Harmon told Lewis Freeman, a freelance writer and adventurer, of his master plan in the late summer of 1920 when the two men met at the Lake of the Hanging Glaciers. He had allotted himself twenty years to photograph every major peak and glacier in the Rockies and Selkirks and, having finished the first run-through, would be ready to start all over again. At their first meeting Harmon was sitting out a seemingly interminable period of bad weather - waiting, as he so often did, for the light. Freeman took note of the wait and later wrote:
It was in that quiet, patient, persistent way that he had been photographing the mountains of the Canadian West for many years, and it will be just in that way he will continue until he shall have attained somewhere near to the high goal he has set for his lifework. ... It is a privilege to have met an artist who works with so fine a spirit, who has set himself so high an ideal.*
Whereas the early exploring sessions with Wheeler had been exciting, Harmon’s later photographic and movie trips were adventurous to the point of danger. He was forever ready to set up a shot to capture the most romantic implication of any given event. If there existed a choice between doing something an easy way or doing it in an arduous but more visually exciting way, Harmon would invariably opt for excitement.
Nor was he against accelerating the course of nature occasionally to suit his purposes. In 1922 he joined forces with his old friend Conrad Kain and two clients from Minneapolis on a pack-train trip to the Lake of the Hanging Glaciers to film a massive avalanche. He had confidence that just such an occurence might happen while he was at the lake, since he and Kain had secreted thirty-six sticks of dynamite into the pack duffel. Cora Best, one of the Minneapolis dudes, graphically described
*Lewis Freeman, 011 the Roof of the Rockies (New York: Dodd, Mead and Co. 1925), p. 11.