BealAdventures- Born and raised in Maine he was privileged to experience such a great family and beautiful landscape. He attained an Associates in Applied Science degree studying Computer Systems Technology, and a Bachelor’s of Art in New Media from the University of Maine – Orono. The last few years he has been pursuing his undeniable passion of big mountains by traveling the world photographing, mountain biking, hiking, camping, and skiing them. That passion has pushed his personal boundaries of knowledge regarding the realm of New Media and the natural environment. Encapsulated in his DNA is a Maine work ethic comparable to none.
What is the point of this site? To further push personal boundaries of knowledge regarding New Media and the natural environment surrounding the Teton mountain range. A place to express my photography and New Media skills in this beautiful environment.
The path towards enlightenment: Where’s that yellow brick road?
At an early age I contained the drive as to what I was going “To do.” I possessed a force to execute innate goals implanted in my DNA. I never knew what that drive was for or why I worked so hard, but in the back of my head I have always felt like I could achieve anything.
Although I don’t recollect the memory, my Dad told me a story about how I figured out how to plug in a chop saw and turn it on at the age of three. I’ve seen pictures of myself dragging eight foot 2”x4”s at the age of four. Somewhere in those years I learned how to convince my friends to assist me to climb out of an apartment window, and ride my bigwheel down an urban sidewalk.
At the age of eight, I learned how to operate a snow blower and clear my parents driveway. My Dad was working in another state due to a corporate airline’s financial “problem.” Two years later I could take apart an entire bicycle, paint it, and re-assemble/tune it better than it was new. I sold those bikes on the front lawn of my folks yard for cash to purchase specialized bicycle tools. I would dig through the dumpster of my local bike shop gaining valuable pieces to refurbish bicycles for cash. Twenty years later, Scott the local bike shop owner and I still have a great relationship.
In the beginning of my teenage years I received my first European bicycle from my Grandfather. It was an Italian Bianchi with tires that you would glue onto the rims, named “Glue-ons.” or “Sew-ups.” If you got a flat tire you would actually sew up the sidewall with a sewing kit that you would carry with you. I was greatly appreciative to receive that bike. A United States Junior Olympian trained on that bike from Steamboat Springs, Colorado. My Grandfather Bob Beal was a United States Cycling Federation cycling coach that was very fortunate to travel the world via the cycling industry. He even trained the once Junior Olympian American, Lance Armstrong. I rode that bike into the ground until it was utterly worn out from mileage. It was my first twelve speed road bike, steel frame, Campagnolo groupo, and my Dad helped me build our first clincher wheelset.
I went to College for five and a half years after High School. My first year of school I built a personal tower computer from scratch. I would guess it weighed at least twenty pounds. I bought a special strap to carry it home everyday. Plugging in the monitor, keyboard, mouse, power, and modem cable was an everyday ritual. The year after our class project was to figure out how to get computers to interact with each other through laser beam schematics. If I typed something on a keyboard into a computer, the computer 25′ away would print the letters through a laser switching off and on.
From there I was accepted into a University. A very new experience with over 10,000 students. I joined the Maine Outing Club that changed my life for the better. The University owned a very primitive cabin on state property less than a mile to Sugarloaf located in Carrabassett Valley, Maine. The sign leading into the town reads, “From here on your life will never be the same.” The cabin featured a deep well to drink water out of, a cracked wood stove, no insulation, no electricity, single pane windows, and propane fueled lanterns.
In the Fall every year about 50 kids would gather roughly twelve chords of firewood from the Caribou Pond Road in one day. We awoke before the dawn and worked into the night. That wood kept us warm all Winter. Imagine hanging out in your underwear enjoying brews and beautiful women, while in a few hours sleeping in a zero degree down mummy bag with your Nalgene freezing next to you. For roughly three years I drove my Dad’s truck 100 miles each way to this cabin every weekend in the Winter.
We drank shitty beers, told stories of grander, met new friends, chased gorgeous women, and skied first chair to last chair in any snow condition. We couldn’t afford the bar scene, restaurants, or night scenes, but man did we all enjoy the company of each other. Most of us didn’t have shit, but deep down we all had the innate drive to be in the mountains. A lot of these close folks are still scattered throughout the world via the ski industry in one way or another.
A year later I learned how to sleep in a somewhat insulated A-frame that was above my $8.30/hr means. Relying on expired food to fill my belly and dropped beer in the grocery store I worked at, I was fueled with the minimum. I skied everyday on concrete frozen tilted East Coast groomers. The thermostat was set at 48 degrees Fahrenheit all the time. I slept in a zero degree down mummy bag on a futon in a 600 down fill puffy. Sometimes if a pretty girl came over I pushed the thermostat to 60, but often times it wasn’t worth it.
That Summer I scraped together enough dough for to visit a cabin friend in New Zealand. I was fortunate to ski The Remarkables, Coronet Peak, Cardrona, and Treble Cone. I believe the air travel surpassed 16,000 miles and I spent at least a week in an airplane. The year after I interned for a ski academy. An excellent opportunity to learn how the ski industry works. I was fortunate to travel all over the ski world. The second year I gained a pay check and health insurance.
Now I am based in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Through a very strange feeling I’ve always known that I needed to be in Jackson Hole. I have always felt as though my magnetic compass bearing was set to here in my DNA. I consider the Tetons to be home.
Some of the best skiers in the world call this place their home. When snow falls skiers are standing in the tram dock waiting to ski before sunrise. Sometimes they have been standing in line for a couple hours just to beat the rest of the rat packs showing up late. Some call these people “Ski bums.” Some also think of this core group of individuals that make up the most hardcore and rowdiest folks in the lower 48, overqualified, over-educated, and following their dreams towards enlightenment. The smiles at the end of a powder day are contagious.
Jackson is a playground for the best skiers in the world. What people are capable of on a day to day basis is mind blowing. Just when you think you’re ripping a ski line hard and aggressive, someone will always one up your ability. The most important part is that I still get up everyday before the dawn during the snowy months, I still ski an average of 160 days a year, I still drink shitty beer, I still have the soul to do whatever I must to produce the means to ski every single god-damn day.
Many wouldn’t continually pursue the never ending sacrifices to reach their true potential and dreams, or the pinnacle of their intrinsic aspirations. I know deep down that I am pursuing my dreams.