“Eastern Sierra Stream, Autumn” — Autumn colors line the banks of a small Eastern Sierra Nevada stream
This photograph is of one of those little places — you could easily pass right by it and miss it. I have, and I’ve even stopped nearby and not seen a photograph. This time I was heading up a canyon in cloudy conditions and light rain, and perhaps the unusual conditions helped me to see differently. In any case, as I drove past the area I noticed the red plants growing close to the ground, even though there were largely obscured by intervening trees.
I quickly turned around and came back, parked, and then spent some time poking around and looking. I finally ended up down along the bank of the stream, the closest I could get to the red plants, and I found a composition looking upstream toward more colorful plants and the white trunks of an aspen grove.
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A grove of autumn aspen trees descends to the shoreline of a reflecting lake
I’ll use today’s post for several purposes — the usual photograph shared with comments, plus some thoughts and observations about the Sierra Nevada autumn color season. The photograph comes from a well-known location in the Eastern Sierra. I was fortunate to visit on a day when the usual crowds weren’t there, and I had the place almost to myself! It probably helped that I arrived at an unusual time of day, taking advantage of some broken clouds that produced some special light on the river of aspen trees flowing down the hillside to the edge of this subalpine lake. Parts of the grove were past the proverbial prime, but in some ways I like seeing a few bare trees in the scene.
On this past week’s short trip to photograph Eastern Sierra Nevada fall color I thought a bit about what I’ve learned over the years regarding the timing of the annual transition. One thing that I finally have accepted is that it is more or less impossible (with some minor exceptions) to accurately predict the evolution of the color in a particular year. A second thing I’ve realized is that, despite year-to-year variations within the season, the overall color transition tends to take place on more or less the same schedule each year. In other words, leaving aside truly exceptional times such as year five of the recent five-year drought, things tend to start and end on about the same schedule each year — despite the annual initial “observations” about how the season is going to be an unusual one — beginning high and working down the mountains to lower elevations, with other local variations in the evolution. (I confess… I’ve made those predictions, too.)
While the start/end times of the fall color transition tend to be fairly consistent (for example, week two of October is almost always a good bet), there are sometimes variations within that time frame. Some are obvious. For example, a big, windy storm when there are lots of yellow leaves will blow down many of those leaves, and there will be a gap of a few more days before other leaves change color and take their place. Others are more mysterious. I noted a few of those mysteries this year. For example, in one location where I often find trees losing their leaves somewhat earlier than elsewhere, this year there were still some green trees! Yet, in other nearby locations trees that are often coming into form just a bit later… were in full color already!
What to do? My advice is still pretty much the same. Target a time around the end of the first week of October for your visit, expecting that the week starting then is likely to produce good color. Once on the scene, be alert for variations and be ready to change plans. If one area is still green, try going higher. If the trees you visit seem to be losing (or have already lost!) their leaves when you get there, try a lower elevation, a location with larger trees, or a deep east side canyon. And realize that it is almost unheard of for all the trees in an area to be at peak color simultaneously — you are far more likely to find some bare and some green trees mixed in with your trees in prime condition.
What about this year? Based on what I saw last week, this weekend (October 12, 13, 14) should be great in many places. In addition, given the number of purely green trees I saw in various locations, it should be quite possible to still find excellent color in another week.
Shoreline plants with early autumn colors along the back of a backcountry lake.
For all of the usual reasons, our group base-camped at a high, subalpine lake during our recent week in the Sierra Nevada backcountry. What are those reasons? Some are, of course, scenic — many lakes provide open vistas, reflections, an easy way to walk their perimeters (though not always!), meadows, and access to other nearby locations. “Our” lake had a large and convoluted shoreline. Most of it was covered with trees and mead owing areas, though one side was comprised of the base of a giant talus slope leading down from the nearby peaks.
I walked much of the lake’s perimeter, revisiting sections a number of times during our stay. On this morning I had set out to reach the farthest point of the lake, where a rocky outlet stream led to further meadows and more lakes. I had a lot of ideas about what I could photograph there, but central in my mind was to photograph a couple of bays like this one, surrounded by rocky terrain and early autumn vegetation, and with the distant peaks of the Sierra crest in the background.
Photography of migratory birds is often done at the edges of the day, starting before dawn and continuing well into the twilight hours. The birds are often there all day, but the light isn’t. (There are exceptions — for example, day-long tule fog or spectacular clouds.) So I spend a lot of time driving too and from locations in the darkness, and I usually arrive before dawn when there is perhaps just a hint of light in the sky.
While getting up at 3:30 or 4:00 in the morning for a long drive in the dark probably doesn’t sound that appealing — and, honestly, it isn’t! — there are certain compensations. Dawn is one of them, especially dawn experienced with the sounds of perhaps tens of thousands of birds awakening and getting ready to burst into the sky. One one of those mornings a flock of sandhill cranes flew overhead and crossed from cloudy skies to clear eastern pre-dawn sky.
