If you’ve only visited the national parks of the U.S. west coast you have a very specific view of what national parks are: spectacular wonders of nature that were preserved before development had much of a chance to alter them.
But the definition broadens as you head east. A national park isn’t necessarily pristine wilderness. And if you can get past the fact that the water in one used to catch fire, beautiful scenery awaits.
I was one of millions who braved traffic and potential gas shortages to drive to the middle of nowhere to see the total solar eclipse earlier this month. If there were any doubts as to whether the effort was worth it, they vanished the moment the sun disappeared behind the moon.
The two minutes and 10 seconds where the sun’s corona was visible in the midday sky were truly spectacular. But it was also only two minutes and 10 seconds. There were many more photographic opportunities during the 24 hours I spent chasing the eclipse. And I tried to take advantage of as many of them as I could.
This week, I said goodbye to Buttercup Meadow. Most of the time, the name sounds prettier than the actual meadow is, but for a few weeks a year, it is a truly glorious place. Or at least it was.
My style of photography has always been to capture a "living wilderness." I believe the Earth is as alive as we are. And that means it is dynamic — always changing.
Because our lifespans are so short, it's hard to fathom a time when Mount Rainier wasn't there, when the Hawaiian islands were tiny buds on the bottom of the ocean, when the Grand Canyon was filled. But there are plenty of changes that we can witness.
I've always been a little envious of painters. If you're trying to capture a scene and the clouds aren't quite right, a painter can just make them right. Photographers have to make do with what nature provides — at least at that moment. As one grows as a nature photographer, however, the act of creating an image becomes more like creating a painting. And I'm not talking about the use of Photoshop.
Photography does involve being in the right place at the right time, but that doesn't mean it's always entirely left up to chance.
Blue skies are fine for travel brochures, but my favorite landscape images have an element of drama. And they're captured at what I call the edge of a storm.
Someone who knows I'm a nature photographer, but isn't one himself, recently asked me what I do on cloudy days.
"On a day like today," he said, gesturing out a window toward the gray sky, "what would you photograph? Anything?"
For as much time as I've spent watching this bald eagle nest, I should be on a first name basis with the owners. The eagles don't talk much, so I'll just assume their names are Eddie and Ellen.
I'm waiting in knee-deep snow for a natural light show that may or may not happen. So are hundreds of other photographers. Any parking space within a half mile of good vantage point was claimed three or four hours before show time.
We're all waiting for the setting sun to light up Horsetail Falls, a thin thread of a waterfall that occasionally glides down El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. For a few weeks in February, if the conditions are just right, the setting sun will make the waterfall appear as if it were on fire.
The Grand Canyon is the second most popular national park. More than 4 million people visit each year. So it's a little surprising there's any place where you can have part of the rim to yourself.
It's called Toroweap. Or Tuweep. The national park guide doesn't appear to take sides.
In a particularly brushy area in Seattle’s Discovery Park, I heard the unmistakable song of a winter wren. The birds were made to be heard, not seen, but I grabbed my camera and started looking for it anyway.
Moments later, a woman came up and asked what I found.
“Oh, I thought you found something interesting,” she said and then walked away.
I enjoy all types of nature photography, but wildlife photography may be the most rewarding. It’s extremely challenging. Even if you’re lucky enough to find the animal you’re looking for, it may not be in the mood to pose for you. The challenging times are certainly frustrating, but they make you appreciate a stunning wildlife image all the more.
Some of my best bald eagle images have come from British Columbia on a little levee in a little town between the sea and the mountains.
Once I saw four eagles share a log, just hanging out, watching the river flow by. Another time, a bald eagle flew right by me, fresh salmon in tow, then land and eat lunch maybe 30 feet from where I set up my camera.
Photography is often about being in the right place at the right time. And sometimes you have to wait a long time in that right place.
