Sometimes this traveling nature photographer stuff goes
smoothly; all my research pays off and each location yields, if not exactly
what I’d planned, then images or experiences which are at least as good. August has been a bit of a challenge. Most likely that’s just a coincidence, but
the time in Guatemala is always life-changing in one way or another, so it’s
also possible that transformations are brewing in my subconscious since we came
home at the end of July. I find that
when that happens I’m often restless and dissatisfied and that things seem more
challenging. I hardly ever recognize
what’s happening in real time.
The
Guatemala trip required lots of interaction with people, a great
deal of it in my improving but nothing-close-to-fluent Spanish. The introvert in me returned home desperate
to get out on my own.
Pema Chödrön wrote, “It’s a transformative experience to
simply pause instead of immediately filling up the space. By waiting, we begin to connect with
fundamental restlessness as well as fundamental spaciousness”
So, once the Guatemala images were processed and the laundry
done, I packed up lurch and went looking for flowers and empty psychic space in
the Flagstaff area. The first night I stumbled on a new favorite place to camp,
one of the benefits of boondocking without a plan, but found only a few
scattered blooms. On the second day I
was griping about the smoke from wildfires all over the west, mosquitoes, lack of flowers, and
the unheard-of high temperature of 98 degrees.
It was a long day. Yes, I do
understand what a privilege it is to be able to be in the wilderness in this
way, and the Buddhist concept of acceptance (ahem); its just that whining a bit
can be therapeutic.
A couple of weeks later I was in Pine, Arizona for the
annual retreat of Through
Each Other’s Eyes. Our
gracious host, Errol Zimmerman, let me and Lurch sleep in his driveway Friday
night. Saturday was productive and
inspiring but again, because I’m such an introvert, lots of talking and
interacting is exhausting. Afterward I
had a few days free and was so close to Mogollon Rim Country it seemed a waste
not to explore a bit, so I broke my rule about never camping on weekends there.
These parts of the Coconino National an Apache Sitgreaves
National Forests are lovely but on weekends are crowded, loud, and home to
dangerous drivers. Oh, and there’s
target practice. On top of all that,
there was a large forest closure which included one of my favorite camp spots
and the adjacent trail which I’d planned to hike. I did some exploring and ended up tucked into
an unspectacular site, but my morning walk was quiet (rednecks seem to sleep
late) and had some nice surprises.
The
next day I burned half a tank of gas scouting around and settled into a spot on
the edge of the Rim which allowed a vista including layers of near ridges and
diminishing mountains in the background. My favorite image, though, was a
serendipitous shot of the light turning golden on the dust kicked up by another
car as I drove home in the morning.
Meetings and family stuff kept me home after those trips,
but I planned a few local shoots around the full moon. Photographers will already know that the full
moon is bright. One way to deal with this photographically is to shoot moon
rise the day before full and moon set the day after. That way the sky is not fully dark, and there
can be interesting dawn and dusk light as well.
I did my research with The Photographer’s Ephemeris, Photopills,
and some old-fashioned brainstorming and found a spot on the shore of Watson
Lake in Prescott for Moon rise last Friday.
A friend came along and It was a lovely night; the first this year
hinting at autumn. Unfortunately clearing storm clouds precluded seeing the
rising moon until it was full dark, maybe an hour after it came up. I can’t complain though. Reflected color was worth the price of
admission.
Moon set Monday morning, similarly researched, was at the
overlook near our home in Yarnell. Thought not perfectly timed (moon set was about an
hour after sunrise), the scene was breathtaking and worth the early wake-up.
Tuesday I hit the road at o-dark-thirty and paddled Watson
Lake, soaking in the therapeutic solitude again.
I do treasure the fundamental spaciousness, if I bring an
open mind and earplugs.
There’s more in the Summer 2018 Gallery on the
Website.