Ansel Adams said, “Twelve significant images in any one year is a good crop.”  I used to think this was ridiculous, but the more I photograph and refine my own style, the more I believe this to be true.  With Adams’ thoughts in mind, I chose what I believe to be my twelve most significant images of the year.  I hope you enjoy them!

Star trails in northern Arizona, August

Dawn, northern New Mexico, July

Late-day light, Mojave Desert, California, May

Greeting the sun, Grand Canyon National Park, May

Sandstone Seduction, northern Arizona, January

Intimate scene, Utah, July

Saguaro skeleton and moon, Arizona, January

Into the canyon, Utah, April

Dawn in the desert, Utah, August

Dried mud, Utah, April

Windstorm, California, December

Sensuous curves, California, December

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).

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 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.

Rain is the most important, and most obvious, ingredient to making wildflowers.  However, the pattern in which that rain comes is very important.  For instance, last year, we had a lot of rain during late fall in southern California, but a very dry December and January didn’t leave us any flowers.  It seems that the good years have a significant fall/early winter rain, and a “primer” in the spring.  This year, that’s been the pattern, and there is hope of a great wildflower year.

This month’s image was made just a few days ago in Phoenix, on the tail end of a strong Pacific storm that swept through the area.  I love the way the light played on the distant clouds.  So, with the hope of a beautiful spring wildflower season, I hope you enjoy this month’s image.

Sonoran Sunset II, February 2011

If you are interested in learning more about where to find the bloom in your area of the southwest, there are several great resources available:

• Desert USA has a hotsheet that’s updated regularly: click here.
• Ron Niebrugge spends a few weeks each spring in the southwest; he posts occasional wildflower updates on his blog.
• The Theodore Payne Foundation publishes a weekly wildflower hotline (mostly for areas in southern Arizona).

Living in southern California, I’ll be watching Anza Borrego Desert State Park, and Death Valley and Joshua Tree National Parks pretty closely over the next few weeks.  However, its noteworthy that Saharan Wild Mustard, an exotic invasive species, is taking over much of what used to be the finest wildflower habitat in the area.  I suspect many of the last strongholds will be taken over by this plant in the next few years.

Once I arrived, I hiked a short distance to a good vantage point, where I could see to the east, and mostly to the west and waited for the light to change.  Because of the speed of the storm, conditions in the sky were changing extremely rapidly–usually not remaining static long enough for me to change lenses!  As I’d hoped, the sunset was a success.

I’ve written before about the importance of finding your own little wild places.  One thing I was grateful for in Phoenix was the ability to escape to an area to shoot beautiful landscape photographs in the middle of a large metropolitan area.  I know some cities are incorporating open space initiatives into their long-term planning; I’m not sure what the status of Phoenix’s goals is, but I am grateful for the spaces that are there!

Sonoran Sunset, February 2011

Geology, as a science, studies the forces responsible for shaping and changing the earth.  Sometimes those shapes and changes can simply be otherworldly.  On my recent visit to the Vermillion Cliffs-Paria River Wilderness in northern Arizona, I was able to witness the magnificent results of some of these forces firsthand.

On a hike early one morning, we found ourselves on a small sandstone plateau.  The sandstone was beautifully colored, but what really grabbed my attention were the bizarre rock formations.  They reminded me of some petrified prehistoric gargoyle or ruins of an ancient civilization.

Gargoyle, January 2011

What’s happening in this image (and the one below) is called boxwork.  The idea is that the sandstone was fractured at some point, and then some sort of fluid intruded and precipitated out, but it was more completely lithified so the surrounding rock eroded before the boxwork.  I’m not entirely sure what intruded (calcite?), but it does make for very cool formations.  I hope you enjoy the images.

Broken Cathedral, January 2011

This month’s photograph shows the western flank of the Superstitions bathed in warm late afternoon light.  I chose to use this cholla skeleton as a FG element because it seemed to be pointing me to a fantastic composition!

Western Flank of the Superstitions, January 2010

If you clicked on the link to Lost Dutchman State Park above, you couldn’t miss the red box informing us that the park will be closing indefinitely on June 3, 2010.  Apparently, that part of Arizona’s budget has lost a significant amount of money during restructuring, causing the closure.  I think the restriction of access to any open space is a great loss to us as a community.  It prevents us from enjoying our parks, but more importantly it robs us of a chance to connect with the land, and wild places.  I hope the Arizona government finds a way to keep their state parks open, or at the very least, to reopen them as soon as possible.

You can see all of my photos from the Superstition Mountains here.

• Roadblock #1.  Two days before I intended to hike, I came down with the worst head cold I’ve had in several years.  I’ll spare you the mucus-y details, but use of my nostrils was completely nonexistent, and my head felt like it was completely detached from my body.  As a result, a 4am departure time didn’t seem feasible.  I settled on getting up at 4:50am, figuring that if everything went smoothly, I’d still make it up to the overlook by 7:15am sunrise.
• Roadblock #2.  Of course everything didn’t go smoothly.  I really like Phoenix–its a great town, and its super easy to navigate as the streets are laid out in a logical grid pattern.  That said, there are exceptions, and a poorly marked detour can throw an out-of-towner like me out of whack.  Driving from my sister-in-law’s house, I wanted to connect from I-10 to US Hwy 60 to drive to the Superstitions.  The connector ramp was closed, and the flashing sign said to take I-10 to McClintock instead.  OK.  After driving nearly 15 miles south (I wanted to go east), I finally stopped and asked for directions.  I got on my way then.  OK, well, that cost me about 15 minutes.  But if I really hoof it, I can make it, right?
• Roadblock #3.  I finally made it to the Peralta Road east of Apache Junction, and as I began driving the 7 miles toward the trailhead I was met by school buses.  Lots of them.  School buses…on a Forest Service road on a Sunday.  What doesn’t compute here?  After I met the school buses, I was met by runners.  Lots of them.  It turns out it was the annual running of the Lost Dutchman Marathon, and I was driving up their course!  After slowly navigating several hundred finish-line-bound runners, I finally made it to the trailhead about 6:50am–25 minutes before sunrise.

I like to say that I’m a pretty fast hiker, but I’m not that fast.  I didn’t make it to my destination by sunrise, but the hike was nice, and in hindsight the chain of events I encountered getting to the trailhead were almost comical.  I even ended up with a nice photo or two out of the deal.  It was definitely a good lesson not to take things so seriously.  Things won’t always come together as you planned, but if you fail to see the forest for the few negative trees, you’ll miss out on some great experiences.

Weaver's Needle from Weaver's Outlook Ridge, February 2010

My wife’s sister lives in Phoenix, and we’ve found ourselves here visiting a few times this winter.  Its given me an opportunity to revisit these mountains.  In January, I visited the Lost Dutchman State Park*, and hiked around the western flank of this magnificent range.  I had a fantastic sunset, and had the opportunity to get a short hike in–up the Siphon Gulch trail.

Cloud above the western flank of the Superstition Mountains, January 2010

Yesterday morning, I was able to visit the Superstitions again.  This time, I drove to the eastern side of the range and hiked up the (very) popular Peralta trail to photograph Weaver’s Needle.  I wanted the morning light on this spire, so I was on the trail before sunrise.  It was a good thing too: the trail’s proximity to the greater Phoenix area makes it extremely busy.  On my way down, I must have passed 50 people on their way up!  My early start ensured I got good light on my subject, but also that I got the place to myself.  The solitude was very rewarding.

Weaver's Needle, February 2010

After visiting this place again after several years, I can say that its just as beautiful as I remember it.  I can also say that its just as rugged as I remember it!  Man, this is one amazing place.

I’ll be sharing more images from the Superstitions over the next week, but in the meantime, you can view them all here.

Spider Rock, Canyon de Chelly National Monument, December 2008

I was able to get this photograph on a somewhat grey afternoon, after driving from my sister-in-law’s house in Phoenix.  Although I wanted a low-contrast shot, I was thinking that some color would be nice.  Luckily, right before the sun dipped below the horizon for the day, it lit up the far cliffs giving me the splash of color I hoped for.  I think (but am not sure) that the red sandstone here is part of the de Chelly formation, and I do love the glow it gets in late afternoon light.

Here’s to the a change of the seasons soon!