I am a storyteller and photographer. I focus on the world around me, and tell the stories that I encounter.
Although I emphasize the American Southwest, I photograph from coast to coast. From wildlife, to nature, to scenic landscapes and beyond, I specialize in the bringing the stories and images to you.
Join me for adventures, history, and journeys.
It’s no secret that besides my love for soaring landscapes, I have a unique fondness for railroads. And that’s especially true for the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad. Let’s quickly revisit Engine 476 with a powerful, up-close view.
Mighty 476 showcases the sheer power of a working steam engine. It’s one thing to look at it from afar and see the smoke billowing out. It’s quite another to experience it up close. The raw grit comes through strongly, and you feel its presence. The steam billows behind it, obscuring the rest of the engine, but that’s OK. We know it’s there.
I love to photograph this railroad and do so every chance I get. Usually, I bring out the engines working, but here, I decided to focus, quite literally, on an up-close and intimate view. I adore how the power and grit come through. I also like the rarely-seen “Diamond Stack.”
Of all the photographs I’ve made of Engine 476, and I’ve made more than a few, this is one of my favorite scenes. This up-close view showcases the engine’s power, even though we can’t see most of it.
But it has the vibe and feel of what I was attempting to accomplish, and every time I look at it, it carries me back to that moment, both past and present. Engine 476 has a hold over me, and that’s OK.
Steam engines, and railroads in general, are in my blood. You can find me making close-up views such as this one, of the engines in the roundhouse at night and of engine 476 hauling passengers through the deep snow.
Let’s enter a prehistoric wonderland at New Mexico’s Fossil Forest Resource Natural Area, a hidden gem in the San Juan basin. While it may not be on everyone’s travel radar, this small but marvelous natural wonderland packs a punch. We’ll wander through its surreal badlands, where eroded geology and hoodoos will spark your imagination and leave you breathless. And, best of all, it has fossils! Here, history comes to life, and where I was lucky enough to walk among the dinosaurs. Settle in, and let’s embark on our journey to discover the timeless magic of Fossil Forest!
To understand more of its significance, we need to go back in time, around the 1920s, when scientists surveyed New Mexico for resources. At that time, archeologists and paleontologists scoured the Southwest looking for their version of treasure. Once located, the archeologists excavated their find. In many cases, the excavations were crude and quick, the goal being to find any artifacts, then send those off to major museums and private collectors. Paleontologists did the same. Once they found fossils, they quickly excavated the specimen and sent it to museums and collectors. Records, if any, were scant and, as often as not, wildly incomplete and inaccurate.
In short, it was a heady time, and paleontologists removed significant yet lightly documented discoveries from the area. I am not casting judgment, of course. It was a different era, and the goals were only sometimes preservation or conservation.
But, we are focusing on Fossil Forest. There were significant fossils found here. A stegosaurus with a seven-foot skull was discovered and excavated by one report. Several other noteworthy finds came from here as well. However, records are, for the most part, inaccurate, and there is some guesswork involved. The area was left untouched after that, and it faded from view.
As a side note, I spend a good deal of time researching my adventures. This PDF will give you an idea of the kind of materials that I use in my research.
Don't say that I didn't warn you before reading it, though.
In the late 1970s, scientists again surveyed the area for resources and “rediscovered” it. They found at least five, and maybe as many as twelve, dinosaur quarries and, with careful research, tied back to some museum specimens. Since it was clear that the Fossil Forest contains significant fossils, it was set aside as a Resource Natural Area to protect it.
And, for the most part, wholly forgotten once again after that. There is a pattern here, but considering its small size, this is hardly surprising. These areas are right up my alley, and I delight in discovering and exploring them. It isn’t often that I can find an area, such as this one, “lost in time,” but when I do I make the most of it.
Today, there are no roads leading into the Fossil Forest. No rangers or entrance stations are anywhere to be found. There are no signs whatsoever. There are sections of a barbed wire fence that might belong to the ranchers who put them up to protect their land, not the resource area. To all appearances, the Fossil Forest exists only on a map.
Yet, it does exist, it is accessible, and its badlands have a beauty all their own.
Getting to it is not difficult once you know about it. A well-graded county road comes within a mile of it. Once you park alongside the road, it is an easy one-mile overland walk to reach the area, although you’ll need to check a GPS to know when you have reached the boundary.
During your approach, the badlands appear as low hills, but as you get closer, you realize they are far taller than they first seem.
Approaching Fossil Forest. Tap/click for a larger view.
At first, I was disappointed. The badlands appeared insignificant, and I thought how easy and uneventful it would be to reach the top. In that, I was utterly wrong. The closer I approached, the taller they became. It didn’t take long to dissuade my opinion that I would “simply walk over them.” I would explore them, of course! And then I would have to find a way around them. I adore surprises like this.
Inside Fossil Forest. Tap/click for a larger view.
This photograph showcases the harsh beauty of true badlands. Today, they are inhospitable to plant life, and nothing can make a foothold to grow here. Even if a plant could find a purchase, there is no soil to root in. And even if there were, the winds would make short work of its precarious foothill. And that gives rise to beauty.
What remains are abstract rock formations and colors. Small pebbles and larger rocks decorate the landscape. The colorful layers of strata tell a geologist when each formed, but to my eyes, it creates colorful patterns. All around me, the barrenness gives rise to splendor.
As with other New Mexico badlands, you’ll find all sorts of twisted and tortured hoodoos. But there are no trails or well-known locations here in the Fossil Forest. It is up to me to explore it on my own. That’s just the way I like it!
There is something phenomenal about being in a badlands by yourself. Unlike the Bisti, which is becoming quite crowded, solitude is yours. I was free to roam as I would without seeing anyone else. I didn’t see footprints leading out to it, even though I looked for them. As far as I could tell, I was the first person to venture out there in a long time.
I was expecting to see two things: petrified wood and hoodoos. Meanwhile, I was also hoping to find a fossil. I immediately found a large petrified log, crossing the first item off my list.
The log rested right on top of the ground where it fell only 65 million years ago. Once a nice-sized tree, it reminded me that this area was once a lush and green forest. The forest would have been all around me, as far as the eye could see. What sounds would have filled the air? What insects would have buzzed around me? And that thought caused me to remember that dinosaurs were here, too. I was unquestionably now walking with the dinosaurs!
Not far from the petrified log, I spotted a large pile of petrified wood scattered about. Judging by the pieces, the trees were smaller than the previous log. What caused that? There is no way to know, but it appears that somebody, or something, spread it only yesterday. I had to reach down and feel the now-stone tree to confirm it was rock, not wood.
And now that I was in the badlands proper, the hoodoos were everywhere! The second item on my list is now complete. I set aside my initial impression that the Fossil Forest was unassuming and instead focused on the fact that this is a hidden gem.
As expected, the hoodoos came in all shapes and sizes. Some small, some larger. Some twisted and some straight. Erosion does funny things, cutting a deep channel here and leaving a hoodoo there. Fossil Forest was no different from other badlands in this respect, and I could, and did, spend hours poking around. I did plenty of backtracking, too, since a way forward is not always possible.
As I explored, I glanced down at a group of small rocks. Casually picking one up, I was stunned to realize I was holding a fossil!
The fossil was a plant of some sort, and I marveled that it made it through the eons to reach me. Once again, I was in the moment so long ago. Indeed, I kept shifting between past and present during my entire exploration of the area.
The contrast between yesterday and today is striking. I might have been resting against a tree trunk while brushing aside a fern. Perhaps I could hear the trickle of a nearby stream and refilled my canteen from its fresh cool water. I would have kept a keen ear out for predators, too, and the danger would have been genuine. Remember, dinosaurs are here with me.
The dichotomy is striking and one that kept coming back to me. As I write this, I have difficulty reconciling then and now. What was once green and lush is now barren and lifeless, yet beautiful in both instances. Dinosaurs and leaves become rock, indelible in time, waiting for a recovery in the future.
I kept exploring, for in addition to looking for hoodoos and fossils, I also wanted a showcase scene to photograph. I found several locations that almost fit the bill, but none that touched me in the way I needed it to. With my eyes peeled, I continued to make my way around the badlands, skirting the edges.
Eventually, I could see beyond the badlands into the rest of the natural area. I realized that I was on a high vantage point. Beyond, the badlands petered out into a largely unremarkable landscape. Yes, there would be plenty of fossils there, but to my photographer’s eye, it wasn’t what I was looking for. However, I kept pushing on.
Eventually, my exploration and patience paid off! There, before me, was the perfect composition I was seeking.
Fossil Forest. Tap/click for a larger view
A cacophony of colors spread before me, although they were all variations of brown. Still, a streak of red-colored rocks cuts right through the middle, offering a striking counterpoint. In the background, the rocks reach toward the sky, greeting the vanguard of an oncoming storm. And in the foreground, a few last bushes struggled to survive on the edges of the badlands. All in all, Fossil Forest brings comes together in a classic New Mexico landscape.
Bring home Fossil Forest
You can bring Fossil Forest home! And I can create a custom piece, both in size and format, just for you. Contact me to see how easy and rewarding this is.
Funny enough, the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness is very close to Fossil Forest. It’s just a couple of miles as the crow flies. And, as you may recall, I absolutely adore the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah. It’s one of my favorite places anywhere, and not surprisingly, it shares many of the same features.
Here are a couple of my favorite photographs from the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah!
There are close to a million euphemisms comparing size to everything else. In all these, the common theme is that the size of something, often someone, has nothing to do with their attitude, capability, or whatever comparison is at hand. Although, I think every single one has to draw inspiration from the Pygmy Owl.
Pygmy Owls are diminutive, just a few inches tall, and weigh just a few ounces. But they don’t know that. And even if you could tell them, they would not believe you.
Case in point: this superb Pygmy Owl hosted by Wildlife Rescue of New Mexico. Sure, he’s on the small side. But one day, they put him next to a Great Horned Owl–a bird of prey many, many, many times larger. Most birds would cower in fear. Most birds would do the sensible thing and leave immediately. And, most birds would figure, and rightly so, that their number is up. But not this fellow. The owl sized up a Great Horned Owl when he was next to it. He measured it. He studied it. And then. And then he decided to have a Great Horned Owl snack. Well, not really, but it seemed like he was about to!
Pygmy Owls are afraid of nothing, will take on prey far larger than them, and they are one of the fiercest predators. They have proved right the euphemisms on size many times over.
More to the story
There’s more to this story, however! When I made this photograph, this fellow was a rescue and spent his days as an ambassador owl. Somehow or other, he met his match in the wild, and somebody damaged one of his eyes. Sadly, without perfect eyesight, it is not possible to hunt successfully.
Wildlife Rescue of New Mexico stepped in and gave him a forever home. As part of their outreach program, he helped people learn about what Wildlife Rescue does and how they help. And help people realize that size is no measure of capability.
Daylight broke quickly as the sun vaulted above the horizon, and another spring day in Albuquerque, New Mexico began. The still and crisp air filled with the sweet, cheerful singing of the birds as they greeted the morning. Indeed, the day was shaping up to be spectacular in every way. And it would end that way, too, as I created Butterfly Pose.
I stood outside, embracing the morning, when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something go by. I remained motionless, trying to discover what almost caught my attention.
It didn’t take long before my patience paid off. A Two-Tailed Tiger Swallowtail butterfly fluttered to a stop in a nearby tree. The striking, bright-yellow butterfly was working its way from branch to branch of the tree, and every time it stopped, it created the perfect butterfly pose.
Slowly, quietly and stealthily as I could, I approached the tree. I didn’t head directly to it, of course, but in an oblique way. I paused every few steps, attempting to blend into the background. The butterfly paid me no attention, and continued its hunt for nectar.
I drifted ever closer and worked out the composition that I would like. I saw it in my mind’s eye, and just needed to butterfly to cooperate. Hopefully, it would.
Finally, after an eternity of small steps, I drew close enough to create the photograph I was imagining. The butterfly was working its way around the tree; I positioned myself ahead and stood completely still, barely drawing a breath.
The butterfly flittered to another branch, rested momentarily, and continued around the tree. It never noticed me creating Butterfly Pose. And that’s the way it should be.
Spring in New Mexico is a magical time, full of bright warm days, birds singing joyful songs, and colorful yellow butterflies everywhere.
A Fall Day in Albuquerque
For a completely different kind of day in Albuquerque, Sandia Sunset showcases the Sandia Mountains at sunset.
Deep within White Sands National Park, far away from the crowds, the dune field stretches before me until it reaches infinity. The unending dunes of bright white gypsum, undisturbed by humans, offer mute testimony to the forces of wind and time. One rippled dune, however, amongst all the others caught my attention and bears closer inspection.
This one lone dune arches toward the sky, endeavoring to touch the clouds above. The dune comes close, but never quite achieves its goal. Its face is contoured and rippled, each ripple interlocking with its neighbor, yet never touching, forming an intricate pattern. The unrelenting wind creates a shifting design and rearranges the ripples constantly. Not so quickly that you could see the change, of course, but the design ebbs and flows on the dune over time.
The dunes are constantly moving, grain by grain, alive with a sense of purpose and motion. The lines reflect the movement, albeit in a way that is easily seen.
The white of the gypsum crystals makes a stunning contrast with the sky’s deep blue. The serene scene is a mesmerizing moment of nature. Rippled Dune is one example of many, but a sensational one to share.
In the end, I resisted the compulsion to walk up the dune, leaving it pristine so others might enjoy the same view.
The echoes of “All Aboard!” hadn’t even faded as I clambered into the coach car, looking for my seat. I was ready, and this being the railroad, leaving on time is always a certainty. And sure enough, right on time, the winter train left the depot and headed into adventure and the wonderland ahead of me.
It’s been a few years since I last rode the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad winter photography tour. Yet, I instantly settled into the comfortable rhythm of being on the train. There’s something, a hard-to-describe something, about pulling out of the station, through the town of Durango, then into the mountains, which is exhilarating and comforting, both simultaneously. I settled into my seat, at least for the moment, and enjoyed the buildings, then later the forest, rolling by as we headed toward our first destination.
Sure, it was cold. It was deep winter, after all, and winters are cold. That’s OK. I am more than prepared for it, bundled up in layers, topped off by my arctic gear last used near the arctic circle in Alaska. It would be colder soon, anyway, when I stood in the snow, but that was yet to come and would not be an issue.
The Durango & SIlverton Narrow Gauge Railroad transforms itself
The Durango & Silverton sponsors a photography tour a couple of times a year, once in the fall and once in the winter. These are fantastic events. We head toward great vantage points, and then leave the train. The train backs up for a “run by,” providing an opportunity for an extraordinary photograph. I’ve been on many of these, and I always enjoy them.
Although I primarily focus on landscape and nature photography, something about a steam engine calls to my soul. I can’t quite put my finger on why this is, exactly, but that’s OK. It is within me, and it just “is.” To me, a steam engine chugging through a landscape feels precisely correct, and how can I not photograph it?
This year the Durango & Silverton line decided to roll back the clock to the 1970s. Instead of the usual livery of “Durango & Silverton,” the engine was sporting “Rio Grande,” and the coaches re-lettered to “Denver & Rio Grande Western,” just as they did in that period. Engine 476, today’s steam engine, once again sported the “diamond stack,” which was last seen in the 1980s. To be fair, this combination would not have been seen in winter, but we’ll let that be for the sake of returning to the 1970s.
Making the photographs
The winter train chugged as it encountered the first grade up into the San Juan Mountains, but these mountains were no match for the K-28 engine. The snow began to pile up the higher we climbed, and soon enough, the train glided to a gentle stop. We weren’t at a depot, of course, but instead stopped in a clearing. Gathering my gear, I hopped off the coach and into the snow. I trudged a few feet away from the tracks, found my best vantage point, and waited.
With its customary toot-toot, the train backed up down the tracks and out of sight down the track.
Immediately, although I knew better, I felt a little odd. After all, when you are standing in a snowpack in the middle of winter in the middle of nowhere, and the train that brought you there is now leaving you, that gets your attention. It is too easy to imagine what it might be like if the train kept going, without me, back to the station. I would be alone without the winter train, left to my own devices to fend for myself. My thoughts, now their own runaway train, gathered steam.
Here comes the winter train
The merry “Toot! Toot! Toot!” of the engine’s whistle broke through my thoughts, though, and here comes the train! Hooray! I am saved! And also, I can make the photograph I have been waiting for.
Engine 476 roared past me as I created 476’s Winter. The rumble, deep, throaty, and powerful, shook the ground as the train passed me by, reinforcing how mighty these engines are. Smoke billowed from the diamond stack and now and then created smoke rings. The Turtle and Pigeon mountains stood mute in the background, observing a site they hadn’t seen in fifty years. I would like to think they approved of what they saw.
The train roared down the track past me, but I had no fear I would be stranded this time. The winter train glided to another gentle stop and waited for me to trudge through the snow and board it. It is downright fun to get on and off the train at these different places; it just adds to the sense of adventure!
Onward to Tefft Bridge
Once again, I settled into my seat and watched the scenery roll by to the next stop: Tefft Bridge.
I’ve photographed this scene before but was glad for another chance. The first time, many years ago, I knew how I wanted the photograph to turn out, and it did. This time, I was looking for a similar scene, but better.
As usual, I jumped out of the train and into the snow. I scrambled up a small hill since I wanted a high vantage point. I found the perfect spot and watched as the train backed out of sight. “Toot! Toot! Toot!” Three whistles told me the train was coming, and I made ready.
The bridge, while wonderfully photogenic, also makes for a complex composition. By its very nature, it blocks some of the train, so the timing of making Tefft Bridge is crucial. I needed to have just the right amount of train through the bridge. Too little, and the engine is blocked. Too much, and it looks like I was too late. My experience from here before paid off, though, and the final result was exactly as I envisioned.
In what seemed the blink of an eye, I was back on the train, pondering the upcoming location and the last one for this series. I had a good idea of what to expect and pre-planned it as much as possible.
The Treacherous San Juan Mountains
High above the Animas river, Engine 476 slowed down and crept through a series of sharp turns with sheer, steep drop-offs just inches from the outer rail. Areas like this convinced the early route planners that a standard gauge railroad could not be put through the San Juan Mountains, and it would have to be narrow gauge, if at all. Although some considered it impossible, the designers did put in the railroad. Still, even traveling down it today, I wonder how they did the unthinkable. Somehow, they did, with, quite literally, inches to spare.
As we snaked around Horseshoe Bend, I got off the train for the last time. As before, I stood waiting, ready, and determined. The train backed up out of sight, and all was ready.
The train streamed around the bend, blowing off steam as it did so. Perfect! I love how the thick black smoke and white steam billowing out over the sheer cliff complement each other in Steaming Bend. A scrap of snow lets us know it’s winter, and this scene perfectly illustrates the power of a steam engine in the rugged mountains.
Alas, it was time to board the time one final time for the trip back into town. Elated, the remainder of the journey flew by. I departed, now at a proper station, with beautiful photographs and memories.
Even though I was just on it, it is time to plan another trip aboard the winter train!
Bring 476 Home
You can purchase 476’s Mountains here. What better way to celebrate the glory of a steam engine?
As adventures go, this one didn’t start off very auspiciously. Long planned, constantly delayed, it seemed I would never make it into Horseshoe Canyon of Utah’s Canyonlands National Park. And today, of all days, yet another roadblock loomed before me. But today, I would have none of that and pressed forward. I’m glad I did. It all worked out. Let’s back up and start more at the beginning.
Horseshoe Canyon and where we’re heading for our adventure
Horseshoe Canyon is home to one of the, if not the, most significant rock art panels in the Southwest: the Great Gallery. Significantly, its sixty figures are six feet tall, and the gallery stretches almost three hundred feet long. It is impressive, to say the least. This panel contains both pictographs and petroglyphs. Pictographs are painted on the walls, while petroglyphs are carved or etched. The panel called to me across the years.
I’ve photographed many rock art sites over the year. However, this one, in particular, was always in the back of my mind. I knew I had to visit it, and the need to do so became more urgent as time passed.
Rock Art and the Barrier Canyon Style
The rock art of the Great Gallery is in the Barrier Canyon style. This style is exemplified by long panels with heroic figures. These figures are life-size or larger and feature several variations, particularly among the figures we consider sprit-like. And the Great Gallery is regarded as the prime example of the Barrier Canyon style.
The panel is relatively accessible, although it does require a seven-mile round-trip hike, the last part of which is straight up. However, I also wanted to be at the panel by myself, as I often do, to be alone and silent without interruption. This meant going in the offseason to lessen the likelihood of seeing other people. Also, the hot summers make the strenuous hike all the more challenging. Winter is ideal, but the snows also increase the difficulty, if not making getting there impossible. For me, spring and fall are my best bets.
I planned the trip several times, but a scheduling issue would arise each time, usually at the last moment. I was beginning to think that I should not make this journey. Finally, this fall, a window of opportunity popped up, and I went to Utah without a second thought. My thought was to get there while I could. I put my backpack together, gathered my gear, and was gone in a flash. No one could stop me now!
Except myself.
Previously, and I am unsure how I did this, I managed to twist my knee. The injury wasn’t enough to stop me from walking on it. Well, no, that’s not true. It was enough to stop me from walking normally. For weeks it had been bothering me, on and off. Some days it was OK, more or less, and other days it was decidedly not OK. Each morning was a little different, and I knew it would be fine sooner or later.
The Journey Begins
I drove to Green River, Utah, and stayed at a hotel there, providing a comfortable night before my hike. I woke up bright and early, and I do mean bright early. Not even the alarm clock was awake before me. I sprang out of bed and immediately discovered that my knee had decided that today was a good day to not bear any weight on it. This was a dilemma. The sensible option was to head back home.
Yeah, we both know that didn’t happen.
Limping around the hotel room, I gathered my backpack and ensured it was ready to go. I miraculously found a hot cup of coffee in the lobby. With that one discovery, the day was brighter already. I crawled into my SUV, started it up, and realized that even pressing the accelerator was painful. This was really not a good idea. I have had many adventures that were not a good idea, so why should this one be any different?
Ignoring my discomfort, I headed down the road to Horseshoe Canyon and the Great Gallery! I had reasonable directions, but it was dark out, meaning the world beyond my headlights wouldn’t exist for many more hours. That’s OK. I figured I knew where I was going. All I had to do was make one critical turn onto a sketchy dirt road, and I would be fine.
Once I missed the turn onto the dirt road I was expecting but didn’t see, I realized that my plan could have been more foolproof than it was. I thought there was a sign, but the darkness hid it if it was even there. I’m not admitting that I drove in circles for a few minutes hunting for that road, but I did turn around several times. I eventually found a likely candidate and decided this was the right road. Time to find out if my hunch was correct.
I was expecting a long, slow ride to the trailhead, and I wasn’t expecting the road to be marked. Meaning it would work out and I found the road, or it wouldn’t, and I took an aimless drive in the pre-dawn desert. I would know in about an hour. Either way, I headed off into the darkness and possibly into oblivion.
The road was rutted, bumpy, full of washboards, sandy, and everything a desert dirt road is supposed to be. Unexpectedly, after about a half hour, I found a sign and knew I was on the right road. My knee was no better, but neither was it any worse. I pressed on, now enjoying the ride and thinking about the hike ahead.
I made it to the trailhead as the sun was beginning to rise. So, parts of my plan were working out quite well. I was pleased as I wanted to be on the trail at first light. I stepped out of the SUV, realizing my knee would still not fully bear weight and would be a problem. But hey, what’s a strenuous seven-mile hike on a bad knee?
I changed into my hiking shoes, slugged my pack onto my shoulders, drank the last of my coffee, and locked the SUV.
Off I went into Horseshoe Canyon. I was committed now to seeing this journey through.
Into Horseshoe Canyon
I was worried that I might be unable to find my way, but that was an unfounded fear. It was easy to locate the trail, and I began my descent into the canyon, every step reminding me this was not ideal. I’ve done worse, although this one is right up there. Quickly, I made a beeline toward the Great Gallery. I knew there were other panels in the canyon, but I wanted to make my primary goal, then slowly work my way back.
I also worried that there might be others, but that did not come to pass. Although there were other cars already at the trailhead, they were camping and not on the trail. I was alone in the canyon, which was a magical experience. Although it was painful to walk and the descent into the canyon was difficult, I was also keenly aware of this incredible experience. The significance was not lost on me.
I enjoy hiking in the wilderness. There is something about having your pack on your back, a trail or even no trail, before you as you trek onward. Hiking in the early morning is even more enjoyable as I wander through the land as it is just waking up.
As I continued, the sun was still low on the horizon, and the autumn morning crisp. Eventually, the sun’s rays began to light up the top of the sheer sandstone walls of the canyon, and I enjoyed watching the sun slowly make its way down toward the canyon floor.
Sometimes I enjoy companionship on my adventures. But for others, I prefer to be alone with my thoughts to go deeper into the experience. To me, Horseshoe Canyon is one of those times best experienced without companionship.
I continued on the trail, wending through the canyon, drawing closer to the Great Gallery. I saw the other panels I needed to visit along the way and noted their location for exploration on the way back.
Eventually, there it was! The Great Gallery! It was everything I hoped it would be, and the moment I saw it, I simply stopped and stared. How could I not? I don’t know how long I stood there. My watch also stopped, and the moment was timeless.
Once I could breathe and time flowed again, I shrugged off my backpack and marveled at the panel. I examined it from left to right, then back again. I looked at every figure and then looked again, wondering what the message was. But I knew that the answer was not mine to understand. That’s OK. Some answers will never come.
The Great Gallery
I made the photograph I longed for all these years: the Great Gallery.
The Great Gallery. Click/tap for a larger view
The left side of the panel is colloquially known as the Holy Ghost. I spent a lot of time staring at this section and made Holy Ghost, another photograph I had dreamed of. I could not be more pleased with how it came out. There are more details about this section, too, in the link.
My goal was accomplished; I journeyed into the past and marveled that the figures have survived until today. The experience remains etched into my mind. The photographs turned out even better than I had hoped, and I am beyond pleased. The reward was well worth the effort, and I breathed a sigh of relief at accomplishing this photograph.
Eventually, it was time to leave. That was not easy, both mentally and physically. My knee reminded me this was still not a good idea, and I knew the remaining three and a half miles would not be comfortable. I put my backpack on again, felt its weight on my knee, and headed back to the other panels.
High Gallery
High Gallery is another spectacle panel. Named for its location—high up on the canyon wall—it contains figures in the same style as the Great Gallery. As before, its message remains unclear and unknown to me. In this photograph, I stepped back to include the cottonwood tree in peak fall color, which I think adds to the scene.
There is a question of why this panel is so high up the wall. At a guess, it is a good fifty feet off the canyon floor. It could not have been easy to create this, leaving us to wonder why there, of all places? Why not put it closer to the canyon floor, just as all the other panels are?
And High Gallery contains a secret, too! Look very closely at the left side just above the cottonwood. Do you recognize the woman’s face in relief? And do you see what she is looking at?
Now the placement makes perfect sense. The woman is looking directly at the gallery, and now more of the meaning becomes clear. Not to rain on my own parade here, though, this is only one interpretation, and it may be sheer coincidence. However, it is the interpretation that I choose to go with.
I want to highlight another panel that I particularly like. The Horseshoe Gallery has similar enigmatic figures in the same Barrier Canyon style. As with the other panels, the meaning is not mine to know, yet I still enjoy the experience of staring deep into the past.
This was the last panel I photographed, and I carefully repacked my backpack for the hike out. I knew I had a steep ascent ahead of me, and it would not be easy, given my knee. I also knew there was nothing for it, so I set out, slowly aching step by slow step.
No sooner had I left the last panel than I heard voices coming from further up the canyon, and soon enough, I saw the hikers attached to them. We exchanged hellos, and they headed off searching for their own adventure. I soon encountered a larger group and then a small one. It’s as if the canyon knew I met my goal and deigned to let the rest of the world in.
I silently gave thanks for my solitude and wished my fellow hikers well.
The Final Ascent
I approached the steep ascent with trepidation, yet met it as I always do—via a single step forward, followed by all the rest. My knee did not appreciate the extra effort, and let me know that. But, I have, quite literally, crawled out of a canyon before, and this time I would walk on two feet, so I counted it as a victory. It was only a seven hundred feet ascent, but it took me a while.
I exited Horseshoe Canyon and returned to the SUV, grateful for the opportunity to sit down and rest. Eventually, I readied myself for the trip home, and the trailhead receded in my rearview mirror. It was past midday, and easy to find my way back to pavement and civilization and then home.
Today, as I write this just over a month later, my knee still hurts off and on, although it is slowly healing. The pain will eventually fade to nothing, but this experience will always be bright inside me.
Bring home Holy Ghost
You can learn more about the Holy Ghost panel, and even bring it home for yourself!
I know how Captain Ahab felt while searching for his white whale. The passion, the drive, the commitment that transcends all else to achieve, at all costs, a singular aim. Unlike Ahab, however, reaching my goal didn’t cost me a leg or anything else; instead, it was quite the opposite. I was not chasing an elusive whale. I was stalking the Sandia Mountains, which were right there in front of me every day, taunting me. Defying me to create a fantastic photograph of them.
Let’s back up a moment to add context. And we’ll see how this scene went from this so-so photograph to something extraordinary.
This modest scene would soon turn into an incredible one.
Here in Albuquerque, New Mexico, there is a picturesque mountain chain to the immediate east of the city—the Sandia Mountains. These mountains, reaching 10,678 feet tall, might not be the tallest, but they dominate the skyline all the same. We all, every day, look up at the mountains and enjoy the view.
The Sandias have a nifty trick up their sleeve, too. If the conditions are just right at sunset, they will light up and glow a beautiful red color—watermelon red. Some days it will be intense, others subtle, but this variation gives the mountains their character. And “Sandia” means “Watermelon,” so the glow truly is the mountain’s namesake.
Naturally, this is a prime topic for any local photographer, myself included. How could it not be?
And therein lies the rub. The mountains are there every day, impossible to miss. It is easy to photograph them. Simply point your camera to the east, and there you go. Wait until sunset, wait until the glow appears, and you can’t go wrong. But there is far more to it than that, of course. Far, far more.
I wanted a different photograph of the Sandias and far from an ordinary snapshot. I wanted it to be unique and genuinely capture the essence and glory of the mountains. Those moments and those days don’t come along very often. And they are impossible to predict. So many conditions have to come together, and, for me, at least, the window of opportunity is relatively narrow for the photograph I pictured in my mind.
I knew I wanted dramatic clouds. Many days at sunset, whatever clouds are around the mountain will dissipate with the setting sun. The scene starts out beautiful, but as the sun slides toward the horizon, the clouds drift away, and what was magical becomes ordinary in the blink of an eye. I also wanted to showcase the fall colors. Why? I don’t know. It is just how I wanted it to look. I don’t want much, do I?
So, most days, I would look at the mountains, the sky, and the forecast and try to decide if the day would work out for me. I often gathered all my equipment and headed to one of my favorite viewpoints. Every day I would stand there and watch the mountains as the daylight began to fade. I was set up, ready to make the perfect photograph. And inevitably, the day would end with an average scene. It is here that I began to compare myself to Captain Ahab. He couldn’t catch his whale. I could not make my perfect photograph.
The next day I would start the process over again. And this went on for a very long time. I would have driven myself crazy if I wasn’t already there.
One day, though, I thought all the conditions would line up. The fall colors were at their peak in one spot in Rio Rancho. The golden colors were exactly the shade I was looking for; although some leaves had fallen, most remained. The day was also cloudy, and clouds in the sky were essential to my vision. But, working against me, it was a very windy day, and the clouds were becoming thicker throughout the day. This would prevent any sunset colors from appearing.
I visited my chosen spot in mid-afternoon to give it a good look—that’s the photograph at the beginning of this story. I wanted to be 100% certain of my viewpoint should the end of the day work out, so, like so many days before, I did my initial scouting earlier in the day.
So, I headed home and waited.
As the afternoon wore on, though, conditions worsened for me. The clouds continued to become thick and heavy. The wind picked up. The perfect conditions would not come together, and I would be disappointed again. Still, the eternal optimism in me won out. I once again packed up my gear and headed out. I made it to the location quickly enough, but as I suspected, it would be a bust. The mountains were now mostly in shadow—they would not light up tonight. The earlier breeze was now outright windy. The clouds were heavy. At least I would enjoy the mountains, all the same.
Sunset arrived. I stood there silent, grateful for the fact I was there but forlorn at seeing another opportunity slide by me.
Indeed, the most magical thing happened.
Right after sunset, the sun somehow found a way to slip through the heavy clouds. The right side of the Sandia Mountains began to glow their beautiful watermelon color. Huh. Didn’t that beat it all? The sunset was going to tease me; in any event, it was far too windy to create meaningful photographs.
Against all odds, the glow began to creep more to the left. Now, half the mountains looked really lovely. And the clouds started to light up, too. Still, the sun was now well below the horizon, and the scene would collapse at any moment.
Except it didn’t. It continued to get better.
In the blink of an eye, the mountains glowed with a vibrancy I didn’t see very often. The watermelon red was reflected in the Rio Grande River in front of me. And the clouds offered their own version of reds, providing a perfect counterpoint.
And miracles of all miracles, the wind dipped to a strong breeze. I had, quite literally, seconds to pull off catching my whale, er, make my photograph.
And I did.
Sandia Sunset
The result is Sandia Sunset. Against all odds, I finally made the photograph I had pictured for so many years. I caught my whale. I achieved a photograph that, to me, captures the glory of the Sandia Mountains.
I stood at the water’s edge, alone, and long before the sun would even think about making an appearance. Being here was not an uncommon situation and one familiar to me. I knew the eagles would arrive shortly, and I hoped they would go fishing. The only question was would they beat the sun, or would the sun sneak out before they appeared?
The answer, surprisingly, was neither! Instead, the blue herons flew from nowhere, and before I knew it, they were there in front of me, foraging in the shallow water for breakfast. There wasn’t enough light to make any photographs, but there was enough for me to enjoy the scene, so I did.
They were quiet, intent on finding their meal, and kept to themselves. The morning was tranquil, and it was too easy to become enraptured in the scene before me, never moving again. I almost forgot about the eagles. Almost.
It wasn’t long before the eagles appeared. The sun rose simultaneously, and I wonder if this was by coincidence or design. Alas, I’ll never know. One moment, the herons were alone in the water, and the next, the sun bathed the eagles in its rays, and the birds soared high overhead, gazing intently at the water below them.
In the blink of an eye, an eagle dove headlong into the water, looking for its first bite of breakfast. With a barely heard splash, the eagle quickly rose again into the sky, now with a fish grasped firmly in its talons. Eagle Catch is the moment the eagle heads skyward. The vignette would repeat throughout the morning. Dive, then catch, the soar, over and over.
However, the eagles and the blue herons didn’t exist peacefully at all times. Now and then, an aggressive eagle would fly right by a heron, who almost always objected. Incoming Eagle shows us one of these moments, and the heron is not pleased with the eagle bearing down on it.
The eagles would circle high above, always keeping one eye on the water. They would fold their wings and streak toward the water when they spotted their prey. The term “eagle eye” means something. Most of the time, they would catch a fish, but they would also miss it from time to time.
And some eagles would attempt to steal another’s fish, apparently thinking this was easier than catching it. This effort seldom was successful, but it must be a good enough strategy to keep attempting it. Sometimes, a fight would break out over the endeavor, and the fish dropped back into the waters below. The food was plentiful, so the battles were brief and not intense.
The wiser, older eagles grabbed the fish, tucking it close to their body, making it harder for another eagle to see and harder to steal. They are, quite literally, pretending as if they are flying around empty-taloned. Even though I knew there was a fish in the talons, it was hard to see and challenging to be sure. The younger eagles would fly with their fish readily exposed, inviting another eagle to take it from them. Eventually, they all learned how to hide the fish.
Despite the drama between the birds, sometimes a lone eagle soaring in the sky created a decisive moment. Voyaging Eagle shows us exactly what I mean. The eagle, wings outstretched as broad as they can go, sweeping across the sky, remains one of my favorite eagle photographs ever, and I could not be more pleased with how it turned out.
Eventually, all the birds had their fill, and gradually, so slowly I barely noticed, began drifting away. Before I realized it, I was alone once again. With a sigh but not a heavy heart, I packed up and headed out for the day. It had been a fantastic day with the eagles, and the blue herons, and who could ask for anything more?
I’m excited to announce that my new online gallery is now available on the Virtual Galley page! This virtual gallery lets you tour and view selections of my work from, well, anywhere. The virtual gallery is an exciting way to discover and browse my photography, and it is just like being there in person.
Online Gallery
I’ve carefully selected some of my favorite pieces to showcase in the online gallery, organized into four wings: Adventure, History, Journey, and Route 66. Once inside the wing, you move around however you like, and there will always be another stunning photograph around the next corner. You can come back to the lobby to select a different wing.
Each piece has a title card, and some title cards are clickable. Clicking cards outlined in blue take you to the piece’s web page, where you can view more details, read the story, and purchase it. As for the others? Those are from my archives! I’ve dug deep in the digital cellar to find some of my favorite scenes that I want to share with you.
Online Gallery
Moving around is simple. If you are on a keyboard, use the arrow keys, and if you are on a touch screen, your finger moves you around. Click or tap the title card for more information. There are options at the bottom that let you customize how the gallery will work for you.
Galeryst
I want to thank my friends at Galeryst for helping me bring my online gallery to you. Galeryst is, well, nothing short of fantastic. They are a small team dedicated to making sure your work stands out, Galeryst is incredibly flexible and super customizable. You will be delighted with the results. If you’re an artist, I encourage you to give them a try. Be sure to head over to their featured galleries page to check out some of the other artists!
Let’s dive into the online gallery: the doors are open, and adventure, history, journies, and Route 66 awaits.
