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Desert Sentinels

Friday, November 11th, 2011

In the deserts and canyons of the southwest, water can be tough to come by; as a result, charismatic megafauna that rely on that water are often elusive and secretive.  The desert bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni) is a widespread, but uncommon resident of the southwest.

They truly are sentinels of the desert; on any given afternoon in Joshua Tree National Park,  you might see one surveying the landscape from atop a granite boulder.  In southwest Utah, they return to the canyons from the high country when the temperature starts to fall.  In the desert communities around Palm Springs, they illustrate the interaction between man and nature very well; bighorns have taken to eating ornamental cactus and other plants, so large fences have been erected to keep them out (which is ironic, because some people would pay to see a sheep!).

Desert Bighorn Sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni) in Joshua Tree
Desert Sentinel
Desert Bighorn Sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni), Capitol Reef National Park, Utah

The interaction between humans and bighorns isn’t a recent thing, though.  In fact, humans have been interacting with them since the southwest was first settled, probably thousands of years ago.  If you take any interest in rock art at all, you’ll quickly find that bighorns were a ubiquitous subject of prehistoric artists.  Indeed, I wonder if the Ancestral Puebloan and Fremont peoples who lived with these animals found them just as captivating as we do today.

Fremont River petroglyphs, capitol reef national park, utah
Badly weather damaged petroglyphs depicting desert bighorn sheep
Wolfe Ranch Petroglyphs, Arches National Park, Utah

In some ways, the desert bighorn sheep embodies the spirit of the west: it is largely solitary, is resilient, and has shown a great ability to adapt to the desert environment.  Its a true steward of the ecosystems it thrives in.  The Desert Bighorn Council is a great resource to learn more about the biology and conservation of desert bighorn sheep (they list links to many local organizations as well).

Overland Flight

Wednesday, October 26th, 2011

As we board the homeward bound flight, the sun is setting over the Rocky Mountains, reminding me of my early childhood years living in Denver.  The sunset becomes more intense as the plane is pushed onto the runway, and takes off, leaving Denver International Airport behind.  The beauty of flying westward into the sunset is that it lasts longer–the earth’s shadow and Belt of Venus seem to be eternal, keeping me company as I daydream looking out the window over my sleeping son’s head.

Below us, lights from the small towns of the West are starting to come on.  I wonder what’s happening in those towns on this Friday night; people are relaxing at the bar after a long week of work, teenagers are cruising Main Street looking for something to do.  Despite that, its the empty spots, the growing blackness, that capture my imagination.  I’ve been a passenger on this route enough times to know what’s below me: the foothills of the western slope of the Rockies, the Green and Colorado Rivers, the white rim of Canyonlands, the Grand Canyon, the Mojave Desert.

Its quite possible there’s not a whole lot of unexplored areas left in the West, but part of me wants to hang on to the notion that there is still some “out there” left out there.  David Roberts recently had a thought-provoking op-ed piece in the New York Times arguing that with 21st Century technology, there’s not a whole lot of wilderness left.  That hopeful naïveté I cling to wants to disagree with him–that possibly there is still an unexplored canyon, or at least a hill which offers a great view of this everlasting sunset–that has yet to be enjoyed.

Aldo Leopold wrote,

To those devoid of imagination a blank place on the map is a useless waste; to others, the most valuable part.”

Tonight, sitting on this jet with a bird’s eye view of the West, I have to wonder where my imagination would wander if there were no blank spots on the map.   As a photographer, I have been thinking a lot lately about documenting these wild lands–what is my responsibility as an artist, my obligation to protect these lands?  If those peaks and mesas are leveled, if lights begin to dot the landscape, these places will change forever.

Where does your imagination wander?  None of us would argue over the value of those blank spots on the map, but what do you think–is there a fine line between artist and activist, or are they one and the same?

Sunset and moonrise at Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness, California

End of the Day, July 2010

Photo of the Month–October

Saturday, October 1st, 2011

With the first day of autumn just a few days ago, I have been reminiscing about the fall mornings I remember from growing up in northern New Mexico.  I remember chilly mornings that gave way to pleasantly warm days, snow-dusted mountain peaks, and as Jackson reminded me with my September photo of the month, the smell of roasting green chiles.

Autumn arrives in the high country much earlier than October–those cold mornings and changing colors can arrive as early as August, when lower elevations are still sweltering in summer heat.  This summer, on a visit to the canyon country of southern Utah, we were able to escape for a night to 11,000′ on the Aquarius Plateau.  Made up in part by Boulder Mountain, just outside of Torrey, Utah and Capitol Reef National Park, the Plateau is nothing like the ecosystems that surround it.  It is the highest elevation plateau in North America, and has hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny lakes.  On the August morning I visited, it was about 35°F–a virtual paradise compared to the desert located less than 10 miles away, as the crow flies.

A beautiful sunrise on the Aquarius Plateau in southern Utah

August Sunrise, August 2011

Here in southern California, summer is hanging on tenaciously, and the ability to “fast forward” to fall would be much appreciated, just like I was able to do this summer on the Aquarius Plateau.

 

Children, backpacking, and photography

Friday, September 9th, 2011

A couple of posts ago, I wrote about our son, what we can learn from children, and most importantly, that he was “training” for his first big boy backpacking trip.  This past weekend, we visited the Cathedral Lakes in Yosemite National Park, and although a trip like this with a small child had the potential to turn out really badly, it ended up being very enjoyable.  The success of the trip was due to quite a bit of luck, planning, collaboration between my wife and I, and as I wrote last time, a new way of seeing.

Reflection of Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park, California

Cathedral Peak, September 2011

Ever since Owen was a small baby (even before he was born), he’s been in a walking family.  When my wife was pregnant, she walked about 8 miles a day, and since then we’ve walked with him.  For almost 2 1/2 years, he rode in a baby carrier (even on his first backpacking trip).  So, leading up to the day he finally hiked by himself, he understood what hiking was about.

Still, children are anything but fast on the trail, so a reward system for small accomplishments was key.  My wife carried a sticker book and let him choose stickers as rewards often.  Although the pace probably felt rushed to him, to an adult, it can feel slow–glacially slow.  For all but the most patient individual, it becomes easy to let frustration with the pace creep in.  To help avoid that, my wife and I took turns hiking ahead, just to feel like we were making a little faster progress.  That said, the most important lesson learned here is to enjoy the journey for its own sake.  The day’s endpoint is not the goal–not by a long shot.

You might remember my post from a year or so ago–Range of Light–in which I described Owen’s first backpacking trip.  As a parent, you can’t take this sort of trip lightly.  In a sense, this is “make it or break it” time–during these formative years, you have the opportunity for your child to forge a connection with the wilderness.  To say that wilderness is our heritage may be cliché, but it is the greatest gift we can leave future generations.  Perhaps even more important than fighting for it, we must teach our children to be stewards for the land.

To this end, a trip like this isn’t about you, its about your kids…the future.  As a result, the photographer in you may find you get as much time to scout locations, and set up as you’d like.  Although my wife is incredibly accommodating, with a 3-year-old in camp, there are chores to be done, and they take longer than normal.  I found myself rushing out of camp as the light changed, shooting for 30 minutes, and coming back to check on the family.

The more I contemplate the motivations behind my own photography, I become more and more convinced that understanding my own sense of place is crucial.  As a result, emphasis shifts to the experience rather than the image harvest–I have never understood the idea of taking 1,000 frames in a weekend and taking 6 months to process them.  Spending time with my family in the backcountry–letting my son establish his own sense of place–and making a few quality, heartfelt images along the way seems to be the way to go.

A small child enjoys the yosemite national park backcountry

Contentment, September 2011

The need for wilderness

Wednesday, August 10th, 2011

Its my fourth morning waking up in the desert.  Red dirt fills my pores, and has combined with sweat to form a sort of “desert varnish” over most of my body–a strangely welcome feeling that instantly evokes memories of summer on the Colorado Plateau.   I climb out of my sleeping bag, fetch my tripod and camera and walk up the ridge.  Below me, a deer moves through the willows, startled no doubt by my heavy feet.  Moving further up the ridge and out of the shaded valley, the air warms, but last night’s rain has left the smells of dirt and sage heavy in the air.

I am slightly groggy still as I arrive at the viewpoint I scouted the night before.  The sun isn’t up yet, but will begin to break the landscape very soon.  I sit on a rock, surveying the sky–no clouds.  The rain had left me hopeful of a dramatic sunrise.  No luck today.  The distant cliffs begin to light up, bright sunlight working its way down the face, highlighting the subtlety in the elegant Wingate sandstone.   Sitting there, I smile…I’m home.

Describing the Colorado Plateau has always been incredibly difficult for me.  I think this is largely because we all know of its immediate beauty, but the subdued details only reveal themselves with time, after you’ve developed a relationship with the place.  Putting the place you love into words for someone who has never been there (or has been there) is not easy, whether its redrock wilderness, the Oregon coast, the brooks of Massachusetts, or the San Juan Mountains in Colorado.  The only way to experience it is to coat yourself in dust, sit there, and ponder the land.

The clarity and peace of mind that come out of a relationship with the land is the very reason we need wilderness.  Looking around, we see the world changing, at a rapid pace.  It dismays me but the fight to save wilderness will begin soon, if not in our generation, certainly in our children’s.  Not only must we fight to ensure proper the legislation is in place now, we must also foster this sense of place and belonging in our kids.  Thus, to quote Edward Abbey:

It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here.

So get out there and ramble out yonder, and make every moment count.

Sunrise on a ridge in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah

Capitol Reef sunrise, July 2011

Photo of the Month–August

Monday, August 1st, 2011

Sometimes, its the small scenes that really grab you, draw you in, and move you.  Indeed, the intimate landscape is often the grandest.  I made August’s photo in Nevada’s Valley of Fire State Park, where a tiny mineral deposit in the sandstone stopped me in my tracks.  It took a few different exposure settings to get the effect I wanted: to really accentuate the fine lines in the deposit, making them prominent in the frame.

Abstract sandstone image in Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada

Dendritic Connections, April 2011

At the time I made the image, as well as now, this little pattern reminds a neuron–our brains are made up largely of billions of these cells, each one connected to the other by thousands (or hundreds of thousands) of other connections.  In this way, information travels in the form of electrical impulses from cell to cell.  While biologists understand the basics of how information is transmitted, they do not understand completely how information is perceived and interpreted.  It is clear, however, that perception is an incredibly complex trait.

Although the basics of perception are probably quite similar between individuals, we only have to look around to see that everyone is different–we’re all uniquely us.  As such, it is logical to conclude that our brains all interpret scenes, beauty, differently.  If you’re reading this, you probably agree that art is subjective, but rather than simply accepting it, I find great joy in knowing we all see the world differently.  There are so many ways of seeing; that’s a fact worth celebrating.

 

But I’m Not Dead Yet

Tuesday, July 12th, 2011

Over the last few weeks, family trips, a busy work schedule, and various home improvements have kept me extremely busy.  Of course this would drive any photographer/blogger crazy because I really enjoy writing, and I do have some new images to share.  I’ll be posting more in the latter half of July, but in the meantime I do want to put up some links to new images.

A few weeks ago, I shared an image from a small drainage near the northern border of Kolob Canyon, in Zion National Park.  Kanarra Creek, near the small community of Kanarraville, is such a great place, and despite its small size, it rivals the more popular Virgin Narrows in beauty.  In addition, south of Zion Canyon is a virtually untracked wilderness–the Smithsonian Butte National Scenic Backway.  Both of these locations, although “known” seem to be virtually “unknown.”  However, to celebrate the entire area, and perhaps to emphasize that there is indeed more to photograph that just Zion itself.  You can see my images of the Greater Zion Region here.

The Smithsonian Butte, south of Zion Canyon

Smithsonian Butte, June 2011

Over the Fourth of July, we made a trip out to the Four Corners Region to visit my parents in northwestern New Mexico.  While there, I got to re-visit the Bisti Badlands Wilderness, south of Farmington, New Mexico.  Although I grew up less than an hour’s drive from this amazing moonscape, I have to admit that I never fully appreciated it as a 17 year old (in fact, if I remember correctly, it was downright torture every time I was “forced” on a hike by my dad!).  What a difference several years makes!  I was sad to get only one morning in the Bisti, but you can view the images here.  Finally, in addition to visiting the Bisti, I was able to visit several other archaeological sites in the San Juan Basin; most of these sites were occupied by early Navajo inhabitants in the early-mid 1700s.  While this gallery will grow with time, you can see a couple of images here.

A Navajo pictograph from the San Juan Basin of northern New Mexico

Warrior Pose, July 2011

I hope you enjoy the images, and don’t give up on me…I’m not dead yet!  More to come soon!

New Mexico Images (Bisti Badlands & the San Juan Basin)

Greater Zion Region Images

Photo of the Month–July

Friday, July 1st, 2011

Wait?  What?  2011 is half over?  When did that happen?

Indeed, its true.  It feels like just yesterday, we were celebrating the arrival of a new year, now, many of us are baking in summer heat, enjoying the cool climate of the high country.  Time does fly, but its been an incredibly productive year so far, not only photographically, but professionally; in addition, my year has been incredibly enlightening on a personal level too.

I’ve been taking the time over the last few days to review some of my images from the year so far.  There’s no real purpose for this, nostalgia I suppose.  However, in selecting my July image of the month, I decided to re-introduce an image that’s already been featured on my blog.  I know it won’t appeal to everyone, but I keep coming back to it as one that’s very special.  Its definitely one of my personal favorites.

The Paria River Narrows, Utah

Subtle Beauty, March 2011

As I said previously, the Paria is one of those rivers that isn’t for everyone, and its surely not as sought after as the Green, Colorado or Dirty Devil, but its gorgeous, and I think the simple beauty of it is what moves me so much.  Like so many of you, I feel safe and comforted when I’m in a canyon, and the way the walls of the Paria sweep overhead, sheltering the hiker, only adds to the effect.  Katie Lee describes a friend’s reaction to Navajo Sandstone (1):

I have licked sandstone so many times, just gotten on hands and knees and passed my lips right over the surface, either the smooth on narrow canyon walls, or the sandy-rough up on top.  And Navajo Sandstone…that rock has gotten inside of me…whales and thighs and water and moons.  MY GOD, ITS SHAPES!!!  SHOULD WE EVEN BE ALLOWED TO SEE SUCH THINGS?  I started using the word sensual all over the place.

Without getting too risqué (this is a family-friendly blog after all), I’ll agree with the author of that passage.  The redrock wilderness of the southwest moves people in special ways, and I think that’s why this image moves me so.  I hope you enjoy it too!

(1) In her essay, Sandstone Seduction.

The Grand

Tuesday, June 7th, 2011

I remember my first trip to the Grand Canyon in 1992–it was not only my first backpacking trip ever, but also my first memorable trip to a national park.  We went over spring break, in late March, and it was snowing hard at the South Rim when we arrived.  I remember being cold and wet the night before our hike began, being completely terrified on the icy (and steep) South Kaibab trail the following morning, and sweating as we walked into Phantom Ranch later that afternoon.  The rest of the trip was rainy, often very cold, and wet.

Despite all of that, I had a great time.  A funny thing happens after outdoor experiences like this one: we seem to forget all of the “bad” parts of a trip, remembering the good things.   Do the bad experiences really go away?  Not completely:  We learn from them.  As a novice backpacker, I learned several things about hiking in poor weather; I learned them the hard way, but I survived.

The thing that stuck in my memory more than anything else from that first trip to the Grand Canyon was the magnificence of the place.  The sheer drops, layers of sandstone, and of course the power of the Moenkopi-colored mud flowing in the Colorado River.  I’ve returned to the Grand Canyon more than almost any other national park.  During my first trip it was simply breathtaking; since then it has become breathgiving.

Vishnu's Temple at dawn, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona

Vishnu's Sun Salutation, May 2011

Since 1992, I’ve backpacked the Grand Canyon once more, and have camped on the rim multiple times.  Each time I say to myself, “Why don’t I visit more often?”  Yes, its packed with people, especially on the holiday weekends when I find time to visit, but there’s a magnificent peacefulness that surrounds it.    There are small pockets, places, you can go and hide, and despite the hordes, its almost as if you have this huge amphitheater to yourself.

Just like so many other geologic wonders on the Colorado Plateau, there really is nothing like the Grand Canyon on earth.  Although I’ve enjoyed it for 19 years, I just now have images of it.  Click the image or here to see the rest.

 

Photo of the Month–June

Wednesday, June 1st, 2011

In a previous blog post about the San Bernardino Mountains, a local range here in southern California, the comment section filled up with people who believe in finding the beauty in your own backyard, so to speak.  For this month’s image, I chose another from this range, because it represents the happiness of finding something quite unexpected and very photogenic, right in your own backyard.

A few weeks ago, we were driving to the mountains to attend a party my wife’s boss was throwing.  Due to a couple of wrong turns on the way up there, I noticed more and more Pacific Dogwoods (Cornus nuttallii) that were in full bloom.  I’m well aware of the huge flux of photographers into Yosemite Valley and Sequoia National Park for the spring Dogwood bloom, but I had no idea they bloomed so close to my home.

The next morning, a friend and I headed back to the mountains to spend some time with these lovely flowers.

Pacific Dogwoods near Crestline California, in the San Bernardino Mountains

In Bloom, May 2011

Also, I wanted to mention that I’ve put up a gallery of some of my images from the San Bernardino Mountains (click the image, or here).  It really is a pleasing mountain range that continues to surprise me.