My Time with The Bushwhackers in Salt Lake City, Utah

While on the road, I rarely set goals. If I do, they more often or not take the form of “I’ll go here tonight,” or “I’d like to eat here eventually.” Though exceptions to every rule exist, and for certain events or people I’ll go out of my way to make a detour — or perhaps plan an entire trip around them.

The Bushwhackers lie in that exception.

From the moment I drove out of Charleston, there was never a question of my destination:

I was going to Salt Lake City to meet the crew.

The Bushwhackers is an organization ran by Luke, Chandler, & Kai, but it is also an affiliation; a friend group of 50 or more photographers who go shoot, hang out, and genuinely enjoy each others company.

I had known Kai through our Alaskan backpacking trip and I had talked to Luke and Chandler through Instagram DMs.

Upon hearing that I was in Colorado, Luke reached out and asked when I planned to arrive; I would answer with “a few weeks” so as to intentionally dodge his question.

I pulled into Bushwhackers HQ on Wednesday, Oct. 12, at 4:30pm.

Luke was standing beside his green Tacoma, in front of his garage.

With only enough time to reach out of my window and shake his hand, he motioned me backwards and said “Park over there.”

So I did, and within the next 5 minutes I found myself in his passenger seat as we headed down Interstate 215.

We were running south, towards a town unknown to me, to catch the sunset in some mountain range I didn’t even know the name of.

We would be joined by others — Chandler, Wyatt, Parker, & Scott. My first Utah sunset would set the bar quite high.

Our night would end in a place so familiar to myself — Raisin’ Canes.

And before I knew it, I was fast asleep in the Bushwhackers spare bedroom, with my weeks worth of dirty laundry spinning in their washing machine. The power of social media.

Being that both Luke and Chandler are actually employed, I would spend the next few days relaxing in the warmth of an actual home. Sitting on an actual couch, cooking on an actual stove, washing dishes in an actual sink showering in an actual shower.

Yet when Saturday came around, those things went to the wayside. My new friends would bring me along on another adventure, this time to a trailhead far up in a canyon whose name I forget (there are what seems like thousands of canyons around Salt Lake City).

What would follow would be a difficult (quite vertical) hike to the top of a ridge, in the middle of Utahs autumn,

Thankfully my new guides and I have similar beliefs — namely lunch after any early hike. We would drive down the canyon and grab a few pizzas.

That evening would be spent with another Instagram friend — Derrick. While in Alaska a few months prior, I had broken my camera. Instinctively, I posted such a catastrophe to my Instagram story. Derrick saw this, and offered his old camera — a Nikon D7200 — and a friendship was born.

Anyhow, he extended an invite to go photograph a few Porsches in another canyon, and I obliged.

What would result would be three photographers hanging out of the bed of the White Whale, while I was leading the aforementioned sports cars up and down the canyon.

The following day — Sunday — would be a day of simplicity. There would be no hikes, nor some grand adventure. Out came the boardgames and the Little Caesars. A day of relaxation & bonding. Something I have chased during my time on the road prior, but oftentimes I have found it to be lackluster. That was certainly not the case today, and I am grateful.

When I’m somewhere populated, it’s always difficult to find somewhere to do work. I generally resort to coffee shops, which is what I did the next morning. I found myself inside IndieGo Coffee, and before I knew it I was talking to Vini, the owner, and her 20y/o son Derrick. Their story is fantastic, and goes as follow:

Prior to this coffee shop, Vini emigrated to the States with her son. She started as most — working for others. It did not take long for her to desire more freedom, so she started a few businesses, namely a catering company and a food truck. When they were forced to close due to mandates, she began looking for alternatives.

She desired a job that did not require a large staff, that was relatively simple, and that had better hours than her prior businesses; she wanted to be home at night.

Well, I think she had the right idea, and I am of the belief that this combo is well on their way to a successful business. The coffee is fantastic, as is the baked goods (all baked locally). Their speciality though, owing back to Vini’s roots, is their Indian food.

If you’re looking for a place to hang or grab a coffee, I’ve yet to find somewhere better in Salt Lake City.

After spending more time at IndieGo than I’d like to admit, it was time to return home. The Bushwhackers have recently started their podcast and I was to be their first guest. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and Luke had some fantastic questions. The conversation was great, and it’s incredibly surprising how fast time flies when you’re having such a conversation. I feel as though I barely got the chance to touch on some subjects — and it’s easy to see why someone like Rogan has podcasts that routinely go 3+ hours. I give some great insight into my work process and why Bryce C Travels exists.

Anyhow,

Bush Talk, Episode 2, Bryce Campbell.

Give it a listen wherever you get your podcasts (or watch it here).

Our next outing would be heading to a canyon further south (are you seeing a theme yet?) to shoot sunset. We would end up driving through a terrible forest service road that had silt as fine as that which lies on the moon. Joining us would be Jared, Mike, Drew and Mani.

Following that incredible evening, unbeknownst to me, there was an event going on in southern Utah; Red Bull Rampage.

I had no intention of going, I didn’t even know it was occuring. But when Kai hit me up and mentioned that he was going, and that he had an extra ticket, I required no further convincing.

And I’m forever grateful for the invite.

Rampage is an incredible event. Starting at the top of a mountain, the riders build their own lines to the bottom over a four day period. Then they rest one day. The following four days are practice days,

and then there is the event.

One run, 45 seconds or less, off the top of a mountain.

The venue was insane — helicopters whirling around, Jeeps shuttling in viewers, drones whizzing by (it’s quite literally in the middle of nowhere). Over the course of a week or two, a random hill on some BLM land outside Virgin, Utah was transformed into one of the most unbelievable downhill events in the world.

We would return home that evening, exhausted, dusty, and well worn. Yet there would not be much time to recover, as that weekend we would embark on one of the most insane adventures I’ve ever been on.

Rivaling my climb to Matterhorn basecamp in The Alps—

Rivaling my impromptu backpacking trip into the Alaskan range—

Rivaling anything I’ve experienced while living on the road.

The first snowfall of the season — we left the house at 5:30am.

Waking up early is easy for no one, yet in spite of all odds, we — Luke, Kai, Courtney, Will, and myself — all conquered our minds; a theme would seemingly follow us throughout the day.

Not even a half mile past the trailhead, we had our first taste of what was to come.

Wet, heavy snow. For a South Carolinian like myself, that means nothing; snow is snow.

We would take our first break of many, though we were oblivious to what the conditions would become further ahead.

At the moment: a few inches of snow on the ground, a light dusting falls from above. We continued through the darkness.

A rising sun should normally bring comfort, warmth. This morning though, it did no such thing.

As the sun rose, or rather as the light broke through the dense clouds above, what we were experiencing became all too real.

Endless cold,

Endless miles ahead,

A struggle that never wanes.

As my hair began to freeze, and my toes and fingers did the same, our going only became more troublesome, more slowed.

Three inches turned to six, six to eight, eight to ten.

What our feet not so long ago trampled above, our knees now sank below.

And with the struggle beneath, there was no escape six feet up.

Wind gusts, blistering cold. Wet snow — hell, snow — is something I had never experienced. The way the cold penetrates each layer ever so silently yet viciously is something I never wish to experience again. Yet I think I will, because in spite of the struggle, every moment I spent fighting was a moment where I realized the power I, Bryce, have over my mind.

So as the chill worked its way through one layer, and then two, and then three, and then another, we continued upwards.

In moments such as these, my mind runs to another space.

No longer do I think of the physical, or the consequences that lie ahead. Instead, my mind finds one thought, and latches. In the cold, it escapes into the sentence “It is warm.” In the tired, the mind escapes to “One more step lies ahead,” and I believe him.

Against all intuition, or even desire, willpower sounds the alarm; there is nowhere to return to.

*Kai documents the others as they make their final ascent*

Our final destination was not to the peak of the mountain itself — rather it was to a lake just below. Will, the gentleman who proposed such an adventure, wanted to chase a very specific scene; a blizzard above a yet unfrozen lake.

And so, as I lagged behind struggling in the posthole footsteps of those far quicker than I, the forces we had come against presented themselves ever so elegantly.

Below lies the only photograph I managed to capture after we had completed our summit.

My once waterproof Keens now sloshing with water.

My once warm mittens now sat frozen in one unadjustable position.

Myself, pushed to the limit no Southerner should ever wish to exceed.

Yet in spite of these conditions, the beauty I experienced is something I wish to capture again. The camaraderie experienced during mutual suffering in search of any desired goal is something you can only capture during what seem like miserable moments.

Looking back though, I am provided with a much wiser perspective.

Trails and tribulations do no true harm, it is a factor of my mind.

On the other hand, such events do provide firm proof that I am capable of far more than I imagined.

And during hardships such as these, I can’t help but ignore all anxiety or man-made problems. I reform to a primate, searching for the bare minimum that keeps me alive.

That moment consists of a feeling I will forever chase.

And so, as we stood in front of a snow covered yet unfrozen Lake Blanch as the first to define a trail through the snow,

Time Stood Still in The Valley.

Time Stands Still in The Valley

The Road to Warmth

Far Finer Sand