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A wonderful notion

Thursday, October 13th, 2011

Have you ever noticed how our opinion of whether we own something affects how we act toward that object?

I ran across a study (read the PDF) in the journal Developmental Psychology this week that has some interesting findings on how our sense of ownership develops. The researchers found children–as young as three years old–feel that although man-made objects are owned (like a stuffed animal), naturally occurring objects (like a rock or pinecone) are not.

The management and use of our public lands seems to be an endless debate (e.g. this link), not only within Congress, but in many other arenas as well.  Although their name–public lands–would lead us to believe the collective people have a say in these matters, experience suggests this might not always be the case.  While to some extent, we’ve all outgrown this notion that the natural world isn’t “owned,” perhaps the world would be a better place, and we would be better stewards for the the land, if we thought like a toddler from time to time.

Early morning light on Boulder Mountain near Torrey, Utah

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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

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Little Mentors

Monday, August 22nd, 2011

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”  –Marcel Proust

Ask any parent, and they’ll tell you that every  day is a new adventure, especially with young children.  So its been with my son, who is now three.  Our newest adventure has been to get him ready for his first “big boy” backpacking trip by taking him hiking often.  Prior to this, he had always ridden like a little prince in a backpack, but as he’s grown heavier and more independent the shift to having him walk was inevitable.

I opened this post with a quote my best friend recently sent me.  Proust’s words caused me to take pause for several reasons; from a photographic point of view, I think there is significant meaning here, and hiking with my son helps to illustrate that.  Toddlers are anything but fast.  Every 20 feet or so, we have to stop and go through any myriad of activities: digging in the dirt, touching every flower on a bush, sticking hands down animal burrows (yes, I put a stop to this very quickly!), etc.  Progress is, needless to say, slow.  But, its a process that’s helped me to see with new eyes.

Go go go, hurry hurry hurry.  Get up, fix breakfast, go for a run, shower, out the door, sit in traffic, work for 8 hours, sit in traffic, eat dinner, do dishes, go to bed.  How many of us can relate to that?  Even with photography, can you relate to that?  I’m sure, on some level, you can.  In the timespan of a 2 mile walk with my son, he managed to show me some interesting tracks in the dirt, a really cool scorpion exoskeleton, and a rock that looked “like a pair of sunglasses.”  In other words, I saw things I normally would have walked by, or ignored.

In a world where we drive blindly between scenic viewpoints as if someone is telling us what’s worth seeing, and we rush between items on a to-do list, do you think we have something to learn from a 3-year-old who is discovering the world around him?

Father and Son hiking at Crystal Cove State Park, California

My new mentor and I, August 2011

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A recommendation and invitation

Friday, August 12th, 2011

Last spring Gary Crabbe published an essay (read it here) that has really stuck with me.  Our own perception and preconceived notions have such a profound effect on the situation.  Sometimes this impact is positive, but it can be negative as well.  As a result, Gary’s thoughts have kept me cognizant of this, and I’ve learned to remember to break free from my own self-imposed constraints when looking at a situation and shift my viewpoint.

Often that makes all the difference in the world.

If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you’ll know that I’ve taken a great interest in the idea of “sense of place” over the last year.  While I’m still fleshing out much of what this notion means to me, knowing where I am (and who I am) has had a positive impact on my creativity and photography.

This is short notice, but I’ll be talking about sense of place and photography at the Lancaster Photography Association’s monthly meeting this coming Tuesday, August 16 (6pm at the Antelope Valley Senior Center).  The LPA always welcomes guests at their meetings–if you’re in the area, it would be great if you could come by.

So, check out Gary’s blog (always worth a regular read–he posts some great images and thoughts), and come to the Antelope Valley next Tuesday.

You can look at the PDF of my Powerpoint slides from the talk by clicking here.

The Henry Mountains and rainbow as seen from Capitol Reef National Park, Utah

Shifting viewpoints, July 2011

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Till Death

Friday, July 22nd, 2011

Not to sound too sociopathic, but death has always interested me.  Perhaps its the remnants of a childhood curiosity, but when I’m out and I see a dead animal I always stop to look at it, and if I have my camera handy, I often will photograph it as well (see here and here).  I guess, on some level, I feel there’s a very distinguished beauty in death, the ability to rest in peace, returning to the earth, and photographing it is my way of honoring the cycle we all will participate in.

Last week, a Cooper’s Hawk (Accipiter cooperii) turned up in my yard; it had been completely consumed by another predator (another hawk, I assume), leaving only the legs, wings, and tail feathers.  Before picking up the carcass, I made sure to make a few images of it.

Cooper's Hawk (Accipiter cooperii) talons

Talons, July 2011

Wing of a cooper's hawk (Accipiter cooperii)

Flight pattern, July 2011

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The Gloaming Hour

Friday, July 15th, 2011

“The grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never dried all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”

–John Muir

 Not many people can say it quite like John Muir.  It wasn’t until I read this passage years ago that I’d even heard about gloaming–that time right before dawn or after sunset in which light present in the upper atmosphere illuminates the earth, which is not lit directly by the sun.

During the gloaming, one of my favorite atmospheric events occurs–the earth’s shadow can be seen on the horizon.  The dark blue band at the horizon is the shadow of the earth as the sun creeps nearer the horizon.  At this time, another phenomenon can be seen; the Belt of Venus is the pinkish band in the sky above the earth’s shadow.

Hoodoos during the gloaming hour in the Bisti Badlands of northern New Mexico

Gloaming, July 2011

There’s a lot of emphasis placed on capturing the sweet light as the sun rises or sets.  Indeed, it is sweet…long light on a mountain peak or on desert red rock almost always makes for a pretty photograph.  But, one of my favorite times of day is the gloaming hour, when there’s a subtle, but just as grand light show occurring.

What’s your favorite time of day for photography, or in general?

Posted in inspiration, New Mexico, southwest | 17 Responses »
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Persistence

Friday, June 24th, 2011

The ability of nature to persist and overcome challenges is something that continues to amaze me.  I remember, when I lived in Wyoming, driving to the Medicine Bow Mountains for the first time, and seeing the wind-battered pines that have been successful despite decades of cold temperatures, howling gales, and heavy snowfall.  Many of them seemed to grow (albeit somewhat crookedly) out of solid granite.  We read all the time about organisms that persist in some of the world’s most hostile environments (see here and here).

I just returned from a fantastic trip to southwestern Utah.  High on the wall of a slot canyon, I noticed these trees–a maple and a piñon pine–clinging to the rock, about 60′ in the air.  Surely, these trees have not had an easy life.  While they probably never see flood water, they must deal with howling winds, freezing temperatures, and despite the creek beneath them, probably a paucity of water.  Yet, they survive.

Redrock walls of Kanarra Creek, near Kanarraville, Utah

Persistence, June 2011

This sort of persistence becomes an instructive metaphor for photography, too.  Although it may not be the easiest way to survive, these trees hang on and dig in with their roots, making a life for themselves.  In much the same way, it is all too easy for a photographer to get caught up in making images of scenes that have been photographed many times before.  The real art comes from years of persistence, when the image-makers dig deep into themselves, ask the tough questions about inspiration and creativity, and follow their heart.  After all, your art should be about you.  In much the same way as these trees have created art, the photographer does so…with a little persistence.

 

Posted in creativity, inspiration, southwest, utah | 14 Responses »
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Just Like Everywhere…and Nowhere

Tuesday, May 10th, 2011

Despite my love for the high desert, I have to confess that it feels pretty good to be back in the mountains for the summer.  This weekend, we headed to the San Bernardino mountains for a quick, local, Mother’s Day camping trip.  On the way home, fog from a very heavy marine layer was working its way inland, and up into the foothills of the mountains.  I loved the way it was drifting through the valleys, and watching it move slowly gave a lovely sense of peace.

Click on the image to view it large on black (highly recommended)

Fog drifts in the valleys of the San Bernardino Mountains above Redlands

In the Clouds, May 2011

One of the things that gives this image its uniqueness is the skeletons of dead pine trees scattered throughout the hillside; however, its also those trees that make this a not-so-uncommon scene in the West.  The trees were killed by mountain pine beetles, which have not only devastated forests in southern California, but all over the West.  They burrow into the trees, and block their ability to assimilate nutrients.  Its interesting to me how the appeal of an image can be imparted from the biology that killed the trees.

This scene is also is a reminder of the nature of landscape photography in general.  Although you might see other scenes similar to this, no one will ever be able to make this same image again.  As I made this image, I thought to myself about coming back on a day with similar weather, when I have more time to try making images.  I probably will return at some point, but this was really serendipitous weather.  Running into (or in my case, haphazardly stumbling upon) an ephemeral scene like this, and being able to make an image of it, is really the essence of the craft.

I hope you had a fantastic Mother’s Day!

 

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An Honest Silence

Friday, March 4th, 2011

In my blog post, “Topophilia,” an essay about the value of the desert southwest, particularly southern Utah, I wrote that I, “feel connected with the land in a way that words cannot describe.”

Indeed I do.  Some people may contend that the wild canyons and plateaus are dangerous; yes, Mother Nature can be treacherous–violently so.  However, despite that, I find sanctuary in the sandstone, a place of refuge and rejuvenation, of clarity and healing.  How can I find words to describe this place?  I may not ever be able to do it justice.

Canyon and cedar snag in the grand staircase escalante national monument, utah

Cedar Snag, Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, August 2009

Last week, I met Ann Marie Whittaker through her blog, “Age Old Tree,”  and discovered her prose about why she loves her Red Rock Wilderness.  In a brief email exchange, I could sense a profound sense of place and love in her voice for this beautiful slickrock desert so many people fall in love with.  We need more people like Ann Marie in this world; I hope you go to her blog and read the post over and over (make sure to check out part two as well).  You’ll be inspired; I am, and I learned that its actually okay to embrace an honest silence about a place.

I’m still not sure what I want to say about southern Utah, but I’m very happy its there, and that its loved by so many.

beautiful and colorful sandstone formation, with calcite, southern utah

Sandstone Kaleidoscope, January 2011

Posted in inspiration, locations, Personal, utah | 16 Responses »
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i Love Mountains

Monday, February 14th, 2011

In his 2005 essay My Conversation with Gurney Norman, Wendell Berry wrote:

On the mountain above Hardburley we stood and looked at the first working strip mine I ever saw.  It had never occurred to me that people could destroy land with an indifference that perfectly matched the capability of their technology.  The big machines were following the seam of coal around the mountain, leaving a high vertical wall like an open sore on one side and on the other the “overburden” of earth and rock thrown regardlessly down upon the forest and streams below.

This past weekend, and into today–Valentine’s Day–a small group of Kentuckians, including Wendell Berry, are sleeping at the Governor’s office of that state to protest the practice of mountaintop coal mining (which is different in practice, but not destruction, from the strip mining Berry describes above; link here).  Their protest leads up to “i Love Mountains” Day, which is meant to bring awareness to this practice.

Earlier yesterday evening I was trying to come up with a post to help commemorate Valentine’s Day.  Despite my better efforts, inspiration did not come (not for lack of material, mind you).  As I read about i Love Mountains Day, inspiration struck: I have a Valentine’s Day post!  So, what does mountaintop coal mining in the Appalachian Mountains have to do with me, and what could it possibly have to do with Valentine’s Day?

You see, even here in southern California, some of my electricity is supplied by coal that was mined in this fashion.  I bet some of yours is too (click here to find out).  When I was in Wyoming in December, I was able to see first-hand some areas of strip mining taking place near the town of Gillette; Berry’s description of the process is fitting.  All of this serves as a perfect reminder of how we are all interconnected, sometimes in the most nonintuitive of ways.  Often, this interconnectedness is pushed to the back of our minds, whether by accident, or for convenience’s sake.

I’m somewhat hesitant to post this as a one-sided, know-it-all, environmental rant for a couple of reasons.  First, I can’t claim to be an expert on any type of coal mining, and although it hurts my heart to think about the earth being destroyed in such a way, I’m also a hypocrite.  I happily use the electricity generated from that coal (I’m using it to write this blog post right now).  Should I (we?) look for alternative sources of energy for our homes or communities?  Absolutely.  Again, that’s one of those things that often gets neatly swept under the rug when we’re too busy to deal with it.

Second, many of the people mining in Kentucky and elsewhere probably have a connection to the land rooted in many generations who have done just what they’re doing now.  If, in fact, this practice is stopped, someone (many someones probably) is going to face the challenge of feeding his family.  Is that a reason to continue with the status quo, with no opportunity or effort to find an alternative?  Of course not.  But it illustrates how few, if any, environmental issues are one-sided; they’re often multifaceted with no clear-cut solution.

Although I don’t have a solution, or even a suggestion for one, two points are clear to me.  The first is that every action we take has far-reaching effects, often beyond our awareness.  The second is that if we’re going to sustain of a quality of life for our future generations we absolutely must be cognizant of the ramifications of our actions.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours.  Despite my doom and gloom today, there’s much to be happy about!  Make sure you tell your favorite mountain you love it today.

Tuolumne Meadows, with many of the major peaks in Yosemite National Park

Tuolumne Meadows, August 2009

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