This is where I come in. A photographer and writer on a trip with my wife and dog. Mojo and I drove from San Diego. She flew. After a morning skunk session on the Spokane River we popped in a Coeur d’ Alene art gallery. The kind women working there looked at my “Mission Bay Fly Fishing” hat and asked if I was a fly fisherman. Not wanting to be hassled into buying one of their arresting Mel McCudden paintings I said “yes, but I’m not very good”, and kept moving. She followed and inquired if I ever heard of Al Swanson. I hadn’t, but that was where the conversation took a turn and led to me drooling over images of Al’s rod holders on the computer behind their front desk. Before she could talk me into pulling my credit card out, I left with two thoughts - it would be an honor to own some of his work that seemed more fit for a museum than the river, but also that it would be fun to shoot a story on Al in action at his workshop, wherever that might be. After a few days in Idaho we drove on to northern Montana and Glacier National Park. Fall was in its prime. Everywhere you looked nature was putting on a show. Colors. Wildlife. Rainbows. Sunshine one minute and snow the next. Needless to say we didn’t want to leave when the time came. Nevertheless, our reluctant trek started down to Bozeman where Emily was scheduled for her return flight home. After 3 or 4 hours of driving through Montana’s majesty all 3 of us needed to stretch our legs and eat some lunch. So we pulled off The 15 into the next town that just happened to be Helena. Aimlessly walking by several quaint storefronts my eyes looked up just long enough to notice a large poster with the headline “Al Swanson - Charcuterie for a Cause” - aka the $70,000 event. It was all too much to ignore, so I sent Al an email. A week later we spoke on the phone for about an hour when he candidly shared his transmigration of the past few years. Before knowing the destruction he’d been through I just wanted to document him at work to be able to show others his art. After our talk it was obvious that more good could be done by sharing his story with the fly fishing community. 3 weeks later I was on a flight to Helena. December 1, 2021 we met at a local bar, came up with a plan over whisky to shoot the next day at his shop, and the following on the river. That next morning arrived quickly with a text from Al “not sure what’s wrong with me, but I think I need to go to the hospital”. My responses were unmatched. Not knowing what to do I went to the shop where his one full time employee and CNC master Patrick Sever was already at it along with Jeff Miller- a long time friend and former employee who dropped his life in Arizona to fly up and help keep the shop moving (for free) in Al’s absence. Al and Jeff met in the early 2000’s when Jeff was living in Helena. ”He came to town and I had never seen anything like his work. What he was doing is unsurpassed”. They had a few conversations at the gallery over the next couple years, but it wasn’t until Jeff’s wife bought him a workshop with Al that their relationship really took hold. Miller was retired by that point and had lots of extra time to spend on his love of woodworking. So he started helping Swanson out with deliveries and the less crucial furniture tasks until his skills were up to par. “Al is a wonderfully talented guy and generous to a fault. For an artist of his caliber, he’s incredibly open with his knowledge” says Miller. He also stressed how much Al cares about the final product. “If it’s not right, it’s not going out the door”. A few hours later he confirmed that Al was in the hospital but that was about all he knew. I spent some time making images at the shop, which from the outside, is quite inconspicuous. Any passerby would have no idea that world class wooden art is continuously made and shipped from something so nondescript. After a bit of shooting I left not knowing what was ahead for Al who was scheduled to have another test in 2 weeks to determine if the cancer had come back. A month went by until I heard from him again. “That was the sickest I’ve ever been” he said of the day we were supposed to shoot at his place. He had a copious amount of healing still to do.
Late January 2022 I was headed back up to Montana for another story not far from Helena and text Al to see if he was strong enough for some action on the river. “It’s full on winter here. Windy as hell and freezing cold………whatever, I can handle it”. Couple days later we met in front of his house at 6am where I jumped in his truck on the way to the Missouri River and asked “How are you?” “It’s been a journey!” he said with that same positive and matter of fact inflection. There was almost a hint of humor in there too. Things were changing for the better. Sunrise wasn’t for almost two hours so all we had was conversation about what happened since our brief visit in December, including the debauchery leading to his hospitalization that morning. A battery of medication that didn’t play well together including a daily steroid (Prednisone) mouth rinse to help with the open lesions and ulcers prescribed by an outside doctor unbeknownst to his inhouse team. After taking it for months he was told to stop, but it’s not a drug you can quit Cold Turkey. His body reacted, losing total function in his legs and arms while laying in bed, barely summoning the strength to text his son for help. It was a fluke that his son was home at all that day. Al regained consciousness inside a CT Scan where it was determined he had acute adrenal failure, then admitted to the hospital for an extended stay. Al’s insides were once again shattered but he had dodged another bullet. Luckily the problem was promptly addressed and he was set on the course of healing. If not, there’s zero doubt that would be the end of his story.
For a Montana winter it was a pretty balmy day at 30 degrees. Yet plenty cold enough for the feeling in my hands to go away after just a few minutes of shooting. Al didn’t complain though. He just slipped fluidly into the near freezing river and began casting with the grace of someone half his age whose body didn’t spend the last three years in purgatory. He hadn’t seen a river in months, let alone stand in one. Science just wouldn’t allow it. Yet there he was, back home in a sense, finally doing something he loves in the very same place Lewis and Clark once stood in 1805. And as long as we’re name dropping I’ll do it for Al because he won’t. On top of being an Orvis staple he’s also made custom boxes and tubes for people like Jimmy Kimmel, Michael Keaton, and Tucker Carlson. Today, at least as of our latest phone conversation, he’s really turned the corner and is riding the wave. Despite frequent doctor check-ups, daily pain, weaning off opiates, and having 5+ years left before the radiation fully leaves his body, optimism is at an all time peak after the latest PET Scan showed the cancer had been eradicated. Still knowing full well that part of the future isn’t in his control, he presses on, consumed by his desire to create. “I can attribute most of my mental healing to my craft. Don’t know what I’d do without it.” Even when you factor in the merciless misery he’s faced over the last 3 years, not being in his shop could be the worst part for him. Now that he’s finally able to be Al Swanson again, I asked if he has plans for new products. To which he ensures there is plenty in store, for both furniture and fly fishing. “I’ve also got a 16 year old son that I want to see grow up”. His friends all tell him he should write a book because, as they say, “he’s been to hell and back”.
