Mount of Beatitudes on the Sea of Galalee. Northern Israel.
Jordan River, where Christ was Baptized, at the mouth of the Sea of Galalee.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Istanbul
I made it to Istanbul, I haven't seen much of it yet, but my hotel is just across the street from several mosques and the famous Grand Bazaar. Through the open window in my hotel room I can hear the muslim call to evening prayer, its a haunting megaphone sound that rings through the city, echoing off temples and ancient mosques built by Constantine himself, the ghostly harmony screeches over distant sirens and car horns. It feels so solemn and sacred. Like a sound that hasen't changed since the beginning of time. I cant decide if its music or just spoken word...somewhere in between. Its beautiful while at the same time sends chills down my spine. I feel really far from home.
On a lighter note, I got to the airport, thinking I was just going to jump in a cab until I heard my name being announced over the intercom... I thought to myself, I'm alone in one of the most foreign countries I have ever been and I just heard, "Charles Brewer!...please come to the information desk!" Once I turned the corner I saw this man, and it all made sense :)
On a lighter note, I got to the airport, thinking I was just going to jump in a cab until I heard my name being announced over the intercom... I thought to myself, I'm alone in one of the most foreign countries I have ever been and I just heard, "Charles Brewer!...please come to the information desk!" Once I turned the corner I saw this man, and it all made sense :)
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
the beauty to come
Its been a while since I have written here, its not that I havent been inspired, I just havent come up for air yet. You have to take a step back every once in a while to even notice what your painting looks like.
I could write a book about what has happened over the past 6 months of my life, but I dont have time for that now. Im in my cold, quiet, Boston apartment, I havent packed and a plane ticket awaits me. It reads November 3rd, 9:20pm, Charles Campbell Brewer, Istanbul Turkey.
Im going on a trip... a big trip. This is the point that I begin to realize what is actually going to take place over the next 3 1/2 weeks. What is to come overwhelms me... the unknown has been creeping slowly in my direction, now its here and I have a choice to step on the plane or tear my ticket in half and stay comfortable at home.
Not sure who it is who said this But I love this quote:
“The test of an adventure is that when you're in the middle of it, you say to yourself, ''Oh, now I've got myself into an awful mess; I wish I were sitting quietly at home.'' And the sign that something's wrong with you is when you sit quietly at home and wish."
I really dont know the world that I am about to step into, the only things I predict is that it will be beautifully turbulent ... unlike any place I have ever been. I hope to capture the true essence of the places my feet are fortunate to walk. I hope to share my videos and images with you when I get back. I feel so blessed to be able to step on that plane tonight.
The beauty to come fascinates me, it makes life worth living. My journey will take me to 4 countries, Turkey, Israel, Jordan and England. A perspective altering trip to say the least, some people wait a lifetime for this experience. I am blessed to be headed east tonight.
I will try to keep you updated on what I am experiencing!!
I could write a book about what has happened over the past 6 months of my life, but I dont have time for that now. Im in my cold, quiet, Boston apartment, I havent packed and a plane ticket awaits me. It reads November 3rd, 9:20pm, Charles Campbell Brewer, Istanbul Turkey.
Im going on a trip... a big trip. This is the point that I begin to realize what is actually going to take place over the next 3 1/2 weeks. What is to come overwhelms me... the unknown has been creeping slowly in my direction, now its here and I have a choice to step on the plane or tear my ticket in half and stay comfortable at home.
Not sure who it is who said this But I love this quote:
“The test of an adventure is that when you're in the middle of it, you say to yourself, ''Oh, now I've got myself into an awful mess; I wish I were sitting quietly at home.'' And the sign that something's wrong with you is when you sit quietly at home and wish."
I really dont know the world that I am about to step into, the only things I predict is that it will be beautifully turbulent ... unlike any place I have ever been. I hope to capture the true essence of the places my feet are fortunate to walk. I hope to share my videos and images with you when I get back. I feel so blessed to be able to step on that plane tonight.
The beauty to come fascinates me, it makes life worth living. My journey will take me to 4 countries, Turkey, Israel, Jordan and England. A perspective altering trip to say the least, some people wait a lifetime for this experience. I am blessed to be headed east tonight.
I will try to keep you updated on what I am experiencing!!
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The River Why
Its not fish you're after…"
Set on the banks of a wild river, The River Why is the story of 20 year old Gus Orviston, the Mozart of flyfishing, who leaves his big city home in rebellion from his family to live in a secluded cabin on the banks of a wild river.
In the process he comes in contact with an assortment of eccentric characters who help him in his journey to adulthood.
Most of all, The River Why is a love story. The love of a man for the wilderness, and for a beautiful woman who comes to share it with him.
Gus Orviston, the hero and narrator of the The River Why, is born with this observation:
“The surface of the earth is 30% land and 70% water. A newborn baby is composed of 70% water and 30% everything else. I guess this means that life and water are inseparable.”
Keep an eye out for a screening near by, it will be worth the drive!
SCREENINGS:
Ashland Independent Film FestivalCatch a Special Preview “Thank you, Oregon” screening of The River Why on April 9th at 12:00noon & April 10th at 6:oopm.
Dallas International Film Festival
Purchase tickets for the World Premiere of The River Why showing April 14th at 7:30pm & April 15th at 7:00pm.
Purchase tickets for the World Premiere of The River Why showing April 14th at 7:30pm & April 15th at 7:00pm.
Newport Beach Film Festival
has announced our screening time for The River Why. So far we have one screening scheduled for Friday, April 23 at 6:00pm.
has announced our screening time for The River Why. So far we have one screening scheduled for Friday, April 23 at 6:00pm.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Walk these waters
Spring is here, the mountains are melting, the waters are rising, flies are hatching, and the trout are feeding... it's fly fishing season!
Three years ago for the first time, I put a fly rod in my hand ... and fell in love.
Rocky Mountain National Park was my first fly fishing trip ... I was hooked. This sport has it all for me. My early love for golf created a seamless transition into my second love of fly fishing. In both sports, your alone, walking through nature, exploring new territory and testing your ability with each new hole.
This past weekend Xan and I took another trip up to Rocky Mountain National Park to remember the essence of why we fly fish.
We met up with the man who taught us both how to catch a trout with a fly rod. He taught us everything, how to cast, where to cast, what to use while casting, and what the hell to do once we've casted. He taught us how to tie flies and how to dry flies, how to stalk fish, and how to release fish once they've been stalked, how to kiss fish, how preform a "rub-down" before its release. But mostly he taught us how to be patient on the water and how important it is to just be still, waist deep in a cold mountain stream, never loosing perspective of the beauty surrounding. This man taught Xan and I both what it means to be fly fishermen. His name is Ron Smith, we now call him ... the Legend.
I'm waist deep in the Big Thompson River running through Estes Park and I roll cast to a hole full of at least 25 brown and rainbow trout. The water whips into the air clinging to my line creating a vivid stripping noise. The strike indicator bobs at the top of the run, I strip my fly line to keep up with the current, after this ... the world disappears, nothing else matters, I go unconscious.
Entranced in anticipation, my strike indicator sinks like a torpedoed boat and I set the hook. Flashes of a gold struggle shine from the depths, chills rise from my feet and my heart races. Its been 7 months since I've fought this beautiful fight. Stripping line from my reel, the brown darts down stream, the sound of my releasing drag unleashes my chills over my entire body. I fight to stay even with this wild creature by running down stream, he shoots back up stream, I jump over boulders splashing against the current back to where I came, we stay even. Rod tip bent, I reel in my excess line as he darts toward me attempting all angles of escape. For what felt like an hour ... we danced.
Fly fishing is not like hunting. Its a common bond between man and creation. We walk these waters to dance with the beauty swimming below, to prove we can win a battle, to struggle with nature, to be in it, to look up from our trance and notice the sky, the mountains, and the trees surrounding. We cast our line for one soul connecting moment, we cast our lines for the finale of the dance, at the end of a successful battle, for that one moment we get to hold a wild creature in our hands, wonder at its color, feel its power, then ... set it free.
It's a process that brings us back to the stream. To dance again.
Why do we walk these waters? ...this trailer from Felt Soul Media captures the essence of we fly fishermen do what we do and keep coming back:
Eastern Rises | teaser from felt soul media on Vimeo.
Three years ago for the first time, I put a fly rod in my hand ... and fell in love.
Rocky Mountain National Park was my first fly fishing trip ... I was hooked. This sport has it all for me. My early love for golf created a seamless transition into my second love of fly fishing. In both sports, your alone, walking through nature, exploring new territory and testing your ability with each new hole.
This past weekend Xan and I took another trip up to Rocky Mountain National Park to remember the essence of why we fly fish.
I'm waist deep in the Big Thompson River running through Estes Park and I roll cast to a hole full of at least 25 brown and rainbow trout. The water whips into the air clinging to my line creating a vivid stripping noise. The strike indicator bobs at the top of the run, I strip my fly line to keep up with the current, after this ... the world disappears, nothing else matters, I go unconscious.
Entranced in anticipation, my strike indicator sinks like a torpedoed boat and I set the hook. Flashes of a gold struggle shine from the depths, chills rise from my feet and my heart races. Its been 7 months since I've fought this beautiful fight. Stripping line from my reel, the brown darts down stream, the sound of my releasing drag unleashes my chills over my entire body. I fight to stay even with this wild creature by running down stream, he shoots back up stream, I jump over boulders splashing against the current back to where I came, we stay even. Rod tip bent, I reel in my excess line as he darts toward me attempting all angles of escape. For what felt like an hour ... we danced.
Fly fishing is not like hunting. Its a common bond between man and creation. We walk these waters to dance with the beauty swimming below, to prove we can win a battle, to struggle with nature, to be in it, to look up from our trance and notice the sky, the mountains, and the trees surrounding. We cast our line for one soul connecting moment, we cast our lines for the finale of the dance, at the end of a successful battle, for that one moment we get to hold a wild creature in our hands, wonder at its color, feel its power, then ... set it free.
It's a process that brings us back to the stream. To dance again.
Why do we walk these waters? ...this trailer from Felt Soul Media captures the essence of we fly fishermen do what we do and keep coming back:
Eastern Rises | teaser from felt soul media on Vimeo.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
180 Degrees South ... more than a Film
This film will be epic, I cant wait for it! This is the essence of what adventuring this beautiful planet is all about. Once you've seen a place you respect it, you begin to understand it. Its people, its land, and its confrontational wild. Yvon Chouinard paved the way for land conservation long before it was popular to do so. This film by Woodshed Films is based on the 1968 journey Chouinard took from Ventura California to the top of Mt. Fitz Roy in Patagonia.
180 Degrees South trailer:
180° SOUTH from Surfpresss on Vimeo.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Living this life to the fullest ... how do we do that in our lives?
ReddBrew Productions "Always Brew it Redd"
This is ReddBrew's first podcast, many more to come! Hope you enjoy!
Click Here to listen: Living this life to the fullest ... how do we do that in our lives?
Posted using ShareThis
This is ReddBrew's first podcast, many more to come! Hope you enjoy!
Click Here to listen: Living this life to the fullest ... how do we do that in our lives?
Posted using ShareThis
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Bookends
It's been three and a half years since the left side of my face was a different color than the right. With a splash of water I to try to even out the color ... it could just be dirt. My second glance into the foggy mirror of a gas station somewhere in the plains of west Texas proves to be no different. The face staring back at me is red on the left side. The perfect line down the middle resembles faint war paint, and I'm convinced this sunburn symbolizes something more.
As I dry off my blonde 3 week old excuse for a beard I feel a strange sense of dejavu. I know I've never ventured this far into the Texas plains, but for some reason the rolling tumbleweeds take me back.
"That'll be $46.50" the clerk says with a smirk, after she did a double take at the condition of my face ... guess she sees these bicolor faces a lot. Walking back to my car I'm almost knocked over by the hard January wind and it hits me. I've been here before. Not physically, but I've been on this journey. Last time it was harder, last time it was Kansas. This time it felt different, this time it was Texas. Both times felt like an empty eternity.
At a crossroads I check both ways to pull out from the station. I can actually see the horizon both east and west, no cars either way, so I pull out on the flat as a pancake country road and push the pedal. I'm headed west ... to the mountains.
Traveling west seems to act as a hand turning the page in my life. Both times a pit in my stomach, both times my face changing color, my eyes opened, my story rewritten. This time I feel more confident, but mountains are unpredictable, I hope I'm ready for what awaits on the edge of these steep rocky slopes.
Three and a half years ago I left comfort for the first time and chose risk. I was scared, I thought about turning my car around, but God had different plans. The journey to the steep places of the west seem to have an affect on my life. But it's the struggle in these steep places that not only color my face, they shape my heart. Mountains seem to be my story's bookends.
Its the lie of this land that seems to encourage a lifestyle beyond the country club. It's a flee from comfort for me, a bold step towards risk. A journey isn't a journey at all unless fear covers, brings a shudder and spills tears. Once one tastes his tears in the face of the unknown and risks enough to trudge forward he will never go back. Maybe this is why I keep finding my face red on the left.
As I dry off my blonde 3 week old excuse for a beard I feel a strange sense of dejavu. I know I've never ventured this far into the Texas plains, but for some reason the rolling tumbleweeds take me back.
"That'll be $46.50" the clerk says with a smirk, after she did a double take at the condition of my face ... guess she sees these bicolor faces a lot. Walking back to my car I'm almost knocked over by the hard January wind and it hits me. I've been here before. Not physically, but I've been on this journey. Last time it was harder, last time it was Kansas. This time it felt different, this time it was Texas. Both times felt like an empty eternity.
At a crossroads I check both ways to pull out from the station. I can actually see the horizon both east and west, no cars either way, so I pull out on the flat as a pancake country road and push the pedal. I'm headed west ... to the mountains.
Traveling west seems to act as a hand turning the page in my life. Both times a pit in my stomach, both times my face changing color, my eyes opened, my story rewritten. This time I feel more confident, but mountains are unpredictable, I hope I'm ready for what awaits on the edge of these steep rocky slopes.
Three and a half years ago I left comfort for the first time and chose risk. I was scared, I thought about turning my car around, but God had different plans. The journey to the steep places of the west seem to have an affect on my life. But it's the struggle in these steep places that not only color my face, they shape my heart. Mountains seem to be my story's bookends.
Its the lie of this land that seems to encourage a lifestyle beyond the country club. It's a flee from comfort for me, a bold step towards risk. A journey isn't a journey at all unless fear covers, brings a shudder and spills tears. Once one tastes his tears in the face of the unknown and risks enough to trudge forward he will never go back. Maybe this is why I keep finding my face red on the left.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
they're always calling
The Mountains are always calling.
Its a spiritual feeling standing at the base looking up. Their it is. A Mountain. Still as in waiting. Always pulling something out in me. Engaging me ... initiating a stirring. What is it about this pile of rocks that makes me wonder? From a distance I hear the voice, in the plains It speaks, in the canyons It echos, and no matter how far I run the Mountains will always be calling.
It doesn't need me, but I need It. Outlasting time, It is patient. A quiet presence forever looming. I close my eyes tight to be sure I'm not dreaming ... once opened I see It greater than before. Reality of this calling mounts, I must approach it, confront it, understand it.
A mountain brings fear, get close enough and you will understand. To turn back would mean nothing... clarity comes and I begin to interpret my place in Its forests.
What is it about a Mountain? Can one get used to Its faces? Pity the man who ignores the Peak. Who turns down this obvious invitation. ...Welcome Its presence my people! Question its expanse! Trek through its passes! Answer the voice inside you! Damn those who grow numb to allure, who fail to see wonders, curse those who refuse true beauty!
What is it about a Mountain that makes me want to see the other side? Why am I compelled to pack my bags? What is it about a Mountain that opens my speechless mouth? Is It real? Reality evokes trial, and trial is evidence of the blazed path. Trembling with discomfort I leave the world of masks to enter into a realm of uncertainty. Risk is what this Mountain brings ... the closer I get ... the higher I climb ... the louder it calls.
Mountains demand greatness from the climbers seeking to summit. The higher I climb the stronger the test. It would be easy to just stand at its base to hear Its faint voice, calling. But only when I answer does the blood flow. Only when I turn and face it does my skin split. I must welcome struggle for I know where I am going. No matter how far I run east the Mountain will always stand, and always be calling. I must go West, listen to the Mountain and expect nothing short of the summit.
Its a spiritual feeling standing at the base looking up. Their it is. A Mountain. Still as in waiting. Always pulling something out in me. Engaging me ... initiating a stirring. What is it about this pile of rocks that makes me wonder? From a distance I hear the voice, in the plains It speaks, in the canyons It echos, and no matter how far I run the Mountains will always be calling.
It doesn't need me, but I need It. Outlasting time, It is patient. A quiet presence forever looming. I close my eyes tight to be sure I'm not dreaming ... once opened I see It greater than before. Reality of this calling mounts, I must approach it, confront it, understand it.
A mountain brings fear, get close enough and you will understand. To turn back would mean nothing... clarity comes and I begin to interpret my place in Its forests.
What is it about a Mountain? Can one get used to Its faces? Pity the man who ignores the Peak. Who turns down this obvious invitation. ...Welcome Its presence my people! Question its expanse! Trek through its passes! Answer the voice inside you! Damn those who grow numb to allure, who fail to see wonders, curse those who refuse true beauty!
What is it about a Mountain that makes me want to see the other side? Why am I compelled to pack my bags? What is it about a Mountain that opens my speechless mouth? Is It real? Reality evokes trial, and trial is evidence of the blazed path. Trembling with discomfort I leave the world of masks to enter into a realm of uncertainty. Risk is what this Mountain brings ... the closer I get ... the higher I climb ... the louder it calls.
Mountains demand greatness from the climbers seeking to summit. The higher I climb the stronger the test. It would be easy to just stand at its base to hear Its faint voice, calling. But only when I answer does the blood flow. Only when I turn and face it does my skin split. I must welcome struggle for I know where I am going. No matter how far I run east the Mountain will always stand, and always be calling. I must go West, listen to the Mountain and expect nothing short of the summit.
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