It was explained to me that in a town called Nome there were still men who hunted gold in ways not so dissimilar from 150 years ago. This gold however, was not found in rivers or within mountains, but rather along the Bering Sea’s shore hidden within the sand and ocean’s floor. Gold so small that it would float away if a prospector was not careful enough.
I was told that many men needed extra hands in their search for such a mineral, so I went. I thought that maybe if I helped them, they might do the same for me in return. They introduced me to the complex nature of the hunt, the tools used, their homes, their animals, their ways of living, their personal histories. I did the same. I helped them find their beloved gold and they helped me make photographs.
Something had brought us all there, to the edge of America. Maybe it was the gold or maybe it was not. But still, I cannot remember exactly why I was there, or even how it came to be that I was there; I happened to have a camera with me and now exist images of a forgotten time. I can only imagine that if I had been there without a camera, then I would only remember better.
Nonetheless the images prove that we,the prospectors and I, were there, together.