Journey

Colorado Autumn: When old and new adventures come together

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Seeing the “Welcome to Colorado” sign is a rite of passage for me every fall. Well, truly, I see the sign several times each fall, but the first one is always the one that I remember and remark on. It means, to me, that autumn has arrived, and what better way to celebrate that than with a Colorado autumn?

The difficulty for me lies in wondering where to go. There are so many extraordinary places. Some I’ve been to year over year, and some are new to me. Fall, though, is a dynamic season, and I can’t count on the leaves being perfect every single day. So, I have to make choices, which means sometimes I get it right, and sometimes, it doesn’t work out at all for me. That’s OK. I would rather take a chance and be wrong than to never make the adventure. Last year, for me, fall was so-so. This year is an entirely different story.

Usually I have a plan, more or less. The plan, such as it is, is often something similar to “Go here and see how it works out,” which for me is the best kind of plan. I don’t believe in being constrained, and being flexible allows me to go where the fall color is the best. Weather, of course, plays mightily into this, because without ideal weather conditions, nothing else is going to work out. 

I wanted to see a place I had heard about but had never been to, as well as see a couple of places I hadn’t been to in a long time. As it seems like the most appropriate way to begin an adventure, we will begin with the old and end with the new. Let’s begin our Colorado autumn tour.

I went to Alta, Colorado, for the first time many years ago. Today, Alta is more of a parking area before starting a hike; it’s a ghost town. There are a few old buildings, some of which have been preserved, and some of which are crumbing away, but that’s about it. There’s just not a lot here except a lot of history. 

Back in the day Alta, like so many mining towns, was booming. What made it unique, however, was its access to electricity. Its mill was running full-tilt, and like all mills, it needed power. The mill owner realized that electricity could be used to power the mill, and so he contracted with a nearby power plant run by George Westinghouse. Yes, that Westinghouse. The arrangement worked out incredibly well, and the mill hummed along, day after day, until the mines played out. So, in that sense, Alta was historic. But in the broader sense, and not to take anything away, Alta was just like every other mining town. Boom, then bust, then ghost.

There is one structure, though, that offers a very photogenic opportunity. You can look in one window and out a window on the other side. This perspective offers a view of Mount Wilson, which is the same view you would have enjoyed had you been in the cabin. How many people daydreamed out the window as they looked at Mount Wilson?

Today, though, the “cabin” is barely standing. It’s not possible to be inside it at all. The roof is missing. The floor is missing. Most everything else is missing. So, naturally, I had to include some of that interior because to me it tells the story of the moment, both past and present.

Alta View

Alta View is that moment that occupies past and present. Yes, I realize it doesn’t have a scrap of fall color in it, and this journal entry is all about fall color, but also, the time of the year is critical. I wanted the mountain to showcase the coming of fall, and here it is, cloud-wrapped with an incoming snowstorm. It has that certain look and feel that winter is coming, and it is coming right now. The day was cold and gloomy, with good reason, but everything came together to let me create this piece.

I explored Alta a little more, but this is the photograph I came to make, and I like how it came out. It was time to head back down the mountain! Step one of Colorado autumn was complete, even if it doesn’t feature the classic fall colors.

We’re going to go out of order here and jump to a different day, a different place, and even an entirely different trip. But we’re on an adventure, so we can break some rules. Why not?

I’ve been to Gothic, Colorado, many times over many years. When I started photographing, in fact, Gothic was one of the first places I’d been to. So, in many respects, it feels like home to me and holds a special place in my heart. Every few years I go back there, just to revisit and enjoy it. I look around, remembering the wonderful adventures I’ve had this year.

And this year, I added more memories for my Colorado autumn adventure.

The road from Crested Butte to Gothic is one of my favorite roads. It is a windy dirt road, but every corner holds a different view, and more amazing than the last view. I end up stopping every ten feet or so. I know that sounds like an exaggeration, and it probably is. Furthermore, I guess I end up stopping every twenty feet or so. Maybe thirty, but absolutely no more than that.

This year the leaves were perfectly at peak, and the weather was ideal. I had an image in my mind that I wanted to create, and I knew the ideal spot to try. Hopefully, it would work.

I was excited as I made my way there. That didn’t mean I didn’t stop a lot to get out, enjoy, and photograph, because I did. But I was on a mission. It took me several hours to go just a couple of miles, which is pretty quick for me, but I did make it to where I was thinking of. Much to my delight, everything came together! The leaves were perfect. The weather was cooperating. I parked and scouted around, looking for the best spot.

Aspen Inspiration

It didn’t take long to make my decision. I set up carefully, and I knew in my heart of hearts that the photograph would come together. It did, and Aspen Inspiration is the result. It is a new photograph for me, but I know it will be one of my favorites over the years. Both because of how well it came out and also for the memories it holds for me. It’s like coming back home, and there is no better feeling than coming home.

I also really, as in really, like how the photograph pulls us forward. You can barely see the mountain in the background, so we know we’re headed there. The road is wide and easy, so there’s no drama about that. The colors are rich and vibrant, with a beautiful mix of yellows and reds, and even the lone pine tree in there lets us know we are indeed at the height of fall. For me, all these elements come together, compelling us to continue down the road.

And I did just that.

We’ll jump days again to a wholly different place for our final stop on our Colorado autumn tour. I have long known about a certain group of aspens whose trunks were unusual. It was time for me to see them with my own eyes.

For this photograph to work, I didn’t want any sun, and if anything, I wanted rain. It was a race against time for me. The leaves were ideal, but the weather was not. Would I get my cloudy, or even rainy, day before the leaves went past peak? Every day I checked. Every day the leaves were getting better, but any day now would be “it,” and they would begin to fade. I was getting more anxious by the day, hoping it would work out for me this year.

Finally, on what I thought would be the last day, the weather cooperated! It was a gloomy and rainy day. Perfect!

I headed off outside the town of Ophir, Colorado, which is as specific as I’ll be for this location. I located the stand of aspens, and there, before me, lay one of the most unusual sights I’ve seen.

The aspen trunks are all curved! It’s as if they are swaying and dancing! I couldn’t shake the feeling that the aspens truly were dancing as I made Dancing Aspens, which explains my title for this piece. Yet, the more I looked, the more enraptured I became, and after I created the photograph, I just stood there in the rain and enjoyed the scene. 

I was sad to leave Colorado autumn. But I’ll be back. You can bet I’ll see the “Welcome to Colorado” before long.

No one knows what caused these trunks to curve like this. Perhaps it was natural, or perhaps someone long ago curved them when the aspens were young and flexible. I, personally, think it is a more natural cause. There are other aspens in the general area that have some curves. These are more individual aspens, and the curve isn’t as pronounced, but it is there all the same. The more you look, too, the more you can find. So, surely, this must be some odd natural phenomenon, but beyond that, I cannot, and will not, hazard a guess.

My Colorado autumn trips were now complete, and I headed back to New Mexico and the “Welcome to New Mexico” sign I know so well. Colorado was in my rearview mirror, but I’ll be back again!

Bring Colorado Autumn Home

Alta View, Aspen Inspiration and Dancing Aspens look great in this story. Now imagine how amazing they will look for you! Don’t wait. Order one of these incredible photographs for yourself.

Note: Dancing Aspens is available by special order. Please contact me and we’ll get one made just for you.

Valley Spirit: Wild Horses Running Free In Monument Valley

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The spring morning was crisp and quiet, as only the mornings in the desert can be. Although there were, perhaps, distant storm clouds cresting the horizon, they remained a tease more than a threat. The storm clouds made a meager and ill-fated attempt to appear ominous, then decided that was ineffective. The solitude of the sands remained undisturbed. Valley Spirit was yet to be made.

Except for the distant sound of hooves drumming on the sand, that is. The gentle nickers and snorts of the horses, whom the hooves belonged to, wove into the tapestry of the morning, the drumbeat quickly growing louder and more intense. Finally, the horses themselves appeared, cresting a low dune, running toward whatever destination they had in mind. They ran wild and free and ran for the sheer joy of running. Manes and tails splayed out behind them, and they left a small dust cloud in their wake. The horses tore across the valley, emblazoned with, truly, the spirit of the west.

Valley Spirit

Monument Valley is an iconic location. It has represented the archetype of the American West throughout the years in countless movies and photographs. Towering buttes, jutting one thousand feet straight up, rise from the valley floor. The contrast between the sands and the sandstone rock is hard and striking, yet it also weaves into the fabric of Monument Valley’s mythology. 

Yet, it is the horses, running wild, free, and with the spirit of the west, that capture the essence of the valley. 

Before long, their run took them over another dune and out of sight, leaving only the echoes and memory of their headlong dash into freedom. 

The Backstory

Great story, right? Hopefully, the photograph Valley Spirit and the story bring to life what you might imagine the American West is. And truly, the scene and the story are precisely what happened. I’m thrilled to have made this photograph, and throughout my career, it remains one of my all-time favorites. It has stood, and will continue to do so, against the test of time and succeeded.

But there’s just a little more to this particular photograph and story. This photograph, although it accurately represents a fantastic moment, is an illusion. Here’s how it came to be.

One fine day I was wandering through Monument Valley, exploring its nooks and crannies. I was searching for just the right place where I could create a wonderful photograph that you don’t see every day. To achieve that, I wanted to find a place where few photographers go in the valley. I wasn’t successful in that quest, but while searching, I was thinking about all the western movies filmed here. It didn’t take me too long to think about horses and how awesome it would be to photograph wild horses in the valley.

As it turns out, there aren’t any wild horses in Monument Valley, nor, for that matter, anywhere close to the valley. So, my dream photograph wasn’t going to happen by chance. I was going to have to make it happen. I figured if the movies can do it, then so can I. Maybe.

There are a few families who live in the valley, and one of them owns horses. It took some effort and some explaining, but eventually the plan came together nicely. Horses and wranglers would be hired. The major hurdle was no more.

With the basic “how it was going to happen” sorted out, we led the horses over to the far side of the valley in a single group. The theory, which turned out to work, was that once prodded, the horses would head back to their home. I positioned myself where I thought the horses might go, gave the signal, held my breath, and waited. The horses were on their own now.

The horses knew where to go, and, luckily for me, they went; they decided to run—and conveniently right in front of where I positioned myself. Valley Spirit was made.

As for the illusion, what you don’t see are the wranglers just behind the horses, nor everyone supporting the effort. It simply appears as the horses happened to be running by, and I happened to be there. By carefully framing the image, I was able to create the vision of the horses being alone in the valley. Photography is often the art of illusion, in the end. As a photographer, I decide what to include, and importantly, what not to include in the image. This lets me tell the story that I see and want to present.

As for the reality, at that moment, the horses were indeed wild and free, running with abandon, seemingly for the joy of running. Perhaps, then, Valley Spirit isn’t fantasy, but rather, represents the inner spirit of the horses.

The Future Story

There was a time when wild horses were indeed running free in Monument Valley, but that time has long passed. Today, society is far less tolerant of wildlife in general. We remove horses whenever we can, lest they spoil the forage for other livestock, such as cows or sheep. We round them up and corral them. A few lucky ones find new homes. The rest, well, their stories end. 

We can change this. It is never too late to find tolerance and to enjoy the spirit and the freedom that only a wild horse can bring. The drumming hooves pounding on the desert sands, the braying in the distance, can once again be a part and parcel of the west. We can let it be wild again if we have the will. It’s up to us. All of us.

Bring Valley Spirit Home

If Valley Spirit calls to you, and I hope it does, you can bring the adventure home. Here on the website, you’ll find Valley Spirit in a couple of standard sizes. If you have specific requirements, I can make a custom piece just for you. I can create a special version that matches your space and can create it in custom sizes. I can even create a custom-framed piece that will be spectacular. So, if the standard options don’t quite fit your needs, contact me, and we’ll create something just for you.

Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah’s Wonders: Revealing unseen hoodoo marvels

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New Mexico is known, among so many other things, for its badlands. Here, you’ll find torturous and twisted hoodoos and rock formations, each more fantastical than the last. Some formations are small, and you have to stoop down to see it’s twisted shape. Others tower above you, and you need to step back to take it all in. The Bisti Wilderness is the most well-known of these formations, yet I prefer a different one: the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness. For here, you’ll find incredible Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders, both large and small.

It’s challenging to know even where to begin in the badlands. There are no trails, nor any marked path. One merely sets off in “that direction” and keeps going until it is time to leave. I think this is such a marvelous way to explore! As each formation catches your eye, you head toward it to investigate it further. Once there, you’ll see another one, and then another, and before you know it, you have no idea at all which one to go to next because they all look so astonishing.

I can spend hours and days in the wilderness, and in fact, I have. And it appears that I never see the same formations twice.

The Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness is in northern New Mexico, immediately to the north of Chaco Canyon National Historical Park. In fact, the northern border of Chaco is just across a dirt road from the southern edge of the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah. Interestingly, Chaco Canyon doesn’t have any significant hoodoos or rock formations. You can find a few here and there, but they are few and far between. Yet, once you’re in the badlands, the landscape transforms into a fairyland of wonder.

Usually, in my articles, I make you wait until I reveal the photographs that I am featuring. This time, however, we’ll get right to a photograph. After all, why wait? Seeing is believing, after all.

Hoodoo Dance
(Don’t forget you can tap/click for a much larger view!)

The afternoon was one of those rare times when I knew, I just knew, something magical would happen at sunset. The clouds were thick, but not too thick, and the upper-level winds were moving them about. In other words, the clouds had some life to them and showed promise of something interesting happening. I was, naturally, in the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah, exploring a section I had been to previously, but wanted to go back to for further examination.

The hoodoos here are smaller than in other places, but what they lacked in size they more than made for in numbers. There were hoodoos, quite literally, everywhere. It was difficult to walk in a straight line because there were so many. No, that’s not quite right. It was completely impossible to walk in a straight line at all. It was like weaving my way through a maze, but a maze where the walls were only about knee-height. Naturally, I adore this area. It truly is an area of Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders.

Scouting amongst the hoodoos

I spent the afternoon scouting several locations for sunset, and I knew exactly where I wanted to be when the time came. You’ve already seen the photograph, so you know already how this turns out. I’ll spare you the details of how I was hoping it would, in fact, be an outstanding sunset and instead merely point out that the clouds cooperated perfectly. The late afternoon light just before sunset was sublime. All in all, I could not be more pleased with how Hoodoo Dance turned out.

The three larger hoodoos on top seem to dance with joyful abandon, while the smaller hoodoos to the right bask in the waning warmth of the day. The serene purple hues in the clouds tie it all together, and Hoodoo Dance is, well, what an incredible photograph it is!

The wonderful thing about the badlands is the wonders don’t cease when the sun goes down. In fact, sunset is only the beginning of the magic that happens.

The period of time after the sun has set and before it is completely dark is known as “blue hour.” Although the sun is no longer in the sky, it still provides a lot of light, although now the light is far more blue than yellow. Longer exposures bring out the blue tones, and it is possible to photograph long after the sun has departed for the day. Occasionally, these photographs take on a magical quality to them.

Such is the case with Twilight Hoodoos. I made Twilight Hoodoos almost 45 minutes after sunset with an extremely long exposure. At first glance, you don’t notice the blue tones, but as you absorb the details, you quickly begin to notice them. The result is a fantastic mixture of golden and blue tones. Best of all, there are still some purples in the clouds, giving a whole other-world feel to the photograph.

Twilight Hoodoos

The rock where I made Twilight Hoodoos is more white, providing, almost, the appearance of snow. It’s not, though. It’s just hard, smooth white rock, which I think provides a perfect base to build the rest of the photograph from. I am constantly amazed that moving just a few hundred yards in a different direction provides an entirely distinct setting, and it looks like I, instead, traveled a hundred miles. How is this even possible?

But, I can hear you ask, what happens when the sun goes down in the badlands? Weren’t you going to talk about that?

To which I say: the badlands become even more magical. As a case in point, take Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Starscape.

Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Starscape

Here, the Milky Way soars above the badlands, and the landscape transforms into an entirely alien world. These skies are dark—as dark as any you’ll find in New Mexico—and the Milky Way shines as bright as it possibly can. You can see, I think, millions of stars, and you can peer deep into the core of the Milky Way. It’s easy to become lost while looking up into the sky. There’s no other humans anywhere close to you, so the silence, along with the darkness, is absolute.

An experience like no other

Standing alone in the desert in the darkest of all skies, staring at the heavens soaring over the hoodoos really drives home a sense of place and scale for you. We humans are but one small mote of a never-ending universe, and here, you can feel that at your very core. It is an experience that will transfix and transform you. You cannot help but be moved by standing there. Such is the magic of the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders.

And, as fate would have it, an asteroid streaked through the photograph, too! This, for me, was simply the icing on the cake, and this remains a favorite of all my badlands photographs. Talk about everything coming together and precisely the right moment!

Alas, our dark skies are threatened. First, we have the issue of the oil and gas wells in the area. Over the years, more and more wells are being drilled. The wells themselves aren’t an issue, but their lights are. In truly dark areas, you can see the tiniest of lights from a long ways away. A flashlight can be seen for miles and is enough to spoil a Milky Way image. Small pinpricks of light carry a long way. Imagine how far away you can see the bright lights of the wells.

Worse, it isn’t just the wells themselves. There are processing and holding areas, too, and these are exceptionally well-lit at night. Where once I couldn’t see a light, anywhere, in any direction I looked, now the horizon, both near and far, has a glow to it in all directions. What was truly dark is now mostly dark, and when creating photographs at night, “mostly dark” is a vast, and very unwelcome distance from “truly dark.” And it is getting worse every year.

This area is an excellent case in point. When I was last here after dark, I couldn’t see anything. Now, I had to take exceptional care to compose Ah-She-She-Pah’s Starscape to make it look as if it were completely dark. It was, in fact, not. There are oil well lights just on the other side of the hoodoos, but by careful positioning I was able to hide them just enough to pull off the effect of darkness.

Such is the price of progress. I get it, I really do. There are competing interests for the lands, and as much as the oil and gas people are as careful and thoughtful as they can be, they do create substantial light pollution. Now, it is no longer a matter of “leaving the city,” but also trying to find a place where progress hasn’t happened yet. These areas are getting fewer, small and further between and I fear it won’t be long before it is not possible to find a truly dark sky.

But, let’s not end on that note! I typically showcase three images in my long reads, but let’s add a bonus image as we end in a wonderful place.

Purple Hoodoos

The sunset on this particular day was truly incredible. As the sun began to slip below the horizon, the clouds kept lighting up, and the purples and pinks were as intense as any I’ve seen. Purple Hoodoos shows us just how strong the colors were, and made all the more so by the stark whites of the hoodoos.

I adore the contrast of colors in this photograph. From the small, almost colorless hoodoos in the foreground to the intense fire in the sky, the photograph becomes a study of contrast.

Truly, the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders are unbelievable, and I’ll be back there again before you know. It is one of my most favorite hidden gems, and one that draws me back and again.

Postscript: After finishing this article, I decided we need just one more beautiful photograph. So, with that in mind, here’s Throne’s Glory! OK. Now we’re done.

Throne's Glory

Now we’re done. Really.

I just can’t leave it alone, can I? Throne’s Glory is available for purchase here on the website. But if the other images speak to you like they do me, contact me and we’ll build something wonderful, just for you.

Bosque Birds

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The solitude of the winter day remained absolute at New Mexico’s Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge. Usually, one would expect to see thousands of birds in the bosque, especially sandhill cranes and snow geese, foraging in the fields. But today, for whatever reason, the refuge remained empty.

It was a puzzle to me where the birds were, but it was also a puzzle I could not, and never would, answer.

Despite the emptiness, a few lonely birds had the fields in small yet isolated pockets. Never the less, it was nothing like it might been. The birds must have found better foraging somewhere else. I continued to search to see what birds I might see.

I could barely see a few small birds in the distance in one field. It was hard to make them out, but clearly, there were at least a few birds out there. Given the paucity so far, there couldn’t have been many birds, but that same scarcity meant this was all I had. It’s best to sit and wait and see what might happen. Of course, I didn’t expect much. Maybe a bird or two would take to the wing with any luck.

My patience didn’t have to wear too thin. Within a couple of moments, the birds took off. Much to my surprise, a few more previously invisible birds joined them. They were followed by a few more, then more and more and more.

Within seconds, the sky was full of invisible birds, all rising together!

Thousands of bosque birds take flight all at once

The bosque birds obscured my view entirely—not that I was complaining.

As quickly as the birds rose, they descended back into place, each disappearing as soon as it landed. The field became empty again, and the refuge was utterly still.

But now I knew the refuge was far more populated than I thought.

Autumn Reverie: Chasing Fall in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains

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It rained. In most circumstances, photographing during rain and snow is not ideal for me, but in this case, it was all part of the plan. Well, not the rain part, per se, but the opportunity immediately after the rain. After all, the best way to be in the consummate location after the rain is to be there during the rain. And so I waited, more or less patiently, for the rain to pass, and I could, hopefully, create Autumn Reverie. Time will tell, as it always does.

There’s a location where I’ve waited for several years to create an ideal photograph in Colorado’s San Juan mountains during the peak of fall color. I’ve been there many, many times, but the flawless conditions have always eluded me. However, with the current weather system, the mountains may have snow on their peaks. It might be raining at the elevations I was at, but it would be snowing on the mountains. Perfect. If, of course, it happens.

So far this year, the mountain tops were still barren. The fall color was beginning to peak, but the photograph wouldn’t be the same without the snow. The forecast models will prove correct, I am sure, and I will have my first snow-of-the-season photograph. It’s now raining, so all I can do is remain patient.

In the meantime, I chose to wait out the weather at the top of Colorado’s McClure pass. It’s near where I want to make Autumn Reverie and an ideal location on rainy days.

McClure Pass is one of my favorite locations. I adore the aspen groves at the top and along both sides of the pass. You’d think that aspens are all the same, but to me, they are not. They are distinct as snowflakes, with each grove having its unique personality. I come back year after year and find something new that excites me each time.

Resigned myself to being wet, and rather than try to stay dry, an impossible task, I embraced it. I meandered around the pass, waiting for the rain to stop and looking for, well, I’d know it when I found it.

Speaking of the rain, it was showing no signs of letting up. The low clouds enveloped the mountains and would not relinquish their hold. The aspens are ideal, but there’s no sun, light, or joy that I seek to create in a photograph. Today would not be the day to create a stunning photograph of the mountains.

Rainy McClure
Rainy McClure shows the day would not cooperate.

But, as fate would have it, it would be a day to create something sensational of a completely different sort.

I tramped through the woods, moving through the soggy forest, seeking the perfect scene. The light rain brought out the colors, making for unexpectedly vibrant scenes. The urge to push onward drove me forward, and I continued my quest.

Eventually, I turned, and there it was—the perfect Autumn Vignette. I smiled as I made this photograph, even though I was thoroughly wet.

Autumn Vignette
But sometimes, as with Autumn Vignette, unexpected surprises appear!

The red bushes in the corner giving way to the aspens in the rest of the photograph, to me, represent autumn in all its glory. Sure, it isn’t a soaring mountain—that would come later, thanks to the rain—but it is intimate and peaceful. It showcases the changing of the seasons, too, which I adore. There’s plenty of green and just as many golden colors, too—a perfect mix of the two, all counter-pointed by that beautiful red bush.

I kept looking for more scenes, but in the end, Autumn Vignette was the best one. Eventually, daylight began to fade, and my time on the pass drew to a close. Hopefully, the weather system will cooperate, and the mountains of the Dallas Divide are now snow-covered.

The following day, much to my delight, that was precisely the case!

The mountains, now glistening white, stood tall against the fall colors. The clouds, still heavy from the previous day, continued to fill the sky, but there were plenty of gaps where patches of blue managed to find a way through. The conditions were perfect; I just needed to find the right location to create the photograph I was visualizing. That is far, far easier said than done, however.

On the surface, all I have to do is drive up, pull out the camera, take a quick picture, and come away with a marvelous photograph. After all, if the scene is perfect, the photograph will instantly come together. For me, though, that is not the case. I want, I need, every element to be perfect in its own right. The sun must be out and shining, making the fall colors bright and vibrant. I want the mountains covered with the perfect amount of snow, and I want clouds in the sky, neither too heavy nor too thin.

In short, I must wait for all elements to come together. On days like today, where the weather is very dynamic, the moment is fleeting. I have to be in place, waiting and ready. If the scene comes together, I will have little time.

Luckily, I know the area well, and there is a specific location I have in mind. I’ve been there many times, but it has never worked out. Today may be the day, and there is only one way to find out.

I headed down a county road full of hope. The road is relatively straightforward to drive, but it is challenging in spots. It’s rock and dirt, rough in most places, and can cause problems for the unwary. I need to pay attention, go slow, and be careful. In other words, it’s just my type of road. I reached where I wanted to be without incident and began my vigil.

The scene before me was almost perfect. There is a stand of aspen, glowing in glorious fall color. The surrounding hillsides are a stunning mix of gold and greens, contrasting and telling the story of the changing colors. Mount Sneffels presides over it all, now adorned with fresh, white snow. Not so much that I can’t see the features of the mountain, but enough to let us know winter is just around the corner.

I just needed to sky to be “just right.” Camera at the ready, I waited patiently.

The minutes slipped into hours, and still, I watched for precisely the right moment.

Finally, all the conditions came together to create Sneffels’s Valley.

Sneffel's Valley
I could not be more pleased with Sneffels’s Valley! Tap/click for larger.

With a perfect mix of clouds and sun, the photograph I had visualized was now a reality. I could not have been happier, and my years-long project is now complete.

My time in the San Juan mountains still needs to be completed, however, as there are many locations I adore and many more photographs to create. But now, Autumn Reverie is ready for you.

NGC 6188–the Dragons of Ara–is a cosmic masterpiece of the universe

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As long as I can remember, I’ve looked up at the night sky and wondered what, or maybe even who, was out there. The twinkling stars call to me, pulling me and sparking my wonder. These days, as I am creating Milky Way photographs, my star wanderlust is always rekindled. But now, I have access to telescopes, and the Ara Dragons come to life through one of them.

NGC 6188--the Ara Dragons

NGC 6188, better known as the Dragons of Ara, is a stunning emission nebula. Its clouds of molecular dust seem to form two dragons. Perhaps they are fighting, or maybe they are dancing. Either way, it pulls me in.

Ara Dragons is a narrowband image, meaning I photographed bands of light that our human eyes cannot see. I created the initial photos by using hydrogen, oxygen, and silicon filters, then merged those into colors we can see. The stunning result is, well, simply stunning. This process is the same technique that NASA uses for the Hubble and James Webb Space Telescope, and the final result is visually and scientifically accurate.

There is also another nebula in this photograph. NGC 6164 is photobombing the lower portion of the image. Known as the Dragon’s Egg Nebula, this is an O-type star approximately 40 times as massive as our sun. This star will become a supernova soon, perhaps in just a few million years, making this portion of the sky exceptionally interesting.

No matter where you look in the night sky, there is something fantastic to see. No matter how large or small your telescope is, there is always a new wonder to explore and see. Every time we make a discovery, it calls humanity outward to the stars, and hopefully, we never lose that desire.

Every time I look at Ara Dragons, I find something new. I hope you do, too!

More Ara Dragons

You can bring NGC 6188 home! You can also pick up this notebook, which is perfect for any type of notes and journaling. Never lose your sense of wonder with the night sky!

Bandon Views are ever changing and always spectacular

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There are a few places I can’t stay away from, and I keep going back to time and again. Oregon’s coastline, especially around Bandon, is one of those places. The picturesque sea stacks provide endless variation and endless fascination. These Bandon views showcase the beauty.

Every sunrise is unique. Some mornings, the sun rises quietly and slips into the sky without drama. However, other mornings are an entirely different story, and the sun provides quite the show.

And now and then, something unexpected happens. For example, the morning I photographed Violet Sentinels was one of those times. High, light clouds made for a promising start, but the promise remained unfulfilled as the dawn became brighter and brighter. While I hoped the cloud would light up in a dazzling display of color, they remained muted and understated. That’s OK. I just stood there and enjoyed the sunrise, and I would see it through until full daylight.

But, just before the sun crested the horizon, everything changed. At first, just a single cloud turned violet. Then, another, and another. Then all of them, all at once. The entire sky was an incredibly soft, yet striking, hue of purple. The ocean reflected the light, and the scene became a wonderful life.

The sea stacks, which rise sharply from the ocean, punctuate the scene, completing Violet Sentinels. This photograph is a perfect example of Bandon views.

Sunsets are just as spectacular, plus they have the advantage of including the setting sun in the photograph.

Bandon Calm illustrates this point perfectly.

Here, the sun is slipping quickly into the ocean, headed for the other side of the world. The incoming tide is doing its best to envelope the sea stacks. But, before the sun dipped below the waiting horizon, it lit the sea up with a beautiful shade of blue. Once again, the sea stacks are the scene’s star. The lone bird flying above completes the vignette.

Even a simple sunset is outstanding in Bandon.

The Bandon views are like no other, no matter what time of day. Whenever I come here, I find a different way to photograph them. Even the same sea stack looks entirely different each day. The endless variation fascinates me and calls me, and so I come back time and again, year after year.

I miss the Bandon coastline and am thinking about my next trip back. In the meantime, though, there are more spectacular views to explore and enjoy, and we’ll revisit Bandon soon.

Unveiling the Alien Marvel of Utah’s Upper Blue Hills

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In my never-ending pursuit of extraordinary vistas and thrilling adventures, hidden places call to me, their secrets tucked away in unexpected corners. The exhilarating thrill I feel when I reach one of these off-the-beaten-path destinations cannot be adequately described. But they can be photographed. Utah’s Upper Blue Hills area is one of these treasures.

It’s a deceptive treasure, too. While its star attraction, Factory Butte, is easily seen from miles around, it’s the area beyond that that is truly special. Here, we cross the threshold into an entirely alien world that undoubtedly can’t exist on our planet and one whose otherworldly landscapes are unique.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Let’s first explore Factory Butte. Factory Butte towers above the landscape; its commanding presence is undeniable and fabulous. It is a lofty sentinel beckoning to all who see it, demanding that you exit the highway to drive down a dirt road to see it up close. And, in the spring, sometimes it is surrounded by flowers, making a splendid scene.

Factory Butte with orange flowers in the foreground

The butte, as a whole, is picturesque and worthy of attention. I’ve photographed it before, but this scene, especially with a carpet of flowers, is one that I prefer. The faint whisp of clouds in the sky provides just enough contrast, and overall, I am pleased with how Factory’s Flowers came out.

Yet, it is not the butte soaring above the surrounding plain that draws my attention; it is the sides, exquisitely sculpted by the constant, relentless forces of erosion over countless eons. Deep channels are carved into its surface, revealing nature’s artistic touch. Water, wind, and time combine to work their magic. The result is truly outstanding.

A close up of the side of Factory Butte, showing all the contour and details of its sides

When we focus on just the sides, like in Factory’s Sides, the result is more abstract than I usually create. But I adore this photograph! The deep channels, the lines of the strata at the top, and even the occasional tumbling rock all combine to make a compelling scene. I can feel nature relentlessly carve the sides away, pebble by pebble. Sooner or later, it will have its way, but until that moment arrives, we have this incredible scene.

However, as I alluded to, Factory Butte, as dominating as it is, is merely a prelude to what lies beyond in the Upper Blue Hills.

A sketchy dirt road leads away from the butte to a world that does not exist on our planet. I drove through the seemingly ordinary desert, and to my eyes, nothing was out of the ordinary. That is until the road ends at an overlook. Here, everything changes.

Stepping to the edge of a three-hundred-foot drop, I looked out over the otherworldly landscape. Below me lay tortured and twisted ground in shades of browns and greys. Large erosional cracks run through the floor, some wide, some small. The fissures go every which way, with no sense or order. Low hills punctuate the floor, running as a ridge futilely attempting to encompass the cracks. No vegetation of any type is there. No bushes, plants, or living things grow here, which is odd even for the desert. When taken as a whole, the landscape appears completely alien, and now I know what it is like to walk on a different planet.

A close up of the valley floor, showing lines and ridges

“OK,” you say to yourself. David is being overly dramatic with his description. I’m not. I am not the only one who thinks this area doesn’t belong on Earth. The Mars Desert Research Station is here, too! Their website states: “The advantage of MDRS over most facilities for simulated space missions is that the campus is surrounded by a landscape that is an actual geologic Mars analog.” In other words, even space researchers believe this place is more like a distant planet!

For me, the challenge is translating all of the fantastical fairyland of the Blue Hills into an incredible photograph. As phenomenal as it is, merely pointing the camera at it isn’t enough. I need more. Much more. Dusk and dawn were likely the best time, so I made camp and settled in.

This area, managed by the BLM, has no formal campsites, but no one minded that I set up my tent at the precipice’s edge. Talk about a room with a view! Yes, one must be careful at night because a misstep is a long, long way down, but that is a small price for the vista before me. I settled in and began the wait until evening. I was confident that I would have what I needed then.

By and large, the weather mostly cooperated with me. The sun kept disappearing behind clouds, but not for long. I remained hopeful that the sunset would be good. I was right, in the end, but it wasn’t quite what I had hoped for, either.

The sunset came, and the desert floor took on golden hues as expected. Yet, deep shadows crept over it, too, and the view, despite some magnificent buttes, didn’t sing to my soul as it should have. I photographed it, of course, but I knew it wasn’t what I sought. Luckily tomorrow morning would bring sunrise and, with it, new opportunities.

I watched the sun slide below the horizon and enjoyed the peace and stillness of the overlook. It was eventually time to turn in and wait for the morning. Hopefully, the Blue Hills would not disappoint me.

I’ll fast-forward here. Morning came, and the scene was what I was looking for, but this morning wasn’t it—nothing for it except to wait another day. There were far worse places to stay, so I didn’t care. Sunset came again, and along with it, the same shadows. The night was restless for me because I was hoping against hope that the next dawn would bring what I needed.

I was up well before the sun, set up and waiting. Once again, the sun didn’t disappoint and crested the horizon. My time was here! Alas, the scene still didn’t come together, and I was resigned to waiting another day.

Yet, time has a way of making everything better. And time significantly improved the so-so scene into an otherworldly photograph.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the light softened as the sun dipped behind a light cloud. And there, before me, now lay the scene I had hoped for!

A view over the edge of a mesa, showing a butte in the morning sun

The Belt of Venus, the pink band in the sky, was beginning to fade, but what remained provided the contrast in the sky I sought. The warm glow of the morning lit the valley floor perfectly, as well as the buttes. The entire scene came together to become Mesa Morning. The greys and browns glowing in the morning light accentuate the gold of the buttes, and we’re now on Mars. Or maybe the Moon. No, Mars. The Mars Desert Research Station says Mars, so we’ll abide by their experts.

Overall, I could not be happier with how Mesa Morning and the excursion into the Upper Blue Hills turned out!

Bring Mesa Morning Home!

Mesa Morning looks incredible on the web, but will look even better in your home. Don’t miss out in having the best of the southwest.

Intense Pygmy

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There are close to a million euphemisms comparing size to everything else. In all these, the common theme is that the size of something, often someone, has nothing to do with their attitude, capability, or whatever comparison is at hand. Although, I think every single one has to draw inspiration from the Pygmy Owl.

Pygmy Owls are diminutive, just a few inches tall, and weigh just a few ounces. But they don’t know that. And even if you could tell them, they would not believe you.

An intense pygmy owl stares into distance.

Case in point: this superb Pygmy Owl hosted by Wildlife Rescue of New Mexico. Sure, he’s on the small side. But one day, they put him next to a Great Horned Owl–a bird of prey many, many, many times larger. Most birds would cower in fear. Most birds would do the sensible thing and leave immediately. And, most birds would figure, and rightly so, that their number is up. But not this fellow. The owl sized up a Great Horned Owl when he was next to it. He measured it. He studied it. And then. And then he decided to have a Great Horned Owl snack. Well, not really, but it seemed like he was about to!

Pygmy Owls are afraid of nothing, will take on prey far larger than them, and they are one of the fiercest predators. They have proved right the euphemisms on size many times over.

More to the story

There’s more to this story, however! When I made this photograph, this fellow was a rescue and spent his days as an ambassador owl. Somehow or other, he met his match in the wild, and somebody damaged one of his eyes. Sadly, without perfect eyesight, it is not possible to hunt successfully.

Wildlife Rescue of New Mexico stepped in and gave him a forever home. As part of their outreach program, he helped people learn about what Wildlife Rescue does and how they help. And help people realize that size is no measure of capability.

A pygmy owl stares into the camera. It's left eye is severely damaged and is completely glazed over

You can find another very intense owl, too!

Butterfly Pose

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Butterfly Pose: A yellow Two-Tailed Tiger Swallowtail butterfly rests on a tree blossom. Its wings are spread wide showing all the fine detail. The rear ends of the wings have a heavy black border and the rear of the body has vibrant blue markings.

Daylight broke quickly as the sun vaulted above the horizon, and another spring day in Albuquerque, New Mexico began. The still and crisp air filled with the sweet, cheerful singing of the birds as they greeted the morning. Indeed, the day was shaping up to be spectacular in every way. And it would end that way, too, as I created Butterfly Pose.

I stood outside, embracing the morning, when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something go by. I remained motionless, trying to discover what almost caught my attention. 

It didn’t take long before my patience paid off. A Two-Tailed Tiger Swallowtail butterfly fluttered to a stop in a nearby tree. The striking, bright-yellow butterfly was working its way from branch to branch of the tree, and every time it stopped, it created the perfect butterfly pose.

Slowly, quietly and stealthily as I could, I approached the tree. I didn’t head directly to it, of course, but in an oblique way. I paused every few steps, attempting to blend into the background. The butterfly paid me no attention, and continued its hunt for nectar.

I drifted ever closer and worked out the composition that I would like. I saw it in my mind’s eye, and just needed to butterfly to cooperate. Hopefully, it would.

Finally, after an eternity of small steps, I drew close enough to create the photograph I was imagining. The butterfly was working its way around the tree; I positioned myself ahead and stood completely still, barely drawing a breath.

The butterfly flittered to another branch, rested momentarily, and continued around the tree. It never noticed me creating Butterfly Pose. And that’s the way it should be.

 Spring in New Mexico is a magical time, full of bright warm days, birds singing joyful songs, and colorful yellow butterflies everywhere.

A Fall Day in Albuquerque

For a completely different kind of day in Albuquerque, Sandia Sunset showcases the Sandia Mountains at sunset.