Dave Brosha - The Art of Misadventure: The Outtakes and Mistakes Of An Adventurous Photographer

Dave Brosha

Copyright 2022 by Dave Brosha

Foreword 2022 by Curtis Jones

First Edition

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Cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

isbn 9781771604635 (paperback)

isbn 9781771604642 (electronic)

All photographs are by Dave Brosha unless otherwise noted.

Cover and interior design by Colin Parks

Cover photo by Paul Zizka

Printed and bound in Canada

We would like to also take this opportunity to acknowledge the traditional territories upon which we live and work. In Calgary, Alberta, we acknowledge the Niitstapi (Blackfoot) and the people of the Treaty 7 region in Southern Alberta, which includes the Siksika, the Piikuni, the Kainai, the Tsuutina, and the Stoney Nakoda First Nations, including Chiniki, Bearpaw, and Wesley First Nations. The City of Calgary is also home to Mtis Nation of Alberta, Region iii . In Victoria, British Columbia, we acknowledge the traditional territories of the Lkwungen (Esquimalt and Songhees), Malahat, Pacheedaht, Scianew, TSou-ke, and WSNE (Pauquachin, Tsartlip, Tsawout, Tseycum) peoples.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, audio recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher or a photocopying licence from Access Copyright. Permissions and licensing contribute to a secure and vibrant book industry by helping to support writers and publishers through the purchase of authorized editions and excerpts. To obtain an official licence, please visit accesscopyright.ca or call 1-800-893-5777.

We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and of the province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

To my children: Luke, Liam and Lily. May you have many safe and wonderful misadventures. I love you beyond.

To Amy. Home.

To all the people I have travelled, laughed and walked with.

Also, the following people have provided invaluable fact-checking assistance, support and details, and have helped me fill in the blanks on various recollections:

Martin Hartley

Robbie Craig

Erin Boyle

Sam Shannon

Aaron von Hagen

Eleanor Brosha

Paul Zizka

Stephen DesRoches

Therese Ludlow

Collette Kaizer

Natalie Gillis

Micheil Cameron Hill

The characters within are all real, even though some names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Variations of these stories have previously been published in Photo Life, Up Here and Adventure Kayak magazines.

by Curtis Jones

ive spent over a dozen years travelling and documenting some of the worlds most remote and beautiful places. Collaborating with athletes, production teams and local cultures and communities, Ive built a career around shared appreciation for adventure with others, but above all, I consider myself a collector of interesting stories. Trust me when I tell you, the collection you are about the read is among the best.

a warning take by me The events playing out in the following chapters may surprise, baffle and even impress you. Prepare for tales of dubious adventure, ambitious travel and harrowing escapes, but beware. I caution you against the charms, the wit, the swashbuckling romanticism. Im here to impart a generous serving of reality before these fables can crawl into your brain and take purchase, morphing into legend. Think of me as an ice-cold bucket of seawater with all the salty fixings. Brash ice, kelp, jellyfish, right in the kisser. As you turn these pages, inescapably becoming more and more smitten with Dave and his exploits, I implore you to refer to this foreword periodically, lest you risk becoming a fan for life.

I remember the first time I ever heard of Dave Brosha. I was standing in my friends kitchen in Iqaluit, Nunavut. It was one of those perfect arctic spring days. It was a Friday, kicking off a four-day weekend. Folks were outside again after a long winter of hibernation. Dogs and children ran freely while neighbours indulged in long-form conversation, no longer bound by the frigid temperatures or the impermeable protective gear necessary to brave them. Things were lighter, the whole town seemed to collectively wear a smile. After a morning of skiing on the frozen bay, we were headed back into town to grab lunch. Somewhere between soup and sandwich, the conversation fell on photography. As I had recently started taking pictures somewhat seriously, I was very interested in this topic and felt I had much to contribute.

Over several years in the north, I had gained some small recognition as a photographer around town with a taste for adventure and limitless curiosity. (My reputation, in reality, was closer to man-child with a camera and questionable balance.) So, naturally, when asked if I followed another northern photographer making waves in the Arctic, to save face, I lied and said yes. I dont think Im a petty guy, but when I heard the torrent of compliments, superlatives and audible gasps when Daves work was described to those gathered around the table, it stirred something primal inside of me I felt an instant distrust of this man, this arctic photographic legend. Dave Brosha the name would haunt me all the way home. How could one guy have so much talent and the unwavering admiration of my closest circle of friends, yet I had never seen one of his images? Reaching my door 30 minutes later I realized two things. One: I had lost my house keys somewhere on the sea ice; and two: I needed to go full Batman and open an investigation on Mr. Brosha.

As it turned out, my investigation was short-lived alas, the internet has ruined my antiquated fantasies about what vigilante detectives must go through to find answers. After a quick Google search, it was blatantly clear that I had seen Daves work before, a lot of it. Not just seen, but perhaps had been ripping off. Much of it was sitting in a folder on my desktop titled Inspiration. Lesson learned: label and credit your screengrabs appropriately, kids.

Lets fast-forward a couple of years. Ive been hired to assist/guide a team of filmmakers from Colorado into Auyuittuq National Park on Nunavuts Baffin Island. Im living my best arctic life, running with the sled dogs, snowkiting across ice caps and coming into my own as an adventure photographer. Im the perfect unbearable storm of pluck, overconfidence and knowing so little I make the mistake of thinking I know everything. After a quick layover in Iqaluit, we were off to the beautiful northern town of Pangnirtung, to meet the rest of the team and finalize logistics. It was late on our second day of filming that we returned, exhausted and hungry, to our rented room in a local familys home. Walking into the dining room, I noticed that in addition to our hosts were three grubby-looking lads. They looked hungry like theyd been out in the thick of it. You know those images of expedition parties from the early 1900s, dishevelled and ravenous, as if they had been slapped incessantly by a polar bear and left in the sun for days? Well, a smidge sadder than that. I took a seat and nodded to the guy sitting across from me as he eyed the caribou stew like a convict.