Trees at Olmsted Point are silhouetted against a brilliantly colorful spring sunset sky, Yosemite National Park.
I think everyone should occasionally get to post a just plain gaudy color sunset – and this is mine. While photographing Mount Conness from Olmsted Point was my primary goal on this evening, I also had some opportunities to swing the tripod around and point at other things from time to time. This is about as close as I can come to capturing the nearly hallucinogenic color of the sky as the brightest cloud illumination was centered directly overhead and beginning to move off to the west.
The color saturation was so intense that I had to under expose this by at least a stop in order to avoid blowing out the red channel and in order to retain some differentiation among the various shadings of color as they transitioned from very pink/red through orange and purple and on towards blue.
Clouds lit by alpenglow drift across the face of Mount Conness beyond the Tenaya Creek drainage, Yosemite National Park.
Earlier this week I posted another photograph of the same evening. This one was shot a bit earlier (believe it or not!) than the other photograph, as the intense and perhaps unexpected color display was just getting started. I’ll have more to write about the phenomenon in a future blog post that uses this evening as an example, but it almost seem like the sunset progressed backwards (oxymoron alert!) as it went on. It had begun with very boring and low contrast light, somewhat flattened by a haze that took on an increasingly ghastly blue-green hue as the light began to fade. Although the surroundings were spectacular on this opening day of Tioga Pass Road, the light and atmospheric conditions seemed to be conspiring to show them it their worst (literal and figurative) light.
But just at dusk a hint of pink appeared in some of the clouds ringing Mount Conness, the tall peak in the upper left. At first it was so faint that only those of us who were looking for it might have noticed, and we perhaps thought that we were simply trying to convince ourselves that something was going to happen. But the color increased, and as the more distant areas picked up better light, they shone through the foreground haze more clearly, and this haze faded in the same way that a scrim does in a theater when the front lights dim and the stage lights rise.
I find that this type of scene provides some of the most difficult technical and judgment challenges. So often the goal in an image, especially if it is going to be a print, is to try to get as much light into the scene as possible. A lot of the work in post-processing, at least for me, is done with the goal of trying to fill the image with light by means of various careful adjustments, often involving the use of masked curve layers. But here, the coloration depends upon not being overly bright – too much light either decreases the intensity of the pink and purple shadings or else sends them off into the land of the grotesque and gaudy. And the light in shadows – and there are a lot of shaded areas in this scene! – is very blue, much more so than the untrained eye would imagine when looking at the scene in person. This requires another set of tricky and subjective judgments – it would not look right to leave portions of the scene as blue “as they really were,” nor would it look right if the blue were diminished too much. But how much is right? There is no objective answer that I know of, so the goal (for example, on the large granite face of Polly Dome at the left) is to come up with a balance that seems blue enough but not too blue. A similar issue arises in these dark areas when it comes to deciding how bright is bright enough. Believe it or not, virtually nothing in this image is actually black, with the possible exception of a few very tiny areas in the lower left. The luminosity of the very dark areas had to be lifted a bit… but how much is just right? Again, a matter of personal judgment about which there is no objectively right answer.
All of that technical stuff aside, this evening provided one of the most glorious, albeit brief, displays of sublime light I have seen in the Sierra.
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. :-)
Post-sunset light from bright red clouds casts a reddish glow on the Amargosa Range, Death Valley Buttes, and the Kit Fox Hills.
I think this might be the second in what I could call the “impossible color” series from my late-March trip to Death Valley. (The previous image was a photograph of a wash/alluvial fan at the base of Tucki Mountain, photographed on the same evening.) The lurid and unreal colors are not the result of post-processing gone horribly wrong – the light was actually this color for a short period. The sun had already gone down behind the Cottonwood Mountains to the west of my shooting location in the middle of Death Valley not far from Stovepipe Wells. It had been an interesting sunset with the usual increase in warm colors and some attractive clouds in the sky.
What happened next was something that is probably familiar to those who have done a lot of landscape photography, though they recognize that it is not something that you can quite predict. After the sun had set and dusk was coming on, some final light from far to the west, where the sun had probably already dropped just below the horizon, began to strike high clouds above Death Valley. (I could sort of see this coming, since I had noticed increasing color in the sky further to the east.) As this happened, these clouds began to glow with an intense red color that was mixed with the normal bluish tones of dusk light and surface features took on this purple/red glow for just a brief moment before the light faded.
(Those who look very carefully may notice that the sky above and to the east of the mountains is a lot bluer than the mountains themselves. The color had already left the sky to the east, and at this point was coming from the sky directly overhead and to my west.)
I’m still trying to sort out the complex geology of this area and the ways that features are named. The larger range containing these peaks is called the Amargosa Range, though it encompasses many smaller named sub-ranges – I think these might be part of the Grapevine Mountains, roughly in the neighborhood of Thimble and Corkscrew Peaks. A dark peak in front of the main range at the very far right may be part of Death Valley Buttes, and the banded foreground hills are sometimes called the “Kit Fox Hills.”
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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