I’ve officially settled back into domestic life on land though a piece of me still remains at sea. A nomadic call from the road shouts so I abide. As the Natural Mystic rocks in lagoons w/ more drama than a primetime (Un)reality show, I sprawl out into the wild west. It’s a warzone out here on the road.  My trusty steed propels me 6 times faster than the NastyM as I shed a salty skin so accustomed to constant motion.     

As I ramble through the desert where the navajo spirit still burns in the air I come across Canyon De Chelly.

After spending the day exploring Indian lookout caves from generations of war in wind and water carved sandstone, I had reached a meditated sense of where and how. This place is truly inspiring. Unlike the Grand Canyon’s feeling of untouched vastness, Canyon De Chelly reaches out to you.  

Thousands of years of erosion literally attack your skin. Sand blown from frigid pre-dawn winds are later sweat from your pours during the days solar assault.

This scrub-brushed tinderbox is a land where lightning ignights fires no one sees.

I arrive in Santa Barbara just in time for fire season. Poor SB has just been getting punished for Isla Vista’s kinky karma with a relentless firestorm

 I’m fine with the wildfire and earthquake scene in SoCal so I know where to go…

Another familiar retreat I have lies in the rugged snowfields of the Eastern Sierra’s. The lure of high altitude has been a driving force in my life since I was a grom. Even while bronzing in the tropics last year, Mammoth’s call from thin air rang in my ears.

So without hesitation I returned to my stomping grounds to tempt gravity.

When all the freshly deposited powder was used and abused, it was time to head southward. Departing the majestic mountains is hard but the possibility of snowboarding and surfing in the same day motivates us.  I am starting to miss my lil’ furball I had left behind in SB to guard the house. While I was exploring Arizona a feral desert dog found me and asked me for some jerky. After I showed her a taste of the good life that night in the Holiday Inn, she wouldn’t leave my side.  I return to Casa Del Russ- the palatial estate perched on Santa Barbara’s Riviera but my time there is fleeting.   

It’s high time I get to LA for some work.  

The nightlife is still thriving in Hollywood but with strikes and other economic drama looming, the work in scant. So I head back on the road towards my family and my Southern Belle.

I make it back in time to join the muddy mayhem of the Iroquois Steeplechase. 

 Thousands of Southerners put their Sunday’s best on to go play in the mud.

There’s a lot going on in Nashville. It’s a thriving city but it’s doesn’t take long before your out-there surrounded by wildlife.

 As I adjust to another locale I strive to shoot as much as I can while transitioning my business to this region.

I’ve made the full transition back to a land-lubber. I have tasted the fruits from far off lands but now I enjoy the local produce here in the South. I’ve been all over the country since leaving my mates in Tahiti, yet the Natural Mystic seems to be a permanent fixture in French Polynesia. I can only hope Kyber is still there when I get the urge to be submerged under the best waves in the world.

-Ben Anglin