Sun breaks through clouds as a storm clears above the Pacific Ocean along the California coast.
On this mid-February day, we did a long looping drive down from the San Francisco Bay Area to the lower end of Big Sur coast and back up along the Coast Highway. It seems that for a good part of the past month or two, my photographic trips have been excellent predictors of awful weather, usually of the gray, flat, and cloudy type. (Fortunately, I’ve seen enough great days that I feel like this is a matter of balance in the universe, and I know that I’ll get my good light days again soon enough.) Although I proclaimed that by going south we would escape the northern California fog that was around that day, by the time we got out to the coast near Piedras Blancas… it was raining! And rain wasn’t even in the weather forecast.
When I encounter such weather or other impediments to photography, I have a series of ways to cope with the situation. I tell myself that I’m “scouting” locations that I’ll come back to in better conditions – and, frankly, this often turns out to be true. Sometimes I might just decide not to focus on photography so much and perhaps try other things. But most often I keep looking, and sometimes I start seeing small things that sort of sneak up on me and are then gone. Looking at this photograph you might imagine a day of glorious light passing through broken clouds to light the ocean. In reality, it was moments of such light, with many moments of gray in between. But when this light does shine though a cloud deck that is thinning and produces reflecting patterns stretching to the horizon, such a moment may make a long day’s drive worth it.
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. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Detail of a section of Death Valley salt flats as seen from Dantes View
Death Valley is often not quite what it seems to be. Repeat visits and views from different perspectives – far away, very close up, from above – begin to reveal things that you might not see at first. From next to and on the salt flats in the lowest section of the Valley, you see a very desolate terrain – one of the most non-human terrains I know. Here, well below sea level, there are places that seem completely inhospitable and alien, landscapes of caked salt, worked and sharp-edged salt and dried mud, seeps of shallow water, occasional odd plants, and landscape that often seems to go on almost endlessly the same way. But just as looking more closely reveals surprises (such as living creatures in those millimeters-deep pools of salty water), the view from overhead shows patterns that cannot be readily seen up close.
This photograph was made from the summit of Dantes View. This high point along the eastern side of the valley is close to a mile above the Valley floor. The view can often be panoramic, stretching for tremendous distances in almost all directions, blocked only by the higher peaks of the Panamint Range to the west and a few other high points nearby. Although Dantes View is one of the best known “iconic” locations in the park, I have a complicated relationship with the place. First of all, I seem to attract awful weather when I go there, perhaps because I tend to do so in the season that is winter elsewhere in the state. Not too long ago I attempted to drive to the summit on a winter day and was turned back by a snow storm perhaps a half mile from the end of the road. In addition, it has been hard for me to warm up to the place as a photographic subject. In some ways, there is almost just too much in the view for me to see how to isolate a photograph out of that detailed immensity. I dealt with that here by using a very long lens and restricting my view to a small section of the valley floor, without much context of surrounding terrain, which I think produces a photograph that allows the features in this frame to be seen as abstractions.
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. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
UPDATE: As of 2020 I am no longer posting annual updates concerning this subject — and I am editing older posts on the subject in light of the need to be more responsible about not encouraging the onslaught. I also no longer recommend going to the Valley to see it. Unfortunately, too much exposure (yes, I played a part in it, unfortunately) has led to absurd crowds, traffic jams, littering, destruction of areas in the Valley where too many people go to see it… and the park has increasingly — and appropriately — cracked down. Parking options have been eliminated, at least one viewing location has been closed. Good news! The rest of Yosemite Valley is still there and often exceptionally beautiful at this time of year.
The silver strand of Horsetail Fall and water reflecting on surrounding cliffs in late afternoon light, Yosemite Valley, California.
Although it seems like it would be extremely difficult to make a truly original photograph of Horsetail Fall at this point, I won’t completely rule out the possibility, and recently I have seen a few interesting and imaginative photographs of the phenomenon.
The necessary conditions are fairly specific, and even when the basics are in place there is no guarantee that the show will occur on a given evening. To be honest, the odds are distinctly against you, and you are more likely to see something that doesn’t match your expectations.
There must be flowing water in the creek near the east end of the face of El Capitan that feeds the fall. This is not a sure thing in mid-winter. There must be sufficient snow above El Capitan and the temperatures must be warm enough to melt it, or there must have been a recent warm storm that brought some rain to higher elevations.
The setting sun must align just right with a gap in the mountains to the west of El Capitan so that the setting sun (miraculously) casts its last beams right on the face of El Capitan where the fall is located. Roughly speaking this occurs during the second half of February, right around February 20 or so.
You must be in a position such that the fall is back-lit by the sunset light beam. In addition, your position must provide a clear view of the fall – not necessarily a simple thing given the forest cover in the Valley. These areas are now subject to terrible crowding that has damaged areas of the park, and the park service is wisely reducing or eliminating access.
Although photographs make it seem like a huge, overpowering spectacle, it is actually very small. It takes place high on a distant cliff face, and to photograph it you’ll need a very long lens.
Finally, the skies to the west of Yosemite must be clear so that the golden hour sunset light is not blocked. Many tell stories of clouds that made it obvious that the show would not happen or, even more frustrating, developing light that was killed at the last minute when the sun dropped behind clouds to the west, which are quite common.
Any post about the February Horsetail Fall occurrence must include a few other important points:
The event has become so popular in recent years that the experience has been significantly compromised. You will not have an experience of relative solitude such as Galen Rowell likely had when he made the iconic photograph of the subject decades ago. Instead you will likely find yourself among hundreds or thousands (you read that right) of other photographers lined up with lenses pointed the same direction.
This, of course, implies that parking and finding “your spot” may both be challenges. As a result of traffic jams, illegal parking, overwhelming crowds, gross littering, and damage to meadow, forest, and river… the park service is wisely putting several access limits in place, even closing one of the favorite areas as of 2020.
If Horsetail isn’t an option, you are are still in one of the most beautiful and compelling places on the face of the planet for making photographs! Speaking of which, while the crowds are focused on Horsetail, you might consider photographing other things away from the crowds…
The annual Yosemite Renaissance art show typically opens at about this time each February and features the work of photographers and other artists working in Yosemite. The show is in the Yosemite Museum Gallery and the 2013 edition runs from February 22 through May 5, with the opening reception at 5:30-7:30 on February 22. (You can view my work in the show this year.) In addition, there is always something interesting to see at the nearby Ansel Adams Gallery – this year an exhibit of Michael Frye’s photographs opens on February 16.
NOTE: The 2017 edition of the exhibit, Yosemite Renaissance 32, opens with a free public reception at 5:30 PM on Friday, February 24. One of my photographs is in the exhibit again this year. See you there!
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.
Detail of a Tomales Bay shoreline building with morning fog along nearby hills
Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, I am fortunate to be within a few hours driving distance of the Point Reyes National Seashore, so I shoot there fairly regularly. I had a free morning on this early February day, so I decided to drive up that way with the intention of being there for dawn. I didn’t quite make it for the actual sunrise – at that point I was driving through foggy redwood forest – but I got to the road that travels along the edge of Tomales Bay on the way to the “point” shortly after sunrise, and as the fog was clearing from over the water and the hills.
This structure is what I think of as the “Launch for Hire” building, since a very large size with that announcement has been painted on both sides. I haven’t stopped to photograph here much at all in the past, but the early light was interesting on this morning – foggy to the north toward the entrance to Tomales Bay, and backlight fog and trees to the east – so I spent a bit of time photographing along here. I shot the building from both sides – the side facing into the “golden hour” early morning light, and the deeply shaded backside of the building with the very bright morning light and thinning fog beyond. In the latter case, there was a glow in the windows of this building, on pilings out over the water, from the light coming into its interior through windows on the far side facing the rising sun.
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. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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