There are some projects, the impact of which I can feel, but not understand. The beginning I can see, the end appearing non existent. A project in which I am involved, but only ever peripherally no matter how intense the connection.

To personally lament this point in the face of those directly affected is self aggrandizing at best, poisonous at its worst.

How does one reconcile the importance of telling a story that is not their own?

Even voicing these concerns feels revoltingly self centered

and yet necessary in the process.

This is the never ending dialogue I have with myself every time I begin to try and describe the experience of Anna's story.

-

location

Louisville, Boulder, Ouray

story

Anna Pfaff

collaborators

Anna Pfaff

It began in Alaska, or maybe before, and for Anna will never end. Only bend and shape with the pressure of time.

My involvement only began after the incident. A text requesting some images be made, a query I still hold tight wrapped with honor and emotion.

Would I be willing to document the experience Anna was having? The question for me was only a formality - the answer would always be yes. These are the human experiences that give purpose to the craft I have devoted the last ten years. This is the kind of trust I strive to develop with anyone in front of my lens.

Arrangements were made, and a week later I found myself driving to Louisville, CO. and one of only a few locations willing to attempt an unconventional use of hyperbaric chambers to combat severe frostbite.

It was lightly raining as I waited in the parking lot.

The whip-whip of the wiper blades lulling me into my own thoughts, the caffeine from my coffee making me more anxious than awake.

As I saw her car approach and park I instantly snapped out of my own mind and into the present moment. The mood was tangible but indescribable. An assortment of polite conversation, sympathy, trepidation, sadness, hope...

Namche cut through all of this and led us to peace, as only dogs can.

Anna maneuvered easily through the entrance in her wheelchair and I was reminded of her athleticism and ability to adapt, two characteristics built from a lifetime in the mountains. Our conversation slowly diminished as we got closer to the doctors office, and I let the silence grow, allowing for Anna to dictate the pace of the experience.

Her composure throughout was astonishing.

After a brief conversation with the technician, she was assisted into the chamber, and as the door slid closed, she was separated from the outside world. A speaker linked to the inside of the chamber her only way of communicating. A television placed above to combat the monotony of the procedure and perhaps as a distraction from her own internal dialogue.

I couldn't help, only hope.

LOUISVILLE, CO

It was grey and cold. We were meant to meet in the park.

It was a moment to be as symbolic as it was real. One last time in the sun and grass and sight before Anna went into surgery to remove her toes.

With the care and attention that rivaled any doctor or nurse, I watched Andres as he undressed each foot and exposed her toes and the incident.

I cannot and will not attempt to understand or explain what she may have been feeling.

I will however always remember the tears and the laughter and the sun and the chill and the strength the strength the strength. The act of Anna massaging her feet. The playfulness that Namche exuded running through the green grass, either obviously or keenly aware of what was transpiring.

I stayed for what felt like too long, and not long enough, until I ultimately left the three of them to their own experience. A pocket of intensity on the edge of grass and concrete, commitment and uncertainty, the past and the future.