Having just photographed New Hampshire’s small northern lakes, I was on my way to the remote regions of northern Maine.  I stopped the car on the side of the road to look at the map.  I got out of the car for a few minutes to study my route, when I thought I heard the sound of running water.  I grabbed my camera gear and headed towards the sound.  After hiking about a mile through lush green moss and white pine saplings, I reached the river.  The first thing I was drawn to was a cave on the side of the river.  I entered the eighteen inch wide crevice with the flashlight I had in my pocket only to get thirty feet and hit solid rock.  Next I crawled out and took a minute to look around.  I saw a large rock protruding ten feet above the edge of the river, so I climbed the lichen covered rock for a better view.  I decided to take a photograph because I liked how the higher vantage point changed the perspective of the shot.  I didn’t know where I was, I still don’t know where I was, and I don’t know which river I was at.  The whole situation was unknown to me.  This anonymity is what I thought best described not only the river, but the entire environment I was in when the shot was taken.