Bluff, cliffs, seastacks, and fog-shrouded coastal hills along the Big Sur coastline of California.
The bridge in the distance beneath the rounded, fog-topped hill is the Rocky Creek Bridge. (It is sometimes mistaken for the famous Bixby Bridge, which is a bit further south along the coast highway.) I’m very familiar with this area, having photographed from here many times. In fact, later on this morning I was up in the hills beyond the hilltop home while investigating a gravel road that heads back up into the mountains here.
I wanted to juxtapose a range of near and far bits of the bluffs above the shoreline cliffs in this scene. While the coastal meadows will turn brown very soon, on this mid-May date and in this relatively wet year they were still green. The coast highway travels along the upper part of the bluffs, often between the cliffs and the hills rising above. Beyond the bridge you can see the roadway rise to pass around another hill before descending toward the next creek to the south.
The blue Pacific Ocean and rugged fog-topped coastal hills meet along the Big Sur coastline at Bixby Creek.
On a nearly perfect spring morning – despite the ominous sounding Friday the 13th date! – I spent a morning along the upper Big Sur coast below Monterey, California. The brilliant sun was modulated a bit by some atmospheric haze over the ocean and occasional fog clouds clustered around the tops of the coastal hills. Since I made quite a few stops along the way, I only went as far south as the iconic Bixby Bridge. This photograph was made from very near the spot where thousands (including me!) have photographed the bridge itself – it is out of the frame to the left. On this morning, the bridge didn’t interest me much at all, so I instead photographed the wild and steep coastline, with its spring green contrasting with the brilliant blues of the coastal waters below the rugged cliffs. At the very lower left corner, Bixby Creek flows across the beach and into the Pacific Ocean. Above, the coast highway rises across the top of the coastal bluffs on its way south.
The springtime morning sun shines through a pair of oak trees in the Calero Hills south of San Jose, California.
On the final day of April and for the first time this season, I found to go for a hike at my favorite local park, a place where I have walked just about every available trail (and invented a few routes of my own) and photographed for a number of years. The park would not seem like anything all that special by comparison to some of the other places I visit, but it is close and I’ve gotten to know it in a way that makes it more special. The place is called the Calero County Park, part of the Santa Clara County Parks system.
The entrance to the park is in a broad valley that is largely occupied by stables. (Or, used to be – it looks like the stables must have closed since last season.) Rising from this valley are the typical grass-covered hills of central and northern California, with oaks and other trees scattered around and, in places, thicker trees and brush. At this time of year, the hills turn what I call “impossibly green” – and if you have seen them on a late-winter or early spring morning you know what I mean.
I started this hike a bit after dawn, so the golden hour light was more or less gone. I had a general idea of photographing some wildflowers (which didn’t happen – it was too windy) and some oak trees that grow alone or in small groups on the grass-covered hills. I passed a small lake – where a single egret often hangs out, but not on this morning – and topped a rise and descended into a small valley from which I have made quite a few photographs of oaks. It didn’t look too promising at first, but at the far end of this area I noticed that a pair of trees were still obscuring the sun and that I might be able to shoot straight into the sun with the trees blocking its disk, and get a photograph including the tree shadows on the hillside grasses.
This turned out to be another of those all-too-common ephemeral photographs in that the sun was starting to rise above the top branches of the tree and would soon be “out in the open,” making it much too bright for what I had in mind. So I worked quickly to set up tripod and camera and select a lens, then frame a composition, focus, and make a series of exposures that might be needed to deal with the huge dynamic range between direct sun and backlit tree trunks. By the time I had everything set up and was ready to shoot the sun had already risen above the upper branches, so I ended up looking for a slightly better shadow and putting the tripod down very low – and this gave me must enough time to make the series of exposures I figured I would need.
In the end, I got lucky. One single shot somehow managed to not blow the sun out too badly yet hold enough detail in the grass that a bit of work in post could bring it back. With all of the potential for lens flare – which I had to some extent in every shot – this one only had two small bits of it, and they were easily dealt with.
High Sierra corn lilies grow profusely near a waterlogged meadow in the high country of Yosemite National Park.
I had spotted this little meadow area on my way to photograph earlier in the morning at Tenaya Lake, so on my return I decided to wander down into this wet, meadowy area where a small creek flows in the early summer season. As I walked up the stream I came upon large and lush stands of corn lily plants in a boggy area where the stream turned and twisted through a flat area.
I have long been a fan of these plants. I’m fascinated by them at every phase of their annual life cycle, from the time when they first poke up from ground newly free of snow, through this phase when they grow thick and wildly green, to the first hints of brown at the tips of the leaves (which always seem to come a bit too early), to the time in late August when they begin to turn brown and yellow and hint at the coming fall, to the dry stalks that fall over in late September and October.
It is somewhat hard to give up the beautiful green color when you photograph the plants at the peak of growth, as these were when I photographed them at the end of June. However, I like the way that black and white abstracts the curving and sweeping shapes of the plants. (And I always think of John Sexton’s wonderful corn lily photograph when I work with this subject!)
