exciting! These photographs are a collection of images taken from over 300 pictures that Chris took on his terminal odyssey from 1990-1992. I am helping to produce this book in conjunction with Walt and Billie, Chris's parents, as well as a small group of devoted creatives and friends. From the first time that I laid eyes on these images, I knew there was a story there that had to be told: Chris's story through his own eyes. I will post updates regarding the book as I find out further details! Thank-you for taking the time to read my blog here and have a beautiful, magical day...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

A Journey To Bus 142

"We shall not cease from exploration,

and the end of our exploring

will be to arrive where we started...

and know the place for the first time."

~T.S. Eliot

Sometimes in life, you just have to make things happen. If we wait too long, opportunities can pass us by. Chris McCandless did not wait for life to start happening to him, and the life he chose to lead has touched me as an artist and a person very profoundly. I needed to visit the place that he spent the four pivotal and final months of his life. I am planning on doing a series of paintings about Chris and I knew that this place would offer insight that nowhere else could. I needed to go to bus 142 as sure as I need to stretch my limbs every morning.

The road sign indicating the turn off to Stampede Road on the George Parks Highway.

Less than 24 hours after I landed in Fairbanks, Alaska I was hurtling down the George Parks Highway towards a very important turn-off, Stampede Road. This is the road and trail that Chris followed as he began the final stage of his two year odyssey that spanned the continent and ended tragically with his death in the wilderness of Alaska in 1992.
Once my friend Ed offered to accompany me on my pilgrimage to Fairbanks Bus 142 on the Stampede Trail I booked my ticket right away. With Ed's company and companionship I knew the adventure could begin in earnest.

It is 20 miles give or take to get to the abandoned bus on the Stampede Trail from the George Parks Highway. Ed and I decided to start out on mountain bikes to shave off a little bit of time. We encountered so much water on the trail though that we ended up walking the bikes for much of the four miles or so that we covered with them. It seemed as though the stream was trying to spite us as so much of the trail was immersed in water!

A typical stretch of the Stampede "Creek" as I renamed it jokingly.

We met two men returning from a failed attempt to reach the bus. They had managed to swim across the swiftly moving Savage River (chest high) but had turned back when they reached the much larger Teklanika River. We informed them that we had a raft to negotiate the waters to which they looked a little surprised. We parted and continued along the trail until we reached the Savage River, the first of two river crossings on the trail. The water was icy cold due to being a glacial river and was steely grey and opaque with silt. It is hard to tell the depth of rivers such as those. We forded the river with Ed's handy Alpacka raft. A short but exiciting crossing! We covered the two miles between the Savage river and Teklanika quickly.

The trail was nice and flat between the two rivers with an old airstrip running parallel to the trail. The clouds were low and the quiet of the brush was intense. This quietness was palpable as I remarked on it to Ed when we first set out on the trail. I had never experienced such absence of sound. It was all around us, pervasive, haunting almost. As we walked down the trail I continually imagined Chris as he walked this same path 16 years before. I imagined the joy in his heart at finally being where he wanted to be, alone, under his own steam, venturing into the unknown.

Ed heading down the trail towards the Teklanika River.

The Teklanika River has been looming in my mind ever since arranging this trip. It is the glacial river that trapped Chris back in the summer of 1992 and I was not looking forward to crossing its fast-moving waters. Little did Chris know that when he crossed the languidly moving, partially frozen river back in April of 1992 that it would have swollen to a raging torrent not four months later. Ed's calm demeanor partially allayed my concern as we inflated the trusty Alpacka. He looked like he was having fun fording the river with our packs! Within 15 minutes our packs, ourselves and the raft were safely on the far side of the Teklanika. Now there were only 9 miles between us and the bus.

The formidable Teklanika River

Ed crossing the Tek

We made quick time covering the final leg of the trek to Fairbanks Bus 142. It seemed that the bus might be around every corner, just beyond every bend in the trail. At one point, an hour or so before we finally made it to the bus a helicopter passed overhead. When we reached the bus there was an entry in the journal in the bus from a man and woman who had visited just before we arrived, the pair who had chartered the helicopter.

The scenery between the Teklanika and the bus was beautiful. The trail ranged from quite overgrown and tangled to open and airy. We saw one fresh bear print and we were careful to periodically yell out to alert any bears in the area and reduce the chance of a nasty encounter.

The distant mountains and low clouds were quite lovely. We saw one caribou off in the distance but relatively little wildlife on the trek in to the bus.

I love this view of the trail as it dips down a bit. The bus was only about a couple of miles beyond this point.

And then, almost surprising us, Fairbanks Bus 142 came into view. Thousands of kilometres by plane, 9 hours by foot and bike and two river crossings later we had reached it. It was quite surreal to be there as the sun started to dip down towards the horizon.

Fading light in the clearing by the bus, August 18, 2008

I had heard that there had been some vandalism done to the bus a few months ago. Despite this knowledge the sight of the bus and its contents dismayed us greatly. Things were everywhere; old shoes that were not Chris', a broken tent and backpack (also not Chris') and garbage everywhere was what greeted us as we stepped inside. We were tired and needed to get our camp set up so we decided to return to the bus the following day to clean up properly.

This is the how the bus looked when we first stepped inside.

We moved a short distance down the trail beyond the bus to a gravel bar where the Sushana River intersects with two other streams. It is a lovely spot, a place that I really connected with, especially with the bus being in such a gloomy state upon our arrival. We set up our camp and realized that we were in for a beautiful sunset. I thought about Chris and how many beautiful sunsets he might have seen. I thought about how he must have spent a good deal of time on and around the gravel bar, washing, gathering wood, hunting and collecting berries. We also wanted to be a distance away from the bus in case others showed up. We didn't want to be in anyone's way. No one ended up appearing. In fact, we encountered no one else at the bus in our entire time there (just less than 24 hours).

Sunlight on a rock face by the gravel bar.

Before the sun disappeared I wanted to do something special. I wanted to collect some blueberries and leave them in the bus in honor of Chris. "Beautiful blueberries" was the last thing that Chris ever wrote in his journal before he passed away on August 18,1992, 16 years earlier. Blueberries were all over the place and I collected some from the bushes that Chris likely also harvested them from too. It was something I will never forget, visiting the bus in the waning light and leaving them there with a little note.

"Beautiful blueberries for Chris"

Having meandered back down to camp where Ed was getting a fire going we settled in and watched the magnificent sunset as the clock rounded 11pm. The gravel bar had a nice supply of wood for a fire and smooth stones so the sleeping was relatively comfortable with our sleeping pads. We found a wolf print in the sand nearby and saw a huge raven but fortunately no bears. As we drifted off I continued to think about where I was and the small pocket of pivotal time that Chris spent in this place so many years before, yet it seemed like only yesterday to me.

Our campfire on the gravel bar just down the trail from Bus 142.

The next morning we got up, had breakfast (oatmeal with some of the wild blueberries growing all around the area) and made our way up to the bus to clean up a bit.

Another view of the gravel bar in the morning. It was a perfect spot to camp.

Many of the windows in the bus have been broken. I would say about half of them are badly damaged. There was glass everywhere. Ed fashioned a make-shift broom out of a spruce bow and it was very effective in sweeping the majority of the dirt and debris out of the bus. We shook the rug out and cleaned the glass off of the mattress at the back, removed trash and placed it behind the bus as neatly as possible and just tried to make it more presentable. We were contemplating burning some trash but decided against it because we were not staying long enough to monitor the fire.

The blue suitcase that Chris' parents brought to the bus in 1993 is still there. Chris' bible from when he was a little boy, along with quite a few journals are also there. Ed and I signed the most recent journal and rewrote a faded note outlining housecleaning tips and suggestions for maintaining a bit of order in the bus. We left this in a plastic sleeve for others to hopefully read while visiting.

Ed tackles the chaos.

The bus post clean-up.

I was pleased to see some of Chris' things still in the bus. Long gone are his shoes and many of his possessions but I did manage to find his spoon from his childhood home, a water bottle and some pots that he used to eat with as well. After we had tidied as much as we could inside and out we took a few shots to remember our time there.

Here is a view of the stream that runs next to the bus that meets up with the Sushana River up at the gravel bar.

The aspens were rustling all the time, the sun was shining and we had lighter hearts at the end of our time there with things looking a bit less disorderly. We packed up the camp and our gear and prepared to head out but I took a few extra minutes to contemplate Chris; the earnest and eager young man with a touch of wilderness in his soul who found this bus at the end of the road he followed for two meandering years. As Thoreau wisely opined "It is life near the bone where it is sweetest" and I believe that Chris knew this for certain.

We head back down the trail towards the Teklanika River, and home.

We made good time on the way back. Our camp was set up just west of the Teklanika so that the rest of the hike out would be shorter the following day. Along the trail we met Wes and Oliver, two young guys on their way to the bus to pay their respects to Chris' memory as well. We chatted with them at their camp in the middle of the Trail for awhile. Turns out they braved the steely cold waters of the Tek where it braided in four sections. Apparently this crossing point is about a mile downstream. I didn't see where they crossed but I am quite impressed that they managed to do that given the speed and frigid temperatures of the relentless Tek. We camped on another gravel bar that night and awoke to yet another gorgeous August day on the trail.

It was a crisp, cool night by the Tek. The river sounded just as cold as it was.

This is the view I want to see every morning.

As Ed ferried us across the Tek I took this mid-crossing shot, hence the odd angle.

We continued on and crossed the Savage River with no problem and retrieved our bikes where we had left them in the brush by the side of the trail. Much of the trail near the truck was uphill so that made for an interesting ride. A couple of miles from the truck we spotted another helicopter beelining straight for the bus. It turns out that was the two men we crossed paths with on our way in to the bus two days before. Evidently they had chartered a chopper to get them out there. Wes and Oliver, the nice guys by the Tek ran into them at the bus. The number of resolute people determined to get to the bus was evident just from this short period of time that Ed and I were on the trail.

Ed and I at the start of the Stampede Trail and at the end of our journey.

Throughout the entire duration of the trek in to the bus and back out I continually thought about Chris and what he must have been thinking and experiencing all of those years previously as he made his way out along the broken line of the Stampede Trail. Granted it would have been very cold and snowy when he went into the bush, conditions would have been similar to ours when he tried to leave. My heart was heavy after we successfully crossed the Teklanika and continued on along the trail. Chris tried to leave but couldn't, the Tek stood in his way and prevented him from continuing his journey, wherever that might have lead him. We can only speculate about what he might have done following his "Final And Greatest Adventure". Tragically, we will never know.

"Bus 142", 2008, oil on panel, 30"x 24"

"Diary Of A Supertramp (study)", oil on panel, 8"x10" This is a small study for a larger painting that I will complete of Chris' entire belt that chronicles his many adventures.

Fairbanks Bus 142 has become a memorial to Chris' life and tragic death in the quiet beauty of that little pocket of wilderness near Denali National Park. And though Chris may be gone his memory and his influence continue to affect countless people to this day. Clearly he had an indomitable spirit that was beyond compare. I can only hope to infuse a little bit of the energy that I felt on the trail into my paintings about him. Hopefully others respect the bus and its history when they visit and try to preserve it for as long as possible. I will write another post soon about a second trip that I made to the bus the following week.

UPDATE, April 2010: I am co-producing a book of Chris's photographs and my paintings that I have done based on his photographs. This book will be published within the next year. It is very exciting! These photographs are a collection of images taken from over 300 pictures that Chris took on his terminal odyssey from 1990-1992. I am helping to produce this book in conjunction with Walt and Billie, Chris's parents, as well as a small group of devoted creatives and friends. From the first time that I laid eyes on these images, I knew there was a story there that had to be told: Chris's story through his own eyes. I will post updates regarding the book as I find out further details! Thank-you for taking the time to read my blog here and have a beautiful, magical day...

"Your work is to discover your world and then with all your heart give yourself to it." ~Buddha