Progressive Wednesday

In Memoriam: Bradford Washburn, 1910 – 2007

August 2nd, 2007 by James Robinson

While tramping the Appalachian Trail in 2001, my crunchy hiking companion “Raven,” prone to late-night, lean-to-induced philosophy sessions like the rest of us, asked a simple question: “Are you a mountain person or an ocean person?” Questions like this inevitably lead into many other questions and stories that slay time otherwise spent dwelling on the mice scampering over your sleeping bag or the fact that your stomach is still craving more calories than your back could ever hope to carry. Deeper questions have been posed, I admit. But for some reason this particular AT inquiry clings to the slippery rock face of my memory like a tiny mountaineer.

You see, I’ve always considered myself a lover of mountains, which made my two years, four months, and 17 days living in the altitude deprived Midwest a near impossible experience. It is ironic, then, that I became acquainted with Brad Washburn during this temporary bout with flatness. When the September 2005 issue of Outside arrived at my O’Fallon, Missouri apartment like an answered prayer, it introduced me to the man I have come to believe in as the greatest mountain photographer to ever live.

Right now you might be thinking, Come on Bris, everyone knows Ansel Adams placed mountain photography on art’s topographic map. I’ll grant you that Adams taught us to love and appreciate nature on film, but I stand by my belief in Washburn as a superior mountain photographer.

Let’s start by considering that Adams himself called Washburn “a roving genius of mind and mountains.” Panopticon Gallery points to that same genius as “[the inspiration] for photographic techniques that capture the most remote and inaccessible points on earth under conditions worthy of a stunt man.” It’s the sheer remoteness associated with his “subjects,” the unclimbed mountains and treacherous glaciers, that makes Washburn’s eye for light and shadow amidst these indifferent and harsh giants worthy of our progressive awe. Washburn’s technique included tethering himself to the cabin wall of a prop-engine plane, strapping a 50-pound, eight-by-ten large format Fairchild camera to his chest, and leaning precariously out the aircraft door at 20,000 feet without the aid of a tripod. Despite such ridiculous conditions, his pictures display the un-cropped, crisp brilliance of “whole” mountains, stealing your breath like a high-altitude summit.

On January 10 of this year, we lost Washburn’s epic eye for tectonic marvels. He came as close to capturing the soul of a mountain as any true “mountain person” or “mountain photographer” ever will again. Don’t take my word for it. Check out Washburn’s legacy for yourself at Panopticon’s online gallery here or read Kurt Markus’ Outside ode to the greatest mountain photographer you’ve probably never heard of here.

From one “mountain person” to another, thank you Bradford for inspiring all of us to continue exploring earth’s giants, so often reluctant beneath their snow and ice.