Number 23

Living so close to the Grand Canyon enables me to get up there for a quick weekend.  This was the case when Kristi's aunt & uncle came to visit from Boston.  At the end of the day we decided to see the sunset from Pima point.  A handful of people were there soaking in the last rays of the day, and clicking away.  I was set up on one side of the point trying to capture the sun as it was skipping off the top of some rocks and a juniper clinging to the cliff edge.  It all happened so quickly, but suddenly a California Condor emerged from the depths, buzzed our heads and promptly jetted off into the sky.  I had fired off two shots with a wide angle, then recomposed with a zoom as he was getting away.  There were other people there that were lucky enough to get close-ups with their zooms, and after sharing each others images we soon realized which condor we had captured.

For those who are not familiar with the Grand Canyon California Condor story, it's a success story for endangered animals that had been captured before extinction.  They have been endangered for some time, mostly as a result of mankind.  The combination of loss of habitat, shooting, egg collecting, poisoning by cyanide traps set for coyotes, power line collisions, and especially lead poisoning began to take a heavy toll. The condor is particularly susceptible to lead poisoning due to the fact that they are scavengers.  Related to the vulture, the condor commonly feeds on carrion.  With the combination of hunters shooting and killing and not retrieving the animal, as well as leaving some portion with the bullets in the animal's flesh it has been enough to impact the condor population.  They find themselves eating the flesh along with the lead.  It doesn't take much to overwhelm their systems and result in their demise.

The success story starts with the California Condor Restoration Project. The US fish & Wildlife service teamed up with the LA Zoo and the San Diego Wildlife park to begin the restoration. By 1982 the condor population had dwindled to as few as 22 animals, and by 1985 the number dwindled so low, that they decided to capture the remaining 9 condors left in the wild.   A few challenges that they had to face was their ability to reproduce. They only mate and lay one egg once every two years, and they can't begin to reproduce until age 6. In response to this, the breeders developed techniques in which eggs are removed as they are laid, sometimes causing the captive condors to lay a second and sometimes a third egg. The eggs are incubated and the chicks are raised by caretakers using hand puppets mimicking a condor head. The puppet head prevents the chicks  from imprinting on people, a phenomenon in which a bird will misidentify a human as their mother. Condor chicks can also be allowed to be raised by the captive parent birds. As a result, of this amazing project the captive condor population has increased to  177 or so. The amount of California condors today totals around 400, more than half of which are in the wild.

Number 23,  identified by the wing-tag, is the hero of the California Condor Restoration Project. Along with his mate, they were the first released condors to successfully raise a chick on their own. Today Number 23 flies alone. Two years ago, his mate was discovered dead succumbed by lead poisoning.  If you are lucky and in the vicinity of Pima point you might be able to catch a view of this amazing bird when he frequents the area.

Sources: nps.gov/grca/naturescience/condor-re-introduction.htm, birdnote.org/show/condor-23-and-lead

Eagle Creek, Colombia River Gorge

I just love waterfalls. I don't know what it is. No, yes I do.  Waterfalls are a display of power and force. They represent our life blood.  You can smell the moisture in the air, and see the verdant green that commonly surrounds them.  The pools at the bottom are good for swimming and bathing, and the sound lulls you.   I'll hike long distances to visit one.  And I love photographing them.  They are a terrific subject for photography.

One of the most popular trails for waterfalls is in the Columbia River Gorge, Oregon; the Eagle Creek Trail. It follows the creek for about thirteen miles, and features some of the most spectacular waterfalls and temperate rainforest in the northwest.  The trail proceeds through the forest and along paths carved high in the basalt cliffs.  There are no guard rails, just safety chains along the cliff walls. The trailhead boasts a campground, and day use parking. Also popular with backpackers the trail can be made part of a loop, connecting with the Pacific Crest Trail and points beyond.

 Kristi and I decided to make a day hike out of it. If we hike to Tunnel falls and turn around, it's a nice 12 mile hike. After about two miles the trail reaches Punch Bowl Falls (500').  The water here spills 100 feet into a blue green pool set in a large grotto.

 The trail follows Eagle Creek under heavy forest 1.6 miles to High Bridge (560’), which then crosses the gorge 150 feet above the creek. From High Bridge the trail heads southeast 1.4 miles, and continues 0.4 mile to the junction with Eagle Benson Trail.

From the junction the trail climbs the last 0.8 mile to Tunnel Falls (1,240’), where the trail passes behind the falls through a tunnel.  Here we had lunch and spent some time trying to capture the essence of such a beautiful falls.

Being a photography and not just a travel blog, some mention of equipment and technique has to be made.  Part of the appeal of waterfall shots is that nice smooth water that flows like silk and fans out into deep pools of blue. So how exactly do you get such an exposure?  Firstly there's the tripod. You absolutely need a tripod.  Okay not absolutely, I've made images of Oak Creek, setting my camera on a rock.  This method isn't ideal unless you're a contortionist, since composing a shot this way requires you to lay on the ground, or have a tilting live view screen. But take my word for it, there aren't always rocks to set a camera on, and you won't always like the view from there. On a twelve mile hike you'll want a light, yet sturdy tripod.  I have a nice carbon fiber four sectioned tripod that weighs around three pounds. It packs well strapped to any backpack or day pack, and I've learned to deploy it in approx. 28s. You have to pay special attention to the head of the tripod, and make sure it will hold the weight of your camera and heaviest lens.

 If you have an "L" bracket it not only helps the speed in which you can change from landscape to portrait orientation, it can offset the necessity for a heavier ball head.  An Arca-Swiss style ball head pares well with "L" brackets and offers a quick change solution to screwing in the camera to the tripod. Believe me it's likely you will not be hiking alone, so the less time you take deploying your gear, the less time your hiking partner will have traveled down the trail without you.

  Filters.  You will need at least two filters, depending on the lighting conditions.  It is likely that you will be shooting during the day, and those filters will enable you to darken the scene, so a longer exposure time will help make that silky smooth water.   The first filter you will need is a good circular polarizer (CPL).  The old school polarizers don't rotate, which besides messing with your meter on the camera, will produce unwanted results if you can't rotate it. You will need to view the scene in the viewfinder while rotating the filter. One direction the scene will take on a blue tint to it.  What you are seeing is reflections of the sky in the foliage, or water.  The other direction will start to eliminate those reflections, and restore the scene to a richer, more balanced color. Another benefit of the CPL is that it has a grey tint to it.  It will help by darkening the scene about  two stops. If you happened to be shooting waterfalls during a rain storm, the clouds help darken the scene, allowing you to achieve those magic lower shutter speeds. It was raining pretty heavily that day on our hike, which helped even out the lighting and reduced harsh shadows. A neutral density filter is another filter that can help create longer shutter speeds.  It is especially necessary if you are shooting in direct sunlight.  These filters come in different densities, and some are even adjustable on -the- fly!

 Now, for that silky effect, what you really need is time, what those filters are doing is buying you some time. During daylight hours I like shutter speeds from .3s to 1.5s.  It is fun to play with the different shutter speeds to see what effect each speed has on the water. Of course if you are fortunate enough to be on location after sunset, the filters won't necessarily be needed, and if combined with some moonlight you can shoot up to 25s.  Closing your aperture down can be done, but can also introduce diffraction and soft focus areas to the edges of your image. A cable release, or delayed timer is also a necessity.  If you touch your camera to trigger the exposure it will surely introduce some vibration.  This vibration will show up in your image and either make it look like you're seeing double, or you'll have the motion blur.  Remote controls work well for this too.  Mirror lock-up is an added function that helps reduce motion blur, by moving the internal parts of the camera prior to the actual taking of the exposure. It requires two button presses, one to lift the mirror, the other to make the exposure. This method is highly recommended for making those crisp sharp images you spent all that money on to take, if you don't have a cable release or a remote you might as well not bother. At the very least you can use the delay timer. You brought that tripod do keep your camera from moving, why not go all the way.  If you have it, use it. 

Happy Holidays!

                                                             Happy Holidays!

I look out the window at snow flurries, teasing me. It's been since May that we had significant snowfall, and I look back at those times and wish for feet of snow. This shot was taken in 2010. It had snowed a few feet over already deep snow. We had gone out early the next morning just after the storm was breaking up. Cross country skiing to Heart prairie with our two dogs in this winter wonderland was wonderful. I hope we will all look for peace and joy in these times, as it is too easy to forget the wonderful.

Galen's Tree

 "I almost never set out to photograph a landscape, nor do I think of my camera as a means of recording.... My first thought is always of light." -Galen Rowell

I had been to the Eastern Sierras a couple of times before, but I decide to attend a Jack Graham workshop because we were to explore many areas that I had not previously visited. We spent a bit of time in the footsteps of the great Galen Rowell, with whom Jack Graham had studied with.  A world traveler and mountaineer, Galen Rowell used his camera to capture the adventure and natural optical phenomena of the so called 'dynamic landscape.'  The Sierras were his stomping grounds, and Bishop is where he chose his home. Although the list of Rowell's mountaineering accomplishments is quite long, it is his writing and photography that endures today as his legacy. Unfortunately he lost his life in a tragically ironic plane crash within sight of his home.  His gallery Mountain Light still remains in Bishop, and showcases many of his images from California to Tibet.  It was here that we got a glimpse of what vistas and subjects we would be visiting. One such subject was located in the Bristlecone Pine forest of the White Mountain region of the Eastern Sierras. Our group was delivered to the top of a mountain ridge well before sunset.
We were set free to analyze the terrain and become intimate with the ancient forest. As the sunset began to creep up on us we were to reconvene closer to our vehicles.  It was then that Jack pointed out a beautiful specimen, calling it Galen's tree. I didn't get an exact answer why it was so called, but it became clear it was out of reverence and a tribute to the land he loved and photographed with passion.  Sunset was approaching and the light was getting interesting. I had been keenly aware of the moon phases on this trip, and had been studying it's light and timing since my arrival in the Sierras.  I had a feeling it was going to rise coinciding with the sun's setting.  I had written before about an iPhone app called Star Tracker.  Not only does it track and identify the stars, it tracks the sun and moon, and their exact positions in the sky.  I could see on the screen that just below the horizon the moon was about to rise.  While the others were focused on their own work, I positioned myself and set up my camera to capture the event.  I used a long focal length to condense the scene, and make the moon's size more prevalent.  I was getting a little nervous, because I was loosing the warm light on the bottom of the tree.  Then the moon presented itself. Just as it rose over the earth's shadow, the sun dipped below a distant mountain, casting a diagonal shadow along the base of the tree closely matching where the pine needles ended.  I was elated. I felt as though I had experienced an ethereal astronomical event.  I kept shooting, hardly containing my enthusiasm.  The other participants and instructors slowly began to notice the moon rise, and eventually joined me.  It was still magical, watching the moon and looking for different compositions, but they had missed the timing of that fleeting moment.

"The landscape is like being there with a powerful personality and I'm searching... to make that portrait come across as meaningfully as possible." - Galen Rowell

Galen's tree was replete with that personality.   The timing and light convened to put this experience at the top of the list in meaningful experiences for me.  I hope that the feeling in these images will resonate, and serve as an homage to the late great Galen Rowell, and convey the essence of his spirit.

Jack Graham on Location

Night in Havasupai

Ever wonder what demons come out after dark? They posses the living, steal their rationality. Sometimes it happens to people in paradise as well. The fringes of daylight introduce a different way of looking, and seeing. It all began with an exploration of the night, in Havasupai. I was to meet a couple of friends, and they with a couple of their friends. And eventually a couple more of their friends. I had arrived well before dark. I enjoyed a few beers, and a sandwich. As dusk approached I began to examine Hualapai Hilltop at night.  I prepared a long exposure series featuring the flashlights of hikers emerging from the canyon depths.  The sky was dark, and the only ambient light that fell was from the stars.

Then they arrived. My two friends, and their two friends. I had not met them before, and in the dark illuminated by a simple headlamp, their faces bobbed in and out of unrecognizable clarity. They left no impression on me, and I had no grasp of what they actually looked like.  As it turned out the next morning, they did indeed look completely different.  That's how the demons work, they operate in that realm of uncertainty. The day had come and gone, and we had sunken deep into the canyon.  Darkness is darker in the canyon.  The light from the atmosphere, or moon or stars fail to reach the inner depths. What lies in shadow during the day, likes like pitch at night. Space, unrecognizable space. A flashlight will allow you to move around. It will lead you like an orb through a tunnel.  Another two of their friends arrived. I didn't know them either, a thin girl, and her husband Brian. An impish fellow, an extrovert speaking constantly in different accents. Mostly East Indian. "Very very goot. Very goot."  He was likened to say on many occasions. Shortly after dinner I noticed the moon had broken the darkness. At least on one side of the canyon. The other side still had large voids.  But the clouds. The clouds were glowing. It was unmistakable. A fight had begun between the light and the dark.  The moon had risen and flowed into the canyon, illuminating the clouds, which in return refracted the light into ambient light. It began filling the canyon.  It was time to get to the falls to capture the struggle.

The moon was playing with the clouds, and mist from the falls. The clouds slowly, persistently receding, the water incessantly pounding. This unworldly scene was unfolding, and emoting a peculiar energy. The power and struggle of nature against it's elements. With no regard for me or mankind. I tried illuminating the falls with a flashlight but the mist played games with the wind and light. An odd reaction occurred. The water droplets became lightning bugs. Darting and dodging afloat on the air currents generated by the energy of the falls. It was time to return to camp, my mood elevated. My sense of wonderment deeply affected. As I moved between light and shadow, I was reminded a headlamp was still necessary. Excessive contrast in the shadows hid unseen perils. I could easily turn an ankle. The closer I got to camp, the energy began to change. I heard music, techno music. An impish figure emerged, spinning glow sticks. Strangely out of place in nature, a rave. Fueled by alcohol, and visual candy. A hand began to reach out, grab me and pull me in.

Suddenly a glow stick hit the ground and rolled into a tent. This unleashed an angry creature. A man in the neighboring camp trying to sleep lurched out as if it were a lion from a cave. It attacked the imp. A struggle ensued. Demons fighting between the fringes of light and dark. Rolling on the sand arms were flying, voices raised. "Ken, stop it Ken..." "Brian, No Brian!" As if the needle scratching a record, the music stopped. Campers gathered around the demons in a ring. Dust and fury, legs and arms. It was unclear who had the advantage. Then the movement ended. Ken had lost, and was pinned face down in a Half Nelson. Adrenaline pumping, we all awaited the next move. The crowd began to banter, and for a moment it was unclear if a riot were to begin. Alas the two factions pulled the demons apart, and each returned to their respective shadows. Quietly grumbling until darkness and sleep arrested the camp. I had written before about this paradise of Havasupai. For all the beauty and nature, this little canyon, suffers from the evil spirits of mankind. They lead you down dangerous paths, of mine shafts and murder. Each time I visit I'm reminded how man has become at odds with nature. The balance has been upset. In this microcosm every step has profound repercussions. And I worry about our fate as we propel ourselves in orders of magnitude toward the future. We have become the demons, and I fear that future, and the darkness of that unknown.

The Arches of Alabama Hills- Mobius Arch

Last October I had the fortuante opportunity to join a workshop in the Eastern Sierras with Guy Tal and Jack Graham.  The workshop started in the Alabama Hills area off the Whitney Portal Road leading out of Lone Pine California. We all rose at about four thirty to gather and caravan to a parking area that featured a view of Mt Whitney and the mountain range. Standing in the dark we were pointed toward the range to capture the sunrise.  Once the sun made it's appearance we were led on a trail that encircles three natural arches hidden in this un-earthly terrain. Mobius Arch and  others sit as a surreal frame to the distant snow capped mountains.  The group took turns framing this classic composition discovered many years ago. Hollywood film crews have made the Alabama Hills their backdrop for dozens of movies and commercials.  Many famous photographers have tromped these hills discovering more and more arches.  David Muench, for example has been capturing these arches since the early 50s.  He's discovered hidden arches, and deliberately left them un-mapped and un-named to protect the delicate rock surrounding it.  Galen Rowell has also taken famous images of Mobius Arch.  Although many before me have captured the arch, I was inspired to return after the end of the worshop to make my image.  I've been practicing throughout the trip with light painting and have been making images with dual, and sometimes triple light sources.  The third light source being the moon, of course.  I had been keenly aware of the moon and it's cycles for ten or so days now and had a good feeling of where and when I needed to be to take advantage of this natural light source. I rose at about two thirty in the morning to make the short hike.  I set up a Petzel headlamp behind the arch, and a large Mag-lite on the side below. The different angles and color temperatures of the sources helped make the image a little more surreal. The moon illuminating the mountain range helped make this image possible.



   I repeated the process with another arch, just a few hundred feet away, Lathe Arch.  Earlier in the day I attempted to locate more of the arches, as well as the un-named one, but ultimately failed.  Perhaps another day.  The only other arch I could find, was one nearby as well.  I'm not sure what the arch's name is, but I'll call it Heart Arch.  This was taken during the workshop just as the light was beginning to get harsh.  Some people may ask why bother taking an image that's been done time after time.  Indeed a simple Google search reveals many dozens of renditions of these arches.   I had visited Galen Rowell's gallery in Bishop and have seen these images of his. I guess you can think of it as an homage. What good is Beethoven's music if it isn't performed over and over? Think of this as my personal performance. 

Four Falls - Havasupai

I written a few times about the grandeur of the falls in the quaint Indian Reservation of the Havasupai Tribe in the Grand Canyon.  What started as a crush in high school has become a full blown love affair over time. I've had a chance to study the culture in an anthropology course in college, and backpacked the ten miles to visit four times.  This last time I decided to study the reservation with my camera.  Five beautiful spring days were spent standing in warm blue-green water. From dusk to dawn I tried to capture the essence and moods, pushing my gear and prowess to the limits.  If you browse through the blog here you will find what I have discovered and experienced over the course of decades.   Every once and a while a particular image has to be showcased. Many elements have to come together and be captured to properly portray the feeling felt while standing there.  This image is one of those.  I had spent the day hiking to the lower Beaver Falls, and upon returning I came to this scene, just below Mooney Falls.  A number of times I've tried to capture it, but only recently had the skills and technology to process it to fruition.   I was struck by the last light of day reflecting off the higher canyon wall, not to mention the vantage of seeing four falls in a curious confluence.  The challenge here was to grab the dynamic range between the bright reflection of sunlight to the dark shadows of the canyon. A standard image capture would not be able to properly expose for either the highlights or shadows, so I decided to do a bracketed image. I set the camera to allow it to take three successive images, each at different shutter speeds. One to properly expose the highlights, one to properly expose the shadows and one in the middle to expose the mid-tone ranges.  I chose the initial shutter speed and f-stop to smooth the water, and the camera choose the other two exposures. The post processing was done in Photoshop using a technique called channel masking or luminosity masking. This technique allows the photographer to seamlessly blend the three images together in a more controlled and realistic fashion than using stand alone HDR (high dynamic range) software that does it for you.  Although it takes hours of work, the result more closely matches the scene you would experience if you were standing there.  For more information on the technique see the side bar to the right under the helpful links heading. Another challenge capturing this scene was to avoid other hikers and photographers.  I was standing in the stream for ten or fifteen minutes waiting for the the scene to clear, when another photographer tromps up and sets her tripod directly in front of me.  She says "Oh, am I in your way?" as I stare at her with my mouth open in dis-belief.  "It's a free country," was my response.  It's true, there is no law against being inconsiderate and oblivious in this country, and people take this notion to the extreme.  It's a cultural thing.  Just don't let it get to you.   Tune out those people just like that annoying hip-hop song on the radio. Instead focus on the beauty of nature and the moment you're living it. It will not last forever.

Don't Wade Hot Creek

Hot Creek begins its life as Mammoth Creek flowing out of Twin Lakes, in California's Eastern Sierra Nevada. It makes it's way to the Hot Creek Fish Hatchery and confluences with warmer water from natural geothermal springs commonly found in the Long Valley Caldera area. It eventually flows down to become a tributary to Crowley Lake. As it travels through the Hot Creek Gorge hot springs in and near the stream bed can be found.   As recent as 2006 the geothermal activity in the Hot Creek Gorge has become increasingly unpredictable, intermittently emanating geysers.  The activity produces enough vigor to shoot scalding water as high as 6 feet as well as popping from the steam vents in the vicinity and from in creek itself.    For this reason the Forest Service has closed parts of the area due to its dangerous and unpredictable activity. They posted warning signs to deter the fishermen from wading in its dangerous and scalding water. "Don't Wade Hot Creek."

Its popularity began as a location in many Hollywood films, then continued with anglers, bird watchers, swimmers and photographers alike.  It had been several years since I last visited Hot Creek, and  I wanted to return to capture it during sunrise.   I remembered the winding creek that seemed to flow out from the surrounding mountains. Steam rising up in plumes of alkali mist. What I didn't remember was you couldn't camp with in a mile from the creek.  I scouted and found a forest service road a short distance and camped there, but had to make more of an effort. Especially the next morning. I was able to get there at just the right time for the light illuminate the peak and to skip atop the trees.  After what seemed to be a brief window, the show was over. I returned to the van and prepared my morning coffee and breakfast.   A fisherman arrived just as I had taken the shot of the sign "Don't Wade Hot Creek." I chuckled to myself, "I Waded Hot Creek."  I think he thought I was crazy.

The Moods of Mono

In late October I spent a week and a half in the Eastern Sierras.  I went for a couple of reasons. The first was to attend a Jack Graham/Guy Tal workshop. The second was to spend some time alone revisiting some of my favorite areas. Mono Lake was one of my favorite muses. It's one of those places where the light changes from minute to minute always offering a unique perspective. I returned for sunset and sunrise day after day to feel the lake's moods. Mono Lake is famous for it's tufa columns.  Made from a variety of limestone, tufas are precipitated when carbonate rich source waters emerge into alkaline soda lakes. Emanating from under water springs, tufas build up a travertine stalagmite type column.

The salts and minerals in the water combined with no natural outlet to the lake preclude fish from living there, yet has created another ecosystem entirely.  Brine shrimp are the only animals that can live in these waters, and every year serve the local bird population that feed on them. As you can see in the second image, brine or alkali flies also live along the shores, and the larvae has sustained the native Kutzadida'a people over the years.  That's what those little black dots are, here in the second image.  Throughout this trip the moon played a major role in my photography, both as a subject and a light source. If the moon was low in the sky, it would be included in the composition. If it was high in the sky is served as a large reflector, as you can see here in the first image.  This image was taken at about quarter after five at what is called South Tufa.  Sleep played a minor role in this trip, and revolved around the moon's position and it's moods. 



The third image here was made from the road on the west side of the lake. I was sitting in Lee Vining waiting for the workshop to begin when I noticed the moon rising through the trees. I quickly rushed down the hill, past the visitors center then pulled over at a wide spot on the shoulder. I got off a few shots before the moon rose too high, and out of the frame. Plus the moon is at it's largest the lower in the sky it is due to the refraction of the earth's atmosphere. Capturing the moon can be difficult if the dynamic range of the scene is too great. If it rises and it's after dark already, chances are you'll either have an exposed moon and underexposed foreground, or a bright dot in an otherwise exposed foreground. The best bet is if the moon is rising just as the sun is setting, when the scene is still lit from the glow of the atmosphere.  Here, also you can see the shadow of the earth just above the horizon, trying to catch up with the moon.  In order to provide water for the city of Los Angeles the tributaries to Mono Lake had been diverted, effectively draining the lake as the rate of evaporation had exceeded the inflow to the lake. Conservation efforts to reverse this trend succeeded in 1994 when California State Water Resources Control Board issued an order to protect Mono Lake and its tributary streams.  The water level has slowly risen to pre-1940 levels, but has slowed recently as a result of the current drought throughout the West.  Before human history water levels used to be at the top of the tufas, which is what allowed the carbonate to flow upward and stack into travertine columns.  Now you can walk on around and below the towers like some prehistoric petrified forest, opening it up for a myriad of photographic possibilities. In one shot I used two opposing light sources to light paint the columns and exposed for the stars.  I got this last shot just before the moon rose, again with some light painting.

Source: Wikipedia

Red Mountain Fog

Traditionally Kristi and I have been finding a place to hike on the morning of Thanksgiving day.  We get up early and hike until about noon, then meet with my parents for the holiday family dinner.  We decided to return to one of my favorite wild places near home, Red Mountain. Taking 180 out of town, past the Snowbowl and Nordic Centers, you pass through Kendrick Park and make your way down the hill on the other side. There is a sign pointing to a dirt (or mud) road. Depending how muddy or snowy or frozen it is, you can park near the highway, or continue a half mile to the designated parking area. Shortly before we approached the turn off we began entering a large fog bank.  From clear blue skies to dense fog in less than a mile. 


Fog is a rare occurrence around these parts, so I was excited to experience Red Mountain under these conditions.  A large cinder hill rich in iron oxide has eroded away from the center creating strange conical towers of rusty rock. I have been here before in winter and really liked the contrast of white snow against red cones.  A result of the snow melt, frozen waterfalls drip down each crevasse.  Pine and juniper trees stand frozen in hoar frost. Six inches of snow crunch under our feet as we made the mile and a half approach.  We arrived in total amazement, the sun started shining through the dissipating fog illuminating the back wall and revealing blue sky.



I shot for an hour and a half trying to catch the fleeting light.   Eventually the fog began to settle in heavily, then rise up creating a rather overcast scene. It was time to leave, and soon we drove back into warm blue skies. It had turned out to be one of those perfect holidays to look back on.  A nice hike, a loving girl friend, a walk with our dog, a photographic foray, and a fine family dinner. Among those other things, I was very thankful to have experienced a rare and fleeting moment of light. It's nice to have a day to be thankful for.

They Can't Close the Grand Canyon

While the big children in Washington are still learning how to behave in the sand box, the National Parks have been taken hostage in a spiteful battle against a national health care system. Despite what the Federal Government would have you believe, they don't own and can't close the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon's borders are shared by the Havasupai, Hualapai, and Navajo tribes, as well as the Kaibab National Forest. Those lands are still open and can be visited, though not as convenient as the Park itself.  Hiking, backpacking and camping are permitted on the Havasupai Indian reservation.  Reservations are required, but this time of year you have a good chance at getting in.  Though not recommended, you can hike down there without a reservation, pay a little more, and not be turned away. Just so long as you can find a place to put your tent. I know from experience, as I did that a few years ago.   The Hualapai has the famed, and oft criticized Grand Canyon Skywalk.  This new attraction was built with the partnership between Steve Winn and the tribe.  They installed a giant glass horseshoe walkway that cantilevers over their portion of the Grand Canyon. 
If that thing isn't your style the Kaibab National Forest maintains a large portion of the north rim.  Called the Rainbow rim you can follow forest service roads to five unique 'points.' Parissawampitts, Fence, Locust, Timp and North Timp points offer grand views of  features such as Powell Plateau, Steamboat Mountain, Tapeats Amphitheater and Great Thumb Mesas. The best part of the rainbow rim is the trail that was constructed to connect each point.  At eighteen miles long you can't possibly see the whole thing in a day, so plan your visit over at least a few days.  I've parked in the middle and biked each half in a couple of days.  Be warned, though there is no water, restrooms or any services for about 22 miles to the Kaibab Lodge. Fire Point is one of those epic sunset points that's popular and if you are really lucky you can pitch a tent in one of only two spots right there on the rim. To get to Parissawampitts view point from Hwy 67 turn right on FR 22 for 10.5 miles to FR 206. Turn left and continue on FR 206 for 3.5 miles and turn right on FR 214 and follow it for 8 miles.  Its pretty easy to figure out the rest of the view points, but if there were a fallen tree in the road and you don't have a chain saw you'd be much happier if you had a forest service map, available at most local sporting goods stores. I know by experience on that one as well.   
There is one point inside the park that can be accessed via a forest service road and a short hike, and probably one of the most iconic formations, Imperial Point.  Again, get the forest service map. The road ends at the park boundary, that's where you hike through the ponderosa pine forest, through a burn area, to the parking area of Imperial Point.  Be careful to stay away from any buzzing logs.  It's probably got a nest of Africanized honey bees.  Yes I know that from experience, too. (Run!)   If you are at the south rim and just can't find the extra days to get to the north rim (yes 5 hours) you can still get your Grand Canyon fix at the east rim.  Take Hwy 89a north out of Flagstaff, and follow the signs from Cameron to the Canyon.  Shortly before the park entrance to Desert View you can catch some unimproved roads. This area lies in the Navajo Reservation, and as a general rule, more adventurous.   I can't guarantee you'll be able to make it to the rim, but don't worry they'll be plenty of view to see.  Hopefully by the time you are reading this the jack wagons that we put in  the ivory tower will have had some sense knocked into them and end this petty bickering at the expense of their constituents.  Especially because I'll be around Yosemite at the end of the month. But I'm not going hold my breath.  For more information, and personal accounts of all the once in a lifetime vacations that have been ruined see the Arizona Daily Sun article :Park Visitors, businesses most affected by government shutdown.

Kanarra Creek Canyon

For my Birthday, Kristi gave me tickets to renowned Utah's Shakespeare Festival. It's a repertory theatre in Cedar City hosted by Southern Utah University.  They perform both secular and non secular plays through out the summer season. Boasting both an indoor and outdoor Shakespearen theatre, as well as a separate theatre. It allows them to rotate shows in such a way you can see four shows in a weekend. The beauty of Cedar City is where it lies. Zion National Park, Cedar Breaks National Monument,  Bryce National Park, Dixie National Forest and Bureau of Land Management land surround the town.  I like to speak to the locals about nearby hikes and attractions that may fall below the radar.  The University art gallery had a photo of Kanarra Creek and some falls, which turned out to be close to town, just outside Zion National Park.  The creek is located in the hills above the little town of Kanarraville right off of I-15.

The trail starts at the parking lot, and has a $10 fee to maintain bathrooms and trail, as well as the ladders over the falls. The trail starts off for the first mile rather exposed but soon reaches the creek. The second three quarters of a mile are walking through the creek, and into the narrows.  The onset of the narrows offered a precarious maple growing out of the canyon wall about 30 feet up.  Really makes you appreciate the delicacy of life.  A short wade brings you to the first falls.  I'm not sure whether or not nature was responsible for leaning the giant log against the falls, but the stewards definitely welded a nice ladder along the length of it.  The next half mile offers a slightly wider portion of the canyon as well as a couple of other smaller but nice falls.  The canyon narrows again to the largest falls yet.  There used to be a ladder up this falls as well, but a recent flood reduced it to toothpicks.   Here's were we stopped. Had we had the determination we could have climbed up a couple of ropes, but you'd get soaked to do it.  Now had I carried my pelican case I may have attempted it, but a simple backpack is all I had to protect my camera, so I opted to err on the side of caution and just take images of the falls. There is a nice description of the trail and canyon on a great website utah.com/hiking.

We made two trips here, the first being on Saturday.   Although this canyon may not be widely known, it was definitely not a secret.  When we arrived we were pleased to find only a handful of cars in the lot. Within an hour the canyon began to fill up with people. They came streaming in by the tens, then twenties. Soon there must have been fifty or sixty people.  I was posed at the first falls thinking I could wait it out. A person asked how the photos were coming, and I made a comment on all the people. He said I'd be waiting a while as this was a 'ward' function. Well if you know anything about Utah, when there is a 'ward' function they don't come two by two, the come in ten by ten. We bailed.  I wasn't even remotely done exploring this cool canyon, so we decided to come back on Sunday morning, early. This plan worked out better, and I felt I had the time I needed, without the hoards.

If you go, try to do an early mid week trip. As mid day approached, the canyon offered some interesting light reflecting off the walls. I took advantage of capturing that with a long exposure for the water. One issue I was trying to avoid was the wide angle ghosting you get when glare from the sky washes out the top of the frame. A lens hood is helpful but wasn't enough. I used instead the shade from the canyon walls, and the bill of my ball cap to cut the glare. An umbrella could have helped more, but I still got favorable results.

Remembering Havasupai and The Zen of it.

This last May I was preparing for a show at a local gallery, and chewing the fat with one of the employees there that I've know now for a few years. A really cool guy, with a lot of the same interest in the outdoors, backpacking, canoeing and hiking. We both had been to Havasupai in the Grand Canyon and were speaking of our adventures there. Then he mentioned that he had made 20 reservations for the end of the month and only 7 people confirmed to go. It had been about 8 years, and my images from the last time really didn't survive into our current digital era. All my digital gear and experience led up to this moment. I said "I'm ready." You may have read my earlier essay about my third experience in Havasupai, being a paradise lost: Grand Canyon's Havasupai- The Trouble with Paradise. This trip would be much the same, but this time I'd be determined to get into the Zen of it. The weather was looking nice with only a chance of rain. The temperatures were to be a bearable 93 degrees at the bottom, and the reservation was for a Wednesday, so parking at the hilltop the night before might be possible. Kristi would decide to stay home and tend to the dogs. It was shaping up to be a fine trip. I had finished packing the weekend before, and including the food, a 5th of tequila, 3 liters of water, a tent, sleeping bag, hammock, and my camera gear I weighed in at 60 pounds. Oh, no. That wouldn't work. I dumped out everything and started over. I shed everything but the bare essentials. Well not really. I still carried everything I listed above, but some how was able to get the pack down to 55 pounds. As a 5'9" 185 pound guy, I knew that would be my limit for a ten mile hike. Food for 5 days was unpacked and resealed in seal-a-meal portions, the tequila in a new camelpack style container. It must have been hubris, but I actually chose to backpack the trip as if I were going into the wilderness. Plus I had to hang with the 30 somethings I was hiking with. I came to find out that they were carrying packs in the range of 35-40 pounds, most of which was top ramen and liters of vodka and cranberry. They were a bit jealous of my tacos, backpacker eggs, and sloppy joes with mac and cheese, all dehydrated from the natural food store. The tequila mixed with lemon-lime Emergen-C was the pièce de résistance- a margarita style liquid libation. The camera gear consisted of my Pentax K5, two pancake lenses (15mm Ltd, 21 Ltd) a weather sealed 50-200mm compact zoom, and a very small 4 section carbon fiber tripod with a really small modified ball head from Promaster. Two batteries, a couple of filters and a small remote shutter release topped off at just over 8 pounds. Not exactly GoLite. I really couldn't have done this without the two hiking poles. I learned early on that backpacking without the poles was just plain masochistic. The atmosphere started out light at the hilltop parking lot. I got there a bit early, much before sundown. We were to rendezvous that evening, then hike down starting at 5 am to beat the heat, as they say. I brought some dinner and beer in a cooler, backed up to the edge of the canyon dropped my tailgate and truly enjoyed myself watching the sunset.

The Two Sisters

We got up a little late the next morning but shortly before sunrise we were bouncing happily down the trail making small talk and exchanging gossip. We stopped and rested at the usual shady narrow spot to munch on trail mix, just as the sun was making its way to the bottom of the canyon.   Arriving at the little village brought back memories that were surprisingly buried for some time. I had forgotten about the Two Sisters rock formations. Legend says that when the two rocks fall from their pillars, the Havasupai would have to leave the canyon (never mind the government). A new general store had just opened, complete with ice cream and soda coolers. The properties looked quite a bit better maintained, and some nice new buildings had been built next to the chapter house. It was about noon when we checked in at the tourist office, and hot. Now I live at 7000 feet and rarely am subjected to temperatures over 85. By the time I hiked the two miles in sand to the campground I was pretty burnt. My friends forged on to find a campsite, where I stopped at the creek to cool off. I wasn't concerned. I ditched my pack and found them about a half an hour later. I returned to where I had left my pack to find a squirrel trying to chew through to my trail mix. We were both agitated to see one another and exchanged expletives. Settling into camp, and me into my hammock we were to wait out the hottest part of the day. I let my friends know that I was there to experience the canyon and falls with my camera, and not be concerned if I disappeared. What they didn't know was I wanted time to be away. Away from the chatter, away from expectation. I was there to be close to the earth and be in the Zen of it.  Careful to stay away from the mine shafts (literally and figuratively), I began to re-familiarize myself with the canyon and the falls. I had not been here this early in the season before and was happy to find spring flowers blooming on the trees, and at the base of the Havasu falls. The flowers filled the canyon with a sweet smell that lifted my spirit. I was free to explore at my leisure all the nooks and crannies, light and angles that I might use for compositions.

Now this had been my fourth time visiting Havasupai, but my first time actually taking the time to get into the Zen of it. Previously, I always moving, hiking to the next destination, never stopping to turn over a stone or smell a flower. This time I was there to take the time to experience it on my terms. Sitting, noticing, smelling, feeling, hearing. This time I wasn't just a tourist snapping shots like a sub-machine gun. I would be thoughtful and contemplative. I would watch the light, and see how it made its way across the canyon walls. I would see the brilliant reflections off the blue-green water. I would watch the clouds move across the canyon diffusing the light in some areas, and brightly reflecting it in others. I would feel the little fishes nibbling on my toes, and hear the buzz of mosquitoes by my ear. I was there to hear the din of rushing water slamming into the large pools, drowning out the thoughts of society just a days away.  All that stuff will be there when I get back.  What I needed was to immerse into the surroundings. And, of course swim.  Jump into the large blue cool water. Feel the spray of the waterfalls. Feel the chill of the depths, and the warmth of the sun on by back. Feel the grit of sand between my toes.  Most of all I was there to remember.  A funny thing about memory. This had been my fourth time here, yet it felt almost like the first.  No not like the first time I had been here, but like it was my first time here. My memory seemed almost wiped clean from the first three visits.  Everything was familiar, yet new.  It was almost like seeing a photograph of an area, then visiting it afterword.  My previous memories were no more real than had I seen the picture, and remembered it once I got there.  An interesting thing about memory and photographs.  It is widely known that photography serves not only as art, but as a documentary form of remembering. Think back of when you were a child.  Do you remember the moment that was captured, or do you remember the photograph of you that was captured?  I can remember the photos taken of me as a child, but can scarcely remember the moment I was living when it was captured.  With all the visits here I had only a handful of photos, all taken with film.  My film archive was horribly taken care of, and of the ones I still had, most could barely make snapshot status.  My memories were just as poorly tended. I could remember the experiences, but not the feel, the light, the sound or the smell.  Was it my memory that was failing?  Or was it the inevitable result of our short term memory challenged 20 minute attention span that was at fault.  Perhaps it is a sign of maturity, or that desire for adventure.  In that quest for adventure, was remembering and feeling to be the casualty?  I can't tell you for sure, as it's different for everybody.



What I can say for sure is that art is rarely captured by a snapshot.  It's just not enough to simply be there, and have the photo to prove it. There has to be some thought and feeling and quiet contemplation, both for art and for remembering.  How can you possibly remember a beautiful waterfall if you simply shot it from a passing car window.  You have to get out of the car and feel the spray of water on your face and the mud between your toes.  If you don't you are not only short changing your photography you are short changing the memory and feel of a place.  How can you possibly create art, if there was no thought or feeling creating that art.  There in lies the magic of photography.  Does the printed image transmit the feeling of being there? Does it illicit an emotional response from the viewer?   If your image is to be successful, if your image is to be considered art, it will.  That's arts job. To transcend from the documentary to the emotional.   To make the jump from a quick snapshot to the exalted position of art you have to get into the Zen of it.  See it and most importantly feel it.  You'll not only remember it better, your art will be better.  The featured image here was taken about 5 in the morning, just before sunrise. I had scoped out these flowers the day before and knew I had to get a shot with them and the falls.  I crossed at the shallow spot on the major travertine below the main falls, circled around and came to a pool just below the flowers.  Problem was my tripod nor I was tall enough to be able to see the travertine over the plants. I began to experiment with different positions, and then discovered a green plastic milk crate. I assumed it was trash left over from the many floods that occur here.  I positioned the crate vertically, then gingerly set my tripod upon that. Using live view, I set the comp, and exposure and tripped the shutter with my wireless infra-red remote. I knew it would come in handy.

The Silver Lining and the Fish that got Away

It was Fourth of July, and the fireworks display was going to be cancelled. Not on account of rain, but rather lightning.  The sky was alight with a giant electrical storm, and threatening our local display.  A couple of times a year the ferocity of the monsoon season roars in and reminds us that the natural display of lighting upstages the meager human attempt of fireworks.  This evening was an unusual evening for lighting. It was extremely active, and better yet started a bit early.  There was still light in the sky from sunset and the clouds were not so low that covered the mountain. The lightning was setting itself up so that when a strike hit it would illuminate, or back light the San Francisco Peaks. I was on my way home from a 4th barbecue at my parents house, and I could tell it would be a spectacular display.  The university a block from my house had just recently completed a high rise parking garage.  I had visualized this evening, being able to catch lightening from the 5th story deck of the 6 story garage.  I would be high enough to get a nice view of town, but still under cover from the rain and exposure to a strike.



I got up in position and set my exposure to ten seconds then let the shutter rip until my card filled up.  I got about three good shots with the mountain in silhouette and lightning streaking across the sky.  An officer from the university police department was curious to what I was doing, and I showed her the image I captured.  I was so excited I ran home and showed my girlfriend the shot. She was impressed.  I then did the dumbest rookie maneuver, resulting in erasing the entire memory card.  I had the card in a reader in my Mac, while it was asleep.  In my rush to get to the location, I pulled the card out of the reader without waking up the computer and properly ejecting it. That probably wouldn't have resulted in any damage, except that I used the camera to erase the card before I used it. That probably wouldn't have resulted in any damage had I not then inserted the card back into the computer, then woke it up.  That hosed it. Had I awoken the computer before reinserting the card, it would have given me a warning that it wasn't properly ejected, but not erased the card.  I then attempted to do a disk repair in the disk utility, but that probably made matters worse by resetting the directory.  I tried to use recovery software downloaded from the net, but only one image could be recovered, and that was a dark frame. You might think there will be plenty of lightning storms over the season, and yes there are. But that evening was really extra ordinary, an evening that may come along once a year.  A few weeks later I did go out in another storm and get these images here.  The storm was going nuts around Mars Hill, and even struck the hill.  I did get some pretty cool images, but if you would have seen the one I got with the mountain and lightning you would agree. It was the fish that got away. 

Who's Watching the Watchman

If you have ever been to Zion National Park, you know what the Watchman is. It is the huge monolith rock formation that dominates the Zion village and Springdale township.  Perhaps it got its name because is seems to be watching over the whole valley. Perhaps its because the rock face lights up in a curious orange glow during sunset. Or perhaps its being watched by every photographer that has ever laid eyes upon it, waiting for sunset.  However it got its name, its still one of the great icons of Zion NP.  I spent a week there last fall and tried to shoot it in all its moods. I set my tripod in the holes of many other photographers, like the first image here. It was taken from the bridge that crosses the Virgin River.

Every night just before sunset, the narrow sidewalk along the bridge fills up with photographers from every walk of life and country imaginable. Tripod legs intertwined like newborn baby spiders. All different languages are spoken, and once the rock face begins to illuminate, oohs and awes are universally expressed with excitement. The first couple of evenings I wasn't too happy with the shots, as there was either no clouds or too much cloud cover, so the light show was spotty.  Finally on the third attempt I was lucky enough to get both cloud and light.  Having camped in the campground in our trusty VW campmobile with our bikes on the rack made it easy as pie to take the dog for a run up the path to witness the show of all shows. I did attempt to make some original compositions. I even tried some early morning shots. I explored and set my tripod in unconventional places to get something somewhat original. For example a mid morning shot back lit through the autumn leaves.  A night shot with stars.  Try as I might I still couldn't top the light and composition of the standard iconic shot from the bridge.  Who was watching the Watchman?  Well I was.

The Subway

Throughout the southwest natural formations are constantly being named after man made objects. The Cookie Jar, Steamboat Rock, Cathedral Rock, Park Avenue are but a few examples. In Zion National Park we have this place on the Left Fork of the North River called the Subway. It gets its name from the under-cut rock that forms an S-shape in the bottom of the canyon.  If you get there before noon you can catch the light reflecting off the canyon wall and into the 'subway tube.' It'll appear as if train headlights are coming at you down the tube.  The Subway is one of those places that posses a certain magic.  The combination of the canyon's unique undercut formation, the constant trickle of the water down small waterfalls into large pools, the interplay of reflected light through-out the canyon, along with some fall color really leaves a lasting impression.  People come far and wide to be able to experience it, but only the fit and committed individuals actually make it there. In order to visit the Subway, you have to obtain a permit at least the day before. During summer months you have to make a reservation.  The cooler months you can get one usually just walking up to the back country office desk.  You'll  have to drive out of the park, then back into the back-country to get to the trail head. You arrive at a much higher elevation, and in late fall the sun barely makes it to the bottom of the canyon.  The hike is a fairly vigorous one, and if you hike from the bottom trail head up and back it will total to about 9 miles. The first three quarters of a mile is a cake walk, but once you hit the canyon rim you have to descend down a steep wash about 600 feet to the canyon floor.

There are no switchbacks here. All you can do is rock hop and boulder to the bottom. Round trip, will take all day. I wasn't sure of the conditions at the bottom since there just was a cold snap. Bryce got about 5 inches of snow about three days before so I wanted to be prepared for the worst.  People typically rent canyoneering gear for the Narrows in Zion. I decided to go ahead and rent the gear for the Subway as well. Best to err on the side of caution. Down at the bottom, the trail is the creek. The gear consisted of neoprene booties, and water proof canyoneering pants made of Gore-tex on top and a tight rubber seal at the bottom around the bootie. We then donned the special shoes made by rock climbing gear manufacturers that have special grippy soles and special mesh to drain when you lift your foot out of the water. The gear worked pretty well. I wouldn't say I was warm, but I wasn't freezing either. Kristi was cold however, but she gets cold easily. I suppose it varies from person to person where their comfort level will lie. Obviously you will have to decide for yourself, taking in consideration the weather conditions.  This morning was cold, the leaves had all but fallen from the trees. There was ice and snow in the more shady areas of the canyon.  It was slippery enough, so to add some ice in the mix made the hike a little more slippy.  The first three miles was a lot of rock and boulder hopping. You could begin to see where people had established little trails in the direction of the easier routes. Although the Park Service discourages the creation of these kinds of trails they really do make life a bit easier. Finally you begin to see the canyon narrow, and the rock creek bed turn red.  The last mile is amazing. You come to a variety of cascading waterfalls. Take time now to capture these falls, because on the hike out the sun will be high in the canyon and too harsh to get any keepers. Don't spend too much time here either, or you will miss the light reflections in the Subway, and increase the chance of hiking in the dark later on. Archangel falls is one of the iconic falls that can't be missed, and it can only best be shot in the shade. Soon you will reach the Subway.

There was only one other person there, and he probably was about a half an hour ahead of us.  I gave him a wide berth and shot the lower part of the canyon, and a fissure with water flowing in it.  Eventually I made my way up. The guy was kind enough to offer to leave, but I stated we were going to have lunch and to keep shooting.  Just about the time we finished our sandwiches he began to move on.  Suddenly he slipped on the wet stone, landed on his butt and his camera, still attached to his retracted tripod went full force into one of the deep pools. He sat there stunned for a second then realized his camera was upside down in the bottom of the pool. I wasn't sure what model Canon he had but the look on his face wasn't good.  I asked if he was okay, he said he was, and kind of stumbled off.  I continued to shoot the Subway, looking for compositions that both had and hadn't (that I has seen) been done before. Alas it was time to leave, and I was satisfied that I had gotten some keepers.  The light was just beginning to change anyway.  We got there about quarter to twelve, and by one o'clock the light wasn't reflecting off the canyon in that special way anymore.  See, in the morning the sun will reflect off the western wall, and shine down the Subway 'tube'.  It is this effect that appears as if you were in a subway tube with  train lights approaching. The rest of the canyon was in full sunlight now, and the beautiful falls we had passed were covered in harsh shadows.  I was sure glad I got some shots in earlier. The hike out seemed to pass by quickly since I was done stopping and shooting. The weather warmed up a bit, and once we got to the bottom of the steep part the sun was just going down, so we could climb out in the shade. Once we finally got to the rim of the canyon, the hike to the parking lot seemed like it took forever.  We got to the van right at dusk, then made a bee-line to the pizza place in Springdale. Talk about a perfect day.  We weren't worried about returning the gear since we had a hike in the Narrows planned for the next day.