The sky over Northern California, stretching from coastal hills and fog across the tule-fog-filled Central Valley to the Sierra Nevada, New Years Morning.
On New Years Day 2008 I flew to Seattle for a family visit. As we flew out of San Jose and over the hills along the eastern edge of the Bay Area, the winter tule fog was filling the Central Valley and spilling up against the hills, while above and beyond it was a nearly perfectly clear sky. For those who might be unfamiliar with the landscape here, beyond the fog-filled Central Valley, and very far away, the faint dark line of the Sierra Nevada crest is visible, and if you look very closely you may be able to see that the highest peaks are snow-capped.
This photograph has sat in the archive for over three years. I liked the scene but I wasn’t quite sure of what to do with the somewhat odd colors that resulted from shooting though an airplane window and into very bright light. I had considered a straightforward black and white interpretation and, if fact, that is what I was working on when I decided to instead desaturate the image about three-quarters of the way to being monochrome – and for me this seemed like just the right thing and more in line with how I think of the scene now. Another question was whether to clone out the contrail of another plane near the upper left corner. In the end I decided to leave it, for several reasons that I’ll leave to your imagination for now.
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” (Heyday Books) is available directly from him.
Spring lupine blossoms grow on fog-shrouded slopes of Mission Peak above Fremont, California.
While doing a major review of the past half-dozen years of raw files this week I have come across quite a few photographs that I had more or less forgotten. (I’ve also deleted a lot of old raw files, but that is a different story.) While I had forgotten this photograph, I remember the day I took it quite well and the memory of the photograph came back as soon as I found it.
Mission Peak is more than 2000′ feet above the Mission San Jose (part of Fremont) area of the San Francisco Bay Area, in the East Bay a bit north of San Jose. The peak is a very popular hiking location due to its proximity to urban areas, its quick access to near-wilderness, and the fact the summit provides a spectacular view of the southern parts of the San Francisco Bay, ranging from the South Bay and the Santa Cruz Mountains all the way up to San Francisco and, on clear days, beyond. On this day it was not clear, at least not at the start of the hike – it was extremely foggy, quite wet, and rather cold. But anyone who photographs flowers much knows that soft and diffused light can be your friend, and this fog certainly provided that light. The fog-obscured hills beyond are covered in the intense green (what I call the “impossible green”) of the California grasslands in spring.
By the way, I recall that as I continued on up the trail past these flowers and approached the summit of the peak I emerged above the fog bank to find hillsides carpeted with more lupine and with California golden poppy flowers.
Dramatic thunderstorms begin to build above Owens Valley, flanked by the White Mountains and the eastern Sierra Nevada range.
If there is any good news about starting to run out of space on my hard drive, it might be that it encourages me to begin the process of reviewing my tens of thousands of archived raw image files, and that leads me to look through files that I haven’t revisited in a long time – and during this process I find photographs that I had forgotten about. Not only is it worthwhile to rediscover these photographs that ended up buried in the archive, but it is also a chance to recall some of the trips on which the photographs were made.
This photograph is yet another (of many!) that wouldn’t have happened at all if it were not for a whole unpredictable series of events and circumstances. I’ll make the story as short as I can, but it is still a bit involved. Almost every summer I share a long pack trip with a group of my friends. In 2005 we had come up with a 14-day trip along a good portion of the John Muir Trail between roughly the Ediza Lake area and Bishop Pass, which included one of the very few sections of the JMT that I had not hiked. We started at Agnew Meadow, headed up past Shadow Lake, turned south on the JMT, stopped at Reds Meadow, continued on to the Duck and Purple Lakes area… where I started to feel like I might be coming down with some sort of bug. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that, I decided that the prudent thing was to bail out of the trip and exit to Mammoth Lakes since the idea of getting sick on the fourth day of a 14-day hike with a large group was not appealing.
So I hiked out. Ironically, once I crossed the pass to head down to the Mammoth area, I recovered – but it was now too late to rejoin my group since they would be two days ahead of me on the trail at this point. Since I was back at my car now and feeling just fine I figured that I might as well do something else before heading home, so I decided to drive up into the White Mountains and visit the Bristlecone Pine forest. On the way back down from the Whites I just happened to pull out at this spot where the high desert terrain was extra green around a creek, on an afternoon when monsoon conditions were leading to a buildup of afternoon clouds above the Sierra, the Whites, and Owens Valley between the two ranges.
Three tule elk grazing on hills above Drakes Beach at Point Reyes National Seashore, California.
This is one more – and possibly the last – in the series of tule elk photographs that I made at the Point Reyes National Seashore on Memorial Day. A group of perhaps eight or ten bull elk were grazing along the top of the hills above Drakes Bay when we encountered them in beautiful late afternoon light. As soon as I got out with my camera they moved just a bit further away, but still well within photography range.
There is a typical sequence in how I usually photograph creatures such as these. Because I never know how long they will stick around, I begin my just shooting them in any way that seems even somewhat interesting, perhaps muttering to myself, “At least I have tule elk shots in my portfolio now!” But after getting a few “insurance” shots right off the bat, I start to be more selective and more observant. Initially, I’m looking for a variety of interesting individual shots. These might include a single animal separate from the group, perhaps the full group, and perhaps sub-groups of two or three. I also pay a lot of attention to their positions, watching to make sure that faces are visible. (In this shot, the leftmost elk is partially obscured, but because his eyes are still visible and because of the way his antlers align with those of the front animal, on balance I don’t think this is a big problem.) I also watch for distracting elements, and may stop shooting if they are present. For example, the rear end of an elk is bright white and, uh, not the most photogenic part of the beast – so I wait until an animal presenting its backside to the camera either moves out of the frame or rotates into a better position.
I also try to think the same way I think when photographing a group of people. Their faces and eyes are the most important things, with the relationships their positions create among them being a very close second. Here two of the elk are looking almost at me, but slightly past my left shoulder. The third animal seems to be looking more toward the other two, creating a different sort of relationship among the animals. These things are so fleeting that I sometimes don’t see them until they have happened, so I have learned to not be conservative about exposing a lot of frames!
To the extent that I have control over such things, I also like to think about the angle of the light on the subjects. Sometimes you have no choice – you simply have to shoot from where you are. However, with these elk I did have some range of options. They were along a road, and I chose to stop a bit before their position because the light coming from the left would light them in a more dramatic and interesting fashion than if I had gotten closer and shot them with the light right behind me. In addition, I try to look beyond the animals themselves and be aware of how they position themselves against background subjects. This particular shot isn’t a great example, but in others I might wait for the moving animals to position themselves in a place where the background elements relate to them in some interesting way.
With all of this detail, you might get the idea that I’m standing there making a series of careful and logical calculations about how to shoot these guys. That’s not really what happens at all. Much of it turns out to happen in a quick and intuitive and almost subconscious manner “in the moment.” I’ve probably written here before about my belief in the important of “practice” (something I learned from my musical background) when it comes to being able to work and see quickly and effectively.
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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