Yosemite

View from Glacier Point, sunset. Yosemite National Park.

There’s quite a bit I can say about my first trip to Yosemite.  First off, this place could be described as the historical center of landscape photography in the American West.  I thought a workshop would be a good plan for my first trip, and when the opportunity to do it through the Ansel Adams Gallery inside the park AND to do it with Jerry Dodrill (search his name in this blog – he comes up a lot), this seemed to be the time.

I was just back from Caddo Lake and had some adventures with air travel on that trip, so I was willing – happy even – with the plan to drive the 11 hours over two days, each way. 

El Capitan reflected, Yosemite National Park.

There’s an odd thing that happens with perception when you’re looking up 3,000 stark, steep feet.  I couldn’t wrap my head around it (except when there were climbers on the walls for scale) and found the experience disorienting. 

Grand Canyon Light, by Charles Pabst.

I can draw parallels with a “big ditch” that I’m more familiar with, the Grand Canyon.  I’m fact, I stumbled on this lovely painting which seems to draw the comparison by steepening the walls of Grand Canyon and adding in an unmistakable Half-Dome shape on the right.  But that’s just the point.  Grand Canyon’s walls are not nearly as starkly vertical as Yosemite’s.  Though perspective is tough to gain there, I don’t find the attempt dizzying as I did in Yosemite.

Incidentally, I contacted Mr. Pabst, asking whether I'd correctly guessed his intention.  I've not yet had an answer.

Late autumn dancers, Cook's Meadow. Yosemite National Park.

During the drive, I resolved to work on some of the iconic, much-photographed views (because who can resist?) but also to be mindful of the intimate landscapes and small details. There were plenty, and those shots are much easier to do well in gloomy light, of which we had a lot.

Tunnel View in low fog, Yosemite National Park.

Another classic strategy for dealing with flat light photographically is to present the images in black and white, like this classic composition from Tunnel View.

Cascade Falls, Yosemite National Park.

Likewise, this image from a day we were positively pummeled by rain.  These conditions present an opportunity for a running dialog of my inner voices.  Working in that kind of weather is not so pleasant.  Jerry reminded us of a bit of wisdom from his mentor Galen Rowell along these lines – that kind of weather is exactly what we should be out shooting in.  I’ll go a step further and say that’s where the magic happens. Grumpy magic.

Lower Yosemite Falls, Yosemite National Park.

After the rainiest day and night, I awoke in my cabin at Yosemite Valley Lodge to a sound I can only describe as roll-off trash dumpsters being pushed off and landing below the cliff.  It was Yosemite Falls.  I pulled on rain gear and took a walk up to the observation bridge. I had a striking experience of the power of nature and felt acutely tiny and vulnerable.  I’m sorry I only had my phone camera, but I was so glad I was there, being pummeled by the wind and spray.

A little welcome sunshine, Cook's Meadow. Yosemite National Park.

Speaking of the gallery, our group had the honor, one rainy day, to see a number of original Ansel Adams prints and to hear history from Curator Evan Russel and Assistant Curator Michael Wise. There were some surprises along the way, including stories from another workshop participant about his own grandfather’s relationship with Ansel Adams.  He brought images and correspondence for all of us to explore.  This part of the experience was a delightful Adams immersion, which reminded me of the “In the Footsteps of Georgia O’Keeffe” trip masterfully curated by Colleen Miniuk. 

Three Brothers Reflected in the Merced River, Yosemite National Park.

Like a surfer waiting for the perfect wave, I hope to be back and maybe have a chance to see the light we were waiting for.

Thanks for standing out in the rain with me.

More images are in the Autumn 2025 Gallery on the website.