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. 

How’s Your Butt?

Paddling out from the rental house into the fog, Pine Island Pond Texas

Kayak seats, like bicycle seats, are notoriously uncomfortable and become more so with time perched on their sadistic surfaces.  Coincidentally, the rented car we picked up at Shreveport Louisiana was almost as bad.  My friend had the brilliant idea that we should see what might help us with the car, and with the kayaks we’d be dropping into the next day.  We went to Walmart, in the automotive department.  After a very dignified session testing the little cushions by sitting on the floor, we dropped $35 each without regrets.

We met two more friends, and made a trip to Walmart in Marshall  Texas so that they could pick up matching pads for the car, the boats, and (if I’m honest) for the dining room chairs in our lovely rental house on the lake. Some of us amused ourselves by repeatedly inquiring as to the comfort of each other’s derrieres. Old lady humor at its best.

Majestic Bald Cypress in Monotone, Pine Island Pond, Texas

So we were back to Caddo Lake, where we had paddled and photographed together twice before.  This time, in a brilliant stroke which I can’t claim credit for, we were in a rented house. This place was spectacular, right on an alcove off the bayou called, idyllically, Pine Island Pond.  It was as much of an upgrade from the previous accommodations as the Walmart cushions were.  Among other things, we could roll right out of bed, into our tall muck boots, and into the kayaks (with seat cushions, of course).  No hoisting the boats into the pickup and strapping them down, no driving in the predawn gloom. 

The dock at our rental

Pine Island Pond itself is one of the more lovely areas I’ve seen around the lake and offered access to a network of paddling trails (conveniently marked to prevent disorientation) which are spectacular as well.

We planned the trip nearly a year ago, and unfortunately, we couldn’t know that it would be a poor year for fall color, despite making our best guess at ideal timing.  There was a cold snap a few weeks before, which triggered the color change early. Most of the trees had already done their thing.

I compensated for the lack of color in several ways.

Great Blue Heron

 First, with wildlife. This is not my specialty, so I concentrated on the large, obvious birds like great blue herons, egrets, and cormorants, and on the occasional pod of turtles sunning on logs.

A little spooky

Then there were some foggy mornings, when spooky compositions held my interest. Even bare trees decorated with Spanish moss (which, it turns out, is neither) were of interest in the mist. Black and White images worked well, too

Leaf Detail, Caddo Lake State Park, Texas

Smooth Beggerticks, Carter Lake Texas

Photographing details is another option when fall color isn’t spectacular.  There are lovely flowering aquatic plants - the white (Floating Heart), purple (Water Hyacinth), and yellow (Smooth Beggarticks) flowers make great subjects but are, unfortunately, invasive species. One day it was very windy, so we shot on land at the state park.

Grace and color, Williamson Park, Louisiana

Finally, when there’s a lone tree which still shows color, I’d happily shoot that.

Incidentally, we dedicated an afternoon to looking for a large alligator.  We’d been tipped off about where he hung out, and that some turtles liked to climb onto his tail to sun themselves.  We really wanted those images, from a distance of course, but we had no luck.

And my keester is just fine, thank you for asking.

As always, there’s more in the Autumn 2025 Gallery on the website.