After many requests, viewers to Nevada-Landmarks have asked me to post a little more information about the "man behind the markers," so to speak. Since my endeavor over the course of five years and eighty something thousand miles (I lost count around Tonopah in 2009), I have focused so well on providing up-to-date and accurate information about the markers themselves with little if any thought given to crediting myself for such a long and arduous journey. People who know me will attest that I do that sort of thing. No doubt folks -- this is a page where I'm supposed to talk about myself in the third person for a few minutes. Tradition states that as an artist, I should become super emotional and include some over-the-top statements about my journey artistically, maybe elaborate openly about the meaning of life and what my journey should mean to all of you. As a viewer, you're supposed to grab a mocha, chill out and put on some classical music while I elaborate on my journey. But, you already know all of this, and each one of you, has your own interpretation of my endeavor. Therefore, I'm going to spare you all of that jibberish and instead, tell you a story that happened about 3 years ago in the middle of nowhere. "No Sweat in Shame" (October 18, 2008) ...Mile 268, forty four miles south of Wells. I wonder whether this journey has taken its toll on me. While a spanning horizon sits before my eyes, I sit at the base of Goshute Mountain, looking, waiting, and feeling everything all at once in only a moment's time. However, I feel nothing and everything at the same time. It has been nearly three weeks since I've last seen my house, my loving Heather, the great familiar settings I have so fastened myself to. I've bagged/conquered 76 markers hence far. Should I go back? I am on my way to capturing #51, Schellbourne. My atlas has traces of dried soda I spilled about 15 miles back. I guess I was too excited about the shot, my 20 oz tipped right over onto the page 61 of White Pine County. Moments like these... maybe they aren't worth a sweat of shame." Nevada: A state of mind First and foremost, I am an explorer. I am a storyteller in many ways, both in photographs and in my actions, my writings, my travels, and my interpretations. I am most at peace, most full of life when I am seeing the world with my own two eyes. I am a photographer, a writer, an angler, and a die-hard Nevadan. I trust many of who reading this personal column have a deep love and/or respect for Nevada, or the very least, a wide governing curiosity about what I call, the "Nevada state of mind." Many people who visit Nevada believe that Nevada offers nothing more than a quick gaming fix, a celestial visit to neon lights and eccentricities not found in their own state. However, the state of Nevada is more of a state of mind, than a state of physical ground. A "Nevadan" is anybody who fully appreciates, without question or shame, the world before him. To me, Nevada is the neglected and open land that I have seen corner to corner in the past five years. A "Nevadan" is anybody who bleeds blue, and shouts "Battle Born" without an ounce care in the world. A Nevada state-of-mind is a rare outlook on life where one can appreciate the simple things before him, and the ability to look beyond the exterior to the beauty found within gray-drab sagebrush. Indeed, the Great Basin seems to savor its own mystery, waiting in hiding and revealing its moments only to those it feels worthy of witnessing its unveiling. One must work and live with the Great Basin to understand the Great Basin - a place that is difficult to be defined by words. A person must feel and witness the land to fully understand it. This my friends, is the Nevada state-of-mind. I leave all of you with this last journal entry, written May 5, 2010. Upon my last marker conquering, I wrote these words of hard remembrance in the shadow of the same mountains where I began my journey. Realizing I had earned that Nevada state of mind through hard labor and rigorous effort, the same feeling pumps strongly through my veins until my dying days. Thanks for listening. "...She hums to a stop, the sky bleeding blue. White whisps of snow dance on the mountains' crest, as Silver (my truck) rests after a long endeavor finally over. I myself lean back in my seat, closing my eyes and listen to the call of a Stellar's Jay from the branch of a cedar. My dear friends, men and women, bodies of this great green earth... my journey has come to an end. As I sit back, looking out my driver's window, tourists flock this place with the thoughts of good times, while history kneels back in the thicket interrupted by modern ways. Still, it speaks, among the trees... echoes of the past foregoing sound in the canyon. I am here to record such mystery. Correction... I have recorded such mystery, for all of you. Blessed be." "Folded Mountain and the Long Road Home," Mineral County, NV.

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