My work focuses on three threads: the vast, fragile ecosystems of Alaska; the bond between humans and animals—especially dogs and working animals; and, when I’m invited, Indigenous stories and ceremonies rooted in deep relationship with the land. All three remind me that what happens to the land, the waters, and the animals happens to us. There is no separate fate.

The story that humans are separate from nature doesn’t just damage forests and oceans—it damages us. It leaves us feeling numb, overwhelmed, or disconnected in the face of climate change and loss. But when we remember that we are participants, not spectators, grief becomes a form of love, and our actions—however small—become part of a much larger healing.

You don’t have to travel deep into the backcountry to live this “no divide” reality. You can start by noticing that every breath you take is a gift from oceans and forests. By watching your dog notice scents, weather, and wild sounds you’ve tuned out. By asking where your food, water, and energy come from—and who and what is affected along the way. By supporting Indigenous-led and local conservation efforts that are restoring balance on the ground.

In the end, my conservation message is simple: we will never truly protect what we still see as separate from ourselves. My camera is just one way of saying, “This is beautiful. This is fragile. This is your home, too.”
We were never outside of nature. We are one expression of a living world trying to sustain itself—through rivers and roots, paws and wings, and our own human hands and hearts. The work now is to remember that, live like it’s true, and protect this wild, interconnected home as if we were defending our own lives—because we are.