A Twenty Year Journey

Over the past few weeks I’ve found myself reflecting back on my years as a photographer. Why this sudden bout of retrospection? Well twenty years ago this Fall, way back in 2003, my wife and I shouldered backpacks, hopped a flight to Asia, and commenced a sixteen month journey of a lifetime, traveling and trekking through the great mountain ranges of Nepal and South America. Safely tucked within my own backpack was a Nikon N80, two lenses, and a large ziplock bag stuffed with rolls of film. Before us lay a long road filled with awe inducing moments, trying times, growth, adventure, and a lifetime’s worth of soul stirring beauty. It was life lived on an elevated level, our days filled with magic and discovery.

That period was also one of great self-actualization. Nature, specifically mountains, was its driving force. After graduating college on the east coast I moved out west to have easier access to better nature and committed myself to exploring it through uncounted backpacking and climbing trips. As much as these trips were fulfilling I couldn’t help but want more. I wanted to learn where this compulsive need to be surrounded by other worldly beauty would lead. So my wife and I spent sixteen months trying to find out. In the end we came home with enough memories and stories to last a lifetime. If you’ve been around me long enough I’m sure you’ve heard a few. At risk of being cliche, the journey truly changed my life and expanded my understanding of what it means to live a human life on this planet of ours.

While our travels eventually had to come to an end one huge effect lives on to this day — my becoming a photographer. Before leaving, photography was already a passion of mine so I viewed traveling the world as an opportunity to take it to the next level, to figure out how to record images which would in some small way pay homage to my early heroes, Galen Rowell and Art Wolfe. I wanted to bottle up that feeling of awe and wonder I knew we’d undoubtedly encounter. As our travels progressed photography gradually began to become more of a focal point. Over time it became apparent a new path was unfolding before me, one which saw the melding of my life’s two passions: nature and photography. Looking back now it seems as though all roads in my life converged on that very thing, as if evolving into a photographer were part of some predetermined life progression. My life, as well as my connection to nature, has never been the same and for that I am eternally grateful. Two decades later I’m still at it and I find it hard to imagine life without photography’s influence.

So to acknowledge this massively transformative period between September 2003 and December 2004 I wanted to share two collections of images showcasing both the final and behind the scenes images from that period. I wish I could write a story for each, tales which would provide greater context for the viewer. But I won’t. Some things are too personally important to share with a largely anonymous audience. My hope is for the images to tell their own stories, to adequately portray those indelible experiences Betsy and I lived all those years ago.


Images: September 2003- December 2004

*Note: All images were taken with a Nikon N80 using slide or negative film. Image quality varies depending on the quality of the scan.


Memories via point and shoot

All images in this gallery were captured using a 3.2mp Canon A300 point and shoot. Fun little camera for back then.

Death Valley (with a side of doubt)

Death Valley is a place like no other I know. Vast, harsh, surprising, intense, beautiful, serene – these are some common descriptors which spring to mind whenever I think back on time spent in the park. Perhaps one more: inspiring. I find few photographic locations as visually interesting and exciting as Death Valley. It has this wonderful ability to unleash a fresh way of seeing, even at locations I assumed were too well worn and familiar to feel moved by anymore. This is because Death Valley is a giver. Wherever I look potential images seem to lurk. Kid, meet candy store. The park has been a part of my life for over a decade and I manage to finagle a visit about once each year. Over these years Death Valley has come to act as a giant reflection pool. The year-long intervals between visits allows just enough time to pass for any progress in my work to become noticeable. This is reason enough to continue making the annual pilgrimage to this incredible slice of Earth. 

Visits to Death Valley have a way of taking on a familiar rhythm. At some point beforehand an uneasy feeling creeps into the space between my lungs and stomach. Maybe I won’t encounter any images I find personally intriguing? Maybe I don’t have anything else to say about this park? Will new images be mere variations on ones already in my portfolio? Is returning here yet again the best use of my time? This questioning often makes the first day in the park feel slow, even labored. Death Valley is a dry, rugged, open, even unforgiving landscape, a world removed from the wet overgrown forests and rugged coastlines found in my Oregon home. I often feel out of sorts at first, even overwhelmed.

These thoughts and feelings are signs of creative doubt, a part-time companion of mine. During nearly two decades as a photographer experience has led to a few hard-won bits of wisdom, one being the understanding that “creative doubt” is not just driven by a crisis of confidence in one’s skills, knowledge, and abilities. For me, the largest driver of creative doubt is simply the fear of complacency, a fear of being satisfied by the impersonal production of yet one more pretty picture of an amazing landscape, even if it’s well composed, executed, and processed. This complacency signifies a loss of voice, a clear sign there may be little else to say as a photographer, an idea I find disconcerting. The day I accept complacency is the day I stop growing as a photographer, or perhaps more accurately, the day I stop striving to grow.

So how do I respond whenever creative doubt creeps in? For one, I do my best to make peace with it. I acknowledge its presence then recognize doubt for what it is: a natural part of the creative life. Every artist periodically wrestles with this exact beast. Knowing this I allow space for it to exist. I live with it for awhile and examine its function a bit more closely. Spending time with doubt, as opposed to forcibly attempting to deny it and suppress it into non-existence, does one thing very well: it takes away its power to generate pressure. It’s this pressure which clogs up the creative machinery, stifles my instincts, closes me down, and prevents me from moving into the optimal mindset for creativity. Creative doubt is a mindset issue more than anything else, and this is good news as it means I hold some degree of control over it. It’s just up to me to view it in the proper context. Pressure? Why be pressured? 

On the occasions I do manage to pop doubt’s pressure release valve, ideas begin to naturally trickle in at some point during that first day. A first image appears, then another, and then another. Soon a bit of momentum develops and image ideas begin to flow more free. I notice I’m more open and receptive and doubt recedes into a thing of the past. Of course this doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll walk away with a basketful of worthy image. All it means is I’ve allowed myself to struggle and, in the process, managed to collect a few breadcrumbs of ideas and concepts to sniff out during the rest of trip. Maybe they’ll work, maybe they won’t. And I have to be okay with that. Productive struggle is an essential part of growth.

So in some strange way there is reason to owe creative doubt a small debt of gratitude. It provides an edge of uncertainty which helps keep my photography fresh, challenging, fulfilling, and, ultimately, moving forward.


The images within this gallery were all taken during the first part of 2023. I visited Death Valley National Park on two occasions, spending a total of eight days photographing the park’s remarkable dunes, canyons, badlands, mountains, and salt flats. Each visit had its own unique feel. I photographed some old haunts as well as some new locations further afield. This collection is heavy on work from the dune fields. Taking a deeper dive into dune photography is something I had wanted to do for a while. It was nice to have an opportunity to do so at last. During these two trips I made about eight total trips into the dunes looking for bits of converging interests to photograph. I hope you enjoy the results!

Lastly, I want to thank the people who helped make these trips memorable: Adrian Klein, Paul Bowman, Jeremy Cram, and Dustin Gent, as well as photography friends I was able to visit with while they were on their own journeys to this remarkable natural area.


Death Valley 2023 image collection

2022 Rewind

Another lap around the sun, another year soon to have passed. In most ways 2022 was a good year for me photographically. The year held a few unexpected opportunities as well as a few months of limited productivity. One major theme coursing through 2022 was periodic, yet short, creative bursts which led to the creation of the majority of images included in this end of year review. Photographing close to home was more challenging this year than most. I pushed pretty hard, yet came away with unsatisfactory results, or results which didn’t add anything new to what I would like to say photographically. I could easily not have mentioned this fact, after all this post is supposed to celebrate the past year’s successes, right? But a pattern of productivity and stagnation is common in the creative life, a pattern which is healthy to recognize, understand, and share. I believe productive struggle is an essential step in the creative journey, as well as one of its most valuable teachers. If this amazing art form always felt easy then this would indicate I wasn’t extending myself in an effort to grow. Having said this, as I put together this end of year image review, I was struck by my deep appreciation for the images and experiences contained within, and by the recognition that there was some growth this year. Sometimes taking a step back provides space we need to put things in context and see them for what they are.

Here are a few highlights which made 2022 special:

  • Sharing a some of my favorite places in the Southwest with my wife and son. During prior visits I always knew I’d one day share these remarkable places with them yet years went by without making good on this idea. This year we were finally able to dedicate a week in early Spring towards exploring an area of the world I find so incredibly inspiring. It turned out to be a great trip! We have similar plans for Spring of 2023, this time a multi-day backpacking tip through a canyon I’ve wanted to visit and photograph for years. Can’t wait!

  • A short yet productive winter trip to Yosemite Valley, a place I’d never photographed before yet which turned out to be so inspirational it left an indelible impression on me. I truly can’t wait to return.

  • Finally returning to the high country of the North Cascades with my good friend Paul Bowman. The days we spent backpacking and camping among those high peaks took me back fifteen years ago when I was able to spend more time among those craggy glaciated mountains. There is no environment which I relate to more than the high mountains, especially during the quiet moments around the edges of the day. Spending time in the mountains gives me a lot of energy which lasts for a while after returning to town.

  • Climbing Mount Whitney. Not really a photography trip in itself, in fact I only carried my iPhone, but hiking to the summit of the highest mountain in the lower 48’s was an absolute highlight of the year. Watching my thirteen year old son thrive in this high mountain arena, embrace the 2 am start time, hike for hours in the dark (his favorite part of the trip, he says), and then beat my wife and I to the summit by more than a half hour turned into one of those unexpected proud papa moments. Climbing Whitney also acted as a stepping stone for a much higher mountain we are planning for in 2023. Stay tuned!

  • Teaching and instructing more. This year I fielded more requests for private in the field and online instruction than during any year previously. The more I taught the more I realize how much I truly enjoy helping clients develop their technical and compositional skills while also honing their vision for their art. In October I also received an invitation to be one of the instructors for the Out of Oregon photography conference — an experience I found profoundly rewarding and which has inspired me to be more open to teaching opportunities in the future.

  • As 2022 comes to a close I would like to express my immense gratitude and thanks for the people who I shared so many great experiences with, and who were pivotal in making this year such a great one! First and foremost are my wife, Betsy, and son, Landon. We have big plans for next year so I can’t wait to create new stories together. I also want to thank my friends in the photography community who I spent time with this year and whose work continues to amaze and inspire me on a daily basis: Adrian Klein, Eric Bennett, Paul Bowman, Matt Payne, Bryan Swan, Sarah Marino, Ron Coscorrosa and Anna Morgan. Thank you all so much and I hope our paths cross again this coming year!

Below are the images captured this year which I found personally rewarding. I hope you enjoy them! Thank you all so much for your continued support!

A Brief Smile, Yosemite National Park

24-120mm @92mm, f/11, 1/30th sec, ISO 400

I’ve included two images from Yosemite in this end of year image review. The general concept for the trip was to use the massive valley walls as a background canvas for the sweeping lines of tree limbs. Here, the background, consisting of forests lining the giant rock walls, acts as a “canvas” to use while arranging the foreground trees. I spent two sessions strictly pursuing this concept. The photography itself was fast paced and spontaneous, a style of creativity I find exhilarating.

This image stands apart from other tree images in my portfolio because of its colors. Tree and forest photography in my Pacific Northwest home is dominated by the myriad shades of green, often set against a convoluted background of cluttered forest cover, unruly trees, and spots of sky which need to be accounted for while composing. This scene, in contrast, is dominated by warm highlights working against cool blues found in the background. This warm late day light was an unexpected treat and worked to complete what I already believed to be a wonderful scene. A little serendipity never hurts.


Cross Stream, Yosemite National Park

24-120mm @ 66mm, f/11, 6/10th second, ISO 100

Another image from Yosemite photographed a little later in the day than the first. After working a section of trees lining one of Yosemite’s meadows I ducked into the boulder filled woods hugging one of its gigantic rock walls. My idea for this part of the Valley was to find a composition which incorporates both the boulders and trees. I found a few compositions which worked to some degree yet nothing which truly felt like a cohesive image. As I packed my camera away I turned around and saw this scene of crossing branches and illuminated foliage. Back out came the camera and I captured the image above.

The long expressive forms found in these tree limbs (I wish I knew the name of them. Black Oaks?) feel somehow human to me. The trees appeared as if they were old friends greeting each other after a long absence. The warm light illuminating the background foliage enhances this feeling of interpersonal warmth and connection. Lastly, I just enjoy this image each and every time I view it. Sometimes it’s not necessary to over analyze why an image works. Sometimes it works merely because it works.


Scorpio In Hunt, Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument

100-400mm @280mm, f/22, 1/2 sec, ISO 64

Okay so…this image was actually photographed in late Fall 2021 but processed and released in 2022, so I’m including it in this year’s round up of images. It’s becoming typical for me to take a few months or longer to process images, especially when they are captured during productive trips such this one to a canyon in southern Utah. The colors and patterns displayed in this image are produced by light reflecting in natural oils produced by decaying plant matter. It’s easy to become completely engrossed in this visual kaleidoscope while scanning around with a 100-400mm lens. Little worlds exist everywhere in these pools of standing water. Such a fascinating subject to work with. I have to thank Eric Bennett and Paul Bowman for being fantastic companions on this trip. Hope we can do it again!

Initially, I had mixed feelings about photographing these oils since I’d already seen so many stunningly creative images utilizing of them. I wasn’t sure if I could add anything more to this conversation. However once I stood over them peering through my camera at the explosion of phantasmagoric shapes and colors I knew there was no sense resisting the immediate urge to photograph. Of all the compositions I found this one contains one special element — a bit of a story. The menacing form of a “scorpion”, eyes fixed and glowing, moving down towards its next meal represented by the blob of color found at the lower left. For me, this element of story telling set it apart from other oil images I captured which relied more on pure abstraction.

You can read more about this trip and view other images here.


Hall of Faces, Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness

16-35mm @ 20mm, f/16, 5 sec, ISO 160

In March my family and I went on a whirlwind tour of a few special places in northern Arizona and Utah. This canyon was the one place which was new to me, and I’m always excited and inspired by new places. Unfortunately we were only able to dedicate part of day towards exploring the canyon, but from that brief encounter I know one day I’ll come back to properly photograph it without the pressing burden of time bearing down on me. This image was the only “keeper” from the trip, one which I enjoy a lot.

Seeing this image brings me right back to physically being there in person, sharing this amazing place with my family. While walking through this section of canyon the first thing I noticed was an abundance of concave pockets appearing like eyes and faces staring stoically into the canyon. There are several in this image if you look hard. The attempt here is to highlight these features within the wider scope of the canyon. The striated lines, slight sense of movement, and the overall muted yet rich color palette also work well for me.


But Do I Want This?, Mount Hood National Forest

24-120mm @ 120mm, f/8, 0.5 sec, ISO 64

Oregon is widely known as a paradise for waterfall aficionados. I’ve photographed my fair share of them over the years but lately I’ve felt less inspired to do so. I photographed this particular waterfall the previous year when my friend Eric Bennett was in town. I forgot how beautiful it was. We were lucky to arrive just as beams of light were dancing their way across the face of the falls. I came away from that visit with two images I really enjoy, but none showcasing the light beams themselves as central subjects. This year my family and I were looking for a day hike. I suggested this waterfall and, once again, I was struck by just how beautiful it is. The light cooperated fully and I was able to make this image of a single, intense beam striking a rock. Simple yet poignant.

I included this image because it’s the end product of an idea I’ve had floating around my brain for some time. Over the years I’ve collected little bits of mental ideas and concepts for images to draw upon while searching for compositions. I view them as “seeds” which I hope one day to cultivate into images. I also enjoy this image due to its conciseness. There is no mistaking the visual intent here. The title is somewhat personal in nature as it reflects internal deliberations and uncomfortable feelings I occasionally have whenever too much attention is sent my way, for any reason. So, as I looked back at this year with all of its trials and unexpected successes, this image seemed a clear choice for several reasons.


Spirit Animal, Mount Saint Helens National Volcanic Monument

70-200mm @ 200mm, f/11, 1/60 sec, ISO 250

This is the most special moment I witnessed during 2022. My family and I, along with some other friends, were on a three day backpacking trip on Mount Saint Helens. I awoke before dawn to photograph sunrise from a vantage point near our camp. Above me was open blue sky and below fast moving fog filled the valley. Miles away Mount Adam’s icy crown rose above a perfect sea of clouds. It was miraculous and soul stirring setting. Wind would periodically blow the fog upwards through our camp, producing rapidly changing, dynamic conditions for photography. The already jaw-dropping view before me became more so with the sudden arrival of a large mountain goat, who ambled along a rocky spine to my left then before stopping to survey the magnificent scene before him. Every once in a while the goat would turn towards me while looking out at the wonder before him. Even though I know this is not the case, he seemed to be making sure I was aware of just how extraordinary a sight it was. He finally continued on his way. I managed to capture a few frames before he continued his morning rounds. This was my favorite.

The personal nature of the moment, and the luck which was involved in experiencing it, made me instantly grateful to the natural world around me, and for my continued health in being able to continue venturing into wild areas to experience such wonders. Anyone who knows me knows nature has long been a powerful guiding force in my life, one which has played a role in many major life choices. I’ll forever be grateful for the guiding hand of nature. I believe the simple act of maintaining awareness on our specie’s need for, and continued dependence on, the natural world is vitally important for fully understanding what it means to be human.


Living with Ghosts, Olympic National Park

24-120mm @ 120mm, f/11, 1/40 sec, ISO 200

Scorching summer temperatures in Portland, Oregon sent my family and I scurrying to find cooler prospects for a trip into nature. When it’s over 100 degrees in the city even the mountains can feel oppressively hot. Luckily the coast can be upwards of 40 degrees cooler than areas inland. So we decided to head off to the Olympic Coast for a two night backpacking trip. We had amazing conditions throughout the trip replete with lots of fog which hugged the coastline. This image of ghostly tree forms is my favorite from the trip.

Anyone who follows my work probably recognizes three things: 1) I enjoy trees, 2) I enjoy fog, and 3) I enjoy photographing trees in fog. Although I’ve photographed a fair amount of foggy tree scenes, they are mostly from a distance, not while standing deep within the forest. Only on two occasions have I photographed dense fog which extended uniformly to the forest floor like it does in this image. The deep dense fog allowed me to the use tighter framings, working close up with the natural lines and angles of tree trunks simplified against a receding background. This image feels intimate, mysterious, even haunting. The fact that it was captured in a location which holds such enormous personal significance makes it all the more special.


Lean In, Olympic National Park

24-120mm @ 48mm, f/11, 1.3 secs, ISO 64

In June I spent a handful of days exploring the rainforest valleys of Olympic National Park with my friend Bryan Swan. While we visited more well known areas, such as the Hoh and the Quinault, I finally was able to photograph some lesser visited valleys such as the Bogachiel and South Fork of the Hoh. After dozens of visits to this magnificent park it felt great to move through completely new territory. As is always the case while photographing these dense, overgrown rainforests, images were fairly hard to come by. This scene of a vine maple branch sweeping in front of a giant Douglas Fir is my favorite from the trip. The goal in forest photography is to create images which speak to the place while also simplifying the elements in a way which minimizes visual clutter and chaos inherent in these messy forests. Strong central figures (such as the Doug Fir) and strong curving lines (the vine maple) help promote a sense of structure and visual flow within this image.


Trigger Cut, Mount Rainier National Park

100-400mm @ 270mm, f/8, 1/15 sec, ISO 125

Morning fog slowly creeping across a deep, glacially carved valley in Mount Rainier. This river drains one of the largest glaciers in the lower 48’s. I stood on an adjacent ridge photographing sunrise when this more intimate scene started calling out to me. The next fifteen minutes were a blur of creative fun as I experimented with various framings. This is the one I felt worked the best.

Much like Olympic National Park, Mount Rainier has long played a defining role in my life. Over the past three decades I’ve spent many days camping, backpacking, climbing, and photographing in the park yet, much like Olympic National Park, it’s rare for me to capture an image I’m proud of. This one was photographed on the last day of a whirlwind five day photography trip. The mountain itself was beautiful that morning, yet this intimate scene of fog gently drifting over a glacial river appealed to me most. It’s simplicity and atmosphere have made it one of this year’s favorites.


Summer Skin, North Cascades, Washington

24-120mm @ 120mm, f/8, 1/8 sec, ISO 64

Years ago I seemed to head to the North Cascade mountains to go backpacking and climbing several times each year. The range is a special place for me, filled with soul catching locations where life long memories, and the stories they produced, were made. Recent visits have been mostly day trips, so it felt great to once again strap the big backpack on and spend a few nights under the stars with these striking, glaciated summits surrounding me. I was joined by my good friend Paul Bowman. This image of seasonal ice & snow melting on the surface of a high alpine lake captures a lot of what I appreciate about the range — summer snow, pristine lakes, massive rock spires, golden/ red late day light, and a lot of mystery. When I’m gray and old I’ll look back on these nights spent in such mountain arenas as some of the best of my life.

Paul and I had no idea this alpine lake would be melting out. It was pure serendipity. When we crested a small saddle above the lake we couldn’t believe our good luck! Backpacking and camping beneath this stunning rock spire, along the shore of this lake, was a highlight of the summer. This image is special as it melds the two most visually striking elements which dominated the scene from our camp, the high mountain summit and breaking snow and ice on the surface of the lake. The image manages to distill those two dominant visual elements efficiently into a visually concise photograph. Nothing else is depicted, just the mountain and lake.


Glass Swirls, North Cascades, Washington

24-120mm @ 120mm, f/18, 1/125 sec, ISO 200

An image of pollen or dust (my best guesses) swirling on the surface of the same alpine lake as the previous image. Clouds and trees can also be seen reflecting in the lake’s calm waters. I often say my favorite images are the ones I had no idea existed before encountering them. This is a perfect example. Five minutes before releasing the shutter I had no concept, no inkling that I was about to take one of my favorite images of the year. And yet, I did.

This is one of those unexpected finds. As mentioned, images which I had no idea existed moments before have a way of becoming special to me. As well, the visual abstraction, textures, curves, shapes, and tonal contrasts work really well for me. There’s a lot to explore and take in while viewing this image. The reflection of trees and clouds at top center-left hint at the scenes true setting. Lastly, it contains imperfections. The depth of field isn’t quite as deep as I’d like it to be, creating softness in the upper portions of the frame. Then again, I don’t mind this tension even if others do. Is it necessary for each pixels in each and every image we produce to be perfect?


Departing Gift, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

24-120mm @ 120mm, f/8, 0.5 sec, ISO 64

One of the very last images I photographed during a short yet intensely productive trip to a canyon in southern Utah. It was one of those trips which could only result in a flurry of creativity — the place was that beautifully inspiring. My friends Eric Bennet, Paul Bowman, and I went into this canyon for Fall color, yet this rather spare, high contrast scene of a bare limbed tree set against partially illuminated sandstone is my absolute favorite from the trip, and of the year. This image was the swan song of the trip, one of the very last before climbing out of the canyon. In many ways noticing this scene and photographing it in a satisfying way was the canyon’s last gift to me, even after already giving me so much over the previous 48 hours.

This image is different from other desert or canyon images in my portfolio. Because it’s a bit of an anomaly, it potentially can have the effect of nudging my work into new and unknown territory by expanding my notion of what’s possible while in the field. Certain images have a way of pushing us forward, and this is an image which may just allow me to see things in a new way.


Gathering, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

100-400mm @ 180mm, f/18, 0.5 sec, ISO 100

Another image from that trip into Utah’s canyon country. Color is what drew me to this image as well as the dark leaning lines of tree trunks forming the backbone structure. During those days we spent hours walking through, above, and past these trees and I can tell you it was a fair challenge to find a cohesive image of them. As soon as a noticed this gathering of trees set against a uniform background I knew an image was at hand.

This image was included because it’s soothing. Much like Cross Stream, it possesses a sense of interpersonal warmth, like a gathering of family members who haven’t seen each other on a long time. The general mood is carefree and open. The image’s soft contrasts and colors convey a sense of calm reassurance which puts me at ease each and every time I view it. For these reasons it is was a clear choice to be included in my end of year review.


That’s a wrap! I hope you’ve enjoyed this last look back on my photographic journey through 2022. Once again, I want to say thank you to everyone who has supported me over the course of this year, and in years past. Can’t wait to see what 2023 has in store!

A Desert Canyon

We had only five days. Five days to complete a mad dash 18-hour drive from Portland to southern Utah, hike into a wild desert canyon, camp and photograph for three days, then drive the eighteen hours back home. Was it enough time? Barely. Would it be worth it? Absolutely.

Rain pounded down as my good friend, Paul Bowman, and I loaded his truck in the dark and began our journey to Utah. Our first stop was to pick up our friend Eric Bennett, who was kind enough to let us crash at his house for the night. One more early morning departure allowed us to reach the trailhead with enough time to descend into the beautiful desert canyon and set up camp.

The remaining daylight hours were spent photographing along the canyon’s riparian corridor. Surrounding me was a wonderland composed of high sandstone walls, gnarled & character-filled old trees, and a flowing river. By that point two things were quite apparent. First, we 100% made the right decision to come, and second, I would need many more days to properly photograph the area. This limited time frame was entirely inadequate. In my mind I was already planning a return trip.

The second day was one of those special days of photography which comes along only every so often – the ability to photograph continuously from dawn to dusk. After breakfast we set off, plunging down canyon. The canyon’s layout consists of a series of tightly packed serpentine bends which prevented easy views down canyon. Rounding each bend revealed brand new scenery containing fresh photographic possibilities. I’d spend time exploring each section before slowly wandering around the next bend only to be confronted by even more exceptional beauty.

Each of us worked at our own pace, respectfully allowing each other space enough to photograph in peace as well as to experience this stunning natural realm on our own terms. Every once in a while we’d meet up, mostly along stretches of oils released by decaying plant matter. Photographing the oils was mesmerizing. The smallest shift in tripod position changed the angle of sunlight which in turn created new patterns of color and form. Here was nature’s original kaleidoscope. The rest of the day was spent slowly walking down canyon scanning for combinations of color, shapes, textures, lines, and patterns to utilize in compositions. Time seemed to withdraw itself. I find I often enjoy the feeling of losing track of time. I find it oddly comforting. The only objective was to stay open and receptive, observing each moment as it morphed into another and then another, all in the hope of turning these personal experiences into art.

Eventually the fading light let me know it was time to turn around. We all converged back at camp, refilled water supplies at a nearby spring, then ate dinner. The rest of the night was spent sitting around drinking a few world class beers, talking, laughing, and enjoying the sounds and sights of night in the canyon. In all my years of backpacking around the U.S. these were the first nights I’d ever spent in the desert backcountry. They won’t be the last. I was enthralled.

The third day offered only a few hours to photograph before starting our grueling return trip back to Portland. We spent the time heading up canyon in the opposite direction we had explored the previous day. I assumed the scenery would be similar yet this part of the canyon had a personality all its own, wider with less riparian vegetation, more big trees, and more light penetration. In some regards it was more challenging to photograph this section yet perhaps my favorite image of the trip was captured that morning — one last parting gift from the canyon.

Then it was over. Time to pack up, climb out of the canyon, and head back to human constructed reality. My brief visit to this desert oasis was over. By late the following day Paul and I would find ourselves driving the last few miles toward home. I was grateful to have spent a few days among good friends while living in close connection to incredible nature. In the end, our plan had somehow worked out perfectly.

The Trees of Yosemite

Yosemite. Just hearing this legendary name immediately paints a vivid picture in my mind of massive walls, colossal waterfalls, open meadows, and a meandering river all working in concert to create one of Earth’s truly great landscapes. Closely following these mental images of nature are those of the individuals whose lives left indelible marks on Yosemite over the decades. Names such as Muir, Salathe, Watkins, Adams, Robbins, Harding, Bridwell, Bachar, Rowell, Hill, Neil, Frye, Potter, Caldwell, and Honnold, to name but a few. While these accomplished individuals left a lasting imprint on Yosemite history and lore it’s perhaps equally important to recognize the impact Yosemite must surely have exerted over each and every one of their lives. This list of people includes both climbers and photographers. I’ve always felt there are some real similarities between these two seemingly disparate groups. How so? Well, for one, both groups pursue a craft which requires deep engagement with the natural world. This deep engagement demands a high degree of attunement with one’s surroundings, the weather conditions, oneself, and the ever evolving and unpredictable present moment. Directly experiencing nature in this way acts has the uncanny ability to elevate the lives of those who choose to do so. Repeatedly doing so over the course of months or years results in the development of a deep personal relationship between the individual and the landscape. This relationship, and it’s incredible ability to elevate and enhance the life of those who choose to live this way, has long fascinated me. The history and lore of Yosemite is littered with such individuals. For me, this intersection of individual lives and the natural environment adds to the already tremendous amount of reverence I feel towards this amazing natural wonder.

With these ideas floating around my brain I steered my rental car, filled with my family and a few bags, up the long series of switchbacks leading higher and eastward towards Yosemite. I had 36 hours in the park. What could I possibly do in 36 hours? In reality, not much. Far too short a time to understand a location, to know where the light falls at various times, what elements I find visually intriguing, or which areas hold the greatest potential for viable images. One “weakness” I have as a photographer is a distaste for scouting. Even though I know it’s an effective and important skill, it feels a bit too contrived for my liking. On the occasion where I have scouted a location earlier in the day only to return later under presumably better conditions, it felt like I was having the same experience twice. In this way the creative experience I wanted to have felt blunted. I prefer to go about my day as normal, observing what the light is doing as the hours pass while also accumulating little notes of visual interest along the way. Then I create a plan based upon these visual inputs for where to be once the “good” light happens. In this way I have an experience just once — a spontaneous, fresh, reckless, and, most importantly, deeply engaging experience. Novel experience is a powerful catalyst for enhancing in-the-moment creativity.

So what was my plan for Yosemite? Well it almost entirely involved working with trees. Not a surprise for those who have followed my recent work but, in my defense, I had fully planned to photograph grand landscapes but weather conditions just weren’t conducive. I also wasn’t able to find a composition which didn’t feel “standard” and standard, under mediocre conditions, is to be avoided at all costs. So trees just felt natural. Let conditions dictate what to photograph. Far from being a consolation prize, the hours I spent wandering through the meadows and boulder fields lining high cliffs proved inspiring and surprisingly productive. Each morning and evening I’d choose a different part of the valley to photograph. Then I’d wander, trying my best to ignore the presence of tourists around me, letting the creative flow of the day take me where it may. What follows is a small collection of images which I feel reflect my 36 hours in the park. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did creating them.

2021 Rewind

It’s hard to believe 2021 is drawing to a close! It’s been a rewarding year for me, even if it was also a bit atypical. I had some incredible experiences getting up close and personal with truly amazing locations: the Redwoods, the North Cascades, Death Valley, southern Utah, in addition to finally making a long sought after trip to southwest Colorado happen. As usual my wife and son were with me on many of these trips. For a few of the others I was able to meet up with some good friends within the photography community. So thank you to Matt Payne, Kane Engelbert, Paul Bowman, Eric Bennett, Adrian Klein, Sarah Marino, Bryan Swan, and Trevor Anderson. Thanks for all of the laughs, thought provoking conversations, hospitality, adventures, and inspiration. I sincerely hope we get to do it again in 2022!

With that maybe it’s time to pay tribute to 2021 and review a handful of images which did speak to me, and helped me continue down this little journey of mine.


Winter

Snow Globe, central Oregon

24-120mm @120mm, f/8, 1/400 sec, ISO 250

Snow Globe is a good example of what I consider to be “found” photography, images I had no concept or premonition of before leaving the house (or camp) in the morning. My family joined some friends for a midwinter hike through a rather nondescript and typically uninspiring central Oregon forest. Intermittent snow showers were forecasted for the day, and wind driven clouds continually blocked then revealed the sun creating dynamic lighting conditions in their wake. This at least gave me a reason to grab my camera and a single lens for the outing. I didn’t expect to find something interesting enough to actually photograph. As we hiked brief yet intense snow squalls passed, almost always blocked by sun dampening clouds. Then conditions kind of all aligned at once — sun and heavy snow occurring simultaneously. This bit of magic lasted probably thirty seconds, just enough time to quickly find a composition before firing off a few exposures. It’s this sort of image, which materializes seemingly out of no where, which leaves me with a lot of energy and keeps me motivated to keep pushing deeper.


The Witness, Death Valley National Park

100-400mm @165mm, f/8, 1/200 sec, ISO 1000

Another “found” image. The destination for this day was a dune field within Death Valley National Park. High winds were blasting the dunes, creating just the conditions I had wanted to work with for several years. As I parked my car a large bank of stratocumulus clouds snuffed out the light, a critical ingredient. A stood by my car weighing whether to subject myself and my gear to being sand blasted for a few hours or pack it in and head somewhere else. The latter option won out. The route back to my rental house in a nearby town climbs over five thousand feet. The temperature dropped and snow began falling, even though it was 73 degrees at the dunes when I left. A dusting accumulated in the higher hills creating, for me at least, a unique experience. Joshua Trees dot the landscape in this section of the park and I knew their solitary forms would be a perfect element to add to the scene. A quick stop, a few releases of the shutter, then back down to town. The frame is not technically perfect (a result of me not wanting to bother getting the tripod out), but the slight softness works well enough in my eyes.

Cross Keys, Death Valley National Park

70-200mm @200mm, f/16, 2.5seconds, ISO 640

This image came at the end of a day filled with a frustrating series of events, chief among them a flat tire which occurred in a random place. Too long of of a story to recount here. So, with our car rolling on a newly installed donut tire, my family and I were determined to make the most of the last hours of the day. I’ve photographed this area of badlands a couple of times, but never felt like I did them any justice. A clear sky allowed soft glowing light to spill over the eroded formations creating good conditions to photograph a scene like this. After wandering around for a while I finally noticed this composition. A long focal length compressed the various ridges in a way which allowed each to carry a nearly equal amount of visual weight. This was the last composition of the evening before heading back to camp. In the dying light I quickly stowed my camera gear, folded the tripod, then walked back to the car with my family, marveling at the bizarre geologic wonder quickly falling into darkness. A sweet, soul soothing memory after such a stressful day.


Spring

Blue Pyramid, North Cascades of Washington

24-120mm @38mm, f/5, 1/2500sec, ISO1250

An aerial photography trip over the northern Cascade range has been near the top of my bucket list for several years now. This past April my friend Paul Bowman finally made it happen. Shooting aerials has a steep learning curve since you’re photographing from a fast moving, constantly vibrating plane. By mid-flight I had some techniques at least half way dialed in. Using a high shutter speeds is essential, a task made more difficult in the dimming late afternoon light. High ISO’s were the name of the game. The ninety minutes we were up there went by quickly, my focus completely immersed by the spectacular mountain terrain speeding past the planes window. Just as sunset color started really lighting up the higher peaks the sun dropped below a layer of clouds. I managed to capture a couple images before it did, including the one showcased above. A return trip is hopefully going to happen in 2022.


Chandelier, Mount Hood National Forest

70-200mm @180mm, f/16, 1/8 sec, ISO 80

A good photography friend stayed at my house for a few days before and after he led a workshop in Olympic National Park. On one of the days we tossed around ideas to go photography locally but I couldn’t really think of anything exciting. He suggested this semi-well known waterfall in Mount Hood National Forest and it made perfect sense. It just felt right to go there. I hadn’t been there in several years but knew the place held potential for images. When we arrived at the falls there were people EVERYWHERE! It’s super hard for me to get into the right frame of mind when other people are around. Soon I found myself in a pattern of stepping forward for ten or so minutes, making some images, then retreating to the back of the crowd to steel myself for another foray. The scene was interesting enough and light conditions gave us just enough to make me forget so many others were around. This image was my favorite from the outing, and is on the shortlist of images I enjoy most from the past year.


Pale Green Eyes, Redwoods National Park

24-120mm @120mm, f/11, 1/15sec, ISO200

In May I jumped at the chance to make the drive down to the Redwoods to connect with two Colorado based photography friends. I had visions of dense fog, glorious light, and prime spring greens. Only thing I found was prime green springs. Most days were clear so photography was mostly confined to morning and later in the afternoons. I’m more patient these days, accept the conditions given and find ways to make images. In fact, photographing during non-”prime” conditions is a sure way to push out of your creative comfort zone. It forces you to reimagine how you put together images and in the process expands what are creative mind believes to be possible. This image, conceptually not especially unique, was captured during less than stellar lighting conditions for forest photography. Minimal clouds, a high sun, and penetrating light all combined for high contrast photography. Compose anyway, expose for the most important highlights, let the background fall in to darkness. Simple concept and rather easy to pull off but surprising that many miss seeing this opportunity because of some preconceived notion of what constitutes “good” light for forest photography .


Summer

The Archer, Dead Horse State Park, Utah

16-35 @24mm, f/11, 0.3sec, ISO200

This summer my family and I spent two weeks on the road hitting various locations in Utah and SW Colorado. Our second stop was the canyon lands of eastern Utah. It was hot, 104 degree hot, so we forked over money for a hotel in a nearby town. I had no plans on photographing anything, but the forecast and cloud set up were too good not to make a last second run to Dead Horse State Park. The light and colors that afternoon were special. An intense sunset spread out over the huge canyon, even a rainbow arched into the deepest part of the canyon. The whole scene was one of those exhilarating, uncommon moments nature lovers dream of experiencing. As I worked my way along the canyon rim looking for a good angle to shoot the display I decided to take a quick glance behind me. A cluster of boulders and trees were lit up with the purest, most welcoming warm red color I’ve seen, complimented above by the deep blues of a threatening sky. This color combination instantly made me forget about the canyon. Behind me was the real show. As often is the case the light faded after just a few minutes. The image above of a lone tree which resembled an archer drawing his arrow with bow outstretched was the only one I was able to photograph. But it works, at least for me.

So, some thoughts on the decision to not photograph an extraordinary sky and color display over the iconic Dead Horse State Park. Having photographed enough intense color displays over the years I felt the intense color would so dominate the image that the nature, composition, details would be lost. The image would undoubtedly be about the sky, not the nature before me. Contrasted against the image above, which feels focused and complete with its beautiful warm to cool color transition, textured sky, and suggestive “figurine”, my decision feels sound. One small example of the valuable roll experience plays.


Brighten the Corners, Capitol Reef National Park

100-400mm @155mm, f/16, 0.6sec, ISO 64

The last stop on our summer trip was Capitol Reef National Park. I’ve visited or driven through this park a dozen times. It impresses me more each time. Even though I often strain my neck up at the high sandstone walls, I find the park’s trees most interesting. It’s curious to be surrounded by such geologic wonder only to focus almost entirely on trees which provide little hint of their dramatic setting. This particular visit to Capitol Reef was my first during the summer months. I prefer photographing the skeletal forms of the park’s cottonwoods and box elders in winter and early spring when their leaves have long dropped and the visually captivating lines of their branches are on full display. How would it work to photograph these trees when flush with summer leaves? I was happy to find that instead of obscuring their form the greens actually added mystery and tension by breaking up the lines formed by branches — a good thing!


The Mountain, southern Cascades of Washington

24-120mm @120mm, f/8, 0.3sec, ISO 80

Perhaps my personal favorite image from 2021. The ghostly and imposing figure of Mount Rainier rising above the foothills of the southern Cascade mountains. Mount Rainier has played a significant role in my life, in fact it’s on the shortlist of reasons why I decided to move to the Pacific Northwest twenty five years ago. In the intervening years I’ve hiked and backpacked in the park untold numbers of times, including backpacking the 93 mile long Wonderland trail which circles the mountain and climbing to its icy crown five times. Mount Rainier was even the place my wife and I first started to make a connection beyond mere friendship. To this day seeing the massive bulk of Rainier from any vantage creates a feeling seeing friend who knows me just as well as I know them. Rainier is a place I’ll return to for as long as I’m alive.


Autumn

Color Riot, south central Washington

70-200mm @170mm, f/16, 0.3 sec, ISO 64

Those of you who follow my work my have seen some images of the oak forests of Washington and Oregon. Much like their wetter, more moss and lichen laden western counterparts, these drier forest are a challenge to photograph. They’re often convoluted and the ground cover is often lackluster or barren, making it often necessary to remove it from any composition. What I find does work well is a tighter framing focused of the character-filled branches. This image was created during prime fall color. Burnt orange and yellows were most common but this section of woodland also contained some nice reds, punctuated by pale lichen. After struggling for an hour or more I noticed this colorful cross section of forest and immediately knew it would be my favorite images from the day. It’s busy and a bit convoluted, but my eye finds these chaotic yet simultaneously organized images to be visually striking and challenging in a good way.


Some Behind the Scenes videos and images from the 2020

Looking for a New Backpacking Tripod? So am I...

My current tripod, an Induro GIT304L — the beast that it is, attached to the side of my otherwise lightweight backpacking set up.

My current tripod, an Induro GIT304L — the beast that it is, attached to the side of my otherwise lightweight backpacking set up.

*** UPDATE 6/11/2021***

In the end I went with a tripod which wasn’t initially in the running — the FLM CP30-L4 II. The CP30’s combination of height (68”), weight (3.1 lbs), compact folded size, and cost ($459, although I bought mine used from the USA dealer for $300) made it a clear choice. I picked it up yesterday and my initial impressions are favorable. I’ll have to put it through the paces in the field before knowing for sure.

Some other resources I found valuable as I continued to research backpacking tripods:

Tim Parkin’s Travel Tripod review in On Landscape Magazine.

The Center Column provides excellent reviews of tripods and contains a wealth of info on all things tripods. Here’s their review of the FLM CP30-L4 review.

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Summer is almost here and I’m finally accepting the cold hard fact that I need a new backpacking tripod. In fact, I’ve never actually owned a backpacking tripod. I’ve always just strapped by trusty Induro GIT304L onto the side of my pack, shouldered it, and headed up trail. The problem is this tripod weighs in at a backbreaking 4.76 lbs (2.16 kilos). Not exactly a piece of ultralight gear. When you add in the weight of camera gear, food, stove, fuel, tent, sleeping bag, etc. even a few extra pounds are a killer on the trail.

My initial round of research led to a short list of three contenders. I then posted a question to social media asking other photographers which lightweight tripod they trust in the backcountry. I received a lot of great recommendations, enough so that I had difficulty keeping all of the specs straight. To make sense of it all I decided to create a chart to compare key features and specs. I prioritized three features: weight (of course), maximum height, and cost. Ideally I was looking for a tripod under 3 lbs (1.36 kilos), with a maximum height close to 60” (1.52 meters), all at a cost under $500. My next considerations were load capacity and minimum size when collapsed. I rated these features using color coding to make easy visual sense of of each tripod’s pros and cons.

My son and I backpacking in Wyoming

My son and I backpacking in Wyoming


So, at this point I’m slightly leaning toward the FEISOL, followed closely by Colorado Tripod Company, FLM, and Sirui. Next step will be to read reviews and reach out to individual photographers who have in the field experience with each model. I’ll be sure to keep you posted on my final decision!

I’ve embedded my chart below if you happen to also be searching for a new backpacking tripod. It’s by no means a comprehensive list of options, and the color codings relate only to my personal preferences, but I believe it’s good information anyway. Hope it helps!


2020 Rewind

Here we are, the end of 2020. Easily the most bizarre and reality altering year in recent memory. Safe to say 2020 didn’t go exactly as anyone had hoped. The COVID-19 pandemic reached its tentacles into all aspects of society, wreaking havoc on everyone one way or the other. My family and I were fortunate to weather this storm relatively unscathed, so far. Cutting short an annual trip to the desert southwest as well as cancelling a return trip to the Peruvian Andes were the only inconveniences, minor in comparison to the hand others have been dealt. So since last March I’ve been hunkered down here in the Pacific Northwest, only making one road trip to Wyoming for a family backpacking trip. As a photographer there could be worse places to wait out a pandemic than Oregon and the greater Pacific Northwest. Again, I recognize how lucky and blessed I am. 

As crazy as 2020 has been this year did have some special moments and highlights. What follows are some memorable images I managed churned out in 2020 along with some behind the scenes information:

LATE WINTER 2020

Silver Linings, Death Valley National Park100 -400mm @250mm, f/16, 1/50sec, ISO 64

Silver Linings, Death Valley National Park

100 -400mm @250mm, f/16, 1/50sec, ISO 64

In January I flew down to Death Valley for a short three day trip with some good friends. It was a last minute decision to go and I wasn’t really sure I wanted to go with it. Knowing what I do now about how the world was about to change, I’m really glad I said ‘fuck it’ and stepped on the plane.

Those who follow my work know dunes are easily one of my favorite subjects to photograph. There seems to be an endless variety of compositions, which change with each passing moment as the light progresses. This is my favorite style of photography, complete entanglement with the subject and the ever evolving moment. I made a few images of the central dune featured in this image during pre-dawn light. These frames held potential and presented a nice soft silvery version of this composition. Once the direct light hit the sand the composition took on an entirely new energy. It’s pretty easy to visualize the light gradually washing over the central dune as it also illuminates the criss-crossing foreground features. Even though this was the first “keeper” image I photographed this year, it may still be my favorite from 2020. 

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Inner Glow, Death Valley National Park14-24mm @16mm, f/16, 0.8sec, ISO 100

Inner Glow, Death Valley National Park

14-24mm @16mm, f/16, 0.8sec, ISO 100

A  friend gave me some information on exploring a few narrow canyons I’d never been to before. I never expected to see such intense reflected light in Death Valley but there I was looking up and marveling at the light bouncing around this slot canyon. I framed this image to make it appear as though the viewer was heading towards the opening of a cave with a huge boulder/ chockstone holding the ceiling up. Whenever I photograph slot canyons I like to ignore the horizon line to experiment with introducing stronger visual dynamics. 

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Color Splash, southern Utah70-200mm @120mm, f/16, 0.6sec, ISO 64

Color Splash, southern Utah

70-200mm @120mm, f/16, 0.6sec, ISO 64

In early March I made a trip to southern Utah, an area which always fascinates me and causes my creative juices to flow freely. Looking back maybe the trip wasn’t the best idea given the rapidly intensifying pandemic. We cut the trip short after realizing even hotels in some counties were not allowing out of state visitors. We mainly used dispersed camping options so were more than adequately distanced from others. 

Utah is amazing. The state possesses a vast amount of geologic beauty: buttes, badlands, and canyons. But what I found myself mainly drawn to on this trip were bare branched, late winter cottonwoods. For whatever reason that was what excited me and so I spent a disproportionate amount of time photographing them. This grouping I spotted while driving down a road near sunset one day. Quick U-turn and hundred yard walk led to this perspective. The combination of lighting conditions, lines, and color contrasts were just too good to pass up. 

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Grey Beard, southern Utah70-200mm @112mm, f/11, 1/160sec, ISO 200

Grey Beard, southern Utah

70-200mm @112mm, f/11, 1/160sec, ISO 200

Another cottonwood which I drove past several times and which grabbed my attention and forced me to look at it each and every time I did. When this happens I know I need to seriously consider the potential presence of an image. Over the years I’ve found it’s wise to listen to these little sparks of subconscious inspiration, even if it’s hard to initially see the existence of a worthy composition.

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SPRING 2020

Alive, southern Washington24-120mm @105mm, f/8, 180sec, ISO800

Alive, southern Washington

24-120mm @105mm, f/8, 180sec, ISO800

Over the last year I’ve become fascinated by the oak forests found in Washington and Oregon. Their twisted and gnarled trunks hold more character than their taller, wider, straighter brethren found in the temperate forests along the west side of the Cascade range. It’s such a vastly different shooting experience. This fascination has turned into a project of mine with the goal of photographing these oak forests in all seasons over the coming years. The composition seen in this image is one I had photographed several times, but without much success. The early summer greens were absolutely perfect on the day I shot this and the highlights of light finally provided the set of conditions which worked rather well. The toughest part was avoiding the massive patches of poison oak (the entire bottom edge is poison oak) and rattlesnakes (I almost stepped on one an hour after taking this image).

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Revival, Columbia River Gorge24-85mm @34mm, f/8, 0.5sec, ISO 160

Revival, Columbia River Gorge

24-85mm @34mm, f/8, 0.5sec, ISO 160

One of the surprising side effects of the COVID-19 pandemic was the way it drove large numbers of people into the outdoors. Common trailheads were absolutely packed and many trails were overcrowded. This made it hard to social distance as well as find the peace and calm most go into nature to experience. Luckily I have a couple local creeks and forests I like to shoot where I know it’s unlikely to encounter anyone else. I’ve visited the area depicted in this image perhaps 25 times and have never run into another person. As for the image, I often have stopped and looked at this straightforward composition but never knew how to present it in an engaging manner. Finally, the light was just right and I knew how I wanted to shape this lighting in post to produce the outcome I’ve always wanted. Again, this is up there as one of my favorite images from this year.

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SUMMER 2020

Sunburst, Mount Rainier National Park24-120mm @58mm, f/11, 1/250sec, ISO64

Sunburst, Mount Rainier National Park

24-120mm @58mm, f/11, 1/250sec, ISO64

One of my favorite aspects of photography is coming home with an image I had no idea existed before setting out in the morning. This image of the morning sun blasting through fog is such an image. I had come to this location to photograph sunrise on Mount Rainier. Dense fog had other plans and I barely saw the mountain that morning. One time tested maxim I live by is to “shoot the conditions”. Fog may have laid waste to plans to photograph an enormous glaciated volcano in beautiful early morning light within a grand landscape, but it also opened up possibilities for more unique, introspective images. I spent quite some time photographing the fog drifting through this subalpine forest before the intensity of the rising sun finally began to burn through the fog layer. The light depicted in this image only lasted a few minutes so I feel fortunate to find this composition before it changed. 

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Wall Light, Wyoming24-120mm @38mm, f/8, 1/100sec, ISO200

Wall Light, Wyoming

24-120mm @38mm, f/8, 1/100sec, ISO200

I’ve wanted to backpack into this mountain range in Wyoming ever since 1992. Two friends and I made the long drive to the trailhead only to bail on the trip because of the ferocity of the mosquitoes which swarmed us as soon as we left our car. Ever since going back to experience these mountains was my own personal outdoor version of Moby Dick. This summer my wife, son, and myself finally made the return. Those mountains didn’t disappoint. We spent four days backpacking here, moving camp every night. Virtually every mile was beautiful. A photography friend told me about this lake surrounded by craggy peaks. After a bit of research I knew there was no way I would miss seeing it. The day I made this image menacing storm clouds swept the area, threatening to unload its load of rain. The lightning and thunder never materialized but the light streaming through holes in those deep blue clouds produced an ethereal and dynamic mid-day display. The more neutral color of light found at that time of day worked perfectly against the rich blues in the clouds. 

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FALL 2020

Drapes, Olympic National Park24-120mm @ 50mm, f/11, 1.3sec, ISO250

Drapes, Olympic National Park

24-120mm @ 50mm, f/11, 1.3sec, ISO250

I’ve known of these trees for seven years or more and have photographed them twice without getting any results. In my mind I felt they needed to be photographed in more atmospheric conditions. This past fall I went back to the park. The weather was good for much of the trip except for the last day. As I drove home I stopped by these trees and immediately in a cold steady rain and knew conditions were looking good. I originally wasn’t sold on this composition but as it’s settled in I’ve grown to enjoy it more. Not sure if this will live a long life in one of my galleries, but it is an image I appreciate from this past year.

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Autumn Palette, Washington Cascade Range70-200mm @70mm, f/11, 2.0sec, ISO64

Autumn Palette, Washington Cascade Range

70-200mm @70mm, f/11, 2.0sec, ISO64

For several years I’ve wanted to capture peak autumn color as it unfolds in the subalpine areas of the Cascade Mountains. The staggered meadows, tree groupings, and views characterizing subalpine areas make it perhaps my favorite mountain area to visit, and to photograph. In my days as a climber I wanted to go high into the raw, wild areas or rock and snow well above tree line. More recently these meadows and trees have been my new mountain home. 

For this image I wanted to focus the composition around not only the variety of colors but the different elements which make this environment so special to me: rocks, water channels, slopes, and of course those amazingly hardy alpine trees. 

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LATE FALL/ EARLY WINTER 2020

Hold Outs, southern Washington24-120mm @66mm, f/16, 1.0sec, ISO64

Hold Outs, southern Washington

24-120mm @66mm, f/16, 1.0sec, ISO64

This fall I found myself shooting deeper into the season than normal. The structure present in increasingly bare trees is incredibly intriguing. When little pops of residual fall color punctuate the branches this forest world is almost irresistible. I stumbled upon these trees while driving the backroads of southern Washington. It was still early morning and the rising sun had not yet struck this side of the valley. Compositionally the idea was to allow the vertical lines to balance out the natural horizontal bands of background color. The interspersed leaves played perfectly against the cool green tones found in the background. This is an image which I didn’t think much about during capture, but when I opened this file on my computer I immediately understood its potential. I shoot almost constantly while out in the field, seeing through any little spark of inspiration. This is something I tell to my private workshop clients, many of whom are surprised by the advice. I have many images in my portfolio which only exist because I was relentless in following that little voice in my head saying over and over again, “there’s something here.”

Frost and Solitude24-120mm @24mm, f/11, 1.3sec, ISO100

Frost and Solitude

24-120mm @24mm, f/11, 1.3sec, ISO100

In late November I headed towards a new area I wanted to explore. As I drove I noticed fog and clouds clinging to high elevation ridge lines and plateaus. Fog is a favorite subject of mine so I was naturally stoked. As I got closer though I realized it wasn’t just fog, but a freezing fog which had coated the trees and grasslands in a sugary crust of ice. It was a special day out there wandering all alone around in dense fog surrounded by some of the most engaging subject matter I had come across all year. A fitting way to end the year.

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That’s a wrap! Thanks for taking the time to view these images and read a bit more about them.

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2019 Rewind

Twenty-nineteen has been a personally varied and interesting year. The year started off roaming around the deserts of southern California, first with my family, then with friends, and finally by myself. This trip set a the tone for a great year of photography. In late March I found myself once again exploring more of what Edward Abbey refers to as “god’s country” in Utah and northern Arizona. Visiting these arid areas is always a welcome break after a long winter of rain and clouds in Portland. Prime Spring (May through June) found me making countless visits to the Pacific Northwest’s forests, falls, and creeks. Summer marked the biggest change for me and my family compared to the past handful of years. For the first time in five years my family and I decided to stay stateside, forgoing our new tradition of traveling out of country for much of July and early August. Remaining in the Pacific Northwest allowed me to backpack into the Cascade high country which, to me, contains the most incredible subalpine mountain scenery in the lower 48’s. Backpacking in the Cascade range was something I craved badly after several summers traveling overseas the previous five years., so it felt great to reconnect with a mountain environment which has meant so much to me over the past twenty years. Beyond my local backpacking trips my small family and I paid a visit to the High Sierra, Yosemite, and the White Mountains of California for two weeks. Let’s just say the Sierras left me wanting more and I can’t wait to return some day. Fall, like spring, was spent close to home, making weekly trips to Olympic National Park, the Redwoods, and southern British Columbia, in addition to exploring a personal project of mine in more out of the way locations in the eastern Columbia River Gorge. Thanks to all of my friends and family who came along on these trips and help make 2019 such a great year!

Here are a few of the images which have made 2019 such a memorable year:

Serpentine Stance (January 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 24-120 f/4 @46mm, f/8 for 2 seconds, ISO 400

After spending Christmas with my wife and son in Joshua Tree I was able to connect with photography friends, both old and new, out in the desert to ring in the New Year. It was great to spend time with like minded people, share our thoughts on all things photography and, hopefully, create some new art. Serpentine Stance is one of the new images I came home with. This viewpoint overlooking a vast field of badlands has been on my photographic radar since my first visit to the area in 2014. A handful of us made the drive up to this viewpoint to take advantage of the post-sunset glow we knew would fall over these badlands.. As soon as I walked to the edge I noticed this inverted s-curve coursing through the badlands and knew it make a great focal point to help organize these eroded hills. Once the glow reached its peak I switched to a mid-telephoto zoom. Compositionally the intent was to take advantage of crossing directions: one formed by the diagonal created by the curve and buttresses coming in from the lower right corner, the other created by the open area releasing from the top of the curve toward the upper right corner which is accentuated by the shadow/ light line. In the end this image may be one of my personal favorites from the year even if it was taken on January 1st. 


Swept by Light (January 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 70-200 f/4 @175mm, f/22 for ⅛ second, ISO64

After saying goodbye to my friends I found myself with a few days to kill so I decided to make the drive to this lesser visited dune field in Death Valley National Park. After a few wrong turns I finally found a great place to park the pickup for the night. The quiet all encompassing - no wind, no people, no cars, no birds or animals. I was completely alone and the silence was stunning. I soaked in this feeling of solitude over the full day I was there. It’s rare for me to feel complete isolation and it was this aspect of my brief visit which made the trip feel all the more special. 

Compositionally the primary objective was to balance the sunlit areas of the scene, especially how much of the upper right oval of light to include. In instances like this I find myself relying more on instinct over trying to think the composition through. Either the comp “feels” good to my eye or it doesn’t. Any adjustment relies less on telling myself what to do (“step left, zoom in, etc”) than it does just reacting wordlessly to the glowing image on my lcd until I sense that it’s as strong as I can make it in that moment, under that state of mind. 


Setting Sail (January 2019)Nikon D850, Nikon 70-200mm f/4 @78mm, f/22, for 1/100 second, ISO800, handheld

Setting Sail (January 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 70-200mm f/4 @78mm, f/22, for 1/100 second, ISO800, handheld

Second image from that evening in Death Valley. This is a great example of “found” photography -- an image whose existence was unimaginable when I first heading toward those dunes. I happened to be walking through this relatively flat section of dunes filled with beautiful low-relief ripples whose highest sections were catching the low angle late day sun. If I had walked by ten minutes before, or five minutes after, the light would not present itself as it does here. After quickly shooting a few compositions containing only the ripples I noticed this long dead plant sticking out the sand. The plant’s form reminded me of boat which, with the light catching the ripples as it did, had just begun its long journey across some unknown ocean, only in this case it was an ocean of sand. 


Dragon’s Breath (March 2019)Nikon D850, Nikon 14-24 f/2.8 @15mm, f/11 for 4seconds, ISO 400

Dragon’s Breath (March 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 14-24 f/2.8 @15mm, f/11 for 4seconds, ISO 400

Over the past few years myself and some good friends have spent late March road tripping through in the desert Southwest. These trips usually begin with a 9:00pm departure time from Portland . We then make an all night Cannonball Run drive to position ourselves somewhere in Utah for sunrise. The rest of the trip unfolds with a hard driving mixture of hiking, photography, driving, laughing, and drinking beer around a campfire at night. This image from northern Arizona was made after a sunset exploded across the sky -- and when I say exploded I don’t mean just across one half of the sky ,but literally 360 degrees of mind blowing color and light. This show may just be the single greatest sunset I’ve ever experienced. It was so good I caught myself laughing out loud to no one in particular, hooting and hollering. Sounds great, right? Well it was but with the sky going off in all directions a new problem presented itself -- what to shoot? Normally as I scout a location I consider the direction of the sun at sunrise and sunset and which features could be utilized at various times of the day and under different conditions. So when the entire sky exploded I found myself a bit overwhelmed with which scouted composition would be optimal. I’m usually pretty self-possessed while shooting but on this night I can admit to running around like a feral hog trying to line something up. All previous ideas seemed to run together with no clear front runner cementing itself in my brain commanding me to go! In the end I settled for a composition using a set of sweeping lines with the tallest petrified dune formation as background. While I enjoy this image those sweeping striations have been used in many, many images from this location. I’ve come to prefer this composition taken a while past sundown under fading light but while the color from the vibrant sunset still catching in the clouds. 


The Big Deep (June 2019)Nikon D850, Nikon 14-24mm f/2.8 @14mm, f/11 for 0.3 seconds, ISO 100

The Big Deep (June 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 14-24mm f/2.8 @14mm, f/11 for 0.3 seconds, ISO 100

Although the Columbia River Gorge receives most of the attention (at least until the 2017 Eagle Creek wildfire) there are an incredible number of remarkable waterfalls lurking in southern Washington’s Gifford Pinchot National Forest which are equally photogenic, as long as your wiling to put the effort in to reach them. For those who feel comfortable with off-trail navigation and bushwhacking whole new realms of discovery await. Each spring my friend Brian Kibbons and I find ourselves on at least a couple of these excursions. There is something irresistible about scouting feasible descent routes into deep river canyons, plunging through the lush, overgrown forest, and picking paths across jumbled sections of downed trees in hopes of locating a beautiful waterfall relatively few have seen before. The value found in personal discovery, personal adventure, and confronting the unknown cannot be overstated. As modern humans we often shy away from the unknown, attempting to control our lives into predictable routines and outcomes, sanitizing ourselves from dead ends and disappointments. At least this is how my own life feels much of the time. From research I had known there was an amazing waterfall somewhere deep in this canyon (if we could find it), we just didn’t know how deep. From the moment I finally saw this waterfall I knew it was a gem. As much as I enjoy this photograph it was the sum of the experience we had that day which makes it one of my favorites from 2019. 


Heaven’s Gate (July 2019)

Heaven’s Gate (July 2019)

Back in 2002 I spent ten days backpacking the Wonderland Trail which climbs and winds its way around the base of Mount Rainier. On the last day of the trip a weather system moved in. Initially the bad weather bummed me out, but as we picked our way to the day’s high point a majestic ridge of tall coniferous trees poked through the top of the swirling clouds. At that moment I realized just how beautiful and mysterious the Pacific Northwest’s notorious rain could be. I took one image on slide film using my old Nikon N80. That image has since occupied a spot in my brain. Ever since I’ve wanted to create a modern digital version. Fast forward to this summer: my family and I waited out a long rainy day in the lowlands before backpacking into the subalpine areas along Mount Baker northern slope. Just before sunset the clouds broke and I was able to photograph the view of Mount Baker which I had come for. Satisfied with that image I began the walk back down to camp. Very quickly I realized it would be a very long walk because of all the beauty the clearing storm was creating. Fog and mist were swept over many of the ridge lines radiating down from the peak. This frame was one of my favorites and, so far, most closely approximates the image I had captured all those years ago in Mount Rainier.


May It Last (August 2019)Nikon D850, Nikon 14-24 f/2.8 @22mm, f/11 for 1/50 second, ISO 100

May It Last (August 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 14-24 f/2.8 @22mm, f/11 for 1/50 second, ISO 100

Clouds and rain were a frequent companion on many of my backpacking trips this summer. This late summer trip to Mount Baker was no different. As I hiked up to this location heavy moisture laden clouds threatened to unload at any moment. Luckily it held off. For the remainder of the afternoon and evening my world was comprised of a dense foggy, soupy atmosphere which reduced visibility to less than 100 feet. Sunset was a bust, of course, yet I dutifully set my alarm for another crack as sunrise anyway. My alarm went off and my first thought was there was a nearly zero percent chance conditions had improved overnight. Nature was calling so I reluctantly took a look anyway. I unzipped my tent and instantly was confronted by the ghostly outline of Mount Baker rising above a perfect band of mid-elevation clouds. I quickly packed and made my way up to this composition which I had scouted the afternoon before. As the light rose I fired off several frames capturing the movement of the mid-elevation clouds. As a veiled sun rose over the horizon line a burst of golden yellow light began flooding through the right third of the frame. For a moment I thought it would bathe the entire scene with this ethereal light but some unseen cloud shut down the light show. The infusion of light and color I did experience was easily one of the most awe inspiring moments of the summer. 


Autumn of the Elders (September 2019)Nikon 24-120 f/4 @86mm, f/8 for 0.6 seconds, ISO 200

Autumn of the Elders (September 2019)

Nikon 24-120 f/4 @86mm, f/8 for 0.6 seconds, ISO 200

Those of you who follow my work know what a personally significant place Olympic National Park is. I lived and worked there for two summers in college and the park played a leading role in my decision to relocate to the Pacific Northwest in my early twenties. In all of my visits I’d actually never actually seen these great rainforests during fall as the leaves were changing. This year I was determined to see this old friend when it was showing me something a bit different. I normally don’t like to visit the Hoh Rainforest in late Spring or summer because, frankly, the crowds make it difficult to want to create any photographs. I hoped Fall would be less busy, which it was. The forecast called for mostly clear skies which constrained obvious shooting opportunities to the late afternoon and early morning hours. On my first evening I wandered out to this beautify old moss laden maple tree whose personality at once jumped out and asked me to photograph it. The clear skies led to a natural cool blue color cast in the forest which I chose to run with by keeping my chosen white balance on the cool side. These cool tones helped to separate the warmer yellows and red browns in the foliage causing them to pop. This image may be my favorite from 2019 and I can’t wait to see it printed large.


Crystalline Forest (November 2019)Nikon D850, Nikon 24-120 f/4 @78mm, f/11 for 1/13th second, ISO 64

Crystalline Forest (November 2019)

Nikon D850, Nikon 24-120 f/4 @78mm, f/11 for 1/13th second, ISO 64

Winter marked its arrival in central Oregon with a bang. Several nights of freezing fog transformed this Ponderosa Pine forests into an otherworldly realm of ice and white, punctuated by the reddish brown bark of the Ponderosa pine trees. I first saw these forests coated in hoar frost while driving to Thanksgiving dinner and it absolutely pained me to not be able to stop and photograph for a while. But I knew the next morning would be incredible. First light couldn’t come soon enough. From the moment I stepped out of my car I knew it would be a special day of shooting. It was one of those kid in a candy store scenarios with compositions everywhere. I came away with so many different images I found it difficult deciding which to process first. This frame caught my eye so I ran with it, although I think there may be one or more others I may just end up liking more. No matter, this image does showcase just how remarkable the conditions were that morning.


That’s a wrap! Thanks for taking a few minutes to look at these images and read some of the background of their making. Thank you to all of the people who shared these experiences with me and helped make 2019 such a great year!

Iceland, Summer 2018

Iceland is a small country possessing a large abundance of world class natural beauty. In recent years Iceland has, deservedly, cemented its place among the world’s most sought after photographic destinations. Iceland occupies a spot high on the bucket list of many tripod toting travelers on the world photography circuit . Having said this, however, I can admit to holding some reservations before my own trip to the island country last summer.

Deciding to go to Iceland was unexpected. For the previous three summers my wife, my son, and I explored South America, traveling first to Ecuador, then Colombia, and finally to Peru. I expected this trend to continue. So when my wife proposed spending a few days in Iceland on our way to Spain I jumped at the idea. Why not? Its beauty is legendary and, besides, when else would I be able to put a trip to Iceland together on the fly? Perhaps this would be my only opportunity. There was no way I would pass it up. Our plan for a brief stop eventually morphed into a 17 day odyssey around the island.

I have to admit something. As I prepared for the trip a nagging unease began to creep in. Before most photography trips I tend to have an array of concepts in mind to ferret out once I’m on the ground and start to work my way through the trip. With these ideas swimming around in the back of my head it then becomes an exercise in reacting to weather and light conditions to decide which concept makes the most sense at a particular location for each particular day. For Iceland, though, I was blank. And that was the source of most of the unease I felt. The remainder resulted from the fact I truly don’t enjoy photographing in around groups of other people and, from all that’s reported, Iceland is insanely crowded in the summer. Large groups throw me off, creating a mental barrier between myself and the nature I’m trying to connect with in order to produce a meaningful photograph. So, the way I decided to deal with this unease was to approach Iceland with an entirely different mindset. Instead of fixating on positioning myself to be in the right spot at the right time to get the “best”shot, I’d just allow the trip to progress at its own natural pace, only photographing what moved me as we moved throughout the country as regular travelers would. It was a throwback to a style of photography I engaged in during film days while I was traveling around the world for 16 months. If I stumbled across a subject which was interesting or beautiful, I photographed it. If I didn’t, the camera stayed in the pack. This allowed my mind to focus on traveling for the sheer joy of traveling, especially since I was with my family and some non-photography friends. I continued to keep an eye on the sky and weather, but I usually didn't go out photographing unless I was particularly moved to do so. In the end I feel this style worked out well, even if I know I passed on some potentially strong photographic moments.

Below are images from the trip accompanied by some insights into the making of each image.  

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Falling Light

Nikon D850 Nikon 70-200 f/4 @102mm, f/11, 1/125, ISO200

When I first drove past this waterfall in the south of Iceland it seemed unimaginable that I’d never seen an image of it before. It was that jaw-droppingly stunning. I was sure images existed, but it was not a frequently photographed scene. I drove past it three more times over the next two weeks and grew all the more confident there was a great image to be made under the right conditions. On the last pass  amazing afternoon light flooded across the upper half of the waterfall. I quickly made a u-turn as my pulse quickened knowing it wouldn’t last long. Two minutes later I had my long lens out and hand held a variety of compositions which aimed to balance the falls against the direction of the light. At the bottom the wide sweep of the valley helped round things out. The light soon faded and the scene lost its energy.


Pathways-1500.jpg

Light on the Path

Nikon D850 Nikon 70-200 f/4 @200mm, f/16, 1/125, ISO400

This particular image remains special to me. Hours before creating it I had no idea it was out there, it was beyond any preconceived concept for any potential images I could create that day. In this regard it is a prime example of what I refer to as “discovered photography” -- images which are borne from staying open to the moment, allowing yourself to react to what’s given, and capturing images which, under a different mindset, could easily have been passed over.

When I originally posted this image online I went a bit deeper into my own personal philosophy when it comes to being a photographer who deeply values the vital role experience plays in our unique art form. Below is an excerpt from the original post:

“This is perhaps my favorite image from the trip -- a brief moment of light coursing through a barren landscape in the northern part of the country. By the time I pulled over there was barely a moment left to press the shutter and capture this image before the sun dipped below a saddle in a ridge, snuffing the light out in an instant. It was painful. I wanted it to continue. There were more images out there -- good ones. I’m normally more fatalistic when it comes to good light-- when it comes I’m appreciative, when it leaves I’m thankful for having had the experience knowing full well any internal desires I hold do little to combat the inexorable rotation of the earth or the ill-timed intrusion of wind driven clouds. Nature is nature, personal desires are meaningless. We as photographers are, more than anything, witnesses. We create art out of our experiences, translating them for our viewers in ways which provide a glimpse into the transcendent beauty and transformative power of the natural world. I hold little desire to wade into online battles regarding what differentiates photography from other art forms. It’s a conversation better reserved over a pint of beer or while sitting around a campfire. But for me one thing is undeniable: the power of photography resides in its relationship to experience.”


Tower-of-Light-1800.jpg

Highland Glow

Nikon D850 Nikon 70-200 f/4 @170mm, f/11, 1/60, ISO800

Visiting the interior was a top priority for the trip. We opted against visiting Thorsmurk because of a bad weather forecast. So instead we went to Landmannalaugar, a high volcanic region with incredibly unique scenery. Luckily a break in the weather promised solid afternoon light. I hiked to the top of a nearby hill to see what I could find. As I hiked down the backside I noticed this double-horned rock outcrop with some great diagonal, forking lines of snow adjacent to it. The light was flat, but I added this scene to the growing list of compositional possibilities which could hold potential with the addition of good light. It’s something I do whenever I shoot — keep a running tab on details both large and small in case conditions/ light change enough to warrant photographing them. A couple hours later I watched as golden light swept towards the outcrop. I hiked/ ran back up to this perspective as sweet directional, yet veiled light struck the left descending diagonal in the composition. Couldn’t have asked for a more perfect moment.


Kirkjabling-1200.jpg

Kirkjubling

Nikon D850 14-24 f/2.8 @24mm, f/11, 1.3 seconds, ISO64

Although I really enjoyed visiting and experiencing Iceland’s iconic photography locations. I wasn’t particularly moved to photograph many of them, mainly because I had really crap luck with light, but also because I’ve trended toward photographing more anonymous subjects over the past few years. One of our favorite towns to camp in was Grundarfjörður, a short drive away from perhaps Iceland’s most iconic mountain: Kirkjufell. As awe inspiring as it was to walk near and marvel up at Kirkjufell I initially wasn’t particularly interested in creating yet another image to add to the tens of thousands which already exist. Then again, if special conditions were offered up, I would be much more willing to the explore the process of finding my own version of the place. As we played soccer at a local field I watched as a perfect weather setup (interesting clouds over head with a clear skies gap on the horizon) unfolded over the area, dramatically increasing the odds for an explosive sunset. There was no way I could pass on those conditions. Near the waterfalls (featured in a high percentage of Kirkjufell images) were several creeks cascading down from high, steep, green hills. I chose one which held the most promise and wandered up alongside it until I found this sinuous, spillover which cascaded toward Kirkjufell. Compositionally I focused on using the creek as a diagonal entry into the bottom right corner of the frame before it wound away into the distance, drawing the viewer’s eye through the frame right toward Kirkjufell itself. The other important consideration was to ensure the mountain was proportionate within the frame in relation to the creek. This is a common mistake when shooting at ultra-wide angles. I settled on a focal length of 24mm, which seemed to work best to maintain this balance. It would be tempting to go much wider to fit in even more the colorful sky or use the creek in even a more dynamic way, BUT, at such a wide focal length, Kirkjufell would appear small, greatly diminishing its impressive size, symmetry, and power within the composition. Once I settled on my composition I just stood back and watched as changing light and clouds blew across the sky, exposing an image every once in a while to capture the variation in experience. Before long the color turned on and I exposed the image you see here. I packed my bag and slowly walked back down, appreciating and savoring the experience I was given.


Shiva's-Resistance-1800-copy.jpg

Shiva’s Fury

Nikon D850, Nikon 24-120 f/4 @100mm, f/16, 1.3sec, ISO320

I was unprepared for the sheer power and fury of Dettifoss. It is a bone shaking place to experience. Located in northern Iceland, Dettifoss is Europe’s most powerful waterfall. In person it more than lived up to its billing. After taking a few standard wide angle images capturing the entire falls, my eye was drawn to the juxtaposition between the fierce crashing water and this stoic section of canyon wall. It held a story of resistance, of a battle between the destructive forces exerted by tons of raging water and the canyon walls which it cuts and creates.


Hverir-1800.jpg

Outer Ring

Nikon D850 14-24 f/2.8 @24mm, f/11, 0.3 secs, ISO64

I stayed up all night shooting only one of the sixteen nights I spent in Iceland, and this was one of the last images I took that night (morning). I like the image enough, mainly due to the fact it was the first nice sunrise (or sunset) I experienced after nine days on the road. Weather was gloomy this past summer. Meteorologists in Iceland declared it the wettest summer in over a hundred years. A few years back this lack of “nice” skys may have been a source of frustration, but as I’ve gravitated away from chasing big colorful skies, it wasn’t such a big deal nowadays. I always try to stay open to what’s presented, allowed my mind and creativity to react through each moment of a shoot from start to finish.


Medial-Sweep-1800.jpg

Medial Sweep

Nikon D850, Nikon 70-200 f/4 @100mm155mm, f/16, 1/250, ISO200

One of the most impressive hikes we went on in Iceland was alongside this massive glacier descending from the Vatnajökull icecap, a massive continental icecap located in the southern part of the island. Weather, an ever present partner on the trip, obscured many of the high peaks for much of the hike. Every once in a while though the clouds would break, revealing these stunning moraines sweeping down the glacier. Compositionally I wanted to take advantage of these natural lines to draw the eye down right to left then back right again. It’s tight but it works well enough. As I do for many midday mountain images, I decided to deemphasis the colors, allowing tones, lines, and atmosphere to take center stage.



Hiafoss-Vert-Sunset-1200.jpg

Haifoss

Nikon D850, Nikon 24-120 f/4 @28mm, ISO 80

The dramatic waterfall of Haifoss was high on my list of falls to photograph during the trip. Being located up a rather rough road on the edge of the Icelandic highlands ensured it wouldn’t be overrun with people. One fact which I truly appreciated about Iceland is, away from the ring road, the nature is raw and open. There are few railings or fences to cordon off the public from nature as nature presents itself. The shooting location for Haifoss is along the edge of a very deep canyon — and there were no ropes or barriers to prevent a visitor from hanging their toes over the precipice. I wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s how experiencing nature is meant to be done. I lucked out with some nice clouds and color on my visit.


Unreleased images:




















Journey into the Huayhuash: The First Leg

Huayhuash. It's a name which has lived with me for more than thirteen years. Every time I heard or read the word "Huayhuash" my mind would flood with images of high altitude peaks dripping with glaciers and surrounded by grasslands dotted with high alpine lakes. And every time I heard the name Huayhuash an overwhelming urge to one day visit this magnificent Peruvian mountain range became even stronger.

In 2004 my wife and I spent two weeks trekking and climbing in the Cordillera Blanca, the Huayhuash's more famous northern neighbor. We were blown away by the Blanca's Himalayan-esqe mountain structure full of tumbling glaciers, deeply fluted faces, and serrated ridge lines.  While exploring the Blanca our path would occasionally cross with other trekkers who spoke of a mystical range to the south where far fewer people go -- the Cordillera Huayhuash. We were told the Huayhuash held the most stunning high-altitude mountains in all of Peru, if not the whole of South America.  As luck would have it a 68 mile trekking circuit also wound around the range. By the time we left Peru we had made a firm commitment to come back to complete the Huayhuash Circuit. We thought we'd return in a couple years. It would end up taking thirteen.  

Finally, this past July, my wife Betsy, my eight year old son Landon, and myself found ourselves once again in Peru. Along for the ride was Craig GIffen, a long time friend who could seemingly "off the couch" any endurance endeavor he put his mind to. My wife and son would volunteer in a Quechuan village above Huaraz while Craig and I headed into the mountains.

"Espiritu y Colibri"

A lone condor soars toward the summit of Jirishanca (20,098 ft/ 6126 m)

Nikon D800e, Nikon 70-200 f/4 @ 200mm, f/8, 1/400 sec 

 

Quartelhuain: Days 1 & 2

The beginning of the trek was anything but smooth. I was still battling a case of metatarsalgia so severe it literally left me hobbled and limping through Lima's airport and through the streets Huaraz. I had no idea if my foot would hold up, an extremely foreign feeling since I've rarely had an injury of any sort in my life. Hiking for six hours each day while crossing 15,000 or 16,000 ft passes seemed like it would devolve into a grueling, teeth clenched, gut fest. Having waited thirteen years to do this trek the thought of having a random injury prevent me from completing it was unbearable. I squashed this thought each time it arose.

"Omen"

A fast moving lenticular cloud builds over the Huayhuahs Range. This was captured our first afternoon of the trip and I viewed this display as an omen of dynamic weather to come.

Nikon D800e, Nikon 70-200mm @130mm, f/11, 1/80th sec 

Finally, after four days of acclimatizing between 10,000 and 12,000 feet in and around the town of Huaraz, Craig and I took the long ride to to the trek's beginning at Quartelhuain (4170meters/ 13,700feet). Bad luck would rear its head again. Sometime deep in our first night at Quartelhuain Craig hurriedly unzipped my tent door and asked if I had packed loperamide, an anti-diarrheal medicine. He would end up having the most serious bout of traveler's diarrhea I've ever seen. For the next 48 hours he was literally a walking shit factory, making untold trips to the toilet block. We decided to spend a layover day at the trailhead. Craig never complained.  He just slept and rested in his tent, listening to his favorite episodes of The Best Show podcast. It wouldn't be until day four that he felt even 80% of normal. 

Our trusty arriero, Marino

Our trusty arriero, Marino

The one upside of the unexpected down day was becoming better acquainted with our arriero (mule driver), Marino. My Spanish is passable enough to spend hours conversing and exchanging information. Marino had been an arriero in Huayhuash for over forty years and planned to retire at the end of this season. I listened to Marino's stories of the Huayhuash for hours -- and he had incredible stories. I slowly realized the man I listened to played a significant role in the very existence of the Huayhuash Circuit. In 1974 Marino and seven friends spent 25 days exploring the valleys, passes, and high altitude lakes of the Huayhaush, hoping to link together a trekking route which would circle the range. They had no stove, or tent, or anything made of plastic for that matter (plastic things didn't exist in his village in 1974). They caught fish, used dry grass and dung for fuel, and found shelter from the rain and snow under boulders or caves. The journey was cold, wet, and miserable but in the end they discovered a passable route. In 1977 they took the first trekkers into the area. The intervening years saw highs and lows, but the route Marino helped forge, the Huayhaush Circuit, is now regarded as one of the world's classic treks. 

The Huayhuash has a "colorful" history. The area was a stronghold for El Sendero Luminoso (The Shining Path), a militant communist group which waged guerrilla war against the Peruvian government in the late 80's and 90's. After El Sendero was put down the area around the Huayhuash remained dangerous for trekkers as armed robbery was commonplace. Two trekkers were murdered as recently as 2002.  Fortunately the trek's increasing popularity has led to subsequent increase in tourism revenue for local communities which has rendered the area currently safe. 

The layover day also happened to be my birthday. Before turning in I cracked open a beer, sat under the stars, and for the first time was able to feel the incredible vastness of the the range.

 

 

Mitucocha: Day 3

The next morning Craig was still sick but we decided to give the first day of the trek a go anyway. Once again Craig never complained. Instead just put his head down, put his earbuds in, and gutted his way over the first 15,250 ft pass. When arrived at our second camp at Mitucocha (13,980 feet/ 4260 meters) we immediately met Andrew and Jesper, two awesome guys, one American the other Danish, who we would end up hiking with for much of the remainder of the trek. The new company also seemed to revive some of Craig's energy. 

The camp at Mitucocha holds a slow current stream which meanders directly toward the mountains. It's one of those places where you can feel a photograph lurking. So after setting up camp I grabbed my F-stop ICU and tripod then began scouting the stream for compositions. Clouds lowered and sat on the tops of the highest peaks, squashing any hopes of using the core of the Huayhuash as a compositional element. As I walked around I learned the first truth of attempting to photograph in the Huayhaush -- dung.  Yep, livestock dung covers literally every square foot of ground in the valley bottoms and lakesides. Donkeys, horses, and cows graze the grass so heavily it's like walking on a golf course at times. If you look closely you notice dry, old dung everywhere, including all around camp. Any interesting vegetation which could have possibly used for photographic interest long ago passed through the intestinal tracks of long dead animals.

After a while I realized it was unlikely any interesting light would materialize so I packed up and began walking back toward camp. While scouting earlier my eye had been attracted by a solitary, craggy peak and thought it had enough interest to shoot.  As luck would have it the sky caught fire just as I passed under this beautiful peak.  Felt good to have at least one image with potential under my belt.

Craig's sickness had us weighing options. A few kilometers from the camp a dirt road eventually led to a village. From the village a combination of colectivos (small buses serving local communities) would be able to bring Craig back to Huaraz where he could recuperate. I didn't want to abort the trek but there was no way I would send a very sick friend who spoke zero Spanish to a little visited village to navigate his way through an unknown country.  

The next morning Craig felt a bit better so we decided to forge on. We also woke to super dense ground level fog. By the time we finished packing the fog began to break and the core of the Huayhuash finally revealed themselves above. Photographing fog and breaking fog is very high on my list of favorite weather phenomena to shoot.  Moods change quickly and scenes constantly evolve while the fog rises and drifts. A particular comp which was just okay moments before may suddenly become exciting as a hole in the fog opens or mountains reveal themselves. We had no way of knowing the fog we witnessed that morning would be the last clouds we'd see for the next nine days...

A burst of late sunset color rises over a craggy mountain near Laguna MituchochaNikon D800e, Nikon 70-200mm f/4 @ 70mm, 1/13th second, ISO 100

A burst of late sunset color rises over a craggy mountain near Laguna Mituchocha

Nikon D800e, Nikon 70-200mm f/4 @ 70mm, 1/13th second, ISO 100

Carhuacocha: day 4

The next day's route was by far the easiest of the trek. A gentle grade rose gradually to a pass (15,200 feet/ 4620 meters) before descending just as gradually. We walked and talked with Andrew and Jesper. Two condors circled over head, the first I'd ever seen in the wild.

Marino loads the mules at our camp at Laguna Carhuacocha

Wind and sun are constant companions in the Huayhuash. However, there was little wind to speak of that day so the intense heat of the low latitude, high altitude sun became apparent. Hats on, sunscreen applied, water rationed. Somewhere during the descent Craig realized he had dropped his hat a while back along the trail. Since he still felt like crap I walked back for fifteen minutes or so in hopes of relocating it.  Just before giving up I spotted it and headed back down. About a hundred yards from where Craig sat bulls blocked the trail. They were pissed and unmistakably grunting directly at me. I realized I was wearing a red shirt so, being a bit freaked out and superstitious, immediately took it off. The only good option was to climb a steep grassy hillside and give the bulls a wide birth before reconnecting with the trail -- not a pleasant experience at high altitudes. This wouldn't be the last time Craig and I had a run in with bulls.  

After a few hours we rounded over a gentle ridge and found ourselves standing over Laguna Carhuacocha (13,615 feet/ 4150 meters). The heart of the Huayhuash range stared back at us.  At last, here were the very peaks I had dreamed of seeing all those years. Siula Grande, Yerupajá, Jirishanca all rose up, creating a mind-blowing backdrop to the lake. Without doubt this was one of the classic views of the Huayhuash. Our campsite near the shore of the lake held the best views of any camp on the trek. 

Even with clear skies I woke before dawn the next morning to photograph along the shores of the lake. A lone trout fisherman caused a few ripples in the water, but for the most part the place was dead quiet. A periodic breeze, no people, and a few barking dogs. The morning revealed one of those crystal clear skies which only can be experienced at high-altitude skies. A perfect crescent moon and a nearby planet rounded out the scene. Just as the first pre-dawn color reached the high peaks a massive ice avalanche unloaded below Yerupajá. The deep power of its sound was phenomenal, especially considering its distance. As luck would have I was in the middle of a long exposure when it occurred.

When I got back to the camp Craig told me he was feeling a lot better. The cipro was finally kicking in. Good thing, because this would be the last place for many days where he could, with only a small amount of effort, reach a road if he needed further medical attention.

Laguna Carhuacocha at Dawn.  The immense ice-avalanche can clearly be seen in the center of the frame.  From left to right: Siula Grande (6,344 meters / 20,814 ft), Yerupajå (6,617 meters/ 21,709 ft ), Yerupajå Chico (6,089 meters / 19,977 ft), and Jirishanca (6,094 meters 19,993 ft)

Nikon D800e, Nikon 14-24mm @ 19mm, f/4.5, 20 seconds, ISO 400

Huayhuash Camp: Day 5

View from the Mirador of the Three Lakes

This day was one of the most spectacular on the Huayhuash Circuit, and one of the two trekkers seemed to talk the most about.  The route hugs the banks of Laguna Carhuacocha, passing herders huts and corrals before heading up past several glacial lakes and steep grassy hillsides. Finally we found ourselves at the famed mirador of the Three Lakes (at least in the world of Instagram).  Looking down are a line of three impossibly emerald green lakes with massive mountain walls rising to their left. It's hard to put into words just how impressive the scene is. I personally don't think it works well as a landscape photograph, but then again there is often a sharp distinction between what is beautiful, impressive, and spectacular and what may constitute a well composed and thought out image. A blog post for another time maybe... After soaking the view in for awhile we managed to tear ourselves away before making the final push to Siula Punta (15,850 feet /4830meters), our high point for the day. Descent down to camp was interminable in the hot sun so it felt ridiculously good to take the socks off and soak my feet in a cold mountain river once we arrived. 

Heading out of Huayhuash Camp (14,271 ft./ 4350meters) there are two route choices. The first continues heading down a broad valley toward a hot spring (so damn tempting), or a lesser traveled route crosses a high pass before wandering through an alpine basin filled with emerald green lakes. As a mountain lover the choice was a no-brainier. Andrew and Jesper had the same idea.

 

 

 

 

 

Cerro Trapecio as seen on our way to Punta TrapecioNikon D800e, Nikon 14-24mm @ 14mm, f/11, 1/200 second

Cerro Trapecio as seen on our way to Punta Trapecio

Nikon D800e, Nikon 14-24mm @ 14mm, f/11, 1/200 second

Day 6: Cuyoc

The next morning Craig, Jesper, Andrew, and I  strapped our packs on and headed toward the pass.  The route was too difficult for mules so Marino went the long way around and would meet us at camp. 

This day turned out to be my favorite part of the trek so far.  Heading toward the pass the views of Cerro Trapecio (18,550 ft./ 5653 meters) just kept getting better.  We reached a boggy area from which Trapecio appeared to erupt out of the relatively level area surrounding the peak. As a photographer this is one of the spots on the route that, if I had known about it, I would have planned to hike to for sunset or sunrise. Even in mid-day light the scene was photogenic. A few high clouds passed over, providing a false sense of hope for a change in the weather.  They dissipated well before sunset.   

Andrew (left) and Jesper descend into a high alpine valley just beyond Trapecia Punta (16,500 ft)

Andrew (left) and Jesper descend into a high alpine valley just beyond Trapecia Punta (16,500 ft)

At this point in the trek we were all pretty acclimatized and we able to talk the entire way to the pass. Before long we reached Trapecio Punta, the highest point of the trek so far lying at 16,502 feet 5030 meters. I personally love hiking at high altitude and have found a few tricks over the years which help out. One thing I always try to do is accept that my lungs will work hard. Even when acclimatized you're going to breath hard. It's normal -- you'll be more out of breath than if you were hiking similar terrain at lower altitude. Just accept this, establish a rhythm, find a pace which is 80% of the maximum you can do, and own the feeling and mild discomfort of hiking at altitude. Understanding how your body feels and reacts to altitude is a major part of the experience of trekking the Huayhuash Circuit, or any other high altitude trek on the planet. Second, learn how to rest step. A consistent rest step allows your leg muscles a brief moment of rest between each and every step you take. Over the course of a six hour day using the rest step adds up and pays major dividends. Last, and maybe the most important piece of advice, don't want  to be there already. Keep moving. You'll reach the pass soon enough, camp will eventually come into view, but the last thing you should do is wish you were there already. Stay present in the moment and find a way to enjoy the experience of hiking at high altitude. Stop and appreciate where you are, take in the views and little details you pass by. Remind yourself that this may very well be only shot at experiencing this place in your lifetime. If you do these things I guarantee you'll reach your destination faster than you imagined, you will have saved yourself a lot of mental energy, and you'll have milked the experience for everything it offers.

From the pass we wound our way down through a mountain hikers paradise. The altitude prevented any vegetation from taking hold.  All around us rose craggy mountains, towering over the most mind-blowingly green alpine lakes. What's more, it seemed the mountains in this entire section of the Huayhuash were composed mostly of columnar jointing, a process related to volcanism. We wandered down the twisted path, navigating past the lakes, taking in the raw scenery surrounding us. At camp that afternoon (Cuyoc - 14,800 feet/ 4510 meters) we all agreed this was the best day of the trek so far. The lack of people, astounding scenery, and camaraderie made it a great day from start to finish.

Half way through the trek a daily routine had taken hold. Wake in the cold with the rising sun. Fetch water from a nearby creek. Filter first then treat with Aquamira drops (no way we were taking a chance with all the animal crap everywhere). Boil water for coffee and breakfast. Pack gear and help Marino load the mules. Then for the rest of the day walk through some of the world's most beautiful mountain scenery. Marino would have our tents set up by the time we reached camp.  The rest of the afternoon was spent cooking, talking to other trekkers, exploring a bit, and watching the light fade away and sky fill with stars from horizon to horizon. After a handful of days on a trek the mind had also settled down. Worries and stresses carried from home become trivial. Thoughts all centered around the issues at hand, not theoretical situations and what-if's I find eat up far too much mental energy while back at home. In short, life became simplified and the subsequent mental benefits of existing in a reality centered more on each passing moment took hold. As much as I go into nature to be surrounded by beauty, I also go into nature to return to this more basic, more pure manner of living.

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The second part of the trip report is coming as soon as I can coherently tap out it out! 


More images from the first leg:

Southwest Roadtrip: Spring '17

In late March I spent a week photographing and traveling though southern Utah and northern Arizona. After a miserably wet and cold Portland winter the opportunity to experience sunshine, wide open spaces, and relative warmth was beyond welcome. Along for the trip were my good friends Brian Kibbons, Paul Bowman, as well as Paul's son. Dustin Gent met us for a few days as well. There is no way to communicate just how much we laughed or the how many pranks we pulled on each other. Just picture five dudes in the desert acting on little sleep and emboldened by a few evening beers and you get the picture.  Good times with good friends in stunning locations -- that's what makes a great road trip. Anyway, on to the photography!

"Exile in Guyville" -- A line of strong rain and wind moves though a section of otherworldly badlands. 

Nikon D800e, Nikon 14-24mm f/2.8 @ 14mm

Utah Badlands

We left Portland at 9pm and drove nineteen hours through the night until we reached our first destination -- the badlands of the southern San Rafael Swell. The Swell's popularity within the landscape photography world has increased in recent years -- for good reason. Even a brief exposure to the region's graphically striking eroded buttes, mesas, and channels is enough to instantly understand the area's vast potential. What's more, the location doesn't necessarily rely on classic landscape weather. Clear skies work just as well as clouds with gaps. A full range of lenses will serve you well. Intimates and smaller scenes are everywhere. If you feel the need to shoot grand landscapes, the area will gladly scratch that itch as well. 

The first two images in this post were taken from an overlook which I will always equate with Guy Tal. His body of work from the area is thoughtful, comprehensive, and stunning. If you haven't already, spend time familiarizing yourself with his images. 

"Cross Channel" 

Nikon D800e, Nikon 24-85mm @85mm

"Silent Sea" -- erosion at work along the North Caineville mesa.

 Nikon D800e, Nikon 70-200mm f/4 @ 112mm

After a LONG day trip to shoot a remote slot canyon along the Dirty Devil river we headed toward that little slice of geo-heaven which is the borderland between Utah and Arizona. We based ourselves at the Little Wave just outside Page, Arizona and spent the next couple days shooting slots. On the way down we passed the Paria badlands just as a storm cleared creating a superbly dynamic scene. 

"Paria Flareup" -- dramatic storm clouds soar over the colorful Chinle formations of Paria .

Nikon D800e,  Nikon 24-85mm @ 28mm, five image panoramic stitch

The most impressive slot canyon we visited was Canyon X.  I'd heard about Canyon X on a previous visit to the area and, even though it wasn't at the top of our tick list for the trip, I found myself pretty excited for the experience. Canyon X holds many similarities with Upper and Lower Antelope except for the crowds. Although there were a few other people in the canyon that day there was never a feeling of needing to rush or having to wait for a long time while others finished up. 

"Navajo Spirit" -- swirling sandstone patterns carved by centuries of flash floods frame a daylight opening in Canyon X

Nikon D800e, Nikon 14-24 @ 16mm.  Multiple exposures for depth of field and to reduce glare

The Pocket

The final destination of the trip was White Pocket, a place which has loomed large in my mind over the years.  As it was my first visit I didn't really know what to expect. I was pretty pumped to be finally visiting the area, but can admit to feeling another less familiar feeling -- pressure. Normally, I try to stay as relaxed about finding a compelling composition or the need to bring home a solid image. Any pressure I place on myself work against that outcome so it gets forced from my mind. Having said that, the potential for a strong image at White Pocket is high but my ability to make multiple visits to capture it is pretty much zero.  We budgeted just shy of two days. In the end I found the place so inspiring that any added pressure dissipated rather quickly. After shooting sunrise the first morning I spent quite a while exploring and walked back to camp with enough image ideas to fill a week or more. Mother nature had other plans....

"Desert Striations" -- the otherworldly geology and colors of White Pocket 

Nikon D800e, Nikon 14-24 @ 14mm.  Four image blend for depth of field and to control dynamic range.  Moon = Nikon 70-200 f/4 @ 98mm.  Yes, the moon was very nearly in that exact spot.

 

 

 

The turn off for White Pocket lies 20 miles or so down House Rock Valley Road.  On our drive we found the road to be scoured with deep ruts formed when a previous vehicle plowed through rain soaked dirt road to avoid becoming stuck.  We joked how whoever carved them was probably white-knuckling it, not sure if they were going to make it out or not.  For our trip, the forecast called for extremely high winds for a twelve hour period accompanied by the chance for a couple hundredths of an inch of rain -- nothing too alarming.  In the end this forecast turned out to be optimistic.

By mid-afternoon of the second day the winds, as forecasted, began to crank. Grit and sand blasted into our eyes as we roamed the Pocket. Even though the sky was now filled with clouds we wore glasses to shield ourselves from these airborne projectiles. In the distance the distinct tails of localized downpours reached toward the ground. I'm sure we each privately wondered how far to push our luck. We needed to leave early the following morning to make it back to Portland in time for obligations. Getting stranded by weather this far out wasn't an option. I kept at it, selecting a composition which offered moderate protection from the wind as the storm continued to wind up. I squatted over my camera consumed by the process of making micro-adjustments to my camera's position, a little higher, zoom in a bit, pull the tripod back a tad, etc.  A phenomenal wind gust came through followed in short order by a sudden, bone-rattling BOOM of thunder. OUT! The plug was about to be pulled. We all packed it in and headed back to Paul's rig.  A brief discussion ensued then we tore down tents and were on the road within fifteen minutes.

The rain began soon after we left and continued for the next several hours. The sandy road leading to House Rock Valley Rd would be no problem but House Rock Valley Road itself was a major concern. Getting bogged down and stuck was a real threat. I thought back to how we laughed at the poor fool plowing down the road in a torrential downpour only to find ourselves in exactly the same situation.  We turned on to House Rock Valley Road, opting to head south to AZ 89-A instead of back north the way we came. This would shave ten miles off our drive along House Rock Rd, but cause us to loop all the way back to Page, AZ. The rain poured yet Paul's FJ kept cranking over every rise it encountered. Finally we reached pavement and safe passage on to Page. Felt really good to be out. The rain pounded the rest of the way to Page.  We were pretty fortunate to get out. 

The next day we began the 1,150 mile drive from Page back to Portland. Twenty-two caffeine fueled hours later we were home.

 

 

White Pocket, wind, and an approaching storm

"Stones of Silence" -- brain rocks glow under a star filled sky

Nikon D800e, Nikon 14-24mm @ 18mm, f/ 11 for the land.  Second exposure at f/2.8 for 20 seconds for sky.  Exposures taken several hours apart but from same position 

Behind the Image: Khumbu Fog

Kkhumbu Fog

Kkhumbu Fog

When the editor of ISO500px first approached me to write a few articles for the blog the first request was for a behind-the-scenes account of my image Khumbu Night Fog.  D.L. thought the story of how this shot of the Nepal Himalaya was created would be an interesting read.  Sounded great, BUT the image is actually derived from a slide scan.  How could this in any way be relevant in today’s digital age. I was assured it would be both relevant and interesting. With so much that has changed in the photography world with the advent of digital technologies I thought I’d break this post in two sections: the first covers the behind-the-scenes of creating the image; the second delves into similarities and/ or differences between how I approached shooting film vs. digital.

The Shot:

Nepal’s Khumbu region is known world wide as the home of Mount Everest, also known as Chomolungma to the Sherpa people who populate the Khumbu’s high altitude valleys and pastures. Each spring and fall thousands of trekkers spend two or more weeks trekking slowly toward the upper reaches of the Khumbu valley, acclimatizing slowly to increasingly higher altitudes. Most set their sights on Everest’s base camp or the famous viewpoint of Kala Pattar.  In 2003 my wife and I joined this seasonal pilgrimage.  At that time I shot, like a majority of photographers, solely film and slides. I did bring along my first digital point and shoot, a 3.2 megapixel Canon A6000, but the low resolution made it more appropriate for on-the-go, everyday documentation of the trek rather than creating images to last a lifetime. For those images, including Khumbu Fog, I used a Nikon N80 loaded with Fuji slide film. As this was my second trip through the Khumbu I had mental tick list of images I wanted to capture. Near the top of the list was capturing golden, pre-sunset sunrays striking Everest and its neighbors, Nuptse and Lhotse.

Kala Pattar is a “small” 18,541 ft hill rising 1500 feet above Gorak Shep, the last outpost of teahouses positioned at the far end of the Khumbu valley.  Go any farther and you’ll be in Tibet.  From its rocky, prayer flag strewn summit, Kala Pattar offers commanding views of one of the planet’s classic mountain vistas -- the Everest group rising above the great sweep of the Khumbu glacier.  My wife and I decided to make the trip up for sunset when I knew the direct rays of the setting sun would illuminate the summit regions of several of the Himalaya’s most famous peaks: Everest, Nuptse, and Ama Dablam.  The plan went off without a hitch and I came away with the shots I’d been after.  Before packing the gear up I took one last long look down the Khumbu valley and noticed the daily encroachment of fog drifting up valley.  The soft post sunset colors sweeping over the scene were too much to pass over.  I unpacked my gear and fired off a few more frames.  While shooting film I always metered scenes much more thoroughly than I do currently. This usually entailed following one of Galen Rowell’s old maxims of “expose for your most important highlight”.  For the scene before me this meant using center-weighted and spot metering to determine the relative brightness values of the mountains/ fog and sky. I didn't mind if the rocky moraine in the lower portion of the frame was silhouetted as long as all of my highlights were in check.  As I was working with post sunset light the contrast of exposure values was well within the exposure latitude of slides, so no additional filters were required.  I released the shutter, packed my gear up, then started the long descent back to Gorak Shep through an amazing, cold Himalayan twilight.  

Post-Processing

Yes, post processing.  Post processing of film and slide scans was gaining traction among photographers even before the onslaught of affordable digital camera bodies flooded the market. Galen Rowell, before his untimely death in a plane crash in 2002, had written several articles related to the potential benefits and pitfalls of the looming digital revolution. In his words “Digital is the major difference between the clean reproductions in magazines of the nineties and the murky ones of the not-so-distant past.”  (Digital Decisions, Galen Rowell, Outdoor Photographer, April 1998).  Galen even experimented with blending more than one exposure to bring back detail in an overexposed moon, although he ruminated over public perception and whether ethical lines would be breached.  Although he appreciated how Photoshop could help produce a final result more closely in tune with what the eye can see, he felt the general public, ironically, would find it too unbelievable and, perhaps, no longer consider it a photograph.  Pro photographers were already digitally enhancing images in a multitude of ways and, if it had taken another five years for consumer priced DSLRs to become readily available, there is little doubt digitizing and then processing film and slides would have become a normal part of many photographer's workflow. Cleaning up dust spots, adjusting white balance, contrast, sharpening, dodging/ burning, etc. are all helpful tools to employ when working with a slide scan.  The ability of Photoshop to enhance scanned slides merely took many darkroom tools an allowed them to be applied to color images, although today modern Photoshop techniques have advanced well beyond that point. The result of all of this is the continued debate over where the line exists between a photograph and digital art.  This debate is nauseating in its omnipresence, but nonetheless remains an important discussion for the photography world to openly hash out.  

So, after having the slide scanned at a local photo lab I imported it into Photoshop where I ran it through a series of very common adjustments. First job was to clean up any dust, scratches, or other unwanted artifacts using the healing and clone tools -- tedious.  The color of the scan was cooler than the slide so next I adjusted the color balance to bring back more of the warm tones, especially in the sky. I then used localized selections and luminosity masks to accentuate color, increase exposure on the mountain faces, and bring exposure differentials even closer. Finally, I de-speckeled the sky portion of the image, sharpened the edges, and called it finished.  That’s it. 

 

 

 

 

Lessons from the analog age

Every once in a while I get asked if there are any habits or relics of knowledge I still employ which I learned while shooting film. The simple answer is no. I no longer spend time center or spot metering a scene to determine proper exposure. Checking histogram provides immediate feedback so I can adjust settings quickly, eliminating the need to bracket and much of the exposure guesswork. I no longer spend long minutes trying to decide if pushing the shutter release would be a good use of money. Because money is no longer an issue I don’t play as safe as I once did. Digital allows me to push creativity to another level. If a particular composition doesn’t work, no huge loss.  Digital allows me to push harder, freeing me to shoot compositions which have a long shot at working, but if they do, might just be magical.  I can react to the environment around me without the slow down of technical and financial choices. This in turn places me more deeply in the creative process.  

The advancements in digital technology and techniques have essentially buried much of my approach and thinking from film-days.  The lone holdover is the continued appreciation of a more deliberate, contemplative approach rather than arriving on a location then spraying and praying.  Shooting without first sensing and seeing what it is I want to shoot almost never produces results which satisfy. I still find myself going through a subconscious vetting process when determining whether to pull the camera out or not.  This often means initially walking around the location without a camera in hand, absorbing any bits of visual information which might be useful to incorporate when putting an image together.  If I do have my camera out I usually notice myself focusing more on what the camera is showing rather than sensing what the scene can be about. There’s a lot to this process and this post isn’t the best forum to go deeper, so I'll leave it at that.

I know I'm not the only landscape photographer to witness the change from analog to digital.  If you have as well, feel free to share your thoughts on the subject.

 

                                                                                                     Khumbu Fog (slide scan)

 

                                                                                                       Khumbu Fog (final version)

The Power of Mentor Images

Over the past few months I've been attending an author's lecture series as part of my professional development as a licensed educator.  The course has been fascinating in that much of the advice the authors give for developing their craft overlaps with my own musings and experiences on developing as a photographer.  This overlap is often a source of inspiration.  This month's featured author shared some great words of advice for aspiring writers (and teachers of aspiring writers).  His advice: read as many good books as you can get your hands on.  Sounds obvious, right?  But, what the author made clear was merely reading a bookshelf full of good books is only a first step.  The true value in reading these benchmarks of literature lies in learning to see from the author's perspective, analyzing the technical and creative choices they made during the creative process.  A well-written book is meticulous and deliberate.  There is reason behind every sentence, every period, and behind how every chapter begins and ends.  As photographers we don't have the luxury to exert such extreme control over our art, we are forever constrained by working with a concrete world, yet the advice to dive deep into the creative decision making process of admired photographers is absolutely golden.  Studying mentor images can be a valuable exercise regardless of experience level.

Before you hop online and wade into the photographic weeds, there are some ways to approach this process which may lead to better outcomes. First, It's important to choose photographers, not photographs.  Stay away from 500px or Flickr, or Facebook, or Google+, or any other photo sharing website which overwhelms with an eclectic bombardment of images and personality.  Instead make a short list of old masters, well respected modern photographers, and lesser known photographers whose work repeatedly speaks to you.  Visit their websites and get comfortable.

Mount Jefferson Wilderness, Oregon

Mount Jefferson Wilderness, Oregon

View a series of their images, not just a single photograph.  Spend time contemplating an entire gallery's worth of images as you try to uncover the mindset of the photographer.  Linger over each image for a minute or two as you ask questions and formulate answers. Consider the season the image was made. What was the weather?  What conditions or mood was the photographer after?  How did the photographer use the frame?  Why were compositional elements arranged the way they are?  Why were they included in the first place?  Why was this particular camera level chosen?  How would lowering it or raising have changed the image?  How about left or right?  How were lines, shapes, size relations, and tonal values used in composing the scene? How does this arrangement move the eye around the frame?   What is the quality of light and how does it benefit the shot?   What if the image was taken a little later or earlier, what effect would that have?  How was focal length selected?  Why did the photographer choose a longer focal length?  To isolate?  To compress?  To create an intimate or abstract image?  How was a wide angle lens used to create a more dynamic, near/ far composition?  Are there any similarities or differences in approach between images?  If the photographer shared camera settings you can go deeper into the technical side of things, considering how a particular combination of shutter speed, aperture, and ISO was used to the photographer's advantage.  How did the combination effect the feeling of motion, or lack of motion?  Were sacrifices made, and if so, why?   Another exercise is to picture  yourself out in the field preparing to capture this scene.  Visualize physically getting your tripod out, mounting your camera, carefully choosing the perspective, and then making the exposure.  Finally, visit  your own images and ask a similar line of questions.  This may make you want to drag a few images into the trash bin, but it'll pay dividends down the road!

Give it a try.  You'll most likely discover that photographs, much like well written books, have a creative history to share.  Information unearthed by studying them can lead to a deeper understanding of why and how successful images work.  There's one additional benefit to spending time with mentor image-- it plays a role in developing shooter's intuition, a powerful force to harness while shooting in the field.  That's definitely a topic for another day...