In the morning we took off down the road and found a shoulder high left. I shot some photos on the sidelines as I watch Logan Landry land a couple airs. An old man drove down the valley in his blue beater pickup, got out and walked towards me. I waved politely, unsure if I was trespassing.

To me, creating a photo where I feel a connection to the work and people involved is what authenticates one shot from another. At that point, it doesn't matter if I'm doing commercial work or a personal project. To me, what gives work soul isn't just a pretty image, but one that brings the characters traits to the surface. My favourite work is when I've unveiled moments in time where a facial expression, a human action or piece a of nature collide with beautiful light and mirrors my current state. "You're going to face yourself a lot, whether you like it or not."

Broken by the ocean.

We hop in a white F350 at 4am on our way to Cape Bretton. I slept in the back while Logan’s childhood friend Jetski Joe cracks a beer, then lights a joint as we get on the highway. I look out the window and watch the river’s move past. I doze off as the tiny valleys remind me of the old ski hills my family and I would snowboard on every weekend. The open plains, the wheat fields, the dark farm soil and smell of burning leaves remind me of my first ill prepared camping trip. Looking out the window I see lakes my dad and I would fish on - now he’s gone. "An unsettling feeling is creeping through the front door. A cold draft on a hardwood floor." Now I'm looking out the window and notice a small patch of dead trees that stand in a family of five. Shook and woken, I look to the windshield as Logan spots a wave.

A while ago I spent some time at Logan Landry's home in Nova Scotia. We surfed and traveled and I got to hang with some rad east coast fellas, as well his family. Here is a photo of Logan's Grandfather, Reginald, holding an antique gun in their barn. There was a small beam of light coming in through the stained glass window, so we propped a chair up on the 4ft. high pile of rickety stacked wood and took 35mm portraits of him and his grandson.

It’s Saturday and the next 80k are scattered with yard sales. It’s Sunday and every driveway entrance has a transparent pink plastic bag protecting the newspaper inside. It’s Monday and the kids wait in the rain for the yellow school bus. It’s Tuesday and we stop off at Logan’s grandparents farm.