It’s a good year to miss winter in Alaska. The snow started early, on the last day of summer. I wasn’t lucky enough to miss that storm. It complicated my travel plans. It took me a couple of extra days to close everything up on the homestead and get out of town.
Then the snow took a brief hiatus, making way for the extreme cold. It was 40 below for weeks at a time in McCarthy, even dipping down to -60. The coldest I had ever seen was 53 below. Glad I missed the cold spell.
Pacific Coast sunset
See what I mean about a good winter to miss? It was just getting started.
It’s been snowing back home. And snowing, and snowing….. more snow than anyone can remember ever falling in McCarthy. Buildings are buried. And it’s still February. March is usually the snowiest month. Yikes!
Sunset in Pacific Grove
Which makes me super grateful for where I am spending the winter, further south on the Pacific Coast. I have really been enjoying those Pacific Coast sunsets.
I spent January at a housesit in Anacortes, Washington. The weather was generally dark, drab and dreary, with snow, rain or fog practically every day. My SAD syndrome kicked in, but I kept reminding myself about what the weather was like back home and felt pretty thankful to be someplace safe and warm where I could avoid driving on those occasions when the streets were icy.
Sunset at Rosario Beach near Anacortes, Washington
The day before I left, I did have one nice sunset.
Then my luck changed. I had clear weather for 3 days in Olympic National Park! What a rare and wonderful occurrence! The skies continued to stay mostly clear as I traveled down the coast to my February housesit, in Pacific Grove, California.
Rialto Beach, Olympic National park
Mostly clear, except every night as I passed through Oregon there was a thin band of fog on the western horizon in otherwise cloudless skies, effectively extinguishing any hints of color from the setting sun. I’ve included a photo from an Oregon sunset I took on another trip, so you can see the potential and understand my disappointment when things looked so hopeful each evening but didn’t pan out.
Bandon Beach, Oregon
Skies have been clear almost every night here in California. There has only been one day with any precipitation at all. It was just a sprinkle, but I was able to capture some fabulous God rays between storms. Check out the feature shot and you’ll see what I mean.
I feel a little like Goldilocks and the three bears. Although I am grateful for all these beautiful sunsets, we could use some rain. Although there’s too much snow in McCarthy, the drought in the West is severe. According to dendrochronology, the science of interpreting past climate through tree rings, in some places it’s the worst drought in over 1500 years. So I pray for rain, and hope that if it comes, it also brings big waves, god rays and rainbows.
I tried to keep it down to 12, but I couldn’t. Here is a baker’s dozen of my favorite photos of 2021.
It was really hard to cut it down to just a baker’s dozen. Reviewing the images I’ve captured over the last year, I realized that what I had were favorite photographic moments, not individual photos.
Purple Mountain’s Majesty, a favorite photographic moment.
You know, when you’re really in the zone, actively practicing the Art of Seeing? You might take a whole series of shots and not be able to choose one in the series as the best. That’s how I felt about a lot of these images.
I tried to disqualify images I’d already published in this blog (mostly!) So if you read my last few blog posts, you’ll find a few more favorites I wish I could include.
Knik Glacier
Despite all the darkness and cold, there are some things about winter in Alaska that are really special and that I miss when I’m not there, kind of a reward for those who tough it out. One is the aurora, of course. Another is the special pink sunset/twilight glow in the sky on certain cold, clear nights. Although I got lots of great alpenglow, I didn’t see as many pink light evenings as I have in past winters. But I did get it one evening when I photographed the Knik Glacier.
Bad Hair Day
I went to Homer to see a few birds this spring. The migration was a bit disappointing, but I did get some wonderful eagle shots!
Wild Calla Lilies
This is my favorite flower shot for 2021. I didn’t shoot nearly as many flowers as in years past, since I stayed in Alaska and didn’t follow the bloom. But I saw two brand new flowers I’d never noticed before in a few ponds along the McCarthy Road, White Water Lilies and Wild Calla.
Sunrise on the Bosque
It was October. It was not yet prime time for birds at Bosque del Apache. Due to the drought, the ponds on the edge of the refuge that are usually the go-to spots for bird photographers trying to catch the spectacle of the Bosque were dry. I wasn’t expecting much. I only had one day to spare. But the Bosque is a magical place and doesn’t disappoint. Having fewer sources of water concentrated the birds that were there. I was surprised to realize that three of my favorite photos for the entire year were taken on that day.
Even though I published the sunrise photo in a prior post, I had to include it since it was probably my second-most favorite photo for the year. Also, I processed it a little differently this time and think it does a better job of capturing the feel of sunrise on the Bosque.
Every leaf on this tree is a bird.
As I slowly drove by, I realized that all those “dead leaves” on that tree were birds. Then they took off and I was swept up by a cloud of birds. The Bosque is bird heaven!
Sunset on the beach at San Simeon
This might be my favorite photo of 2021. Except it’s one of those photographic moments, one of a series… I like the vertical images I captured of this scene a lot, too! Both this image and the feature image were taken on the beach at San Simeon in California. The island the cormorants are roosting on is part of the California Coastal National Monument. It is usually just offshore except during a very low tide, like this one.
Magical Manzanitas
I absolutely fell in love with the manzanitas and madrones of southern Oregon in November and December. I can’t choose my very favorite madrone/manzanita photo. I have about 20 favorites. But they were my favorite thing to photograph all year. So here’s one I haven’t published.
Manzanita Bark
I couldn’t choose a favorite detail shot of that forest, either. I have about a dozen favorites of bark, lichens, mushrooms… But this is definitely one of those favorites.
What is it?
This is definitely my favorite abstract of the year, though. Can you guess what it is?
Wishing you all a great 2022!
This final shot conveys my thoughts and hopes for 2022, that the light burns through the fog of the last couple of crazy years and brings us all many happy blessings. Welcome 2022!
The very first time I saw Death Valley the first thought that popped into my head was “Boy, but this is a barren landscape!” But right on the heels of that thought came a second, this one attached to a sense of wonder – But Oh! The colors!
I called this viewpoint “Better than Zabriskie”. It was my personal meditation spot. Only a ten-minute walk from the road and less than half a mile from world-famous and hopelessly crowded Zabriskie Point, I found it while exploring a little wrinkle in the landscape and was the only one that knew it was there. A great place for solitude on a busy holiday weekend!
So this week I’d like to share a different kind of rock art with you, Mother Nature’s masterpieces. I’m going to get a little artsy-fartsy and share some abstract photography, portraits of those fantastic colors, patterns and texture that can be found in every corner of the national park.
A glimpse of the Last Chance Range
I’m convinced that every color of the rainbow can be found somewhere in Death Valley’s rocks. I’m so convinced that when I was a ranger there, I played a little game as an icebreaker, to slow my visitors down on my Nameless Canyon hikes and sharpen their powers of observation. I picked up a random assortment of paint sample chips at the hardware store. I included lots of variety – purples, blues, yellows, pinks, browns, tans, greys – no two colors exactly the same. It was a big box hardware store. I got LOTS of paint chips.
Pinks and greens and yellows…
Then I cut them all to a uniform size and put them in a bag. Each hiker had to blindly thrust their hand in the bag and pull out three paint chips, then find its EXACT match in the landscape we traveled through.
It’s not only the colors, it’s the patterns and textures that make Death Valley’s rocks so fascinating.
There was a lot of eye-rolling and exclamations of “I’ll never find THIS color!” I did end up removing 2 or 3 shades of blue and one particular red chip. True black was a surprisingly difficult color to find. But nearly every time, each hiker would eventually find all 3 of their colors, no matter what they picked out of the bag.
Orange is the predominant color at Ubehebe Crater. Although the crater was formed by volcanic action, this orange rock, surprisingly enough, is sedimentary.
Some areas are more colorful than others, world famous for their colors, it’s true. But even the hills that look a uniform baked brown from the road reveal their loveliness in the layers and shades you will find if you get a little closer.
The shimmery glow of “candle drippings” in the Kit Fox Hills. Candle drippings are mineral runoff on the canyon walls that sometimes builds up into elaborate patterns, Mother Nature’s tapestries.
When you delve deeper, all those colors, layers and patterns reveal a plethora of geologic events and eras. If only the rocks could talk, what stories they could tell!
Noonday Dolomite, the “marble” that makes Mosaic Canyon such a fun hike!
So it doesn’t matter if it hasn’t rained all year. It doesn’t matter if it’s a poor flower year, or the wrong season. You can visit this national park and still see a brilliant display of color, because Death Valley rocks!
Crazy swirly mountainside in the Funeral Mountains
Thank you, Ann-Christine, for bringing us this week’s Lens-Artist’s Photo Challenge, “You Pick It”. Also thanks to Tina for the art inspiration and Amy for the desert rocks inspiration.
Beautiful warped and twisted stone from Monarch Canyon in the Funeral Mountains
So it’s spring. At least that’s what I hear. In Alaska, it’s hard telling. The days are longer, but temperatures are still hovering somewhere between 10 below and 10 above (Fahrenheit) when I wake up, and it never gets above freezing most days. White is the predominant color. The only other colors you see are the brownish-gray of bark and the deep dark green of the evergreen spruce trees. It will be quite a while yet before the snow melts.
It’s a monochrome landscape in Alaska right now.
I miss color. For over a decade, I spent every March in the California desert, chasing the wildflower bloom. I’m really missing those flowers. My only consolation is that the desert wildflower season this year is a bust because it has been so dry. If I’m going to miss a year, this was a good year to miss.
But I’m still craving color, and warmth. It’s going to be locked in white here, and anywhere else I could drive to, for quite a few more weeks yet. I could use a change of scenery.
I miss color, and flowers – like this redwood sorrel from the redwood forest.
If there are no flowers in the desert, I guess I should look somewhere else for color. How about the redwood forests of northern California? There’s plenty of green there and a few flowers, too. Might be a nice place to travel to, even if it is only in my imagination!{
Trillium change color as they grow older, turning from white to pink to red.
Redwoods are the tallest trees in the world, over 50 feet taller than any other species. They are one of the largest trees on the planet, too. Redwood trees you can drive through are a popular northern California tourist attraction.
They are fast-growing and long-lived. Although the average age for an old-growth redwood is 500 to 600 years, some specimens have been recorded at over 2,200 years old!
Redwood trees are massive!
Redwood trees are water hogs. They have to be, they’re so tall. It’s hard for water to make it all the way from the roots to the crown, 100 meters up. Even though they live in a seasonally rainy climate, the trees depend on fog to survive. They can absorb water through their bark and their leaves, and 30% of their water needs are filled by fog.
Fog is essential for a redwood tree’s survival.
The rainier and foggier it is, the taller the trees grow. The tallest redwoods grow deep in the valleys where the fog settles in. One of the challenges facing redwood trees in these days of global climate change is that there is much less fog than there used to be along the northern California coast.
Redwoods need a lot of water.
Once their forests spread for millions of acres throughout California’s central and northern coastal lands, all the way from Big Sur to southern Oregon. Then gold was discovered in 1849.
Redwood trees were a lumberman’s dream come true. Not only were the trees humongous, the wood was really something special. Light and beautiful, it absorbed water and resisted rot because of all the tannins it contained. Low in resins, it was also much more resistant to fire than most woods.
Redwood trees built San Francisco both before and after the 1906 earthquake and fire.
Less than 5% of the original old-growth forest remains. These forests, which had thrived undisturbed for thousands of years, were decimated in less than one human lifetime.
By 1908, the California Federation of Women’s Clubs presented a children’s petition with 2,000 signatures to the Forest Service, asking them to protect some of the remaining trees for future generations, to create a national redwood park before they were all gone.
Redwood bark is resistant to fire.
By 1918 the Save the Redwoods League formed, part of the same conservation movement that created the National Park Service. In fact, Stephen Mather, the first director of the National Park Service, was an integral part of the formation of the League.
However, there was no Redwoods National Park until 1968. Instead, the Save the Redwoods League saved the trees. They raised money and bought up tracts of virgin redwood forest wherever and whenever they could. Eventually, they established 66 different redwood parks and reserves. Many of these groves formed the backbone of California’s state park system.
Avenue of the Giants
All these facts and figures and history of the redwoods may be fascinating, but there are no words to describe the most important things about a redwood forest. Anyone who has spent time in the redwoods would agree, though.
These forests are magical. They’re enchanted. Although they have no words, these ancient beings will speak to you if you give them a chance. Call me a treehugger, but a living redwood is a sentient being.
Can you see the spirit’s face in this one?
Walking in a redwood forest is a healing experience, a meditation. You will emerge a calmer and wiser soul than you were when you arrived. I highly recommend it for the next time you are craving a change of scenery.
Thank you, Beth, of Wandering Dawgs, for this week’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge, “A Change of Scenery”.
A rain event in Death Valley is a very unusual occurrence. After all, it IS the driest place in North America. With only about 2 inches of precipitation a year, rainstorms don’t happen very often. Rain events are even rarer.
I worked at Death Valley for 8 winter/spring seasons. In that time, I witnessed 2 rain events.
Standing at the mouth of Titus Canyon watching the first rainstorm of February 2010 come in over the Panamints
A rain event is much more than just a rainstorm. it has long-lasting repercussions. It can totally transform a landscape, and those transformations are part of the event. These are indeed special moments.
Badwater Salt Flats after the first storm
My first rain event was in 2010. During the winter of 2009/2010, it didn’t rain at all. All the oldtimers said it would be a poor flower year that spring. Too dry.
I spent a lot of time hiking the sand dunes that February because there were many times that the canyons were too dangerous. It rained and rained and rained.
Then February came, and with it, a series of Pineapple Express storms. A Pineapple Express is an atmospheric river formed above the ocean waters near Hawaii. Coming from the south, they dodge the high Sierras, leaving them with plenty of water to dump on Death Valley. We got 3 storms in a row. That February we received an inch and a half of rain. It was the rainiest February in Death Valley’s history.
The sand dunes were transformed into a desert oasis.
It was so wet that pools formed in the sand dunes, the only time I ever saw that happen. It looked like a true desert oasis.
Alpenglow on the Grapevine Mountains reflected in an ephemeral pool
The biggest change, though, was the Badwater Salt Flats. The salt flats were transformed into a lake, filled with about 7 inches of water for miles in every direction. There was so much water a friend went kayaking just for the photo op. With all the fresh snow on the Panamints, this symbol of the driest of deserts became almost alpine in appearance.
The lake at Badwater – deep enough to kayak.
The oldtimers still predicted a poor flower year, though. They said the rain came too late and there wouldn’t be time for the tender seedlings to get a good start before it became too hot.
They were wrong.
2010 turned out to be a good flower year after all.
My second rain event was the big one, a historic one, the great flood event of Sunday, October 17, 2015. It destroyed half the highways in the park. Scotty’s Castle is still closed due to this rainstorm.
It was literally my first day back to the park for the season. I needed to go to Pahrump, the nearest town, 60 miles away, to stock up since I was just moving in. It had been raining off and on for 2 days. My boss told me to be careful, there was flash flooding down by Death Valley Junction.
Badwater in early December 2015
I made it through the water at that low spot alright, but that afternoon the storms came back in with a vengeance. I could hear the radio reports as I shopped, the calamitous beeping that heralded a severe weather alert. When I walked outside, I could see the blackest sky ever out towards the Northwest, contrasting sharply with the brilliant flashes of dozens of lightning strikes.
I tried to hurry home. Things were starting to look serious. I knew I had to hustle to make it before the road was closed at Death Valley Junction. It had started raining, hard, and the thunder and lightning to the Northwest was truly something to behold. A light show, Fourth of July fireworks! I’ve never seen so many lightning strikes. I thought to myself that I was glad I wasn’t at Scotty’s Castle. Things looked really bad in that direction.
Storm over Death Valley Buttes
But they were bad enough where I was. Would I make it in time? The road started to get sketchy. I could see the edges crumbling and I knew for safety’s sake I had to try a different route. They closed that highway less than 10 minutes after I turned around. More than the edges had crumbled.
I thought I’d go the long way around, up north towards Beatty. I was stopped by the sheriff. That road was out, too. I ended up spending the night with a friend, a woman I worked with who lived in Pahrump.
Badwater Road and Telescope Peak January 2016
We headed out in caravan to reach the park early the next morning, in radio contact with the park maintenance crew. There was one route that just might work. There was lots of water running on the road as we crossed washes. One crossing was doubtful. I could feel my little truck slow down and threaten to stall out. I was really glad we were caravaning. In hindsight, I wouldn’t cross water like that again. Within half an hour of when we went through, that road closed, too. But we made it.
The October monthly precipitation average for Death Valley is .07 inches. Death Valley received 1.3 inches of rain in October 2015, nearly all of it from the October 17 storm. That storm caused a lot of destruction to man-made structures and roads. But it also made some amazing changes to the landscape.
Imagine the ground growing thick like this with flowers – everywhere – for miles upon miles
Of course, Badwater Basin once again filled with water. No kayaking this time, though. By the time the road crew had cleared and repaired the road as far as Badwater the water levels were already down too far for that. Mud and debris flows trashed the Badwater Road. The southern part of the road was completely destroyed, the pavement twisted and shredded.
The change that impressed me the most, though, was at Artist’s Drive. A debris flow had completely inundated the main canyon, filling it brim to brim and splashing ten to twelve feet up the walls in places. This layer of mud is now a permanent part of Death Valley’s geological record, a layer of rock that will still show up thousands of years from now. I love to see geology happen!
The main wash in Artist’s Drive filled brim to brim, overflowing with mud from the debris flow.
And then, starting as early as the end of December, the flowers came out. And continued to come out, month after month, all the way to May. They were so thick on the ground you couldn’t take a step without trampling a flower. And they were all supersized, too.
For instance, Desert Five-Spot is usually a shy flower; the plant grows about 6 inches high, with only a few blossoms on each plant. In dry years, it will dwarf into a tiny belly flower only an inch or two high with one blossom. But during the 2016 Death Valley superbloom, I found a veritable plantation of five-spot bushes, all about 3 feet high with dozens of blossoms. One plant had 53 flowers! What a difference a little rain makes!
Desert 5-spot
Although the Artist’s Drive debris flow was the most thrilling change for me intellectually, the wildflower bloom is what struck my heart. It was the ultimate of all the special moments I’ve experienced in my Death Valley rain events.
Light. Sight. Painting with light. The art of seeing. Hallelujah, I have seen the light! That’s what photography is all about, right? The art of using light, especially natural light, to share your vision with others so that they may see the light, too.
Come take a journey with me, up and down the California coast chasing that beautiful natural light. Some times of day are better than others, but we’ll be out at all hours of the day, as every kind of light can capture some mood or be best for a certain subject.
Sunrise at the Cabrillo Point lighthouse near Mendocino.
We’ll start at dawn. I’m not much of one for getting up early, so it’s an effort, but it’s worth it. No, don’t roll over and go back to sleep because you peeked out and it was foggy. The soft light captured in those early morning mists can transform the mundane into the sublime.
Fog and early morning light can transform the mundane into the sublime.
Stormy days are no reason to stay inside, either. Before long, you may find that many of your most dramatic images were taken on bad weather days. Check out my opening wave for another example.
A beach in Ft. Bragg
Besides, you’ll never catch a rainbow without a little rain!
Westport, CA
Calm, cloudy days are wonderful for flowers, animals, forest and beachcombing shots. Colors are richer and harsh shadows are eliminated.
Cloudy is best for most living things, like this egret reflected in the water of the slough at Moss Landing State Beach.
Partly cloudy days are good times to learn patience and watch the light change with each passing cloud. You can capture the same scene in many different moods by just staying put and seeing how the constantly changing light transforms your subject.
Waves at Point Lobos
See how the mood changes with a small change in the lighting.
Bright sun is not my favorite lighting. It works well for some scenes with bright colors and bold contrasts. If you have to pick a time of day to catch some lunch, recharge batteries and catch up on the internet, chose the middle of the day. Sometimes, though, you have to just use what you got and make the best of it as I tried to do with this image of elephant seals at Piedras Blancas Wildlife Reserve.
Kicking sand in the face of a bully at the beach
Bright sun is also good for backlighting, especially during the golden hour.
Late afternoon light is great for backlighting.
That’s the golden hour of late afternoon light, followed closely by sunset. My favorite time of day, since I’m a lazy slacker who doesn’t like getting up early in the morning.
Sunset at Pigeon Point
It’s not over ’til it’s over. Even if it’s cloudy and you don’t think a sunset is going to happen, the sun may break through at the last minute and reward you with something special. Follow that sunset from the first warm colors to the last.
God rays in the sunset at Asilomar State Beach near Monterey
To the last minute and then some, capturing the last glimmers of natural light deep into the dusk.
Secret Beach
Thank you, Amy of The World Is A Book, for bringing us this week’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge, Natural Light.
