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!).

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.

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).

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.

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.

Contentment, September 2011

The United Nations designated 2002 as the Year of the Mountain, meant to draw attention to mountain communities and culture, and to highlight their importance to the global community.  Since then, December 11 has been recognized as International Mountain Day, recognizing mountain minorities and indigenous peoples.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve sought refuge and solace in mountains; many times throughout my life, I have stood on steep mountain slopes, feeling more at home than I’ve felt in any city or town.  In graduate school, I studied–in part–human evolution at high altitude.  Mountains have always been a huge part of my life; I’m happy to take the day to recognize the importance of mountain culture on the world stage.  If mountains are a part of your life, take a moment today to reflect on the importance of indigenous mountain communities on our lives and on the global community.

Sierra Crest, Sequoia National Park, November 2010

Last weekend, we took advantage of some nice fall weather to visit Sequoia National Park (I recently posted another image from that trip here).  It really couldn’t have been nicer weather.  Not only were we wearing t-shirts at lower elevations, but we really enjoyed the brisk temperatures in the Giant Forest.  In addition to some find landscape opportunities, we saw two black bears (which our son absolutely loved).  Not a bad weekend at all.

For me, some of the prettiest scenery was in the area just at the entry of the Giant Forest, where the oaks and other deciduous trees were still hanging on to the final vestiges of fall color.  I spent some time with the big trees one morning, and on my way out, I stopped to photograph this tree, which seemed to be completely ensconced in fall colors.

Since visiting Sequoia, a major winter storm has hit the Sierra, probably (by my best guess) obliterating this beautiful fall color.  Fortunately, we were able to catch the tail end of this great show…

Sequoiadendron giganteum, November 2010

Click here to see all of my images from Sequoia National Park.

Although the main draw of autumn in the mountains is the beautiful show put on by (among others) groves of aspens, I think that bare aspens that have dropped their leaves carry a certain mystique as well.  Recently, while spending time in an aspen grove in the eastern Sierra, I noted this group of small trees that had already dropped their leaves.  I loved the interplay between the writhing tree trunks, the naked branches, and the shadows in the background.

Spooky, October 2010

To process this image, I manually blended two images: one to accentuate the bright trunks and another to close off the shadows in the background.  I further increased contrast during black and white conversion using Nik Silver Efex Pro and cropped a small amount of the grass out of the bottom of the frame.

*This is also the title of a book written by Jane Yolen; I just thought the image really screamed “spooky” and the name was appropriate.

“In the high country of the mind one has to become adjusted to the thinner air of uncertainty…”–Robert M. Pirsig

Late last week, we decided to take a last-minute trip to the east side of the Sierra Nevada to visit the beautiful fall colors.  Having grown up in the Rocky Mountains, my wife and I both miss the crisp air and changing colors of autumn.  We arrived in Mammoth Lakes late Friday night, and I was able to photograph sunrise at nearby Convict Lake the following morning.  Not only are the fall colors at the end of this image beautiful, but I love the textures present on Laurel Mountain, which is at the western border of the lake.

Laurel Mountain alpenglow, October 2010

After shooting sunrise, I walked over to the aspen grove you see in the above photo.  These days, it seems like photographers go hand-in-hand with aspen groves in the eastern Sierra.  Some people might argue that the photographers outnumber the aspen trees!  The beautiful thing about this aspen grove was that although small, I had it completely to myself.  I was able to walk through the trees in silence, enjoying their beautiful show.

This time of year, the blogosphere is flooded with beautiful images of fall colors, however I have a confession.  Photographing these aspen groves is difficult for me; while beautiful, Sierra aspen groves feel “chaotic” to me, and making an original composition is difficult.  However, the quote that began this blog post applies to my feelings on my “dilemma.”  One of the best lessons to learn as a landscape photographer, in my opinion, is to not force compositions out of the landscape, but rather to let the landscape guide you.  In other words, when I found myself in this uncertain, chaotic situation, I had to let the landscape guide me, thinking outside of what I normally would do; that’s when the true creativity began to happen.

Autumnal Path, October 2010

How do you let the landscape guide you toward compositions?  I’d love to hear what inspires you in the comments…

Aspen Leaf detail, October 2010

As I wrote in my last post, fall is on its way, and I’m remembering a busy summer in the Sierra Nevada mountains very fondly.  Before this summer, it had been many years since I’d been on a proper backpacking trip, and I had forgotten how many of the day’s activities revolve around water.  Boil water for breakfast.  Filter.  Hydrate at lunch.  Filter.  Boil for dinner.  Filter.

Water really is a central theme on any backpacking trip, whether in the wet Pacific Northwest, or in the dry desert.  On our last backpacking trip, the water at the lake we camped at was especially striking–a rich turquoise blue due to high amounts of glacial silt in the water.  While shooting sunrise, I wanted to get the beautiful sunlit peaks in the frame, but I also wanted to highlight the water, as it was not only beautiful but is so central to the day’s activities.

Because the trip I took this on was sort of summer’s “final hurrah,” I’ve chosen it as October’s Photo of the Month.  Enjoy!

Sunrise on Mt. Robinson, September 2010

I’ll be the first person to admit that I don’t really fit in living in southern California.  Although I do commute to my day job, I avoid the commuter culture.  I don’t send text messages unless absolutely necessary.  My idea of high-end clothing can’t be purchased at Nordstrom’s or Bloomingdale’s, and I had no idea who Justin Bieber is until my friend’s 9-year-old daughter introduced me (I still wouldn’t know him if he showed up at my front door).  So, I don’t really fit in here.

Part of that is my fault too: I’ve avoided fitting in.  Perhaps I’ve been afraid I’d actually start to like it here if I let myself.  So it was when I was introduced to the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Within one week of moving to southern California, I was in a car with my new boss driving up the Owens Valley to the White Mountains.  There’s no doubt the Sierra is an impressive range, but was cautious to give it too much credit.

“How cliché,” I thought, “everyone likes the Sierra.”

“What could be so special about this place?”

Eight years have passed.  In that time, I’ve stood in awe at the base of giant sequoias and granite monoliths.  Some of the most amazing geology in the west has been right under my feet.  In 2010 alone, I’ve walked more than 100 miles in the Sierra backcountry, most recently my wife and I took our 2 1/2 year old son on his first backpacking trip to the North Fork of Big Pine Creek (aka the Palisades, or Palisade Lakes).

Sunset, Second Lake, John Muir Wilderness, September 2010

We arrived at our campsite, high above one of the glacially-fed lakes about 5pm and set up our tent, and I went to filter water.  One of the most fantastic things about this time of year is that there are no mosquitoes.  I really can’t tell you how happy that makes me.  I got back to camp in time to see the day’s last vestiges of sunlight kissing the tops of the peaks to the north of us.

The following morning, I walked up to another one of the small chain of lakes in this area to photograph sunrise.  I’ve written before that I’m convinced there are no clouds in the Sierra.  My “curse” continued on this trip, with completely cloudless skies.  Alas.

First Light on Temple Crag, September 2010

After shooting sunrise, I walked back to camp, and enjoyed a morning reading of “One Zany Zoo” and some oatmeal.  After breakfast, we were very sad to pack up and walk back to the car.  Its at that moment, looking up at Temple Crag and the Palisade Crest that it hit me.  This is the place where my son is learning to love the outdoors.  This is more than just a pretty mountain range.  As part of a generation who will be more likely to save trees by sending emails rather than going outdoors to climb them, his groundwork for a sense of place is being laid down right here.

With that in mind, its easy to see why John Muir was so moved by this Range of Light.

"Babysitting", September 2010

Recently, I noted this aspen trunk, and thought that it would make a good vertical panorama.  Converting it to black and white using Nik Silver Efex Pro seemed to give this already graphical image the punch it needed to stand on its own.

Click on the image to see a larger version!

Aspen Trunk, September 2010

With 2010 moving towards autumn, fall colors are on many photographers’ minds.  Just this weekend, Phil Colla published on his blog a very helpful list of fall color resources.  I won’t repeat them all here, but I did want to add some of my own observations.

We hiked into the North Fork of Big Pine Creek on 9/10-9/11.  Below 9,000′, there is no fall color yet, with all the aspen still being green.  However, above 9,000′, and up to 10,000′ there is color starting to appear.  Some trees have beautiful golden or red sections, and a few (read: very few) trees have already turned completely.

Early Fall Colors, September 2010

The above photo illustrates well what we observed between 9,000′ and 10,000′ elevation.  I would guess that in 2-3 more weeks the colors will really be hopping at higher elevations, as well as moving down in altitude.

As a sidenote, some of the cottonwoods in the Owens Valley appear to be losing some of their color, but nothing striking yet.