In the spring following a wet winter, you can often find excellent wildflower displays all over the state of California — from the deserts to the Sierra foothills and just about anywhere else with some suitable land. I photographed these in hills of south-central California that lie between the Great Central Valley and the valleys that run just inland of the coast ranges.
It had been an excellent year for rainfall here — after five years of crushing drought California had a single winter of record-setting precipitation. The plants took advantage of this, and in many places managed to produce extensive wildflower displays. A few of us hiked up into these hills, and photographed back toward the valley below and the setting sun.
Yellow lichen growing on the basalt columns of Devils Postpile National Monument
This is one of several photographs I made of the Postpile on this autumn morning, and every time I post one more I get to tell a bit of a story on myself. Landscape photographers often get up very early, sometimes many hours before sunrise. On this morning we had plans to do just that, and if we had gotten up on time we would likely have gone of to photograph aspens somewhere. But we overslept! It had been a long week, the drive to the east side of the range the evening before had been a long one, and we had arrived late. So rather than waking up hours before sunrise, it was probably more like an hour after sunrise.
We were initially a bit disappointed at losing a sunrise, but we decided to just take it easy, and soon we sat down to a nice civilized breakfast — also something of an anomaly for early morning photographers. Eventually we decided to wander out and just go up to Devils Postpile, which wasn’t far away. Arriving well after the supposed good light, I was going to just leave my camera equipment in the car, but Patty persuaded me to take it. And was I glad I did. Here the sun rises behind the face of the postpile, which was still in shadow, though receiving some reflected light from behind us and from the blue sky. I had a short time to work in this lovely soft light before the sun finally peeked over the top and I found myself photographing straight into its light.
Two decades after agreements between Utah and federal government to protect this national monument for all Americans in perpetuity, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument is under threat from an administration that wants us to overlook its precious qualities and forget the hard-fought agreements (many of which benefit Utah) that let to its creation.
Some will tell you that places like Escalante-Grand Staircase National Monument are “empty” lands, and I can understand why a person might assume so — perhaps a first-time visitor or possibly a person who has never been there and is skeptical about what others say about the place.
I came to the red rock country rather late myself. I had decades in “my Sierra” under my belt, and it was hard to see how this Utah landscape could compare to the rocky heights,meadows, and forests I knew, especially since my only experience with Utah had come when I was very young and my family drove across the state past the Great Salt Lake on the way to someplace else.
Canyon Reflections
But friends insisted, “You have to go to Utah!” Eventually I went, hitting the big national parks, justifiably famous for deep canyons, red rock pinnacles, domes, and more. I even passed through Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, driving through the town of Escalante — I don’t recall stopping — on my way to one of those other places, unaware of and uninterested in what might be in the “empty” place outside the town.
Dry, cracked mud on top of red sand under reflected canyon light, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Although I missed many things, at least I knew that I wanted to come back to Southern Utah.
Not long afterwards, a photographer friend suggested we go there in the fall and explore some places that he and his friends know. He has photographed here for decades, so I welcomed the chance to learn about places off the beaten track. We started in one of those big national parks, but then we headed to Kanab, and from there we decided to explore a few less known locations.
A box elder tree stands against the vertical sandstone walls of a Utah slot canyon
One morning we headed up a road into Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. There was the camaraderie of being on the road with friends, along with the expectation that I would “discover” interesting things. However, as we headed up this gravel track, I found the visual impact of the scene was, to be honest, less than stunning. It seemed like, dare I admit it, an “empty” landscape — dry, relatively flat, no rocky peaks, and on that day a boring sky.
Miles up the road we pulled out and parked along a short nondescript spur, dusty and surrounded by brush. (Stopping at nondescript places would eventually become something to look forward to in this country!) I couldn’t see a thing that suggested a photograph, but we loaded up and dropped down a hill to a small creek. This was to be, finally, my first real introduction to canyon country.
Striped Rock, Grass, and Sand
I’m in my element in the Sierra, where most everything is, by now, second nature. I was distinctly not in my element here, and almost everything was new. We followed the shallow stream, sometimes walking on soft and wet sand, at times crossing drier ground between meanders and passing beneath cottonwoods, and often just wading straight up the creek. Rock walls began to rise on either side of the creek, and before long we were in a fairly narrow canyon. In places brush grew from cracks in the red rock, lit by reflected light bouncing down the canyon walls from above. The gentle sound of the creek was a constant accompaniment. I began to notice small things — some reflecting mud, a riffle reflecting light from canyon walls and sky, a few leaves lying on red rock, grass bent by passing water, reddish sand, rock strata offset by a crack, the texture of wet sand — and each one warranted a pause to photograph.
Not all places worth protecting qualify on the basis of monumental, stupendous features. Saving those is easy, since anyone can see they are spectacular. (OK, almost anyone.) But just because a landscape like that of Grand Staircase-Escalante reveals itself gradually and more quietly and over a longer period of time, it and the “empty space” it occupies are no less precious. In fact, because this beauty is more fragile and less obvious, I would argue that it may be even more precious.
Spring wildflowers on the slopes of the Temblor Range
I have seen photographs from this region recently in which the wildflowers completely carpet the flat and even some of the upper slopes. While I did see places with such carpets of flowers — mostly down on the flats of the actual plain — in most places there were spots of intense flower color separated by much larger areas of grassland. The areas we investigated on this evening had much that character — we mostly hiked and climbed through green plants, though in places we passed through sections where the flowers were very thick.
Here there was a bit of variety in the colors — from orange through yellow to purple — and even some beautiful desert candle flowers. (Look closely at the lower portion of the photograph to spot a few.) This spot was a level area at the top of a ridge running up into the hills, and from this spot we could look up at many successive layers of ridges above us. In the late afternoon light the upper edges of these ridges caught the back-light, accenting the layers.
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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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.
