On 11 August 2002, Galen Rowell and his wife Barbara were killed in a small plane crash near their home in Bishop, California. While I wrote the following some time ago, it seems even more appropriate today.

All of us who met and knew Galen and Barbara will miss them both.

A long time ago, or so it seems now, I trained as a filmmaker and photographer. As I came of age, I served as photographer for my high school yearbook, a couple of newspapers, shot photos and film for television stations, and even worked for a short time as a stringer to ABC News at one point. But when I got involved in computers in 1976, I sold off my cameras, and pretty much gave up any creative activity. I was a computer nerd before the stereotype even existed.

For 15 years the only camera I owned was an inexpensive point-and-shoot, which I rarely used.

In the early 90's, depressed from the breakup of a long-term relationship that should have lasted a lifetime, tired from the unrelenting pace of product development in Silicon Valley, and bored by always having to take short vacations in Tahoe, I decided it was time for a long visit to someplace that would rekindle my innate curiosity and love of anything new. While browsing through the glossy brochure of Wilderness Travel looking for the truly exotic adventure, Africa suddenly beckoned.

Lions. Elephants. Wildebeest. Oh my.

So I immediately signed up for a tour to Botswana and started reading everything I could find on the area in anticipation of my coming adventure. A month of Africa immersion later--two months before the trip was to depart--a very apologetic Wilderness Travel representation called to tell me that they had to cancel that trip. Meanwhile, the company I worked at, GO Corporation, was fighting for its life. Our product, the Penpoint operating system, was just a bit ahead of its time (actually, it still would be if launched today). Girlfriend gone. Trip canceled. Company closing down. My depression was nearly complete.

A few weeks later, as I was wading through an unappealing assortment of employment ads in the San Jose Mercury News, Wilderness Travel called again. Did I still want to go to Botswana?

I considered my dwindling bank account and lack of a job.

"Sure," I answered.

"Do you have a camera?"

What kind of question was that? Since when did tour operators care about whether you bring a camera on their trips?

"This new tour goes to the same destinations as the one you originally booked, but it's part of a photo workshop with Galen Rowell," came the answer. "Do you know who Galen Rowell is?"

I knew who Galen was. Growing up in the Bay Area and having spent a great deal of time researching and hiking in Yosemite, I had encountered his inspiring Sierra photography many times. In fact, I had just seen an exhibit of his photos, and greatly admired the photos from Mountain Light, one of his coffee table books that was "in" at the time. I wasn't exactly sure what Galen was going to do in Botswana, as I had always associated him with climbing in the Sierra, but a great photographer should be at least a decent photography teacher, right?

As I prepared for the trip, I made a pact with myself. Wherever Galen went, I was going to follow. I wanted to find out just how he got all those great shots. I wouldn't make a nuisance of myself, but I wanted to see him at work, close up. Since I'm the embodiment of the law "a body at rest tends to stay at rest unless acted upon by a force," I even wrote this pact out in my notebook: "Wherever Galen goes, I go." I practiced saying this out loud to reinforce the message, then promptly plopped down on the couch for a nap.

Botswana is flat as a pancake. From the northern border to the southern there's a total elevation difference of five feet, which is one of the reasons why the Okavango River delta empties into a desert instead of an ocean.

Flat except for a pimple of a rock called the Tsodillo Hills, which juts up out of the otherwise featureless terrain. The attraction here is bushmen paintings on the rocks. After landing on a dirt strip nearby, we walked all around the Hills photographing paintings at eye level, until we came to the best ones.

These paintings are up maybe 100 feet or more above the base. Like everyone else on the tour, I took out my 500mm lens, put an extender on it, and started shooting. Then I looked at Galen. He wasn't getting out his longest lens, he was getting out his 16mm lens and discarding all the rest of his gear. What the?

Did I mention that Galen's a renowned climber? Somehow I had managed to ignore that when I made my pledge to follow him. But I quickly abandoned my long lens and other gear, grabbed my 17mm lens and headed off after Galen.

Did I mention that I'm not a renowned climber? Actually, I'm not a climber at all. More like a faller, actually. Nevertheless, I did my best to watch what Galen was doing and scramble up the rocks and cliff behind him as fast as I could.

I arrived about at the top about fifteen minutes after Galen. He turned to me and said, "Oh good, I needed a model. Here, climb this rock and straddle the gap looking over the paintings." For a few minutes I modeled for Galen, then we reversed roles and he modeled for me.

This, then, is how my "Chasing Galen" series began. Over the years I've gone on a number of memorable trips with him. During that time I've shot Galen:

hanging off the only cliff in Botswana;
jumping into glacier fed lakes at 16,500 feet;
chasing rainbows;
racing in front of a glacier to get a shot before the light disappeared;
trying to figure out how to climb vertical walls;
and climbing them.

I was even inspired by this last event to write a limerick:

If a person is a rock up a scalin'
You can bet it is almost certainly Galen
His hand goes up there
A leg in mid-air
And he's got his great picture Chilean.

But the unique thing about Galen is this: he's perpetual motion in action. And while sometimes it's tiresome to watch him, you can't help but be inspired by his energy, as well as for his unrelenting love of climbing and photography. He gets those great photographs because he is always looking for that image that defines his vision of a place. He doesn't limit his feet to only the proven path, and he doesn't let a slab of rock get in his way. I've even watched him chase monkeys up trees, mostly because it was great fun and exercise, but also because he wondered if there might be a picture in it. In short, you cannot travel with Galen and not be inspired to find your own passion.

I've run with Galen at 17,000 feet, hiked 18 miles with him in one day, shivered with him in frigid weather and high winds waiting for the light to "turn perfect," and even climbed the fence with him at Victoria Falls National Park in the dark of night so that we'd be in position for the perfect sunrise photos (and, yes, we paid our entrance fee on the way out).

I've never once regretted my pact with myself on that Africa trip. Watching Galen at work has led me to examine my own photography and creativity, and has taken me in directions I didn't know were there. I'm no longer chasing Galen, but chasing my own dreams and visions.

If great teachers turn on the light for their students, Galen shined more brightly than most.

Books by Galen

Galen's written or provided photographs for dozens of books. Here are some of my favorites that are still readily available:

Galen Rowell's Inner Game of Outdoor Photography
North America the Beautiful
Bay Area Wild: A Celebration of the Natural Heritage of the San Francisco Bay Area
Alaska: Images of the Country
Poles Apart: Parallel Visions of the Arctic and Antarctic
Mountain Light: In Search of the Dynamic Landscape