I adore being outside, especially after dark. Or, perhaps more accurately, I adore being outside and enjoying the transition from daylight to nighttime. There’s something magical, mystical even, as the day fades and night begins to creep in. At first, the world loses its color, but then it transforms into something even more intense as starlight illuminates the landscape. It’s during this transition, though, that the world becomes very interesting, and even more so when the moon is involved. Twilight Crescent is the culmination of a long journey for me to create the vision I held.
Wolf Moon was one of my first photographs and remains to this day one of mine, and your, favorites. It has a certain ethereal quality to it that defies description. Everyone notices, and remarks, on it. It has this certain quality to it that transcends time and space. I’ve tried, many times, to create a companion piece, and despite several excellent versions, never quite succeeded.
I’ve thought long and hard about what I wanted to create, and eventually had stetted on a plan. I wanted a rising crescent moon, in a deep blue sky, filled with stars. Simple, right? But, as it turns out, not so much. It took me a lot, and I mean a lot, longer than I would have ever expected. The making of Twilight Crescent would take longer than I hoped.
At first, I thought I would wait for the precise right phase of the moon, step out my back door, photograph it, and present my masterpiece. Funny how that simply didn’t work out.
The two most difficult obstacles I had were clouds and place. Yes, the moon has the phase I wanted each month. But either the moon rose before or after twilight, or I wasn’t in a position where I could photograph it, or, clouds were in my way. Because I travel, I am not always in a place where I can create a moon photograph at exactly the right time. I know—it sounds simple, but in practice, it is not. And, as it turns out, there were only a few windows of time every year that I could use.
Or, if I was in the right place at the right time, clouds would obscure the moon. While the clouds provided the exact right atmosphere for Wolf Moon, my vision here was absolutely no clouds at all.
The conditions, as I knew they would, eventually came together. When they did, I learned another lesson: this wouldn’t be straightforward at all. Figuring out the correct exposure, framing and timing turned out to be way more complicated than I anticipated, so a couple of times ended up being a learning lesson. I know, I know. I could have tried again the next night, but I am quite particular, and it has to be “just right.”
So back to the drawing board I went, now waiting for the exact right phase the next month, which meant I was back to my time and space, as well as clouds, problem.
Anyway, you get the idea. This took me far longer than I ever expected, but… when you are looking for the perfect image, it takes time.
The final result, Twilight Crescent, is one I am proud to present to you. It represents the vision I had so long ago, and it feels good to complete this simple, yet fantastic, photograph. It has the feel and the vibe I was looking for. Furthermore, it tells the story I wanted to tell, and it came out exactly how I wanted it to. The making of this photograph was a mini adventure in itself, but it sure ended well!
I couldn’t be happier with it. Now, it’s on to the next adventure!
Twilight Crescent will look great in your home
Bring Twilight Crescent home, and place the moon where you can see a perfect moon every day, rain or shine.
I have a particular fascination with the Sandia Mountains that tower over Albuquerque, New Mexico. This is hardly a surprise since I live right next to them. Still, for me, creating a stunning photograph of them is something I am constantly striving for, and occasionally, I succeed. Serene Sandias is one of those moments.
The autumn morning was crisp, although gloomy. All in all, it was a typical fall morning for New Mexico. Still, it held some promise and maybe, just maybe, today would be the day. The trees were changing into their autumn display, but not every tree was changing at the same time. The variety of colors made for an impressive scene: all I needed was for it all to come together.
As the day wore on, the clouds, and gloom, began to break up and the sun peeked through here and there. I waited, and waited some more, hoping the scene would come together. The Sandia Mountains change rapidly–all I had to do was wait and hope.
Fate was with me! Just as a few Canadian Geese settled onto the Rio Grande river, the sun broke through the clouds, lighting up the Sandia Mountains. The geese, together with the broad range of fall colors and clearing storm, created the perfect moment.
This stunning combination all comes together in Serene Sandias, available now. You can create your own stunning masterpiece by selecting the perfect combination of frame style and size. With a wide variety of options, you can match your decor perfectly, and together, this unique piece will be one you treasure and enjoy forever.
From a small, intimate size to a large statement piece, we can create something unique to you. You’ll enjoy this perfect fall moment in the Sandia Mountains every day, with its panoply of fall colors. And every day you will be reminded of the beauty that is all around us.
New Mexico is known, among so many other things, for its badlands. Here, you’ll find torturous and twisted hoodoos and rock formations, each more fantastical than the last. Some formations are small, and you have to stoop down to see it’s twisted shape. Others tower above you, and you need to step back to take it all in. The Bisti Wilderness is the most well-known of these formations, yet I prefer a different one: the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness. For here, you’ll find incredible Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders, both large and small.
It’s challenging to know even where to begin in the badlands. There are no trails, nor any marked path. One merely sets off in “that direction” and keeps going until it is time to leave. I think this is such a marvelous way to explore! As each formation catches your eye, you head toward it to investigate it further. Once there, you’ll see another one, and then another, and before you know it, you have no idea at all which one to go to next because they all look so astonishing.
I can spend hours and days in the wilderness, and in fact, I have. And it appears that I never see the same formations twice.
The Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness is in northern New Mexico, immediately to the north of Chaco Canyon National Historical Park. In fact, the northern border of Chaco is just across a dirt road from the southern edge of the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah. Interestingly, Chaco Canyon doesn’t have any significant hoodoos or rock formations. You can find a few here and there, but they are few and far between. Yet, once you’re in the badlands, the landscape transforms into a fairyland of wonder.
Usually, in my articles, I make you wait until I reveal the photographs that I am featuring. This time, however, we’ll get right to a photograph. After all, why wait? Seeing is believing, after all.
(Don’t forget you can tap/click for a much larger view!)
The afternoon was one of those rare times when I knew, I just knew, something magical would happen at sunset. The clouds were thick, but not too thick, and the upper-level winds were moving them about. In other words, the clouds had some life to them and showed promise of something interesting happening. I was, naturally, in the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah, exploring a section I had been to previously, but wanted to go back to for further examination.
The hoodoos here are smaller than in other places, but what they lacked in size they more than made for in numbers. There were hoodoos, quite literally, everywhere. It was difficult to walk in a straight line because there were so many. No, that’s not quite right. It was completely impossible to walk in a straight line at all. It was like weaving my way through a maze, but a maze where the walls were only about knee-height. Naturally, I adore this area. It truly is an area of Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders.
Scouting amongst the hoodoos
I spent the afternoon scouting several locations for sunset, and I knew exactly where I wanted to be when the time came. You’ve already seen the photograph, so you know already how this turns out. I’ll spare you the details of how I was hoping it would, in fact, be an outstanding sunset and instead merely point out that the clouds cooperated perfectly. The late afternoon light just before sunset was sublime. All in all, I could not be more pleased with how Hoodoo Dance turned out.
The three larger hoodoos on top seem to dance with joyful abandon, while the smaller hoodoos to the right bask in the waning warmth of the day. The serene purple hues in the clouds tie it all together, and Hoodoo Dance is, well, what an incredible photograph it is!
The wonderful thing about the badlands is the wonders don’t cease when the sun goes down. In fact, sunset is only the beginning of the magic that happens.
The period of time after the sun has set and before it is completely dark is known as “blue hour.” Although the sun is no longer in the sky, it still provides a lot of light, although now the light is far more blue than yellow. Longer exposures bring out the blue tones, and it is possible to photograph long after the sun has departed for the day. Occasionally, these photographs take on a magical quality to them.
Such is the case with Twilight Hoodoos. I made Twilight Hoodoos almost 45 minutes after sunset with an extremely long exposure. At first glance, you don’t notice the blue tones, but as you absorb the details, you quickly begin to notice them. The result is a fantastic mixture of golden and blue tones. Best of all, there are still some purples in the clouds, giving a whole other-world feel to the photograph.
The rock where I made Twilight Hoodoos is more white, providing, almost, the appearance of snow. It’s not, though. It’s just hard, smooth white rock, which I think provides a perfect base to build the rest of the photograph from. I am constantly amazed that moving just a few hundred yards in a different direction provides an entirely distinct setting, and it looks like I, instead, traveled a hundred miles. How is this even possible?
But, I can hear you ask, what happens when the sun goes down in the badlands? Weren’t you going to talk about that?
To which I say: the badlands become even more magical. As a case in point, take Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Starscape.
Here, the Milky Way soars above the badlands, and the landscape transforms into an entirely alien world. These skies are dark—as dark as any you’ll find in New Mexico—and the Milky Way shines as bright as it possibly can. You can see, I think, millions of stars, and you can peer deep into the core of the Milky Way. It’s easy to become lost while looking up into the sky. There’s no other humans anywhere close to you, so the silence, along with the darkness, is absolute.
An experience like no other
Standing alone in the desert in the darkest of all skies, staring at the heavens soaring over the hoodoos really drives home a sense of place and scale for you. We humans are but one small mote of a never-ending universe, and here, you can feel that at your very core. It is an experience that will transfix and transform you. You cannot help but be moved by standing there. Such is the magic of the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders.
And, as fate would have it, an asteroid streaked through the photograph, too! This, for me, was simply the icing on the cake, and this remains a favorite of all my badlands photographs. Talk about everything coming together and precisely the right moment!
Alas, our dark skies are threatened. First, we have the issue of the oil and gas wells in the area. Over the years, more and more wells are being drilled. The wells themselves aren’t an issue, but their lights are. In truly dark areas, you can see the tiniest of lights from a long ways away. A flashlight can be seen for miles and is enough to spoil a Milky Way image. Small pinpricks of light carry a long way. Imagine how far away you can see the bright lights of the wells.
Worse, it isn’t just the wells themselves. There are processing and holding areas, too, and these are exceptionally well-lit at night. Where once I couldn’t see a light, anywhere, in any direction I looked, now the horizon, both near and far, has a glow to it in all directions. What was truly dark is now mostly dark, and when creating photographs at night, “mostly dark” is a vast, and very unwelcome distance from “truly dark.” And it is getting worse every year.
This area is an excellent case in point. When I was last here after dark, I couldn’t see anything. Now, I had to take exceptional care to compose Ah-She-She-Pah’s Starscape to make it look as if it were completely dark. It was, in fact, not. There are oil well lights just on the other side of the hoodoos, but by careful positioning I was able to hide them just enough to pull off the effect of darkness. Such is the price of progress. I get it, I really do. There are competing interests for the lands, and as much as the oil and gas people are as careful and thoughtful as they can be, they do create substantial light pollution. Now, it is no longer a matter of “leaving the city,” but also trying to find a place where progress hasn’t happened yet. These areas are getting fewer, small and further between and I fear it won’t be long before it is not possible to find a truly dark sky.
But, let’s not end on that note! I typically showcase three images in my long reads, but let’s add a bonus image as we end in a wonderful place.
The sunset on this particular day was truly incredible. As the sun began to slip below the horizon, the clouds kept lighting up, and the purples and pinks were as intense as any I’ve seen. Purple Hoodoos shows us just how strong the colors were, and made all the more so by the stark whites of the hoodoos.
I adore the contrast of colors in this photograph. From the small, almost colorless hoodoos in the foreground to the intense fire in the sky, the photograph becomes a study of contrast.
Truly, the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wonders are unbelievable, and I’ll be back there again before you know. It is one of my most favorite hidden gems, and one that draws me back and again.
Postscript: After finishing this article, I decided we need just one more beautiful photograph. So, with that in mind, here’s Throne’s Glory! OK. Now we’re done.
Now we’re done. Really.
I just can’t leave it alone, can I? Throne’s Glory is available for purchase here on the website. But if the other images speak to you like they do me, contact me and we’ll build something wonderful, just for you.
The solitude of the winter day remained absolute at New Mexico’s Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge. Usually, one would expect to see thousands of birds in the bosque, especially sandhill cranes and snow geese, foraging in the fields. But today, for whatever reason, the refuge remained empty.
It was a puzzle to me where the birds were, but it was also a puzzle I could not, and never would, answer.
Despite the emptiness, a few lonely birds had the fields in small yet isolated pockets. Never the less, it was nothing like it might been. The birds must have found better foraging somewhere else. I continued to search to see what birds I might see.
I could barely see a few small birds in the distance in one field. It was hard to make them out, but clearly, there were at least a few birds out there. Given the paucity so far, there couldn’t have been many birds, but that same scarcity meant this was all I had. It’s best to sit and wait and see what might happen. Of course, I didn’t expect much. Maybe a bird or two would take to the wing with any luck.
My patience didn’t have to wear too thin. Within a couple of moments, the birds took off. Much to my surprise, a few more previously invisible birds joined them. They were followed by a few more, then more and more and more.
Within seconds, the sky was full of invisible birds, all rising together!
The bosque birds obscured my view entirely—not that I was complaining.
As quickly as the birds rose, they descended back into place, each disappearing as soon as it landed. The field became empty again, and the refuge was utterly still.
But now I knew the refuge was far more populated than I thought.
Let’s enter a prehistoric wonderland at New Mexico’s Fossil Forest Resource Natural Area, a hidden gem in the San Juan basin. While it may not be on everyone’s travel radar, this small but marvelous natural wonderland packs a punch. We’ll wander through its surreal badlands, where eroded geology and hoodoos will spark your imagination and leave you breathless. And, best of all, it has fossils! Here, history comes to life, and where I was lucky enough to walk among the dinosaurs. Settle in, and let’s embark on our journey to discover the timeless magic of Fossil Forest!
To understand more of its significance, we need to go back in time, around the 1920s, when scientists surveyed New Mexico for resources. At that time, archeologists and paleontologists scoured the Southwest looking for their version of treasure. Once located, the archeologists excavated their find. In many cases, the excavations were crude and quick, the goal being to find any artifacts, then send those off to major museums and private collectors. Paleontologists did the same. Once they found fossils, they quickly excavated the specimen and sent it to museums and collectors. Records, if any, were scant and, as often as not, wildly incomplete and inaccurate.
In short, it was a heady time, and paleontologists removed significant yet lightly documented discoveries from the area. I am not casting judgment, of course. It was a different era, and the goals were only sometimes preservation or conservation.
But, we are focusing on Fossil Forest. There were significant fossils found here. A stegosaurus with a seven-foot skull was discovered and excavated by one report. Several other noteworthy finds came from here as well. However, records are, for the most part, inaccurate, and there is some guesswork involved. The area was left untouched after that, and it faded from view.
As a side note, I spend a good deal of time researching my adventures. This PDF will give you an idea of the kind of materials that I use in my research.
Don't say that I didn't warn you before reading it, though.
In the late 1970s, scientists again surveyed the area for resources and “rediscovered” it. They found at least five, and maybe as many as twelve, dinosaur quarries and, with careful research, tied back to some museum specimens. Since it was clear that the Fossil Forest contains significant fossils, it was set aside as a Resource Natural Area to protect it.
And, for the most part, wholly forgotten once again after that. There is a pattern here, but considering its small size, this is hardly surprising. These areas are right up my alley, and I delight in discovering and exploring them. It isn’t often that I can find an area, such as this one, “lost in time,” but when I do I make the most of it.
Today, there are no roads leading into the Fossil Forest. No rangers or entrance stations are anywhere to be found. There are no signs whatsoever. There are sections of a barbed wire fence that might belong to the ranchers who put them up to protect their land, not the resource area. To all appearances, the Fossil Forest exists only on a map.
Yet, it does exist, it is accessible, and its badlands have a beauty all their own.
Getting to it is not difficult once you know about it. A well-graded county road comes within a mile of it. Once you park alongside the road, it is an easy one-mile overland walk to reach the area, although you’ll need to check a GPS to know when you have reached the boundary.
During your approach, the badlands appear as low hills, but as you get closer, you realize they are far taller than they first seem.
Approaching Fossil Forest. Tap/click for a larger view.
At first, I was disappointed. The badlands appeared insignificant, and I thought how easy and uneventful it would be to reach the top. In that, I was utterly wrong. The closer I approached, the taller they became. It didn’t take long to dissuade my opinion that I would “simply walk over them.” I would explore them, of course! And then I would have to find a way around them. I adore surprises like this.
Inside Fossil Forest. Tap/click for a larger view.
This photograph showcases the harsh beauty of true badlands. Today, they are inhospitable to plant life, and nothing can make a foothold to grow here. Even if a plant could find a purchase, there is no soil to root in. And even if there were, the winds would make short work of its precarious foothill. And that gives rise to beauty.
What remains are abstract rock formations and colors. Small pebbles and larger rocks decorate the landscape. The colorful layers of strata tell a geologist when each formed, but to my eyes, it creates colorful patterns. All around me, the barrenness gives rise to splendor.
As with other New Mexico badlands, you’ll find all sorts of twisted and tortured hoodoos. But there are no trails or well-known locations here in the Fossil Forest. It is up to me to explore it on my own. That’s just the way I like it!
There is something phenomenal about being in a badlands by yourself. Unlike the Bisti, which is becoming quite crowded, solitude is yours. I was free to roam as I would without seeing anyone else. I didn’t see footprints leading out to it, even though I looked for them. As far as I could tell, I was the first person to venture out there in a long time.
I was expecting to see two things: petrified wood and hoodoos. Meanwhile, I was also hoping to find a fossil. I immediately found a large petrified log, crossing the first item off my list.
The log rested right on top of the ground where it fell only 65 million years ago. Once a nice-sized tree, it reminded me that this area was once a lush and green forest. The forest would have been all around me, as far as the eye could see. What sounds would have filled the air? What insects would have buzzed around me? And that thought caused me to remember that dinosaurs were here, too. I was unquestionably now walking with the dinosaurs!
Not far from the petrified log, I spotted a large pile of petrified wood scattered about. Judging by the pieces, the trees were smaller than the previous log. What caused that? There is no way to know, but it appears that somebody, or something, spread it only yesterday. I had to reach down and feel the now-stone tree to confirm it was rock, not wood.
And now that I was in the badlands proper, the hoodoos were everywhere! The second item on my list is now complete. I set aside my initial impression that the Fossil Forest was unassuming and instead focused on the fact that this is a hidden gem.
As expected, the hoodoos came in all shapes and sizes. Some small, some larger. Some twisted and some straight. Erosion does funny things, cutting a deep channel here and leaving a hoodoo there. Fossil Forest was no different from other badlands in this respect, and I could, and did, spend hours poking around. I did plenty of backtracking, too, since a way forward is not always possible.
As I explored, I glanced down at a group of small rocks. Casually picking one up, I was stunned to realize I was holding a fossil!
The fossil was a plant of some sort, and I marveled that it made it through the eons to reach me. Once again, I was in the moment so long ago. Indeed, I kept shifting between past and present during my entire exploration of the area.
The contrast between yesterday and today is striking. I might have been resting against a tree trunk while brushing aside a fern. Perhaps I could hear the trickle of a nearby stream and refilled my canteen from its fresh cool water. I would have kept a keen ear out for predators, too, and the danger would have been genuine. Remember, dinosaurs are here with me.
The dichotomy is striking and one that kept coming back to me. As I write this, I have difficulty reconciling then and now. What was once green and lush is now barren and lifeless, yet beautiful in both instances. Dinosaurs and leaves become rock, indelible in time, waiting for a recovery in the future.
I kept exploring, for in addition to looking for hoodoos and fossils, I also wanted a showcase scene to photograph. I found several locations that almost fit the bill, but none that touched me in the way I needed it to. With my eyes peeled, I continued to make my way around the badlands, skirting the edges.
Eventually, I could see beyond the badlands into the rest of the natural area. I realized that I was on a high vantage point. Beyond, the badlands petered out into a largely unremarkable landscape. Yes, there would be plenty of fossils there, but to my photographer’s eye, it wasn’t what I was looking for. However, I kept pushing on.
Eventually, my exploration and patience paid off! There, before me, was the perfect composition I was seeking.
Fossil Forest. Tap/click for a larger view
A cacophony of colors spread before me, although they were all variations of brown. Still, a streak of red-colored rocks cuts right through the middle, offering a striking counterpoint. In the background, the rocks reach toward the sky, greeting the vanguard of an oncoming storm. And in the foreground, a few last bushes struggled to survive on the edges of the badlands. All in all, Fossil Forest brings comes together in a classic New Mexico landscape.
Bring home Fossil Forest
You can bring Fossil Forest home! And I can create a custom piece, both in size and format, just for you. Contact me to see how easy and rewarding this is.
Funny enough, the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness is very close to Fossil Forest. It’s just a couple of miles as the crow flies. And, as you may recall, I absolutely adore the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah. It’s one of my favorite places anywhere, and not surprisingly, it shares many of the same features.
Here are a couple of my favorite photographs from the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah!
There are close to a million euphemisms comparing size to everything else. In all these, the common theme is that the size of something, often someone, has nothing to do with their attitude, capability, or whatever comparison is at hand. Although, I think every single one has to draw inspiration from the Pygmy Owl.
Pygmy Owls are diminutive, just a few inches tall, and weigh just a few ounces. But they don’t know that. And even if you could tell them, they would not believe you.
Case in point: this superb Pygmy Owl hosted by Wildlife Rescue of New Mexico. Sure, he’s on the small side. But one day, they put him next to a Great Horned Owl–a bird of prey many, many, many times larger. Most birds would cower in fear. Most birds would do the sensible thing and leave immediately. And, most birds would figure, and rightly so, that their number is up. But not this fellow. The owl sized up a Great Horned Owl when he was next to it. He measured it. He studied it. And then. And then he decided to have a Great Horned Owl snack. Well, not really, but it seemed like he was about to!
Pygmy Owls are afraid of nothing, will take on prey far larger than them, and they are one of the fiercest predators. They have proved right the euphemisms on size many times over.
More to the story
There’s more to this story, however! When I made this photograph, this fellow was a rescue and spent his days as an ambassador owl. Somehow or other, he met his match in the wild, and somebody damaged one of his eyes. Sadly, without perfect eyesight, it is not possible to hunt successfully.
Wildlife Rescue of New Mexico stepped in and gave him a forever home. As part of their outreach program, he helped people learn about what Wildlife Rescue does and how they help. And help people realize that size is no measure of capability.
Daylight broke quickly as the sun vaulted above the horizon, and another spring day in Albuquerque, New Mexico began. The still and crisp air filled with the sweet, cheerful singing of the birds as they greeted the morning. Indeed, the day was shaping up to be spectacular in every way. And it would end that way, too, as I created Butterfly Pose.
I stood outside, embracing the morning, when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something go by. I remained motionless, trying to discover what almost caught my attention.
It didn’t take long before my patience paid off. A Two-Tailed Tiger Swallowtail butterfly fluttered to a stop in a nearby tree. The striking, bright-yellow butterfly was working its way from branch to branch of the tree, and every time it stopped, it created the perfect butterfly pose.
Slowly, quietly and stealthily as I could, I approached the tree. I didn’t head directly to it, of course, but in an oblique way. I paused every few steps, attempting to blend into the background. The butterfly paid me no attention, and continued its hunt for nectar.
I drifted ever closer and worked out the composition that I would like. I saw it in my mind’s eye, and just needed to butterfly to cooperate. Hopefully, it would.
Finally, after an eternity of small steps, I drew close enough to create the photograph I was imagining. The butterfly was working its way around the tree; I positioned myself ahead and stood completely still, barely drawing a breath.
The butterfly flittered to another branch, rested momentarily, and continued around the tree. It never noticed me creating Butterfly Pose. And that’s the way it should be.
Spring in New Mexico is a magical time, full of bright warm days, birds singing joyful songs, and colorful yellow butterflies everywhere.
A Fall Day in Albuquerque
For a completely different kind of day in Albuquerque, Sandia Sunset showcases the Sandia Mountains at sunset.
Deep within White Sands National Park, far away from the crowds, the dune field stretches before me until it reaches infinity. The unending dunes of bright white gypsum, undisturbed by humans, offer mute testimony to the forces of wind and time. One rippled dune, however, amongst all the others caught my attention and bears closer inspection.
This one lone dune arches toward the sky, endeavoring to touch the clouds above. The dune comes close, but never quite achieves its goal. Its face is contoured and rippled, each ripple interlocking with its neighbor, yet never touching, forming an intricate pattern. The unrelenting wind creates a shifting design and rearranges the ripples constantly. Not so quickly that you could see the change, of course, but the design ebbs and flows on the dune over time.
The dunes are constantly moving, grain by grain, alive with a sense of purpose and motion. The lines reflect the movement, albeit in a way that is easily seen.
The white of the gypsum crystals makes a stunning contrast with the sky’s deep blue. The serene scene is a mesmerizing moment of nature. Rippled Dune is one example of many, but a sensational one to share.
In the end, I resisted the compulsion to walk up the dune, leaving it pristine so others might enjoy the same view.
I know how Captain Ahab felt while searching for his white whale. The passion, the drive, the commitment that transcends all else to achieve, at all costs, a singular aim. Unlike Ahab, however, reaching my goal didn’t cost me a leg or anything else; instead, it was quite the opposite. I was not chasing an elusive whale. I was stalking the Sandia Mountains, which were right there in front of me every day, taunting me. Defying me to create a fantastic photograph of them.
Let’s back up a moment to add context. And we’ll see how this scene went from this so-so photograph to something extraordinary.
This modest scene would soon turn into an incredible one.
Here in Albuquerque, New Mexico, there is a picturesque mountain chain to the immediate east of the city—the Sandia Mountains. These mountains, reaching 10,678 feet tall, might not be the tallest, but they dominate the skyline all the same. We all, every day, look up at the mountains and enjoy the view.
The Sandias have a nifty trick up their sleeve, too. If the conditions are just right at sunset, they will light up and glow a beautiful red color—watermelon red. Some days it will be intense, others subtle, but this variation gives the mountains their character. And “Sandia” means “Watermelon,” so the glow truly is the mountain’s namesake.
Naturally, this is a prime topic for any local photographer, myself included. How could it not be?
And therein lies the rub. The mountains are there every day, impossible to miss. It is easy to photograph them. Simply point your camera to the east, and there you go. Wait until sunset, wait until the glow appears, and you can’t go wrong. But there is far more to it than that, of course. Far, far more.
I wanted a different photograph of the Sandias and far from an ordinary snapshot. I wanted it to be unique and genuinely capture the essence and glory of the mountains. Those moments and those days don’t come along very often. And they are impossible to predict. So many conditions have to come together, and, for me, at least, the window of opportunity is relatively narrow for the photograph I pictured in my mind.
I knew I wanted dramatic clouds. Many days at sunset, whatever clouds are around the mountain will dissipate with the setting sun. The scene starts out beautiful, but as the sun slides toward the horizon, the clouds drift away, and what was magical becomes ordinary in the blink of an eye. I also wanted to showcase the fall colors. Why? I don’t know. It is just how I wanted it to look. I don’t want much, do I?
So, most days, I would look at the mountains, the sky, and the forecast and try to decide if the day would work out for me. I often gathered all my equipment and headed to one of my favorite viewpoints. Every day I would stand there and watch the mountains as the daylight began to fade. I was set up, ready to make the perfect photograph. And inevitably, the day would end with an average scene. It is here that I began to compare myself to Captain Ahab. He couldn’t catch his whale. I could not make my perfect photograph.
The next day I would start the process over again. And this went on for a very long time. I would have driven myself crazy if I wasn’t already there.
One day, though, I thought all the conditions would line up. The fall colors were at their peak in one spot in Rio Rancho. The golden colors were exactly the shade I was looking for; although some leaves had fallen, most remained. The day was also cloudy, and clouds in the sky were essential to my vision. But, working against me, it was a very windy day, and the clouds were becoming thicker throughout the day. This would prevent any sunset colors from appearing.
I visited my chosen spot in mid-afternoon to give it a good look—that’s the photograph at the beginning of this story. I wanted to be 100% certain of my viewpoint should the end of the day work out, so, like so many days before, I did my initial scouting earlier in the day.
So, I headed home and waited.
As the afternoon wore on, though, conditions worsened for me. The clouds continued to become thick and heavy. The wind picked up. The perfect conditions would not come together, and I would be disappointed again. Still, the eternal optimism in me won out. I once again packed up my gear and headed out. I made it to the location quickly enough, but as I suspected, it would be a bust. The mountains were now mostly in shadow—they would not light up tonight. The earlier breeze was now outright windy. The clouds were heavy. At least I would enjoy the mountains, all the same.
Sunset arrived. I stood there silent, grateful for the fact I was there but forlorn at seeing another opportunity slide by me.
Indeed, the most magical thing happened.
Right after sunset, the sun somehow found a way to slip through the heavy clouds. The right side of the Sandia Mountains began to glow their beautiful watermelon color. Huh. Didn’t that beat it all? The sunset was going to tease me; in any event, it was far too windy to create meaningful photographs.
Against all odds, the glow began to creep more to the left. Now, half the mountains looked really lovely. And the clouds started to light up, too. Still, the sun was now well below the horizon, and the scene would collapse at any moment.
Except it didn’t. It continued to get better.
In the blink of an eye, the mountains glowed with a vibrancy I didn’t see very often. The watermelon red was reflected in the Rio Grande River in front of me. And the clouds offered their own version of reds, providing a perfect counterpoint.
And miracles of all miracles, the wind dipped to a strong breeze. I had, quite literally, seconds to pull off catching my whale, er, make my photograph.
And I did.
Sandia Sunset
The result is Sandia Sunset. Against all odds, I finally made the photograph I had pictured for so many years. I caught my whale. I achieved a photograph that, to me, captures the glory of the Sandia Mountains.
New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment, has more than its fair share of enchanting places, although you have to know where to look. Knowing where to find extraordinary beauty is always the case, of course, but in New Mexico, it is paramount, and the best places are easy to overlook. The photograph Throne’s Glory, at the bottom of this story, is a perfect example.
I made Throne’s Glory in the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah Wilderness. Like its more famous cousin, the nearby Bisti Badlands, the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah boasts tortured, twisted rock formations and sparse vegetation. But, unlike the Bisti, this wilderness is much smaller, giving it a more intimate feel. It’s also less accessible, and you’ll need to walk at least a mile to find the most interesting rock formations. Because it is a wilderness, there are no roads through it, and all motorized vehicles are strictly prohibited. Then again, walking is the best way to discover its secrets, so it works out well in the end.
One fall afternoon I made this trek to photograph Alien Throne in front of the Milky Way. I knew that the Milky Way was vertical at this time of the year, making a perfect backdrop for what I had in mind. I bumped and jostled along the dirt roads on my way to the parking area. As each mile slipped behind me, the road worsened. The last couple of miles wasn’t even a road at all. It was more of a maze of two tracks through the brush. I know the area relatively well, so I had no trouble navigating, but I remember the first times I was out there were a puzzling and disorientating experience. I reached the parking area, which is more of a wide spot than a designated parking area, packed up my camera gear, and headed out into the wilderness.
Navigation is best accomplished by picking out a distant feature and making your way toward it. There aren’t any formal trails or paths, although now and then, you can find a footprint or two of someone who was before you. At first, you’re able to walk in a wash, which is easy progress. Later, you make your way across the landscape as best as you can. Sometimes, you’ll reach a small cliff or impassable section; it’s time to backtrack and find a different route. In any event, it is fun to explore and take your time on the way. The further you go into the alien landscape, the more interesting it becomes.
The Ah-Shi-She-Pah has several groupings of rock formations, and I made it to the one that holds Alien Throne after a pleasant and, surprisingly for me, uneventful trek. I set up my equipment, made myself comfortable in a camp chair, and waited for night to overtake me.
This photograph, made just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, shows the sinuous and oddly-shaped rocks. Alien Throne, one of the more recognizable formations and my target for this adventure, is on the left side of the photograph. You can see my camera positioned below it at the very bottom.
Eventually, the sun was long gone, and night stole in. With night came the first star, then more stars, and before long, the sky was alive. The Milky Way rose right where I expected it to, behind Alien Throne, and finally, I made Throne’s Glory.
Jupiter and Saturn make a guest appearance in Throne’s Glory, too. They are the large, bright lights to the rock’s left, with Jupiter slightly above Saturn.
Alas, it was time for me to leave. I packed up my gear and headed back through the maze of the wilderness to where I had parked. I had a headlamp for the return trip, and the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah was truly otherwordly when lit only by starlight and the dim light of my lamp. I’ll be back there again, of course, both in daylight and the nighttime, and we’ll explore more of its wonders then.
More Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah
This adventure isn’t the first time I’ve been in the Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah wilderness, of course. The Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah is one of my favorite places to visit, and you can find another story at Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah’s Night.
And, Throne’s Glory is available as a nifty hanging canvas, too!
