All photographers are students of light but as landscape specialists we’ve got to be keenly aware of the subtle nuances of light on the landscape, particularly if we want our images to stand out in a crowd of ever-growing landscape imagery.  In my last post “Getting Lucky at the Grand Canyon” I included a sunrise shot from Yaki Point on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.  There is nothing nuanced or subtle about the light in that image.  It’s bangin’, crazy, intense, insane, super saturated, and whatever other adjectives you care to emote.   In many respects those types of shots are easy.  As long as you can balance the dynamic range and don’t botch the composition the light does all the heavy lifting.  Other times however the light is much more subtle and only the observant photographer will be aware of its presence and in the right place at the right time to harvest something special.

During my recent trip to Arizona I spent a bit of time exploring some of the myriad hikes and vistas in and around Sedona.  Cathedral Rocks is probably one of the most iconic formations in this part of Arizona.  I knew I wanted to photograph it but I also wanted to come home with something a little less “iconic.”  While hanging at the pool with the kids one afternoon I noticed some high clouds beginning to form and progress in the general direction of Cathedral Rocks.  I had scouted the area the previous day and had a shot in mind but it would require the right kind of light – Cloud Light.

Cloud light is essentially bounce light coming from the underside of clouds.  If the clouds are lit up with the colorful hues of sunrise or sunset they will cast a subtle luminance onto the scene that is quite stunning.  Most shots of Cathedral Rocks are taken from the west or northwest at sunset and feature warm, direct sidelight on the rock spires.  The sidelight produces contrast, which helps to bring out the beautiful textures and provides definition in the rock surface.  However, my chosen perspective would be close to the base of the spires and from the northeast, nearby rock formations all but block any direct light at sunset.

I hiked up to the base of the spires with plenty of time to find a good wide-angle composition.  After settling on the composition and getting things set up it was simply a matter of waiting for the light to materialize.  In my experience the best scenario to take advantage of cloud light is when the clouds are high and somewhat thin.  These clouds tend to catch and reflect the best light well after the sun has set in your location.  The higher the clouds the later they light up, sometimes as much as 20-30 minutes after the sun has dipped below the horizon.  In addition, once the sun has set there will no longer be any direct light on your subject.  Fear not because when the cloud light begins it will bathe your subject in a most luminous glow.  You can also accentuate the color and glow by using a longer shutter speed, assuming other conditions like wind don’t warrant something faster.

This shot was captured about 15 minutes after sunset and as a result there is no direct light on the spires.  All the definition and texture is coming from reflected light, and as you can see, the overall scene is heavily influenced by the pinks and oranges of the clouds.  In these circumstances I often switch my white balance from auto to daylight.  The auto white balance tends to “correct” the colorcast associated with cloud light (as well as sunrise/sunset light for that matter) and although I can always change it during raw conversion I prefer to do it in the field.  There’s something special about seeing all that great cloud light on the lcd once your exposure is made.

So next time you see some high wispy clouds building before sunset it’s time to starting thinking Cloud Light.

No, not like that.  Geesh get your minds out of the gutter!  I’ll leave those kinds of posts to George and Ian, they’re much bigger players than me   I mean truly getting lucky with the light and atmospheric conditions when out photographing.  George wrote a great post a couple of weeks ago with an awesome message about finding a spot and sitting on it, coming back over and over until the light and atmosphere materialize allowing you the shot you’ve envisioned.  There is a great quote, I think by Arnold Palmer or some other famous golfer about how the longer he practices his craft the luckier he gets.  The message that luck favors the well prepared is totally valid and definitely pays big dividends in landscape photography.  But sometimes you just get lucky, not because you’ve prepared or scouted or sold your soul to the devil but simply because the light gods decide to shine down upon you.

I had such an experience recently on my trip to Arizona.  As I mentioned in my last post this was mostly a family trip with the emphasis being on family, photography would have to take second chair in this orchestra.  We were based in Sedona but made a quick 24-hour jaunt up to the Grand Canyon, or the Grand Candy as my 3-year-old niece and daughters called it.  That meant that I would only have two shots at photographing the canyon during the golden hour.  When we arrived we did the typical touristy stuff like walk the south rim trail, visit Mather Point and some of the other iconic views and mostly just gawked and marveled at the sheer magnitude and awesomeness of this wonder.  During the evening my hopes of getting some low angle light radiating through the canyon were dashed by an incoming cold front and the associated clouds.  However, I was able to make a nice monochrome image before the light completely shut off, but alas no grandeur in the sky or warm sidelight to reveal the wonderful folds and texture within the canyon (it’s on G+ if you’re really dying to see it, here).

The forecast for the next day was mostly cloudy with 100% chance of showers.  Without another opportunity on the trip to shoot sunrise at the Grand Canyon I decided to set the alarm and schlep out to Yaki Point on the first shuttle bus at 4:30 AM.  As I left the hotel room the sky looked fairly promising and my excitement reached crescendo when I arrived at the shuttle and no one else was waiting to go to Yaki Point.  That meant I’d be the only one out there until at least 5:15 AM.  With a sunrise time of 5:43 AM I could very well enjoy the best color without another photographer around, bonus!  And even if there were no color I’d get to enjoy being on the rim and soak in the view in complete solitude, double bonus!

When I arrived I headed right back to the spot I’d been the previous evening.  I hadn’t scouted anything else and to be honest the thought of scrambling around the rim searching out foreground subjects in near darkness knowing there was a 1000 foot drop to certain death or at best severe mangling was motivation enough to take the easy road.  As luck would have it, just like clockwork 20 minutes before sunrise, the most amazing light began to radiate from a sliver of clear sky at the horizon.  And within a few minutes, blammo!  The color continued to build for several minutes and then faster than it had appeared it shut off like someone flipped a switch.  At that point another shuttle had arrived with a pose of photographers all rushing and scrambling to harvest what was left of an amazing sunrise.  As I packed up my gear and headed back to the shuttle lot I caught myself chuckling, “Damn that was lucky.”

Everything in nature has an essence, an unmistakable core that makes it what it is, and not something else. Many photographers (including myself) often speak of simplifying a subject, of “reducing it to its essence.” I think that most confuse this process of reducing a subject to its essence with simplicity of composition. A simple composition, however, does not necessarily reveal anything of the truth of its subject—nor, for that matter, does a complex composition necessarily obscure that truth. Rather, as nature photographers we must tune ourselves to our subject matter, and learn to discern its bottom line, its core, its decisive point—its gist, heart, kernel, matter, nitty-gritty, substance, or any other synonym you can find in a thesaurus. In other words, our job is to find our subject’s idiomatic meat and potatoes, and reveal it to the world.

I have always been fascinated by the curvaceous, almost sensual shapes of Patagonia’s windswept lenga trees, also known as southern beech. Over the years, I have photographed them many times, but I have always failed to capture their essence in a compelling way. On my most recent trip to Los Glaciares National Park in Argentina, I found a grove of lenga that fired my imagination. Out came my camera, and I wandered around, trying to get it right this time.

A lenga forest is a chaotic place, choked with broken branches and dead fallen wood, packed tightly with swaying tree trunks twisted by the Patagonian winds. After attempting many different compositions, I felt like I wasn’t getting any closer to the lenga’s decisive point than I had in previous failed attempts, and I feared I wasn’t going to be able to solve the forest’s chaotic visual riddle. So I paused for a moment and started to think: what makes lenga trees so special to me? The answer came easily: their crooked shapes. What I needed, I decided, was a unifying structure, something that both told the lenga’s story and helped to visually anchor my composition.

And then I realized: the solution was there, right above me, right in front of my face, right in front of me this whole time, staring down at me, almost screaming to me “HERE I AM!” It was a lone curving lenga branch reaching over my head, encircled by a canopy of live trees tinged with autumn’s first blush, reaching for the freedom of the endless blue sky above. The sun was peering over its shoulder, giving me an encouraging wink. I fell to my knees, as much in gratitude for the forest’s offering as to find a position that allowed me to properly frame the scene. I had finally discovered the essence that had eluded me for the past three years.

Meat and potatoes sure taste good—especially when served on a silver platter.

Technical details: Canon 5DII, 14mm, ISO 100, f/14, 1/6 second.

Greetings from Arizona!  I’ve been on the road with my family for the past week visiting a few gems in the desert.  My kids have been loving the new sights, sounds and smells, a world very different then their home state of Vermont.  It’s mostly been a family trip but I’ve gotten a few opportunities to get out and shoot.  My wife truly is amazing in that respect.  The weather has been fantastic, hot days, cool nights and a couple of fantastic light shows to keep a landscape photographer drooling.  Today is a nice break from the blazing sun.  A cold front is currently moving through sparking numerous thunderstorms and rain showers.  The forecast looks promising for some dramatic skies later this afternoon and possibly another good light-show tonight.  I’ll no doubt have a few new images and stories when I return.

As I stare out the window at the red rock desert it’s hard to imagine the lush green world of northern Vermont that will be bursting to life upon my return.  Although we’re primarily known as an autumn hotspot for photography, spring is one of my favorite times to photograph Vermont.  The forest is bursting with green, wild flowers are blooming and the streams are running full.  I’ve still got space in my upcoming Spring in Vermont Photography Workshop, May 18-21, 2012.  Click the link for details or feel free to leave me a message here or direct email for more details or to register.

Since I’m on the road and only able to process images on a laptop monitor I’ll hold off on posting something from my current travels.  For now I’ll leave you with one of my favorite spring in Vermont images.  This was made a couple of years ago as some rather aggressive thunderstorms passed through my area in perfect time to catch the last light of day.

In a way this is another form of the “shoot local” theme that I believe may have been previously mentioned in passing a few  times on this forum. This is going to be much the same, just a whole lot more anal. I know, thats pretty terrible, but please follow me here. I actually have a point.

Back in the 1970′s, there was a sitcom on network television in the USA named Happy Days. “Sit on it!” was a catchphrase used in the show. It was considered slightly risqué at the time, considering the anatomical implications. (And the country in which it was airing) Now consider todays image.  At the time, I was working in mid summer on some monsoon work. Shooting wise, it doesn’t get any worse, with temps up to 115 degrees F, humidity higher than usual,  all the crap I constantly whine about.

I found the composition on a ridge a couple of hours before sunset and considered the possibilities. Using my compass (I know – ANALOG!!) I determined that at sunset, the sun would be ALMOST right behind me. This was really a good thing because I was there to shoot summer storms – and rain storms with sunlight often equates to rainbows. The sun almost directly behind would put a potential rainbow right in front of me.

Yup, my little brain was really churning’. Everything was perfect. The planets were aligned. (literally, the sun was right behind me – where I needed it) I could get this incredible scene before me with a rainbow painted on the side of a big hairy ass storm at sunset. Wow.

Of course, the summer solstice had passed, meaning that the sun was moving a little further north every day. What this meant to me was that if I was going to get the projected shot I had maybe 4 to 5 days before my own shadow would interfere.

Of course when shooting weather, often clouds form and you get nothing. And thats what happened on my first night. I got shut out by the clouds. So you know where I was the next afternoon. In the exact same place, sitting on my shot. And just between you, me, and the lamppost, I actually bring a chair with me. (I got this little 6 oz campstool – Ian just loves giving me crap about it) The 2nd night the result was the same, with the added drama of me running for my life from the lightning.

The 3rd afternoon found me sitting on my chair and again got just a little too much storm. Another day, maybe two, and the sun was going to start projecting a tripod leg shadow on my chosen comp. On the 4th day, apparently the gods decided that I had suffered enough – the  clouds finally parted and the elements came together.

Canon 5DMII, 24-105 @ 24mm; 1/25th @ f 11

Did I get a rainbow painted on a huge monsoon cumulus? No. (darn it) But what I did get was well worth the wait. I know you saw the moral coming from a mile off, but this is it. When you live close you can come back to any given location. You can quantify your parameters, refine the comp, and work it until you get it right. Find it and then sit on it. As required.

My latest post to the Outdoor Photographer blog, Lost and Found, recounts the finding of an epic shot in the backcountry wilds of Patagonia, and then losing it forever. The image below, which illustrates the post, was my failed attempt to recreate the lost photo. I say “failed” because I was hoping for a sunrise shot, but was only able to get good light at sunset. I’ve shot sunset from this location many times, but had never gotten a good sunrise shot—with light on Mount Fitz Roy—until the fateful trek when I lost my media cards. So, it looks like I’ll be back again next year to try to get this shot at sunrise!

Even though I didn’t get the sunrise light I wanted, I’m still happy with this sunset image. The light was good, and I really like the curving sweep of the stream in the foreground. Mount Fitz Roy was just emerging from the clouds, with enough mist hanging on to create some mood. The biggest challenge for me was blending the two exposures, one for the sky and one for the landscape, to capture the wide dynamic range of the scene (I can’t use graduated neutral density filters on my 14mm lens so I resort to exposure blends). It took me several tries to find a natural blend that faithfully captured the drama of the moment. More information on my blending techniques can be found in my Photoshop Video Tutorials, which explain my personal photo editing work flow.

Mount Fitz Roy at sunset, Los Glaciares National Park, Argentina. Canon 5DII, 14mm, ISO 100, f/11, exposure blend for dynamic range (2 seconds and 0.6 seconds).

..read the email. I don’t even know how to react to that. If I stole your shot, I first would have had to have seen your shot. And since there’s no way for you to know for sure if I have seen it,  I pretty much have to assume that you feel that way only because what I published must bear a resemblance to an image you took. My reply was something like this. “I have never seen a shot from this location that resembles mine, either before or after tripping the shutter. If my shot looks like yours, all I can say is that it must have been a pretty obvious shot. And btw how do you know I didn’t shoot my version first?”

The first time I encountered this was when some shooter I ran into in Death Valley accused me of copying a Galen Rowell bristlecone shot. What I found truly interesting about this encounter was this guy’s absolute refusal to believe my assertion that I had never seen Galen’s image. He also refused to believe I had never owned a Rowell book. “Now I know you’re lying” he said.

But it’s true. I have no books by Muench, Dykinga, Clifton, Till or anybody else that shoots color landscape. The reason for that is simple. The first time I walk into a fabulous landscape, seeing it for the first time, I don’t want to be burdened by the knowledge that Dykinga shot the scene over here, and Muench from over there, and Tom Till used that big stump for foreground. I want to see it through my own eyes. Obviously, I can’t hide from what others are doing; these days the internet makes this pretty much impossible. I just never went looking per se.

“Dragoon State of Mind” is from the Dragoon Mountains of S/E Arizona. The yucca pictured is the exact same yucca that’s featured on the cover of David Muench’s “Arizona” book, published by Arizona Highways. My shot is facing north; his shot is facing the mountains to the east (not visible in my shot).

The first time I showed this to the Director of Photography at Arizona Highways, he asked me. “Is this David’s (Muench) yucca?” I was like, yeah, it’s the same yucca, but if I shot it first, does that make it “mine” instead of David’s?

Anyway, for today’s blog post, I was tempted to entitle this “MY YUCCA” but I can’t be sure I shot it first, so I went with the other.

PS.  I just realized I DO have one  book by a color landscape photographer -”Chesapeake  -Bay of Light”; its an autographed copy by Ian Plant, and to be sure, it is on my coffee table.

One of the worst things people can do is to make something into something it is not. Whether it is a politician telling lies to get elected, a marketing executive trying to make a product sound far more exciting than it really is, or a cover band turning a rockin’ song into a horrible slow jazz remix, when you turn something into something it is not, you end up with something that lacks definition and substance.

The same is true with nature photography. Too often, we try to jam compositions into preset formulas, looking for sweeping lines when none are called for, or pumping the light and colors in Photoshop to turn a modest sunrise into a Disneyesque cartoon. We get obsessed with trying to capture something bold and compelling, and forget to simply capture what Nature offers us.

Rather than trying to make something into something it is not, we should at all times seek to be attuned to what our something actually is. We should seek to reveal the essence of our subject, rather than reinvent it. We should let existing shapes and light guide our compositions; we should let the pace and mood set by Nature be our Muse, rather than try to bend her to our will.

I photographed this same location in Torres del Paine National Park in Chile a year ago, but this time I got a completely different result. Last year, an epic sunrise called for a tight, simple, and powerful composition. This year, subtle pre-dawn light and wind-driven clouds called for something less compelling, but more elegant. I opted for a wider view, including elements that had been distracting or unimportant the year before. I let the scene’s light, mood, and movement guide my composition, instead of trying to fit existing conditions into some preconceived notion of what the image should be.

By trying to jam a square peg into a round hole, we end up with something that reveals nothing of the true essence of our subject or of the moment. We end up with something that has no soul. By staying true to the place and moment, we tell the story of our subject, in a way that is ultimately more compelling than a paint-by-numbers approach. At all times, we should seek to find a way to make the pieces fit—seamlessly, elegantly, and naturally—rather than pounding them into place with blunt force and hoping for the best.

Twilight glow above Los Cuernos, Torres del Paine National Park, Chile (Patagonia). Canon 5DII, 24mm, ISO 200, f/11, 2 minutes.

Outwardly I deny it. I’m not at all superstitious. I freely walk on cracks, under ladders and four leaf clovers are to me, somewhat unique but meaningless. But my wife knows. She sees me turn off the big game in the middle and walk away…..because my team is doing poorly. Seems every time I watch, my team sucks. When I don’t see it, say I’m on the road, they win.  Surely my direct line logic is totally apparent, right? My wife also sees me subtly knock on wood every time  I say something even slightly prophetic because we all know invoking the spirit of some dead tree druid style is gonna keep me from harm.

All this is really just a clumsy segue to talking about my favorite mountains with the coolest name possible, the Superstitions. You may or may not know the story. The “Lost Dutchman”, Jacob Walz  reportedly had a gold mine out in the Superstitions. He’d take a donkey and go out there for a couple of weeks at a time, coming back with gold. See, way back when, long before even the Dutchman, the Spanish Conquistadores had supposedly found some gold out there, dug it up and were transporting it when the locals attacked, killing them all and sealing up the evil mine.

Jacobs personal story that he circulated was that his native american wife told him where the Spanish gold  mine was buried after the massacre of yore. And ever since, people have been obsessed with finding Jacobs’ lost mine. I personally know people who have dedicated their lives to finding it. The first time I backpacked into the LeBarge Box (1974) I was awakened in the morning by an explosion  up on an opposing rock face. Rock cascaded down the mountain. I checked it out with the rangers and was told the mining was all legal. Around here, finding the Lost Dutchmans’ cache is a cottage industry.

Every geological study has said the same thing. There is no gold in the Superstitions. Now there are many theories as to just how the Dutchman would consistently return with the gold. I wasn’t there, but this is how it went down….word. Stay with me here.

Jacob Walz had been employed as a miner at one of the richest and most fabulous gold mines in human history. The Vulture Mine, outside of what is now Wickenberg, was so wealthy that the city of Phoenix was started merely to supply food for it and the town that grew around it. At Vulture, high grading (concealing gold ore on ones person when leaving the mine) was also a cottage industry. And a hanging offense, to be sure. Although the hanging tree claimed at least 18 lives, highgrading was still the local pastime. It was well known that the mine inspectors themselves would leave with pockets and bags full of ore. And the job of driving an ore wagons wasn’t even a paid position, as it was assumed the drivers would stash ore for confederates to pick up along the route.

And so the only theory that makes any sense was that Jacob needed to launder the efforts of his highgrading and so invented the mine to that purpose. The Superstitions became his own personal version of the Caymen Islands – with no red tape or even a passport required to do business…. just a donkey.

Canon 5DMII, 24-105 @ 34mm; 1/15th @ f13

Todays image celebrates all the actual gold to be found in the Superstitions. I often feel much like the Dutchman must have, disappearing for a few days and coming home with full pockets.

Sometimes we’re too close to our work to make the right judgment about whether it’s good or not good; whether an image is a keeper or destined to a life of obscurity in the deep recesses of a hard drive.  More specifically I think we’re too close to the event or experience to make these critical decisions.  We often return home from a trip or even just a local evening shoot, upload our images and start right in on the editing process, usually selecting one or two that jump right out, ones that we knew in the field held the most promise.  Sometimes we don’t select any as “keepers” because the sunset was a “bust” or the light didn’t “go off” like we had hoped.  These images inevitably sit around waiting to be “discovered” like the rejects on the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer (the Burl Ives version of course).

I’ve been laid up recently with some torn ligaments in my ankle, funny story actually as it directly relates to photography.  I was walking down a flight of stairs and became distracted while looking up at the pretty sunset clouds overhead and thinking I should have gone shooting instead of going to the gym.  The next thing I knew I was in a pile of pain on the sidewalk with some random passerby extending a helping hand and commenting about how much it looked like that hurt; occupational hazard I guess.  It would have been a much more exciting story if I had been mauled by a grizzly bear while capturing 16 bracketed shots to tame the extreme dynamic range of my otherwise extreme composition.  But I digress…

As a result I’ve been trying to finish up and/or catch up on editing and processing images both past and near present; a process we photographers refer to as dumpster diving (aka looking through folders for the images that didn’t make the first cut of our editing process).  The thing about doing this periodically, which always amazes me, is just how many images jump out once I’ve had some time away from them and the experience of making them.  There are of course images that I know the moment I press the shutter will become instant portfolio pieces and personal favorites.  But then there are others that with time and fresh eyes work their way into favor.   It’s not because we become desperate to find fresh work or perhaps lower our standards for what makes a great image.  It’s because they are really good images and for whatever reason we passed them by the first time around in hopes of finding something better or god forbid more dramatic.  You know, the ones that will garner more attention online.

This image was made during my trip to Belize back in February.   I got home from the trip and was eager to select, process and start sharing my favorites. It’s a great example of an image that was overlooked during the first round of editing.  Ian and I had originally hoped to spend six days kayaking and photographing the barrier islands about 25 miles off the coast of Placencia, Belize.   However, a number of variables conspired to thwart our plans and forced a plan B (suffice it to say that Trade Winds and leaky kayaks are not a recipe for success in the open ocean… ).  We did however spend one night on Moho Caye, about 20 miles off the coast.   Sunset the previous night had been a bust and with as much promise as these clouds held at sunrise the light I had hoped for didn’t materialize.  With a little time under my belt since getting home and a softening of the unfulfilled expectations I had for the trip I have grown rather fond of this image.  And after processing it have moved it over into the “keepers” pile.  I love the soft arc created by beach and hint of contrast added by the breaking waves.  The arc leads the eye nicely through the frame to the distant cumulonimbus cloud catching the only sunrise light to be found.  Although it might not be as dramatic as what I had hoped for, overall the image works well; good light, composition and mood.

 Ian and I have discussed the possibility of leading a workshop in Belize, perhaps as early as next winter.  It would likely be a combination of coastal island landscapes (with the opportunity for underwater images while snorkeling the reef) and some time spent in the rainforest.  The people of Belize are amazing, English is the primary language and travel within the country is fairly easy.  If you think you might be interested in this photography experience please email Ian or me directly.  If we can generate enough interest we’ll put it together.