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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
As the sun slips past the horizon and night begins its march across the land, many of us head indoors. We turn on the lights without a second thought, and continue our day inside. Should we glance toward a window, we see a square, if you have square windows, of inky blackness. We look away and enjoy the pleasures that light brings us. But what was it like long ago before the advent of electricity? What did our distant ancestors do after dark?
To begin to understand this we have to find truly dark skies. Today, that is not an easy task. You need to be far away from the nearest significant light source, and you might be surprised at just how much light even the tiniest of towns emits. There are places which are still truly dark, though, which is a good thing. Out west, it is a little easier to find dark skies.
From the moment you turn off all light, be that the sun or whatever light you brought with you, your eyes will begin to adjust. This is a gradual, slow adjustment, but a richly rewarding one. The stars slowly come to life, one by one, two by two, dozens by dozens and before you know it you are staring into the depths of space and a sky filled with countless stars. The more you look, the more you find, and the more you find, the more you look. In some locations and at some times of the year, you can see the core of the Milky Way, and that is a completely staggering sight. It can literally leave you speechless.
One startling thing about the night sky is that it isn’t quite as dark as you might first think. If there is even a sliver of the moon you will be able to find your way around. If it is a full moon it might as well be broad daylight and you will know it is night, but it won’t slow you down. Conversely, if you find truly dark skies on a moonless night, well, it is dark. Such nights are perfect making photographs of the night sky.
These three nightscapes are some of my favorites, and represent how different the Milky Way can look.
Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah’s Night was made in the badlands of New Mexico in the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness Study Area. This area is little known and well off the beaten path. Few people venture out here, but that is their loss for it has some amazing rock formations, and some of its hoodoos are beyond the imagination. On this moonless night it was dark as dark can be. Even with my eyes fully adjusted I never could see my hand in front of my face. However, that was to my advantage because I was able to create the entire scene. I lit up the hoodoos that I liked, and positioned the Milky Way where I wanted it, making this beautiful photograph. As a completely unplanned bonus a meteor streaking through the frame (you can see it as a small vertical line jus above the hoodoos in the back). The wish I made certainly came true!
Abo Night is the last of the three nightscapes and showcases the mission and pueblo in the Abo unit of the Salinas Pueblo Missions National Monument in New Mexico. Although unoccupied since the 1600s, the mission still stands and makes an imposing foreground to the New Mexico night sky. Although not quite as pitch-black as the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness, it is still dark and the stars shine exceptionally bright. As with the Grand Canyon, however, modern civilization intrudes, with the cities of Socorro and Albuquerque contributing their glow to the scene. Still, it is not hard to imagine how this scene must have looked more than four hundred years ago.
When you get a chance, turn off your lights and step outside. Take a few moments looking up at the sky and let your imagination wander and roam. The stars above will be your guide. If you are in a city and you find yourself in the country, take a moment there to look up.
In the meantime, let these nightscapes inspire you!
