This photo is from yesterday morning. After seeing that some last-minute snowfall had made its way into the forecast for the Columbia River Gorge, my friend Jess Findlay and I hightailed it down there in hopes of shooting a snowy waterfall or two. Jess and I slowly trudged for two steep miles off-trail, with 12 inches of crusty snow underfoot until reaching these incredibly picturesque falls. It was fairly difficult terrain, with rope being a necessity in one particular location, and far more slipping and sliding than either of us would like to admit. After far too long spent struggling to find the right composition while keeping my front element dry in the heavy rain and sleet, I came away with this photo. I love all the snow we have been getting in the PNW, (except for when my electricity goes out for four days,) and I really enjoy visiting waterfalls in the gorge during these snowy conditions. I hope I will have a few more chances this season!
Looking back upon 2011, the first thought that comes to my mind is just how extremely busy and interesting this year was for me. Between becoming more comfortable and rooted in my new home, awesome times photographing the grand northwestern landscapes (as opposed to the mid-Atlantic,) being enrolled full-time at the Evergreen State College, traveling the continent with my band, my experiences in the Autumn, traveling and teaching photographic workshops with Joseph Rossbach, and the personal growth I feel I have achieved over this past year, quite frankly, it is completely beyond me how I had a single ounce of time to sleep – or breathe!
Photographically speaking, it seems 2011 has really marked a year of transition for me. In 2011 I found myself photographing less wildlife than ever, and I truly do not regret it. I came to the realization that I will never be able to focus on both landscape and wildlife photography the way I would like to, and I chose to continue following what I feel really beckons to me.
Anyhow, these eleven images, my personal favorites from the past year, were chosen for a whole slew of reasons. It was a bit difficult to choose just eleven, and to be honest, I don’t think I could have said that at the end of any previous year. These photographs are not in any particular order.
The Left Fork of North Creek is one of the most beautiful canyons, and certainly one of the most most popular day hikes within Zion National Park. The canyon carved by the Left Fork is home to many picturesque waterfalls and rapids, but the most memorable section of the canyon is called “The Subway,” an incredible, tubular, half-mile stretch of slot canyon that, well, resembles the shape of a round subway tunnel!
The Subway is most easily accessed by a 9.5 mile round trip hike, from the Left Fork Trailhead, in the west side of the park. It is not hard to reach, by any means, but the hike is fairly time consuming due to the fact that once you descend the 400 vertical feet of switchbacks into the canyon, there is no official trail along the rest of the way. Hiking, wading, bushwhacking, and scrambling up and over gigantic boulders and river banks for four miles each way can take hours, and be downright exhausting at times – despite presenting little to no physical challenge to the average hiker. It is worth noting that the National Park Service issues a quota of 50 daily hiking permits for this area, to control erosion and other damage to natural resources. So, to complete this hike, you must pick up a permit from the park office in Springdale. They can be reserved online here.
In the autumn, when the cottonwoods and box elders are changing colors, many trees drop their leaves into the creek upstream of the Subway. These leaves, trapped in the Subway’s many shallow pools, swirl around in eddies indefinitely until water levels rise enough to push them further downstream.
Just a few hundred yards downstream of the Subway, the Left Fork has cut a narrow fissure into the sandstone, creating the famous and aptly titled, “Crack.” In the autumn, many leaves are blown from trees, and stick to the wet rocks that surround the Crack. I took it upon myself to re-arrange them in a slightly more photogenic manner. Some people may frown upon this, including myself at times, but in this situation, I just couldn’t resist the urge.
Additionally, a few hundred more yards downstream of the Subway and Crack, are the 30 foot-tall series of cascades that tumble over layers of sandstone, combining to create Archangel Falls. This waterfall, located underneath a massive sandstone enclave and surrounded on both sides by cottonwood and juniper trees, is an amazing sight to behold – especially in the autumn. I can see how a waterfall in the Utah desert could be a bit of a strange concept, but the stark contrast between the rushing water and red sandstone is a feast for the eyes!
In the desert of Arizona and Utah, slot canyons come in many shapes and sizes, but very few offer colorful red sandstone, brilliant reflected light, and are fed by a perennial spring – with multiple waterfalls along the way. It’s always a treat to find photogenic water features in an otherwise arid desert, but to find a mile-long slot filled with rapids and waterfalls is just incredible. If we had visited a week or two earlier, during the apex of the fall color action, we would have been able to throw striking yellow foliage into the mix as well. It’s all good, though, as I will save that for one of the many more times I plan to visit!
On a blustery 35-degree day, my friend Chris Kayler and I set out to hike, wade, and climb our way into the slot, photographing along the way. After being abandoned by the deceivingly warm sunlight, it was far from comfortable in the dark canyon, even though we had armed ourselves with multiple layers of synthetic clothing, and chest waders to keep dry. There were a few waterfalls we were able to easily scramble over and around, but particularly memorable, was this slippery ~20-foot high log ladder (photo found on Google) toward the bottom of the canyon, that we very gingerly stepped our way up.
Almost like a pint-sized version of the Virgin Narrows in Zion, Kanarra Canyon’s tall, wide, openings allowed for strong, unhindered sunlight to shine in and bounce from wall to wall, naturally creating the brilliant red-orange glow seen in these photographs. When this saturated, vibrant natural glow is juxtaposed with shaded canyon walls, cool blue water, and even foliage, truly magical things can happen. The subtle beauty of this intimate canyon has had a lasting effect on me, and has easily been one of the highlights of this autumn journey I am on.
Before making my way out west to Arizona and Utah, I made a brief visit to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Having just had such great conditions in West Virgina, and wishing to squeeze what I can out of this (seemingly rare) stroke of good luck, I figured it would be a good idea to head down the Allegheny and into the Blue Ridge Mountains, in western North Carolina. Just as had been the case in West Virginia, most of the foliage reports proclaimed “past-peak” conditions for all of the the high country, yet conditions were incredible all over the region, save for the absolute highest elevations in the area. I think from this point forward, when planning autumn photo trips in the east, I will simply aim for mid to late season, and try my best to remember that many foliage reports or updates are just flat out wrong.
Anyhow, those of you familiar with photographing fall foliage may know just how magical it can be in a brilliant, autumn-hued forest on a foggy, misty, or drizzly day. I was lucky enough to have an entire day and a half of near-perfect conditions for photographing waterfalls and forest scenes; bright overcast skies, with a (usually) light mist falling from the clouds, patchy fog, and relatively calm winds. The bright overcast skies allowed me to keep my shutter speeds reasonably quick, while the precipitation brought water levels up considerably, and allowed my polarizer to do its job eliminating glare from wet and colorful leaves. On top of that, the intermittent pockets of fog provided an extra degree of dimension to many of the scenes I photographed, adding layers to otherwise flatter-feeling compositions.
I finally made my first visit to the Glen Falls, a spot in the Nantahala National Forest that I have wanted to visit for years. I was initially a bit disappointed by this fallen tree, and the way the deep green rhododendrons had come in and choked out many of the other plants growing alongside this stream, but as soon as I looked through my viewfinder, and that light fog blew in, I was absolutely elated. Sometimes I can be such a baby!
The fall foliage this year in West Virginia’s Allegheny Highlands and Monongahela forest was absolutely amazing, though a bit earlier than usual. Many of the higher areas around Canaan Valley and Dolly Sods were already barren upon our arrival, we were able to find many amazing pockets of color in the lower elevations. We photographed mountain landscapes, bountiful autumn foliage, and beautiful waterfalls, from sunrise to sunset for three full days, breaking only for the occasional omelet or nap.
We were told by many that we had arrived to the area much “past peak” fall foliage, but we concluded that the ideas we have for “near peak,” “peak,” and “past peak” foliage are all a bunch of B.S., because great images can be made in any of these conditions, if you know where and how to look for them. These methods of describing the state of autumn foliage do little to tell one how things are actually looking, because they do not take into account the different species of trees, leaf drop variability on slopes facing different directions, intensity and type of color, or leaf drop in general. Take, for example, this stand of Beech pictured below. In what many would consider “peak” fall foliage conditions, these trees would all still be green. In addition, when “past peak,” many of the streams and waterfalls seem to look best since the majority of leaves have fallen from the trees, coating the wet rocks, and filling the streams and swirling eddies such as in this photo from 2008.
I have quite a soft spot for West Virginia, as I spent quite a bit of time photographing there as I was just getting beginning with landscape photography. There is no other place in the Mid-Atlantic where mountains, sky, forests, and water come together in a truly “wild” place, and that is just what makes it so special. Many would argue that the autumn foliage in West Virginia can rival that of New England, and I agree, for the most part. I just wish I could have stayed longer. I miss it already, but there’s no time for that. I just got to North Carolina and it’s off to the desert in just a few days.
Despite the fact that Fall color has been quite rough this year in the Northeast (hurricane-force winds, catastrophic mold outbreaks, unfortunately high temperatures), the Vermont Workshop that I assisted Joe Rossbach with was a great success. Due to the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, the many road closures and washouts in South and Central Vermont forced us to move the workshop from Killington to Montpelier at the last second. Luckily, that allowed us much closer access to the Northeast Kingdom, which was coincidentally the area in Vermont with the “best” color this year.
We made the most of our three days of shooting and scouting before the workshop, driving over 700 miles around the state in order to find areas that didn’t totally suck – and we were reasonably successful. We found some great pockets of color in the Northeast Kingdom, near Willoughby Lake, in the Groton Woods State Forest, around Noyes/Seyon Pond. Very surprisingly, areas around Smugglers Notch and the Green Mountains were, well, green. It was a weird year, for sure, but I am still very happy to have visited. I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be back East in the autumn will be, since I will be in school for at least the next three years, but I can’t wait until then.
During my visit to Glacier National Park this past August, I photographed Avalanche Gorge on a few separate occasions, seeking whatever new perspectives I could of this oft-photographed, rather iconic location. Avalanche Creek, blue due to minerals and sediments in glacial runoff, cuts a narrow chasm into red rock for just a few hundred incredibly beautiful yards.
Well, it sure has been a long time since I last updated this blog. This year has been extremely busy for me, with being in school full time, a five-week tour with my band, an extended visit back home in Virginia, and a healthy dose of summer shooting out west.
Earlier in the month, I spent about ten days in Montana’s insanely beautiful Glacier National Park. It was my first visit to the park, and I was thoroughly excited and impressed by the tall, rugged, and beautiful peaks, beautiful alpine meadows, deep glacier-cut valleys, beautiful deep-blue lakes, and the (tiny) glaciers themselves. On top of that, the summer thunderstorm cycle was in full effect, providing beautiful and dramatic light most evenings.
I had the excitement of seeing dozens of Mountain Goats and Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep, and I even got to see a Wolverine! Despite the two million visitors-per-year that the park sees, wildlife seemed to flourish and just about any area away from Going-to-the-sun road and Logan Pass seemed to be just as pristine and wild as anywhere in the mountains.
And, like I said, good light was plentiful. It was a great trip, and I will certainly return in years to come.
The Short-eared Owl, is one of the most widely distributed owls in the natural world, but is not necessarily common nor easy to find and photograph. They reside in all 50 states and every province of Canada, but situations like this in which everything comes together to make for good shooting opportunities seem to be fairly uncommon. Most often found in meadows, farmland, and marshy areas, these birds can be quite difficult to track down and get close enough to photograph.
Last week, I headed up and across the border in search of Short-eared Owls. I was very fortunate to have spent two days photographing these beautiful birds flying, hunting meadow voles, and perching. With me were two other young nature photographers,
Connor Stefanison and
Jess Findlay, to whom I owe thanks for cluing me in to this opportunity.
On the second day of this trip, I was also able to pay a visit to a nearby jetty where I was able to photograph this Black Oystercatcher, without a doubt one of my favorite common birds of the Pacific coast.
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