Hal.

Hal is the best.

He is the best boss. The best creative. The best at communicating a brand.

He is the best listener and also the best teacher.

He is the best at showing up at work with a knatty head of hair. The best at chewing on his glasses when he’s lost in thought. The best at scribbling his ideas out on crumpled paper napkins. The best at distilling 18 paragraphs down to the most important 3 words. The best at flying in the face of convention, giving convention the bird, and moving on to what matters more (truth). And the best – the very best – at leaving parties with his Irish goodbye.

And he is also the brightest. Because today is his last day of work managing our band of crazybirds at Nau, and he’s going off to the high desert with his beautiful wife to play.

Oh Hal. Always the smartest in the room. Thank you for all of it. We miss you already.

Today at Nau we’re launching a new series of profiles that are part of the on-going project we call Portraits of our Friends.

These latest works are the result of an ongoing collaboration with the bold and beautiful photographer Eden Batki, the never-sleep filmmakers Thomas Oliver and Jordan Strong of Into the Woods fame, the composer Rocky Tilden of the band Wampire, and our principal stylist, the lovely Sarah Van Raden.

Last season’s theme was design; now we have the provocateurs.

I’ll be the first to admit that the theme can get a little heavy if taken too seriously (especially when it’s French, and in italics), but the sentiment’s real. We’ve selected 12 people, in 10 portraits, who are doing important work, and who are going about their work in a provocative, inspiring, and insightful way. They want to move, move others, and be moved. For Nau, these are the people who keep us in line.

The first four profiles are up on the site today. Here’s a bit more about who they are:

Jeremy Pelley is one of the three brains behind the Official Manufacturing Co. (OMFGCO). He and his friends Mathew and Fritz call themselves “thing-makers” for their work in branding and otherwise familiar agency-type stuff. But they’re making much more than just cool logos and clever type (although there’s a lot of that too, and it’s really good).

They’re being selective about the jobs they take. They’re getting up from their computers and making real things, like signs, leather-bound menus, and the bar, tables, chairs, and everything else for the only sports bar I’ve ever willingly set foot in (called the Spirit of ’77). They left secure jobs at larger companies to work on things they’re passionate about, things they can infuse with a human touch, and they’ve built a company on their own terms (that’s the crux). It’s starting to pay off. The quality of their work is as good, and as smart, as it gets, they’re getting noticed, and they’re having fun.

The team behind Truck Farm, our second profile, is equally smart about going its own way (a theme we clearly like), but towards a different end. Curt Ellis and Ian Cheney are documentary filmmakers and food advocates (and the recipients of our 2010 Grant for Change), and their Brooklyn-based production company, Wicked Delicate, is their platform for telling the stories of food and farming’s highs and lows.

Their work is funny but not without a proper punch. Through films like the Peabody Award-winning King Corn or Truck Farm, they show us industrial agriculture and the decline in small-scale farming, but they don’t leave us lost. Not afraid to be the first to dig their hands in the dirt, they offer tools for getting involved. Start a farm in your truck. Plant a garden on the roof. It’s really not that hard to grow your own food, they tell us, and you can even laugh while you do it.

We’ve also turned the lens on Camas Davis, writer and founder of the Portland Meat Collective, a traveling butchery school. We like Camas because we think she’s brave. After losing full-time work as a writer and editor, she spent the last few pennies she had to fly to France on her own, apprentice with a family of pig farmers and butchers, and return home to slowly carve a space for herself in Portland’s butchery scene (yes, Portland has a thriving butchery scene). Her initial motivation was simple: She wanted to eat well, to get smart about meat, and to help others do the same. She was also eager to source her own meat from local, family-run farms, and to share those contacts with friends.

Somewhere along the way, Camas’ passion for good food turned her into an activist, too. With butchery comes controversy – about where meat comes from, how it’s handled, and even whether we should be eating it at all. I think we know Camas’ stance on the latter, but the issues of responsible meat sourcing and processing are at the heart of modern agricultural policies on a local and national level. Through education and local-food advocacy, Camas is working to tackle these issues head on.

And finally, we highlight two of the women of PDX Contemporary Art, the acclaimed gallery for modern art that’s based in Northwest Portland but whose reach is nationwide. As the director of the gallery, Jane Beebe has been deep in the region’s art scene for over 20 years. She’s behind the careers of such phenomenal artists as Storm Tharp and James Lavadour, and her eye for new talent never falters. If the regional art scene were to declare its matriarch, Jane would be it.

As one of the youngest artists on the gallery’s roster, Nell Warren could be an example of where the visual arts should go – if only we all had her depth of commitment. She salvages the paint chips she scrapes from her palettes, and incorporates them into new works. She and her husband are also starting an art and ecology center in the Columbia River Gorge, called Kahnaway, where artists will attend residencies, and young students will learn how to create fine art with a smaller footprint. Jane describes Nell’s work as “distinctly Pacific Northwest”, which seems to be the case in more ways than one. She’s got her eye on the landscape as a thing to paint, and a thing to protect.

In many ways, we believe, these are some of the most important people around. They’re not inciting riots with the things that they do, their impact is quiet, but it’s lasting, and real.

You can see the first four today on nau.com, complete with photo and video, and check back next week, when we’ll post two more.

For reasons I won’t go into here, I live in a place dubbed the Caribou Cottage. The name hails from the animal itself, which is, in my opinion, among the most magnificent on the planet.

Caribou is also a fun word to say (especially when loud, and with a long drawn-out boooo at the end), and it has over the years inspired some very badass musical moments. Moments that I have been playing on repeat lately. Who knows why. None of this music is new. I am thinking it is because of the place where I live. When I hear mention of the mighty Caribou, I listen.

For some newer funky beats, try Odessa, by Caribou (the band). And for a classic, give Caribou (the song) a listen, by The Pixies.

We’ve been busy lately. Doing a lot of strange things.

Last week, we had to find a pig.

An airport.
Some chickens.
And a place to put a house.
We had to find an open field, a muddy road, and the best pants to wear with knee-high rubber boots.

All this to make the subjects of our Fall 10 Portraits Series happy. And all requests that have been an absolute delight to fulfill. Because the 10 people we’re shooting this time around – just like last time around – are inspiring, provocative, creative, and smart.

They hail from Portland, Olympia, Brooklyn, and LA. And whether they are making photos, films, or foie gras, they are incredibly good at what they do. So if one of them suggests I find a way to relocate their house in order to make the perfect shot, then hell yes. I will do that. And that might sound crazy to you, but it will make sense. Later.

In the meantime, here are some pics of our first day on location. As is always the case, the fun or not-fun factor on a shoot depends entirely on the nature of the crew. I love this crew. We are having fun with a capital efff. As in: What the Fun. Yup.

We’re back at it again this week, with the first round of final shots out in the world next month.

This is Eden Batki. She is shooting the series. She is from LA. She is crazy talented.

We went scouting in the woods. Found our muddy road.

Found our field.

Found the last apple on an apple tree (and stole it, and ate it).

Eden channels her inner Ansel Adams to review shots.

Kristin wrangles hair, makeup, and unruly extras. The fellow in the back is Tom, shooting video.

Some visiting farm-ish types stabbed a head of cabbage to death and made us all laugh to death, in the process.

Leah, our tireless producer (and Eden’s agent), keeps us on track even when she’s pretending to ignore us. She looks like an angel here because that’s what she is.

(Oh and the pic at the very top: That woman back there, she is fierce. My respect for her runs deep. You’ll see.)

[An occasional update on what some of us are listening to now. - Ed.]

I am addicted to this song. I play it right when I wake up, and just before I go to bed. And then I dream about it.

This song, along with the rest of The Cults new album, is available as a free download here.

Washington snowpacks are among the most sensitive to warming in the West because of their relatively low elevation.

Editor’s note: This post marks the first in a series of updates from our 2009 Grant for Change grantees, Benjamin Drummond and Sara Joy Steele. The Seattle-based documentary team will be sending us monthly updates from the field, as they work to build eight new stories for their long-term project, Facing Climate Change.

My partner Benj and I are a documentary team that specializes in multimedia stories about people, nature and climate change. A few months ago Nau awarded us their first annual Grant for Change to support our long-term documentary project, Facing Climate Change. Throughout this year, we’ll post periodic updates about our work in The Thought Kitchen, and we wanted to start off by introducing ourselves and explaining a little bit more about what exactly we’re doing.

Facing Climate Change uses photography and multimedia to personalize the story of global change through local people. We began this work back in 2006 with a series of stories about Sámi reindeer herders in Norway, volunteer glacier monitors from Iceland and fishermen of the North Atlantic. The G4C is going to help us create a new series of stories that explore the impacts of climate change through people who live and work in the Pacific Northwest. From wildfire fighters and apple growers, to coastal tribes, paramedics and snowmakers, people throughout this region must confront and adapt to the consequences of warming. Their unique stories about who they are and what they do, their everyday challenges and long-term ambitions will help to make an abstract issue more accessible to local audiences, while also contributing to a global conversation.

In the Pacific Northwest region, the area burned by fire is projected to double by the 2040’s and triple by the 2080’s.

We think that our own backyard is an ideal region for a case study, not only because of its diverse ecological, cultural and economic landscapes, but also because of an unprecedented new assessment that downscales global trends into local projections. At more than 400 pages, the Washington Climate Change Impacts Assessment documents the latest research on how climate change will likely affect eight sectors of our environment and economy by the end of this century: agriculture, coasts, energy, forests, human health, salmon, urban stormwater infrastructure and water resources. While our stories will be firmly rooted in the Pacific Northwest, these focus areas, combined with the region’s geographic diversity, represent impacts and vulnerabilities globally.

Using the Assessment as a scientific foundation, we will research, photograph and produce eight multimedia stories about individual people and communities that breathe life into the report’s key findings. We’ll announce more about how this work will be released soon, but at the moment there’s a lot of research, planning and outreach between us and the first story. And that’s what we’re busy with now: reading through the report and other resources, collaborating with the Climate Impacts Group to narrow down our topics, and finding individuals that illustrate projected impacts and vulnerabilities. We’re also meeting with potential partners who can help provide action pathways, distribution channels and the additional financial support we’ll need. Pre-production is never quite as exciting as the fieldwork, but it’s just as critical to a great story.

Okay, that’s all for now. For the latest on our project stay tuned to The Thought Kitchen, check out our blog, sign up for our newsletter, or follow Benj on Twitter. And keep cranking on your own projects. Back in November, we got to attend the Change Makers’ party at Nau’s pop-up store in NYC. It was a fantastic space full of amazing clothes and innovative ideas, but the highlight of the evening was meeting other athletes, artists and activists who devote themselves to positive change. Thanks for all you do!

- Benj + Sara

Unlike our dear sweet Peter, who unequivocally hearts it, I wrestle with New York.

I’m no country bumpkin, but still, the place overwhelms me. The people, the concrete, the noise, the haste. I don’t hate it, but it does make me weak in the knees, and not in a love way. More of a swaying-side-to-side-with-dizziness-as-the-world-swirls-around-me sort of way.

This is why it’s good to have friends.

Especially friends I can email with such random requests as, “Hey, do you know anyone in New York who could help me build a Christmas-tree-ish window display out of bike parts?” And who can write me back in less than a day with not only a,“Yes, totally,” but also a, “While you’re out there, do you think you’ll need a bike to ride?”

Which is how I met the crew at NYC Velo. Charged with the mission to pull together a new window display for here/nau/nyc that touched on alternative ways to move through the city, I arrived in NY with the name and number of one lone bike-enthused guy: Mike.

Mike introduced me to Andrew, owner of NYC Velo, and Andrew introduced me to Justin, one of his employees who held a special affinity for installing bikes in unorthodox, gravity-defying ways. Collectively these guys evolved my zoo-bomb inspired vision of a holiday heap of bikes into a much more elegant display using their own, personal frames (Surly’s, IF’s, and Civia’s among them), all swirling around our front window like a band of wild horses.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the crew at NYC Velo also turned me on to my two new favorite things to do in their fair city: 1) ride a Kona humuhumunukunukuapua with monster knobby tires through the narrow streets and sprawling boulevards, fearlessly dominating the cobblestone of Soho and the potholes of everywhere else, and 2) riding straight to the best americano the city has to offer, at the hole-in-the-wall café in the East Village, Abraço Espresso.

Thanks to my friends, and my friends of friends with bikes, I’ve seen New York in an entirely new light. Less about its world swirling around a static me, and more about me – on a bike – swirling around it. It’s fun. You should try it.

And if you’re in New York, you can see NYC Velo’s fine work in our window ‘til December 13^th. You’ll also find more pics of the display here.

(photo courtesy NYC Velo)

Dearest, darling Univega,

Oh how I heart thee. Heart. As in LOVE. Love with all my heart.

Will you be my summer fling? I need you to be my summer fling.

You rocked me the moment we met. Do you remember that day? Almost three weeks ago? In the back of that garage, behind the house of a man called Duane. I took you for a test ride…too many gears, not a great saddle, sticky tacky rubbery grips…but Oh! the potential.

I knew you had it in you. The steel mixte frame, in a cool metallic blue. Just enough wabi-sabi scrapes and dings to know you’ve lived a full life so far. And you were made in Japan! My sources tell me that it’s better that you were made in Japan.

And now. Oh the transformation. Who could possibly say cosmetic surgery is an extravagance when it can yield such glistening perfection? Gone are the gears; with your 42:18 ratio you now ride like a song. Au revoir black squishy saddle, the Brooks props me up with a firm resolve. And your touch…the caress of your new cork grips against the heel of my hand gives me goosebumps. Truly! Even when it rains.

Yes, Univega. This is our time. Me. And you. This might just be the summer of our lives. Nevermind the eye rolling and mock-vomiting of my friends, they’ll get used to my unfettered expression of our love. Nevermind the evil eye of the Bianchi, who now sits neglected in the corner. She’ll get used to it. We can do this as a team! A team of three! Haven’t you ever seen Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona?

I am in love. May this fluttery feeling in my heart never die. May the smile on my face as we ride through the city never fade, not even when the bugs get stuck in my teeth. Not even when my skirt flips up immodestly. Not even, Univega, when this summer nears its end, and I may need to tuck you away – temporarily! – for the Bianchi, who has fenders.

Love. LOVE, Univega. As in heart. You have my heart.

Let us ride.

xxooxxoo

The outdoor industry is collectively mourning a terrible loss with the recent deaths of climbers Jonny Copp and Wade Johnson. They and fellow climber Micah Dash (who is, as of this writing, still missing) were attempting a new route on Mt. Edgar’s Minya Konka massif, in China’s Western Sichuan Province, when an apparent avalanche swept across their path.

I only knew Micah and Wade distantly, and send love, strength and condolences to their families and friends, as have hundreds of people from all over the world, whose support continues to stream in at an impressive volume via Facebook and the Adventure Film Festival blog. (Facebook, I am learning, can have some real heart, when used toward the good of a thing.)

Jonny was an early member of Nau’s community of Influencers, those artists, athletes, and activists who unabashedly rock our world through their authentic pursuit of their passions in outdoor sport, design, and environmental and social activism.

We established the Influencers early on, knowing we would need a community of peers not only to review our products each season, but also to keep us real; to remind us, when wandering astray, of our priorities, which are, simply put, to move, be moved, and move others.

Through his work as a climber, photographer, filmmaker, and Director of the Adventure Film Festival in Boulder, Jonny was, in his never tiring, slightly goofy, and always humble way, an Influencer to a tee.

As the photo editor at Nau, I first met Jonny through his eyes. I was immediately drawn to his photographs and films, not only for the way they captured the breathtaking rarity of the people and places he knew, but also for their clarity and honesty. There wasn’t a lot of clutter, just clean lines, clear faces, and a direct route from me, the viewer, to the essence of whatever he was trying to convey, whether it was to get me outside, to show me someone’s spirit, or to make me laugh my ass off. His view to the world was rare, curious, courageous, real, fresh, funny, and inspiring.

As was Jonny himself. During Nau 1.0, we met or spoke every few months, and I always looked forward to those meetings. I was impressed (given his lifestyle) with his ability to sit still, to look me in the eye, hear what I had to say, offer constructive feedback, and to tell tales of his mindblowing adventures without ever spinning off into a space of self-congratulatory bravado.

We tossed around how, then when, we could fold his work into our ever-evolving efforts at Nau. Things never lined up, not for lack of trying, but only because Jonny was always about to leave, or already gone, off to his next best thing.

There never seems to be enough time. This can be an annoying thing, but occasionally a good thing, too. Jonny made the most of this – not wasting a single moment of his very full, but far too short, life. Thinking about my own experience of this man, I am also reminded that sometimes a blip in time is all it takes to reveal a powerful force. I did not need to know him for years to recognize how profound Jonny’s impact on our world would be.

I will miss his bright eyes, his crushing hug, and his ear-to-ear smile, but I will not miss his inspiration, because that will stay right here, in his lasting work and in my mind, a little nudge from Jonny here and there, keeping me motivated, keeping me real.

Love to you, Jonny Copp.

Love to the crew at Sender Films, too, who, along with everyone at Adventure Film Festival, are still working around the clock to find Micah and bring these guys home.

Learn how you can help here.

(photos gently borrowed from coppworks.com and adventurefilm.org, and I am hoping that in this case it’s ok…)