Sierra Light

Whitney Views – Owens Valley, CA

D. Craig Young · January 3, 2022 · Leave a Comment

**Sierra sunstrike**. Early morning in the Eastern Sierra, Owens Valley, CA, USA

After coming down from the crest of the Inyo Mountains, having wrapped up our small project at the Saline Valley Salt Tram, I set up camp at a small playa on the east side of Owens Valley, north of Dolomite. Desna met me and we circled the wagons in a quiet spot – we had planned a quick tour of the Owens Lake ponds to see if what birds might be late in the fall migration, and I still had some work to do with our team working on the west valley fans of Cartago Creek.

**Crest late evening**. The long-set sun kept us watching, Eastern Sierra, Owens Valley, CA, USA

It turned out the sky over the Sierra decided to put on a show, evening and morning. The east side, beyond the Owens River, provides a long view of the Sierra crest. The view of Whitney is rather iconic, with easy, attractive compositions coming from Alabama Hills, at shoulder-side on Highway 395, or further out in Owens Valley, where I sat now. There is not much of a story here, just my opportunity to share sunstrike with Desna and enjoying some nice light on the Eastern Sierra and its high point (a summit I have yet to reach, by the way – although my attraction is weakened by the necessary permit process).

Whitney Views Image Collection

**Whitney and the needles**. An approaching storm brings changes in the early morning of the Eastern Sierra, Owens Valley, CA, USA

The long lens allowed me to sit in camp and wait. The colors of blue hour, just after sunset, when the fading glow reflected by the western glows, filled the sky from the Sierra to the Inyos but lasted about five minutes. I settled on a crest view of Lone Pine Peak and the crags south of Whitney. It was sunstrike in the new drama of the following sunrise that proved magical. I climbed out of the camper with the portent clouds scudding above the dark peak, my tripod already set up above a cold, unused fire ring. Even when I am not photographing, sunstrike on the Eastern Sierra is wonderful. Today, and tomorrow, was special.

Whitney Views Image Collection

**Whitney morning highlights**. Sunstrike brings contrast and depth to the Eastern Sierra, Owens Valley, CA, USA

Keep going.

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands. #naturefirst #keepgoing

A glow that had to last — Death Valley, Part 3

D. Craig Young · October 12, 2020 · 9 Comments

It was time for a shower. Climbing out of Death Valley, we arrived at Lone Pine, California, in the late morning, seeking refreshment and food. The hotel was not crowded so we checked in easily, cleaned up, and wandered across the street for BBQ. It was not that we ate poorly in Death Valley, we just needed to fuel up for our last outings – an evening and early morning in the Alabama Hills. Lone Pine felt strange. I had worked here for extended periods last year, and I had typically camped in my trailer. Now I was a tourist staying in town and making excursions to the Hills; the role had been switched.

Cyclops arch, sunset on Whitney, Alabama Hills — **Cyclops rays.** Scouting the arches and an experimental wait to catch the last light of the blue day.

The evening was clear with blue skies settling toward a sudden sunset. Heading toward the portal road, Randy and I grabbed a late coffee and ice cream to go. But the first curve disengaged me from my vanilla, and it dropped surprisingly in my lap (sorry about the any spot I missed Randy!) – one should not juggle espresso and a cone when chasing light. We headed north toward the ‘boot’ and the ‘cyclops’, meeting up with the team as we hiked in. With the sharp and abrupt light, and with the forecast suggesting potential for an interesting morning with storm clouds over the Sierra, we used this as a scout. Our trip would culminate in the morning.

Death Valley Collection

Quinn, Randy, and I met in the parking lot well before sunrise. We wanted to check the Milky Way potential at the ‘cyclops’. It is always a highlight of early morning walking in the star-lit desert, waiting for the granitic outcrops to loom in the light of headlamp. A distant owl warns of our approach. In the darkness of the hills the Milky Way is clear as it settles in a broad arch above the eastern horizon. The promised clouds are evident in dark patches masking stars as they tear away from the mountain front. Some may curse clouds in an astro-shot, but I have always liked any well-placed clouds especially if they simply add glow to a few of the brighter stars or provide depth and scale to the otherwise dark landscape – I am a minimal light-painter. We did, however, light the arch’s interior and committed to working on galactic images until the sun turn our attention to the Whitney massive beginning its glow in the west. The storm was at almost the perfect position, rolling over the summits with a misty gauze below the dark density of water-bearing clouds.

astrophotography at Cyclops Arch, Alabama Hills, California — **Cyclops way.** Patches of a coming storm approach the Milky Way arch over the Cyclops.

Alpen glow on Lone Pine Peak, Sierra Nevada, Alabama Hills, California — **First light**. First sun hits Lone Pine Peak overlooking the Alabama Hills. A scene I had not witnessed during the previous summer and fall camping below the peak.

Black and white image of Mount Whitney in the coming, late winter storm — **Whitney incoming**. Turning a long lens on the shroud of storm clouds on Mount Whitney.

We could tell it would not last long. The gift of alpenglow was fleeting but I think we made the most of it. I had one of my most relaxed mornings of our trip, feeling in-the-zone. I reached for long and close images of Lone Pine Peak and the needles of the Whitney summit ridge before backing away for a wide, multi-image panorama of the Range of Light. Its name written in the first cast of dawn. Our trip came to a close.

Panorama of the Sierra Nevada at Mount Whitney, Alabama Hills, California — The glow that had to last — Range of Light, California

Death Valley Collection

I write this many months and a pandemic or two later. Little did we know as we parted, separately leaving Lone Pine in the late morning, that much of our freedom to roam would fade as the mountains disappeared behind the storm clouds, replaced by seemingly intractable problems brought about by a polarized, dystopian loss of trust and community. We had these few days that we could look back on – the days when we could wander. These few photos, and the memories of comradery, remind me that, with care and effort, our wandering will return. As the landscape and its emotions teach us, let us not take it for granted.

Keep going.

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands. #naturefirst #keepgoing

High Sierra Photography on Horseback (2019): An abundance of clear sky

D. Craig Young · April 5, 2020 · 7 Comments

Desna, my wife and partner, is into horses. I am comfortable around horses and like them, but I am mostly the local ranch-hand in charge of construction duties that come with having a couple horses here at StoneHeart. Ok, I truly enjoy sitting on the fence at sunset, sharing a beer with the one horse that enjoys a few sips. I can stay upright in a saddle and, although lacking the appropriate horseman etiquette and skill, I can get them to go almost where I want them to go – as if anyone really can, they pretty much do what they want.

So, it was quite the surprise when, in January of last year, Des brought up the idea of doing a pack trip in the Sierra. While researching the possibilities of attending some cow-camps with Jahtz, the beer-sipping horse, she had gotten a friend’s recommendation to check out the offerings of the Rock Creek Pack Station. Now, I am all in favor of Des heading off to cow-camp, but the horse is much better company on those outings than I would ever be. And yet, something else caught Desna’s attention. The pack station has teamed up with photographer Ken Lee, offering a photographic workshop and tour, via horseback and backcountry camps set by a pack team in the high reaches of the Pioneer Basin of the Sierra Nevada.

Des stewed on it for a few days, thinking she would have to coax me into even considering spending five days on horseback. She thought it would be the best of both worlds, horses and photography – activities we often do independently – in the mountain environment we love. When she proposed the trip, I took a quick look at The Art of Seeing, the portal to Ken’s photographic creativity, world travel, and instruction. I was immediately all in. She was as surprised at my quick acceptance as I was to her original proposal. It is our 30^th summer together, so in August 2019, we would have the perfect celebration.

**Heartblaze**. Desna captured this image outside our cabin at Rock Creek. Our icon for everything leading to this trip in our 30th summer.

Eight Months Later: August 2019 –

We spent the night at a rustic little cabin at Rock Creek Resort. Rock Creek is only a couple hours from StoneHeart but we splurged a bit on the creek-side cabin, knowing we would be tent-bound for several nights to come. It had been a while since Des had ground-camped for more than a night or two, so she was a little apprehensive. I, on the other hand, had never ridden a horse outside of a fenced paddock or pasture since I was a pup at summer camp. I was about to climb in the saddle for an 11-mile trip over Mono Pass. I was very apprehensive but figured I could just as easily hike the route if my horse lost track of me. Des presented me with a lambskin saddle pad, knowing well where the future pain points might be.

Pioneer Basin Gallery

The Logistics

We are at Rock Creek Pack Station at 6:40 AM for a 7:00 start. We find organized chaos as we pull in behind Roy and Robin unloading in a staging area among feed bins and tie downs. Horses and mules shuffle in place as saddles are prepped. We shift the personal gear from the truck to communal tarps. We were each given a 35lb limit for field gear (not including tents) but it piles up as folks continue to arrive.

We wait. A couple people missing and it is 7:20; declarations of leaving without them. As Craig London DVM, proprietor, starts the pack station introduction, the last car rolls in. Held up by errant planning, and a variety of comical excuses, a mother and son duo scramble about trying to catch up. The mules are basically loaded according to an interestingly precise dunnage system; Trent, our quiet lead packer and expert guide, begins a reset.

Finally, the introductions are made. Ken, our leader, steps up with Craig and introduces himself along with the general plan. It’s breakfast time and we gather among introductory conversations. Roy and Robin are brothers. Roy has been on several of Ken’s trips, including a previous ride into Pioneer Basin. His brother Robin, from New York City, has joined him this week. I look forward to traveling with these guys.

We sit with Janet (Seattle) and Adrian (Maryland); Dave (San Diego) soon joins us. The meal is hearty mix of fried eggs in toast (egg resting in a clean circle in each slice of bread), sausage, and fruit. A box of sandwiches appears for our traveling lunch. It is unsafe to carry packs on our individual horses so we are given a small “horn pack” where we can stow a water bottle and a few other bits of gear.

Penny, our cook, gives us a safety presentation with one of the horses. It is pretty much what you would expect, serious things to be attentive to, but in the end, have fun, don’t die, and “if you don’t wear a helmet, you’re an idiot”. I have chosen not to, however, confirming the idiom. I would second-guess this decision several times in the coming days. And then we meet our horses…

**Cisco**. A daily partnership in the backcountry.

Cisco will be my partner for the next five days. He’s a tall, white and gray, probably some kind draft horse mix, with a bright red halter. I’ll need a rock to get on the giant. Kayla, our second packer, helps with the bridle and reigns and then I load up. Des is on a chestnut Haflinger; they look great and it should be fun for her as we head into the John Muir Wilderness. But first we stand and wait a while. Some skittering about as the late-comers continued to shuffle with their personal odds-and-ends.

Finally, Kayla led out of the corrals and into the forest. The horses took up their habitual positions, trail-wise, end-to-end. They were also ready to go. I missed it, but Trent must have left with the mule-train while we were having breakfast.

We rode a long gradual ascent, with rocky granitic steps. The horses climb impressively and mostly carefully. They wrestle a bit with ones in front or behind. I set in with conversations with Jeff (Pittsburg; who I thought was a second “Ken” for a while) as he rides behind me. We stop once to check straps and have a rest below Ruby Lake. This is much easier than I anticipated. I feel fine as we begin the switchbacks to Mono Pass. The views have become expansive to the south toward Bear Creek Spire and Mount Abbot. It is perfectly clear as we traverse the pass, dropping to wade into the sandy delta of Summit Lake. The views in every direction are inspiring as we begin our drop to Trail Lakes, the spot for lunch.

I refill my water bottle from the creek below Trail Lake. We don’t have a filter readily available, but Penny lets me know that they’ve been using the water at this elevation straight from the streams for many years. If I’m going to stay hydrated, I’ll need to embrace this. The pack station gear list had water filter as optional. We’ll see.

The downhill is tough, on the horses and the riders. It seems an endless series of short switchbacks dropping into the forest near Mono Creek. The horses pause at stream crossings to drink heavily or simply lollygag prior to continuing the descent. It is impressive that there are no mishaps on the way down; the horses are careful generally even as they twist and hope, with marginally sure footing of steel shoes and granitic rock.

The climb out of Mono Creek is relatively short in a pretty woodland before we pop out at grassy lake and see a group of tents on a boulder-strewn ridge to the water’s east. This is our camp. There is a field kitchen and a cluster of lawn chairs. A dug privy occupies a ragged but functional tent cover. I find a sandy patch to set our tent (we brought our own) and then we lounge before dinner.

Prepping for night photography, campside.

Ken introduces the plan for the coming days, talks a bit about altitude and acclimatization. Penny is already working on dinner. We get to know each other a bit – Michelle (Portland) and her aunt Judith (Salt Lake City), Judith is an appellate court judge. Sarah, Zach’s mom, is not feeling well, barely managed to stay upright on the descent. Some concern over her wellness, but we are hoping she can rest and improve in the altitude. Zach doesn’t seem too concerned. He’s studying some Mountain Medicine books, prepping his collection of film cameras, and thinking about a hike to lakes further upstream. Sarah would rally over the coming days, and I believe everyone took something special away from their time in the backcountry.

After a pasta dinner we disperse around the lake for our first evening shoot. The mosquitos are going to enjoy us. They seem thick for August, but I was ready for this. Still it is hard to concentrate, and the clear sky is losing my attention. I decide to turn in, Des having been way ahead of me. In my sleeping bag, as I wait for sleep, I am still swaying from the day’s ride.

The Photography

The strategy for the next few days consisted of short morning hikes to various lakes in the Pioneer Basin, usually followed by an afternoon ride to a more distant location along Mono Creek and into the Fourth Recess. Ken let us operate independently, working with individuals or groups as questions or requests come up for discussion. Each afternoon we gathered for a discussion and presentation under the trees adjacent to our camp kitchen. I liked his approach.

Pioneer Basin Gallery

**First light**. Up early the first morning in the backcountry, I had no idea the sky would remain unchanged for the trip. I enjoy reflective panoramas, the simple (cloudless) backdrop highlighting the music of the subject.

The problem on this trip was the weather. It was perfect, for riding, hiking, and relaxed camping, but not for photography. The skies were clear and remained so, with very minor exception, the entire time. This is never what one hopes for, especially when enthralled and inspired by the vistas with each day’s hike above treeline. I love photographing mountains, but I struggled each day. I did not have my mind wrapped around black-and-white composition nor did I find satisfaction (on this trip) searching out intimate scenes in the forest or among the rocks.

However, it was amazingly beautiful, and we had great company. My Lightroom catalog says I took over 500 pictures; I captured a handful that I like. In fact, my favorites may be the moonlit images captured when most folks had turned in for the evening. Working with the contrast of moonrise on the jagged ridgelines was something I visualized prior to entering the backcountry. I like my one strong black-and-white panorama of Mono Rock and the Recesses.

Pioneer Lake #2 Mornings

**Pioneer rhythm**. An early morning hike to Pioneer #2 revealed reflecting pools of blue with the mass of Mono Rock beyond.

**Pioneer portrait**. Ken took to a lakeside outcrop, where I chose to play with the light. I added some haze and vignette to emphasize the blue-hour portrait.

**Rock**. I seem to have many images of granitic rocks in vivid, reflective pools.

Night Photography at Camp

**Milky Way camp**. An instagram cliche, but that doesn’t make it any less fun. When skies are clear, night photography calls.

**Moonrise camp**. As the moon dissolves the Milky Way, there is new drama in the crags of Third Recess.

**Alpine moonrise**. Moonlit approach to the Third Recess.

Afternoon Recesses

**Into the riffles**. Roy working the intricate cascades of Mono Creek. We spent afternoons searching the dappled light of the forest.

**Fourth Recess**. A few clouds on the last afternoon in the beautiful Fourth Recess.

Pioneer Basin Gallery

Special thanks to Ken Lee. A mindful photographer and excellent, patient instructor, Ken is one of those people I would look forward to travelling with, or running into, anywhere. I appreciate his outlook on landscape and travel, and he deserves continued success. After my excellent Iceland experience, I had thought I might not join another workshop, preferring to travel on my own or in smaller groups, but I am so glad Des brought us together for a few days. The endless blue skies were not his fault.

Des played with photography on a few outings and she enjoyed Ken’s instruction on capturing images with mobile devices. She took our favorite and iconic heart image on the night before the workshop. Done. Drop camera. Ride horses. We enjoyed the sunny days as we have enjoyed the 30 years. They ain’t all perfect, but it was fun getting there.

Keep going.

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands. #naturefirst #keepgoing

Dawn Squalls at Frog Lake

D. Craig Young · November 1, 2019 · 2 Comments

After endless days of blue skies, it looks like there is a change in the forecast. A generally dry cold front will roll through early Sunday morning, bringing strong winds and, more importantly, mid-level clouds and a slight chance of precipitation in the Sierra. After a couple unsuccessful, but fun, photo excursions among the fall colors of Hope Valley, I had to take advantage of the change in weather, getting up high to experience the brief storm.

Dawn Squalls Collection

So, I am on the road, heading up Highway 88 to Carson Pass, in the dark of Sunday morning. Frog Lake, on the Pacific Crest Trail, south of the highway trailhead, is an easy hike and, having been there scouting and photographing previously, it is a nice place to visit on short notice as conditions warrant. Ledges northeast of the small tarn overlook the length of Hope Valley and peer southward from Mokelumne Wilderness into the crags of Carson-Iceberg Wilderness; wide open compositions abound.

It was 20°F when I parked my rig at the trailhead. Wind gusts whipped at the doors as I reached for my pack and tripod, there was one car in the parking area. I dropped into the dark forest, enjoying the little adrenaline rush of a dark mountain trail seen only from the tunnel-like beam of a headlamp—waiting for the reflected eyes of critters, small and large, that watch my passage, as the limbs of the tallest trees shudder and crack in the wind. I cover my headlamp at intervals to soak in the darkness and watch the clouds moving with promise against the stars. Soon I am at Frog Lake, the dark water riffling in the wind. I am now exposed on the tarn’s shore as I move to the ledges above its northern margins. It is here that ancient glaciers scoured the rocks before dropping into Hope Valley far below. Today, the north wind scours the ledges in the opposite direction, blowing a squall’s few snow flurries through the cone of my headlamp, hints of snow’s hopeful return to the mountains.

As the light glows the clouds form overlapping bands extending to the eastern horizon. A lower cloudbank rolls over Freel Peak and Jobs Sister at the north end of Hope Valley. This is what I came for. And yet, the mid-level clouds are the bane of sunrise light; they block the horizon and flatten the view. Without illumination, the distant rolling cloud is almost invisible against the intersection of mountain and sky. In my mild disappointment, I realize my hands are painfully cold. I need to acclimatize or succumb to the endless need for handwarmers. I have some fancy gloves and liners, but something is not working.

**Markleeville Peak at Sunrise**. I did not plan a panorama in the field, but after reviewing images captured of slightly different compositions, I stitched this two-image panorama together to capture dawn’s window at Markleeville Peak. 0.5 sec, f/11, ISO 100; Canon 5Div, 100-400mm (100mm).

As I turn from the northward view, smiling at the pain in my hands—it is the feeling of mountain winter, I notice that the sunrise is aligned with a gap in the clouds much further southeast than I expected. I climb a few stepped ledges and tuck into a gap between boulders, out of the wind, sort of. The images of the red dawn were a challenge as my hands lost feeling. I want to focus on the image and enjoy its capture, but the wind at my hands, and whipping at my jacket and hood, reminds me that I am exposed at elevation, experiencing firsthand the change of weather. The images become secondary.

**Misty mountains**. This image, from the windswept ledges of Frog Lake, reminds us that winter is coming. 1 sec, f/11, ISO 100; Canon 5Div, 100-400mm (255mm).

I am, however, happy with their capture. The images reveal the dark morning squalls and the brief glow of a red sunrise. The sun was masked by the mid-level clouds but there was enough gap to alter the scene for a moment. I could see that this would be a moody image with a “Mordor” drama on the horizon. These scenes were not my first idea walking into Frog Lake, but I enjoyed watching the sky develop, once I was looking in the right direction.

Dawn Squalls Collection

I look forward to getting to know the Frog Lake ledges in all conditions. Let’s move toward winter here.

Keep going.

Sierra Light

Using socials responsibly…