From the moment we met, I knew Wayne Poulsen Jr. was a special soul. He walked into my gallery in Olympic Valley and engaged me in a conversation about perspective and art, diving deep into what he saw in my work and how it made him feel. Inspired by my art, he introduced ideas and thoughts that few, if any, ever had. He deconstructed my process and raised question after question about my photography, always leaving me deep in thought.
One of the qualities I found most endearing about Wayne was his ability to see the natural beauty of the land through the eyes of the people who call it home. Curiosity drove him to explore and experience indigenous peoples in their faraway lands, still living as their ancestors had for centuries. These people drew Wayne to discover the subtleties of their land, culture, and art. For the all-too-short time I knew him, he never lost his wanderlust and desire to experience the wonders of remote, timeless places.
Wayne’s adventures led him to the far reaches of our planet. He experienced the Eagle Hunting Festival on the high steppes of Mongolia, staying in a yurt with the nomads. He was one of the few outsiders to witness this ancient, exotic gathering of people in their ceremonial dress, riding on horseback with eagles on their arms. Incredible. Another time, he joined a camel safari that took weeks to cross the Egyptian deserts to experience the wild beauty of desolate sands and their inhabitants. Then there was the 3,000-kilometer horseback journey circling the entire Altai Mountain Range, a lengthy, tiring adventure, crossing closed borders between Kazakhstan, China, and Mongolia to discover wild lands and spiritual people.
Wayne referred to this part of the world as “the mountains invisible in plain sight,” where the spirits of the lands still speak to those willing to listen, and referred to that adventure as a journey of reverence, endurance, and profound connection to one of the world’s last great wildernesses.
Having spent much time abroad, off the beaten track, I intuitively understood his quest.
He devoted so much of his time to exploring the globe, interacting with native peoples whose ways of life had been passed down for generations but now are disappearing. His ability to honor them and translate appreciation and respect for their ways always seemed to make him welcome in their homes. The stories he shared brought his adventures to life, filling me with wonder and joy and leaving me marveling how these people could still be connected to the land and coexist with us in our disconnected, modern times.
Courtesy photo
When Wayne visited Olympic Valley, he regularly chose my home as a landing pad, often showing up with friends –– beautifully diverse folks from all walks of life, who, like me, had crossed paths with this sweet man and became friends for life. Some of the people who had welcomed him into their worlds now journeyed from afar to share his. Others were folks I recognized from the hood –– like-minded adventurers, mountain people from our backyard, people I recognized but really didn’t know. We shared a meal as he told stories or recited poetry or an excerpt from a memorable book that had moved him. Somehow, his serendipitous path drew us closer and always left us wanting more. Enchanted, I often drifted off dreaming in a universal language of distant lands, crossing boundaries and time.
Now that Wayne is gone, I realize it was the times when we were alone, walking in our backyard, that seem the most relevant and precious. Sitting in the meadow watching the creek flow by or walking up the trail in Shirley Canyon, hearing his voice was magical.
Standing outside my house in the dark with him staring into the starlit sky, he would slip into boyish joy and talk about what the valley was like when he was a kid. He shared, in minute detail, his earliest memories of what it was like to live in this pristine high alpine valley with his family, playing with siblings and friends. It was a time filled with daily adventures and fun. He described what it felt like to live here as the seasons changed and to witness how the valley evolved. It was a glimpse into a time long gone, a time not easy to imagine, when no one else lived here and nothing had been developed.
Much has changed from the world his tales described. Our footprint on the land is expanding and evolving. Much of what he described is gone now, but the connection with our mountain is still here, alive and well, and continues to be defined by living and sharing this singular place every day.
Thank you, Wayne Poulsen, and your amazing clan. Thank you for sharing your extraordinary journey with me and introducing me to so many wonderful kindred spirits. I am so grateful to be able to call this magical valley home and to celebrate our mountain community, that defined and define it. Your shining example of a well-lived life, celebrating beauty in the world while respecting people and the land we share on this journey, is a rare gift.
