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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

Posted in creativity, environment, inspiration, locations | 9 Responses »
Tags: conservation, landscape photography, nature photography, sunset photo, Topophilia, wilderness

On Reverence

Friday, September 16th, 2011

For August in the Southwest, the air is unusually humid. Dark clouds are rolling in from the west as we walk into the wide, shallow canyon. A narrow trails has been worn in the horsetail reeds; they rise up past my waist and I put my hands out, letting my fingers run along their tips. The leaves of the cottonwoods that dot this canyon are moving faster and the cool air of the incoming thunderstorm acts as a natural swamp cooler. After about twenty minutes of walking, I look up onto a sandstone outcropping and see what I’ve came here to visit–an 800-year-old Ancestral Puebloan ruin nestled into the cliff.

I’ve returned to this area of southeastern Utah for my first significant visit in nearly 15 years. Growing up, my Dad and I spent many hours backpacking the wild canyons of Cedar Mesa, and for the last several years, I’ve longed to come back for a visit. My motivations for returning–I suppose–are many. I’ve returned to slow down, hoping to escape the nonstop movement in southern California. Similarly, I have returned to revisit my past; as an adolescent, I have suddenly realized that I took many of my early wilderness experiences for granted. Photographic motivations also played a role–I want images of these places that define me.

An Ancestral Puebloan Dwelling near Moon House in McCloyd Canyon, Cedar Mesa, Utah

Ancestral Puebloan Dwelling, August 2011

I think, ultimately, I’ve returned because this is my epicenter: this is the place I fell in love with the Colorado Plateau. Light-colored Cedar Mesa sandstone with its bold desert varnish seemed to always be a part of my early wilderness experiences. Its is part of me–occasionally when I accidentally cut myself, I look closely at the blood, perhaps hoping its become the color of the Organ Rock or Moenkopi shales that top the Cedar Mesa formation. I’ve come back to pay reverence to the natural and cultural history of this landscape.

Ancestral Puebloan Handprints, Cedar Mesa Utah

Paul Woodruff describes reverence as a virtue; the more reverence you have, the greater your capacity to feel respect, awe, shame. As a visitor to the canyons of Cedar Mesa, all of these emotions are evoked inside of me. I feel a deep respect for the Ancestral Puebloan people who settled here, multiple times, to make a living. Although the landscape was likely different centuries ago, it was still a hot, dry place, but they made a living, farming the verdant canyons and carving out a life on the cliffs. The work that went into these structures is tangible–look closely and you can see ancient finger and palm prints in the dried mud of their walls. The forces that shaped this labyrinth of canyons are nothing less than awe-inspring.

Yes, one even can feel shame here, although it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I am ashamed I didn’t appreciate my early visits more, that I am just now realizing the full impact of the history available to us up on this small mesa in lovely, remote southeastern Utah. Indeed, for the individual willing to open his heart and mind (and sometimes to close his mouth), these canyons can speak to you.

Posted in Personal, southwest, utah | 22 Responses »
Tags: sense of place, Topophilia, utah

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

Posted in environment, locations, national park, utah | 14 Responses »
Tags: colorado plateau, landscape photography, sense of place, Topophilia, utah

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 »
Tags: abstract photography, fine art, Grand Staircase-Escalante, landscape photography, nature photography, Topophilia, utah

Those who passed before me

Monday, January 24th, 2011

Have you ever imagined what the first people who walked into a place as grand as Yosemite Valley, or a beautiful remote canyon in Utah must have thought? Unless they wrote their thoughts down, we can’t be sure, but I’d imagine it was something along the lines of “Holy Crap!”

Being the first person to see a place must give a grand sense of accomplishment. But, similarly, seeing something grand for the first time–whether you’re the discoverer or not–can also be satisfying. Perhaps you’re the first visitor of the season, knowing the canyon you’re in was left to the mountain lions, flash floods, and snowstorms for many months prior to your visit. Or, maybe you’re witnessing your favorite peak after an epic summer storm being lit up by a fantastic atmospheric light show. The sort of feelings and memories we take from experiences like this can easily leave us feeling like the most intrepid explorer.

As photographers, we try to make images of the places we visit as if we were the first to visit these locations. We criticize an image if there are footprints in the dirt; I once saw another photographer carefully sweeping footprints out of the sand underneath an oft-visited arch in Utah. Few photographers could claim theirs is the first image made at that spot (with the occasional very notable exception), but we want our image to look pristine, unvisited, wild just the same.

Alternatively, for me anyway, knowing I’m not the first person to pass through a place can be just as satisfying. I made the images below at an intersection of two slot canyons in southern Utah recently. (I think) the petroglyphs are from the Fremont period, from ~900-1300 AD (although if anyone could help me figure this out, I’d appreciate it); even if I’m wrong, these drawings have been on the wall of this canyon for many hundreds of years. To me, being able to appreciate those who passed before me is just as satisfying as the idea of actually being the first to see an area.

This image may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and I understand that. But, to me, its simple, telling, beautiful. I hope you enjoy it. Click on the image to see it big.

Petroglyphs located in Buckskin Gulch, Utah

Petroglyph Diptych, January 2011

Posted in adventure photography, inspiration, utah | 8 Responses »
Tags: Anasazi, black and white, canyon, fine art, inspiration, sense of place, Topophilia, utah

(Re)alignment

Friday, January 14th, 2011

Ask almost any photographer and they’ll tell you that one of the most difficult aspects of their art is writing an artists’ bio. Kah Kit Yoong, in a recent blog post, lamented that writing his own bio felt like,

tiptoeing the tightrope between modesty and shameless self-aggrandizing.

Yup. That about sums it up. Over the last few days, I’ve been working on a rewrite of my own bio and have felt like I’ve been walking a tenuous line the entire time. My biggest goal was to make myself sound real, that the images I make and the places I visit are important to me. I owe many thanks to my wife and friends (including David Leland Hyde) for reading drafts and offering suggestions for improvement; I hope you read the finished product by clicking on the ‘About’ tab at the top of this page, or by visiting the ‘About‘ page on my main website.

Why did I have a sudden desire to write my own bio? There are a couple of reasons. I wrote my original bio very early in my photographic career, and while I didn’t write what I thought people would want to read, I also didn’t have a clear vision for my work. Now, several years have passed, and I’ve evolved. My photographic focus is becoming somewhat narrower–I want to make images of scenes that give me a sense of belonging to the environment. The new bio reflects that desire.

My second reason to rewrite now sprouted from my most recent trip to the Southwest. Being back in a small town, close to slickrock and the fantastic sunrises and sunsets that help characterize the area really crystallized the need to realign my life–to simplify and focus. I doubt any big changes will happen in my life soon, but I’m happy to have a “bigger picture” goal in mind.

Detail of sandstone in the north coyote buttes area of northern arizona

Luminous, January 2011

What obstacles have you run into while writing your bio, or while trying to describe your vision? How have you overcome those obstacles, and where have you found inspiration?

Posted in inspiration, locations, Personal | 13 Responses »
Tags: artistic vision, canyon, landscape photography, nature photography, sense of place, Topophilia

House on Fire ruin–a vertical panorama

Monday, February 8th, 2010

In my last post, I discussed a few techniques that can be used to effectively shoot panoramas. All of my examples were of grand landscapes, and they were all landscape-oriented panoramas. I want to use this post to point out another time you can shoot panos to yield great results.

Last November, we visited the Cedar Mesa area near Blanding, Utah. Since we were limited on time, we chose to visit a familiar and often photographed Ancestral Puebloan ruin that’s been nicknamed the “House on Fire” (also called the Flaming Roof ruin). I blogged about that visit here, in November. While at the ruin, I envisioned someday wanting to print it very large, and wished I had a medium format camera with me. Additionally, I really wanted to emphasize the “flames” exiting the roof of the ruin.

So, I took 3 landscape-oriented images, but rather than putting them next to each other, I stacked them on top of one another, thus producing a larger image. If you click on the image, you’ll see a larger version–the detail is amazing! That said, it would look even better printed on canvas over your couch

A view of an Ancestral Puebloan ruin near Cedar Mesa, Utah

"House on Fire" vertical panorama, Utah, November 2009

Posted in General, locations, technical, technique, utah | 2 Responses »
Tags: Anasazi, canyon, fine art, landscape photography, natural phenomenon, panorama, stock photo, technique, Topophilia, utah

Book recommendations

Saturday, January 16th, 2010

As a teacher, my spring semester doesn’t begin until February 1, so I’ve had time to do some reading. I’ve recently finished 2 books that I found fantastic, and would like to recommend them to you. A little over two months ago, I wrote about how I seem to have been stricken with a bad case of Topophilia. In trying to reconnect with southeastern Utah, two of the books I’d like to recommend are by David Roberts.

The first book, In Search of the Old Ones: Exploring the Anasazi World of the Southwest, takes the reader along on his 20-year journey through the Southwest and he recounts the history of the discoveries, the appalling thefts of artifacts, the cave paintings and his own transcendent experiences in stumbling upon some vestige of this lost civilization. His awe and reverence are contagious.

Click the image or here to purchase this book from Amazon.com.

The second book, also by David Roberts is Sandstone Spine: Seeking the Anasazi on the First Traverse of the Comb Ridge. Fueling both my Topophiliac tendencies and my desire for adventure, this book describes–as the title says–the first traverse of Comb Ridge, which runs almost all the way from Kayenta, Arizona to Blanding, Utah. Its a fantastic, fun read.

Click on the photo or here to purchase the book directly from the publisher, The Mountaineers Books.

Finally I have an unsolicited, but heartfelt recommendation for a photography guide. On July 10, 2006, on my first trip to Yosemite National Park, I purchased Michael Frye’s The Photographer’s Guide to Yosemite and have found it to be a continued valuable resource. Buy it and study it; most of the locations are easy to get to, and the superb advice will have you there at the right time of day. You can click here to see some of the images I’ve made in Yosemite using this book as a reference.

Click on the image, or here, to purchase this book directly from the Yosemite Association.

Posted in General, locations, national park, Personal, utah, yosemite | 5 Responses »
Tags: photographers, review, Topophilia, utah, yosemite

The Rise

Monday, December 14th, 2009

Today’s post comes from my new friend and fellow photographer Jay Goodrich. After reading my post on Topophilia, Jay contacted me with his interest in contributing a story about how the landscape of southern Utah has touched him. You can read his story, The Rise, below, as well as enjoy some original images from Jay. Additionally, make sure to check out Jay’s photographs here, and subscribe to his blog here. Thanks Jay!

I stand in the middle of a valley surrounded by rock formations. I can not see any of them yet, but I know they are there. It is so dark that I can not even tell if there are any clouds lingering to add to the drama of photography this morning. Red earth all over my shoes, my clothes. It is in my hair, my nose, my ears, and even my eyes. It was a little windy yesterday. I look to where I think the horizon is but I see nothing but a big black void. There is not a soul around, it is completely silent. I am for once, early. I head to the back of my truck to grab my backpack and my tripod. The rear bumper is covered in a layer of red powder about an eighth of an inch thick. I write “wash me” in it. As I open the door the dust stirs into little tornados before it falls back to the earth. My pack and tripod have traces of the deep maroon powder all over them as well. I stumbled upon this place yesterday afternoon.

I am a bit tired. I spent the evening shooting star trails only to realize that morning was going to come way too soon. There is a crispness in the air, it tingles as it enters my nose. It reminds me of that sound you hear when a person bites into the perfect fall apple. A little pop, followed by a sweet aroma; I can just taste the explosion of flavor. Vapor crystals leave my nostrils and mouth and scatter as far as I can see. I hope that my mission is going to yield imagery that ties over my soul for awhile – this is my last day here.

I pull the Petzl lamp out of my pack and wrap it around my head. I turn it on, throw the pack onto my back, adjust the straps and buckles, sling the tripod onto my shoulder with one hand, and close the truck door with the other. More dust scatters. I start to walk into the belly of monuments and darkness. I am now the only light source.

As I stumble to my location, a calm comes before me. It was like I donned that old comfortable shoe that was completely molded to the contours of my sole. I began to run on auto pilot. The light was starting to fill the sky. At least, enough that I could see those rock formations. They were looking a little pink. This place is so magical. I knew that would change as the sun began its race to the other side of the planet. It always starts as pink, or tan, something very subtle and muted, pastel. And depending on the atmosphere, the day could become, gold, yellow, orange, red, crimson, maroon, or any variant there of, a perfect contrast to that deep blue fall desert sky. The formations – sharp and jagged to smooth and bulbous. Why this place over any other? The mountains are my home, but this place speaks to me like no other.

As the sun begins to come up there is a slight breeze. It is the souls of those rock formations coming alive, they are looking for warmth as am I. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, like it does when I feel the gentle kiss of my wife. My pupils dilate. I feel the eye muscles tighten. The sun is showing her face ever so slightly. The warmth begins to bathe me and all of my surroundings. The crystals from my breath fall away closer to their origin. I quickly realize It is going to be a golden rise. Everything is covered in hues of yellow and orange. I look through my viewfinder one last time. God I love this place. And click.

Posted in locations, Personal, utah | 1 Response »
Tags: fine art, guest blogger, inspiration, landscape photography, nature photography, night photography, sunrise photo, Topophilia, utah

More images from Cedar Mesa

Friday, December 11th, 2009

I’d like to share a couple of more images from my recent trip to Cedar Mesa, in southeastern Utah. The first one is an Anasazi, or Ancestral Puebloan, granary that’s immediately adjacent to the more famous Flaming Roof Ruin. I love the way the doorway has “shaped” itself over the years into a unique symmetry, and you can still see the same patterns on the roof of the alcove, giving it a “flaming” appearance–maybe this is Flaming Roof Ruin II?

Anasazi Granary II, November 2009

In addition to being impressed with the entire structure, the masonry work itself is also very interesting to look at, and I thought a detail of a granary wall would make an interesting photograph. These structures were likely abandoned around 1300 AD (perhaps earlier), and they’ve managed to survive 700+ years in good shape.