Welcome to "The Written wOrd". Here you can read more about some of my favorite images. If you see any image on this website you would like to know more about just email me and I'd be happy to share my journeys with you.

There are so many stories I'd like to put onto "paper", yet so little time to do so. People write to communicate a variety of ideas, however, for me; it's another way of sharing the beauty I've discovered while trekking to many of the wonderful spots on our planet.


READ WHAT OTHERS ARE SAYING:

"OMIGAWD, David, the image you sent is awesomely, surrealistic, gorgeous!!! Worth ALL the effort and exertion, I'd say! There are SO many sections that are almost deserving of separate treatment... The leaves swirling in the eddy; Smooth layering of the wall topped with the spongy-looking arch; Edges of the water at the 'tunnel'... simply Breathtaking!" --- Coke from New Mexico

"Wow David, you are one fiiiiine photographer. You sure have visited some beautiful places… Steve keeps on raving about how good your shots are!" --- Dave from South Africa.

"I have one comment: WOW!!!!!! Your photos are absolutely beautiful." --- Tracie from Texas.

"You’re stuff looks absolutely amazing. Several people have commented on them... One lady in particular said she used to run an art gallery and she said you could make a living selling your pictures! By the way, I would love to have you photograph my family. Can I make an appointment?" --- Jill from Georgia.

"We are all so impressed with your work David!" --- Colleen from Go!Publications

"I have to say since we did your interview on Monday I think I've been to your website a dozen times. I especially love your Golden Gate Bridge images; the one you showed us in the parking lot was just incredible." --- Joy from The Daily Times

“Your pictures are GORGEOUS!! Just met with my family last night and saw your picture in Mom's room… You are so talented!!” --- Kim from Dallas

"I just returned from 3 days in Erie, PA to find your photo!!! What an absolute phenomenal present you have given us! Thank you, thank you, thank you - a thousand times thank you!!! I do not know how I can ever truly thank you enough! We will cherish this for many years to come - and each time we look at your amazing photo, we will think of you, with such fond memories." --- Becky from Michigan

"Amazing Light"

Antelope Canyon. A cathedral of time-worn rock and sand was, until recently, an unknown oasis in the Arizona desert. As with all slot canyons, Antelope was carved by violent forces of nature. Rain comes neither often nor freely in the desert southwest. When rain does come, the hardened, parched bare ground cannot absorb the large amount of water.

So, water finds its way into crevasses in this normally arid landscape. Water forces its way into these chasms, and slowly, over time, carves out amazing slot canyons.

Because of likely floods one never enters a slot canyon if rain is either present or forecast. Even if the sky is clear above, floods can begin many miles away. This was tragically illustrated in 1997 when seven European tourists dismissed a guide’s advice on a sunny afternoon. The tourists drowned after a flood, which began many miles to the north, entered the canyon.

In the early 20th century Antelope Canyon was found by a Native American girl tending livestock. This slot canyon got its name from local antelope herds seeking shelter from the hot summer sun. For dozens of years, this beautiful structure was only known to a few dedicated photographers and outdoorsmen.

Before the 1990’s, one could venture into Antelope Canyon and meditate for hours as the day passed. Today, in Page, Arizona, dozens of tour vehicles have turned this once serene desert jewel into a themed park setting. Antelope Canyon’s structure is less than a quarter mile long and only a few feet wide in many areas. It has become quite crowded recently. Dozens of tourists per hour using point and shoot cameras make professional images almost impossible. Taking any photo under 3-5 seconds will render dark, underexposed images. A tripod is a must. A flash will only work ~ 15 feet. Even with flash, one will lose majestic colors of canyon walls as harsh light of the flash fills the interior.

I visited Antelope Canyon many times before I captured a cherished view seldom seen… a wide view photo containing a gorgeous shaft of light. This photo was taken after three days of constant jockeying for space with each average point and shooter. The sun only penetrates the canyon during a very brief noon-time window. Therefore, this photo is even more elusive. Ironically, most landscape images are never tried at noon as the harsh mid-day sun ruins good photos.

Normally a 20 second exposure at f/14 or smaller is vital to fully expose the light shaft and bring proper depth of field to narrow canyon walls. However, compromises must be made. Any exposure over 10 seconds is now impossible because someone will inevitably walk into the shot. On day three I consoled myself that this image was impossible. Waiting visitors would stand in the exact spot needed for my camera without remorse.

After multiple days of jockeying for camera position, I looked up in amazement! I had this section of the canyon all-to-myself… except one Navajo guide leaning on the wall. I was almost alone. Was I dreaming? Had I finally lost my mind?

The guide smiled at me and broke the canyon’s rare silence saying, “You’d better hurry; next tour is due”. I quickly framed the canyon walls, threw some sand into the air to light up the Sun’s shaft, and began taking 8 second exposures. I never looked through my viewfinder – to save precious time. After twelve shots, the next group of visitors arrived. The magic moment was over as quickly as it began. The whole magical event lasted less than 5 minutes.

"Forgotten Keyhole"

Slot canyons are a unique part of the southwestern landscape. Such unique canyon structures are a photographer’s paradise. Only untamed water can create these odd and unique shapes.

Some slot canyons are just that, a simple slit within the earth allowing only a minute amount of light into its deep, isolated canyon floor. Others, such as “Forgotten Keyhole” have a wider opening. Direct light can enter the canyon during a much longer part of the day. One must plan accordingly.

Light, something often missing in slot canyons, is what transforms this dark, cave–like structure into an oasis. Some slot canyons are more susceptible to this enchanting light than others. Mid-morning has the most unique potential for digital capture as soft, reflected light from high above christens the forgotten rock below.

My first encounter with “Forgotten Keyhole” was actually a second trip to northern Arizona. As with many of my images, I was only within a few miles reach a year earlier, but time (or weather) was not on my side and other responsibilities required my attention. I usually spend several days at a single location to observe how the light interacts with its surroundings. “Forgotten Keyhole” was taken during my second day within the canyon.

Anticipation of what awaits usually gets the better of my senses so I will not be able to sleep the night before. No matter the wakeup time I hurriedly eat breakfast and, with childlike anticipation, begin the trek towards my intended target. The day before, I had arrived just past the optimal time to shoot; I arrived at 9:00 am and missed the softer early morning light. This abundance of light usually isn’t a problem in narrow slot canyons however; this particular section was much wider than normal thus allowing direct canyon light into the chasm at a much earlier time of day. I was kicking myself for a missed opportunity.

During day two, I was determined not to make the same mistake twice. However, I simply can't control nature. Ironically, many landscape images require a moody, cloud soaked sky, but slot canyons require clear days to allow reflected light down into the canyon. A passing cloud or two may take 30 minutes to pass, being all that is needed to mute the light long enough for the missed moment. I must therefore always assume tomorrow might not bring the light.

On day two, I arrived at 7:30 am. I knew premium light would occur just prior to 9:00 am and this day provided all the conditions needed for a soul inspiring photograph. While many people might find waiting hours for the light to become “perfect” a rather mundane and boring lifestyle, I find the solitude that accompanies me at many of my photo locations the reason to explore in the first place. The experiences, whether good or bad, re-energize my soul. Without such opportunities, I might very well forget what’s important in life. After many years of struggling with why I am here on our planet it finally hit me during one of my many hours of waiting. Where I end up is of no importance; however, a journey through life with no challenges or risks is no life at all.

It is easy for all of us to remain in our comfort zone, to not challenge ourselves or put forth that little extra effort to realize our dreams. If I had not challenged myself to ignore my fatigue, hunger, or comfort of a warm bed, many of the images in my gallery would not exist. Many times when I do challenge myself no images materialize. However, even with efforts going unrewarded, I continually remind myself of a quote that sums up my photography in a nutshell: “I would rather try and fail, than to succeed at nothing.”

"Western Window"

Winter in the Utah desert is a fascinating time. However, people often forget how cold deserts can become during calm summer nights. Once winter arrives temperatures rival the artic tundra, minus snow. Hence, many visitors shy away from Utah’s scenic wonders during December thru February. This is when I come out to play. Winter light is amazing. The sun angle provides soft shadows and occasional winter blankets of snow which, when they arrive, turn an already beautiful landscape into a sparkling paradise.

Traveling in Utah during these months is both amazing and difficult. Being a desert there are no trees or structures to prevent the wind from taking hold of the landscape that can turn an otherwise chilly morning into a downright dangerous place to work. As if frostbite wasn’t annoying enough, camera equipment also starts to complain about this otherworldly atmosphere. Lens and tripod oils start to solidify in the sub zero conditions. Large, warm gloves are a luxury the landscape photographer cannot enjoy as the thick, cumbersome material hinders one from making the fine, delicate adjustments required at the moment of image capture. There have been times I could not sense the camera beneath my hands alerting me to the first stages of frost bite.

The result of all this outdoor bliss is a cold, lonely photographer bouncing up and down with his or her hands in pockets. To make matters worse the best photographic locations are usually elevated, making wind and cold even more pronounced. These are exactly the conditions which I endured during early February, 2006, photographing “Western Window”.

The view of Turret Arch looking through the Window’s section of Arches NP is a “classic” shot. Its relative ease and popularity make staking claim to what little real estate is available for morning photography a trip in futility. One can almost forget about trying to photograph this location during the summer months as hordes of photographers ascend on this spot each morning. I am fearful the Park Service will eventually close this location to photographers as their impact is becoming apparent.

I find it ironic a very early arrival is required to position one’s self during summer months; however winter is the time to photograph this image. The sun’s angle in winter makes it possible to capture both Turret Arch and the North Window together, basking in early morning light. Softer light also makes the red rock glow a subtle red longer than in summer. And if one is lucky enough the slight sprinkling of Winter’s white coat adds to the contrast of this sea of red rock.

After my first morning shooting this location (which is located on a 2 ft square rock perched upon a 30 ft drop-off) I wasn’t quite happy with my results. Beautiful as they were, I didn’t think the images were unique enough. So after an evening of play on my laptop, I decided to turn this image into a panoramic. The next morning in balmy -5°F weather, again, I climbed upon my little platform of rock and snow and zoomed into the window with a longer focal length lens. This zoomed in view cuts off the top of the window, however much more detail and a more pleasing vista was the result. Some may disagree; however of all images taken during the 4-day outing, this is my favorite. I hope it becomes one of yours as well.

"Marbled Sky"

My travels throughout Utah have given me a chance to see many well known ancient Indian Ruins. However, over my years of traveling I somehow missed one of the most photogenic ruins in the entire Southwest. While researching for other ruins I stumbled upon an image of an unusual ruin that was captivating.

This ruin was in fantastic physical condition, but what set it apart from any ruin I had ever seen was the rocky overhang atop the structure. The “ceiling” was an amazing array of orange, tan, black and white colors swirling together into a surreal marbled structure.

After more research I learned I had actually driven by this lonely little ruin over the past several years. North of Valley of the Gods, Utah, it lay along an unmarked dirt road which twists its way along a ridge between two obscure canyons.

As with many dirt roads, many off-shoots lay along the road. Finding the right turn-off was a little tricky, but I had marked my odometer exactly as instructions had stated. Soon, I turned onto the 200ft long outcropping which ended at a small campsite. I walked around, searching for a path that led into an adjoining canyon, but to no avail.

After a few minutes of studying my instructions, I decided to search a little further. Fortunately, I walked a little deeper into the brush and found a definite trail. If this was the correct path, it would then be just 0.7 miles to the canyon rim. So with my trusty GPS, I gathered my camera gear and hiked into the unknown. Sure enough, I came upon an opening with a steep trail descending one hundred feet into the canyon below.

At this point I had no doubt I was on the right track. My excitement built to an almost childish level. After entering the canyon, I marked new coordinates on my GPS. It would have been easy to miss the “entrance” back up the canyon wall. I had about three miles of hiking ahead of me and it was already 8:30 am. If I arrived too late, direct sunlight would illuminate the structure and ruin any chance of a well-lit photograph.

Winter foliage was thin so navigating the trees and rocks took less effort. I tracked my GPS position on a topo map. One wrong turn could lead to hours of retracing my location. I knew to keep to the right, but one person’s definition of what constitutes a “trail” and another’s differ greatly. I was to look for a tall hoodoo-like structure about ¾ of the way along the canyon. The walls were getting progressively higher as I trekked. Many structures appeared as hoodoos (tall thin pieces of soft rock with hard capstones).

Over an hour had passed since entering the canyon. I began to have location doubts, but my trusty GPS indicated I had only traveled about 2 miles… so I scouted the northern canyon overhangs for any signs of pueblo ruins. Time was critical… so I quickened my pace. A few small structures became evident, but none possessed a “roof”. Then, about ¼ mile away and 150 feet up the canyon face I saw my objective. This ruin was truly magnificent!

The Bureau of Land Management (BLM) does not make public the location of any ruins. (For good reason; vandalism is sadly an ever present danger.) There are no trails leading to this structure. The cliff face is too steep for a straight assent, so I start my zigzag approach onto the cliff face. About halfway up the canyon walls, I notice the structure was relatively small. Most people would need to crouch down or risk hitting their head on the beautiful ceiling. Once at the ruin, I carefully unpacked equipment so it would not accidentally roll down the cliff face. What was the best photographic angle?

Any camera angle would make for a fine photo, but I wanted to make an image with maximum impact. Only one position offered this impact. The best shot would be if I located just along a 15ft vertical drop-off prior to the 150 ft cliff face. There was room for one tripod and little else. To extend the “reach” of my wide-angle lens I could have kept the tripod legs retracted, however I did not like the view through my viewfinder. So I extended my tripod legs and stood at the drop-off. Now, I could keep the camera further back from the ruin and shoot as much of the ceiling as possible. I really liked what I saw.

Over the next two hours, I shot the structure at various angles and camera settings. Every fifteen minutes, I would take a few shots since light would change in subtle ways as it progressed up the canyon wall. Finally, at around 11:30 am my session was over. As with many of my favorite photo locations, it was difficult to leave this site. I have never understood how people can spend up to two days getting to a location and then view it for sometimes only minutes. I feel compelled to spend as much time as possible with my new found treasure.

The “Marbled Sky” image was actually taken during my second outing, late spring, 2006. After studying my first pictures I wanted to capture more of the amazing ceiling in my photograph as it, not the ruin, makes the shot. This time the hike looked completely different. The overgrowth was amazing along the canyon floor and I felt like Indiana Jones as I foraged my way into the canyon. However, once there it felt like I had never left. Mesa Verde is beautiful, but the hordes of people and man made trails will never give one the sense of intimacy that is found in this location.

"Vast Expanse"

Monument Valley, a classic image, is the image most people imagine on hearing “American Southwest”. Such vast expanses of open plains, briefly broken by mesas and buttes, are only found in the Western United States. This photograph was taken at the visitor’s center overlook. No other image lends itself so well to panoramic photography as a view from this spot. Nor does any image speak as strongly to my heart and soul as this multi-image panorama. Many images taken by landscape photographers come by chance. But “lucky” photographers keep chances high by going back to the same site time and time again. Few, if any, lasting landscape photos occur on a first attempt. Many outdoor vistas lack high impact without a creative, cloud-filled sky to compliment the terrain.

After waking to bad weather at 4 am in Albuquerque, NM, my plan to shoot balloons at the Balloon Fiesta was foiled. So in a rain soaked parking lot I altered my plans and drove to Monument Valley a day early. I bet the weather, causing so many problems in Albuquerque, would not occur 350 miles west. I guessed correctly. After mile 100, rain stopped and the sky became promising. However, I knew no photo would be complete if clouds obscured the western horizon at sunset. It is a chance I take every day.

At Kayenta, south of the park, I knew a special day just might unfold. It was hard to control my excitement. I had to set cruise control of my truck as speed would inexorably step up in hope of what lay ahead. I had taken this trip many times before. After doing a quick evaluation on where to set my tripod and how to frame the image, I decided to set up just west of the visitor’s center overlook. Strong wind and low temperature made for cold equipment, but now I was ready. I did one final check of camera settings. Then I waited.

There were moments when I thought the setting sun would be blocked by a dissipating storm system. Clouds crossed the sun’s path; brilliant evening light would ebb and wane across this gorgeous scene. I had no time to analyze the situation… or I would miss the five or eight second window of light dancing between the clouds. The last twenty minutes of daylight were extremely quick.

After the last rays of light vanished, I began to appreciate what really transpired. The actual experience was as if I was on instinctive autopilot. Reflecting on this image I do not recall even standing with my camera. I went into a euphoric state, a high which lasts until my compact flash card is full; then, forcibly, I return to reality.

"Spanning the East"

Long nights while the lonely watch guard our seas. A single light spanning the eastern horizon keeps ships from teetering too close to the treacherous rocks below. These are the images in my mind as I set up equipment prior to daybreak. Because of work, I travel extensively. Many times work places me in less than scenic locations. At other exciting times the view is exquisitely breathtaking. On one trip I discovered I would be spending some time in Maine. My heart will always belong to the western U.S.; however I am forever drawn to lonely images of lighthouses peering endlessly out to sea.

That morning the sea breeze continually reminded me - my body wanted to be in a warm bed. On my first attempt to photograph this iconic image of the eastern seaboard, I was greeted not by light, but by water. A light sprinkle fell on this early December morning. Yet nothing deterred me as I set up tripod among the puddles. I was anxious that this morning would not produce any amazing light; cloud cover was ominous and solid. If a break occurred in the clouds, it would be as rain, not light. However, I heated my hands on the car vents while waiting for drizzle to end. That morning I sat in my rental car more than I wanted… but I kept reminding myself about missed opportunities. What if driving back to my warm hotel room I had only to look back on a moody sunrise? No, I wouldn’t take any chances. So, I waited for the light… and waited… and…

The next week I arrived late. My flight was delayed and the car rental company had closed shop after midnight. The forecast was for morning clouds. Most of me honestly wanted to sleep in the next morning as I just knew it would be a repeat of the previous week… and so I let it (sleep) get the better of me. When I awoke the next morning my heart dropped into my stomach. I opened the window shades and a warm winter light greeted me. I was dumfounded. What about the weather forecast for dense morning clouds? I went into overdrive.

Grabbing my camera bag I went to the airport to pick up my rental car. It seemed like hours as the agent reviewed with me all conditions of renting the car. I didn’t hear a word she said the entire time as I was thinking about how the light was changing minute by minute. With keys, I rushed out the door with my trusty GPS in hand and drove “diligently” on this early Sunday morning to the parking area.

I had missed the early morning light, but thankfully low winter sun gave me time. “Spanning the East” is the result of this time. Now, when I feel the urge to lie in bed and sleep a little longer, I simply think about what I would have missed if I let myself succumb to sleep’s pleasure. As you now know, sleep, along with warmth, dry feet and glaze-free eyes are a luxury no landscape photographer can afford. Payment would be too great in missed images!

"Desolate Desert"

I always carry my GPS to photo locations. The GPS is my third piece of gear after camera and tripod. Whether I’m in a major city such as San Francisco or a lonely desert in the Utah back country, my GPS has saved time, frustration, and even possibly my life a few times. I’ll explain below…

During a February visit at Bryce Canyon NP, I decided to research this structure. The day was not looking promising due to winter overcast conditions. To get to this arch, one must exit the Utah highway system and drive off-road for 40 miles, passing many unmarked “cattle” roads. How cattle survive here is a mystery to me. Yet you see old water troughs indicating livestock once grazed these areas. The first 15 miles on this particular road is well maintained. But journey a little farther and the road becomes a heavy wash-board with a few extra ditches along the way.

After over an hour of driving I exited north onto a harsh road which made this road seem like it was nicely paved. After a mile and many exits from my truck to ensure it would clear obstacles, I doubted this road would be passable much further. So I exited the car with my trusty GPS in hand, set a reference point for my journey back, and started the multi-mile hike into the featureless desert.

No trails, no sight of my vehicle after only 300 feet of walking and with only dunes ahead of me, I began to reconsider my decision to find this lonely piece of rock. What if my batteries died? No problem, I have backups… but what if my GPS died? No answer… yikes. However, the excitement of remembering what this arch looked like kept my uneasiness at bay. During the first mile of walking all I could see was sand dunes, desert, but no arch.

It was hard to walk in a straight line… I kept arcing to my left and would correct only after checking the GPS track. Without a distant reference, walking a straight line is a problem on uneven terrain. At about mile 1.2, I began to see a few promising areas, but the destination – an arch outline – was imperceptible until mile 1.5 of my hike. Finally, the arch began to take shape. Out in the middle of nowhere I soon stood before this arch, but I wasn’t alone!

Another photographer had his camera set up. He was waiting for sunlight to appear on this overcast day. It honestly felt good to see another human. We queried each other about this location - few photographers give out “secrets” easily. My new friend said the 3.5 mile road I took wasn’t a “road” after all! With all my planning I missed the turn off. Indeed, there were many turnoffs during the 40 miles of off-road bliss. The sun never arrived that day.

Six months later during a stormy week, I decided to drive down for another try at this amazing structure. Given the weather’s uncertainty I planned 4 days at this location, but would only needed one. After driving 5 hours I began the teeth-rattling 40 mile journey once again, only this time with better coordinates. In my mind’s eye I was looking to capture this arch in the panoramic format; however I have learned one should never pre-judge a particular photo’s pose. I was determined to capture this arch as a panoramic; but I felt other angles needed to be considered after so much effort. The photo you see here is a result of being more “flexible” in my views of this structure. May of the panoramic compositions I took that day are pleasing, but this single, wide angle view of the arch tells the viewer all they need to know.

The clouds you see under the arch were putting on quite a light show that day. As the sun started to set I began to notice the storm was methodically approaching my location. If rain began to fall on the sandy surface I would be stuck dozens of miles from any help, 4WD or not. My anxiety level quickly rose as I knew my car was over a mile beyond the horizon. With 35 lbs of gear I expeditiously hiked across the dunes thinking I could easily retract my lonely footsteps in this isolated oasis. Only by retracing my original track via GPS was I able to find my vehicle in a timely manner, if at all. I was within a stones throw of my car before I ever set eyes on it. Without the GPS I could have easily walked right past its location. Once night fell it would have been impossible to fine my vehicle and needlessly tromping around the desert would have only wasted precious energy, e.g. water. This is why I say my GPS is the most important piece of equipment after my camera and tripod.

"Autumn Cascades"

Liquid Water. It is a requirement for life. Water takes many forms, depending on its ambient temperature and pressure. Water reduces mountains to plains and has caused great rifts within Mother Earth. Even water’s absence will have a devastating effect on surroundings, turning a lush vegetation-rich setting into a sandy dune within a matter of months. Clearly, water’s beauty is more than skin deep.

Canyons along the southwestern Utah Plateau were formed by water. The southwest experiences sudden torrents of water from concentrated columns rains high above. No landscape is immune. Whether from flash floods or continual gentle flow of creeks and rivers, water will always modify and sculpt the landscape.

Streams and rivers have an especially profound impact on the regional landscape. Slowly, but surely the continual flow of water eats away at the Earth. Given enough time, erosion can amount to some major landscape changes. The Grand Canyon is a good example of what erosion can do. If you are just at the right geological place at the right geological time, you may bear witness to subtle changes water creates. This is what the photograph “Autumn Cascades” depicts; changes that water has created, in a provocative, breath-taking fashion.

Occasional torrents of water opened up this narrow canyon; however the gently rushing flow of water is what does most of the sculpting. As with most beautiful things, “Autumn Cascades” is hidden from view and most will never experience her splendor.
All senses are awash within this splendid oasis… One experiences this canyon stream by sight, sound, and touch (inevitable immersion in the 45ºF cold mountain water). The autumn colors only add to the already overwhelming visual tapestry.

My goal was to enter the canyon in late fall when leaves glisten at their peak, yet crucially timing my entry so as to not miss the colors. One does not simply walk into this canyon. Permits and weather are just as important as timing. If the permits are not available you must wait another year. If the weather does not cooperate, you must wait another year. Not only does one wait for the water to subside from passing storms, but if wind decides to ruin fall foliage with an untimely burst of excitement from a passing storm, then again one must wait another year!

Such is the life of landscape photographers. Knowing when and where to photograph a location is not enough. Patience is the landscape photographers companion; disappointment always a dull, intervening friend. One rarely enters into a landscape without missing one key element of the shot; however this image represents an exception to the rule. I was fortunate enough to time the weather, although both the day before and after ended up cloudy with drizzle. I was lucky enough to obtain a permit, a cooler than normal season kept the amount of permit holders down and unknown to anyone at the time of planning this expedition, spraying for unnatural vegetation did not begin for another 4 days after my intended visit, closing the canyon from travelers for over a week.

Always expect the worst, so when the best shows its hand you are ready to walk ahead to capture a brief moment in time that can be shared with those who will never experience this oasis. I consider myself fortunate to be able to visit these far away locations and blessed to capture them on camera.

"Majestic Eden"

I have seen some amazing structures during my western treks. My photographs are a testament; however few bring as many emotions as this image. Since light is key for any photograph, I had to insure a perfectly clear day would be available. I wanted to add extra drama to the image (fall colors from the aspen leaves) so I needed to enter this canyon during late October. October does not lend itself well to clear skies; Utah can be quite cloudy during the transition between summer and winter. Also, the water temperature requires special dry suits to endure the 45ºF water temperature many miles from any civilization.

There is always a threat of flooding from storms many miles away. It may be clear above, but topographic lifting by mountains can cause isolated thunderstorms to appear within minutes. If the day you choose is cloudy or the flood forecast is high, you’re out of luck. Try again next year! A person cannot just hike into the canyon whenever they would like; special permits are required by the National Park Service to enter.

The journey starts with an hour drive in twilight to the parking area. Clothing layers and a dry suit are donned in early morning light. A ¾ mile hike along the mesa top leads to a 400 ft vertical descent to the canyon below. By this time the sun is up, but can’t be seen for towering cliffs above. Because one walks up stream, into the canyon, it is difficult to lose one’s orientation… However traversing the various obstacles, be they boulders, downed trees, overgrowth, or the creek itself takes time and attention away from the route. Many “paths” end as abruptly as they started and one must retrace the route many times.

I reach my first location, a beautiful serene waterfall around ten in the morning. Even though this is not the ‘real’ target, I must stop and take some photographs. These cascading waterfalls are beautiful. A rocky backdrop of red and gold outlined by yellow aspens embrace the riverbed. I repack my gear and forge ahead. By now, the canyon floor has widened slightly and it is impossible to stay out of the thin film of water cascading along the rocks. Finally, I see the tell-tale signs of my goal. A curved, tunnel-like structure lay only 100 yards ahead.

Once inside the tunnel I am a little puzzled as the canyon ends and I see no glowing tunnel of light. I am more than a little confused. In my excitement I must calm down and look for pools of water. I walk back into the canyon as far as I can. I turn around and what do I see… My shot. I had a pre-conceived idea that the image would be taken looking into the canyon vs. looking back out. Having pre-conceived ideas can cost time if not careful; I have learned that lesson the hard way.

Over the next 4 hours I worked on different photographic angles and tripod heights. I varied my exposures for different effects for water and leaves. Other hikers and photographers traverse this area during those hours; however few stayed more than an hour. After all this time and effort, why only stay an hour? I discover the light wasn’t at its optimum during the morning as I want. During mid-afternoon, light glows its best (at this time of year). All those who didn’t wait for this symphony of nature missed out. What a missed opportunity. So much effort to get here. So little time basking in God’s beauty. I felt a loss knowing I must leave… but I give thanks seeing this majestic wonder few know and fewer have seen.