A seasonal spring cascade falls across the granite face of Polly Dome, Yosemite National Park.
I know that the chance to see the high country in winter-like conditions is part of what draws people to the opening of Tioga Pass Road, especially after a heavy snowfall season like this one. But for me the water is at least as much of a draw. The high country comes alive in ways that are not seen during the rest of the year. Because of the long and warmer days, the rate of snow melt accelerates, and when the snowpack is as deep as it is this year, that sets loose an amazing amount of meltwater.
I find full-flowing creeks in places where I didn’t even realize that water flowed. Creeks become raging torrents that threaten to jump their banks. In many places they do rise high enough to flood large expanses of meadow. Seasonal water falls and cascades appear almost everywhere you look.
I spotted this slender cascade high on the granite slopes of Polly Dome, above Tenaya Lake. My first idea was to make a photograph in which a longer stretch of the fall would appear, dropping perhaps several hundred feet. But as often happens, the more I worked this scene the more I wanted to eliminate extraneous material – and I ended up shooting at 400mm to edit out as much of the surround as I could.
The last evening light illuminates domes near Tenaya Lake and the summit of Mount Conness with briilliantly colorful alpenglow, Yosemite National Park.
The tall peak at upper left is the summit of Mount Conness, one of the highest peaks in Yosemite National Park. The peak is located on the park boundary and the Sierra Nevada crest a bit north of Tioga Pass, and is visible from many places in the Tuolumne/Tioga high country. It is also a popular destination for peak baggers. The left foreground granite dome is the lower face of Polly Dome, which drops to the shoreline of Tenaya Lake. The left slope of Pywiak dome is visible in the shadows at lower right and beyond is the more brightly illuminated Medlicott dome.
I forgive you if you don’t believe the colors that you see in this photograph. I barely believe them myself, and I was (obviously!) there for the show. What happened on this evening was a near perfect example of a light phenomenon that Sierra photographers watch for and are occasionally lucky enough to experience. I have learned to see the signs that indicate that this light is possible, but also to understand that even when the conditions offer this potential that they rarely deliver.
On certain cloudy evenings in the Sierra it appears that there will be no sunset color – everything is hazy and drab and washed out. But if things play out just right, this very set of drab conditions (that induce some photographers to put away their gear too soon!) can produce some of the most striking and intense color possible if a few things fall into place just right. On this evening I had stopped for a moment at Olmsted Point, thinking to photograph ice-covered Tenaya Lake with a long lens and including the mass of Mount Conness in the distance. When I arrived there, things were about as unpromising as they could possibly be. A dull, greenish-blue haze hung in the air, overcast washed out the light, and Conness was obscured by clouds. I had actually put my gear back in the car when I looked back up and noticed that the summit of Conness had briefly poked through the clouds, accentuating its bulk and the sense that it towered over the foreground mountains. The light was still awful (I have the photos to prove it! ;-) but I thought I’d see if I could get something with the peak emerging from its shroud.
But still nothing much happened. I turned the camera to photograph some nearby trees and a blackbird that was looking for snacks. Then I noticed that there was some brighter light to the southwest and I began to consider the possibility that the cloud cover might end a bit to the west – and that is requirement #1 for the light conditions I’m describing. If the cloud deck ends to the west, as the sun reaches the horizon it may briefly break under the clouds and send brilliantly colorful light up into the clouds in the Sierra from below, creating a miles-wide light panel of the most astonishing colors. But still, it was hazy and the peaks were shrouded in clouds. But then I noticed that the clouds around Conness were beginning to drift off to the east and thin a bit. I mentioned (knock on wood!) to one of the other photographers that there was a possibility of “miracle light,” but that I wasn’t making any promises!
Then the thinning clouds began to pick up a slight pink tinge and the left side of Conness began to get some light directly from the west. Then, within a minute or so, the colors went absolutely crazy. People around me were audibly gasping as the color changed. At one point several of us spontaneously looked up to the west when we noticed the light suddenly increase out of the corners of our eyes. At the same time, the clouds almost completely dissipated from the area around the peak and because the whole sky was filled with brilliantly colorful clouds, this light began to suffuse even the depths of the canyon and slopes facing away from the sunset with this amazing light.
Never put your camera away until the last light is gone. :-)
An oak tree and a laurel tree grow next to a granite face along the north side of Yosemite Valley, California.
I have visited this small, gnarled oak tree before. It grows right at the base of a granite face along the north side of Yosemite Valley, seems to face a pretty rugged life living beneath the shadow of the cliff and among fallen boulders. When I visited in early May the tree was just starting to get its new growth of leaves, though the laurel tree right next to it was already quite green.
The last time I photographed this tree it was autumn, and the leaves were also colorful then. It seems a bit odd that the leaves of this oak take on similar yellow and red colors at both the start and end of their season. (Though they do go more toward brown than yellow in the fall.)
The light was interesting on this day, which had started out clear. As the day wore on a weak Pacific weather front approached, and by evening things were pretty well socked in. But here, at perhaps 4:00 or 4:30, if I recall correctly, the incoming clouds were thing and broken enough to just soften the light without turning it completely gray.
The Merced River overflows its banks during the spring runoff and floods surrounding meadows and lowlands in Yosemite Valley.
I’m tempted to go on about how the spring runoff is my favorite time of year in Yosemite Valley – but I’ve probably already written about how autumn is my favorite time, or how much I love winter in the Valley, and… :-)
In any case, there is a lot to like about spring in Yosemite Valley. For example, seasonal waterfalls that many visitors never see come to life. I believe that the thin fall across the Valley in this photograph is Sentinel Fall. There is another small one to its right in the v-shaped gully, but I do not know its name. The meadows come back to life and the trees begin to get their leaves, and there is green everywhere. Especially in a heavy snowfall year like this one, the Merced River rises as the snow begins to melt, and riverbanks overflow and meadows flood – as is happening in this photograph of a section of the river near Leidig Meadow along the north side of the Valley.
I’m surprised that there are not more photographs produced in this part of the Valley. I suppose the explanation may include the fact that few of the main iconic sights are directly visible from here, the current prohibition against parking along the road in this area, and the fact that parts of the river trail were underwater. But in the right light – which here can occur at times other than the typical early/late hours – Leidig Meadow and this curving section of the river with its shoreline trees can be very appealing, especially when the far canyon wall is muted by shadows.
I shot this a bit later in the day, not during the typical “golden hour” times at all. To get here I drove past this section of the road and walked back, alternately walking along the roadway (and occasionally leaving the narrow road as cars approached) and following the trail where it was not submerged. To make this photograph I walked down to the very edge of the rising Merced River and managed to find one spot that wasn’t too muddy.
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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