Jodie Ponto Photography

Some of you have expressed the desire to see images of rugged & handsome mountain men (yes, I’m talking about you Pratt). Hopefully the following photos will satisfy that ogling desire.

In this post you’re going to meet the crew of Yukon Stone Outfitters, who are some of the most hearty, handy, and competent folks I know. Quite a few of them have been spending time out in the mountains since the moment they were conceived in their parents’ bedrolls, and as such they possess the sort of skills that knock my clumsy self right off its feet.

Mac

This is Mac. He’s what makes Yukon Stone happen. He’s good at wearing any set of shoes he’s handed – hunting guide, pilot, outfitter, bossman. Really, he’s just the whole shebang.

Jamie

This is JC. And by JC I mean Jamie Connors, not Jesus Christ. I’ve been told Jamie is to hunting guides what Brinjamin Porter is to bass players. For anyone who that comparison sounds like gibberish to, it means he’s so talented it hurts and if you ever go hunting you’d be fortunate to have him guiding you.

Skyler

This is Skyler. He’s perhaps the most stylish hunting guide you’ll ever meet and camp’s resident entertainer. If you keep an eye out in upcoming posts you might meet his trusty companion Bucksnort.

Jody

Depending who you talk to, this is Jody, JP, Cookie, Old Peck, or Miss Quincy. Whatever you want to call her, she is without a doubt the best straight up cook I’ve ever met. Seriously, how many people do you know who can bake bread, buns, cookies, granola bars, date nut loaf, and black forest cake all in one afternoon over one little mother effing campfire? I can’t even do that with a new fangled electric oven.

Clayton

This is Clayton. He can most often be found snuggling with his greatest love, the chainsaw. He also climbs a mean tree. He is the camp’s wrangler, which means he has to do things that would make me curl up in the fetal position. For example, go out before anyone else is awake into the sort of darkness that houses bears & witches & werewolves and find 20 horses who could potentially be anywhere in the whole mountain range.

Ponies

These are a few of the Yukon Stone horses. Without them mountain life would be miserable because you’d have to traipse through rivers and mud bogs yourself and pack more pounds on your back than is humanly possible.

Puppies

This is Arrow (first photo) and Pelly (second photo). They are quite possibly the happiest canines I’ve ever met. I guess I would be too if I was a dog whose life revolved around eating lots of meat, having free run of an entire mountain range, lounging by the campfire, and sleeping in my best human friend’s bedroll.

One Final Photo

There’s a giant speckled bird I keep encountering while strolling along the cliffs that overlook Whitehorse. Yesterday was the closest I’ve ever gotten to him, and it’s the closest I’ve ever been to a bird this large perched in the wild. Both these photos were shot with an 85mm lens, meaning there’s no super telephoto action going on here and I’m close enough that if the bird decided to go all Alfred Hitchcock on me it could have ripped off my face with its razor beak before I even had a chance to protest.

Now, the only thing I know about birds is I like waking up to them better than an alarm clock, so if you know what kind of feather-face this is please tell me.

Before unleashing weeks worth of photos from the Yukon I thought I might butter you all up with some photos of puppies that were found abandoned in a backyard shed a couple weeks ago. Having been posting pictures on the ol’ interweb for a couple years now I’ve learned that the two things no one can resist looking at are photos with hints of nudity or baby animals in them.

This is Brinjamin. He likes puppies and they like to eat his dreads.

I’ve learned that when you’re in the homeland for less than a weekend the only way it’s possible to see all your friends & fam is to throw a party and invite them. Thanks to Mother Hen Peck and superhero Lew Bates for being the best darn summer BBQ/Garden Party/House Concert hosts in The Peace.

Afternoon rehearsal at Mother Hen Peck’s farmhouse.

Miss Quincy.

Hannah Layhe.

Shari Rae.

The Resurrect Christ Foundation’s mad bearded violinist, Josh Giesbrecht.

Friends & Fam

Turns out we’re good for more than making music and photos … We’re also lean, mean bird rescuing machines.

We found this little fellow on the sidewalk outside our pal Michael Dunn‘s house suffering from a severe case of head-on-window-collision induced shock. In this photo series you’ll see Nurse Peck administering a dose of Rescue Remedy while Nurse Layhe stands by.  I’m happy to report our nursing efforts were successful and little featherpants was on his way from half-dead to flying in no time.

While working away on the ol’ computing device this evening I heard a sound which for a moment I could have sworn was the biggest, baddest bee in existence coming straight for me with a bounty programmed into its antennae.

After I recovered from the moment of irrationality I realized it was a hummingbird! It had come in through the open door and was just trying to find a way out. Having admired the hummingbirds’ aerial zip over many a front porch dinner I never thought I would ever get close enough, nor be fast enough, to take a photo of the light-speed bird.

I managed to snap these few photos when the bird tried unsuccessfully to fly out a closed window and sat still on the sill briefly until I opened the glass for it.

With no disrespect meant towards the dead butterfly I found fluttering in the breeze on the side of the highway today, when I was taking its portrait I couldn’t help but be overcome singing a song I have worked very hard to erase from the sound banks of my memory.

Once upon last year my wonderfully kooky pal Heidi was getting married (to see photos of his stag party extravaganza click here). In true Heidi fashion, he chose the 1970s French turned English pop hit Butterfly (by Danyel Gerard) to be his wedding song. He gave a recording of the song to another friend, a musician we’ll call Beardy, who was to play the song at the wedding. I happened to hitch a ride with Beardy to a music festival the weekend before the wedding when he was in the last minute midst of trying to learn the song. We spent a disproportionate amount of the 8 hour drive listening to Butterfly and were subsequently infected with a near fatal case of earworm. As a result, the majority of the festival weekend was spent fighting the compulsion to prance around our campsite interpretive dancing and rabidly howling, “Butterfly, my Butterfly, now I know you must be free. Butterfly, don’t flutter by, stay a little while with me“. If you’re curious to hear the song in question click here.

And, if you’re still with me after that extremely roundabout detour, here is a study of a dead butterfly on the highway:

It’s been raining like a bad sally and as a result I haven’t been on a photo walk in a couple days. The almighty Weather Network said I’d be waiting for years for the sun to break and I was getting unbearably antsy so I tucked my camera in my coat and went for a long walk that left me soaked, suffering from a severe case of rainbite, but nevertheless happy.

The Wharf

The Trapped Dog

Puddles of Petals

The Garden

Rainbitten Fingers

Sometimes when all you’ve been photographing for months are music related subjects you go for a stroll up Primrose Hill in London, England and find yourself uncontrollably & ravenously stalking cute old men, children, and puppies with your camera.