Apologies for the lack of posts here since summer but it’s been for good reason. This site will no longer be my official business Website. For a long time it’s been my wife’s and my goal to merge our work into one entity, her photography and my writing, to pursue projects together. To that end, we’ve created a new site to house our portfolios and contact information. That site is called “Swimpruf”, the name I gave my business two years ago when I first went freelance. I won’t be updating this site any longer but will keep it live for a few more months.

If you’re interested in our work or would like to get in touch, please visit www.swimpruf.com.




Input and output

Clearly, on "input" mode between dives. (Photo: C. Winters)

Clearly, on “input” mode between dives. (Photo: C. Winters)

This month flew by. For me, it was dominated by an epic trip I took mid-month to dive the wrecks around Isle Royale in the middle of Lake Superior. I undertook said expedition with my old friend, Chris, who happens to be a fine photographer. In addition to the diving, Chris is working on a book of portraits of Great Lakes personalities and wanted to photograph the famous naturalist, Rolf Peterson, at his home on the island.  We lived on a charter boat for four days, dove five different wrecks in some very cold water and had a pleasant afternoon in the Peterson cabin. All in all, it was a fine adventure and I will be spinning a few stories out of it in the coming months.

For writers, there are times of output when the words pour onto the page and times of input, when you’re gathering material and inspiration. Despite a very busy writing month, I’d call July an input month, one that will sustain me for some time.

Oh, one final note in the “output” column: my first article has been published in Australian Geographic’s Outdoor magazine. It is about diving in New Zealand’s Milford Sound, an adventure from last fall that now seems years ago. I’ve posted a PDF of it (without photo captions) on my Portfolio page.

Bring on August!

Epic June

What a month. Three trips, dozens of dives, tried a new sport and too many hours in an airplane.

Aquarius_approachOn June 2nd, I dove 65 feet into the Atlantic Ocean to Aquarius, the world’s only underwater research laboratory, to visit Fabien Cousteau, eldest grandson of the famous Jacques Cousteau. Fabien descended to Aquarius the day before to embark on a record-setting 31-day stay in Aquarius in a project he dubbed Mission 31. As of today, he has accomplished his goal and begins decompression and tomorrow returns to sunlight. I covered my dive and Mission 31 for Gear Patrol, Men’s Journal and HODINKEE. It was a highlight of my diving and writing careers.

Two weeks later and I was in Bonaire, the Dutch island in the southern Caribbean. Besides a dozen scuba dives testing three dive watches, I also took a one-day intensive course in breath-hold “freediving” with former world champion and record holder, Csrlos Coste. Coste is an amazing athlete, who was the first person to break the 100-meter mark in the Variable Weight category  and holds the North American record for Constant Weight with a 61-meter dive on a single breath. Turns out he is a nice guy and a great teacher, and now a friend. I wrote about my experience for Gear Patrol.


Finally, last week I was in Newport, Rhode Island, to attend the boat naming ceremony for Team Alvimedica’s entry in the round-the-world Volvo Ocean Race sailing event, which starts in October. Besides some interviews, I was able to go for a two-hour sail on the high-tech, $6 million boat, even taking the wheel for a while. I’ll be covering the Volvo Ocean Race for a few publications this fall.

While all this traveling and adventure is great, it means a lot of work, a lot of time in airports and too little time at home. So I’m happy to say I have no airline reservations in my name for the foreseeable future and am looking forward to a few weeks at home enjoying the summer.

International Watch


I recently contributed my first article for the monthly timepiece magazine, International Watch. It’s always nice to write for a new outlet, particularly a well respected one. It goes to show that even in an age of electronic connectedness (some would call it disconnectedness), there’s still value in face to face meetings and networking. I’ve met the magazine’s editor and publisher on various press trips and at BaselWorld and I’d like to think that our mutual respect and familiarity with our work led to this new opportunity.

Titled, “Precious Metal” my article discusses Patek Philippe’s two stainless steel novelties released this year at BaselWorld, the world’s pre-eminent watch trade show. While non-watch people may not understand the significance of this, or why a couple of steel watches are worthy of an article, consider that Patek Philippe is typically known for its precious metal high complication timepieces. One of the new releases, the reference 5960, goes so far as to replace the existing platinum and gold versions with steel only. Blasphemy? Sign of things to come? I ponder this in my article, which will appear in their June issue.

Timepiece fiction

When I was in college, I wanted to write short stories and poetry. You can see how that turned out. Well, though I realize that my writing strengths are elsewhere, about a year ago I was inspired to flex my long dormant fiction muscles after a trip to Germany during which I was entrusted a rather expensive watch for a week. The result was this short story, which falls into the niche of “timepiece fiction” and thus never found a home. Until now. Figured I’d publish it here on my blog just for kicks.

Up/Down: In Search of a Datograph

When I came to, the first thing I saw was Eric’s worried face. He was shouting my name and slapping my frostbitten cheeks, which likely woke me up. 600 feet up, past his head, I saw the distant shape of the Basteibrucke, that fairytale bridge in Saxony on which, just a short time ago, we were photographing the A. Lange & Söhne Datograph Up/Down, possibly the world’s most perfect chronograph. Rendered in platinum, the $89,000 watch looked perfect perched there on the stone bridge railing in the snow. Then it fell.

At first, Eric and I couldn’t believe what had happened and we dumbly looked at each other, as if one of us was playing a practical joke. In fact, losing the Datograph was a scenario we had nervously joked about all week while traipsing around Saxony taking photos on fortress ramparts and on the hood of a luxury car that cost less than the watch. So when it actually happened, I somehow was not surprised, as if we had willed it to happen through our rehearsals.

After a moment of stunned silence, we sprung into action. Having done some ice climbing earlier in the week in the Erzegebirne, we had some abseiling gear in the trunk of the BMW. While Eric hiked back to the parking lot, I scanned the ravine below the bridge for a sign of the watch, hoping that the polished lugs or faceted dial markers might somehow throw a reflection. Fat chance—the snow was two feet deep down below and the overcast sky was darkening in the early winter gloom. To make matters worse, it was spitting snow now, threatening to bury our borrowed timepiece even deeper, so that only some lucky hiker might find it when all of this melted in late April.

Eric returned to the bridge with the ropes and gear, carabiners clanking against ice screws as he jogged across the span. Surely what we were going to attempt was against the rules at this historic landmark but it was a Wednesday afternoon and the few tourists who had been there were now well on their way back to Dresden before nightfall. We had no choice; if we didn’t recover this watch, not only would we be personae non gratae at the Lange & Söhne dinner reception later that night, but Walter Lange himself might have us thrown in the Festung Konigstein for the loss of such a valuable masterpiece.

I anchored the 500-foot 4mm static rope to one of the bridge stanchions with my best rappelling knot. Eric and I flipped a coin for who would go down first but I knew it would be me. It was my name on the watch loan agreement and I felt responsible for finding it and wouldn’t stand by on the bridge while Eric dug in the snow. Sure enough, “tails” showed and I stepped into my harness, looped the rope through my belay device and stepped over the edge of the railing. The rope was already slick with ice from the damp snow and slid through the friction plates faster than I liked. My descent felt frantic and almost out of control. I soon neared the treetops below and Eric’s voice, calling out false encouragement, was fading even as the daylight did. The last 100 feet would be tricky and require that I change ropes. I hung pendulously there, fumbling with my gear sling to find a piton and hammer. Historical monument be damned, this was the only way down.

I wedged the piton into a chink between two bricks, presumably laid by some brave soul (or fool) in the early 1800s, and started hammering it in. The hollow sound of metal on metal reverberated off the adjacent rock formations and sounded ominously brittle in the frigid air. Indeed it felt brittle—the brick and mortar splintered and crumbled as I pounded and did not inspire confidence. But finally I felt some purchase and hammered the piton home until it felt solid. I looped the new length of rope through the piton and then through a second belay device on my harness before untying from the first. Now I was committed.

As I leaned back to test the strength of my new anchor, I glanced down to where the watch had fallen. I wondered then if this was even worth it. Even if I found the watch, surely it would be shattered, hands jarred loose, the movement a jumble of gears and springs and engraved German silver collected within the case. But there was always the value of the platinum, I thought, and started descending again. As soon as I passed the treetops, it started to get very dark. I could hear a stream gurgling below, out of sight, under the ice and snow. It was a comforting sound, something alive and moving in this frozen landscape. That was the last sound I heard. At that moment, the piton silently came loose and I fell 30 feet to the snow below. The next thing I knew, Eric was beside me, waking me up.

By now it was near sunset and the forested ravine was almost completely dark. Any hope of finding the Datograph was slim but as soon as I regained my senses, we both scrambled up and spread out, digging in the deep snow like madmen, with no search pattern or plan. Just when I was about to give up, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a glint of something shiny. It was under a ledge of ice where the moving water of the stream had kept the ice open. I called out to Eric. It had to be the watch. Indeed, as I stumbled closer, it was clearly a watch. My foot broke through the thin ice on the stream and my boot suddenly filled with icy water but relief flooded through me as I reached out for the watch which appeared to be wrapped around something. As I bent closer I realized this wasn’t the Datograph; the dial was all wrong. My disappointment at this discovery was quickly replaced with horror as I realized that what this watch was wrapped around was a man’s wrist. That’s when we heard the dogs barking.


I went to Sochi for the Olympics last week. Had I listened to all the warnings and naysayers beforehand, I would have missed out on a magical experience. To visit Russia alone was a thrill but to also get to attend the Olympic Games, especially the Winter Games, was a lifelong dream. Sure, I take issue with some of Russia’s policies and politics. But I’m in the camp of people that thinks the athletes and the people of Sochi aren’t to blame and to go and support those who put in the hard work to compete is to honor the true Olympic spirit. I wrote up a couple of articles on the Olympics for Gear Patrol, including some impressions from my days there.

In other news, we published our British Watch Issue on Gear Patrol which was not without its challenges but is the direction we want to go more often — themed “issues”. I’m quite proud of what we put together.

I continue to write watch blurbs for Men’s Journal and my quarterly dive watch reviews for Revolution. Altogether, it’s a nice mix of web and print, watches and travel, with a dash of gear reviews to remind me where it all began. There are some big things afoot this year so watch this space…

It’s All One Life


Summit of Mt. Garfield. Photo by Gishani.

2013 was the year I made freelance writing my full-time job. At first it was scary but once the momentum of traveling, writing, chasing gigs (and payments), deadlines and more travel took over, I was able to ride the wave and actually enjoy it. Sometimes I can’t believe that my work involves things like researching New Zealand birds, packing underwater camera gear or pricing biathlon rifles. But it also involves the frustrations of unresponsive editors and the arcane rules of Quickbooks accounting software.

 This was the first year I have achieved any sort of medallion status on an airline, though I’m not sure it’s necessarily something to be proud of. 88,000 miles flown and counting before the end of the year (yes, I’m squeezing in one more trip before the ball drops, though this one is purely for vacation). This was a year of mountains and sharks, of helicopters and caves. I made it into the Southern Hemisphere for the first time, learned how to use an ice axe, jumped in the water with a tiger shark and drove a 500-horsepower Ferrari AND a 17-ton tank. I also learned how precious free weekends at home are, just sitting by the fire or binge-watching an entire season of a British detective series in one go. I also learned how much any travel is better if I can share it with my wife.

When I returned from a trip recently, someone texted me and said, “welcome back to reality” and it occurred to me that it’s actually ALL part of my reality, both the excitement and new experiences and the (sometimes) mundane work of sitting at my desk at home writing about it. A wise boss of mine told me once years ago, “it’s all one life” and I have clung to that belief ever since. If you’re trying to compartmentalize your job from your home from your work from your play, something is wrong. Find something you love to do and there is no separation.