Adventure

The Ultimate Fall Experience in the Great Smoky Mountains

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I love the great American Southwest. The vast, trackless deserts have an endless appeal to me, and I am convinced the sky out here has an entirely different shade of blue than anywhere else. Tall buttes, hidden wonders, and everything in between. The West has it all. Or does it? There are other stunning places to photograph, and sometimes, going in the completely opposite direction is the way to go. With that thought in mind, and now done with Colorado Fall Colors, I struck off to the east, headed for my next destination: Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee. It’s time for the ultimate fall experience.

Of course, I went in the fall so I could revel in the park’s glorious and gorgeous autumn colors. Even though I just finished up in Colorado’s aspens, I can’t get enough of the magic of leaves. I’ve been here before, and this time, I wanted to concentrate on autumn. Just so there’s no suspense here, it was an incredible excursion, and I couldn’t be more pleased with the results. I know, I know, I’ve spoiled the surprise, but truly, it wasn’t much of a surprise to begin with.

I had two main ideas in mind: fall colors and water. Rivers and streams, surrounded by colorful leaves, draw me in. And, especially waterfalls. Waterfalls are endlessly fascinating to me. Water and color abound in the Smoky Mountains, and I had to see a couple of the waterfalls.

I decided to add a few extra days to allow myself some time to get acquainted with the park again, as it had been a few years since my last visit. I remembered it well, but…. There is always the chance that my memory wasn’t perfect, so having a little time to explore was just the ticket. I’m glad I did, too, because it gave me time to work out the best scenes. I didn’t have a set plan, other than to wander and explore, to look and poke around to see what I might find. For this adventure, I vowed to go where nature took me. 

Autumn in the park is quite interesting. Leaves usually change all together, based on elevation. Or, at least that’s what I’m used to. The higher the elevation the tree is, the earlier its leaves turn to gold. Great Smoky Mountain National Park has a lot, and I mean a lot, of elevation change, so the leaves turn from gold from the top to the bottom of the park. Conveniently, you can readily drive to both extremes, so I had it covered.

On my first days there, the leaves where I initially wanted to photograph were still green, while up top they had already peaked and were dropping. That seems like a problem, but it wasn’t. It meant I was early. All I had to do was wait for the color to come to me. Waiting is never easy, but also, there was nothing for it. Besides, waiting around in a national park is always a wonderful experience, and it always feels like the time flies by. When you’re in a fall experience, time just melts away.

Day by day the color crept down the mountainsides. I made a few “classic” photographs from the top of the park, but ultimately, those didn’t have quite the magic I’m looking for in a finished photograph, so those found their way to the proverbial cutting room floor. 

Night by night I wondered if the next day was going to be the day. By now, I had a firm idea of exactly where I wanted to be, and more or less when, to bring my ideas to life. I was pretty confident in it.

Over the last few days, I’d explored, literally, every road and byway I could in the park. I hiked up small, and some not so small, waterways and spent a while standing in the middle of a couple of them doing my best to not get wet. Most, if not all, rivers and streams are strewn with rocks, which one can stand on. All rocks are wet, most are unstable, and many are far from the other ones, requiring a short or longer jump. All of which is to say the conditions were ripe for me to fall in. Miraculously, and I truly do not know how this came to be, I managed to stay 100% every day.

The day came, sure enough, as the color barreled down the mountainsides to greet me. The day also came with the steady drumbeat of rain, too. While that might sound like an issue, it was, in fact, perfect for what I wanted to do. Rain meant no sun, which in turn meant it would be a higher quality result for me. Rain also meant wet, and wet leaves and rocks truly show off their fall colors. I couldn’t have been happier as I headed into the park.

The fall experience comes to life

Now, though, I was on a timer. I had three photographs I wanted to create, none of which were close to one another, all of which were scattered across the park, and all of which required perfect conditions to create. Dang. This was going to be…difficult. But off I went!

The first stop was along the banks of the Little River. I’d found this place while I was rock-hopping and exploring. It represented exactly what I was looking for: flowing water, pretty rocks, and, best and most important of all, overhanging foliage. For me, this is the quintessential scene for a fall experience, and it was one of the foremost scenes I wanted. 

A fine-art landscape photograph of the Little River during autumn. The scene features a shallow, rocky riverbed with large, dark boulders in the foreground, leading into a dense forest of gold and orange deciduous trees that form a vibrant canopy over the water.

As before, I hopped, camera and tripod grasped tightly in my hand, my way to the middle of the river. And as before, I continued to stay dry. Well, to be fair, it was raining, so “dry” is a relative term. It’s more that I didn’t fall into the river kind of dry, which was the real goal.

Plunk! The tripod speared into the water, and I settled it in while attaching my camera. All before me was exactly as I hoped, and the framing and composition were easier than most. Being steady and careful, Little River ended up in my camera. I knew, deep in my heart, that it would come out. A few moments of careful rock-hopping and I reached the soggy shore. 

The gentle rain continued. The race was still on. 

Next on my list was Mingus Mill. This historic mill is at the far end of the park from me. It is right by a main entrance and a popular place. So, really, there wasn’t a lot of “exploring” for this, but I did spend quite a while considering how to best represent it. The main problem would be “tourists” and, gasp, other people. No, I never, ever consider myself a tourist. I am a photographer. There is a difference. At least in my mind, anyway.

The rain, though, continued to work in my favor. Tourists don’t like rain and often won’t get out in it. Sort of goes with being a tourist, I guess. Maybe, just maybe, there wouldn’t be many people I would have to work around.

Lo and behold, the parking area was empty! Once again, with camera in hand, I headed to the spot I had picked out. I truly adore this photograph.

A fine-art photograph of the historic Mingus Mill during autumn. The image shows the weathered gray wood of the two-story grist mill nestled against a forest of yellow and green trees, with a bright red maple branch in the upper left. In the foreground, water flows through a moss-covered wooden flume, creating small waterfalls.

In addition to adventuring, I enjoy learning about history and those who came before. Mingus Mill represents everything I could ask for: a strong photograph with a strong backstory. The people who built and ran this mill were as tough as they come and became a pillar of the community. Mills frequently were, and this one was no exception. They had a difficult time of it, but they prevailed. 

What I like best about this photograph, though, is the water seeping out of the trough before it ever reaches the mill. There’s just something about the water never quite making it to the mill that tickles my fancy.

No time to stay here, though! The rain continued, and so did my dash! One more! We can do it.

Now it was back through the park to Meigs Falls. This is a small waterfall, just a few feet high, and set back through the trees. It’s oh-so-easy to miss these falls, thus earning my title for this piece: Secret Fall. My title implies the falls are hidden, secluded, far away, and difficult to find. They’re not. They’re just right there. Sure, you have to look a little bit for it, and it isn’t really marked, but it’s not a big secret. 

Good thing, too, because it sure is picturesque! It isn’t, by far, the biggest waterfall in the park. Nowhere close. But to me, I love how it pulls me in. Surrounded by fall color and flowing toward me, this little waterfall is, without any doubt, my favorite one in the park.

A fine art photograph of a hidden waterfall nestled deep within Smokey Mountain National Park. The composition features a delicate, multi-tiered cascade of water flowing over moss-covered rock faces into a clear, shallow pool. The high-detail image highlights the soft, silky texture of the moving water and the vibrant variety of ferns and foliage, creating a serene and secluded atmosphere, truly earning the name "Secret Fall"

By now, the rain was letting up, but the leaves were still wet. The final photograph came out amazingly well, and looking at it as I craft these words, I still feel that sense of wonder and awe as I did when I first saw it. 

What a fall experience it was! Coupled with the Colorado aspens, my fall was absolutely outstanding. I can’t wait for next year.

Bring the Journey Home

Let’s not keep Secret Fall just on the internet. There’s plenty of styles and options to make it look fantastic in your home!

Death Valley has some of the most extraordinary night skies

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Death Valley National Park is one of the larger National Parks, sprawling over 3.4 million acres—the largest national park in the Lower 48 states. It is a remote park, located on the far eastern edge of California, with a small area tipping into Nevada. It’s remoteness and size has long held my attention, and it remains one of my favorite parks. Over the years I’d visited, I developed a fascination for creating one certain photograph—and to spoil the surprise and suspense immediately, I did. But I’m going to make you wait until the very end of this story to see that result.

I’ve written about Death Valley National Park before in The Playa. That was a marvelous adventure, and one I thought long and hard about recreating just for the joy of it. But I was on a different mission, so focused on creating the vision I was after.

In reality, I had a couple of goals in mind. The first was exploring more of the park, so let’s concentrate on that one first. There are a couple of paved roads in the park, one more or less leading from east to west, or west to east if you prefer, that carries most of the park’s traffic. It leads to the most popular areas, including Furnace Creek, which is the heart of Death Valley. 

Here, you’ll find everything you might desire. Camping, hotels, and the assorted supply and gift shops. I spent a few lazy afternoons here waiting. I’ll admit that sitting on a bench under a palm tree, while eating an ice cream cone in Death Valley is one of those surreal experiences I won’t forget for a long time, if ever. It is a scientific fact that Ice cream tastes a thousand percent better under a palm tree.

The paved roads also extend to the very popular Badwater Basin, which we’ll revisit shortly. But I was keen to explore more of the less-traveled areas, and so I left the pavement and headed out into the wilds of the park.

Out on the western edges of the park, you’ll find some of the best Joshua Trees anywhere in the west. A park ranger told me, and believe them, that the Joshua Trees here are larger and healthier than those in Joshua Tree National Park. And after seeing them, I believe it. 

It took a while to reach them by way of the dirt roads, but the effort was well-rewarded. I wasn’t in any hurry, either, preferring instead to stop, explore and see what wonders are hidden from view.

A Joshua Tree in Death Valley National Park

The trees in the densest area were every size, and sprawled absolutely everywhere. Unlike a traditional forest, however, Joshua trees do not grow close to each other, so the “forest” is a far more spread out than you might expect. 

A "forest" o Joshua Trees

This photograph illustrates how many trees there are. And for Joshua trees, they are enormous indeed. You can tap/click on the photograph for a larger view. I’ve been to Joshua Tree National Park and marveled at those trees, but after seeing this hidden gem, I totally agree with the ranger: these trees are magnificent.

A weirdly-shaped Joshsa Tree

Everywhere I looked there were more and more trees, each more oddly shaped than the last, and I could have spent days here wandering and exploring. And in fact, I almost did. But I had something else to create so I kept to my primary goal.

As an aside, one fun surprise at the edge of the Joshua forest was a small cabin with an outhouse tucked down a very short side-path. The cabin is well-known, but it was the outhouse that caught my eye. There is something about the entire scene that captured my attention and delighted me.

Loo View

And no, I didn’t use the outhouse. It scared me to even open the door, frankly, and I decided that was more adventure than I was looking for. Some things are just better left unknown. 

But, I digress from my goal, which lies back on the eastern side of the Death Valley. I was looking to go deep into the night skies, and especially during the winter months.

The Milky Way is the faint band of light that we can see from Earth, and is one arm of our galaxy. Best of all, it is full of stars—so many, in fact, that we can’t see them all, nor even make them all out. The center of the Milky Way is one of my favorite photographic targets, and one I seldom miss a chance to photograph. But the Milky Way offers more than just the core.

As the seasons change, so do our views of the Milky Way. Usually, the Milky Way is photographed from spring through fall, since that’s when the core is visible. But the winter months offer a different, and unique view—this is what I was truly after on this adventure. 

I wanted a wide, open expanse, and what better place than Death Valley? Here, with some of the darkest skies possible in North America, I had the best opportunity to photograph the night skies without any light pollution. There were two photographs I wanted to create, and, remarkably, both worked out.

The first one I wanted to create was at Zabriskie Point. I’ve been here many times during the daylight. Zabriskie Point, in fact, showcases a remarkable sunrise. But I knew that it would take on an entirely different look at night. I couldn’t wait!

The day offered the perfect set up for the night. There were no clouds at all in the sky, and the forecast said the night would be clear. I waited anxiously through the day, hoping the forecast would hold it. It did. The day was windy, too, which threatened to become a problem, and I was also hoping the forecast was wrong about the wind speed. Alas, it was not, and the winds were indeed problematic for me.

I don’t know why, but lately the winds seem to follow me around. No matter what the forecast says, the winds swirl around me, pick up dust, and threaten my photography. Perhaps I was the God of Winds in a former life? I really need to find a way to make peace with them, though. One of these days, I will. I hope.

Into the dark of night

I scouted around as the sun was setting and worked out exactly where I wanted to be, then began the vigil. The sun set, the sky remained clear, and the winds continued to blow. This was going to be a long, cold winter night in the desert. There was nothing for it, except to bear it out and hope I dressed warm enough. I was, but not by much.

It isn’t the cold that is the problem, really. It’s the standing still in the cold that is difficult. If I was moving from here to there, then my body heat would keep me warm. But standing there, in the cold and the wind, quickly saps whatever heat you might have had, and there’s no way to gain it back save by shuffling around. But you can’t go too far, meaning you can’t generate much heat. And the result is you just end up cold. It is a feeling I am all too familiar with.

As full darkness set in, I began working on the photograph. The familiar daylight scene transformed into one of mystery, and the sky shown bright with stars. I was able to bring out some structures seldom seen. We are used to seeing the sky full of stars, but the heavens contain more than stars. There are also vast emission nebulas, normally not visible to the naked eye. By using a modified camera and some careful processing, I brought these nebulas out. 

Zabriskie's Night

Zabriskie’s Night is the final result. The constellation of Orion is setting over Zabriskie Point. And we can plainly see the reddish hues of the emission nebulas, and especially the large arc known as Barnard’s Loop. To me, this represents years of thought and planning and having everything come together into one mystical photograph is the culmination of all my effort.

This area of the sky, only visible in the winter months, is one of my all-time favorite parts of the sky. I adore looking at it, staring at, and into, it. Every time I am outside and Orion is visible, I stop and look at it in wonder. To be able to create this photograph, then, at one of the most iconic locations in any National Park, is truly a dream come true for me. 

I was fighting with the wind far more than I cared for, but eventually, I won out. Normally, some wind isn’t that big of a deal, but at night, it complicates matters considerably. I need longer exposures to image the sky and the slightest movement of the camera, no matter how tiny, will spoil the photograph. Dead calm is the ideal situation and gusty winds the worst. This night the winds were blowing steadily, which complicated things, but I was able to overcome them. Whew.

I really need to figure out how to come to terms with the winds.

I planned this photograph for years. And now, at least, I completed it, and it looks even better than I had imagined it would.

But, there is more to accomplish! There’s another photograph to bring to life.

And for that, it’s time to return to Badwater Basin.

Death Valley’s Badwater Basin has exactly what I wanted—a wide, sweeping and interesting foreground combined with dark skies. As Badwater Expanse illustrates, the salt flats of the dried lake bed are fascinating. During periods of heavy rain, a lake forms here. As it dries, it leaves behind hexagonally shaped patterns of salt ridges which stretch into the distance. During the day, this makes for fantastic photographs, but at night, it takes on an otherworldly feel. I could hardly wait.

Badwater Expanse

Once again I watched the forecast which said clear skies are likely. And once again, it was supposed to be windy, but with luck it wouldn’t be quite as bad as at Zabriskie Point. I waited non-too patiently for the sun to go down.

It did, eventually, although it seemed like it too forever to do so. It was breezy, to be sure, but not nearly as bad as it was at Zabriskie Point. As the full dark of night settled in, I set about to create a broad, sweeping panorama of the winter Milky Way in ideal conditions.

Badwater Radiance

There’s a lot going on in Badwater Radiance. I was careful to make sure we could see the basin itself. The distant mountains are in shadow, but that was by design. And the night sky! Here, up above, we can see countless millions of stars, the gentle arc of the Winter Arch and even more of the fabulous emission nebulas. 

All told, there are hours and hours of work, and years of planning, to create Badwater Radiance, but it is the photograph I was hoping for.

It was difficult to pack up my gear at the end because I didn’t want the night to end. And once I was packed up, I just stood there, enjoying the stillness of the night and the glory and magnificence that is the Winter Arch of the Milky Way in Death Valley National Park.

Bring the Adventure Home

You can purchase, and fully customize, Badwater Radiance and Zabriskie’s Night. You can also purchase Zabriskie Point, too.

If you don’t see an option that works for you, contact me. There’s lots of options to create the perfect piece just for you.

More Adventures

You can also read the adventure of when I visited Death Valley’s Racetrack.

Peek behind the scenes with the remarkable making of Twilight Crescent

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I adore being outside, especially after dark. Or, perhaps more accurately, I adore being outside and enjoying the transition from daylight to nighttime. There’s something magical, mystical even, as the day fades and night begins to creep in. At first, the world loses its color, but then it transforms into something even more intense as starlight illuminates the landscape. It’s during this transition, though, that the world becomes very interesting, and even more so when the moon is involved. Twilight Crescent is the culmination of a long journey for me to create the vision I held.

Wolf Moon was one of my first photographs and remains to this day one of mine, and your, favorites. It has a certain ethereal quality to it that defies description. Everyone notices, and remarks, on it. It has this certain quality to it that transcends time and space. I’ve tried, many times, to create a companion piece, and despite several excellent versions, never quite succeeded. 

Wolf Moon

I’ve thought long and hard about what I wanted to create, and eventually had stetted on a plan. I wanted a rising crescent moon, in a deep blue sky, filled with stars. Simple, right? But, as it turns out, not so much. It took me a lot, and I mean a lot, longer than I would have ever expected. The making of Twilight Crescent would take longer than I hoped.

At first, I thought I would wait for the precise right phase of the moon, step out my back door, photograph it, and present my masterpiece. Funny how that simply didn’t work out.

The two most difficult obstacles I had were clouds and place. Yes, the moon has the phase I wanted each month. But either the moon rose before or after twilight, or I wasn’t in a position where I could photograph it, or, clouds were in my way. Because I travel, I am not always in a place where I can create a moon photograph at exactly the right time. I know—it sounds simple, but in practice, it is not. And, as it turns out, there were only a few windows of time every year that I could use.

Or, if I was in the right place at the right time, clouds would obscure the moon. While the clouds provided the exact right atmosphere for Wolf Moon, my vision here was absolutely no clouds at all.

The conditions, as I knew they would, eventually came together. When they did, I learned another lesson: this wouldn’t be straightforward at all. Figuring out the correct exposure, framing and timing turned out to be way more complicated than I anticipated, so a couple of times ended up being a learning lesson. I know, I know. I could have tried again the next night, but I am quite particular, and it has to be “just right.”

So back to the drawing board I went, now waiting for the exact right phase the next month, which meant I was back to my time and space, as well as clouds, problem.

Anyway, you get the idea. This took me far longer than I ever expected, but… when you are looking for the perfect image, it takes time. 

Twilight Crescent

The final result, Twilight Crescent, is one I am proud to present to you. It represents the vision I had so long ago, and it feels good to complete this simple, yet fantastic, photograph. It has the feel and the vibe I was looking for. Furthermore, it tells the story I wanted to tell, and it came out exactly how I wanted it to. The making of this photograph was a mini adventure in itself, but it sure ended well!

I couldn’t be happier with it. Now, it’s on to the next adventure!

Twilight Crescent will look great in your home

Bring Twilight Crescent home, and place the moon where you can see a perfect moon every day, rain or shine.

Badlands Wall: Embracing fury and beauty of Badlands Storms

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It’s been a while, to say the least, since I’ve journeyed to South Dakota’s Badlands National Park. I have fragmentary memories of it as a small child, and although I can’t recall any specific areas of the park, I can recall the incredible formations and knew, deep in my soul, I would one day return. That promise was fulfilled, and it is every bit spectacular as I remembered, and even more so with my adult eyes. When the ideal conditions come together, nothing can beat the fabulous vistas and views of the badlands wall! Especially when a storm comes, as we’ll see.

Badlands National Park’s primary feature is its wall. The rock formations that make up the wall vary in height from a few feet to a few hundred feet, and carve an east-west path through the heart of South Dakota. Much of the wall, while not impassable, per se, is very difficult to cross. Instead, it is far easier to traverse the wall at a pass, which is an area where the wall is less steep. You might have to go way out of your way to get to the nearest pass, but it is the only way.

The wall formed due to erosion and uplift, and in so doing, created layers of rock and a geologic record. The wall is in-process, and up to an inch is eroded every year. An inch doesn’t sound like much, but over time it certainly adds right up.

So, picture this in your mind: the wall has steep sides, jagged rock formations, has spires and peaks, dips and valleys, and is hundreds of miles long. It is, for me, an irresistible magnet, one that called to me from my childhood, and its siren song was answered.

Before we continue, I’ll point out that Badlands National Park also features vast swathes of prairie. Here, the untouched prairie, with tall grasses and wildlife such as bison and prairie dogs, rolls for endless mile after mile. I wandered through those undulating hills day after day, and in a later adventure, we’ll come back to those explorations. What at first glance appears to be nothing more than grasses is, in fact, a diverse, comprehensive ecosystem with untold wonders within it.

For now, though, we’ll stay on, in and below the badlands wall in the North Unit of the park.

Overlook: Badlands

This photograph, Overlook: Badlands, is an excellent introduction to the park, I think. Here, you can see the rock formations of the wall, as well as get a sense of the sweeping expansiveness of the park. I’m perched on an overlook several hundred feet above the rest of the formations just after sunset. This particular sunset was one I didn’t think would work out. The late afternoon was cloudy and overcast.

I was certain the sun had no chance of making an appearance, meaning there was no chance of anything interesting happening at sunset. How wrong I was! Just as the day was ending, the clouds started breaking up and clearing faster than I thought possible. The sun, taking full advantage of the broken clouds, laced the sky with surreal purples and pinks, something which I, and you, will come to appreciate later in this story. For now, though, here at this vantage point, the rocks below reflected the colors of the sky, creating this dramatic scene.

As I watched the drama unfold before my eyes, I thought back to the days of long ago. What was it like before there were roads, and paved roads at that? What were we thinking as we wove our way through the wall, ascending and dropping back down as we found our way? I can only imagine these experiences, and frankly, am glad that we move freely through today’s park.

I stayed at this overlook as darkness crept in and stole the color away, but we have so many more scenes to explore.

As I moved through the park, there were several places that caught my attention and I found myself drawn to. I know, I know. That’s not easy when the entire park demands your attention, but for whatever reason, some areas spoke to me more than others.

Badlands Spires

These spires are one of the areas that captured my imagination. I photographed them numerous times, both at dawn and sunset, as well as even the middle of the day. I photographed them from the road. Not only that, but I climbed a peak high above them, just to see what the view held for me. I photographed them as a sweeping panorama and up close and intimately. In the end, I like this version the best. Although the spires are rugged and jagged, and tell the story of how difficult this landscape is, I think it also speaks to the splendor and beauty of that very harshness. There is beauty here, all around, and for me, Badlands Spires showcases that.

As I kept coming back to this scene, I noted how the rocks changed character and color throughout the day. Each hour of each day brought a different mood to the park and its wall. At times, the rocks were bright and at other times, dark and reflective. When the sun was high overhead, the rocks were pale and stark, but during the early morning and late evening, each place took on a life and character of its own.

Badlands Closeup

This view, Badlands Closeup, shows off the wall during sunrise. The sun was barely cresting the distant horizon over the prairie, lighting up the wall. The early morning light, coupled with the long and dark shadows, creates an intricate interplay on the rock. The striations vividly stand out, and the overall effect is magical. As the sun soared into the sky, the scene changed yet again, creating an ever-changing landscape. As I mentioned earlier, it’s hard for me to pick just one scene to share with you, since each one was incredible in its own way.

Badlands Storm over the wall

During my explorations of the badlands wall, one day in particular was fascinating. In fact, it was the forecast for this day which drove my decision-making to be there in the first place.

When deciding when and where to photograph, weather is almost always a primary consideration. After all, since I am a landscape and nature photographer, by definition, I am outside, and the weather affects everything I do. I knew I wanted to photograph Badlands National Park, and looked for a promising set-up regarding weather. I found it. Although there are never any guarantees when it comes to weather, I knew I had to try. A series of summer storms was in the forecast, and hopefully, those would happen.

They did.

I left myself plenty of time to become acquainted with the park again. It had been forty or more years since I’d been there, so I was starting with fresh eyes. I spent some time scouting for the locations that looked promising, then settled in and waited to see if the forecast was right.

It was.

The day began with clear skies and looked like any other summer day. Hot, with gentle breezes, the morning said it would be the same as any other. But by mid-afternoon, the hints of change were there. Wispy clouds began appearing in the sky, and the previously gentle breeze now had an intensity to it. The thin clouds began coalescing and gathering, and it was now apparent that something was going to happen.

As the afternoon wore on, the white clouds were now tinged with gray and grew thicker. The breeze was now a genuine wind, and continued to pick up speed. Now dark storm clouds began to roll across the sky and the sound of distant thunder rolling over the plains was audible over the wind. Speaking of the wind, it was now steady and strong, and continued to intensify. It was so strong, in fact, that bits of sand stung my face as the wind hurled them at me.

The storm was coming.

It was going to be much bigger than I expected.

I could hardly wait.

Amazingly, the dark and heavy clouds did not cover the entire sky, and the sun still shone. This coincidence allowed me to create Badlands Storm.

Badlands Storm

I really like this photograph. I was a short distance from the wall itself. Close enough to pick up the details in the rocks, but far enough I could create the photograph as a panorama. The green spring grasses, covered in yellow flowers, provided the perfect foreground for the wall itself. And the storm! It was coming in toward me over the wall. The wind was howling when I made this photograph, and I was having trouble standing without being blown over. The rain coming in, too, and I was pelted by sand and rain at the same time—that was an unusual sensation. I am used to being out in inclement weather, but the intensity of what was coming straight at me was frightening. The wall of clouds, rolling over the wall of rock, was a sight I won’t forget, ever.

Just as I completed this panorama, the storm broke over me, and I ran for cover. There was nothing to do but wait as the storm roiled over me, unleashing a fury that only a summer thunderstorm can bring.

What I was truly waiting for was not the storm itself, but the moments after the storm. It is in these moments that I’ve made some of my best photographs, and I was hoping today would bring another opportunity.

It did.

Two of them, in fact.

The first opportunity came as I was driving out to an overlook I scouted before. This particular overlook, in my opinion, is the prettiest in the entirety of the park, and it was here that I thought I had the best chance for an astonishing photograph. I was slightly out of position, though, mostly because I was working on the previous photograph. That was no problem—it was only a short way there. It would take a little while for the heavy storm clouds to move out and, hopefully, leave me with awesome skies to work with.

But along the way, I checked at another area I had been looking at. It’s difficult to put my finger on what caught my eye here. It wasn’t that it had the best views—for it did not. But now, with the storm-tossed skies and the late-afternoon sun once again streaming across the land, the view transformed into something else entirely.

Badlands Sunset

Now, the golden light poured over the rocks, bathing them in an ethereal glow. Shadows played across low hummocks in the foreground, and the wet greens of the spring grasses absolutely glowed in the light. True to the hope, the sky was filled with interesting clouds. Everything came together to create Badlands Sunset. The pact and the promise of the storm was fulfilled.

This is what the badlands wall looks like when the conditions are perfect. I could not have been happier.

And I was about to get even more happy.

The sun was already low on the horizon, and I knew I needed to scoot quickly to my chosen location. I was hoping against hope that the post-storm conditions would hold up, and I would be able to make the photograph I envisioned.

I arrived in plenty of time, and so far, everything was looking good. Moving quickly, I gathered my equipment and headed off for a short hike to wait. Where I immediately learned an important lesson about the badlands.

Earlier, when I scouted the locations, I had no problem moving around. I could go up and down any hill I wanted, and the surface was smooth, hard, and easy to walk on. I didn’t even think twice.

But after a rain? Ah, that was a different story. After the first couple of steps, I felt my feet were heavier than normal. I didn’t think much of it, and figured I was tired. It had been a long day, after all. In another couple of steps, and truly, it couldn’t have been more than a dozen, my feet were really heavy. I looked down and realized that I was now wearing mud overshoes! Every step I took added more and more mud, and now I was having trouble moving. What was a solid surface was now almost liquid. I was not expecting that!

There was nothing for it, though, and I trudged onward, now much slower and far more careful. Somehow, I managed to minimize the amount of mud that I took with me. I made it to where I wanted to be, and waited.

The sun slid below the horizon within moments of me being there, and I readied myself. I was looking for the moment after sunset after a storm, and it would work out in the few minutes or never. I did my best to remember to breathe.

The distant horizon showed some pink. My heart beat a little faster.

The pinks spread across the sky, little by little, then racing across it. The pinks gave way to some purples and the hues intensified and deepened—a rare treat, indeed!

Now I was not breathing at all as I made Badlands Vista.

Badlands Vista

And just as soon as I did, the hues quickly faded. The pinks and purples turned into gray quicker than I thought possible. Perhaps distant clouds covered the sun, but it was OK. The moment I planned for, traveled for, and hoped for came to me there on the badlands wall in South Dakota.

I stood there for a while, not to make any more photographs, but to enjoy the moment and the park heading into night.

Eventually, I headed back, and a funny thing happened. The mud was gone, and the surface was now smooth, dry and hard again. It was remarkable how quick the water was absorbed. At least the walk back was easy for me!

This won’t be the last time I’m at Badlands National Park, and it won’t be the last time you are, either. There are some stories of the prairie and those that live there to be told, too!

Bring the Journey Home

Imagine how stunning Badlands Sunset and Badlands Vista will look in your home. Oh wait! You don’t have to image at all. I can create these beautiful photographs, just for you, and you can always have some of the badlands of your very own!

Winter Bison: Delve into astonishing Yellowstone in the winter

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Winter is often a quiet time of reflection and contemplation. Idyllic days spent beside a roaring fire are on top. For the more adventurous, skiing, replete with cozy ski lodges and tales of the diamond-level run, is a perfect way to spend a cold winter’s day. For me, however, winter means heading into the depths of Yellowstone National Park just before a snowstorm comes in to experience the park, and its winter denizens, at its most severe. There is, in the end, no place like Yellowstone in the winter. Winter Bison explores the magnificent bison herd.

My goal was simple: photograph the bison in the winter snows. And indeed, in the abstract, it is straightforward to do that. But, as in so many areas of life, the difficulty is in the details, and especially in staying safe and warm.

Much of Yellowstone is technically closed for the winter. Most of the roads are closed in the fall and left to the ravages of the winter snows until they are plowed, with a Herculean effort, in the spring. One road, through, is usually open all year. This road goes from the north to the northeast entrance, and every effort is made to keep it open. For me, though, this is perfect and provides me with access to the winter bison herd.

In practical terms, Yellowstone never really closes. Snow coaches and snow machines use the roadways to move throughout the park once enough snow covers the roads. For my purposes, those options wouldn’t provide me the sustained access I needed to create the photographs I had in mind.

Instead, my plan was to wait for a storm, then position myself to be in the park as soon as the storm broke, if not a little before then. This would, I reasoned, give me the freshest setting possible. Luckily for me, there are plenty of winter storms in that area of the country, so it was merely a matter of finding a big storm, but not so big the park ended up being inaccessible for days.

I packed up my winter gear, braced myself for the cold, and headed into the park after one such storm.

Where I immediately discovered that just because the roads are “open” doesn’t mean they are clear nor easy to drive. Quite the opposite, in fact! Moving around the park ranged from “challenging” to “what am I even doing here.” Some steeper hills had sections that were shaded from the sun, and those proved to be especially challenging. Often, the road had a thick layer of ice, which made driving more like sledding and hoping you ended up where you wanted to go. And, just to tease me, every once in a while I would find a section of the road that was perfectly clear, with no snow nor ice. Those were few and far between, but nice to find, all the same.

There was one very scary moment which still bothers me. I had just turned around to head back to a scene which caught my eye. The road was slick and icy, and maybe I wasn’t as quite on the road as I thought I was. In any event, the tires slid off whatever surface they were on, and I began a slide off the road.

Alarms I didn’t even know my SUV had began going off as the SUV began heading for a signpost, and beyond that, a ditch. Once in that ditch, there was no way I was getting out of that by myself. Miraculously, and I am still not sure how, a tire somehow found traction, and I was catapulted back onto the roadway. Against all odds, I found a bit of control and somehow stayed on the road. All in all, it was an unpleasant reminder of just how difficult the roads can be.

Hah. We’re here for the bison photographs, aren’t we. I just wanted to set the scene for you first. Let’s get to the photographs, then!

A few bison are in the foreground, while snow-covered hills are in the background

We’ll start with Forever Yellowstone, which was one of the first photographs I made on the excursion. The road crested a hill, and looking out from the top gave me spectacular views of the winter-encrusted park. In a clearing below me, a few bison are doing bison kinds of things. A couple were moseying over to a new patch of ground; they were in no hurry, and just taking their time.

Then again, the snow was deep, so walking was not something you could do quickly, either. One was looking at me, wondering what I was all about. And two of them were butting heads. It didn’t appear to be anything serious, though, and although they were scuffling, they didn’t put significant effort into it, and soon separated to find grass buried under the snow. For me, though, all the elements came together, giving me, and now you, our first amazing view of Yellowstone National Park in the winter.

I adore these long, sweeping views and Forever Yellowstone gives a perfect sense of what winter looks like in the park.

Another photograph that gives a good sense of what the park looks like in winter is Bison’s Moment. Here, two bison, their faces covered in snow, stand before a hillside full of trees. The snow-covered trees recall the winter storm which was just here. The bison use their powerful neck muscles to sweep their faces from side to side, uncovering tasty grass. This results in plenty of snow on their faces, and for me, completes the photograph.

These are wonderful photographs, and I adore them. Yet, I was looking to create something else, too. A photograph of a single bison that evokes the majesty of Yellowstone. For that, I needed more bison, and so, I went onward, searching for them.

I initially thought it might be difficult to locate the bison, especially since there was only a single open road. I didn’t need to worry, though. The bison were, quite literally, everywhere. Plenty of opportunities provided themselves.

For example, this bison was climbing a hill not far behind me. She had come up from the plains, far below, and was going, well, I have no idea where. Presumably, she knew where she was going.

As she was lumbering along, I made this remarkable photograph. Every step she took kicked up some snow, and I think this photograph depicts that action perfectly. Even today, as I write this, I can feel her power and she moved through the park.

Still, though, there was a photograph that I was looking to make which I hadn’t yet. I kept searching, day after day. I would stop every time I saw a bison and wait. Furthermore, I’d look and see if the setting was perfect. It was, almost always, not. I’d continue to wait to see if the bison would move to a better setting. It’s during these times that the cold would set in. The bison had countless millennia to evolve, perfectly adapting to their environment. Heavy, insulating fur provides them the protection they need from the elements. I had my heavy winter parka which, while warm, wasn’t as warm as their fur. Perhaps in another few millennia I’ll personally evolve to have a built-in parka, but meanwhile, I shivered and waited.

And then I waited, shivered, and waited some more, day after day, Until I didn’t. I finally found the moment I had been looking for, and I made the most of it.

I wanted to showcase a single bison in winter. Not only that, but I knew what the photograph looked like in my mind’s eye, and so I evaluated every scene I saw with that in mind. Several times, it almost worked, and I had my hopes up. But, this time was different.

I saw a single bison off in the distance, walking slowly and deliberately, She was on a mission and had a clear goal in mind. I positioned myself to where I thought she might walk in front of me and waited, not quite patiently. She kept moving forward, and with every step, my hopes rose. Before I knew it, she was precisely where I wanted her to be, and Bison Trek was made.


For me, this one photograph is the essence of the bison in Yellowstone in the winter. A simple, yet powerful, photograph that showcases the stark whiteness that is winter, with the bison moving steadily, relentlessly, onward toward her goal. She wasn’t going to let snow stop her, not at all. She kept her steady pace, one step at a time.

As much as I love a soaring scenic view, like the ones I opened with, this photograph was the one I wanted, and the one I treasure the very most. Every time I look at it, I see the power of the bison, making her way through impossible conditions.

A Gratuitous Wolf

Of course, bison aren’t the only animals enduring winter in Yellowstone National Park. Plenty of other creatures brave the cold, too. For example, I encountered this wolf sitting and waiting patiently for its prey to emerge from the snow. How could I not take a moment and create a photograph?

The prey never broke the surface of the snow, and eventually the wolf went searching for something else. In any event, this post isn’t above wolves, so we’ll leave it as just that—a single lone wolf.

If you ever have a chance to experience Yellowstone in the winter, take the opportunity. It is incredible and not to be missed.

North Rim: Tantalizing Scenes Bestow An Exploration Of Solitude

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I joke, perhaps not entirely incorrectly, that the Grand Canyon is “just a big hole in the ground.” It’s big, that’s for sure, and it is, technically, a hole in the ground. But it’s so much more than that, of course. Arizona’s Grand Canyon defies any rational description, mostly because its size and scale are almost beyond comprehension. However. It is entirely possible to focus on small areas of it, and that’s precisely what we’ll do. Let’s dive into the Grand Canyon National Park’s North Rim and see where our adventure leads us.

In broad, general terms, we can divide the Grand Canyon into several areas: the South Rim, the East Rim, and the North Rim. The South Rim is readily accessible and is replete with all the infrastructure you can ask for. It’s a relatively short drive from Flagstaff and an even shorter drive from Williams. It has camping, plenty of hotels, miles upon miles of roads, a shuttle service, train service, restaurants, and more. Oh, and importantly, it has views of the canyon that are beyond extraordinary. I guess that part is important, too.

Because of this, and entirely unsurprisingly, it sees a staggering number of visitors. During the peak season in the summer months, it is, to say the least, crowded. There are traffic jams and long lines everywhere, and you need to weave your way through throngs of people to even catch a glimpse of the namesake attraction. Even in the winter months, you can find crowds, although, to be fair, it isn’t quite so bad. I’ve been there in the bone-chilling middle of winter and had to look for space to create the photograph I wanted. For me, someone who enjoys the solicitude and silence of the untamed wilderness, this is not an experience I relish, so I seldom visit the South Rim.

Luckily, the North Rim is the opposite experience in every single way.

Separated by only a couple of miles as the crow files, it is like entering an entirely different world. To begin with, access is only possible in the summer months. For starters, it is close to nowhere, so it is a long journey any way you look at it. That single fact means that the number of visitors is a mere fraction of those who are going to the South Rim. Why drive hundreds of miles when you can drive only a few? After all, the views are similar enough that most people will go for the easy way. In the winter, the heavy snow and low visitation mean that it is easier, and safer, to close this part of the National Park than to keep it open. So, it closes for the winter, leaving only a short window to enjoy it.

Moreover, and just as importantly, the infrastructure is not nearly developed, which suits me perfectly fine. There is a single hotel and a few campgrounds. There are only a couple of restaurants. You can’t hope on a train or shuttle, and there is only a single paved road in. Even cell phone service is spotty. It is a wholly different world.

And the views are even more spectacular here. But don’t tell anyone!

A note on access: I make it sound like there is only one way, period, into the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park. This is partially correct: there is one paved way in. But there are several dirt roads that go into the North Rim, including some very remote areas. The Kaibab National Forest surrounds the National Park, and the border between the two is fluid in the more remote areas. Some forest roads end up in the park; others do not. Some are easy to navigate; even with a regular passenger car, most are not. And some are difficult roads, even for well-equipped 4x4s. Regardless, all the roads are impassible during the winter months, and sometimes from the fall through the spring. I've explored a great many of these out-of-way roads, and we'll revisit some stunning viewpoints in the future.

To be fair, the South Rim offers a fantastic experience, and I do enjoy being there. Occasionally, it is better to be able to reach a place quickly without having to go hundreds of miles out of your way. Yes, you can work around the crowds, and yes, you can create stunning photographs. I don’t want you to think I don’t like the South Rim. I do, and very much. But for today, we’re going to focus on the North Rim and the very different experience it offers.

I adore the vibe here. Everything feels more laid-back and serene. Sure, there are other visitors here, but there aren’t that many. There is also a stronger sense of camaraderie here, too. It’s like we all know that just a few miles to the south of us, there are hordes of people, all clamoring to see the view. Instead, those of us spending time at the North Rim can spread out, giving each of us the feeling that we are alone at the Grand Canyon. That sense of being by myself with the biggest hole on the planet really, and I mean really, puts it all in perspective. The Grand Canyon seems even bigger than it is. It goes on forever, stretching before the ends of the earth, and I feel as if I am viewing infinity by myself.

The feelings are that strong.

OK. I can hear you clearly. I’ve gone on long enough with the words. Let’s see some photographs. Who am I to disagree? Let’s get to those!

We’re going to two fantastic locations that are along a road that is open even less than the North Rim. Meaning, the opportunity window is even shorter. That, to me, makes these photographs even more special.

A view from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. There is a sweeping rock formation leading from the bottom of the image to the center-middle. There, a small rock formation juts straight up. In the distance are more canyon walls. The sun is just breaking the horizon in the left side of the image and has a flare.

The first place is Imperial Point at sunrise. It’s impressive, isn’t it? The sun peaks over the distant horizon and spreads its rays throughout the canyon. There’s a rock outcropping that catches rays, which forms the focal point of Imperial Sunrise. The gently curving walls accent the rock, and the entirety of the canyon stretches beyond it. To me, I can still feel the magic of the moment as the canyon comes to life with color and vibrancy, and the ethereal hues of color spring from the walls. 

It is that daybreak moment that threatens to take your breath away and keep it. I especially adore sunrises and sunsets because of their fleeting nature of them. The sun is in the best position for only the briefest of all moments, so one needs to be quick to create the perfect photograph. Blink, and the opportunity is gone. And once the sun fully breaks the horizon and begins its daily trek into the heavens, the scene is gone. The canyon colors quickly fade into the harsh and unrelenting glare of the sun. You have to squint to make out even the largest details. 

To create Imperial Sunrise, however, I needed to position myself perfectly. Although there is a handy viewpoint, I found it limiting, and I couldn’t get the exact feeling I wanted. So, I improvised, and found a much better position for myself. Getting there before the sun came up, meaning it was dark, was more challenging than I cared for, and a single slip meant disastrous consequences, but such is the price of the photograph. At least it was easy to get back to safety once the sun came up!

The second place we’re going to visit is Cape Royal and the stunning rock formation called Wotan’s Throne. I’ve become utterly transfixed by Wotan’s Throne recently. There’s something about how it thrusts up from the canyon floor and becomes a singular presence—the star of the show, as it were—that holds my attention. Somehow, it manages to become more interesting than the canyon it resides in, a feat that is difficult to accomplish. 

A close-up view over the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and Wotan's Throne, a massive rock formation rises from the floor of the Grand Canyon. It is stair-stepped in nature. The colors are rich and vibrant in the late afternoon light. The sky is deep, deep red and very cloudy.

Wotan Sunset shows the formation’s detail during a particularly intriguing sunset. The day had been cloudy, with intermittent thunderstorms. I made this photograph at the height of monsoon season, so storms were expected and welcomed. As fate would have it, on this particular day, the sky began to clear to the west, allowing the sun to provide a light show all its own. I adore the deep reds that transition to purple here; a momentary, and lucky, break in the clouds let the sun through to light up the walls of Wotan’s Throne.

To me, this is the very best view anywhere on the North Rim.

And remember all the set-up I did regarding how few people are here? I was almost alone this evening. The feeling of solitude, while standing over magnificence, was overpowering as the sunset created this opportunity, just for me, and me alone. The world around me ceased to exist, save for Wotan’s Throne, a canyon stretching forever beyond, and a sunset of fire.

However, the most phenomenal photograph is yet to come.

I spent quite a while at Cape Royal and came back to it time and again to watch both sunrise and sunset. Despite the fiery beauty of Wotan Sunset, there is another sunset I like even better, and it is my favorite photograph from the North Rim: Royal Sunset.

This late summer day followed the typical monsoon pattern. Clear skies in the morning, followed by quickly growing rain and thunderstorms, then a slow clearing toward evening. The only question was: would the sky be clear enough, but not too much, to allow me to create the photograph I envisioned? The answer is a resounding yes.

A view over the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Wotan's Throne, a massive rock formation rises from the floor of the Grand Canyon. It is stair-stepped in nature, with each step having a difference hue. To the right of the image is another canyon wall. Above that is the setting sun giving a flair. The sky is very cloudy with deep reds and purples.

Royal Sunset features Wotan’s Throne, of course, but I opted for a wider panoramic perspective to help provide the feeling of scale. I was fortunate to experience another extraordinary sunset display. This sunset wasn’t quite as fiery red, but had plenty of purples and pinkish hues in it, which I find even more attractive. There was a clear break to the west, allowing me to create the sun flare. Light spills onto Wotan’s Throne and the canyon walls, lighting them with the last gentle brush from a turbulent day. The Snake River winds through the Grand Canyon more than a mile below, a thin thread of life-giving water in the harsh environment. 

I perched, above it all, my toes a mere six inches from a mile-long drop into oblivion, held my breath, and created this consummate photograph. I wanted to provide the feeling of being over the edge. The only way to accomplish that was by being there on the edge; it is a nerve-wracking experience, and you need to remain constantly vigilant about where your feet are at all times. It is all too easy to be caught up in the moment, take a step forward, and, well, yeah.

Like all sunsets, the perfect moment was fleeting, and the shadows swept over the canyon walls, plunging everything into the darkness of night. That’s OK, though. I had completed my goal, and Royal Sunset remains one of my all-time favorite photographs. 

It is never easy for me to depart the North Rim. In fact, the only way I do so is by knowing that I’ll be back there soon. Although it faded in my rearview mirror, it remains front and center in my thoughts, and I can’t wait to adventure there again.

Bring the North Rim Adventure Home

You can purchase Royal Sunset and always enjoy the fantastic experience of Grand Canyon National Park’s North Rim. Presented in an unusual aspect ratio, this stunning presentation looks utterly fantastic. I can make this in almost any size to accommodate your exact needs–contact me for more details. Royal Sunset looks especially awe-inspiring in larger sizes.

I can also create bespoke versions of Imperial Sunrise and Wotan’s Sunset for you, and like Royal Sunset, they truly begin to shine in larger sizes. With a custom-made piece, you will have a one-of-a-kind piece of stunning artwork made specifically for you.

Yellowstone Bears: Behind The Scenes With Amazing Photographs

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Yellowstone National Park is primarily renowned for its wildlife, above all else. Of course, Yellowstone is undeniably a picturesque place with abundant breathtaking beauty within its boundaries. It has intriguing landscapes, from Old Faithful to its prismatic springs to the gorgeous Yellowstone Lake and beyond. However, it is the wildlife that stands out. Wolves, bison, and elk are some of the animals the park is renowned for. But, the Yellowstone bears surpass everything else.

Let’s delve into the Yellowstone bears, what bears are up to, and everything that entails a bear encounter. We’ll go behind the scenes of some of my favorite bear photographs and how I managed to create them.

Two species of bears live in the park. Black bears, and the iconic grizzly, or brown, bear. They roam freely throughout the park, and you can encounter a bear wherever you are. The bears want nothing to do with humans; they forage and hunt as they wish, paying no attention to us. It’s not that humans are strangers to them, however. I suspect every bear there has seen humans all their lives and knows a good deal about us. They know we are likely to stand around, that we are usually not a threat to them, and that we, by and large, keep a little ways away from them.

From far away, and especially from the safety of your car, it’s easy to perceive bears as warm, fuzzy, cute, and cuddly. But make no mistake: these are some of the most formidable predators you can encounter anywhere.

Just because you are standing still looking at a bear does not mean you are entirely safe. Quite the opposite is true because you are not.

While driving through Yellowstone National Park, you often come across what is known as a bear jam. These occur when someone is driving through the park and spots a bear. The reaction is always the same: immediately hit the brakes, stop the car, and pull off to the side of the road to observe the bear.

And why not? Although bears are common in the park, only some people see one, and when you do, you want to stay and watch. I do it, too. Everyone does. The chance to observe a bear is not to be missed for anything.

But another car will inevitably come along, wonder why the first car stopped, and pull over to find out. Then, more people will stop and start getting out of their vehicles for a closer look. The initial sighting becomes a chain reaction, resulting in what is colloquially known as a bear jam. Even worse, although most people will pull off the narrow, two-lane road, some will not and instead park in the middle of the road. Now, the bear jam has turned into a complete standstill.

It’s an astonishing sight: hundreds of cars sprawled everywhere, bringing traffic in both directions to a complete standstill. But for those who have no interest in the bears, for whatever reason. I can’t fathom what that could be, but they are stuck.

Sooner or later, a ranger will arrive to manage the traffic. Yet, when people are not in their cars, there is no traffic to direct, is there?

Regardless, you could be stuck there for an hour. Probably even longer.

People will leave their cars and get as close as possible to the bear. Some are wary–as well they should be–but others are more daring, or more likely, more foolish, and see how close they can get. Some are photographers who want the best photograph possible. Others are just curious and want to get as close as possible. Some have small children in tow, dragging them near the wildlife without considering the consequences. Rangers do their best to control the situation, but the crush to get closer is always there.

And people need to recall that these bears are not domesticated. They are not in a zoo. There is no fence separating the bear from you. There’s no barrier at all. The closer you get to the bear, the higher the likelihood of something going wrong. Does it happen? Yes. Occasionally, it does, but the Rangers do an extraordinary job of keeping everyone as safe as possible.

As an aside, encounters with bison are more prevalent in Yellowstone because people mistakenly perceive them as slow and lumbering creatures that won’t do anything. Nothing could be further from the truth—absolutely nothing. Bison are incredibly swift and can instantly close the distance between them and you. Every year, a few unlucky tourists learn the lesson that taking a selfie with a bison is a hazardous idea. Bison can be cranky, and when surrounded by tourists, they are certainly not comfortable. As too many people have discovered, the bison can and will use their horns to address the situation.

As fast as bison are, bears are even faster. It’s something to keep in mind at all times. At least, I do. It’s never far from my mind how fast a bear can run; no matter how far away I am, one can reach me whenever it wants.

Eventually, the bear will wander away, visitors return to their cars, and the bear jam will dissipate. Once you have undergone a bear jam, you will never forget it.

Hmm. I went off on a tangent there but wanted to set the stage for you. When photographing bears, a great deal of preparation and luck is involved. No matter how prepared or where you expect to find a bear, it still depends on the bear cooperating and being in the desired site. Sometimes, it works out, but most of the time, it doesn’t.

Family Adventure is one of my all-time favorite bear photographs from Yellowstone or anywhere else. Surprisingly, it came from a bear jam. However, it also came from my understanding of the bear’s behavior, which allowed me to be in the right place at the right time. Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?

It had been a peaceful day in the park, and I was in the northern area. After checking in with the rangers, they mentioned the possibility of bears in that area, so I decided to spend the day there. Spending time in locations is essential; finding bears takes time and patience. And even then, there are no guarantees, only hopes. I confined myself to a section just a few miles long, moving slowly through it, stopping often, and keeping a careful eye out for motion.

Around mid-afternoon, I encountered the remnants of a bear jam. The bear had already departed, and the traffic was unhurriedly clearing out. However, I took note of the situation because now I knew where a bear had been. Knowing where a bear was gives rise to the possibility that a bear might return to the same place. I pulled over, parked, and began my wait. I remained in that spot for what felt like an eternity, but it was only about half an hour—no sign of the bear. Eventually, I returned to my car and continued exploring.

But something kept pulling me back, so I returned to the spot of the long-gone bear jam and parked once again. I found no sign of the previous bear. Yet, I remained determined and lingered. I didn’t know if the bear would return, but I hoped it would.

As the afternoon slipped away and early evening approached, I started to consider that the bear I had hoped for might not appear. I began thinking about my options. Daylight was fading, and there wouldn’t be many more opportunities that day. Should I stay, or should I go back to my original plan? Decisions, decisions. What to do.

Before I could decide my next move, fate intervened to help me out. The bear returned!

And it wasn’t just the bear, but also her two cubs! I couldn’t believe my luck. With my camera in hand, I stood there, breathless, observing the bears to see what they would do.

But before I could even raise my camera for the consummate shot, a bear jam formed around me, complete with rangers. I no longer had the choice of the best vantage point, and before I knew it, I was part of the swelling crowd. Good grief! The perfect opportunity was slipping away before I could capture the desired photograph.

I’m no expert on bears and their behavior, but I’ve learned a few things here and there. I can’t predict what any bear will do at any given moment, but I can make some educated guesses. This particular bear gave me clues about what she might do next. I decided to use these clues to set up the photograph I envisioned.

The first inkling was when she encouraged her cubs to stay in one spot while she walked away. Every person followed the bear, but I didn’t. No Mama Bear would leave her cubs for long. She would be back. Instead, I carefully selected my vantage point slightly away from the cubs in the opposite direction the bear and everyone else proceeded. Unfortunately, the cubs were in the tall grass, making it impossible to photograph them. But I patiently waited. Mama would return, and I would be ready. The crowd followed the bear, but she stayed in the shadows, leisurely foraging in the tall grass. In the distance, I could see people trying to photograph the bear, but none would turn out well because of the shadows. Besides, the cubs are the star attraction, so I continued surveilling them.

After some time, the bear turned around and hurriedly returned to her cubs. The throng couldn’t keep up with her, but I didn’t have to because I was alone, far away from everyone else. As Mama Bear approached her cubs, they obediently fell in line with her, easily keeping pace, and headed right into my field of view.

Family Adventure

Family Adventure captures that meeting. The bears were bathed in the warm, late-afternoon sun, providing the perfect glow. One cub stayed close to its mother while the other trailed closely behind. I also treasure how one cub’s paw is mid-air as it trots.

The hoard caught up to me moments after capturing Family Adventure. Other photographers had a spectacular view of the bears’ rear-ends. But they didn’t think like I did, making this experience and photograph uniquely mine. Yes, you can create stunning images in a bear jam. Although, it isn’t easy.

To this day, it remains one of my favorite photographs. But it’s not my only favorite one! Not by a long shot.

Momma Bear is another bear photograph from Yellowstone that I am proud of. Its backstory may be less thrilling, but it demonstrates the significance of persistence and patience. Well, sometimes, being persistent pays off.

In this instance, I had the bears all to myself. I perched atop a prominent depression, waiting for a bear to emerge from the forest’s shadows and bask in the sunlight. I had spotted what I hoped was a bear in the undergrowth and decided to wait and see what would unfold. Sometimes, it’s hard to be sure what you see, and it is all too easy to let your imagination get the best of you. I was looking for bears, so this must be a bear, right? In reality, it could have been anything or even nothing at all. There is, however, one way to find out.

The undergrowth would appear to rustle now and then, but nothing emerged. I continued my vigil. Eventually, though, my hunch was rewarded as I spied a bear. Even better for me, it emerged from the woods into a sun-lit field.

This black bear was timid and cautious. The bear remained in the shaded forest, only venturing momentarily before quickly retreating into cover. It wasn’t frightened or startled by anything; it exercised caution. This behavior continued until the bear emerged into the meadow with a cub trailing her. Ah, I thought to myself. Now, it all makes sense.

The bear relaxed and thoroughly explored the meadow, as did her precious cub, which bounded playfully in different directions. The cub frolicked through the grass and reveled amongst the flowers. Both bears, now at ease, enjoyed the meadow and the sun’s warmth.

However, neither bear enjoyed the afternoon as much as I did. Momma Bear, this photograph is my favorite from the entire sequence. The cub, nestled among the flowers, seems to gaze directly at me. I remained as still as possible, barely breathing, doing everything I could to avoid attracting attention or disturbing anything. After all, as I mentioned earlier, it is crucial to be mindful of safety as these bears are not in a zoo. So, I must remain constantly aware of the situation and closely watch everything around me.

The mother bear caught a scent, although I never knew what it was, as she sniffed the air around her and focused on something in the distance. She wasn’t looking at me, which allowed me to relax momentarily, compose the scene, and create this photograph.

I am pleased with how it turned out. It encapsulates the essence of Yellowstone—lush green grass interspersed with vibrant flowers. Momma Bear and her cub are relishing a bright, sunny day. I am proud of myself for finding these bears and being able to capture this photograph.

I watched the bears revel in their meadow and thoroughly enjoyed the timeless setting. Eventually, it was time for them to retreat into the depths of the forest, disappearing forever from my view. However, that’s all right. My persistence and patience paid off handsomely—at least, this time it did.

There’s another photograph I would like to share. This one features an early Yellowstone bear and marks one of my initial visits to the park as an “adult.” It remains a truly memorable experience.

When I say “adult,” I mean that in the sense that my parents had taken me to Yellowstone as a child. Those visits and journeys to Glacier National Park are pivotal in shaping my perspective on the world today. Yellowstone, in particular, captured my heart as a young boy, captivating me with its breathtaking landscapes and exquisite wildlife. The boyhood sense of being wild and free has stayed with me countless years later. Even after many years, I vividly recall specific places and moments in Yellowstone. As an adult, I have even revisited some of these spots, and they have the same profound impact on me now as they did.

After my childhood visits, I didn’t return to the park until I was much older. This time, however, I arrived armed with a camera. Naturally, I had an intense desire to photograph a bear. I spent days exploring the park, searching for “my bear.” Occasionally, I found myself caught in several bear jams, always just barely missing the subject of everyone’s attention. I wouldn’t say I was growing desperate, but perhaps a sense of despondency was creeping in. Nonetheless, I persevered in my quest.

The moment captured in Silhouette Bear occurred towards the end of one of my final days in the park. Dusk was settling in, and I was returning to town. My headlights were on, and I assumed the day’s opportunities had ended. By sheer coincidence, I decided to pull over at a lookout, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything before darkness enveloped the landscape.

To my astonishment, a grizzly bear emerged behind my car, crossed the road, and ascended a hill. I was dumbfounded! There it was–an actual bear–right beside me, now moving away. What were the chances?

Silhouette Bear

Persistence certainly pays off, but sometimes, luck also smiles upon us.

The wildlife in Yellowstone roams freely and undisturbed. Each animal leads its life within the protection of the park, and we are fortunate enough to be a part of it, even if only briefly, and witness the majesty of Yellowstone’s bears.

White Pocket: A journey into the Southwest’s most astonishing landscape

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Like many unique places in the Southwest’s Colorado Plateau, White Pocket is an island of color and contrast in the middle of a virtually featureless desert. Its red sandstone rocks, replete with sweeping carved lines, create fantastic shapes and flow. In contrast, its brain rock creates geometrical patterns where there should be none. It rises over the desert, a beacon of shape, color, and impossible rock formations. But let’s start at the beginning of the adventure.

White Pocket is in Arizona’s Vermillion Cliffs National Monument, located in the northern part of the state, near the border of Utah. Access appears quite simple. All one has to do is drive a few miles down a desert road, park, and instantly be transported into another world. There are no permits to obtain, no rangers to contact, and no paperwork to deal with. All you have to do is drive down the road, park, and you’re there.

Except, of course, it is more complicated.

There are several roads that you need to take to get there. Most of the time, the dirt and lightly graveled main road, House Rock Valley Road, is passable to a passenger car. It is dirt and incredibly bumpy, but still, it’s passable enough. Unless it’s rained recently, that is. In this case, the mud will quickly trap the unwary in. Or, it’s rained further away, in which case the washes will be impassable, a fact which you won’t know until you’re in one.

But still, this main road is often passable. Usually. Or at least some of the time.

From there, you turn off onto a minor, less-traveled dirt and rock road, which is far less passable for a car. From this point onward, a high-clearance four-wheel drive is mandatory. The road becomes more or less passable, depending on the time of the year.

Finally, you turn onto the final access road, which is nothing but sand—deep, shifting sand. The road is miles and miles of sand, broken up only by sharp rocks. It’s an easy road, except, of course, for the sand. And the rocks. When you get clear of the sand, you have to deal with sharp, tire-puncturing rocks. Then, you plunge back into the sand again.

And that very sand will trap the unprepared. You will realize once it’s too late that you’re stuck, and rescue is neither quick nor inexpensive.

No one officially maintains the roads in this area. The Department of Transportation is not fixing potholes, clearing sidewalks, or re-striping the pavement because improved roads don’t exist. Instead, the local ranchers will take a road grader down the road occasionally and only when needed. They’re used to the conditions and have the vehicles to go on them. They’ll fix the roads only when necessary, which is rare. Beyond that, anyone else using the roads had best understand what they’re getting into.

Occasionally, the most unlikely car finds its way to White Pocket. Usually, this results from someone trying to go to the nearby feature called The Wave. The Wave, as the crow flies, if there were any crows, is just six miles away. But, visiting The Wave requires a permit. Alas, not everyone knows a permit is required. And, in any event, permits are challenging to obtain.

A ranger, or even a random visitor, will tell the unfortunate about White Pocket. A quick Google search reveals directions without the road details and the unprepared heads out in a small car. And so it happens that, amazingly, now and then, someone makes it out there in a passenger car, either due to incredible driving skill or, more often, sheer luck.

Seeing the parking area with lifted 4x4s such as Jeeps and a small passenger car is wild.

Honestly, don’t try it. Don’t even think about it. You will only make it if your luck and driving skills are beyond reproach. You won’t even come close, and your visit will consist of walking to cell phone range and waiting for someone to come get you out–if you can even arrange a rescue. Even the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) has this to say:

You are responsible for your safety. If you get lost while hiking, experience a non-life-threatening emergency, or if your vehicle becomes stuck or breaks down, it is your responsibility, not the responsibility of emergency services or BLM, to deal with the situation.

— Bureau of Land Management White Pocket Trailhead Brochure

That’s government-speak for you’re on your own, and hopefully, you have a high-clearance 4×4 and aren’t trying this in a passenger car.

To return to our story, let’s say White Pocket is at the end of a problematic road.

No, wait. Turns out there’s more to say about the roads.

Usually, when you’re on a back road in the Southwest, there are endless other opportunities along the road. You typically see a myriad of other exciting places to stop and explore. If you’re not careful, you never reach your destination because there are too many other places to explore. This road, however, is entirely different. There’s nothing else interesting to see, period. There are no side tracks to wander off onto. There are no other significant sights to see along the way. It is little more than a ranch road that ends at a fascinating place.

OK. Now we’re done with the road and arrived at White Pocket. Finally.

The view from White Pocket's parking lot.

From the parking area, White Pocket doesn’t look like much. Nothing indicates the extraordinary nature of what lies before you if you don’t know better. There’s a single large rock, but even that appears wholly unremarkable. It’s a remarkable example of deceiving appearances, and it makes you wonder what other wonders lie all around you, hidden behind the ordinary.

Luckily, we know the marvel that awaits us just a few hundred yards away.

White Pocket is a geological feature that is slowly sinking into the desert. Or, more accurately, the desert is slowly rising around it. Either way, one day, the sands will take it away. Seeing the currently buried features would be awesome, but at least we have this. It will take the sands millennia to encompass everything, so it will be around for a while.

White Pocket is relatively small, roughly a square mile in size. You can walk from end to end and side to side in no time. Or, more accurately, you could if it was smooth and flat, which it is anything but. There are swoops and swirls and protrusions everywhere that you have to walk around, so walking is a slow process. But the overall point remains: it is a relatively small area.

It happens, though, that everywhere, and quite literally, everywhere, within this area is incredibly interesting to look at. Every single step provides something new and different to see. I can think of no other area in the entirety of the Southwest that is as interesting as it is here. None. Absolutely none.

Here and there, you can find small pockets of vegetation. A few bushes struggle to survive against impossible odds, and whatever plants grow here struggle to do so. With a base of rock, there are little footholds for plants. A plant’s best bet is to find a purchase in the sand and attempt to put down strong enough roots to survive the winds. Mostly, though, the rock is barren.

You are free to wander wherever you like. There’s no barrier, other than common sense, to anywhere you wish to go. Some parts of the formation are incredibly steep and, in some places, nearly vertical. A slip here would be severe because no one will find you anytime soon if you’re hurt.

Despite the remote setting and difficult access, White Pocket sees a reasonable number of visitors. You’re unlikely to be completely alone while visiting. Paradoxically, despite its small size, you will unlikely be next to someone else. The formation gives you a strong sense of isolation; although you know others are around, you still feel alone. It is an odd juxtaposition.

And finally, we can talk about just what we see while we are there!

There are two main types of rock here: white sandstone and multi-hued sandstone. The white “brain” sandstone is white and light grey in color. It’s primarily flat, with deep cracks forming irregular polygon sections. One side of the pocket features this type of sandstone almost exclusively and is attractive.

A solitary pine tree is growing in white sandstone. The sandstone has multiple cracks, and the cracks form the sandstone into geometric shapes. The sky is dark and all clouds due to an approaching storm

Also stunning is a single pine tree growing here. Against all odds, this pine tree has survived and thrived. Pocket’s Tree showcases not only the white sandstone but also the tree. It is one of the most potent and exciting photographs I have made here. Despite the wild shapes and formations throughout the pocket, this one photograph speaks to me. It shows that nature can and will find a way despite odds against success.

In any event, Pocket’s Tree shows how the white sandstone looks far better than I can describe it.

Elsewhere, though, the formation begins to show its true colors, every single pun intended.

Everywhere else you look, you’ll see swirls, outcroppings, ridges, lines, waves, potholes, dips, and anything else you can imagine happening in rock. Eons of erosion have worked magic on the soft sandstone, chiseling and sculpting each area to perfection, making for a photographic playground.

A panorama of White Pocket on a stormy day

Pocket Panorama showcases a significant section of the area; some of each type of rock formation exists here. Also, it shows us that the area is anything but level and easy to move around. It might appear to be a short distance from here to there, but it is slow going, and sometimes, you need to skirt around the more fragile sections of the formation.

A view of White Pocket showing swirls and whorls of sandstone

However, when we go for more close-up and intimate views, White Pocket truly begins to shine. This photograph illustrates the prototypical sandstone swirls and swoops. The top layer of rock is white sandstone, but the colors come through underneath it. It appears as if something impossibly large took a bite out of the rock. It’s easy to let the imagination run wild, and each fanciful rock structure evokes its own unique emotion.

Colorful sandstone lines makes up this outcropping

As expected, some parts of the formation are more popular than others. Many call this outcrop “The Lollipop,” although I don’t see the resemblance, even when I stretch my imagination. Still, despite any name, deserving or not, this brightly-colored swirl of rock is one of the more photogenic parts of the formation.

And, in any event, this photograph exemplifies the sandstone layering that is everywhere. Underneath its white cap lie striking yellows, oranges, and reds, all in neat yet swirled lines. Many compare White Pocket to The Wave, and Pocket Swirl, perhaps better than any other photograph, perfectly illustrates that comparison.

A view showing the different colors of sandstone in White Pocket

Paradoxically, water is readily available here despite being in the desert, surrounded by endless miles of sand.

Rainwater collects in small pools through the pocket. Some pools are surprisingly deep, and some see full-time shade from the sun. This arrangement provides a mostly reliable water source, even in the hottest part of the summer. During the monsoon season, the pools are plentiful everywhere, but you will likely find one at any time of the year.

The water is not drinkable. Not by a long shot. Cattle drink from these pools, as does every other animal in the area. One can only imagine the contaminants and what drinking it would do to a human, filtered or not. Still, the pools make for a beautiful counterpoint to a barren desert.

An arial view of White Pocket showing the edge.

You might wonder what’s on the other side of the formation. The answer, simply enough, is nothing of interest. The rock falls steeply into the desert and instantly transitions from wondrous to ordinary. Once you leave the formation, you’re back in the desert. There are no other sections to head toward, no secondary formations, no anything of interest. I know. I spent hours at the edges looking for more, yet my search was utterly fruitless. Surely, I thought, there would be something else. I was optimistic about this. But there isn’t.

It’s hard to leave White Pocket. As you turn to go, you’ll find one more feature you didn’t previously see that you must now explore. There’s one more rock to examine, one more pool to find, one more formation that sparks the imagination. It is, after all, an explorer’s dream. The longer you stay here, the less you must deal with the sandy road back.

Eventually, it is time to go, and White Pocket recedes in the rearview mirror. The only thing that makes it bearable is knowing it’s pulling on you, and you’ll be back to explore more of it, likely sooner rather than later.

One day in the distant future, the sands will reclaim White Pocket and bury this treasure. Nothing but a distant memory, if that, will remain, and it will fade into mythology and legend. Until then, though, this remains a wonder of our world, which I am blessed to document.

Walking with Dinosaurs in the Fossil Forest Resource Natural Area

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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 Natural Resource Area. Barren ground, with scattered pebbles, is in foreground, with taller hoodoos and a rock wall can be seen in the background
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.

A closer view of the badlands. Low rock-strewn hills are in the foreground while hoodoos are in the mid ground. Beyond that, a tall steep wall rises up.
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.

A large and broken petrified log rests on the desert floor

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.

Hundreds of small pieces of petrified wood are scattered about

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.

A small trail leads out between many short hoodoos

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!

David is holding a small fossil showing a leaf in his hand

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.

A view of Fossil Forest. Low bushes are in the foreground, and very small hoodoos can be seen. A gentle ravine begins and leads to tall hills in the background. Low red-colored mounds are visible in the mid ground. Clouds in a blue sky are above.
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.

Purchase Fossil Forest Today

The Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness is nearby

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!

Fishing Eagles

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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.

Eagle Catch

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.

Incoming Eagle

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.

Eagle Dance

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.

Voyaging Eagle

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?