For the past ten years I’ve made a cross country road trip in July (and December) with Mojo to the east coast. That tradition continued this year, unfortunately without Mojo. I missed him immensely, but the nature of this trip was a lot different, which helped. The first leg was up through northern Nevada by truck and out to Colorado for some shooting/fly fishing. Afterward the truck was left in Denver where I hopped a flight to Reno for a two day commercial shoot. From there it was on to the north east by plane for our annual family vacation on Cape Cod. When that was over I picked up a car for a friend in upstate New York and drove it to him in Denver. Got back in my truck and we both went into the Colorado backcountry for several more days of fly fishing/shooting. Before heading home to San Diego we spent a few days with friends in Crested Butte. It was a great trip to put it mildly. Check back soon to see images from all of the above.
Rainforest Photography - Canada
Vancouver Island Rainforest Photographs - Available for Licensing
Although the camera allows me to earn a living, I still consider it a hobby as well. A few weeks ago Emily and I took a last minute trip to Vancouver Island. We hung out in Victoria for a few days, then drove up to the small surfing town of Tofino (more on that in the next post). All along the way there is so much to see, including rainforests. We took a couple casual strolls through them, camera in hand, without any expectations or plans to shoot. Now, I’d never classify myself as a “nature” or “landscape” photographer. I’m just a photographer. Meaning that making pictures pleases me. Pictures of anything. Doesn’t matter if the images will ever be seen, published, or licensed. The act alone is reward. Especially when it comes to subjects like the rainforest.
These images started as a personal exercise — a way to slow down in a wild place. But now they’re ready for more. They’re available for editorial stories, branding campaigns, environmental projects, or any usage that needs the mood of the forest. If your publication, website, or brand needs deep, organic, forest imagery, these frames might be exactly what you’ve been looking for.
Why Rainforest Scenes Move Me
Walking through that mist, the light filters through layers of green, and every inch of the forest feels alive. There’s a kind of tension between heaviness and delicacy — shadows sinking, moss clinging, trunks reaching up. That’s the energy I’m drawn to: quiet, moody, layered. Scenes that feel like science fiction than they do reality.
What You’ll See Here
In this gallery, you’ll find images of:
Mist hanging in giant trees
Ferns and undergrowth reaching for light
Mossy trunks with saturated texture
Forest floor patterns, play of dark & light
Close details and wide forest frames
Licensing Use Cases & Options
These images can be used for:
Editorial spreads (nature magazines, travel publications)
Environmental and conservation campaigns
Branding, outdoor, or wellness companies needing forest imagery
Website hero images or content visuals
Marketing materials for resorts, lodges, national parks
Licensing options vary depending on region, duration, usage medium (print, digital), exclusivity, etc. Every project is different, and I’m happy to craft a usage license that fits your needs.
How to License / Commission
If you’re interested in using one or more of these photographs, here’s how to get started:
Drop me a message (rob@robhammerphotography.com) with which image(s) interest you.
Tell me how you intend to use them (print, web, social, campaign), geography, timeframe, and exclusivity.
I’ll send you licensing terms (pricing tiers), and usage rights options.
These rainforest photographs are also available as fine art prints.
Moss-covered limbs of a Bigleaf Maple stretch across a riverbank in the Vancouver Island rainforest — a timeless scene of the Pacific Northwest.
Ancient Redcedars tower in the mist, their trunks draped with hanging moss, symbols of rainforest endurance.
Roots spilling over the edge, holding fast to earth even as the river pulls away
Looking up into the moss-draped canopy of hemlocks and cedars in a dense stretch of temperate rainforest.
Layers of rainforest vegetation on Vancouver Island, with huckleberry leaves in the foreground and moss-laden Bigleaf Maples in the background.
A wooden boardwalk winds past massive Western Redcedar trees, their bark furrowed and dark with age.
A massive decaying Redcedar stump, now host to moss, ferns, and new growth — the cycle of rainforest life.
The rainforest canopy of Western Hemlock and Redcedar creates a green cathedral above the boardwalk.
oss-laden trunks leaning at wild angles, showing the raw, tangled growth of Vancouver’s coastal rainforest.
Towering Western Redcedars rise from a carpet of green understory plants, their trunks textured with age.
Looking up through the canopy, the branches weave a cathedral of moss
A dense stand of slender Western Hemlocks, each draped in green moss, creates a quiet rhythm in the forest.
Branches heavy with moss, bending like arms under the weight of time
Where giants stand, ferns and moss find their own quiet rhythm below
Roots tangled like fingers, gripping the ancient trunk in a slow-motion struggle
Kurt Markus
KURT MARKUS - COWBOY PHOTOGRAPHER
In the realm of Western/Cowboy photography there are a small handful of names that stand above all the rest: William Albert Allard, Bank Langmore, John Langmore, and Andy Anderson, but in my opinion Kurt Markus is the G.O.A.T. Few would argue. He passed away today. Not sure how it’s possible, but I didn’t learn about him until October 2021 during a road trip to Montana. Emily, Mojo, and I were staying at an old cabin Airbnb (1st picture) near Glacier National Park. Kurt’s book “Cowpuncher” was sitting on the coffee table. After looking through it for 30 seconds I put it down and instantly ordered myself a copy, feeling grateful that we even had cell service enough to do so. Since then, Markus has been the photographer I’ve studied/taken inspiration from more than anyone else on the planet. He is truly exceptional. What sets him apart is that his writing is just as strong as his images. Looking through his books and reading his stories makes the reader feel like they are right there experiencing the same thing he did. A special talent. I’m honored to own two of his books - Cowpuncher and Buckaroo. I believe his crown jewel though, is After Barbed Wire. A couple months ago I looked it up to buy, but was dissuade by the $150 price tag. No doubt, it’s worth every penny and more, but an honest effort has been made to cut back on my photo book “problem”. A while later another search went out in hopes of a better deal, resulting in the lowest price tag of $350. Yikes! During a recent road trip in Idaho, I found myself in an antique shop and spotted the book resting quietly in a locked cabinet. This is it, I thought! The owner couldn’t possibly be asking the same as the internet!? $400 - a signed 1st edition. Damnit!! The search continued. Now I check almost every antique shop that crosses my windshield from California to New York in hopes of finding the White Whale. So far, the results haven’t produced, and Google shows it valued as high as $800. On days like today, it seems like I should just fork it up. Rest in power, Kurt!
Click HERE to see some of my cowboy photography greatly inspired by Kurt Markus.
Photographing America
American Photography - Fine Art
Road Trip Photos - Travel
Walking away from our work can be such a benefit. Meaning that we need to not see it for quite some time to realize what’s good and what isn’t. The “America” series has, like most of my projects, been going on for ten years now. I love it, but things have reached the point where the library is so big that it’s overwhelming. Making it hard to share in any productive manner. Everything you seen in the post was made over the last two or three years, which is usually the amount of time it takes to make sense of it all. That’s not a good thing. It’s time to enlist the help of a professional editor.
Traditional Barbershops
Small Town Barbershops
Photographs of American Culture
Hard to believe this project has been going on for 10 years now. You’d think after publishing a couple books on the subject, the desire to photograph barbershops would go away. Apparently not. What a journey it’s been and continues to be. Here are a few made over the past 6 months or so. The first shot of the Commercial Barbershop in Elko is actually a shop I photographed 8 or 9 years ago when it was in full swing. Unfortunately, it is no more. Sad, but that is exactly why I started this project.
Cowboy Portraits
Authentic Cowboy Portraits
Brought the lighting gear out to a cattle branding a few months ago to make some portraits of all the cowboys and cowgirls working on the ranch. Wanted the focus to just be the people and their gear without anything else to distract from that. Had a blast setting it all up and shooting in a horse trailer, but still undecided if I’ll stick with this style or not.
American Basketball Culture
Basketball Hoop Photography - American Sports Culture
10 years into this series and it’s still just as much fun documenting the sport of basketball as it was initially. It’s always interesting to think about the games played on hoops in different parts of the country. It’s also enjoyable to see the images and realize that each one was an experience in itself to make. The first photo here in Primm was taken on a day so windy that I had to brace myself with one leg five feet in front of the other. You can see how the net is being pushed backwards. The second shot is from a high school gym in the middle of a remodel. Door was wide open and not a sole in sight. The hoop in Santa Rosa is actually one I photographed 10 or so years ago under completely different conditions. That image from all those years ago is in the book. Crazy how a location so random can be unintentionally revisited. And shocking to see that there is still a chain net hanging from the rim. The last image was made on a road I’ve driven a hundred times and never noticed before.
American Motels
Road Trip Photography - American Culture
American Motels - Open Road - Americana
Another one of those subjects I can’t seem to stay away from - American Motels. Maybe it’s the nostalgia or all the time I’ve personally spent in them? Not sure. Said this in a recent post, but it was shocking to see how many of these old places had shut down during a trip out to Texas a few weeks ago. What a shame.
Cowboy Culture Photography
Cattle Branding - Cowboy Photography - American West
There’s nothing staged about the kind of cowboy photographs I make. No hired models in brand-new hats. No one pretending to ride for the brand. Just real people doing real work day in and day out, in weather that doesn’t care if you’ve got a camera slung over your shoulder.
For the past 5 years I’ve been photographing working cowboys on ranches across the American West. Not for the sake of nostalgia or myth-making, but because this way of life still exists, and it’s worth documenting. It’s early mornings, long days, sore horses, busted hands, and wind that doesn’t quit. It’s also pride, precision, and an unspoken connection between the people, the animals, and the land.
Most of the time, I’m just trying to stay out of the way. The goal isn’t to direct or interrupt—it’s to be quiet, to watch, and to make images that feel true. The kind that a cowboy can look at and say, “Yeah, that’s how it really is.”
These photographs aren’t just about cowboy hats and boots (though those are in there too). They’re about culture. About people whose lives are shaped by purpose, place, and tradition. And if you spend enough time around it, you realize it’s not just a job. It’s a commitment. A way of seeing the world.
If you're interested in cowboy culture—not the romanticized version, but the actual, hard-earned life behind it, this collection of photographs is for you. No frills, no filters. Just the truth of the West, one frame at a time.
Click HERE to see more of my cowboy photography.
Click HERE to shop my collection of cowboy photography prints
Smithsonian Magazine
The Saguache Crescent
Small Town Newspaper - American Culture - Publishing
If you’re not interested in hearing more talk about personal projects than skip this one. It will be a familiar topic forever though, so get used to it if you’re going to stick around. Shot these images back in July of 2019 during a road trip out to Colorado. There was a final destination in mind but the route was unplanned. One of the small towns that popped up along the way was Saguache, CO. And by small, I mean population 424 small. Driving down “Main St” I noticed a very peculiar yet unmarked storefront. Inside the front window was an unidentifiable machine that looked like it came from a different age. (Findings like this are one of the many romantic draws to small towns). The screen door was open so I went in and was greeted not by a person, but a space filled with unexplainable life. A monstrosity of metal, tools, and papers from front to back, but I couldn’t figure out what year it was or what it all meant. There was nobody inside so I tried the jewelry store next door hoping for an answer. Sitting calmly behind the counter was the man I later found out ran the business I had so many questions about. That business turned out to be the town newspaper, the last of it’s kind still being printed on a linotype machine. A what? A linotype machine. The industry standard before the invention of computers. Now they are dinosaurs. Dean was very lackadaisical toward my request to photograph him at work, but nevertheless we made plans to meet again after my 4th of July camping trip. So about 5 days later I was back in a town I had never previously heard of, working on a story about Dean Coombs and The Saguache Crescent. My two days with Dean and the town of Saguache was quite memorable. It all seemed like living in a time capsule. Life there happens in a bubble because Saguache has nothing to draw any tourists, so the only people you’ll ever see are locals. Learning about Dean’s process what both educational and humbling. The patience required by one person to put out a weekly newspaper on a linotype is unfathomable. Hats off to Dean and all the people around the world dedicated to similar tasks.
One morning at the local cafe I sat quietly at the bar waiting for a breakfast burrito that turned out to be the size of a piece of firewood. Haven’t found anything even close to that size since. But just as memorable was a 90 year old man in conversation with a friend, who picked up a jar of sugar and did a 10 second pour into his cup of coffee. Kinda threw all the science about health and longevity out the window.
A while after the trip an edit of images was put together and sent around to a few places and got picked up by The National. We were happy with the placement as The National is a very reputable/long running publication. Then Covid hit and everything went to shit. The piece needed a new home. We received warm feedback from a contact at National Geographic. She liked the photos/story even though it wasn’t a good fit and suggested we pitch it to the Smithsonian Magazine. So we did and 1.5 years later here we are. It can be hard waiting so long for a piece to find a home. The wait is well worth it though when that home winds up being The Smithsonian.
If someone handed me a billion dollars tomorrow I’d still be working on these type of projects. Telling stories about people like Dean and the last newspaper in the world being made on a linotype machine. I’m grateful for the opportunity to tell his story my own way and to collaborate with Nick Yetto on the writing. And to have a personal project end up at a place like the Smithsonian.
Long live the personal project!
ROAD TRIP
THE BAD:This past week was the first time in a while since I’ve been on this particular route through Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. The findings were not good economically. It was hard to see so many familiar small town restaurants and hotels closed, boarded up, or in the process of being demolished. Maybe the timing was a coincidence, but you have to wonder if it was all the result of COVID? Either way it’s a shame.
THE GOOD: Road trips are always so much fun, educational, and therapeutic. This one had me shooting on a cattle ranch (The Four Sixes) in the Texas panhandle where I met some great people and had a hell of a lot of fun shooting with them. Will be a while until I can post those images. So for now you can click HERE to see more of my Cowboy photography.
Alaska Fly Fishing Photography
Alaska Fly Fishing - Drake Magazine
Fly Fishing Photography - Adventure - Culture
Another post about personal projects…….
If you’re a fly fisherman then you know The Drake for it’s exceptional photography and writing. So I’m very proud to say that this article you see from the latest issue contains not just my photographs but my words as well. A first for me. Beyond that I’m also grateful that the article is about my friend Zach Benson - an Alaskan fly fishing guide, hunter, duck decoy artist, father, and New York State Trooper. It would be hard to find something more satisfying than hanging out with a friend in Alaska and turning that experience into something like a magazine article, ad campaign, image license, etc. As my career goes on though, this type of thing has become a huge focus. Using my passion/skill as a means to help people I care about. People that deserve it. People as passionate about their craft as I am about mine. For many years I got paid to photograph famous athletes, which is really cool as a young photographer looking to make a name for himself. Then as time goes on you realize it’s all bullshit. And most of the time clients want to create boring images that will do nothing but sell a boring product. That’s not to say there aren’t some really great brands out there that are fun to shoot with. For the most part though, nobody wants to take any chances. They want to play it safe. I don’t know what the Drake’s circulation is? Minuscule when compared to that of a company with reach like the Nike’s of the world. Still though, I’d rather shoot this stuff 8 days a week. And just for the record, The Drake didn’t hire me to shoot this story on Zach. It was a self assigned project that I pitched to them and they bit. No pun intended.
Long live the personal project.
Colorado Fitness Photographer
Health and Fitness Photoshoot - Boulder, Colorado
If you’re in the fitness world then chances are you follow brands like Rogue, Nike, 2XU, Rhone, and Reebok because of the guaranteed stream of fitness related content. They are easy follows. I realized a while back that I’m a hard follow. My photography is focused on my interests, which are quite varied. Just look at the blog post previous to this one. It leads off with an older women in a white fur jacket and hat riding her bicycle down a cobblestone street in a postcard European town. So what does that have to do with gritty images of an athletic girl working out? Nothing other than both subjects interest me. Admittedly the woman riding her bike could be classified as a fashion photograph, a subject that bores the hell out of me. I’d classify it more as a culture or travel photo though. The point is, if you’re following someone like me, it’s because you like my photography, not necessarily all of the subject matter. People will always say “you have to specialize”. Why? It certainly make it easier to market yourself that way, but why limit yourself to shooting one subject matter your whole life? I love photography and using it for various purposes like documenting life, not just to create ad campaigns for clients. That’s fun too, but there’s got to be more than that. Stay tuned for the next post on a subject unrelated to fitness that will no doubt preach about the value of personal project, again……
European Travel Photography
Street Photography - Europe
Round two of sharing old work from the archive. One of the positives to come out of COVID is the gratitude we gained for things previously taken for granted. Never would anyone believe that something as simple as eating at their favorite local restaurant would be outlawed for more than a year. For Emily and I, travel is always on the top of the list. There is nothing we enjoy more than aimlessly exploring new places. Doesn’t matter if that “new” is a neighborhood in Southern California or a foreign country. Europe in late December 2019 was our last international trip before the lockdown. The only problem with trips like this is it just stokes the fire for the next one. Which is always a topic of conversation on the long plain ride home. Travel bans almost makes it better because you know there literally isn’t an option of going overseas. 2 years later though, we are itching. And looking through these images only makes it harder, but it will also make us more grateful when we finally do take another trip.
Basketball As A Global Language
Basketball Hoops in Europe
Street Basketball and Public Hoops Across European Countries
Basketball is often thought of as an American game, but travel quickly proves otherwise. While moving through cities and small towns across Europe, I began noticing basketball hoops tucked into courtyards, alleys, schoolyards, and public spaces—quietly integrated into daily life. These photographs document street basketball as it exists beyond professional arenas: worn backboards, improvised courts, and places where the game is played simply because space allows for it. What stood out was both the differences from home and the familiarity—evidence that basketball has become a shared, global language spoken in cities far from where the game began.
Basketball Culture Beyond the United States
By the time these photographs were made, I had already spent years documenting basketball hoops across the United States. That long-term work shaped how I saw the game elsewhere. In Europe, basketball didn’t announce itself with signage or formal courts; it appeared quietly—behind apartment buildings, beside schools, along the edges of public parks. The hoops were often worn, sometimes improvised, and clearly used. These weren’t destinations. They were part of the landscape.
Basketball as a Global Game
Basketball’s simplicity is what allows it to travel. A single hoop can turn almost any space into a court. In Europe, that adaptability felt especially apparent. Courts were smaller, surfaces uneven, and surroundings shaped by centuries of architecture rather than modern planning. Yet the game persisted, fitting itself into whatever space was available.
These photographs aren’t about organized play or competition. They focus instead on the presence of the game itself—how basketball exists even when no one is on the court. In that way, the hoops become markers of cultural exchange, evidence of how a game invented in one country has embedded itself into everyday life far beyond its origins.
What These European Hoops Reveal About Basketball in America
Seeing basketball in Europe reinforced something I had already been observing at home: the game belongs as much to ordinary places as it does to arenas. The same visual patterns repeat—bent rims, weathered backboards, courts shaped by their surroundings rather than by regulation. Basketball adapts to place, but it never loses its identity.
That realization continues to inform my ongoing work documenting basketball hoops across the United States. While the landscapes differ, the impulse behind the game feels universal. Basketball shows up wherever people live their lives, and the hoop often remains long after the players have gone—quiet, functional, and waiting.
An Ongoing Documentary Approach
This body of work exists alongside my long-term project photographing basketball hoops in America, where I continue to focus on rural towns, backyards, alleys, and overlooked spaces. Together, the images form a broader visual study of basketball as part of everyday life—one that crosses borders without losing its meaning.
Rather than treating these European photographs as a separate series, they function as context. They reinforce the idea that basketball isn’t confined to a single country or culture. It’s a shared language, expressed through place, architecture, and the simple presence of a hoop.
View More Global Basketball Hoop Photographs
American Backcourts - A long-term photography project documenting old, handmade, and overlooked basketball hoops found in small towns, rural yards, and quiet neighborhoods across the United States.
Vietnam Hoops - A photographic exploration of basketball hoops across Europe, where the game blends into historic streets, housing blocks, and everyday public spaces.
Venice Beach - A vibrant look at basketball culture in Venice Beach, California, where color, creativity, and public courts collide in one of the most iconic basketball environments in the world.
A basketball hoop stands in a small courtyard, framed by handmade brick and stone mosaics that blend public art and everyday basketball culture
A lone basketball hoop in a residential setting, photographed in black and white, highlighting the quieter side of European basketball culture.
A chain-net basketball hoop centered against a brick backdrop, highlighting durability and utility in European public courts.
A brightly colored basketball net hangs from an outdoor hoop, emphasizing the visual details that define everyday basketball culture in European cities.
Detail of a basketball hoop’s base, where metal, stone, and moss reveal the slow passage of time on an outdoor European court.
A straightforward view of an outdoor basketball hoop, photographed in black and white to focus on form, structure, and balance.
A red basketball backboard stands out against brick architecture, showing how outdoor courts are embedded within everyday European neighborhoods.
Seen through the rim of a basketball hoop, a church steeple rises in the background, placing the game within the architectural fabric of a European town.
A metal basketball backboard seen through fencing, reflecting the layered infrastructure common to many public courts across Europe.
Viewed through layers of fencing, an outdoor basketball hoop emphasizes access, separation, and the realities of shared public space.
A handmade wooden backboard with a bright orange rim highlights the improvised, personal nature of informal basketball spaces.
A basketball hoop at dusk, surrounded by fencing, captures the subdued atmosphere of an outdoor European court after daylight fades.
A solitary basketball hoop sits on a moss-covered outdoor court, reflecting the quieter, weathered character of many European public playing spaces.
A chain-net hoop framed by city windows, underscoring how basketball courts exist within dense European urban environments.
American Photographic Artists
APA is a great organization for photographers that I’m proud to be a member of. It’s filled with good people that support and help each other rather than looking at one another as competition. I recently did an interview with them which you can read here:
Alaska Fly Fishing Photographs
Authentic Moments of Fly Fishing Adventures in the Remote Waters of Alaska
If you ever get the chance to fly fish in Alaska, don’t think twice, just go. It’s one of the last truly wild places left, and every trip feels like stepping back into a world untouched by time.
Up there, adventure isn’t a side note, it’s part of the deal. The rivers that hold the biggest rainbow trout, the brightest Dolly Varden, and the hard-fighting king and silver salmon aren’t lined with parking lots or lodges. They’re remote, winding through endless stretches of wilderness where the only way in is by float plane. You lift off from the lodge in Iliamna, and before long, you’re flying low over dense forests, braided rivers, and snow-dusted peaks, searching for a sliver of water that could be the site of your next great story.
When that plane skids to a stop on a remote lake or river bend, it’s just you, your gear, and the wild. No roads. No crowds. Just the sound of the current and maybe the distant call of a bald eagle overhead.
Of course, you’re not the only one fishing those waters. Spend enough time wading a remote Alaskan river, and you'll likely be forced out by a grizzly or two doing a little fishing of their own. It's humbling, to say the least. Encounters with bears are a part of the experience — a sharp reminder that you're a visitor in their kingdom. Give them space, respect their presence, and you’ll walk away with stories that last a lifetime.
The fishing itself is nothing short of legendary. Big, bruising rainbow trout that crush mouse patterns in the twilight hours. Dolly Varden dressed in their fall colors, flashing pink and orange like living jewels. Silvers leaping clean out of the water, their sides flashing like mirrors. And kings — heavy, relentless, and every bit as powerful as you’ve heard.
But beyond the fish, it's the feeling that hooks you the hardest. Standing waist-deep in a crystal-clear river, surrounded by wilderness that stretches to the horizon in every direction, you realize Alaska offers something rare: true solitude. True connection to the wild. No cell service. No distractions. Just you, the river, and the fish.
If you’re looking for something more than just another fishing trip — if you want an adventure that shakes you up, fills your lungs with clean air, and leaves you with memories stamped deep into your soul , Alaska’s remote rivers are the answer.
Click HERE to see more of my fly fishing photography.
Click HERE to shop my fly fishing prints and contact me directly about licensing these Alaska fly fishing photographs for editorial or commercial usage
Sunset over volcanoes in Alaska
Alaska Fly Fishing
Alaska Grizzly Bear
Aerial view of Alaska
Alaska grayling fly fishing
Fly fishing in Alaska
Float plane ride - Iliamna, Alaska fly fishing
Iliamna, Alaska fly fishing guide
Every day carries in Alaska
Fly fishing a remote river in Alaska
Silver Salmon fly fishing - Iliamna, Alaska
Fly fishing lake Iliamna, Alaska
Traveling with Dogs
Road Tripping With Your Dog
Feel free to disagree with this, but the cost of being brilliant, truly brilliant, is that some parts of your brain are vacant. The important parts required for you to deliver your gift to the world require so much energy that the remainder is in a constant state of atrophy. Somewhere on one of my many shelves there's a great book that shares the “wisdom” of the world’s most brilliant people. Aside from the obvious takeaways I was struck by a man infinitely smarter than the rest of us who said that dogs don’t have a soul. “That’s just what you want to be true”. It’s fine to believe whatever it is you believe. We don’t all have to agree on everything, but how could a guy of unquestionable greatness, of unparalleled success, not understand something so obvious? He just didn’t get it.
I’ll never forget a woman stopping us on the street because Mojo reminded her of the dog she used to have. Without solicitation she said “We started taking care of him when our friend got sick (short pause), but really he was the one that took care of us”. That’s what it means to own a dog whether you realize it or not. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re on top of the world or barely scraping by. They are your rock. Seeing that wagging tail through the front door as you approach is the best thing since back roads. They don’t care that you got drunk and made an asshole of yourself at the company Christmas party, how many Instagram followers you have, or what kind of car you drive. Their job is to love and they take it very seriously.
Ask any proper dog owner about their pup and they’ll tell you he’s the best in the world. The funny thing is, they’re all right. Obviously bias is at play but the bond that can occur between human and K-9 if you let it is indescribable. So to say that our relationship with our dog was special isn’t a matter of competition or superiority, it’s just a fact. Makes no difference if that fact is only true to Emily and I. Something worth noting is that we don’t have or want children. So Mojo, who was once a pawn for prolonging marital engagement, became the centerpiece of our happy family. Everything revolved around him. And from his first days with us we began a life that was different. Not for the purpose of being different, but to live the way we wanted. The way that came natural to us. That “way” just happened to be on the road. He went everywhere with us. Literally. 200,000+ miles of everywhere. To 45 of the 50 states. Days, weeks, a month at a time was spent in the truck, together. He was there for every road trip from San Diego to the east coast and back. For every family vacation to Cape Cod, Christmas in upstate New York, fly fishing trips, camping, snowboarding, and of course our wedding. He’s stayed in more cheap hotels and seen more of this country than most humans we’ll ever meet. Talking about it now only reinforces how lucky we are. So how can I do him justice with words? How can I describe the bond we shared? I can’t. That’s not a skill I possess. Even if I did, would it be something people couldn’t understand? Our life on the road has been one that very few people experience. Most probably wouldn’t want to, and that’s ok. For me though, it’s the only way. A special life made truly monumental only by Mojo’s glowing presence and the countless people he’s affected along the way. Through it all he never once complained. Not even after 20 hours straight on pothole infested roads. Never. He just wanted to be with us.
What was Mojo like? For starters he was as majestic a dog as you’ll ever meet, which was an odd thing to address. Random people always commented on how handsome he was. Well, thanks, but we didn’t make him!? He loved adventure, especially in the snow. He was a stoic observer, gaining a lot of enjoyment from taking it all in. He loved but didn’t give away his love frugally. Even with us, outwardly showing love was rare, which made it all the more special to receive. He was a slave to food. A fault I’ll have to take blame for because he always got fed from the table, counter, campfire, tailgate, whatever. My mother didn’t help in that category either. He was always happy but also unimpressed with most things we did. If you tried to make him a puppet or the butt of a joke he would just look down his nose with a stare that made you question who was higher on the food chain. He cared. If ever we had a bad day he knew it and came to help by leaning his body into ours. Try to ignore it or tell him falsely that you were ok and he would paw to make you rub him until fully persuaded you really were ok. The rubbing wasn’t for him, it was for us. On days he truly wasn’t convinced, he’d eventually give up the pushing and sit at your feet. His presence alone made us better. He was protective. Especially of Emily. He was peaceful.
The list of things we will miss about him would require too much of your time and attention span, so i’ll keep it brief. His hair was a welcome nuisance. It’s everywhere and will be for the rest of our days, ensuring that we never forget him. On that note, he had the best neck of any dog I’ve ever met. Never was there a problem that couldn’t be fixed by burying your face in that thick mane of hair. People say that dogs don’t smile. That’s untrue. When either of us was gone for more than a week, upon our return Mojo would gift us, if we were lucky, with a smile that went from one of his giant ears to the other. Same goes for our friends that he selectively grew to love. As great as all the long trips were, it’s the simple things that will probably be the hardest. Morning walks, his calming presence, cleaning up his pork induced drool piles, the way he tilted his head when asked a question, the fact that he smelled like Frito’s after a stint in the truck, or maybe his stupendous resume of outstanding accomplishments like being sprayed 3 times by 3 different skunks and eating an entire case of Clif Bars in one sitting. Wrappers and all. He had plenty of shortcomings that frustrated us daily. They too will be greatly missed.
Death is inevitable for us all. Even more so for the pets we’re lucky to have throughout the course of life. You try to tell yourself you’ll be prepared when the time comes but that’s impossible. We lost Mojo just shy of his 10th birthday. Up until the very end he was happy and healthy. Nothing out of the ordinary that led us to believe he wouldn’t be around for another 4 years like we asked of Alladin’s Lamp. One day the week prior he dragged on an evening walk but was right back to normal the next day. Then on Saturday, March 20th Emily thought he was acting strange after dinner. As usual I brushed it off to her overreacting and the three of us went up to sleep like any other night. An hour later he made an odd commotion that woke me. So I sat down next to him and he immediately laid into me with his whole body. Not sure if I was comforting him or the other way around? Looking back I think he was telling me it’s all going to be ok. Either way I fought as hard as possible against everything that told me he was absolutely dying, and got back into bed after his breathing slowed. My crying woke Emily who took her turn laying with him in the dark next to my side of the bed. The stress of the what-if made the minutes crawl by as I went from watching the two of them, to staring through the ceiling. The nurse in her allowed for a calmness while whispering that he was having seizures and might not make it. She’s overreacting again!! But what if she isn’t?? I joined her on the floor as we both laid alongside him, our heads in his warm mane, crying. With continued calmness she urged me to relax so he didn’t take on my pain too. Minutes later his breathing stopped and he gently drifted away. The following 45 minutes weren’t pretty as we took turns breaking down, one consoling the other, until it was obvious a move had to be made. As much as we didn’t want to say goodbye, looking at a cold corpse the next morning would only further the agony. So we dropped him off at the 24 hour vet, drove home in a daze, cried a lot more, then got back into bed. Sleep wasn’t an option. Lying there in disbelief, tangible stages of emotion came on one after the other. Denial came first. No way that just happened. Had to be a nightmare. Then came the anxiety of reality followed by anger which was the worst and most selfish of them all. I thought, what the fuck, he can’t give us a few more years?? Then, after a moment of dwelling, I realized he already gave us everything.
The following day was a blur. Mojo was gone. Our rock was gone. So what were we left with? Only the positives. Sure we were devastated but our thoughts keep coming back to the magnitude of his countless gifts. 10 years of total joy is so much stronger than any of the hurt we are temporarily feeling. And his greatest gift of all was leaving the way he did. No health issues or diseases that caused a slow decline in quality of life. He wasn’t in prolonged pain emotionally or physically, which means that we were also spared the trauma. How does it get any better than that? We were able to live his entire life with him almost like it was scripted. The amount of life lessons, happiness, and gratitude he has taught us are immeasurable. That doesn’t mean the crying is over, but the memories will always win.
On Mojo’s last day with us I was on the computer screaming at the monitor about a series of professional problems that seemed to have no logical answer. It probably sounded a lot like the furnace scene in A Christmas Story. Right on cue he came in and pushed himself firmly against me. I told him I was fine. He didn’t believe me. So the pushing and petting continued until he could tell from my eyes that I had calmed down. Twelve hours later he was dead. And you’re gonna tell me dogs don’t have a soul?
Much love,
Rob Hammer
PS: we found out soon after that Mojo’s mom died on the same day he did. Not the same day of a different year, the same exact day.
P.S.S. I had never heard about the Rainbow Bridge until a good friend sent it over days later as consolation. The morning after Mojo died it was raining, but we walked anyway, and there was a rainbow over the Pacific. That has to mean something good.
Suggested reading: Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck
American Photography
Some frames from the last road trip up to Idaho and back. Seems like I’m always saying “______ is my new favorite place” and I can’t help that because I love this country so much. For now though, Nevada is becoming that new favorite place.
Looking at this set of images is interesting because they all fit into the different major ongoing series that have taken shape over the last few years. “American” , “Hotels” , “Barbershops of America”, and the latest “Roadside Meditations” which comes out in June. Only one missing is “American Backcourts”. None of these images were intentional. I didn’t set out with the thought to add to those series, it just happens. Grateful for that.
Fausto Ferrari Barbershop
Traditional Barbershop - Cincinnati, Ohio
It’s crazy what BBQ can bring into your life besides good times and a happy belly. There are countless images made on the road that have been a direct result of my love for smoked meat. In December 2013 I was cruising around downtown Cincinnati in a huge snowstorm when a (meat) smoker caught my eye in front a non-descript store front. If it weren’t for the huge plums of smoke coming from it I would have went right on by. Luckily it was about the only form of life on those empty streets that day. So I stopped for some food which happened to be next door to a beautiful old barbershop, which at the time, was closed despite the listed hours stating it should be open. I remember asking the owner of the bbq joint about the barber - “Good luck. That guy comes and goes whenever he wants to. Who knows when he’ll be back.” I had to take a gamble though, hoping he would indeed be cutting the following day. After spending the night I showed up at his stated “opening” time, but there was no sign of the barber. So I sat in my car wondering if he would show. Quite some time after, he did.
Over the past 10 years of working on this project I’ve encountered an almost endless list of characters. Mr. Fausto Ferrari is at or near the top of them all. Despite being in this country some 50+ years, he still spoke very broken English, so our conversations were fun to dissect. One of his long time customers came in shortly after he arrived and it was obvious that they had quite the history together. Halfway through the cut Fausto went into the back room . The man in the chair could see how much I enjoyed the barbers antics and said “I keep a file on my computer of all the stories he tells me”. Fausto was entertaining on his own, but watching the two of them was a gift. The kind of chemistry that can only happen between old friends. They carried effortless conversations that were often interrupted by the barber abruptly saying “Seeeñññoooooorrr” and the man in the seat volleying back with a smile “Faaaauuuussstooo”. Then the conversation would continue like it never stopped until the next volley. A special interaction that I was luck to witness.
Señor Fausto recently passed away after 94 years. A beautiful ride that any of us would be luck to match. Rest in Power Mr. Ferrari. Cincinnati will miss you.
Click here to grab a copy of Barbershops of America
Photo was made on 12/7/13
