Great Geyser Abstract, Wyoming

Here it is, folks – number ten of my ten favorite images of the decade from 2000 – 2010.  I made this image in Yellowstone National Park a day or two before Melissa and I were married.  We took her family on a tour of Yellowstone since they had never been and probably would never go back.  We hit all the usual tourist spots: Old Faithful, Hayden Valley, Grand Canyon of Yellowstone and the little loop that passes Great Geyser.  In truth, I’d never been to Great Geyser and of course, my camera was along just in case. As we walked out on the boardwalk I noticed that clouds were reflecting in the top terrace while brightly colored bacterial mats inhabited the lower terraces.  I was just starting to settle into a groove of making intimate landscape photos and this little scene grabbed my attention right away.  I excused myself to return to the truck where my faithful camera was patiently waiting.

Using my 100-400mm lens I was able to extract a small slice of the overall scene.  I didn’t have a lot of time to work as there were several people waiting for me to finish so we could continue their tour of the park.  Fortunately, the composition came quick and there were no exposure challenges.  I made the image, we all crammed back into the truck and were back on the road doing more touristy things.

Often, we as photographers connect with one of our images because of the adventure involved in making the image.  Obviously, that isn’t the case here.  I don’t know what it is about the image that keeps me coming back to it.  It isn’t my strongest image.  There was no adventure involved in making it.  Nothing momentous happened while I was creating the image, although perhaps tying the knot a couple days later has something to do with my affinity for the photo!  It’s just a simple image of a simple scene.  I hope you enjoy it.

Read “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part Nine” here

Frosted Autumn Plants, Colorado

So there I was, standing on the shore of Maroon Lake on a chilly autumn morning in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.  To my left, about a dozen photographers were lined up with their lenses pointed at the Maroon Bells, which towered over my right shoulder.  I had chosen a spot I’d scouted the evening before, one that was away from the small but growing crowd of shutterbugs.  The morning was calm and the twin pyramidal peaks couldn’t have been reflected any clearer in the perfectly still lake.  I was about a week early for prime fall colors but there were plenty of golden aspens decorating the hillside below the Bells.

Just as the sun began to rise a light breeze began to ripple the water, destroying that crystal clear reflection.  I’d been to the Maroon Bells to photograph fall colors once before, in 2000.  I had no idea what I was doing then and every one of my photos…well, they sucked.  They sucked bad.  And they were shot on print film.  I’d wanted to return and now, 10 years later and with a little bit more talent behind the lens, here I was.  And the wind was ruining the whole damn moment.

As shutters whirred to my left, I made exactly two exposures of the celebrity peaks before me.  When the wind failed to abate I turned around to check the light on Sievers Mountain.  As I did, I caught a glimpse of a little frosted red plant growing low to the ground and surrounded by a group of it’s less colorful siblings.  Oh mama, this is good!

I grabbed my tripod and camera and ran (I may have skipped in joy, I can’t remember) to the little plant.  There I lowered the tripod and pointed the lens straight at the ground as I worked out a pleasing composition.  The landscape paparazzi stole a glance every now and then as they made exposure after exposure of the Bells.  I made a few images, packed up my gear and started back down the trail to my waiting motorcycle.

I still don’t have a great photo of the Maroon Bells in autumn.  What I do have is a photo that will likely never be replicated.  I have the satisfaction of knowing that when it appeared Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating, she was actually offering a gift to those willing to accept it.  I’m proud of this photo, but I’m even more proud that I was able to adapt to the conditions I was offered and come away with an image that only I saw.  When everyone else was single-mindedly machine gunning exposures of the same thing as the next guy, I was busy creating a truly unique image.  It’ll always be a reminder of my growth and vision as an artist.

Click here to purchase a fine art photographic print of “Frosted Autumn Plants, Colorado”

Read “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part Eight” here

Storm Clouds Over Green River Overlook, Utah

I find the Island in the Sky district of Canyonlands National Park to be quite difficult to photograph well.  It’s easy to make compelling photographs in Arches National Park on a cloudless, blue sky day but those same conditions at the Island usually result in rather bland images.  The one exception is Mesa Arch at sunrise which relies on warm, reflected light for dynamic image making conditions – easy to do even without a cloud in the sky.  Optimal conditions exist when storms are developing or dispersing during the golden hour after sunrise or before sunset.  Ominous clouds overhead with storm light strafing the canyon below creates conditions most any landscape photographer would be thrilled to photograph.  Unfortunately, it just isn’t all that common.

I’ve lived in Moab for almost five years.  In that time I’ve visited Green River Overlook countless times when it seemed conditions might be just right to make the image I’d visualized.  Each and every time I got skunked.  The clouds would either dissipate too early or they would form a blanket of gray overcast that left the light boring and flat.  However, as in most things in life, persistence does eventually pay off.

On the evening I made this photograph I was assisting at a photo workshop.  My job consisted mainly of helping the leader select the right locations for each shoot, leaving me free to run around and photograph once we were on site.  The day had been stormy and our sunrise shoot was a complete bust.  When I started seeing shafts of light breaking through the clouds as our afternoon session drew closer I decided that we should head up to the Island.  The workshop leader agreed and off we went.

The entire group was awed by the view at Green River Overlook even before the light show began.  It’s difficult not to be when you stand at the edge of the canyon rim, gazing at the White Rim below, the Green River snaking through the mid-ground and the Henry Mountains far off in the distance by Capitol Reef National Park.  Minutes before sunset, the conditions I’d hoped for quickly appeared.  I had already framed a composition and left my camera mounted on the tripod just in case, because I suspected the light wouldn’t last long.  We had only a couple minutes to work with these amazing conditions before the sun disappeared below the horizon.  After four years and dozens of failed efforts, I’d finally realized my vision.

I’ve got a few more local spots I’ll keep visiting until all the right conditions come together to bless me with a crazy dynamic image.  Some are well known (False Kiva, anyone?) and others are rarely visited.  Who knows, maybe in 2021 one of them will be on my “Best of the Decade” list right here on the ol’ blog.  Be sure to check back.

Check out “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part Seven” here

Six Winter Aspens, Colorado

Almost three years ago we took a short road trip to the San Juan Mountains of southwest Colorado.  We never visit in the winter.  To me it is a place of wildflowers and waterfalls, alpine lakes and cool summer nights below big peaks and even bigger starry skies.  But we were bored with Moab and needed an escape so we packed up the truck and took off for the mountains.  Somewhere near Telluride I spotted these bare aspens in a vast snow covered field set against a moody sky.  The next thing I knew I was parked on the side of the road and had my 100-400mm lens mounted to the camera composing this scene.  I was so excited that I’d forgotten to throw on gloves or a hat.  Within minutes of working the metal lens and ballhead with bare fingers in those cold temperatures my hands had been rendered painfully useless.  I packed up and jumped back in the truck to thaw out the clubs at the end of my arms.

I knew right away that I’d made an image that excited me but it wasn’t until I downloaded the files that I realized just how much I loved the photograph.  It’s hard for me to quantify what it is about this photo that makes it one of my favorite photos from the last ten years of photography.  There was no epic adventure behind it, no heartwarming story of love or loss – it’s just a simple, roadside photo.  It isn’t colorful nor is it blessed with ridiculous, once in a lifetime light.  But something about it calls out to me.

Does there have to be a reason?  Do we have to identify what it is about an image that is so attractive to us?  I think not.  I tried for a while to figure out what it is about those bare aspens that I love so much but never came up with an answer.  These days, I don’t worry about it.  I just look at it and smile.

Read “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part Six” here

Melissa and Jackson Hiking in Glacier NP, Montana

Last Friday’s post was a bit heavy so I thought I’d lighten up today with a cute photo and it’s sweet backstory.  Melissa and I celebrated our 5 year wedding anniversary in Glacier National Park in July, 2010.  We hiked to Virginia Falls with Jackson comfortably seated in a backpack carrier for most of the trail.  Toward the end he began to fuss, which is usually our cue that he’s done hitching a ride and is ready to strike out on his own.  We freed him from the pack and he immediately started running down the trail between the tall, vibrant green foliage.  Melissa caught up and as she sidled up next to him, he reached up with his little hand and grabbed her hand.

I already had my camera out as I wanted to photograph Jackson exploring  the trail on his own.  This sweet moment lasted but a few seconds.  Fortunately, I was able to fire off a few properly exposed frames before he let go and took off at top speed, excited to be experiencing the wilderness under his own power, not from the plush seat of his carrier.  Melissa and I are both great lovers of wilderness and we’re hopeful that by taking Jackson out to the mountains and deserts early and often, he’ll share our passion for the outdoors.  If the pure joy he exhibits now every time we go for a hike is any indication of what’s to come, I believe he’s well on his way to being a big-time nature lover.

I hope this photograph brings a smile to your face.  It always does and always will for me.

North Window and Turret Arch in Snowstorm, Utah

I don’t think there is a landscape photographer alive who doesn’t recognize this iconic scene in Arches National Park.  Most photographers arrive before sunrise to scramble up to the tiny, mildly exposed perch that affords this perspective.  When the sandstone is dry, it’s a relatively easy task.  When it’s covered in snow and ice, it becomes a formidable obstacle.  At sunrise on a bluebird day you’ll have to wage battle with several other photographers for this spot.  You’ll vie with no one during an active snowstorm.

I made this photo in early March, 2007 while recovering from a broken back.  Six weeks earlier I was involved in a violent, high speed car crash.  At 80 MPH I’d swerved to avoid a deer (stupid) and lost control of my vehicle.  The car slid sideways into a metal pole, spun around and collided with a boulder while traveling backwards, then flipped end over end into a culvert.  The car came to rest on it’s rear bumper, upside down, with the front of the vehicle supported by the limbs of a sturdy cottonwood tree.  I wasn’t wearing a seat belt (even more stupid).  The force of the crash broke the drivers seat completely off of it’s mounts and I was lying under it in the back seat when my friend T.J. and his extrication crew arrived and cut me out of the crumpled mess.  An ambulance arrived, morphine was administered, I was taken to one hospital and then another in a different state.  I’d later discover that I had fractured two vertebrae – T10 and T12.  I spent two days in the hospital before I was discharged and allowed to go home with strict orders to spend the first four weeks lying on the couch.  After that, my doctor said I could start doing short walks around the block.

Some time around the six week mark a winter storm arrived in Moab.  All that red sandstone was blanketed in snow and the photographic potential was irresistible.  Ever the idiot, I grabbed my Lowepro chest pack and my backpack, loaded up my tripod and headed to Arches.  I drove straight to the Windows area and upon arriving in the parking lot and seeing ground level fog all around, immediately forgot that I was only supposed to be “walking around the block”.  I put on the Topload chest pack and quickly realized that all the weight of my camera was resting where the chest pack straps come together – right on top of T10 and T12.  I hurried up the trail toward North Window.  I scrambled over the slickrock, which was covered in snow and patches of ice, finally arriving at the spot where I set up my tripod and made the image you see below.

The entire experience was a religious one for me.  Only six weeks earlier I was saved from serious injury or death by some unknown and unseen force.  Lying in the back of a cold, upside down car, struggling to breathe through intense pain, I’d never felt more alone.  I used my cell phone to call Melissa and told her that I’d been in an accident.  I told her I’d already called for help and asked her to meet me at the hospital, not knowing if I’d even make it there.  I told her how much I loved her and when I heard the sirens approaching, I hung up the phone.

And now, here I was making photographs in a snowstorm in Arches National Park.  I was filled with love and happiness in a way I’d never known.  I was jubilant.  I was emotional.  I was alive.  Indeed, every day, every hour, every minute is a gift.

Purchase a fine art print of this Arches National Park photograph

Read “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part Four” here

Aspen Trunk, Leaves and Rock, Colorado

After 18 years in the Sonoran Desert I moved from Arizona to Colorado in July, 2002.  I needed a change of scenery as I had grown weary of saguaro cactus and rattlesnakes.  The Rockies provided precisely the relief I sought and I used every weekend to explore the landscapes of my new home.  As a national park junkie it didn’t take long for Rocky Mountain National Park to become my go-to location for weekend escapes.

I was still somewhat new to photography and I falsely believed the only good light was at sunrise or sunset.  Cloudy was bad.  Rainy was worse.  Cloudy and rainy just put me in a really foul mood.  About the same time I’d become obsessed with “intimate landscapes”, a term coined to describe the style of pioneering photographer Eliot Porter.  I drew inspiration not only from Mr. Porter’s work, but from contemporary photographers like Guy Tal and Michael Gordon, both of whom are able to create stunning images by composing order out of complete chaos.  Intimate landscapes are the exact opposite of the grand scene.  They are small scenes within a larger landscape.  What I did not know was that cloudy days create a soft, diffused light that lowers the contrast of a scene and allows every little detail to be recorded without blown highlights or blocked shadows.

Fast forward to the autumn of 2004.  Melissa and I spent a long weekend in Rocky Mountain NP.  We camped and hiked, and of course I photographed.  Actually, I spent more time bitching and moaning about the “crappy” light and incessant rain.  On our last full day in the park we attempted to hike to the summit of Flat Top Mountain but were repelled by a hail storm.  It was the proverbial straw, and I let loose with a profanity laced tirade as we ran for cover.  Once safely in the trees, Melissa put her foot down about my juvenile temper tantrums.  In no short order, she told me I needed to make a choice.  I’d either learn to enjoy my time with her, even if it meant that I got zero photographs, or our relationship would be over.  You can probably deduce that I learned to enjoy my time with her.

Getting back to 2004 and our wet hike in Rocky – on the way down the trail I noticed an aspen tree growing right next to a granite boulder that was littered with colorful autumn leaves.  Still smarting from the tongue lashing I’d just received, I politely asked if she would mind stopping for a few minutes while I worked the scene.  Melissa was more than happy to do so and I got to work.  As I did, I started to see that it was easier to nail the proper exposure because of the low contrast.  I also noted that the rain seemed to make the colors even more vibrant.  Hmmm, could I be on to something?  I exposed a few slides and we headed back to the trailhead and the shelter of my truck.

Back home in Denver I dropped off my film at Qube Visual.  As was customary, I picked up the slides on my lunch hour.  I was giddy the second the I saw this image on the light table.  I’d finally nailed an intimate landscape!  Since moving to Colorado two years prior I’d been determined to hone my skills at this type of photography and my dedication seemed to finally be paying off.

Over the years I’ve discovered that I am much more fulfilled finding and photographing those little scenes that most would pass without batting an eye.  Now, when I see clouds, I no longer get frustrated and pout in my tent.  I grab my camera and run out the door, eager to find my next small masterpiece!

Read “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part Three” here

Melissa on the Highline Trail, Montana

If you read yesterday’s somewhat sappy but heartfelt post you know that Melissa and I were married in June of 2005.  Our honeymoon consisted of a 4 month road trip throughout the West, living out of a tiny travel trailer we lovingly named “Harvey the RV”.  We started in Denver and headed north, spending a couple days in Yellowstone before pressing on to one of my all-time favorite national parks – Montana’s amazing Glacier NP.  In February of that same year I’d been laid off after 10 years with Charles Schwab.  I was ready for a career change and I felt photography was my way out from under the oppressive thumb of “The Man”.

My good friend and some time workshop co-leader Todd Caudle had recently made a suggestion that would turn out to be the best business advice I’ve ever received.  Todd recommended that I start photographing people doing active things in the outdoors to supplement my small but growing collection of landscape images.  He noted that the market for landscape photography was becoming increasingly saturated and that there were far fewer photographers creating dynamic images of hikers, climbers, mountain bikers and other outdoor athletes.  I took Todd’s advice, and by the time Melissa and I hit the road I was gaining confidence in my adventure photography skills.

The Highline Trail from Glacier’s Logan Pass to Granite Park passes under the dramatic cliffs and peaks of the Garden Wall.  It also traverses colorful wildflower meadows and prime habitat for grizzly bears and mountain goats.  Melissa and I started the hike under perfect weather conditions.  By the time we reached the Granite Park Chalet, a storm had blown in and brought with it freezing rain, strong winds and a 40 degree temperature drop.  About 3/4 of the way to the rustic chalet we paused for a break at an area with a spectacular view of the Garden Wall.  We watched as clouds quickly moved below the ridge, edging ever closer to us.  I noticed a small rock outcrop and asked Melissa to stand facing the ridge and impending storm while I made a few images before we hastily beat feet toward the shelter of the chalet.  The storm caught up with us 20 minutes before our arrival at Granite Park.  Not wanting to stay in the nasty weather any longer than we had to we decided to press on rather than stop to layer on warm clothing.  A very kind soul in the chalet took pity on us and brought over two cups of steaming hot cocoa, which is the type of gesture that seems quite common among the great folks I’ve met on the trail.

It wasn’t until we’d finished the hike and I downloaded the photos that I realized I’d made my first honest-to-God adventure image that was truly magazine worthy.  It stoked a fire in me that burns strong to this day.  Landscape photography is my first love.  Adventure photography is nipping at the heels in a very close second place.  That one image captured so much of what drives over 2 million people each year to visit Glacier NP.  Beargrass plumes dotting the hillsides, dramatic weather blowing in, storm light on the tortured peaks and a lone hiker enjoying the entire grand show.

It was at that moment that I realized the true power of adventure photography.  More than just a pretty picture, placing a person within the landscape has an undeniable psychological impact on the viewer – they want to be there, in the scene and in the moment.  They want to be the person in the photo.

Thanks to Todd’s sage advice and Melissa’s willingness to model for free (not to mention her never-ending patience), I’ve amassed a respectable collection of images from our adventures over the years.  Photos of Melissa hiking, climbing and canyoneering have appeared in magazines, advertisements and websites around the world.  I feel I owe much of my success with adventure photography to this one image, which is why I’m including it as a top ten favorite photo of my first full decade as a photographer.

Storm Clouds Above Delicate Arch, Utah

Photographing the many moods and varied views of Delicate Arch has long been a project of mine.  I’ve made the 1.5 mile hike dozens of times and I’m still awestruck as I round the corner at trail’s end to see this imposing sculpture standing before me.  I believe it epitomizes Canyon Country.  The red sandstone form of Delicate Arch perfectly frames the snowcapped La Sal Mountains.  In between lies some of the most wild, beautiful and rugged terrain you’ll find in the lower 48.  It is impossible to stand at Delicate Arch and not fall in love.

On New Year’s Eve, 2004, Melissa and I hiked to Delicate Arch for sunset.  We brought a camp stove and our down jackets as we planned to stay after the small winter crowds departed to celebrate the arrival of the new year.  After sunset we huddled behind a boulder to block the incessant wind and prepared a fine backcountry dinner on the stove.  The night was cold and it seemed as though every star in the universe shone brightly against the clear black sky.  Shortly before midnight we walked under the arch, I gave her a big hug and surprised her with my Mom’s ring and a marriage proposal.  Almost seven months later we were married in a wildflower filled meadow below the jagged granite peaks of the Tetons.

This image of Delicate Arch wasn’t made that evening, but it is our favorite photograph of this most special of places.  It hangs above our couch as a 30″ x 45″ framed canvas print – a constant reminder of the commitment we made to one another and of our mutual love for the Moab area we call home.

Purchase a fine art print of this Delicate Arch photograph

Read “My Favorite Photos of the Decade – Part One”

In mid-1999 I purchased an SLR camera with the intention of learning the art and craft of landscape photography.  Until that time I’d been content using my trusty Olympus Stylus point and shoot loaded with ASA 400 print film to record scenes from my outdoor adventures.  I read several instructional books and shot a few rolls of film, all of which resulted in really, really bad photography.  In 2000 I switched to slide film (Velvia!) and photography consumed my life.  I quit adventure racing and dove headlong into this amazing new world I’d discovered.

I’ve made thousands of images during the 10 years that have passed since I ran the first roll of Velvia through my Canon Rebel.  Some were good, most were bad.  A select few I’ll remember for the rest of my life.  Not because they are the world’s greatest photographs.  Rather, each one has a story behind it, a meaning much deeper than just a pretty picture of a pretty landscape I was fortunate enough to visit.

Starting today, and ending on Friday, Jan. 14, each day I’ll post one of my favorite photos from the last decade.   I’ll also share with you what it is that makes each photo so special to me.  I am not presenting them in any order or assigning any sort of rank to them, and by no means do they represent my absolute best work.  They are photos with a history and I believe these are the photos that have contributed most to my growth as an artist.  I hope you enjoy the collection.

Mount Rainier Reflecting in Tarn, Washington

In 2001 some friends and I decided to climb Mt. Rainier.  We chose a date, paid our guide fees and made hotel reservations – then we waited for summer to arrive.  It did, and less than two weeks before we were to depart for Washington I slipped while walking down some stairs and broke my hand.  I couldn’t hold an ice pick, much less an ice axe.  My summit attempt would have to be aborted.

My friends and I still made the trip and while they successfully climbed the towering mountain, I hiked and photographed alone for the first time.  On one hike I discovered a small tarn high on a ridge with a commanding view of Mt. Rainier’s glaciated flanks and rounded summit.  Serendipitously, the crystal clear waters of the little alpine lake offered a perfect reflection of “The Mountain”.

That night I slept in my rental car at the trailhead.  I awoke long before sunrise and made the arduous hike to the ridge, arriving about half an hour before sunrise.  I set up my tripod, mounted my camera and composed a scene in the quiet of twilight.  As the sun rose I blasted off exposures, bracketing like mad with the hope that out of 36 exposures at least one might turn out.

Back home in Phoenix I left several rolls of film in the night drop at The Lab.  The next day I sped over to pick up my slides during a lunch break.  I assumed I’d done something right when the lab tech said, “You’ve got some great stuff here.”  He’d processed hundreds of rolls of film for me and not once had he ever made such a comment.  I hurriedly laid out slide after slide on their light table without much reaction and then - WHAM!  For the first time ever, on the light table before me, was one of my own photographs that didn’t suck.  To the contrary, it was pretty damn good!

Looking at the image now and with a critical eye, I see many flaws.  I missed the proper hyperfocal distance and the depth of field suffers as a result.  I don’t like that the foreground rock is cut off at the bottom.  The top is cropped a bit too tight and some of the snow is blown out.  Even so, I am immensely proud of this photograph.  I feel it marked the beginning of my journey as an artist.  That one image instilled in me the confidence and motivation to continue pursuing the art of photography.  It still brings a smile to my face and transports me to that glorious morning in Washington and that pivotal day at the light table.

For these reasons I am including it here as one of my top ten favorite photos of the decade.