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.