Water ricochets off my downtube, struggling against the dried mud that’s caked there. I’m cleaning up from the first rainy ride of the fall. All around the mossy South Island hillsides which only last week were parched yellow are fading, transitioning back towards the vibrant green of coastal winter. With each passing day the sun is marching further south and carving away precious minutes of afternoon. Cloud cover is returning, bringing moisture, a familiar chill in the air, and morning dew on every surface. Corners that once gave way under angry tires now carve, while rocky patches once as predictable as pavement contrarily become greasy hazards. Reflecting on the summer, I recall memories of golden light pouring over backcountry trails, backlighting edges, dust trails, and distant ridgelines.
ExecutionThe first feature we tried to shoot was a failure. We’d scoped the steep, rocky chute days earlier, with rolling backlit waves of dust spiraling into the forest, but now the angle of the sun simply wasn’t cooperating. This was not a great start, but nearby we discovered a great set of corners getting blasted by late afternoon light and we were back on track. We relocated to the next zone on the list, navigating traffic, pedestrians, and an exhausting run-in which required extended sprinting to get up to speed. These shots alone would have been a success, but with the sun racing towards the horizon we moved yet again, frantically capturing various angles on a nearby mountain top in the last moments before darkness.
RewardThe large drop line was supposed to be perfectly backlit just as the rider dropped into the mossy forest below, but again the light foiled us. Disenchanted, we contemplated again trying for the dusty chute, but instead chose to explore another ridgeline I’d recently come across. On two wheels the climb was easy, but as Aaron hiked with his burdensome pack I was sure he was cursing my name. Part way up the final pitch we disturbed a wasp nest and Aaron was rewarded with a handful of painful red welts. As we reached the peak the sun crept towards the horizon, battling rows of clouds. We waited patiently. Would the light hit, or would we be left empty handed? In the distance a tiny crack appeared in the cloud cover. Moving right to left, the small triangular wedge looked as though it might, just, intercept where the sun touched the horizon. Aaron collected a timelapse as the clouds literally boiled on the distant mountain top. At the last moment we had surreal light pounding down upon us and working as fast as possible we shot various angles in the few golden minutes available, before again hiking out in the dark.
ExertionUncharacteristically, we arrived early at the remote ridgeline overlooking the Sooke Basin and Olympic Mountains with plenty of time. Without the pressure of cloud cover, we hiked to the top, but instead chose to shoot the line from the bottom up. The late afternoon sun beat down upon us, and with barely a breath of wind I was completely soaked in sweat and winded from running up the line over and over…and over. The bony terrain was peppered with hazards and rugged rock-to-rock gaps, but we emerged at the bottom of the ridgeline unscathed, facing only a creek crossing and long ride out in the dark.
FrustrationAll around us the light was slipping through the clouds, illuminating the only place we weren’t. We hiked above the area we intended to shoot, partly to pass the time before the light would be most golden and partly to escape the anticipation of waiting. Descending back towards our target area the sky opened up, showering the landscape in soft yellow for a few precious seconds. I’m certain I’ve never seen anyone run as fast with a fully loaded equipment pack as Aaron did right then, but it was not to be. Disappointed, we coasted hundreds of feet downwards to the waiting vehicle and a quiet drive home.
DiligenceWe watched the forecast patiently. With each passing day the probability of good light spiraled lower, and with it our chances at finishing the project. The day called for sun with a chance of clouds but the following week was to be completely overcast with showers. This was our chance. As we ascended the fire road climb waves of greyness rolled overhead, but as we arrived in our zone there was no doubt we would get the footage needed. As the sun descended on the distant landscape, flying ants emerged from the forest floor and peppered the skyline with hundreds of pulsing wings, the perfect final element to cap off
Project Gold.
We'd like to thank Banshee Bikes and RaceFace for supporting us in this project.
www.bansheebikes.comwww.raceface.com - Strahan Loken
