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I have an interesting policy when writing academic papers that always makes people scratch their heads in some way or another: I never reread my papers once I write them.

Like, almost never. I pretty much just make sure everything in the previous sentence is spelled right, move on, and hope for the best. And you know what? It’s won me awards, mostly solid A’s, and until recently, my first failed paper.

I was absolutely shocked. Not because I had received an F, necessarily, but because never in my life had I met all of an assignment’s requirements and still failed. …


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LA Rooftops

A photojourney through the last few months of my life on and off the road

Somewhat recently, I wrote a piece called Take the Leap, about a trip I took to Yuba with a few friends to go cliff jumping. While the article did worlds for me to process the emotional impact of the adventure, I returned home with more unanswered questions than what I came with.

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Some early morning leaps near Yuba

I had taken a trip to Havasupai and the Grand Canyon last spring, a 4,000 mile journey over the course of 3 days and 2 nights — which wiped my mind and soul clean of all of my expectations. The beauty of desolate deserts in Arizona and the Mojave was an intense reminder that California is truly my home — and while I loved every second and every mile of my travel, I wondered if I could really see myself in perpetual movement like before. Havasupai was by far the furthest I had ever been from civilization in my life, highlighted by its breathtaking geography and water features, however calloused by its 25 mile out-and-back journey (which we did in a single day). …


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The perfect swimming hole, Zika’s Bath

Why Cliff Jumping isn’t Completely Stupid

This, I am very aware of. What I also am aware of, is the consequence of an accidental slip, trip, or stumble, as it would result in a near-freefall down a mountainside riddled with jutting stone and rusty iron obstacles. None of this peaks my interest, but as I inch my way to the end of a dorito-shaped ledge over a crystal clear pool deep in the forests of Northern California, that nightmare also inches its way into possibility.

I cautiously tip my head over the edge of the granite cliffside and peer at the cool comfort of a liquid medium, far less harsh than that of its dark Earthy counterpart. …

About

David Clark Jr.

writer, outdoorsman, frisbee-enthusiast || Inquiries: davidgclarkjr@yahoo.com

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