National Park

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.

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.

Horseshoe Canyon

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As adventures go, this one didn’t start off very auspiciously. Long planned, constantly delayed, it seemed I would never make it into Horseshoe Canyon of Utah’s Canyonlands National Park. And today, of all days, yet another roadblock loomed before me. But today, I would have none of that and pressed forward. I’m glad I did. It all worked out. Let’s back up and start more at the beginning.

Looking at Horseshoe Canyon
Horseshoe Canyon and where we’re heading for our adventure

Horseshoe Canyon is home to one of the, if not the, most significant rock art panels in the Southwest: the Great Gallery. Significantly, its sixty figures are six feet tall, and the gallery stretches almost three hundred feet long. It is impressive, to say the least. This panel contains both pictographs and petroglyphs. Pictographs are painted on the walls, while petroglyphs are carved or etched. The panel called to me across the years.

I’ve photographed many rock art sites over the year. However, this one, in particular, was always in the back of my mind. I knew I had to visit it, and the need to do so became more urgent as time passed.

Rock Art and the Barrier Canyon Style

The rock art of the Great Gallery is in the Barrier Canyon style. This style is exemplified by long panels with heroic figures. These figures are life-size or larger and feature several variations, particularly among the figures we consider sprit-like. And the Great Gallery is regarded as the prime example of the Barrier Canyon style.

The panel is relatively accessible, although it does require a seven-mile round-trip hike, the last part of which is straight up. However, I also wanted to be at the panel by myself, as I often do, to be alone and silent without interruption. This meant going in the offseason to lessen the likelihood of seeing other people. Also, the hot summers make the strenuous hike all the more challenging. Winter is ideal, but the snows also increase the difficulty, if not making getting there impossible. For me, spring and fall are my best bets.

I planned the trip several times, but a scheduling issue would arise each time, usually at the last moment. I was beginning to think that I should not make this journey. Finally, this fall, a window of opportunity popped up, and I went to Utah without a second thought. My thought was to get there while I could. I put my backpack together, gathered my gear, and was gone in a flash. No one could stop me now!

Except myself.

Previously, and I am unsure how I did this, I managed to twist my knee. The injury wasn’t enough to stop me from walking on it. Well, no, that’s not true. It was enough to stop me from walking normally. For weeks it had been bothering me, on and off. Some days it was OK, more or less, and other days it was decidedly not OK. Each morning was a little different, and I knew it would be fine sooner or later.

The Journey Begins

I drove to Green River, Utah, and stayed at a hotel there, providing a comfortable night before my hike. I woke up bright and early, and I do mean bright early. Not even the alarm clock was awake before me. I sprang out of bed and immediately discovered that my knee had decided that today was a good day to not bear any weight on it. This was a dilemma. The sensible option was to head back home.

Yeah, we both know that didn’t happen.

Limping around the hotel room, I gathered my backpack and ensured it was ready to go. I miraculously found a hot cup of coffee in the lobby. With that one discovery, the day was brighter already. I crawled into my SUV, started it up, and realized that even pressing the accelerator was painful. This was really not a good idea. I have had many adventures that were not a good idea, so why should this one be any different?

Ignoring my discomfort, I headed down the road to Horseshoe Canyon and the Great Gallery! I had reasonable directions, but it was dark out, meaning the world beyond my headlights wouldn’t exist for many more hours. That’s OK. I figured I knew where I was going. All I had to do was make one critical turn onto a sketchy dirt road, and I would be fine.

Once I missed the turn onto the dirt road I was expecting but didn’t see, I realized that my plan could have been more foolproof than it was. I thought there was a sign, but the darkness hid it if it was even there. I’m not admitting that I drove in circles for a few minutes hunting for that road, but I did turn around several times. I eventually found a likely candidate and decided this was the right road. Time to find out if my hunch was correct.

I was expecting a long, slow ride to the trailhead, and I wasn’t expecting the road to be marked. Meaning it would work out and I found the road, or it wouldn’t, and I took an aimless drive in the pre-dawn desert. I would know in about an hour. Either way, I headed off into the darkness and possibly into oblivion.

The road was rutted, bumpy, full of washboards, sandy, and everything a desert dirt road is supposed to be. Unexpectedly, after about a half hour, I found a sign and knew I was on the right road. My knee was no better, but neither was it any worse. I pressed on, now enjoying the ride and thinking about the hike ahead.

I made it to the trailhead as the sun was beginning to rise. So, parts of my plan were working out quite well. I was pleased as I wanted to be on the trail at first light. I stepped out of the SUV, realizing my knee would still not fully bear weight and would be a problem. But hey, what’s a strenuous seven-mile hike on a bad knee?

I changed into my hiking shoes, slugged my pack onto my shoulders, drank the last of my coffee, and locked the SUV.

Off I went into Horseshoe Canyon. I was committed now to seeing this journey through.

Into Horseshoe Canyon

I was worried that I might be unable to find my way, but that was an unfounded fear. It was easy to locate the trail, and I began my descent into the canyon, every step reminding me this was not ideal. I’ve done worse, although this one is right up there. Quickly, I made a beeline toward the Great Gallery. I knew there were other panels in the canyon, but I wanted to make my primary goal, then slowly work my way back.

I also worried that there might be others, but that did not come to pass. Although there were other cars already at the trailhead, they were camping and not on the trail. I was alone in the canyon, which was a magical experience. Although it was painful to walk and the descent into the canyon was difficult, I was also keenly aware of this incredible experience. The significance was not lost on me.

I enjoy hiking in the wilderness. There is something about having your pack on your back, a trail or even no trail, before you as you trek onward. Hiking in the early morning is even more enjoyable as I wander through the land as it is just waking up.

As I continued, the sun was still low on the horizon, and the autumn morning crisp. Eventually, the sun’s rays began to light up the top of the sheer sandstone walls of the canyon, and I enjoyed watching the sun slowly make its way down toward the canyon floor.

Sometimes I enjoy companionship on my adventures. But for others, I prefer to be alone with my thoughts to go deeper into the experience. To me, Horseshoe Canyon is one of those times best experienced without companionship.

I continued on the trail, wending through the canyon, drawing closer to the Great Gallery. I saw the other panels I needed to visit along the way and noted their location for exploration on the way back.

Eventually, there it was! The Great Gallery! It was everything I hoped it would be, and the moment I saw it, I simply stopped and stared. How could I not? I don’t know how long I stood there. My watch also stopped, and the moment was timeless.

Once I could breathe and time flowed again, I shrugged off my backpack and marveled at the panel. I examined it from left to right, then back again. I looked at every figure and then looked again, wondering what the message was. But I knew that the answer was not mine to understand. That’s OK. Some answers will never come.

I made the photograph I longed for all these years: the Great Gallery.

Great Gallery
The Great Gallery. Click/tap for a larger view

The left side of the panel is colloquially known as the Holy Ghost. I spent a lot of time staring at this section and made Holy Ghost, another photograph I had dreamed of. I could not be more pleased with how it came out. There are more details about this section, too, in the link.

Holy Ghost

My goal was accomplished; I journeyed into the past and marveled that the figures have survived until today. The experience remains etched into my mind. The photographs turned out even better than I had hoped, and I am beyond pleased. The reward was well worth the effort, and I breathed a sigh of relief at accomplishing this photograph.

Eventually, it was time to leave. That was not easy, both mentally and physically. My knee reminded me this was still not a good idea, and I knew the remaining three and a half miles would not be comfortable. I put my backpack on again, felt its weight on my knee, and headed back to the other panels.

High Gallery is another spectacle panel. Named for its location—high up on the canyon wall—it contains figures in the same style as the Great Gallery. As before, its message remains unclear and unknown to me. In this photograph, I stepped back to include the cottonwood tree in peak fall color, which I think adds to the scene.

High Gallery

There is a question of why this panel is so high up the wall. At a guess, it is a good fifty feet off the canyon floor. It could not have been easy to create this, leaving us to wonder why there, of all places? Why not put it closer to the canyon floor, just as all the other panels are?

And High Gallery contains a secret, too! Look very closely at the left side just above the cottonwood. Do you recognize the woman’s face in relief? And do you see what she is looking at?

Now the placement makes perfect sense. The woman is looking directly at the gallery, and now more of the meaning becomes clear. Not to rain on my own parade here, though, this is only one interpretation, and it may be sheer coincidence. However, it is the interpretation that I choose to go with.

I want to highlight another panel that I particularly like. The Horseshoe Gallery has similar enigmatic figures in the same Barrier Canyon style. As with the other panels, the meaning is not mine to know, yet I still enjoy the experience of staring deep into the past.

This was the last panel I photographed, and I carefully repacked my backpack for the hike out. I knew I had a steep ascent ahead of me, and it would not be easy, given my knee. I also knew there was nothing for it, so I set out, slowly aching step by slow step.

No sooner had I left the last panel than I heard voices coming from further up the canyon, and soon enough, I saw the hikers attached to them. We exchanged hellos, and they headed off searching for their own adventure. I soon encountered a larger group and then a small one. It’s as if the canyon knew I met my goal and deigned to let the rest of the world in.

I silently gave thanks for my solitude and wished my fellow hikers well.

The Final Ascent

I approached the steep ascent with trepidation, yet met it as I always do—via a single step forward, followed by all the rest. My knee did not appreciate the extra effort, and let me know that. But, I have, quite literally, crawled out of a canyon before, and this time I would walk on two feet, so I counted it as a victory. It was only a seven hundred feet ascent, but it took me a while.

I exited Horseshoe Canyon and returned to the SUV, grateful for the opportunity to sit down and rest. Eventually, I readied myself for the trip home, and the trailhead receded in my rearview mirror. It was past midday, and easy to find my way back to pavement and civilization and then home.

Today, as I write this just over a month later, my knee still hurts off and on, although it is slowly healing. The pain will eventually fade to nothing, but this experience will always be bright inside me.

Bring home Holy Ghost

You can learn more about the Holy Ghost panel, and even bring it home for yourself!

Departure: Everglades

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If you’re joining this adventure with this post, you can quickly catch up in Arrival: Everglades. Let’s continue our where we left off and continue to explore Flordia’s Everglades National Park.

As you remember I was just making my way back to shore after my harrowing sea excursion. We were lost at sea, captured by pirates, and weathering the fiercest ocean storms. Nah, not at all. The day was calm and serene, our small boat a pleasure to be in, and we drifted into the dock without even a bump. I thanked the captain and was off to see more of the Everglades. Being back on terra-firma was great!

There is little difference between solid ground and swamp in the wetlands, making the term “land” a bit of a misnomer. In general, it’s a swamp, and wet feet are part and parcel of the experience. Now resigned to that, I headed deeper into the wetlands to see what awaits me. My feet “Ker-plopped” with every step, intermingled with a few “splooshes” and now and then a “splash”. Once your feet are soaked, it doesn’t matter, and you forget about the wet feet. Onward I ventured, ever deeper into the swamp. I might have found dry land at one point, but probably not. Who knows.

Everglades Swamp

Scenes like this are common. Small ponds, or perhaps creeks, or, well, let’s just say a heck of a lot of water, surrounds cypress trees and everything else. In and amongst the trees we can find all sorts of creatures, from large to small. The air is full of mystery, for who knows what lies just out of sight, or who might be lurking in the pond? It is best to keep your eyes peeled at all times. Far from being gloomy, the swamp is alive. Sure, there are insects galore, most of which are determined to taste you.

And there are snakes here. Goodness knows, there’s plenty of snakes, most of which are fifty-five feet or longer. Maybe one hundred feet long. Probably longer still. I don’t really know, because at the end of the day I do not care for snakes so I never stuck around long enough to find out how long they really were. I’m confident they are at least two hundred feet, for sure. Aside from the things that slither and slink, and setting aside the eyes attached to alligators, the swamp is a beautiful place. Yes, it is beautiful. It is more of a single organism, perfectly balanced, perfectly in harmony, and a powerful, primeval force. A place with snakes, but every rose has its thorns.

Everglades Swamp

Everglades Dragonfly

Making my way through the swamp, I eventually found an area of taller grasses and ground that was definately dry. A buzzing sound filled the air. Not the kind of buzzing of bees, but subtly different. A closer examination revealed dragonflies–more than I could count. The flitted from here to there, from stem to stem, in no order at all. They didn’t stop on any stalk for long before retaking flight. The mesmerizing scene was chaotic, although calming as well. Luckily, one dragonfly stopped long enough for me to make Everglades Dragonfly before it moved on. My feet were dry here and I was in no hurry at all to move on. There were no snakes that I saw, and no gators that wandered by. It was a small, welcome, reprieve from the swamp I had been in. Did I mention there were no snakes and my feet were dry? I was in heaven. So was the dragonfly.

Everglades Dragonfly

Heading Out

Teaing myself away from the dragonfly fields I trekked on, intent on making my way out of Everglades National Park. As I was doing so, a leaf-filled pond caught my eye, pausing my journey. There is something serene about a quiet pool, and I ended up spending quite a while there, just reflecting and contemplating. The leaves floated, uncaring about little else, moving only when the breeze pushed them this way or that. Small insects hopped from leaf to leaf, never lingering for long. The leaves remained undisturbed and continued their companionable silence. Water drops came and went. The sun played hide and go seek with the clouds. The pond, the zen pond, simply was, allowing me to focus on simply being part of the moment. The spell was complete and time stretched to eternity.

Everglade's Leaf

With a final act of willpower, I broke free of the enchanted pond, stood up, brushed myself off and continued onward. I memory of the pond remains with me, even today as I write this, although I long to be back there.

Everglades Wetlands

Everglades Wetlands

Alas, it finally was time to leave the Everglades, but not before making just one more stop. This vast open expanse is what I expected the Everglades to look like, and this scene does not disappoint. The tall grasses sway gently in the breeze. A lone bird flies overhead, in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. The croak of a bullfrog calls from my right, echoed by a louder croak from my left. The more I look, the more I see. And the more I listen, the more I hear. The more I remain still, the more alive I became. I felt as alive as I have ever been. For far too short of a time the wetlands claimed me as one of its own, and let me into its world. It let me be a part of it, it let me understand it, and it has never quite let me go. That’s OK, and a good thing.

Just as the swamp, the wetlands are a complete organism in complete harmony. They are beautiful and magnificent. They are glorious. This is the Florida Everglades.

We must be aware that these places are unique, where land and water easily comingle into one. It’s our duty, it’s our right, and it’s our privilege to protect these wild places. And so we must. For if not us, then who?

Arrival: Everglades

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The day had been long, and predictably for the time of year, rainy. Since I was in southern Florida, the wet part was not wholly unexpected. Rain it did, and at times, it seemed as if it wanted to remind just what rain could be. I continued, intent on my destination: Everglades National Park.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I arrived. Maybe a grand entrance, replete with a soaring archway, and perhaps a multi-lane highway leading on. Instead, the entrance is a small sign, a narrow two-lane road and another sign that said “Visitor Center: 1,000 miles” Maybe it was less than one thousand miles, but it sure seemed that way. In any event, it didn’t matter because I probably would be distracted long before then.

That distraction occurred quickly enough in the form of a small, one lane, dirt track that seemed like it led…somewhere. I was heading down that one track before anyone could blink. The tall grasses thickened and rose above me, and then gave way to small trees and dense shrubs. Before you knew it, I couldn’t see anything except straight ahead of me. There might have been a road behind me, but the option of retreating didn’t cross my mind.

Alligator Eyes in the Everglades

An alligator lurks in the swamp in Everglades National Park

Before long I came to a small pond. Like a moth to a candle, I was all about that pond and was standing beside it in no time. The air was oppressive: still and quiet. The atmosphere in the Everglades is like the air nowhere else, and it holds a sense of anticipation as much as anything. Slowly, almost too slowly, it dawned on me that I was not alone at the pond, for there, staring back at me were two large eyes. The kind of eyes that were sizing me up for a snack. The type of eyes that were liking what they were seeing and were attached to an alligator of unknown size, and worse still, of unknown temperament. Alligator Eyes remains one of my favorite Everglades photographs.

I slowly retreated, for now, retreat was indeed an option, and continued down the road, a lot more wary of what lurks all around me.

Leaving Shore

Having decided that ponds were more occupied than I first anticipated I decided, perhaps not unwisely, that another way to explore the Everglades is via boat. Not having the foresight to bring one with me, this thought required me to find a vessel, preferably one with an engine and someone to pilot it. After all, it wouldn’t do for me to think I was headed into the park while I was actually pointed toward the open ocean. After a bit of scrounging around, I managed to find both a boat and a captain, and with that, I was on the water. I’ll admit that I was slightly disappointed the captain didn’t have a peg leg nor a parrot, but the boat also didn’t have a plank I could be forced to walk, so all in all, I was content.

A calm day on the water in Everglades National Park

We departed first thing in the morning, well before daybreak. The waters were calm, quiet and utterly serene. We sliced through the water with ease, looking for, well, anything and everything that caught my eye. A small island up ahead held my attention, and we headed for that. Along the way daybreak happened, providing Everglades Calm.

Egret Rookery

The small island hosted snowy egrets and was their current rookery. Here, safe from land-based predators, the egrets care for their young until it is time for them to leave the nest. There is always–always–something happening around the rookery, and today was no exception. The egrets flitted from here to there and back to here again, all without any order I could see. I made Egret Rookery to reflect the joy of watching the egrets.

Egrets flit about their rookery in Everglades National Park

Alas, it was time to head back to shore and leave the egrets behind. We’ll pick up from there in Part 2.

Bring the Adventure Home

You can always stare at Alligator Eyes in your own home. Head on over to the photographs page to purchase a copy for yourself.

Yosemite’s Treasures

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Spring is an incredible, magical time of the year. The trees are waking up from their long winter’s nap and spreading new leaves with vim and vigor. Birds are displaying their best plumage in hopes of attracting the perfect mate. Flowers begin to spring up and bloom, eager to participate in the bright sunny days ahead. And in Yosemite National Park, California, the waterfalls are roaring, full of newfound run-off, echoing and booming throughout the storied valley. Yosemite’s Treasures is a collection of four of my favorite Yosemite photographs to celebrate this famed park.

 

A little further along the valley, just across from El Capitan, one can find the Cathedral Rocks, an impressive grouping of rocks and spires. In spring, small seasonal ponds sometimes form, such as this one, which gives us the equally impressive Cathedral View. As spring turns to summer and the summer wears long, this small pond will quickly dry up, along with some of the waterfalls themselves, and scenes such Cathedral View quietly disappear.

Still further along the valley, well past the towering granite cliffs, we find the setting for Lupine’s Day. The lupine grows throughout the region, and this grouping, coupled with the absolute perfect clouds, combine to make this stunning photograph.

 

Finally, as promised, we return again to the Merced River. Beautiful, sunny days in Yosemite make for fantastic photography, but so do the storms that notoriously roll through the valley. Stormy Valley is one of those moments. I like the contrast of the lush green grass, the flowing river, and Bridalveil Falls against the stormy skies above. There’s something powerful and dramatic about the contrast, and it draws me in time and time again.

Yosemite National Park is full of wonders, small and large, and it was hard for me to settle on just a few images. Rest assured, for more stories await us there!