What We Learned After a Month on the Road

For years, Virginia and I have dreamed of life after retirement. That dream included travels across the country to visit our national parks and monuments. We also have plans to travel internationally. In preparation for our cross-country adventures, we purchased a small travel trailer called a Scamp, (we named her Betty Lou). We knew there would be a learning curve associated with this new life. Other than a few weekend trips here and there, we never attempted long-term living away from home. This last month has been a major shake-down trek to see if we can function comfortably and sanely together. Like the image above, this trip was an arch, or a bridge, between an old life and new. Along the way we met minor failures and discovered many weaknesses. But more importantly, we learned that this is a lifestyle we can easily embrace. In some ways, it is unlike anything we ever attempted before. In this blog post I will share some of the main areas of growth.

Sometimes it’s hard not to compare ourselves to other campers.

We chose a Scamp trailer because it fits our ethos. We are not hard-core minimalists, but we tend to resonate with simple living on a small scale. A Scamp trailer has everything we need and not too much more. Sometimes we pull up next to a big rig like the one above and wonder what we would do with all that space. For over 30 years we camped in a conventional tent and slept on the ground. It’s a luxury to now have a bed to sleep on (even though it is only 44 inches wide) for the two of us. We enjoy the warmth the Scamp provides in winter and the ability to shut out the noise of the campground. We do most of our cooking outdoors. We will boil water indoors, but not cook. We don’t want the oils and smells of food imbedding in everything around us. On this trip, we visited several early American ruins like the one below. We learned that each room was a dwelling place for one family. It dawned on me that our Scamp has about 75 square feet of living space. 2-3 of our Scamps would fit into one of these rooms. We are living in about the same spatial abundance as an ancient family in the Southwest.

Tuzigoot National Monument, Clarkdale, Arizona

It has been almost two weeks since we’ve had a proper shower. We’ve learned that we can keep ourselves clean with disinfectant wipes. Before we left home in early January, I built a simple shower from a pressurized garden sprayer. It works great for washing hair, and on occasion, we even made it work for a full body shower. Virginia uses it every day to rinse dishes. It’s a keeper.

Sunset at the Grand Canyon from Yavapai Point

For the last month, Virginia and I have been together for nearly the entire time, 24/7. We’ve talked to some couples entering retirement who ask how we can spend so much time together. My response is always, how can you not spend time with your best friend. About the only time we’re apart is when I leave for a few hours to make photographs. I prefer to be alone when I am with my camera. I need that time to think and process my surroundings. Other than those few hours here and there, we spend our time together. For entertainment we enjoy streaming British murder mysteries. Several times we found ourselves without cell service and not able to hotspot. In those instances, we embraced the isolation and quiet, and spent more time reading books we brought along. We have even spent several evenings playing card games. In the coming months we’ll likely look into purchasing a cell booster to improve our connect-ability.

Stormy skies over Sedona, Arizona

While we’ve traveled, we’ve kept lists of things to change or improve. I’ve purchased items on Amazon and had them sent home ahead of us. When we return home, we’ll have about two weeks to catch up on business, restock the Scamp, make some critical changes to our camping environment, and then we’ll be returning to the road. Each time out we’ll fine tune it more and more until we have this thing dialed in to our satisfaction. A few of our enhancements include:

• Improving our solar collection by adding an additional panel and making it possible to recharge our solar battery while we drive

• Adding more storage for clothing

• Changing how we stock food supplies

• Reconfiguring the 4Runner and making more efficient use of its space

• Adding storage pockets here and there and better organizing “stuff”

• Improving our outdoor cooking station

• Relamping the interior of the Scamp with warm LED lighting

4 image panoramic stitch of storming skies over Southern California

Into Stormy Weather

As much as possible, when we travel, we try to make our journey on the US highways and avoid the Interstate Freeways. When pulling the Scamp, 60mph is our maximum speed. I don’t have a strong desire to move faster. Our tires are small, and I don’t want to risk a blowout at high speed. I’m also not in a hurry. Most of the US highways have a maximum speed limit of 65mph. We’re learning that it’s not the destination but the journey that is important. The old highways follow the contour of the land. The road rises and falls with the topography and winds along rivers and valleys. The big Interstates seem an attempt to conquer the land. We want to see America, the small towns and rural places. We’ve been reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac as a family. At Christmas, we decided to start the Handley Family Reading Group. On the Road is our first novel. Virginia and I are not in search of a hedonistic lifestyle or have a desire to revert back to our teenage beatnik days and a counter-culture way of life. What resonated the most with me from Kerouac’s tale was the pull of the open road and a desire to learn what lays beyond…

Wukoki Pueblo at Wupatki National Monument, Arizona

We exited Zion National Park on the east side and returned to US89 bound for the Grand Canyon. In this instance, it was the faster route instead of the Interstate through Las Vegas. I had forgotten what a beautiful stretch of land lay between Kanab, UT and Page, Arizona. The Vermillion Cliffs were stunning in their banded cake-like layers. I didn’t have great lighting and I knew we had a long drive that day, so we enjoyed our passage without taking time to stop and photograph the scenery. I’ll be adding that area to my bucket list of places to revisit. I want to stay overnight in order to photograph the mocha-colored hills in sunset/sunrise lighting. On our way to Flagstaff, we stopped at Wupatki National Monument and Sunset Crater Volcanic Monument. Both monuments offered great viewpoints and short hikes.

Wupatki National Monument, Arizona

The Grand Canyon is beautiful in winter when crowds pressure is much lower. We camped at the Yavapai RV Village because winter storms were forecast. We wanted electricity so we could use a space heater to help keep us warm through the night. I figured with the storms we wouldn’t have enough solar rays to recharge our batteries. The standing air temperature wasn’t bad, but the wind chill was bitter cold. Still, I managed to be out for sunsets and sunrises every day. I’ve always wanted to photograph the Grand Canyon under winter conditions, and this was my chance.

A winter mantle of snow on the Grand Canyon at dawn

Sunrise from Mather Point, Grand Canyon, Arizona

Hoar frost and Pinyon Pine, south rim Grand Canyon, Arizona

We initially planned to remain at the canyon for five nights, but the weather was looking worse and worse. Not wanting to get stuck for an indefinite time, we decided to drop lower to sit out this storm cycle. We passed through Flagstaff and then descended to the Cottonwood area where we have been camped at Dead Horse Ranch State Park for the last week.

Tuzigoot National Monument, Arizona

Montezuma National Monument, Arizona

While in Cottonwood, we’ve visited Tuzigoot and Montezuma’s Castle National Monuments. These were great locations to learn about the early inhabitants of this region and see the structures they built and how they lived. The storms have come in wave after wave and we have ducked in and out of cover and sometimes hiked in the rain. One of our challenges this week is learning to control the condensation in the Scamp. The windows weep constantly, and our mattress is damp on the bottom where it contacts the cold fiberglass. We purchased a set of Dri-Deck rubber tiles, a product made for boats. We interlocked the tiles and cut them to match the rounded corners of the trailer bed platform. The tiles raise the mattress 9/16ths inch and allow air to pass under and the mattress so it can breathe. We uncovered our roof fan and programmed it to outflow at 10%. We also have a dehumidifying bag hung inside to help pull moisture out of the air, and most of the windows are covered with insulation. This is keeping the inside much drier. Tomorrow we drop down to a lower elevation further south where we should find warmer weather.

Red rock and approaching snow storm in Sedona, Arizona

Last light before the storm, Sedona, Arizona

A New Chapter, A New Journey

At the first of this year, I ended my lifelong career working in the theatre. Now begins a new chapter in our lives. Several years ago, in preparation for this time, we purchased a 16’ Scamp travel trailer. We’ve been learning the ins and outs of life on the road by going on short trips. Now we have embarked on our first major trek. We left our home in Orem, Utah a week ago and drove to Zion National Park. From here we travel on to warmer climate in Arizona. We plan to be gone for four weeks. When we return home, it will only be a short time before we head out once again.

Preparing the Scamp for our first month-long journey. We’ve made numerous trips on a long weekend and even for 5-7 days. This is our first time on the road for a month.

This will likely offer me an opportunity to devote more time to the blog as I find more time and vistas to photograph along the way. I also want to share my experiences in retirement and how we’ve learned to adjust from living in a four-level split home on a quarter acre of land to the 70 square-feet of space the Scamp offers us. So far, we’ve found that we are surprisingly comfortable.

Winter in Zion is a unique time. The leaves have mostly fallen and there is often ice to be found along the shores of the Virgin River. The crowds are largely gone during midweek and there is a beautiful serenity in the park, especially at this early hour.

Usually when we visit a National Park, we feel rushed to maximize the time we have and fill every minute with hikes and activities. With no schedule to keep, our days are long and slow. We pass the afternoon sitting in camp reading a book or visiting. I usually wake early and drive up the canyon to shoot. After an hour or two, I return to camp where Virginia has a hot breakfast waiting for me. Bedtime comes early once the sun goes down. One of the first advantages to retirement I noticed was that I began sleeping better, longer, and deeper. Where I used to get by on 4-5 hours of sleep a night while under the stress of production work, I now sleep a good 8-9 hours, and even get a nap in at times.

All seasons are beautiful in Zion. Winter allows one to see the structure of the park that is often hidden at other times of the year.

Sundays are a day of even greater rest as we tend to our church worship. We may take a walk in the afternoon, write letters, catch up with our children’s lives, or other family matters. This is a wonderful time for us.

I wonder if this stately gentleman feels much like I do at this stage of life called retirement.

Ice Blocks on Utah Lake

We’ve been under an inversion for a few days and I haven’t felt much like making photographs. There wasn’t nice light to chase and it was too cold to stand out in a field otherwise. I’ve been out a few times since Christmas, but there hasn’t been anything blog worthy. Yesterday, the air cleared, and the inversion lifted. I took the opportunity to visit Utah Lake State Park to see the ice mounding on the eastern side of the lake. It’s been building for a few weeks now and I’ve seen a lot of photographs on my social media feeds. I wanted to venture out onto the lake surface and shoot isolated fragments of ice. I took one step out and immediately broke through and sank to my ankle. Not otherwise prepared with waders, I was confined to shooting from shoreline. It was precarious for a 62-year-old man tottering around on the slick ice blocks with a backpack full of camera gear and flailing a tripod in the air. Other than breaking through the lake surface, there were no other mishaps. It is rare that I find an occasion to use my ultra-wide lens. Since it was the ice blocks I was after, I chose to drop as low to the surface as possible and emphasize their mass and grandeur. The setting sun created a nice focal point and the contrasting colors of the warm sunset and cool shadows made nice compositional elements. These are great winter scenes to add to my portfolio.

Utah Lake ice sculptures

Sun setting in the southwest sky at Utah Lake State Park

Refracted light in ice blocks at Utah Lake

Seagulls on Utah Lake

Autumn Returns to the Wasatch Mountains

Fall has arrived in the Wasatch Front of Utah. It’s a beautiful time of the year, especially in a year fraught with so much stress and turmoil. My blogging has slowed to a crawl over the course of the summer. While I’ve ventured out on occasion to make photographs here and there, mostly I’ve stayed put at home, waiting out the passing of the pandemic. I’m anxious for a vaccine and for life to return to a more normal state. I don’t believe we will go back to what it was before. I think that would be a sad situation, to not have learned from one to the great trials of our time. I expect a new normal and a better life. I have an itch that is getting harder and harder not to scratch. I have a deep yearning to be on the road and exploring new worlds and photographing what I find. Over the summer, we continued working on our travel trailer. We christened our home on wheels, the Betty Lou, after my mother. Soon, we’ll be rambling over blue highways and traveling the backroads of America, visiting as many National Parks and Monuments as we can string together. I hope you will join in our journey as you read my blog and look at the photographs. Please share with us your favorite outdoor hangouts so we can add them to our ever-growing bucket list of places to visit.

Mount Timpanogos from the Ridge Trail Complex. Hazy skies are due to the smoke drifting in from the west coast.

To acquire the image above, I began hiking at 6:00am Friday. I would have left sooner, but years ago I had an encounter with a moose in the dark and it scared the bejeebies out of me (I’m sure he was a carnivorous moose). In the dark, that same moose could be hiding behind any tree along the trail. With the sky turning grey and getting lighter every minute, I felt safer. Of course, leaving that late I would miss the first warm rays of sunlight striking the peak of Mount Timpanogos. As it turned out, we were under a heavy layer of smoke, presumably from the terrible wildfires in California and Oregon. I was skunked out of a sunrise anyway, so there was no point in getting to this magic spot any earlier.

The maples are the first to turn color and turn the hills to rusty oranges and reds.

I love the fall colors here. Before the aspen turn, we drift into a patchwork of oranges and reds as the maple, oak, and ashes begin their change. The hills are a patchwork of brilliant colors that remind me of nature’s quilt block. It’s like a blanket that lays across the hills and up the slopes of mountains.

Wildflowers still bloom in late summer on the Wasatch Back.

Last year, we didn’t have stunning colors. An early freeze fell across the state and stopped our autumn showcase long before it ever began. I wasn’t expecting much this year because it has been a long hot summer. Utah is officially in a severe draught. The colors seem a bit muted over prior years, but I won’t complain about the vivid colors I’ve enjoyed this weekend.

Provo Canyon color with trees backlit with the morning sun.

We have trips planned in the coming weeks and months, so I hope to return to a stronger pattern of blogging, writing, and mostly photography. If you live in Utah, now is the time to get and enjoy that drive across the mountains. Enjoy!

It has been a few years since we’ve seen these rich fall colors. Glad they made an appearance this year.

Spring Runoff

It is late spring in Utah, and the rivers are running high as usual for this time of year. There is a decent snowpack, but the last three months have been mostly dry. We’ve had a lot of rain this weekend and that will raise the level in the annual rain bucket. When you live in the arid southwest, you appreciate every storm that passes by. I’m venturing out more and more as the restrictions loosen with the virus and the weather permits. I went on a few hikes in the local mountains and canyons this week hoping to capture the feeling of the value of moisture in our desert landscape. It may seem like I am contradicting myself when I write of hikes in the mountains and the effect of water in our desert environment. The mountains and their snowpack are our primary reservoirs. These rivers and waterfalls eventually flow to the valley floors and feed into Utah Lake and then the Great Salt Lake. Before they reach the desert floor however, they enhance the mountain landscape with their fluid beauty. The deep rich green of the forest canopy and the lush meadows are teaming with wildlife. Soon the wildflowers will be in full bloom. I hope you enjoy these images of our current season.

This is a closer image of Upper Falls. The concrete collection structure can be seen at its base.

Down river 1/2 mile from Upper Falls is Bridal Veil Falls. This is a favorite walk for families throughout the year.

The snowpack on Mount Timpanogos drains from all around the mountain. Numerous falls and cascades flow down from the upper reaches of the mountain. This cascade is found on the Aspen Groves trail.

Provo River is the main drainage through my part of the valley. This water will eventually end up in Utah Lake about 8 miles away.

A soggy weekend in our state as a cold system has moved overhead for the last three days. This image is from the top of Rock Canyon, east of Provo City. In the upper right corner, are the vertical beds of rock marking the Wasatch Fault.

A fresh dusting of snow up above and a light drizzle of rain in the hills below. The fresh spring green dresses out the forest canopy. Soon the meadows will fill with wildflowers.

In Search of Toquerville Falls

I had to make a quick overnight trip to St. George, Utah yesterday to help my in-laws get their swamp cooler running in preparation for a big heat up coming this weekend. I haven’t done much hiking because of the virus situation and so I thought I would take the opportunity to explore a bit in the desert landscape of southern Utah. I’ve seen pictures on the internet of Toquerville Falls for several years and I’ve wanted to see and shoot it. The problem with this particular waterfall is its remote location and difficulty accessing it. I did a little research and found conflicting information, but in general, it didn’t seem overly hard. I got off I-15 on the Toquerville exit, drove into town and turned off on Spring Creek Rd. At the end of the pavement on the edge of town, I encountered a sign warning of the “Extreme Rough Road” conditions. I was driving my Toyota 4-runner, but I didn’t want to risk damage to my vehicle if it wasn’t necessary. A local informed me that it was only a two-mile hike. I figured I could easily do two miles, even if it was in the middle of the day during a building heatwave in the Utah desert. I parked my car on the side of the road, put on my pack, grabbed the sunscreen, and started walking.

Always be aware of extreme warning signs, especially when they are topped with razor wire!

My two-mile hike stretched to three miles, and then to four. It was a tough climb up a gnarly dirt road. After a while, another local drove past on her way down the mountain and stopped to show me a shortcut on an even worse jeep track off to my right. She assured me I would save lots of time and enjoy an easier path. Without a map in hand and not really knowing where I was going, I took her direction and began my descent down the mountain towards La Verkin Creek. It was a rough trail of scree rock and powdered dirt. Another mile passed underfoot, and it was getting hotter in the early afternoon sun.

Another view of my lonely surroundings

The landscape was desolate and beautiful, but I found it hard to enjoy as my concern grew that I was in a remote area of the state with no one around me, and no one knowing I was there. I only had one bottle of water and no indication of where this waterfall was.

I finally reached the river and began threading my way upstream crossing through the water several times as I continued up the old jeep track. Checking my cell phone, I noticed I still had a weak signal to the outside world. The thought occurred to me that perhaps my wilderness guide daughter might be able to help me out. I wondered if it would be possible to send her my GPS location and have her tell me if I was nearing the waterfall. Sadly, the signal wasn’t strong enough to get to her in a timely manner. After I figured I had gone 5.5 miles on a 2-mile hike, and I was hot and tired with 5.5 miles to go on my return 2-mile hike, I was ready to concede defeat. The last thing I wanted to do was be the headline for another search and rescue effort.

By now my feet were feeling sunburned because I chose to wear my Chaco sandals for the first time of the year. I was hot, dirty, and tired, and I had a mountain to climb on my way out. I was disappointed to not find the waterfall on my first attempt at Toquerville Falls. When I climbed up out of the canyon, I had enough signal to exchange numerous texts with my daughter and her husband. They could see exactly where I was on the map and I enjoyed a nice conversation with them about my adventures. I think on my next attempt to find this falls, I’ll take two seasoned guides with me ; )

Luckily, I parked near Ash Creek. When I finally returned to my car after my jaunt through the desert, I enjoyed a much deserved soak in the cool water to wash the 10 miles of dust off my feet and legs.

Farewell to Social Media, Hello Strawberry

In the time of covid-19 with so much uncertainty swirling around our lives, many are unemployed, or in my case, I’m employed, but my employer is having me stay home. I have several projects I work on from my personal computer, but I still have substantial portions of my day at my disposal. We practice social distancing as asked, and for the most part, we are good citizens who remain at home. Luckily, I have a backyard and garden where I can spend much of my leisure time. Last week, I spent an hour considering the accomplishments of my day, or days (or is it daze?), and wondered if I’m making the best use of my copious amounts of spare time. The sad realization is that I was spending (or squandering) hours of my time each day on social media; five minutes here and a half hour there. I always took time to check in at night before going to bed and it was usually the first thing I did in the morning. I would come in at lunch and make a salad, and while I ate, I scrolled through more feeds; Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, etc. Even with all this extra time at my disposal, I was horrified at the realization at what I had become. I was following feeds that were borderline corrupting my thinking. In fact, I began asking myself the question several weeks ago about several feeds, “Where is this leading me?” It was time to disconnect. I’ve deleted accounts before, usually arriving at the same place I was at on Friday. It only took about ten minutes to disconnect myself from Facebook and Instagram and delete those accounts. I kept YouTube because I do get a lot of enjoyment watching photography and gardening videos, and also America/Britain’s Got Talent. I didn’t feel they were leading me into “darkness”. After that 10-minute purge, I immediately began feeling relieved and happier. I no longer had anyone to keep up with. No compulsion to sink back into the mindless vortex of digital babel. The best part of the whole deal, I now have an extra two hours of each and every day back.

The Aspen forest at Strawberry is just beginning to emerge from winter and pushing out tender young leaves, once again forming a forest canopy.

The restrictions have begun easing a bit in Utah. We still need to practice social distancing, but if one is creative, one can still get out and see the beautiful world around us. Our son has been living fulltime in an RV with his family and they move around the state boondocking on federal land. The maximum stay is 14 days in one location. This week they moved to Strawberry Reservoir, only an hour away from our home. Since they were secluded in their campsite, and the maximum gathering group size has been raised to 20, we figured we could venture out in our Scamp and spend a few nights with them and see our two grandkids. It was wonderful to expand our horizons after two months of lockdown at home in Orem. Of course, I took my camera with me. With kids going to bed at 8:30 just at sunset, I grabbed my camera and took off for the nearby aspen forests to shoot. I also made it out each morning for sunrise while everyone else slept in. By the time I returned to the Scamp, grandkids were beginning to stir, and my wife had hot water ready to make a cup of tea. It was a wonderful way to break up our week.

In the lower washes, willows, ashes, and boxelders glow in the light of a setting sun. The willows in particular are beautiful with the smooth yellow bark catching the last rays of day.

The skunk cabbages are beginning to emerge in the meadows. Rendered in black and white, these plants make beautiful studies in soft tones and highlights.

The aspen forests are just beginning to wake up around our 8,000’ elevation campsite. The newly emerging leaves are soft velvety green and the flowers, when backlit, set the forest ablaze almost making it seem it was covered in frost. I’ve decided that an aspen forest has many faces. By far my favorite look is in the fall when the leaves are glowing in autumn colors. Winter is nice to see the thin spindly branches and the tall slender trunks. This time of year is also interesting as a green glow seems to hover over the forest.

When backlit by the morning sun, the Aspen forest takes on a quality reminiscent of fall. The new leaves sparkle and shine in light yellows and greens. This is another three image panoramic composition.

Shooting directly into the rising sun, which is just out of frame on the top, the backlit Aspen flowers almost look like frost in the atmospheric light.

Another three image panoramic composition stitched together, looking directly east into the rising sun.

A lot of snowmelt will be coming down from the higher slopes, watering the meadows and giving life to the wildflowers that are soon to follow.

What to Do During a Pandemic

Like most people these days, I am in self-imposed isolation, socially distancing, and confined to my ¼ acre bit of space called home. I pass my time while waiting for this evil virus to pass with reading, writing, gardening, and now a bit of photography. I seem to have more time on my hands than ever before, so why not put some time into the blog? I’ll not likely be making images of grand landscapes in the near future, although I may venture into the hills nearby on occasion. For now, I’ll share a few scenes I found around my home this morning and hope you take a few moments to enjoy the beauty of this season. It seems the earth isn’t threatened by the virus. We have storms passing through this week washing the landscape clean and encouraging bulbs to break forth from winter hibernation.

These Daffodils were planted in the fall. Several years ago, I came across a miniature variety called Tete-a-Tete. They only grow 6-8” tall and sport a small flower amid a grassy stem. I’m unsure why I’m drawn to this variety. It naturalizes well and will continue to spread through my garden in the years to come. It is one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring and a welcome sight at the end of a long and cold winter.

The fairy that watches over the waterfall.

I also found a garden fairy. Actually, we found the fairy at a local thrift store along with numerous other knick-knack fairy-like objects. The idea was to generate a playful imagination environment for the grandkids to play with when they are over. We hide the fairy objects around the yard and under plants in the hopes the grandkids will take hold and explore the yard more. We don’t care if the objects break, they only cost 50-75 cents each.

20 square feet of salad garden planted in January.

Lastly, this is my salad garden I planted in January. We were still blanketed in snow and quite cold overnight. The secret to this little patch was building a cold-frame lid for the garden bed. The area is four ft. by five ft., so I have 20 sq. ft. of salad garden. It contains a half dozen varieties of winter lettuce that survive the cold well (Landis, Black Seeded Simpson, Forellenschluss, Red Salad Bowl, and Parris Island Cos), spinach, tatsoi, mizuna (Japanese greens), claytonia (Miner’s Lettuce), arugula, kale, parsley, radicchio, red-veined sorrel, and mache. One day in February when the air temperature was in the 30’s, under the lid of the cold frame, the temperature was 103°f. I had to vent the garden bed on any day the sun was out in order not to cook my tender plants. With so much time on my hands, many more of the beds are also planted. The beets, radishes, turnips, peas have sprouted, and the cabbages, collards, broccolis, kales, and onions have been moved from under my grow lights in the basement to the garden beds. I’m currently hardening off four rhubarb plants and four thymes that will soon be in the ground.

I hope your days of hunkering down are happy and fulfilling. Best wishes to you all at this odd set of circumstances we are under.

When Your Eye is at the Waterline...

For years I wanted to coin a quotable phrase of philosophical insight; the kind of phrase like Murphy’s Law, “If anything can go wrong, it will”,  or “Don’t put off tomorrow what you can do today”, or even “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’. I wanted to have my name attached to some memorable quote that would be known perhaps as Handley’s axiom. I pondered on this for months with no satisfying results. As hard as I might try, I couldn’t formulate an original phrase. And then one day right out of the blue, there it was, the result of an extremely trying situation, which had engulfed me. I was under tremendous pressure at work. I was feeling stress at home because of work. Nothing seemed to be going right and I felt I was sinking. The pressure was so intense in fact that it impaired my vision of seeing the end to my problem. I was not able to make an offensive plan because of my defensive position. My outlook was grim because my perspective was shallow. I couldn’t “see the forest for the trees”, and there was “no light at the end of the tunnel”. And that is when the words fell- “When your eye is at the water line, your horizon is not very far off” - what an odd quirky thought. I kind of liked it, and even though I was still stressed and “going under for the third time”, I had to take a few moments and think- when your eye is at the water line, your horizon is not very far off. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself because I knew I had it. I remember at the time that it didn’t really help me out of my then current situation, but it did bring me some degree of satisfaction knowing that I finally had the long sought quotable quote. So, what was I thinking and feeling at the time, how have I developed this thought? Honestly, it did nothing for me at the time except create an image of myself bobbing in the water, head half submerged in a great pool of stress and self-pity. I wrote the thought on a sticky note on my computer screen at work and there it sat for many years. Most of the time I don’t see it because I am used to it being there. But every once in a while, I will clear off my workspace or rearrange my desktop and there I find it and I remind myself, I really ought to figure out what it means.

In the early morning without a breath of wind, the surface of the lake creates perfect reflections of the distant mountains.

How does one establish a horizon line? Once in an art class I learned that the level of the viewer’s eye determines the horizon. In other words, if I am six feet tall, the horizon I look at on a flat plane is about six feet high.  My grandson Gunnar, on the other hand is only about three and a half feet tall- his horizon is about three and a half feet high. How can I change my horizon, to increase my perspective? I can climb a ladder, go up a mountain, or fly in an airplane. From the top of Mt. Timpanogos, I can see from the Salt Lake Valley over to the Uinta’s, down south to Mt. Nebo and over to West Mountain and beyond. By physically raising the level of my eye, I am able to increase my perspective. What is the opposite of this perspective? What is the lowest level I can place my eye and diminish my perspective? I guess it would be to place my eyeball on the ground- not a very easy or comfortable thing to do. That is where I developed a more plausible method to diminish that perspective, by placing myself in the water and sinking my eye down to waterline.

As the sun begins to rise, the sky ignites with beautiful steaks of color.

As with each of us there is a physical body with physical parts and physical limitations, so there is also a spiritual body with spiritual and emotional capabilities.  The perspective I enjoy at my six-foot physical stature may not represent my spiritual perspective at any given time. Indeed, as I get older my kids constantly remind me that I’m shrinking. My boys tell me my spine is collapsing, that I am “over the hill” and on my way down the other side. As my perspective may diminish in one way, I have long felt that it is growing in another. The challenges I face in life, including those my children give me, provide an ever-increasing perspective of the landscape of life and my purpose here. Perhaps my spiritual perspective is ten feet high, or maybe even thirty feet, or even a hundred. How would one quantify a spiritual and emotional perspective?

Perhaps my favorite image of the shoot, the reflection in the water creates a wonderful abstract impression.

As I stood on the shore of the Great Salt Lake Friday near the Bonneville Salt Flats, thoughts of my physical and spiritual perspectives came flooding back to me. Here I was on the edge of a vast sea of water with a distinct horizon in the distance. How could I use my camera to capture the feeling of my eye at the waterline? Try as I might, I couldn’t achieve the perspective I was after without placing my camera physically in the water. I knew the ice-cold briny saltwater of the Great Salt Lake would be devastatingly corrosive to my camera body. The only way to truly capture the idea of sinking would be to half submerge my camera below the surface of the water. I’ll have to return someday with a sealed underwater housing to truly see what that would appear as. In the meantime, I’ll always know what I felt emotionally when my perspective has left me bobbing for the vista when my eye was at the waterline and my horizon not very far off.

Winter Photography

I’ve mentioned this before in previous posts, probably almost any time I’ve written in winter; this is not my best season for photography. I’m not ashamed to say I’m a warm weather kind of guy. But I live in Utah and that carries with it some measure of frosty weather. It’s difficult to balance appropriate dress for the climate with the functionality of managing photographic equipment in the outdoors. I hate operating the controls on my camera with stiff and numb fingers. I purchased a great pair of Vallerret gloves this season that allows the fingertips of my index fingers and thumbs to pop out. My fingers stay warm, but it still adds bulk to work around and I invariably still need to put my hand in my pocket to retrieve something and the glove is still bothersome. Also, photography is not necessarily an active sport. Setting my camera on a tripod and waiting for the light to emerge doesn’t always keep my circulation flowing. It’s cold standing on the edge of a frozen lake before sunrise when it is 16°f, even when I’m wearing 4 layers of high-tech insulated clothing.

Winter sunrise from the shore of Utah Lake

There are advantages however to this time of the year and they will likely continue pulling my lazy butt out of bed long before sunrise on a February morning. Often, landscapes are simpler under a blanket of white snow. An otherwise chaotic scene is rendered cleaner with less distractions. There is less competition in a brilliantly colored sunrise sky when played against a landscape of white snow or ice-covered lake. The warm colors of sunrise and sunset also contrast with the cool tones of winter in a pleasing manner. If nothing else, those warm tones somehow in turn warm my shivering bones.

Late afternoon along the Provo River between storms.

This past week, I managed to be out for several sunsets and sunrises, and each turned out rewarding experiences. Saturday morning, I was tempted to visit the Bonneville Salt Flats, but instead opted for a nearby shoot across Utah Lake. I wasn’t disappointed in our local landscape. There is so much beauty in our valleys and mountains. The best aspect of shooting at this time of year is the convenience that sunrises and sunsets occur at reasonable times of the day. I often arise at 3:00am in the summer to catch a sunrise, but then, I only have to dress in shorts and a tee-shirt. There are always tradeoffs.

Fire and ice along the shore of Utah Lake.

While I was photographing the image of fire and Ice, I began hearing odd and eery noises in the lake. I detected that the ice was beginning to shift and burp. Within about 15 minutes, the ice buckled up and created this mass of ice plates.

Perhaps my favorite image of the day. The sun lifted above the mountains on the southern end of the lake first and lit a band of mist rising from the lake. The reflection of the clouds in the ice and water was fascinating.

It's Cold Outside

And so, it is winter, my most difficult season. It’s as though I’m out of practice using my camera with little motivation to leave my warm home and venture into below freezing temperatures. The best images are at the beginning of day or the end, never when the air is slightly warmed by the low hanging sun. This weekend I pushed against the comfort zone and forced my lazy butt out the door. I drove up Provo Canyon to Deer Creek Reservoir to photograph the backside of Mt. Timpanogos at sunset. I dressed moderately warm and parked by the meadows on the northeast side of the lake. When I stepped out of the car, I faced a cold brisk wind coming off the water. Despite the chill in my bones, I trudged through the snow to the shoreline and set up my tripod. It wouldn’t have felt bad had there been no wind.

Deer Creek Reservoir looking north towards the Provo River drainage

It was a lovely evening and I rather enjoyed watching the sun set for over an hour. I made many images, but my favorites came towards the end of my time when the mountain was rimmed in warm glowing clouds. Because of the wind, the surface of the water was choppy and contrasty. The later I waited, the lower the light level, which allowed me to slow my shutter speed considerably. I added a three-stop graduated neutral density filter to hold back the sky and a six-stop neutral density filter to slow the overall exposure. Holding back that much light, allowed me to use shutter speeds of 15 and 30 seconds. That trick smoothed the surface of the water and gave a silky quality to the clouds. I’m pleased with the images I made.

Deer Creek Reservoir, looking towards Provo Canyon. The southern shoulder of Mount Timpanogos is on the right.

Saturday morning, I awoke early and left my home at 6:30. I drove to the north shore of Utah Lake in the hopes of capturing a brilliant sunrise. Unfortunately, a storm front moved in overnight and obscured any chance of a sunrise. I waited an hour for the clouds to part, but it never happened. With flat and dull lighting, I worked on several compositions of reeds in the water and ice in the distant background. I like the simple Zen-like quality of these images. I’m glad I made the effort to leave my warm bed and walk in the brisk air and enjoy the beauty of my natural world in Utah Valley.

Utah Lake in Utah Valley. This image is from the north shore looking south.

Utah Lake in Utah Valley.

Farewell to 2019

I’ve been off from shooting for almost 2 months. Between being ill, minor surgery, company, and the holidays, my camera has gathered dust in my basement office since November. Sometimes it’s hard restarting after being idle for so long. I had an idea to end the year with an image of the final sunset of 2019 paired with the first sunrise of 2020. But, since we had a snowstorm move in overnight, there was no sunrise today. Maybe when the snows clear out in another day or two, I’ll be treated to beautiful skies once again and I’ll get my sunrise shot. It snowed all day and its quite beautiful now.

Looking northwest across Utah Lake, Utah. Sorry about the jet trails. Depending on the winds, we’re either under the approach to Salt Lake international or under the departure path. Tonight the planes were departing to the south. Sigh!!!

The opening image was made on the eastern shore of Utah Lake last evening, looking south. The lake has a thin layer of ice on top, almost strong enough to support me, but not nearly thick to trust. In a few more weeks I’ll be venturing out once again to capture the beautiful ice shots where the forces of nature push up ridges on the western shore. I wish you all a happy new year. I look forward to the grand adventures that await us in the coming year.

Autumn in Zion

I’ve made three trips to Zion this fall, and maybe with a little luck, I’ll get one more visit in during the Thanksgiving break. This is a lovely time of year to be in the park. During the second half of October the number of park visitors drops significantly. Zion is one of the most visited national parks in the state. I’ve managed to get around the crowds by either visiting in remote locations or accessing the main canyon via bicycle instead of riding the shuttle. One of my favorite parts to explore is on the east side, beyond the Mt. Carmel Highway tunnels. There are many side canyons and washes that offer hours of wandering in secluded areas. I can setup my tripod and concentrate on a single vista without hordes of people mingling in the scene. I discovered a set of slot canyons this fall that I have never hiked in before and they are amazingly close to the highway.

Deep in a wash on the east side of the park.

Utah was hit with a wave of very cold arctic air early in the season. It was cold enough to arrest the usual slow transition into fall colors. Some trees jumped from lush green to dry and brown almost overnight. The maples fared better, and I still found patches of brilliant red and orange. I spent most of my time photographing intimate scenes and sometimes midground subjects. There were few grand vistas that caught my attention. I was mostly in the park during the middle of the day and while the light was good for tighter subjects, it didn’t work as well for the bigger landscapes.

Fall color in Zion wash.

I welcome your feedback if you have thoughts or ideas on what I might do differently to capture the beauty of this magnificent national park.

Vibrant red of big tooth maple in Zion wash. Roots reaching long distance to capture moisture.

Vibrant colors found in Zion wash.

Slot canyon on the east side of the park.

Not a square inch of landscape is wasted in Zion National Park.

Backlit tree and meadow in main canyon of park.

Beautiful fall day in main canyon of Zion National Park.

Wasatch Mountains Autumn

I live on the Wasatch Front in Utah. We are finishing our fall season and quickly heading into winter. We had a cold blast of arctic air this week that served to help terminate fall and remind us of winter’s approach. We’ve already experienced single digits in parts of the state. Sadly, when the temperature drops that low, the leaves freeze, and the pretty fall colors quickly fade to brown and fall to the ground. Over the last few weeks, I’ve made several trips into the nearby hills and photographed many beautiful scenes. Many of the aspen forests near our home have been susceptible to a fungal disease that spots the leaves and also inhibits the color transition. Nonetheless, the forest is still striking. Sometimes I find beauty in the slender white trunks of the aspens edged with fields of golden grasses. In these images, there is still a flush of yellow, but not like we experienced while in Colorado in the San Juan Mountains.

This image was made in the vicinity of the opening photograph, but it is a single frame of an aspen stand.

Aspen leaves quickly transitioning through fall color.

On the other hand, Utah is also blessed with great forests of Bigtooth Maple. These magnificent trees turn brilliant shades of red and orange in late September and into October. The lower flanks of Mount Timpanogos are thick with maple and oak trees. A drive over the Alpine Loop Road allows one to view all these various palettes of fall color. In a good year, when the hard freeze is slow to come, the different groves transition one after the other in a cascade of warm and beautiful colors. I love long slow autumns. This year, it wasn’t long or slow, but abruptly ended.

Red maple on the lower flanks of Mount Timpanogos

Fall on Mount Timpanogos

San Juan Mountains Scenic Skyway

 Every few years, Virginia and I make an effort to visit the San Juan Mountains of southwest Colorado. Sometimes we go in fall and enjoy the wildflowers. At other times we try to arrive towards the end of September to catch the aspen forests as they transition into their fall brilliance. Such was the case last month. When we left on our drive from Utah, it wasn’t our intent to drive the entire loop. We kept an open and flexible schedule because we were not sure what the status of change would be. We had a few highlights we looked forward to, but much of our time was left free. Our jumping off point on the Skyway was Ridgway. We spent our first two nights there. We arrived in the early afternoon and found a camping site at Ridgway State Park Campground, a favorite place to stay.

Palisade overlooking Owl Creek Pass at sunset

Ridgway and its surrounding terrain were used as the film background for the 1969 John Wayne classic, True Grit. That is one of my favorite films. I looked forward this trip to finding some of the iconic locations used in the film. I had heard of Owl Creek Pass before but had never taken the time to explore it. With several hours until sunset and the dirt road across the highway from the state park, we quickly dropped off the trailer and made our way up the pass. As the road winds through the forest, vast vistas of aspen and cliffs opened before us. We stopped at every pullout that was broad enough to fit the 4Runner. We had beautiful conditions of stormy skies and a sinking sun. The road eventually passes by Silver Jack Reservoir, but we never made it that far. There was far too much to shoot lower down and the sunset wouldn’t last that long. There are several stunning film locations on this drive. Perhaps the most famous being the meadow used in the final conflict where Rooster confronts Ned Pepper’s gang in one of the best John Wayne shootouts ever filmed. The meadow has come to be called The True Grit Meadow and is backed by the towering Chimney Rock. When we first arrived at the meadow, I recognized that it would be a killer shot if I could catch it in golden hour light, which wasn’t for another hour. We drove on up the pass and explored more sites, and then returned to the meadow for the last fleeting moments of sunset on Chimney Rock. It was worth the wait.

Chimney Rock rising above “The True Grit Meadow”

Another favorite place to watch for autumn color is on Red Mountain Pass between Ouray and Silverton. This is simply one of the most photogenic locations along the Million Dollar Highway on the San Juan Scenic Byway. We stopped at Crystal Lake early in the morning and photographed sunrise as the light crept over Red Mountain. The drive through Silverton and Durango was beautiful although the fall colors were not as intense as around Ouray. We stopped for the night at Mesa Verde National Park. Because we arrived late in the afternoon, we were not able to acquire tickets to the well-known cliff dwellings. We explored on our own and enjoyed small hikes along the mesa rim.

Patchwork of color near Crystal Lake on Red Mountain Pass

Mesa Verde overlook

The next morning, we continued along the loop, driving up the Dolores River canyon. That drive was equally vibrant and beautiful. I only made a few images in this area because the gorge was narrow and heavily forested. I had a difficult time finding locations where I could capture this magnificent landscape. The road opened up more as we approached Lizard Head Pass. With the dramatic storm clouds once again blowing in, I photographed once again the great San Juan Mountains.

Backlit aspen beside the Dolores River

Approaching Lizard Head Pass as storm clouds move in

Because the reports I read on the internet indicated that the aspen around the Dallas Divide were not looking good, we decided to not continue back to Ridgway and complete the loop. Instead, we left the Skyway after passing by Telluride and took a scenic backroad into Utah and drove through Moab. It was a spectacular weekend drive along one of the most scenic highways in America.

View from Lizard Head Pass

Fall

What a glorious time of the year! This week we had a cold storm move over the state. It left our mountains dusted with a layer of snow and brought a cold nip to the lower valleys. Fall seems late in arriving this year, but I feel like the turn in the weather will hasten the arrival of autumn colors. We’ll be driving to the San Juan Mountains later this week and hopefully be blessed with abundant vistas of golden aspen forests.

Naked aspen

When the storm hit us on Friday, I was busy with chores around the house and yard. I’d periodically look out the window at Mount Timpanogos to the north of us and see its peak jutting out of a cloud layer. Fresh snow covered the top third of the mountain. As the day wore on, the words of John Muir pounded in my head, “The mountains are calling and I must go”. I loved that phrase from thirty years ago, but now it seems trite and overused as it appears on countless posters and tee-shirts across America. The truth is though, that the mountains really were calling out to me. I lasted until about 1:00pm and then I couldn’t take it any longer. I told Virginia I had to go. She’s a good woman. Not only did she let me out of my chores, but she gave me her blessing as well.

A mix of seasons on Mt. Timpanogos

I grabbed my camera bag, dressed for cold and wet weather, and ran for the car. It’s almost exactly a 35-mile drive from my home to Provo Canyon over the Alpine Loop, past Sundance Ski Resort, around Mt. Timpanogos, down American Fork Canyon, and back home. In years past I’ve even ridden my bicycle over the loop. It’s a great ride. I have my favorite pull outs that I stop at almost every time. I’ve done this for over 40 years. It doesn’t matter how many times I stop to shoot, it’s always a different view with different weather conditions. Friday was like no other.

Early changers in the grove

The pullout where I shot these images is one of my favorites. I call it my million-dollar view. Sometimes I share this vista with other photographers. The pullout only allows 4-5 cars to pack in here together. On Friday I had it to myself. I threw my camera bag and tripod on top the car and scrambled up after them. I set up the camera and sat on the roof of the 4-Runner watching the mountain change under the floating clouds for well over an hour. It was indeed magic light. The forest is just beginning to change colors. From these images it might appear that the fall change is well under way. These images give a slightly false reading because the trees are backlit by the sun and appear a bit more yellow than they actually are. It didn’t matter to me. I soaked it in and shot image after image as rays of light drifted across the scene.

On the verge of striking gold

Blue skies have once again returned to the state. But the forecast calls for more storms by the coming weekend. The shorter days and dropping temperature should only hasten the appearance of the brilliant colors. I hope you take the opportunity to make short drives into our nearby mountains, escape the city, and revel in the beauty of autumn.

Threat of winter

Home

I live in Utah Valley, at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains near the shores of Utah Lake. Our little town is called Orem, after Walter Orem from the early railroad days. There are things I like about our city and aspects that are growing dim in my heart. I don’t like how fast the area is developing and the urban sprawl that has occurred since I moved here in 1976. We bought our home in the late 1980’s. Back then this part of the valley was still somewhat rural with apple and cherry orchards dotting the area. Traffic wasn’t bad in those days and it seemed life moved slower somehow. One of the attractions to my home, that I would dearly miss if I were ever to leave, is the proximity to the beautiful Wasatch Mountains. We live at the very foot of Mt. Timpanogos standing at 11,752 feet in elevation, which I gaze at out my front window every day,. The picture above was taken from the Squaw Peak Overlook not more than a 20-minute drive from my home. When I sense a pretty sunset coming on, like the one above, I usually have time to grab my camera bag, jump in the car, and be at the overlook in time to capture its majesty. The night I captured this image last week, I barely had time to set up my tripod before the sun sank behind the mountains on the opposite side of the valley. In the twinkling lights below in the valley I can see my neighborhood, my kid’s schools, the church we’ve attended for over 30 years, our grocery store, etc. When I’m down in the valley I lose my perspective on the area. Up here I see my life in greater perspective.

Sunset over Utah Lake

We’ve had storms move through the state this last week. It was a hot dry summer, so the moisture was a welcome sight. Stormy skies make for much better photography. Between rain showers I once again drove towards Squaw Peak, but instead of stopping at the overlook, I took a dirt road that winds further up Cascade Mountain. In several of the following images, you can see the tip of my valley on the left side. The bulk of the view is of Mount Timpanogos. This is a lovely meadow in fall when the maple trees turn bright orange and the willows turn golden yellow. Fall is late in coming this year, which I suppose should be expected, given that spring arrived late and thus summer was put off as well.

Six image pano stitch from Cascade Mountain at dusk

I look forward to fall and the changing colors almost as much as I look forward to the spring wildflower bloom. Both seasons are magical times of the year for me. I love the warmth of summer, but not as much photographically. And then there is winter. Winter is the hardest season for me. I love the individual storms that blanket the valley and mountains in fluffy dry snow. It’s the long cold days in between that I find difficult. This summer I built a woodshop in my backyard where I plan to pass those cold frosty days warmed by the heat of my woodburning stove I’ll be installing in the coming weeks.

I slowed my shutter speed to blur the motion f the clouds. It was a tranquil scene to enjoy all to myself while the hustle and bustle of life was in full swing in the valley.

Utah has been a good place to enjoy the natural world around me. It was a good place to raise my family. My children all enjoy the outdoors. They were raised on frequent trips into the mountains and deserts. I’m looking forward to my next adventure, which is outside Utah. We’ll be going to the San Juan Mountains of Colorado in a few weeks to see those great aspen forests during their color change. I hope you all enjoy the next several weeks as autumn sweeps across the country.

One final image of storm clouds over Mount Timpanogos. The I-15 corridor can be seen in the left of the image, headed towards Salt Lake City.

Return to Timpanogos Basin

It’s been 2 months since I last wrote a blog post. When I started the blog, I got a super good deal from my work, half off a one-year subscription. I was willing to gamble with a $72.00 investment. I enjoyed writing the posts and sharing my photography. When my subscription came up for renewal and I was faced with a much bigger fee, I had to weigh the value of this experience. I haven’t made a dime off the blog, and while many friends tell me they enjoy my postings, I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend $144.00 to entertain a couple dozen family members and friends. So, I cancelled my subscription. My sister noticed I wasn’t putting anything out, but no one else seemed to miss it. I still had a desire to share my photography, so I opened an Instagram account and linked it to my Facebook page. For the most part, posting to social media has been an unfulfilling experience. Writing short descriptions of a photo doesn’t truly capture the emotion of the full backstory. In short, I missed the blog. Last week I had an epiphany. I wasn’t writing for you, my unknown audience, I’m writing for myself. While I can’t justify spending the $144.00 on friends, family, and a few other readers I’ve managed to lure in, I can easily justify it for myself. It’s an outlet I need.

Indian paintbrush, Cows Parsnip, Fleabane, and Forget-Me-Nots in the Timpanogos Basin

One of the definite advantages to running the blog was a nagging desire to create content, which in turn served as a motivator to go shooting. In my original model, I attempted to shoot Friday evening, process the images on Saturday, and then compose the writing on Sunday and post. Towards the second half of the year, I decided that was too much pressure as it sometimes conflicted with other weekend activities with family or church. I began moving towards overlapping my shoots. I still try to do most of my photography on weekends, but now I spend a full week editing the images and thinking about the writing. Now that I am rebooting my posting, I’m not sure I will stick to any schedule. I want to put more effort into the writing and that will likely require multiple evenings on the computer.

My secret field of wildflowers on Timpanogos. I can be on this mountain with a thousand other people, but always escape the crowds on this side trail.

I always hoped to hear from someone with a comment about the post. Mostly it’s my wife, Virginia who adds a comment. She’s with me often when I shoot. I think her comments are mostly out of charity for me. I don’t think she likes seeing me fling my life into the ether with no response. Since I’ve decided the blog is more for me than anyone else, I think I can be satisfied with the great silence beyond the computer screen. BUT, should anyone decide to make a comment, I would certainly enjoy reading it.

Lupine, Paintbrush, and Mertensia in my “Secret Garden” on Mount Timpanogos

These images were made on the day we celebrated our birthdays. Our birthdays are two days apart and we generally combine them into one day of fun. Neither of us has climbed Mount Timpanogos in a few years and we decided this would be a good challenge. I’m certain the mountain has gotten higher and steeper since I last climbed it. We were two worn out old geezers by the time we returned to the car. I’m usually satisfied with only attempting to reach the Timpanogos Basin and not going all the way to the summit. I enjoy seeing the wildflower meadows above tree line and so I usually make that my goal. We had a very heavy snowpack this year with a late spring melt-off. Because of that, the meadows weren’t uncovered for the usual bloom time at the end of July. We made this trip up the mountain a full month later this year. It was a beautiful bloom, but the plants didn’t seem as full and high as previous years. I suspect that the plants can sense a shorter season and push through to the bloom stage without developing as much stem and leaf tissue. It was a glorious hike none the less. I wish I could have been there for early or late light, but on our birthdays, we also enjoyed sleeping in.

Arrowleaf Balsamroot in the main Timpanogos Basin.

Craters of the Moon, Idaho

After leaving City of Rocks, we continued north to our next destination, Craters of the Moon National Monument. We kept to backroads and passed through small rural towns and miles and miles of southern Idaho farmland. Within ten miles of the monument we came across our first hot spring of the trip. The Milford (Wild Rose) Hot Spring is only about 100 yards from the road. It has a large soaking pool at a nice soaking temperature.

MIldford Hot Spring, also known as Wild Rose Hot Spring

Craters of the Moon is a rugged landscape of vast stretches of lava rock, cinder cones, and sparse vegetation. We found a campsite and then drove the scenic loop, which begins at the campground. We spent the remainder of that day under cloudy skies hiking to a half dozen points of interest along the loop drive. Even though the vegetation was sparse, there were plenty of wildflowers to observe growing among the gravel soil structure amid the lava flows. We did not secure permits to explore the bat caves. We have hiked among the lava tubes in central and southern Utah before and decided with our rapidly diminishing light, to skip that part of the monument. With the sun setting to the west, we used our time exploring the other trails on the loop. The stormy clouds and setting sun allowed me to capture images of the park that reveal the rugged nature without the harsh light of mid-day. It was difficult to find photographic compositions that revealed the delicate nature of the wildflowers and the harsh environment in which they grow. The best I could do, was put my lens as close to the ground as possible to show the delicate balance between life and hardscape.

Bitterroot (Lewisia rediviva) growing from the lava soil on the Inferno Cone

Buckwheat growing in a lava flow below a cinder cone

The harsh terrain where wildflowers find fragile footholds among the scant soil

It’s a small park. There were many parts we did not see, but we felt that an overnight stop was enough to satisfy our curiosity. We slept a peaceful night in the public campground and then awoke early the next morning before sunrise and continued on the road north. Upon exiting the park, we made one more stop at the Milford Hot Spring where we soaked as the sun rose over that vast lava landscape.

Weathered roots overlooking a lava field below a cinder cone

View from the top of the Inferno Cone, Craters of the Moon National Monument, Idaho