It’s been raining A LOT in Boulder, Colorado recently. Being an East Coast girl, I love it. It’s not the same critical mass of sticky humidity I grew up with back home. It’s hard and fast and yields a heady evaporate of hot sand and sage. The storms are either 15 minute intervals that leave Boulder flooded and blinking, or longer, more epic dowsings. Either way, by the time the lightning hits Kansas, everything in Boulder is washed clean – the roads, the plants, even the sunshine seems crisper. Here’s a collection of photos from yesterday’s afternoon storm.
When Keith Ladzinski’s photos started showing up in climbing magazines, readers had no idea what hit them, but they knew it was cool. Keith blended skateboard-style photography, creative use of remote strobes and his landscape photographer’s eye for composition to make eye-popping action shots that have inspired a generation of photographers to copy his style.
Humble and perpetually psyched to share his passion for photography, Keith would be the last to admit he’s transformed the world of adventure photography, but everyone knows it.
On the last Tuesday of the first month of the new year, Green Drinks convened at the historic Hotel Boulderado — the perfect locale for a “Shining” remake in my opinion — for another round of high energy, semi work-related, sustainable fun. Please read the rest of the blog here, it’s funny.
I know, everyone loves Paris. It’s like saying you love chocolate. But since I ended up there by accident, I feel especially entitled to gush. After three frustrating weeks in Fountainebleau – I highly recommend NOT taking a European bouldering vacation just after knee surgery – I missed my plane home. That morning, I leisurely sipped cafe creme in Fountainebleau, while my flight was boarding. I caught a series of trains to Charles de Gaulle long after the plane had taken off, and arrived blinking at the reflection of the empty Delta kiosks in the shiny airport floors. There wasn’t an airline employee in sight. When I finally coerced a Delta operator to speak with me in English, the news wasn’t good. She said, a little rudely, that there were no seats as cheap as mine for a week, and if I wanted to fly home tomorrow, it would cost 2500 Euros, which, exchange rates aside, is like, crazy, especially when the only thing I had to get back for was making cookies and coffee at a cafe in Boulder.