A rebuilt hip, a camera, and a stubborn refusal to stay put.
Fresh out of high school, I broke my pelvis in five places in a car accident. The bones healed. My hip and I have been arguing ever since.
There were years of physical therapy, along with crutches, canes, and eventually a walker. A hip resurfacing came in 2016. A labrum reconstruction followed in 2019—and so did five years of disability. In 2025, after nearly a lifetime of trying to keep the original equipment working, I finally had the hip replaced.
So far, the new one and I are getting along.
I’ve always enjoyed walking and hiking. After each surgery, getting back to it was rough. The last one was no different. At first, the pain from the replacement decided how far I went. As that started to ease, the walks slowly became longer.
That was when I began to trust the new hip. I still question it sometimes: Am I pushing too hard? Is this farther than I should go? Usually, I keep walking.
I just bring the camera along for the walk.
The Hip Explorer started as proof I could still do it. Walk the trails. Nothing extreme—I’m not summiting mountains or hiking the Appalachian Trail. Just the woods, the paths near home, and the quiet places most people drive past without noticing.
Every photograph represents miles I didn’t think I would walk again and moments I nearly missed because I thought I was done.
It became something more: a record of stubborn comebacks nobody sees but you. I’m not selling adventure fantasies or summit stories. I go into the woods with a camera and see what’s there.
Sometimes it’s beautiful. Sometimes it’s worth printing.
Always, it’s proof I’m still doing it.
Owner of the camera and the replacement hip. Usually found wandering Maine’s quieter trails, stopping every few feet because the light changed—or because he needed a perfectly reasonable break.
Oversees early-morning operations, conducts regular toy inspections, and occasionally sleeps through the alarm when sunrise photography is scheduled.
The trail doesn’t have to lead to a summit. Sometimes it leads through the woods near home, along an old road, or toward a place you’ve passed a hundred times without stopping.
Start where you are. Go as far as you can. Bring a camera if you want.
The trail keeps going, and so do you.
