Sunset Light and Talus Slope. Kings Canyon National Park, California. July 30, 2010. © Copyright 2010 G Dan Mitchell – all rights reserved.

Sunset light on a tree-covered peninsula as a steep talus slope falls into evening shadows

This photograph from the first evening of a week-long 2010 southern Sierra backpacking trip reminds me of many things, but at the moment I’m recalling a particular feeling that often comes on the first night on the trail, and which is one of these moments that marks the transition away from the other world to the magical world of the backcountry. Arriving at the start of a long backcountry trip requires a fair amount of planning that begins well before the trip. Often months before (those sometimes on the previous weekend!) a plan is hatched and a group of people assembled. Soon dates are set and an itinerary comes together. As the date approaches, we collect gear together and begin to pack and make the plans for our absence. The process accelerates as the day approaches and soon we are on our way to the mountains, often arriving at a trailhead came the night before, where the familiar sensations and rhythms begin to return.

The next morning we are up early, packing away the things we brought for that first campground night and paring down our possessions to only those things we’ll carry on the trail. We tear down camp, check and double-check gear, fill up water bottles, lock cars, head to the trailhead for the inevitable photo by the sign… and we are off. The first point of breaking away (once again!) is at this moment when we start up the trail, but in some ways this is often the beginning of a mental transition that will last all day as we again become accustomed to life on the trail. We climb, we stop to filter water, we eat our first of many trail lunches, the climb becomes harder as we watch for the pass up above. Eventually we reach that pass, where we stop and sit for a while, looking into the world where we’ll spend the next few days or week(s), then we head down the other side of the pass, an act that always seals the feeling of commitment to the trip. We arrive and set up our first trail camp, once again putting specialized equipment to use, remembering just how we set up that tent and operate that stove. Then, once all these tasks are complete, we find what we came for — there is nothing left to do. So we do nothing. We walk slowly around the lake, make some photographs, sit on a rock, and quietly watch the last light on a tree-filled peninsula beneath shadowed talus slopes.

G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more.
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