Byron Dudley
Photographer / Philosopher
Alyeskan Interior #176, circa 2016, (Originally published by NHK in 2017))
The image portion of this haiga was created in my old town of Chatanika, Alaska, population 17 at the time. This was the turn around point of my out in back snowshoeing trail. I took great care to compact this trail. Sometimes moose would use and inadvertently destroy my trail, because it was easier for them than traversing soft, deep, un-compacted snow. I actually left a tripod here all winter, and once I reached that spot I would attach my camera. This image was created when it was about -30f. I would cover up all of the metal parts of my camera with duct or electrical tape, so that my sometimes sweaty fingers wouldn’t stick to my camera, or tripod. During times when it was -20f or colder I would only snowshoe twenty minutes from my cabin. In these conditions, sometimes in 5’-6’ft deep snow becoming injured or having your return delayed by a Moose could result in death. Another issue as well, was avoiding my neighbors trap lines. Becoming too sweaty could very rapidly result in a severe case of hypothermia. Sometimes I’d carry extra base layers, so that if need be I could strip off my wet top base layers, for a dry one, which also could result in hypothermia, but not as bad. Multiple trips in a day often worked better than one say hour long snowshoeing trek. This haiga was also featured in 2017 on NHK Television, Japan’s equivalent of America’s Public Broadcasting, on a program called “Haiku Masters”. It’s also featured in my 2018 book entitled, “Beyond ~ the Alyeskan Interior ~ A Way of Being”.
The image portion of this haiga was created in my old town of Chatanika, Alaska, population 17 at the time. This was the turn around point of my out in back snowshoeing trail. I took great care to compact this trail. Sometimes moose would use and inadvertently destroy my trail, because it was easier for them than traversing soft, deep, un-compacted snow. I actually left a tripod here all winter, and once I reached that spot I would attach my camera. This image was created when it was about -30f. I would cover up all of the metal parts of my camera with duct or electrical tape, so that my sometimes sweaty fingers wouldn’t stick to my camera, or tripod. During times when it was -20f or colder I would only snowshoe twenty minutes from my cabin. In these conditions, sometimes in 5’-6’ft deep snow becoming injured or having your return delayed by a Moose could result in death. Another issue as well, was avoiding my neighbors trap lines. Becoming too sweaty could very rapidly result in a severe case of hypothermia. Sometimes I’d carry extra base layers, so that if need be I could strip off my wet top base layers, for a dry one, which also could result in hypothermia, but not as bad. Multiple trips in a day often worked better than one say hour long snowshoeing trek. This haiga was also featured in 2017 on NHK Television, Japan’s equivalent of America’s Public Broadcasting, on a program called “Haiku Masters”. It’s also featured in my 2018 book entitled, “Beyond ~ the Alyeskan Interior ~ A Way of Being”.
Alyeskan Interior #176
On the “Alyeskan Interior #531”, circa 202?
This is the locale where I intermittently spent three years of my life (2013-15), after returning from an artist in residency just north of Sapporo, Japan. I’d spend summers here, and commute one hundred fifty miles round trip during the school year. I called this 10’x 20’ structure that I built on an approximately 17% slope, my Hermit Hovel. Like many others living and working from this forest, I grew tired of living in society. I had just returned from being out of the country for a year. I was in Japan on a six month artist in residency, and afterwards visited my Aikido Sensei in Tibet, where I stayed in a monastery for a month. The idea of my hovel was inspired by visiting with hermits that lived alone in mountain caves, just outside of Lhasa, Tibet. I knew this location well. In fact I had been visiting, running in, hiking, cycling, and camping in the Willamette National Forest for about thirty years prior. It’s about an hour outside of Eugene, Oregon off of hwy 126. It’s on the way to Bend, Oregon. It is the path I choose, or did it choose me? It definitely had its price, and it brought, even intensified the meaning in and of my life. It was a great place to be in the moment, and it resolutely stayed with me into the future, today. I hope this haiga speaks to at least some of you. Again I wasn’t the only one. There were quite a few Iraq and Afghanistan Vets living, and then commuting to work, as was I. To me all of this is akin to the way many artists seek out isolation from time to time or periods of their lives; Thoreau did it, Bjork does it, and Miles Davis did it for several years. During my time in my Hermit Hovel I wrote my book, “Up the Mtn”.
Here James Baldwin also speaks of this artistic craving for isolation as well. “I had to go through a time of isolation in order to come to terms with who and what I was, as distinguished from all the things I’d been told I was”(James Baldwin, in his Paris Review Interview with Jordan Elgraby, in 1984)
Alyeskan Interior #413 circa 2024
This haiga was created while traveling in my converted 40’ ft bus/rv Serenity, which has her own uTube channel. https://youtu.be/_RHVEk7_cKs?si=uey5xKvDeQaz0CSx
The Haul Road itself conveyed to the viewer the majesty of the environment. The view was visually stunning, especially with that 24 hours of light during the summer. The mountains, especially Atigun Pass embodied the shear raw ruggedness of the environment, all of which made you realize that here, we were insignificant humans in relation to the environment surrounding us. Grizzly scratching their backs on the pipeline’s supports. Moose snacking on shrubs, all roadside. Meanwhile you decide to forgo that urge to relieve yourself within their view, on the side of the road.
The image segment of this haiga is of the Dalton, or what we call up here the Haul Road. This road takes you from the Interior of Alaska, in Fairbanks, past the Arctic Circle, and to the top of Alaska at Prudhoe Bay, in Deadhorse, Alaska. This is the top of Alaska, just south of the North Pole. I used to be an Ice Road Trucker, and then a tour guide up in this area, so I know it extremely well. It’s about a 12-13 hour trip from Fairbanks to Deadhorse traveling at about 40-45 mph, on dirt, gravel, and severely pot-holed roads. It is amongst the most dangerous roads of its 500 mile length, in all of North America. A full size spare and satellite phone are essential for tour guides and truckers. As tour guides we were required to carry not just guns, but large ones; shotguns and large caliber handguns. When I was tour guide, if my guests were patient, and willing to stop and really look, they almost always saw Grizzly and Polar Bears, Moose, Porcupine, Caribou, and Muskox. We’d see these beautiful animals through open windows or out hiking. For the most part there was no cell service, which really changed the interactional dynamic of young people in particular. Often these tourist parties consisted of three generations of family. In the winter this area was known to get down to -60 to -70f, in my trucking days. Over the last decade it rarely gets down below the -50f’s. When I drove this road as a trucker and I broke down, well that’s a whole other story for a different day.
This is the locale where I intermittently spent three years of my life (2013-15), after returning from an artist in residency just north of Sapporo, Japan. I’d spend summers here, and commute one hundred fifty miles round trip during the school year. I called this 10’x 20’ structure that I built on an approximately 17% slope, my Hermit Hovel. Like many others living and working from this forest, I grew tired of living in society. I had just returned from being out of the country for a year. I was in Japan on a six month artist in residency, and afterwards visited my Aikido Sensei in Tibet, where I stayed in a monastery for a month. The idea of my hovel was inspired by visiting with hermits that lived alone in mountain caves, just outside of Lhasa, Tibet. I knew this location well. In fact I had been visiting, running in, hiking, cycling, and camping in the Willamette National Forest for about thirty years prior. It’s about an hour outside of Eugene, Oregon off of hwy 126. It’s on the way to Bend, Oregon. It is the path I choose, or did it choose me? It definitely had its price, and it brought, even intensified the meaning in and of my life. It was a great place to be in the moment, and it resolutely stayed with me into the future, today. I hope this haiga speaks to at least some of you. Again I wasn’t the only one. There were quite a few Iraq and Afghanistan Vets living, and then commuting to work, as was I. To me all of this is akin to the way many artists seek out isolation from time to time or periods of their lives; Thoreau did it, Bjork does it, and Miles Davis did it for several years. During my time in my Hermit Hovel I wrote my book, “Up the Mtn”.
Here James Baldwin also speaks of this artistic craving for isolation as well. “I had to go through a time of isolation in order to come to terms with who and what I was, as distinguished from all the things I’d been told I was”(James Baldwin, in his Paris Review Interview with Jordan Elgraby, in 1984)
Alyeskan Interior #413 circa 2024
This haiga was created while traveling in my converted 40’ ft bus/rv Serenity, which has her own uTube channel. https://youtu.be/_RHVEk7_cKs?si=uey5xKvDeQaz0CSx
The Haul Road itself conveyed to the viewer the majesty of the environment. The view was visually stunning, especially with that 24 hours of light during the summer. The mountains, especially Atigun Pass embodied the shear raw ruggedness of the environment, all of which made you realize that here, we were insignificant humans in relation to the environment surrounding us. Grizzly scratching their backs on the pipeline’s supports. Moose snacking on shrubs, all roadside. Meanwhile you decide to forgo that urge to relieve yourself within their view, on the side of the road.
The image segment of this haiga is of the Dalton, or what we call up here the Haul Road. This road takes you from the Interior of Alaska, in Fairbanks, past the Arctic Circle, and to the top of Alaska at Prudhoe Bay, in Deadhorse, Alaska. This is the top of Alaska, just south of the North Pole. I used to be an Ice Road Trucker, and then a tour guide up in this area, so I know it extremely well. It’s about a 12-13 hour trip from Fairbanks to Deadhorse traveling at about 40-45 mph, on dirt, gravel, and severely pot-holed roads. It is amongst the most dangerous roads of its 500 mile length, in all of North America. A full size spare and satellite phone are essential for tour guides and truckers. As tour guides we were required to carry not just guns, but large ones; shotguns and large caliber handguns. When I was tour guide, if my guests were patient, and willing to stop and really look, they almost always saw Grizzly and Polar Bears, Moose, Porcupine, Caribou, and Muskox. We’d see these beautiful animals through open windows or out hiking. For the most part there was no cell service, which really changed the interactional dynamic of young people in particular. Often these tourist parties consisted of three generations of family. In the winter this area was known to get down to -60 to -70f, in my trucking days. Over the last decade it rarely gets down below the -50f’s. When I drove this road as a trucker and I broke down, well that’s a whole other story for a different day.
Alyeskan Interior #531
Alyeskan Interior #220
Alyeskan Interior #530, circa 2024
Another image created while driving Serenity up the Trans Alaskan Highway, in Canada’s Yukon Territory. Listening to some Miles Davis, with my English Mastiff Miles by my side. This was a surreal moment, created just before the dirt packed highway dropped and swerved into a sharp turn. Being able to travel while somewhat elevated always allows me to create imagery from novel perspectives. If need be I can even pull over my 13’-6” ft tall tractor trailer, or in this case my 12’ft tall bus roof. Often photographing from these elevated spaces introduces a whole new perspective to the imagery.
Another image created while driving Serenity up the Trans Alaskan Highway, in Canada’s Yukon Territory. Listening to some Miles Davis, with my English Mastiff Miles by my side. This was a surreal moment, created just before the dirt packed highway dropped and swerved into a sharp turn. Being able to travel while somewhat elevated always allows me to create imagery from novel perspectives. If need be I can even pull over my 13’-6” ft tall tractor trailer, or in this case my 12’ft tall bus roof. Often photographing from these elevated spaces introduces a whole new perspective to the imagery.
Alyeskan Interior #530
Alyeskan Interior #176, circa 2016, (Originally published by NHK in 2017))
The image portion of this haiga was created in my old town of Chatanika, Alaska, population 17 at the time. This was the turn around point of my out in back snowshoeing trail. I took great care to compact this trail. Sometimes moose would use and inadvertently destroy my trail, because it was easier for them than traversing soft, deep, un-compacted snow. I actually left a tripod here all winter, and once I reached that spot I would attach my camera. This image was created when it was about -30f. I would cover up all of the metal parts of my camera with duct or electrical tape, so that my sometimes sweaty fingers wouldn’t stick to my camera, or tripod.
During times when it was -20f or colder I would only snowshoe twenty minutes from my cabin. In these conditions, sometimes in 5’-6’ft deep snow becoming injured or having your return delayed by a Moose could result in death. Another issue as well, was avoiding my neighbors trap lines.
Becoming too sweaty could very rapidly result in a severe case of hypothermia. Sometimes I’d carry extra base layers, so that if need be I could strip off my wet top base layers, for a dry one, which also could result in hypothermia, but not as bad. Multiple trips in a day often worked better than one say hour long snowshoeing trek.
This haiga was also featured in 2017 on NHK Television, Japan’s equivalent
of America’s Public Broadcasting, on a program called “Haiku Masters”. It’s also featured in my 2018 book entitled, “Beyond ~ the Alyeskan Interior ~ A Way of Being”.
The image portion of this haiga was created in my old town of Chatanika, Alaska, population 17 at the time. This was the turn around point of my out in back snowshoeing trail. I took great care to compact this trail. Sometimes moose would use and inadvertently destroy my trail, because it was easier for them than traversing soft, deep, un-compacted snow. I actually left a tripod here all winter, and once I reached that spot I would attach my camera. This image was created when it was about -30f. I would cover up all of the metal parts of my camera with duct or electrical tape, so that my sometimes sweaty fingers wouldn’t stick to my camera, or tripod.
During times when it was -20f or colder I would only snowshoe twenty minutes from my cabin. In these conditions, sometimes in 5’-6’ft deep snow becoming injured or having your return delayed by a Moose could result in death. Another issue as well, was avoiding my neighbors trap lines.
Becoming too sweaty could very rapidly result in a severe case of hypothermia. Sometimes I’d carry extra base layers, so that if need be I could strip off my wet top base layers, for a dry one, which also could result in hypothermia, but not as bad. Multiple trips in a day often worked better than one say hour long snowshoeing trek.
This haiga was also featured in 2017 on NHK Television, Japan’s equivalent
of America’s Public Broadcasting, on a program called “Haiku Masters”. It’s also featured in my 2018 book entitled, “Beyond ~ the Alyeskan Interior ~ A Way of Being”.
On the “Alyeskan Interior #531”, circa 202?
This is the locale where I intermittently spent three years of my life (2013-15), after returning from an artist in residency just north of Sapporo, Japan. I’d spend summers here, and commute one hundred fifty miles round trip during the school year.
I called this 10’x 20’ structure that I built on an approximately 17% slope, my Hermit Hovel. Like many others living and working from this forest, I grew tired of living in society. I had just returned from being out of the country for a year. I was in Japan on a six month artist in residency, and afterwards visited my Aikido Sensei in Tibet, where I stayed in a monastery for a month.
The idea of my hovel was inspired by visiting with hermits that lived alone in mountain caves, just outside of Lhasa, Tibet. I knew this location well. In fact I had been visiting, running in, hiking, cycling, and camping in the Willamette National Forest for about thirty years prior. It’s about an hour outside of Eugene, Oregon off of hwy 126. It’s on the way to Bend, Oregon.
It is the path I choose, or did it choose me? It definitely had its price, and it brought, even intensified the meaning in and of my life. It was a great place to be in the moment, and it resolutely stayed with me into the future, today.
There were quite a few Iraq and Afghanistan Vets living, and then commuting to work, as was I.
To me all of this is akin to the way many artists seek out isolation from time to time or periods of their lives; Thoreau did it, Bjork does it, and Miles Davis did it for several years. During my time in my Hermit Hovel I wrote my book, “Up the Mtn”.
Here James Baldwin also speaks of this artistic craving for isolation as well.
“I had to go through a time of isolation in order to come to
terms with who and what I was, as distinguished from all
the things I’d been told I was”
(James Baldwin, in his Paris Review Interview with Jordan Elgraby, in 1984)
This is the locale where I intermittently spent three years of my life (2013-15), after returning from an artist in residency just north of Sapporo, Japan. I’d spend summers here, and commute one hundred fifty miles round trip during the school year.
I called this 10’x 20’ structure that I built on an approximately 17% slope, my Hermit Hovel. Like many others living and working from this forest, I grew tired of living in society. I had just returned from being out of the country for a year. I was in Japan on a six month artist in residency, and afterwards visited my Aikido Sensei in Tibet, where I stayed in a monastery for a month.
The idea of my hovel was inspired by visiting with hermits that lived alone in mountain caves, just outside of Lhasa, Tibet. I knew this location well. In fact I had been visiting, running in, hiking, cycling, and camping in the Willamette National Forest for about thirty years prior. It’s about an hour outside of Eugene, Oregon off of hwy 126. It’s on the way to Bend, Oregon.
It is the path I choose, or did it choose me? It definitely had its price, and it brought, even intensified the meaning in and of my life. It was a great place to be in the moment, and it resolutely stayed with me into the future, today.
There were quite a few Iraq and Afghanistan Vets living, and then commuting to work, as was I.
To me all of this is akin to the way many artists seek out isolation from time to time or periods of their lives; Thoreau did it, Bjork does it, and Miles Davis did it for several years. During my time in my Hermit Hovel I wrote my book, “Up the Mtn”.
Here James Baldwin also speaks of this artistic craving for isolation as well.
“I had to go through a time of isolation in order to come to
terms with who and what I was, as distinguished from all
the things I’d been told I was”
(James Baldwin, in his Paris Review Interview with Jordan Elgraby, in 1984)
AIyeskan Interior #413, 2023
This is the view looking north towards Prudhoe Bay, from the edge of Alaska’s Atigun Pass. This is a haiga, with a tanka poem, instead of a haiku or senryu poem. Below is the Haul Road, and the Alaskan Pipeline buried below. Once the pipeline reaches that last mountainside on your left, it will again run above ground. Such a beautiful sight, such an industrial one too. This is Alaska, at once heart wrenchingly beautiful and a potential haz-mat site too. Here is a truly breath taking vista. A vista of a majestically roving haz-mat site, one that is contained in tankers, trailers, and pipeline. The simultaneous ruggedness and fragility of this environment, and the man-made balance required to maintain it is a daunting task, and an environmental experiment
This is the view looking north towards Prudhoe Bay, from the edge of Alaska’s Atigun Pass. This is a haiga, with a tanka poem, instead of a haiku or senryu poem. Below is the Haul Road, and the Alaskan Pipeline buried below. Once the pipeline reaches that last mountainside on your left, it will again run above ground. Such a beautiful sight, such an industrial one too. This is Alaska, at once heart wrenchingly beautiful and a potential haz-mat site too. Here is a truly breath taking vista. A vista of a majestically roving haz-mat site, one that is contained in tankers, trailers, and pipeline. The simultaneous ruggedness and fragility of this environment, and the man-made balance required to maintain it is a daunting task, and an environmental experiment
Alyeskan Interior#530 /Serenity # circa 2024
This haiga was created while traveling in my converted 40’ ft bus/rv Serenity, which has her own uTube channel. https://youtu.be/_RHVEk7_cKs?si=uey5xKvDeQaz0CSx
The Haul Road itself conveyed to the viewer the majesty of the environment. The view was visually stunning, especially with that 24 hours of light during the summer. The mountains, especially Atigun Pass embodied the shear raw ruggedness of the environment, all of which made you realize that here, we were insignificant humans in relation to the environment surrounding us. Grizzly scratching their backs on the pipeline’s supports. Moose snacking on shrubs, all roadside. Meanwhile you decide to forgo that urge to relieve yourself within their view, on the side of the road.
The image segment of this haiga is of the Dalton, or what we call up here the Haul Road. This road takes you from the Interior of Alaska, in Fairbanks, past the Arctic Circle, and to the top of Alaska at Prudhoe Bay, in Deadhorse, Alaska. This is the top of Alaska, just south of the North Pole. I used to be an Ice Road Trucker, and then a tour guide up in this area, so I know it extremely well. It’s about a 12-13 hour trip from Fairbanks to Deadhorse traveling at about 40-45 mph, on dirt, gravel, and severely pot-holed roads. It is amongst the most dangerous roads of its 500 mile length, in all of North America.
A full size spare and satellite phone are essential for tour guides and truckers. As tour guides we were required to carry not just guns, but large ones; shotguns and large caliber handguns. When I was tour guide, if my guests were patient, and willing to stop and really look, they almost always saw Grizzly and Polar Bears, Moose, Porcupine, Caribou, and Muskox. We’d see these beautiful animals through open windows or out hiking. For the most part there was no cell service, which really changed the interactional dynamic of young people in particular. Often these tourist parties consisted of three generations of family. In the winter this area was known to get down to -60 to -70f, in my trucking days. Over the last decade it rarely gets down below the -50f’s. When I drove this road as a trucker and I broke down, well that’s a whole other story for a different day.
This haiga was created while traveling in my converted 40’ ft bus/rv Serenity, which has her own uTube channel. https://youtu.be/_RHVEk7_cKs?si=uey5xKvDeQaz0CSx
The Haul Road itself conveyed to the viewer the majesty of the environment. The view was visually stunning, especially with that 24 hours of light during the summer. The mountains, especially Atigun Pass embodied the shear raw ruggedness of the environment, all of which made you realize that here, we were insignificant humans in relation to the environment surrounding us. Grizzly scratching their backs on the pipeline’s supports. Moose snacking on shrubs, all roadside. Meanwhile you decide to forgo that urge to relieve yourself within their view, on the side of the road.
The image segment of this haiga is of the Dalton, or what we call up here the Haul Road. This road takes you from the Interior of Alaska, in Fairbanks, past the Arctic Circle, and to the top of Alaska at Prudhoe Bay, in Deadhorse, Alaska. This is the top of Alaska, just south of the North Pole. I used to be an Ice Road Trucker, and then a tour guide up in this area, so I know it extremely well. It’s about a 12-13 hour trip from Fairbanks to Deadhorse traveling at about 40-45 mph, on dirt, gravel, and severely pot-holed roads. It is amongst the most dangerous roads of its 500 mile length, in all of North America.
A full size spare and satellite phone are essential for tour guides and truckers. As tour guides we were required to carry not just guns, but large ones; shotguns and large caliber handguns. When I was tour guide, if my guests were patient, and willing to stop and really look, they almost always saw Grizzly and Polar Bears, Moose, Porcupine, Caribou, and Muskox. We’d see these beautiful animals through open windows or out hiking. For the most part there was no cell service, which really changed the interactional dynamic of young people in particular. Often these tourist parties consisted of three generations of family. In the winter this area was known to get down to -60 to -70f, in my trucking days. Over the last decade it rarely gets down below the -50f’s. When I drove this road as a trucker and I broke down, well that’s a whole other story for a different day.
Alyeskan Interior #220, circa 2017
I created this haiga image while out hiking in Chatanika. Another trail in Chatanika, Alaska. Along the Poker Flats Rocket Range; A rocket range that, during the winter, launches rockets that sound as if a freight train is passing my cabin, and then into the Northern Lights/Aurora Borealis. In the fall it’s a serene spot in that Autumn moment.
The haiku I created later that same year. The Aspen and Birch trees are so numerous here. Yet due to the permafrost they never grow much thicker than the rim on a car tire. It’s a transitional time that comes slowly, but insidiously. As opposed to the Spring, during what we cal “Spring Up”, which comes within a day or two
I created this haiga image while out hiking in Chatanika. Another trail in Chatanika, Alaska. Along the Poker Flats Rocket Range; A rocket range that, during the winter, launches rockets that sound as if a freight train is passing my cabin, and then into the Northern Lights/Aurora Borealis. In the fall it’s a serene spot in that Autumn moment.
The haiku I created later that same year. The Aspen and Birch trees are so numerous here. Yet due to the permafrost they never grow much thicker than the rim on a car tire. It’s a transitional time that comes slowly, but insidiously. As opposed to the Spring, during what we cal “Spring Up”, which comes within a day or two
Alyeskan Interior #413, circa 2024
Another image created while driving Serenity up the Trans Alaskan Highway, in Canada’s Yukon Territory. Listening to some Miles Davis, with my English Mastiff Miles by my side. This was a sereal moment, created just before the dirt packed highway dropped and swerved into a sharp turn. Being able to travel while somewhat elevated always allows me to create imagery from novel perspectives. If need be I can even pull over my 13’-6” ft tall tractor trailer, or in this case my 12’ft tall bus roof. Often photographing from these elevated spaces introduces a whole new perspective to the imagery.
Another image created while driving Serenity up the Trans Alaskan Highway, in Canada’s Yukon Territory. Listening to some Miles Davis, with my English Mastiff Miles by my side. This was a sereal moment, created just before the dirt packed highway dropped and swerved into a sharp turn. Being able to travel while somewhat elevated always allows me to create imagery from novel perspectives. If need be I can even pull over my 13’-6” ft tall tractor trailer, or in this case my 12’ft tall bus roof. Often photographing from these elevated spaces introduces a whole new perspective to the imagery.
Alyeskan Interior #418, circa 2023
AI #413/Serenity#, 2023
This is the view looking north towards Prudhoe Bay, from the edge of Alaska’s Atigun Pass. This is a haiga, with a tanka poem, instead of a haiku or senryu poem. Below is the Haul Road, and the Alaskan Pipeline buried below. Once the pipeline reaches that last mountainside on your left, it will again run above ground. Such a beautiful sight, such an industrial one too. This is Alaska, at once heart wrenchingly beautiful and a potential haz-mat site too. Here is a truly breathtaking vista. A vista of a majestically roving haz-mat site, one that is contained in tankers, trailers, and pipeline. The simultaneous ruggedness and fragility of this environment, and the man-made balance required to maintain it is a daunting task, and an environmental experiment.
AI #413/Serenity#, 2023
This is the view looking north towards Prudhoe Bay, from the edge of Alaska’s Atigun Pass. This is a haiga, with a tanka poem, instead of a haiku or senryu poem. Below is the Haul Road, and the Alaskan Pipeline buried below. Once the pipeline reaches that last mountainside on your left, it will again run above ground. Such a beautiful sight, such an industrial one too. This is Alaska, at once heart wrenchingly beautiful and a potential haz-mat site too. Here is a truly breathtaking vista. A vista of a majestically roving haz-mat site, one that is contained in tankers, trailers, and pipeline. The simultaneous ruggedness and fragility of this environment, and the man-made balance required to maintain it is a daunting task, and an environmental experiment.
Byron Dudley
Photographer / Philosopher
Photographer / Philosopher