Earlier this week I saw an article from a Southern California newspaper (and many links to it online) that promoted and glorified the annual late-February appearance of a particular conjunction of light and water in Yosemite Valley.

I first photographed it quite a few years ago, back before the 50-foot wave of the incoming digital camera revolution washed over everything, threatening to change such things forever, and not in good ways. Back then I was fortunate to join a few folks (maybe a dozen or a score?) standing quietly in one of a couple of places and hoping to see “the thing” happen. For many years I did an annual post about the subject that offered advice on when, where, and how to photograph it.

I’m not doing that any more.

I pretty much stopped photographing it several years ago when the whole event took on a circus-like atmosphere and got so out of control that it began to threaten the well-being of portions of the Valley. While I could share some positive aspects of it, the truth is that chasing after a photograph of something that has been built up and even distorted by too much publicity no longer interests me… and that it is now doing more harm than good.

This past week I also read that the Park Service has had to institute even more draconian (and necessary, I think) restrictions — closing traffic lanes, making it illegal to stop along portions of Valley roads, and completely closing one popular viewing area that had gotten to be so overrun that the forest, meadow, and river were damaged.

You’ve seen photographs of this subject. The photographs can be striking and sometimes remarkable. May I share another secret? If you go there to make your own photograph, the best most visitors can likely hope for is to maybe, if they are really lucky and really skillful and have the right equipment, get a “me too” photograph that looks pretty much like the others. There can be some value in that, but no longer enough to negate the downsides.

And what you are likely to see isn’t what you see in those select few remarkable photographs. The event, if it happens, is very high up on a tall cliff and a good distance from where you’l. be standing. In order to fill the frame the way you’ve seen it you are going to need a very long telephoto, a pretty good camera, probably a tripod. You’ll also need to take that “capture” and subject it to a fair amount of post-processing. The truth is that most of the photographs of the subject that you’ll see, including many of the most striking, have been enhanced to a considerable degree. during post-processing. (I’m not anti-post-processing at all. I’m just being honest.)

Short story: you aren’t going to get “that photo” on your iPhone.

And all of this assumes that the event actually happens. It depends on the conjunction of a number of uncertain conditions — a small stream that must receive enough February snow melt from a very small drainage to start it flowing, a clear line of sight between the location and the horizon far to the west. This doesn’t happen every night. In fact, of all the times I did try to photograph it, more often than not it did not happen.

But I have good news, too! Further afield in the famous Valley where this happens, this is my favorite season of the year, and there are loads of other astonishingly beautiful attractions that are equally worth photographing: morning mists in meadows, snow-topped cliffs ringing the Valley, the potential for spectacular winter storms, clouds floating among cliffs and towers, quiet forests, waterfalls that may come back to life, ice, and much more.

UPDATE: As of 2020 I am no longer posting annual updates concerning the annual Horse Tail Fall event. I also no longer recommend going to the Valley to see it. Unfortunately, too much exposure (yes, I played a part in it, unfortunately) has led to absurd crowds, traffic jams, littering, destruction of areas in the Valley where too many people go to see it… and the park has increasingly — and appropriately — cracked down. Parking options have been eliminated, at least one viewing location has been closed. Good news! The rest of Yosemite Valley is still there and often exceptionally beautiful at this time of year.

G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.

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