BEN–We have some incredibly important news to deliver to you all, news both devastating and wondrous. It is such a milestone event in the Sweetgrass Journey that it is almost impossible to recount what happened before it– as such, I will give a quick rundown of the past week before divulging the bloody details of this startling twist of fate:

-Left meeting.

-Went to Durango, lived well courtesy of the pre-eminent clay-spinning-maestro Scott Hutchins.

-Sold out Durango, crowd was most stoked, enjoyed life to utmost. Thanks Backcountry Experience, for the show and the shoes– next year!

-Drove to Taos for the Taos Mountain Film Festival, booked hotel, joined by Jason Caligari, Zach Ramras, and Brian O’Leary. Awesome films, warm comforting atmosphere, great people, good times overall. Check out Red Gold, an awesome film on the endangered Alaska fishing industry. Tons of good films. And we won Best Adventure Sports film! None to shabby. Great weekend. Thanks to everyone who put it on and everyone who enjoyed it with us.

-Drove to Colorado College, Colorado Springs, our sweet and satisfying alma mater (google tells me this means “nourishing mother,” and once again I feel as if I learn more from google than from formal classes, but hey, CC represent nonetheless), got the advertising ball rolling, and threw the show to 350+ people despite the final presidential debate once again interfering with our schedule… every time we have a big show there seems to be another of those damn things, but we perservere. Show went great, fabulous projection, and we mixed up your usual bag of shwag goodies with whole hams, raw seafood, sink faucets, and assorted scrap metals scrounged from our favorite local junkyard. Sweetgrass keeps things interesting. Audience reaction was, I think, mixed in regards to our raffle prizes but seemed to love the film. School sponsored beer, barbeque, and laughs afterwards. All in all fabulous, and a good end to the Colorado tour.

-Repacked the car the next morning, taking on at least 5 new boxes, as we were leaving Colorado for Salt Lake City and would not be returning. At this point sad Colt was full to the brim, with not square inch of space to stuff anything in the back (the massive framed photograph we received as our award at Taos didn’t help matters). Nonetheless, we shoved everything in, and hit the road at 9 a.m. with firm hopes of reaching SLC with plenty of time to throw our 9 p.m. show, until….

DISASTER COMES UNTO THE COLT:

20 miles outside of Colorado Springs we had just crossed over a hill, and I could feel the engine was running hot and struggling with the added load of our new baggage. I thought nothing of it, having utmost faith in the roadwise veracity of our four-wheeled wonder-wagon… soon, though, a sharp thumping came from the engine casing, growing louder for almost 30 seconds. At the furry wheel, I was looking for a place to pull over to investigate when a 4-buck shotgun blast went off under the hood. The explosion rocked the car– I immediately lost all power, and smoke began pouring up into the windshield. Colt gave one last vicious buck as she rolled over something that had dropped from her innards–her very spirit?– and I guided her to a devestating halt. Something was indeed afoul!

Nick and I simply sat in our seats, alternately looking from one another to empty space. It was obvious that this was the end of an era. It was simply too much for poor Colt to recover. Already our minds began to turn– how were we going to make SLC that night? We got out of the carcass by the side of the roaring highway and threw open the hood– smoke and sadness. As Nick got on the phone with AAA, I walked up the road looking for Colt’s soul… and found it 300 feet up, a 500-degree piece of white  hot metal. Thinking nothing of it, I picked up the thing, instantly dropping it as my fingers were scalded white. Whoops. I kicked it to the car, and let it cool. It is now our only memento from the beautiful days of the Colt….

AAA prevailed, and the tow truck soon arrived. Our plans were already set– Nick would fly to SLC with everything he needed for a few shows, while I would remain in the Springs and solve our vehicular issue. We arrived at a repair shop, and Nick quickly bolted off in the taxi, leaving me to take the bad news: the engine was toasted– we had thrown a rod through the entire engine block, reducing it to nothing more than a cold and useless chunk of metal. The minimum price to mend once-strong Colt was $2500–twice the price we had payed for her. It was obvious that other options must be pursued.

A kind and wonderful friend came with a minivan–all thanks, Penelope!–, and the tons and tons of Sweetgrass things and personal belongings were transferred to it, leaving the Colt a gutted skeleton of its past glory. There have been few sadder sights in my memory, than when I followed behind that tow truck as we took Colt to the CRUSHER. THE SCRAPYARD. That cold and heartless place. Part of me desparetly wanted the Colt to pull of Brave Little Toaster or a Humpty-Dumpty, and come together again before we reached that pit of despair. But it arrived, and she still could not move, and so only three hours after the initial disaster I watched in horror and a weird sense of elation as Colt was picked up by a forklift, dropped on the ground, and then had another car dropped on top of her, splintering her frame. A beautiful burial, I suppose:

EULOGY

Indeed, somehow it was fitting, this rebellion of the Colt. As if mirroring our film’s dying words, and the words of so many roughened hand-cut souls, she seemed to have said “I was born here, and I guess I’ll die here.” She was a Colorado vehicle, a great Colorado vehicle. She knew her home, her heritage, and she lived deeply in every hairpin turn and every straightaway. She lived it and loved it. She treated us like royalty during our time in this great state. She must have sensed when we were leaving for other lands, for that is when she chose to die, like a mighty elephant gracefully lying down, for the last time, in its decided burial grounds.

Colt had soul. Colt had dignity, wisdom, and a paint-job few will soon forget. Colt carries our hearts to the crusher. Likewise, we miss you and carry you in our hearts, from Colorado to the world. Goodbye brave spirit. At Judgement Day, may we all throw our rods with such heartfelt wonder and amazement, as our fading eyes gaze down the almighty and never-ending highway, searching for some destination. 159,374 miles, our Sweet Colt. 159,374 miles, six times around this unforgiving Earth, and there you found what you were looking for. Go to sleep, proud warrior.

Nick–
When it’s October 6th, 10 inches of snow look like 100. The mountains of CO got a fresh coat of paint last night, and despite our better senses, they look ripe for the pluckin’. Pay no mind to the rocky pepper underneath, they’re good to go.

Speaking of good to go, Ben and I got the ring from Banff, and after many restless nights, we’re happy to announce that Hand Cut is in the fest.
Only two years ago we used to run to our campus mailbox everday to check for the envelope from the Colorado College Film Fest, and it’s quite an honor to be accepted into an event of Banff caliber. If you plan on being up there as well, our film plays Friday night November 7th @8pm Max Bell Auditorium.

Nick–
After pushing the dodge colt-beast farther up the roaring fork valley, we arrived just in time for eggs and bakey with the family Cardamone.
Mom and Pop are passionate naturalists, and after our feast they set us up with several books by the late, great, Dolores LaChapelle. We let our belts out a few notches and dug into reading about connections between nature, culture, and people: the basic line for our upcoming ski film in Japan, winter 2008-2009.
We left the place buzzing with new ideas, setting our sites on another year of creative hermitude. Yes, yes, our Japanese child grows, slowly gestating before it’s birth onto the silver screen, September 2009. See you in the deep birch trees of Hokkaido, Kate and Will.

—————Dolores LaChapelle———-
“In Japan, nature is powerful and capricious. I have never saw it snow as hard as in the streets of Sapporo — even harder than at Alta where it snows an inch an hour. Walking through the streets one day, the snow piled up on my arm to a depth of four inches in only three blocks. I went into a shop thinking, “this is the end of the world. Don’t they know it? No city can survive this rate of snow.” – Sacred Land, Sacred Sex, Rapture of the Deep

“Japan is pagan in the primitive sense. There man is one with his natural environment. Trees, stones, and mountains are as much real beings as man, and all are divine — a truly outrageous view to the average European.”

Nick–
We’re a large fam of various shapes and sizes, but the capilene fibers run deep. The Patagonia tribe provides, and while in town for The Meeting, we were lucky enough to catch up with the local Carbondale branch. They wrapped us deep in their blankets, and filled our bellies with homemade fish tacos and our minds with good conversation.

Between Mama Tara’s talk about meditation and conciousness to the innate warmth of their adobe home, Ben and I woke up refreshed and rested. A long cry from the Breckenridge drags of weeks gone by, and an delightful change for mind, body, and soul. Yes many thanks to the
Sheahan family for taking us in. The 15 year-old son Aidan also happens to be quite the ripper, a cool guy, and a hopeful addition to our Japan-bound winter fiesta.

Ben– After much pleading and prodding (sometimes our sweet Colt can be a bit stubborn– every relationship has its moments) we were able to hit the road towards Glenwood, fit and spry. We had dinner with Julie Kennedy, an exceptionally pleasant and capable woman who runs the 5 Point Film Festival out of Carbondale, CO, and her energy and passion towards adventure film was most revitalizing. It’s just refreshing to see people out there pushing for quality in film, and thus progressing the art and expanding beyond what people think a camera or a screen is capable of conveying. Going a step deeper, with each step. Cool stuff.

We had to run to catch the show at the Bayou, and by the time we got there the place was already packed with people, which caused a bit of a problem– some people were there for dinner, some people were there for the show, and so we had to wander the crowd asking for admission money when… everyone had already been admitted, and we weren’t about to force money out of them. In the end though, most everyone was happy to fork over some gas money to keep the Colt rolling– it was a good show of support that we most appreciate! It was pretty interesting to see the film showed in a bar setting– it was loud, many were just there to drink or eat, and it created an interesting atmosphere in the place– it became instantly apparent who was a lover of snow and who wasn’t. At the end of the night though, we ended getting some of the best compliments received yet– thanks again Frank the Tank– and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly.

Frank the Tank, fellow ski-bum at heart

We woke up the next morning and bolted for Denver, a big show we’d been excited for for quite a while. Our man on the Denver streets, Jason Caligari, had been working tirelessly to promote the show, but we discovered at the last moment that the one and only vice-presidential debate came on at the exact same time (7 p.m.) as our show was supposed to start. Yet another instance of politics getting in the way of pow! A damn shame, but certainly important. Despite partisan squabbles that probably sucked up a good chunk of crowd, we still managed to get about 130 people into the illustrious Oriental Theater– a great, comfortable venue. Again the film was very well received, and Nick, despite his constant whining about his inability to stand in front of a crowd and announce the film, did a great job. Along with Jason, our most fabulous buddy Zach Ramras came up to Denver with us. I remember sitting at a table in a cafe two years ago with Nick, Jason, and Zach, discussing the possibility of making a professional ski movie, and how outrageous it sounded– and that night we were all back together at the Denver premiere. A good feeling. Jason and Zach are following their own paths now, but are always helping out with anything they can and are an integral part of the Sweetgrass clan. Love yah, boys. Anyway, we also had a bunch of old school friends from Denver show up, so all in all it was a great evening. We also sold a bunch of DVDs and merchandise, in the end coming out with some good money to feed the ravenous Colt. Bravo, Denver. We salute those who vote pow.

Zach Ramras, left, a Sweetgrass ProgenitorJason Caligari, Man of ExcellenceSubscribers to the Pow Platform