Canyonlands Redux
I’m sorry for the delay since my last posting. As you can imagine, the last month has been prime time in the desert for image-making. Now that temperatures have soared, I’m back in my office for a few days.
Twenty-six years ago I was hired to do a book on Canyonlands National Park. This was my first such assignment, and since I was barely 30 years old, I approached it with all the zeal I could muster, and it was a dream come true for me in the early stages of my career. In those day, the park was practically deserted, no one had ever done a book on Canyonlands before, and permits weren’t required for anything.
The subsequent history of the book was sad, the publisher paid me, but the book never appeared in print and they kept the hundreds of Canyonlands images I created.
Recently I was approached by another publisher with the opportuniity to try it again, and I was overjoyed at the chance to lavish attention on one of the world’s greatest expanses of wondrous real estate.
After seeing practically every wonder the world has to offer, I can say that Canyonlands National Park (fortunately not listed in the 1,000 Places to Visit Before You Die) is one of the treasure of treasures. I say this not to bring hordes of new visitors, (although their voices will be needed to help protect the park from forces amassing to destroy it) but because it’s so totally true.
For photographers, late spring is a mother lode of opportunity in the park: cactus blooms are everywhere, the sky fills with magnificent tropical clouds, and the light streams through with long warm rays of torrid crimson. This light is the kind that creates skeptics at my gallery, “That can’t be real.” Spend enough time out in the canyons and mesas and witness enough sunsets and sunrises and you’ll see and photograph light that no one will believe.
My first trip out was to the Needles with a Tag-Along Trip and a great guide named Bill. He helped me find an overhang in Devils Kitchen where I could shoot lightning and be sheltered from the storm. Digital photography is great for everything, but it shines with lightning. I was instantly able to tell, in the gathering darkness, if my camera settings were correct and if any of my shots were successful. What a thrill to immediately see the captured lightning on the screen with the Needles silhouetted against a dying sunglow.
On another day we visited Lavendar Canyon. How I have frittered away a lifetime with only a few trips to Lavendar is enough to bring tears to my eyes. I intend to do better. Is there a more beautiful canyon anywhere? I’m proud that I raised my voice strongly against the government’s plan for a high level nuclear waste facility nearby in the 80’s. Again, with digital equipment, I felt for the first time I captured clearly the amazing reflected light of Cleft Arch and the magnificent patinas of the desert varnish there.
Another week brought me to the White Rim and another great trip, this time with Western Spirit Cycling. Once again the guides, my fellow passengers and the food were wonderful. I spent most of my time at Monument Basin, trying to understand the maze of giant hoodoos and spires large and small. Again, the clouds came with light breaking in and out and spotlighting various rock sculptures–some so beautiful it seemed purposeful. As I turned the corner to the Green River side at sunset, I came upon an amazing rock garden. A low-flowering plant, of a species I’ve never seen, covered the low hills below Junction Butte. Some were pink, some red, some white, and some in between. In the dying sun these flowers patches glowed with an inner fire–burning bushes indeed.
On the way out, I walked a few steps to the rim to see the flooding Green River encircle Turk’s Head. I had first tried this shot 25 years ago with an Olympus and a 21mm lens, which was not wide enough. Armed now with a 17mm, it still was lacking enough width, so I’ll have to bring back my fisheye. A stitched panorama I tried provided an interesting twist, slightly distorting the broad circle.
What next? The Maze and the Rivers, of course. While I was above the deep canyon, my daughter Mikenna was guiding a trip through Cataract. Perhaps I can hitch a ride.
