Light on the Landscape: Photographs and Lessons from a Life in Photography 1681985748, 9781681985749

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LIGHT ON THE LANDSCAPE PHOTOGRAPHS AND LESSONS FROM A LIFE IN PHOTOGRAPHY

WILLIAM NEILL

Light on the Landscape William Neill www.WilliamNeill.com Project editor: Jocelyn Howell Project manager: Lisa Brazieal Marketing coordinator: Mercedes Murray Interior design: Malea Clark-Nicholson Layout and type: Kim Scott/Bumpy Design Cover design: Aren Straiger ISBN: 978-1-68198-574-9 1st Edition (1st printing, July 2020) © 2020 William Neill All images © William Neill Rocky Nook Inc. 1010 B Street, Suite 350 San Rafael, CA 94901 USA www.rockynook.com Distributed in the U.S. by Ingram Publisher Services Distributed in the UK and Europe by Publishers Group UK Library of Congress Control Number: 2019950816 All rights reserved. No part of the material protected by this copyright notice may be reproduced or utilized in any form, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher. Many of the designations in this book used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks of their respective companies. Where those designations appear in this book, and Rocky Nook was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in caps or initial caps. All product names and services identified throughout this book are used in editorial fashion only and for the benefit of such companies with no intention of infringement of the trademark. They are not intended to convey endorsement or other affiliation with this book. While reasonable care has been exercised in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein or from the use of the discs or programs that may accompany it. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Printed in Korea

I dedicate this book to my family: Sadhna, Caitlin, and Ravi. To the readers of Outdoor Photographer and all those family and friends who have supported my photography over many years. To the beauty of nature, which can be found around us every day, and for the comfort and solace that beauty provides.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

During the long pathway of a forty-year career, I naturally have many people to thank. First and foremost, I must thank my family that is no longer with us. My mother was an ardent supporter of my pursuit of photography. My father provided constant encouragement. My brother, in his short life of twenty years, showed me by example how to be kind, humble, and compassionate. I must thank the staff at Outdoor Photographer, with whom I’ve worked since 1986, including Steve and Debra Werner, Rob Sheppard, Ibarionex Perello, Chris Robinson, and Wes Pitts. I began by writing articles for many years, until 1997, when we launched my On Landscape column. Since that beginning, I’ve written 136 essays and counting. My family and friends have encouraged, critiqued, inspired, listened to, advised, and/or traveled with me over the decades. I have been fortunate to have had incredibly talented photographers assisting me in my studio. John Weller and John O’Connor handled both tedious and critical tasks of running my office, from packaging prints for shipping to helping me pull the nth degree of nuance out of images with their considerable skills in Photoshop. The Ansel Adams Gallery in Yosemite has been integral in the arc of my career, giving me my first job as a photographer from 1980–1984. The gallery has represented my photography since 1983, approved by Ansel Adams himself. The knowledge and experience I gained while employed by the Adams family has been the foundation of my career. During the brief time I knew Ansel, I learned from his passion for the art and craft of photography, and its great potential for self-expression. I give profound thanks to all of the family and staff with whom I’ve worked. My wife of thirty years, Sadhna, has been indispensable in the development of this book, not to mention my career and life. She has served as my editor for every essay

written for Outdoor Photographer. Her immeasurable faith in me has given me strength to endure through all the ups and downs of survival as an artist. For this, and so much more, I am eternally grateful. My children fill me with pride and inspire me to make the world a better, more beautiful place for them. My art is an extension of my life, and my family sustains my life, my spirit.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

William Neill, a resident of the Yosemite National Park area since 1977, is a landscape photographer concerned with conveying the deep, spiritual beauty he sees and feels in nature. Neill’s award-winning photography has been widely published in books, magazines, calendars, and posters, and his limited edition prints have been collected and exhibited in museums and galleries nationally, including the Museum of Fine Art Boston, Santa Barbara Museum of Art, The Vernon Collection, and The Polaroid Collection. Neill received a BA degree in Environmental Conservation at the University of Colorado. In 1995, Neill received the Sierra Club’s Ansel Adams Award for conservation photography.

Neill’s assignment and published credits include National Geographic, Smithsonian, Natural History, National Wildlife, Conde Nast Traveler, Gentlemen’s Quarterly, Travel and Leisure, Wilderness, Sunset, Sierra, and Outside magazines. He also writes a regular column, On Landscape, for Outdoor Photographer magazine. Feature articles about his work have appeared in Life, Camera and Darkroom, Outdoor Photographer, and Communication Arts, from whom he has also received five Awards of Excellence. His corporate clients have included Sony Japan, Bayer Corporation, Canon USA, Nike, Nikon, The Nature Company, Hewlett Packard, 3M, Freidrich Grohe, Neutrogena, Sony Music/Classical, University of Cincinnati, and UBS Global Asset Management. Neill’s work was chosen to illustrate two special edition books published by The Nature Company, Rachel Carson’s The Sense of Wonder and John Fowles’s The Tree. His photographs were also published in a three-book series on the art and science of natural process, in collaboration with the Exploratorium Museum of San Francisco: By Nature’s Design (Exploratorium/Chronicle Books, 1993), The Color of Nature (Exploratorium/Chronicle Books, 1996), and Traces of Time (Chronicle Books/Exploratorium, 2000). A publication of a portfolio of his Yosemite photographs entitled Yosemite: The Promise of Wildness (Yosemite Association, 1994) earned him The Director’s Award from the National Park Service. A monograph of his landscape photography entitled Landscapes of the Spirit (Bulfinch Press/Little, Brown, 1997) relates his beliefs in the healing power of nature. Neill’s book William Neill–Photographer: A Retrospective (Triplekite Publishing, 2017) is a collection of his photographs taken over the past forty years.

CONTENTS

Preface Landscapes for My Spirit Why I Photograph Landscape Essentials My Top Reasons for Photographic Success Landscape Lighting Basics Where is the Light? Light on the Landscape Become a Student of Light The Intimate Landscape Finding My Personal Vision Ride the Light! It’s All about the Light, and Designing for It Interpretation and Refinement Releasing the Shutter is Only the Beginning Pushing Boundaries High-Key Experiments Focused Find Your Passion, Develop Depth, Edit Tightly Practice and Work An Editorial Assignment Led to Personal Expression On the Horizon Considering Where to Place the Horizon Line Creation

Portraying our Evolving Planet Seeking Images Seeing Beyond the Icons The Edge of Light Use Contrast to Create Striking, Graphic Images Whispers in the Fog A Mantra for Making Clean, Clear Photographs Becoming Creative Find Your Unique Perspective Environmental Conservation Make a Difference with Your Photographs Immersion Course Commit to Exploring Your Favorite Locations in Depth Water, Water Everywhere Persistence is a Key Element of the Creative Process Desert Elements Earth’s Bare Bones Revealed Field of Possibilities Solving Focus Problems in the Field Focus Your Fall Portfolio Work with a Theme to Create a Unique Collection of Images What the Road Passes By There’s More to a Landscape than an Iconic Vantage Point Using the Frame See the Photograph as a Whole Aspen Variations Allow Your Interpretation to Grow and Evolve My Vacation Balancing Family Time and Making Art A Sense of Scale Size Relationships Tell a Story

Versatility Reach Out to Explore Winter’s Grace The Hushed Solitude of Photography in Snow Impressions of Light Create Artistic Blurs In-Camera Meditations in Black and White Open Yourself Up to New Avenues of Creativity The Magic Element: Emotion Let Your Heart Show the Way Simplicity Is the Key Keys to Clean Design Getting Out of a Rut Break Away from Your Usual Subject Matter Best of the Year Review Your Images to Find New Directions to Explore Last Light Revisiting the Key Themes in Your Photography Morning Light When You Have Your Camera with You, Good Luck Tends to Happen The Intimate Detail Making an Image of Magic and Mystery Macro Magic Find Nature’s Secrets in the World of the Very Small Going with the Flow Work Your Subject for the Perfect Photograph Separation of Tones Create Separation of Tones to Coax Nuances Out of Your Images On the Way Home Always on the Lookout Spring in the Canyon

Always Try to Improve Photographs for the Spirit Making Images for Healing Environments A Short Walk in a New England Wood Notice the World Around You Improving Your Portfolio Build Depth Around Focused Themes to Create a Broad Body of Work Antarctic Dreams Moving Out of My Comfort Zone Need to Know Avoid Tech Overload—Be In the Moment Variations on a Theme Sometimes Your First Inclination Isn’t the Only Possibility Processing Magic Long-Term Artistic Goals Winter Etchings Tune Into the Graphic, Elegant Starkness of the Season The Space Between Watch All the Elements in Your Frame Aspects of the Landscape Explore New Aspect Ratios Whispers and Shouts What Do You Want Your Images to Say? Of Abstract Nature Find Creative Inspiration by Focusing on Details Dealing with Depth Creating Images with Extended Depth of Field and Sharpness Patience and Persistence Getting a Photo “Right” Takes Time A Dance on the Beach Focus on the Fundamentals

Celebrating Wilderness Photographer Philip Hyde Acknowledging Our Roots Stories Write about Your Photography to Become a More Powerful Storyteller Technical Notes Photograph Information

PREFACE

Welcome to my collection of photographs and essays on landscape photography! I look forward to sharing my thoughts with you on all aspects of the landscape genre. I’ve been at this “job” of being a full-time, freelance photographer for thirty-six years. Over that time I’ve learned a thing or two, and I wish to share those lessons with you. The best way that I can think of to launch this book is to put forth the underlying motivation and inspiration for my photography. Any future discussions on light, or composition, or equipment, or technique will be based on this foundation. I am not one for learning an approach to creating images unless that route allows for a direct connection with the subject and helps me to communicate my own response to it. In other words, I keep my approach very simple and pragmatic. The beauty of nature is the foundation of which I speak; it motivates and inspires my photography. When I stand before landscapes of silent rock, reflecting water, and parting cloud, I feel most connected to myself and to life itself. Seeing and feeling this beauty is more vital to me than any resulting imagery. Still, I am compelled to try to put out some visual representation of the sense of wonder I feel, and I suspect that you know that feeling! We photographers tend to let the technique of photography get in the way. Ansel Adams often complained of the overabundance of sharp photos with fuzzy concepts! Unlike Ansel, I am not very technically oriented, but I do place a high value on making technically excellent images. As a beginner, I built a foundation of knowledge through college photo courses and a lot of trial and error, with an emphasis on lots of errors. As technologies have progressed, I have added techniques to solve problems I’ve encountered in the field. The arc of my life as a photographer began in the 1970s. I used 35mm and 4x5 film cameras until 2005, and then switched entirely to digital capture. You will notice some info about gear in my essays here,

but for more details, please see the Photo Notes in the back of this book. Within these pages are my ideas and techniques for capturing the light, designing what you include within your frame, and revealing your personal and creative way of seeing the world around you. I wrote these essays over the past two decades, and they summarize my forty years of experience making images. I discuss light and weather; composition and the environment; marketing; and a bit of philosophy, portfolio development, and sources of inspiration. Oh yes, Yosemite and Ansel Adams too. I even mention f/stops and apertures. When I first started my journey as a photographer, I wasn’t interested in discussing the subject or writing about technique or my motivations for making my art. My father was a journalist, my mother an English major, and although they helped me learn to write while growing up, I didn’t want to waste my time writing when I could be out there in nature making images. I was twenty and impatient. After graduating from college, I had to start figuring out how to make a living. When I started teaching soon after arriving in Yosemite, I had to express myself through words, especially about technique. When I first began to teach, I was also able to attend workshop sessions and lectures by Ansel Adams, Joel Meyerowitz, Jerry Uelsmann, Ernst Haas, Paul Caponigro, Phil Hyde, John Sexton, Alan Ross, Robert Glen Ketchum, Chris Rainier, and many more. Listening to these masters helped me greatly to learn how to find and capture my vision. During my early years of teaching in the field, I discovered that I had something to say. In 1985, I started writing articles for Outdoor Photographer magazine. Then in 1997, I began writing my On Landscape column for them. As of this writing, I’ve written 136 essays for that column. My main goal for these essays is to focus on the creative side of landscape photography. In each story, I describe my approach to finding inspiration, discovering my compositions, and how I realized my final result. This book is a curated anthology of those essays. Because this collection spans many years, their themes are not laid out here in “textbook” type order. You can read the essays in the order in which they are presented, or you can jump in wherever you’d like. You can pick out topics or images that catch your eye as you work your way through the chapters. The Table of Contents is designed to guide you toward areas of particular interest. Each lesson is applicable to any photographer, regardless of whether you use film or digital to

capture your images. I’m always looking for inspiration within wild places and natural subjects near and far. I have been photographing the beauty of nature for four decades, and I’ve found my search for “landscapes of my spirit” to be an essential ballast in the storm of everyday life. Whether in the wilderness or my small patch of nature in the Sierra Nevada, I am continually comforted by the beauty that surrounds us every day, a comfort that calms my mind and lifts my spirit. Although this book is not full of photo rules and regulations, I discuss many practical ways to improve your photography. I hope that reading it will help you discover your own voice and vision through the ideas and passion I have for nature and photography.

Dawn | Lake Louise, Banff National Park, Canada | 1995

LANDSCAPES FOR MY SPIRIT WHY I PHOTOGRAPH

My evolution as a photographer is directly tied to my belief in the great value and need for the wildness and beauty of nature. This belief emerged from personal experience—the death of my brother when I was eighteen in the summer of 1972. That summer I happened to be working in Glacier National Park. My immersion in that landscape during a time of great personal distress opened my eyes to the restorative powers of nature, and led me to a life in photography. At a deep level, the beauty of my surroundings seeped into my subconscious—the lush colors of a meadow dense with wildflowers, the energy of a lightning storm, the clarity of a mountain lake. In an effort to capture and convey these life-affirming discoveries, I began to photograph as I backpacked throughout Glacier. Within a few years, all I wanted to do was make photographs! Ansel Adams, in paraphrasing his mentor Alfred Stieglitz, used to remind his students that a great photograph was the emotional equivalent of the photographer’s response to his subject. Such a lofty goal is rarely achieved. We are all lucky if but two or three or four times a year we make an image where technique and emotion converge to create a transcendent photograph. I don’t mean simply a technically excellent and beautiful image. I mean a photograph that rises above your best and reveals a deeply personal and creative perspective. In this regard, I am not so sure that pros can claim to have a better “batting average” than the amateur given their relatively different expectations of their work. In any case, it is good to have reasonable expectations for your own progress. Over the years, I have continued to search for imagery that, in the words of the great black-and-white photographer Paul Caponigro, can “. . . make visible the overtones of that dimension [of Nature] I sought. Dreamlike, these isolated images maintain a

landscape of their own, produced through the agency of a place apart from myself. Mysteriously, and most often when I was not conscious of control, that magical and subtle force crept somehow into the image, offering back what I had sensed as well as what I saw.” I think the photograph shown here, Dawn, Lake Louise, is one of those photographs Caponigro describes. Rising very early on a summer morning, I hoped for a dramatic and brilliant sunrise on Lake Louise and the glacier-covered mountains. Perhaps it was the two weeks of photographing in rainy conditions that biased my hopes! I waited patiently for sunrise, but my preconceived vision failed to appear as persistent clouds shrouded the mountains. It was a silent and mysterious dawn. I simply sat and soaked in the scene. Finally, I made two exposures, but expected little. I completely forgot about this session during the rest of my trip. When I saw the film after returning, I was stunned and thrilled. I had to think about when and where I had made this photograph. Unconsciously, but facilitated by my experience and instinct, the power and magic of that landscape, at that moment, had come through on film. The Lake Louise photograph was made with my 4x5 view camera and a 150mm lens (45mm on 35mm). Due to the use of slow film, a small aperture, and low light, the exposure was about two minutes long. Of the two exposures I made, one was horizontal, the other vertical. The horizontal image looks much like the vertical, minus the rocks in the foreground. I often like to remove clues and context that show depth or scale in my images, and the horizontal exposure fit my standard approach. However, the vertical image has a stronger feeling of depth, and somehow this subtle sense of scale adds an essential dimension to the composition. Since the foreground rocks are underwater, and the long exposure also blurred their appearance, they add a little balance and mystery. I had an idea of what I wanted to photograph at Lake Louise that morning, but when it did not materialize, I didn’t feel as if I had to make an image. The landscape itself presented another idea. When a concept for an image is forced onto film, creativity can be lost. By not needing to make an image, I found one. This lesson is encapsulated by my favorite quote from photographer Minor White: “Be still with yourself until the object of your attention affirms your presence.” So wait, watch, and relax. It is these magical convergences of light and land and camera that keep us coming back again and again.

Sunrise on the Hana Coast | Koki Beach, Island of Maui, Hawaii | 1994

LANDSCAPE ESSENTIALS MY TOP REASONS FOR PHOTOGRAPHIC SUCCESS

What are the essential ingredients for a great landscape photograph? While developing an online landscape course, I have been asking myself this question to help photographers improve their work. There is a list of key elements that make up any strong photograph: An exceptional quality of light Exciting and dynamic image design Emotional content that engages the viewer All of these factors serve to illuminate the subject and clarify the photographer’s intentions. Throughout this book, I will be illustrating these basic premises with various stories and photographs to reinforce these fundamentals. Regarding light, it is the defining ingredient in most great images. Dramatic lighting conditions, such as rainbows or sunbeams through clouds, add excitement to an image. Soft light on a rainy day can emphasize every detail and the saturated colors of the scene. I often see photographs from students, taken in beautiful places, which were made in ordinary light. Once an effective composition has been found, the light must make it sing. At this is the point in time, waiting, returning, anticipating, and planning become skills as important as making the proper exposure. Regarding composition, it is the foundation upon which the photographer defines what the viewer perceives. Image design can be strongly graphic, simple or complex, but ultimately it should lead the viewer toward an understanding, or serve as inspiration, or even prompt them to ask a question. Good composition requires the photographer to consider the balance of lines, shapes, and forms; the proportions and

scales of objects; and most importantly, what is included within the frame and what is not. Including just enough information in the frame, without creating confusion or distraction, is a vital skill to develop. As for emotion and passion, these are the final and essential ingredients for a strong photograph, and the most difficult to achieve. Even given a convergence of great light and excellent composition, creating a photograph where all the important factors come together is rare. Yet if we continue to cultivate the understanding of our favorite subjects, and immerse ourselves in the places that inspire us, our best work will follow. For example, I have an overriding theme I call “Landscapes of the Spirit.” I used this phrase as the title for a book of my favorite landscape images, and I continue to add work to the theme. The image that opens this essay, taken in Hawaii, fits well into that theme. The light was remarkable and it was the reddest sunrise I’ve ever seen. In fact, I dialed back the color saturation because it was so overwhelming. I feel that the composition is well balanced and elegantly simple. As for the emotional content, I can only speak for myself. The image reconnects me with the experience of standing in the surf, watching the early dawn light begin to glow and light up the clouds, and in turn, seeing the clouds reflect their color on the water. The long exposure (several minutes in length if my memory serves me) blurred the surf’s motion and created a watercolor palette of red hues. Several years ago on a Memorial Day weekend I was visiting Carmel, California, for a family gathering. I brought my camera along, of course, although I wasn’t planning to have extended photo sessions. I went out for a few sunrise and sunset photo sessions, visiting some favorite locations in nearby Big Sur, and trying out some new ones. I have been making images in the Big Sur area for three decades now, and I am indeed passionate about the extraordinary energy and beauty of that landscape. I am so pleased with the results from my minimal efforts, and I got to thinking about why I had good luck on this trip.

Two Rocks and Surf | Garrapata State Park, Big Sur, California | 2008

In addition to the three key essentials listed above, following are additional reasons for successful landscape photographs. These reasons assume that the obvious technical concerns such as sharpness, exposure, and composition are in good order.

FAMILIARITY When you get to know a place by returning there often, you gain invaluable knowledge about the light and the weather patterns. You learn what landscapes are best in different lighting conditions. You try out different compositions, or you return to favorite compositions in hopes of the “perfect storm,” where light and clouds and image design all come together. You add depth to your portfolio from that location. For the Monterey and Big Sur area, I have a mental file of many such sites—which landscapes are excellent when the fog is thick, which ones will have more potential if the sky is clear, and so on.

WILLINGNESS TO PLAY Have you ever returned to a location so often that you realized that you’ve been photographing “the same” composition over and over? I think we all have. When I am

drawn back to the same location often, and don’t want to repeat myself, I am more willing to experiment. If I have already recorded a reasonably successful image there, then there is no risk, no failure possible. If I make a fresh image, fine. But there is no pressure to succeed, no significant loss if a successful photo is not made.

VISUAL LITERACY Being aware of other photographs that have the same themes as yours is vital so that you have a mental memory bank of what has already been done. Improve your photographic “visual literacy” in your field, and you are less likely to create clichéd work.

BASIC PLANNING When I know I am going out to photograph, I plan meals and other activities around the best light. On this trip, I was out looking for images by six o’clock in the morning. I came back by eight or nine o’clock, ready for a big breakfast and a full day with my family. For good sunset photography, I often try to have an early dinner, especially during the summer, and then go out in the evening until dark. We were staying right near the beach in Carmel, so it was a short walk with no driving involved. My point is that with some basic planning, it is possible to strike a balance between photography and other pursuits to optimize your photo opportunities. I am not one to get carried away with a precise itinerary or with using a compass or GPS so I can photograph at some preconceived “correct” location. I simply need to get out there and see what happens, relying on experience and intuition.

PATIENCE Remember how important patience is. So often, when we arrive at a new location, we are so excited that we work too fast and are too scattered in our focus. The energy of a new discovery is thrilling but also distracting. When you’re at a new location, slow down and take a deep breath (or many, if necessary) so you can see the landscape more clearly. A calm, meditative approach for connecting with your environment is a valuable tool, especially in new locations. When you are already familiar with an area, you don’t feel as much urgency, and often less stress means better images. Digging deeper will only strengthen your vision.

When you focus on improving your photography, always keep working to develop your technical skills in terms of handling exposure, image design, depth of field, and post-processing technique. However, photographic success also requires dedication, such as adjusting your dinner schedule, and long-term effort, which often involves returning to favorite locations time and time again.

Kelp | Carmel Beach, California | 2008

Black Oaks, Autumn | El Capitan Meadow, Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1984

LANDSCAPE LIGHTING BASICS WHERE IS THE LIGHT?

The most challenging aspect of teaching landscape photography is helping students find a creative voice. One way to think about improving your creativity is to ask yourself, “What do I want to say with my photographs?” It is important to have something to say, to have a theme or concept within which you can organize the imagery about which you are most passionate. Think about your favorite photographers—I will guess that you can immediately recall what they are trying to say with their work. Yet none of the philosophical ramblings, by myself or by others, can solve the need for sound technique and an understanding of the basic ingredients for an excellent landscape photograph, such as the quality of light. For those of you who are beginners, here are some basic guidelines for understanding what to look for in terms of lighting conditions. For the more advanced, it is always good to review the basics. Let’s think about some basic ways light can affect the landscape: Where is the light coming from? Is the light coming from the side or toward the lens, or perhaps from behind you, over your shoulder? The angle of the sun will make a big difference. Low-angled light, like you see early or late in the day, will cast more shadows and show more texture. What color is the light? The color temperature of light on the landscape is an important factor in the mood and impact of a photograph. Mid-day light tends to be fairly neutral, as opposed to the light at sunrise or sunset, which is much warmer. Is the sky clear and blue? If so, bluish ultraviolet light is reflected into shadows.

What effect does the light have on the contrast of darks and lights? When light is cast across a landscape, the space within the viewfinder is broken up into shapes of dark and light. These shapes, depending on how they are arranged in the frame, will form the design and rhythm of an image. It is important to remember that light and composition are usually interrelated in a photograph— the lighting conditions affect the composition, and the way an image is composed affects how light is perceived in a landscape photograph. Is there a more optimum time to photograph this scene? How often do we arrive at a great place to photograph at just the right time? If you are making an exposure, then hopefully you feel that the light is good. But it is useful to consider when the light might be better, such as during a different time of day or a different season. I have included two examples of lighting conditions, both of which work well for photographing autumn foliage. Black Oaks, Autumn is a photograph I took in Yosemite Valley. It was early morning, and the sun had just come over the cliffs, lighting the oak trees from behind while the cliffs remained in shadow. The combination of backlight and a dark background creates a strong contrast that accentuates the autumn color. The photograph Autumn Foliage, Ellis River was made in soft light in the White Mountains in New Hampshire. The conditions were excellent for capturing the intense colors and the busy composition of autumn foliage. There was no wind and no shadows. With the even lighting, I could record all the detail, including the highlights in the birch trees, without the low values going to black. This kind of contrast issue is less of a problem with digital capture than with film, but that doesn’t mean you can stop thinking about the quality of light. Learning to see the light is a never-ending process. Keep looking, and then look again.

Autumn Foliage | Ellis River, White Mountains, New Hampshire | 1990

Spring Storm | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1986

LIGHT ON THE LANDSCAPE BECOME A STUDENT OF LIGHT

An essential ingredient for a high-quality landscape photograph is the use of light. It is one thing to photograph and hope for the best, even if you go out at the generally optimal times. It is another thing to be a disciple of light, a lifelong student of the nuances of light on the landscape. If you take time to study the lighting conditions that occur at your favorite locations over a long period of time, you will be doing what most landscape masters have done: you will become an expert on those locations. One key to improving your powers of observation regarding light is to study your images carefully after each photo session. While caught up in the various aspects of composing an image in the field, it is hard to see subtle changes that occur in changing conditions. Because of this, I feel that many photographers could be helped by allotting more time to edit. When studying your exposures, you see more and learn more about what worked and what didn’t. Let’s discuss sunset as an example. I can characterize some distinct phases of sunset light based on looking at a lot of exposures over the years: pre-sunset light is where shadows are strong and the color of light is fairly neutral; sunset light is just before the sun disappears, when the light is very warm, and the shadows are apparent but not too deep; post-sunset light is when the shadows are weak or absent; and twilight is when the sun is far enough below the horizon that it begins to reflect off the atmosphere, causing refraction and scattering of the sun’s rays from the atmosphere. Colors glow and intensify for a short period of time before darkness comes. These observations are generalizations, of course. Every location and sunset will have its own variations, and each person his or her own “data collection” style, but building up this kind of knowledge is invaluable for future use. Your own sitespecific observations, seen when you review your work on the lightbox or computer

monitor, will give you many advantages in anticipating conditions in those places you choose to study. Simple but vital lessons can be learned from your observations in the field as well as when editing. Your sensitivity to your surroundings is a vital skill to cultivate. A classic mistake made by beginners is to pack up one’s gear right after the sun goes down, and then miss the wonderful twilight light. Here is a related story about Ansel Adams and his knowledge of light in Yosemite. In the early 1980s, during one of Ansel’s June workshops, he had a chance to use a 20x24 view camera made by Polaroid. They shipped the camera to Yosemite, and on one occasion the camera was set up at the famed Tunnel View overview of Yosemite Valley. Ansel arrived and a crowd gathered. There were a few afternoon clouds moving across the summer sky, and the lighting conditions were quite average. The crowd, hoping to see Ansel create a masterpiece, was disappointed to hear Ansel declare that the light wasn’t right yet. He said that in about an hour, the clouds would build up over here and over there, and pointed out to his audience what he anticipated the light would do. Some people were disappointed, and some chuckled in disbelief that Ansel could know what would happen in an hour. Virginia Adams, Ansel’s wife, quietly stated to those around her, “Ansel knows.” Some curious bystanders, including myself, stayed there long enough to see Ansel’s predictions come true. Although the exposure wasn’t one of his masterpieces, the photograph was dramatically improved by his intimate understanding of the light and weather patterns in Yosemite. The photograph on the opening page of this essay, Spring Storm, is one I made from the same Tunnel View location. It is hard to imagine a more photographed location, but despite its iconic status, it draws me and many other photographers over and over again. The deceptively pristine view gives a sense of wildness, and the uncluttered overview lets one survey the light and weather conditions around the valley. It had rained steadily the night before. Unsure if the rain would stop, I came to scout the conditions in hopes that some light would break through the clouds. Even though I had never seen the light I was about to experience, I knew enough from past observations that there was the potential for spectacular light. Fortunately, the sun

broke through enough to light up the clouds without blasting into my lens to cause issues with flare. With my experience photographing in Yosemite over many years, and a little bit of luck, some magic light came my way. Perhaps one of the greatest joys of being a photographer, to me, is to see the light on the landscape, seeing its daily cycles change with each season and shift with each day’s weather. Revel in the light, and infuse your images with its magic!

Pfeiffer Arch at Sunset | Pfeiffer Beach, Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, California | 2004

Crab Apple Blossoms Along the Oconaluftee River | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina | 1992

THE INTIMATE LANDSCAPE FINDING MY PERSONAL VISION

For as long as I have been a photographer, I have preferred making images of details. I started out using macro techniques to isolate small subjects such as dewdrops or flower petals. This type of closeup image, although it didn’t describe the overall scene, seemed to convey the energy of my experience most effectively. The composition showing only part of the subject revealed that elusive “essence” more than a simply descriptive photograph of the whole subject. When I started using a 4x5 camera in 1982, I continued to photograph nature details, but more often photographed the landscape in the middle-distance range where there was usually no sky and often not much suggestion of foreground. I call this style “the intimate landscape.” This phrase has stuck in my mind ever since I first saw Eliot Porter’s classic book Intimate Landscapes, which is a masterpiece of landscape photography. Both the photographs and the genre of photography defined by the title inspired me to explore further the terrain pioneered by Porter, and to extend the tradition of color landscape photography that he set. My photograph Crab Apple Blossoms Along the Oconaluftee River was made in Great Smoky Mountains National Park in 1992. I had hoped to time my photography there with the blooming of the redbud and dogwood, but instead found that spring was late (i.e., I was early). After driving the park roads and exploring at different elevations, I was convinced that nothing was in bloom until I saw this tree. This single tree grew along the riverbank amongst a forest of bare trees. The day had been dark and gloomy, but the feeling now was of the arrival of spring after a long, hard winter! Now I had to make an image that spoke of that mood. The light was perfect—soft without shadows or highlights to distract. This is my

favorite type of lighting condition for intimate landscapes, so I often photograph on cloudy days, in the fog, at dawn and twilight, or in the shadow of a canyon or mountain. With transparency film, which is what I used to record this image, evenly lit subjects could be recorded with more color and more detail in the lower-contrast light due to the narrow latitude of the film. If the sun had been lighting this scene directly, the highlights on the water would have visually overwhelmed the blossoms. If I had been using digital capture, which has much wider latitude than film, recording this subject would have been simple in this soft light. I would have had the great advantage of seeing the preview to see if the blossoms were sharply recorded, and I could try various shutter speeds to see how the water blurred and change the ISO speed to affect blossoms that were possibly blurred or adjust how the water blurred. Luckily, the most graceful branch on the tree hung over the river, separating itself from the rest of the tree. My next problem was to find a camera position where the background was not distracting. I remember struggling to isolate the elegant curve from the surrounding confusion, even with my longest lens for my 4x5 camera, which was 360mm (equivalent to 105mm focal length in 35mm). Then I remembered that I had a 6x7 roll film back that slides into the back of my camera. This effectively doubled my focal length and allowed me to reach out to this branch, eliminating the unwanted clutter. The use of a view camera, with its swing and tilt adjustments, was also helpful in making this image. When I finally found the right angle at which to set the tripod, and had chosen the telephoto lens, the line of the branch was very oblique to the camera. The view camera allowed me to adjust the plane of the camera back to keep the branch sharp without moving from the optimum camera position. I needed the river, without its near and far banks, in the background to help simplify the composition. The two rocks visible behind the branch were minimal enough to give some context without distraction. The exposure was in the 15 to 30 second range. I still needed a fairly small aperture to keep the branch sharp, so I was lucky that a breeze was not blowing. The blur of the river added to the mood and helped set the branch apart from the water. The dark clouds above reflected a black-and-white mood on the rapids, which made the green leaves and pink flowers glow against the wintry tones of the river. There is another camera option that could have been used to make this image. Tiltshift lenses give the landscape photographer the same front-tilt and rear-shift

functions of a view camera. If I had wanted to make the photograph in 35mm format, I could have used my Canon 90mm tilt-shift lens in combination with a 2x extender. The tilt function, normally used to increase depth of field from foreground to background, would be turned sideways so that the depth could be controlled to the left and right side in the composition. At 180mm, a normal lens would not be able to carry the considerable depth of the branch, even at the smallest f-stop. This technique of isolation, whether by use of focal length, camera angle, or other means of composition, can lead you to simplify and add intimacy to your landscape work. The viewer can see that you selectively searched for something special that might only have been noticed by you. After all, photography is how you can allow others to see the world through your eyes.

Sunrise Storm Clouds | St. Mary Lake, Glacier National Park, Montana | 1995

RIDE THE LIGHT! IT’S ALL ABOUT THE LIGHT, AND DESIGNING FOR IT

Like a wave, the light makes its play on the landscape. We watch, wait, gasp, and hope. And sometimes groan! Will the light become magical, and if so, exactly when will the decisive moment be? Landscape photographers must be keen students of the weather, anticipators of that magic sunbeam or dramatic color. Our job is to see the light! People have a tendency to take the quality of light we see every day for granted. As photographers, I think that the best approach is to consider ourselves full-time, lifetime students of light. I don’t think I’m an expert in light, nor do I feel I ever will be. The subtleties and varieties are so great that I simply hope to keep learning more over time. If one assumes he or she really knows light, then that assumption will limit one’s creative potential in photography. If we always seek to learn more and to expand our knowledge and understanding, then our artistic potential is greater. I discovered this lesson in the early 1980s when I worked at The Ansel Adams Gallery in Yosemite. Ansel Adams was conducting his summer workshop, and Joel Meyerowitz was one of the teachers. Meyerowitz is a master of color photography, and his book Cape Light is a classic. The nuances of light and color in his imagery are inspirational. I had the fortune of watching him photograph during his class, and he pointed out shades of color in his subject that I could not perceive at first, which was shocking to me! After staring for a while, I could see what the master had seen. Humbled, I vowed to begin looking closer and harder at my subjects, and to learn more. One time I was photographing in Glacier National Park while working on two book projects. Twenty- three years earlier, while working a summer job there as a college

student, I had begun my life in photography when I started carrying a camera on my many backpacking trips. I returned to the park after so many years to renew my connection to this special landscape, and to make new photographs. During my early days in Glacier, I had learned my first lesson in light. One summer morning, I walked in the dark to an alpine lake with a blank canvas and oil paints. I hoped to capture sunrise on the mountains reflected in the lake, although I had little experience with painting, and none with painting nature “live.” As the sunlight struck the peaks and moved downslope, I worked quickly, mixing colors to depict the sky, rock, tree, and water. I was nineteen, and everything was possible. I blended the shade of green I saw, but by the time I put paint to canvas, the color had changed. It was fascinating to learn that color and light could be so subtle and ever-changing. Not thinking, I simply settled on the colors that seemed to look the best, and I painted on with excitement at the spectacle. The lesson was that painting reality was difficult and interpretive, and more importantly, that light was elusive and wonderful and energizing. I began to see that the expediency and immediacy of photography was better suited to my impatient youthfulness than painting or other artistic outlets. Back to more recent history: my return to Glacier took me to another mountain lake for sunrise. As I drove away from my campsite in the dark, I wasn’t expecting much of a sunrise, as it had rained all night and the sky was still dark with clouds. However, the dawn lit up with color as I set up my view camera with a wide-angle lens. I photographed quickly, metering the light with each exposure and trying to steady the large camera in a stiff wind—difficult but energizing conditions. The red light of the sun hit the clouds, then moved down the peaks. The colors changed cinematically as I exposed frame after frame. The result was several fine images, and my favorite one opens this essay. The moon came out for only that one exposure. With broad landscape views such as in this image, one must still consider the essentials of good composition. It is easy to forget this when we see such thrilling conditions. The light may be the strongest element that attracts the viewer, but the underpinnings of design must also be strong for the image to hold the viewer’s interest for more than the initial look.

For example, in this image the foreground trees are important for both their graphic qualities and tone. The fact that the shapes of the evergreens are clearly defined by the lighter tones of the lake, and that they are black, adds depth to the composition. The trees are small compared to the rest of the image, so they don’t compete with the clouds. Part of designing a photograph is deciding the relative importance of the different objects in the frame, and in this case, the different qualities of light on those objects. The clouds occupy half of the image because of the dramatic lighting conditions. The image’s horizon line, the lake, is placed low in the frame to emphasize the light in the sky. I photographed the magic light as it transformed Glacier’s landscape before me, not thinking about that sunrise painting session of years before, or of Mr. Meyerowitz’s lesson, yet I know that I carry those early revelations with me. Now and again we all forget things we have learned. As Bill Murray portrays in the movie Groundhog Day, there are many lessons we must learn over and over again before we meet with success. Perhaps, if we are to remain students of light, our success will be that we will never finish learning the lessons of light.

Field of Lupine | Ahwahnee, California | 2005

INTERPRETATION AND REFINEMENT RELEASING THE SHUTTER IS ONLY THE BEGINNING I can’t verbalize the internal meaning of pictures whatsoever. Some of my friends can at very mystical levels, but I prefer to say that, if I feel something strongly, I would make a photograph, that would be the equivalent of what I saw and felt . . . – ANSEL ADAMS

An integral part of making good images in these days of digital capture is the postprocessing of your images after the exposure is made. In the “old” days of film, recording enough detail in highlights and shadows was a challenge. Now, digital processing software provides a vast array of tools we can use to interpret our experience and turn it into a work of art. DSLR cameras generally create images that hold a great deal more information in the high and low tones, but often appear too flat. Whether you’re using film or digital to capture the subject, the unaltered results are not “reality” or representative of the extreme range of tones the human eye can register. In addition, the unadjusted capture probably has little emotional connection to, as Ansel put it, what the photographer saw and felt about the scene. The positive aspect of digital capture is that our images are likely to contain a wider range of detail, giving us more options creatively. The downside is that digital captures often require help to make them come to life, for the images to look like what we experienced. First, it is important to use software that is sufficient to give you control over your images. Adobe Lightroom is an excellent management tool, and it is also full of powerful and easy-to-use features for processing your images. For many photographers, this program is sufficient for all their needs. I use a blend of Lightroom and Photoshop, depending what each photograph needs.

The lupine image shown on the previous spread was made in my backyard. It had rained the night before, and the sun was just coming up over the hillside. I used my 90mm tilt-shift lens, with the lens tilted forward to gain sharpness throughout the frame. I made layer adjustments using the Select > Color Range tool in Photoshop. The key effects of the layers used on this image are the separation of tones, especially in the shadows. The blacks were too light in the RAW file, so I darkened them while maintaining clear separation within the shadow values. The feeling of light in the scene was that of glistening highlights off of the flowers and grasses. To maintain that effect, I pushed the highlights curve so that the whites were as bright as possible without losing separation of detail within those lightest tones. There is a delicate balance in high-contrast situations such as this where I wanted to convey the brightness of the sunlit flowers without deadening the shadows. My interpretation was to bring out the flowers in the shadows so that they were luminous like the backlit ones. My interpretation of the pear tree in bloom on the opposite page was to process it in a high-key manner. In the RAW file, the tree trunk and branches are nearly silhouetted, but that was too dark for the mood I was after. In Lightroom, I opened up the shadows and made all of the tones lighter in general to give a stronger sense of the glowing light I experienced. With all of the tools available today for postprocessing your images, there is little excuse for you to not dive into the digital darkroom. If you are using Photoshop and are not currently making master files of your favorite images, complete with individual layers containing each adjustment you make, then you are missing one of the greatest benefits of digital photography. Ansel often referred to his negatives as his musical score and his print as the performance. Your digital capture has all the notes for your image, and your digital darkroom is how you make those notes sing for a grand performance!

Pear Tree in Bloom | Fresno, California | 2018

Cypress Trees in Fog | Monterey, California | 2019

PUSHING BOUNDARIES HIGH-KEY EXPERIMENTS

Making creative photographs requires pushing boundaries beyond the norms and trends of the day. Over the decades I’ve made landscape photographs, I’ve found that pursuing new tangents in technique or subject matter has kept me creatively invigorated and moving forward. My latest passion is experimenting with an alternate, high-key approach to post-processing. The typical way most of us process our photographs is to show a full range of tones, from luminous shadows with detail in them to bright highlights. High-key images show only tonal values on the upper end of a histogram, with the darkest tones being around middle gray and the lighter tones being light gray to near white. I was first inspired by the high-key images of Don Worth, one of Ansel’s first assistants. His photograph of a succulent plant rendered in subtle shades of light gray has a mystical quality and is one of my all-time favorite images. He also photographed a forest of trees in fog with the same high-key treatment. Huntington Wetherill also inspired me with his high-key imagery of dunes. The more you look at other photographers’ work, the greater your library of ideas will be for “pushing the boundaries” with your own photographs. My first experiments with this approach began many years ago when I had made some new images of a very foggy pine forest. As I processed the digital files, I followed my basic routine of adjusting the contrast, shadows, and highlights in the image. Although the results looked good to me in a traditional, full-tonal-range sense, the photograph did not reflect how my experience felt during that foggy dawn. My processing routine is based on having heard Ansel Adams explain his approach to

the Zone System for processing his film and making prints during his Yosemite workshops. His fundamental approach was to show a full range of tones. However, as Ansel reminded his students many times, the Zone System was designed as a flexible tool for creative expression, not as a commandment for enforcing one way of processing. If your interpretation of a scene is that of an ominous mood, or you’re inspired by the vibrant colors or dramatic contrasts in a scene, then process accordingly. The Zone System was designed to allow a flexible range of tonal control, for the photographer to expand or contract the tonal range of a scene depending on the artist’s vision. Digital processing can be used to similar effect. As with the Zone System for film, software such as Lightroom and Photoshop are interpretive tools that can give excellent control over contrast range. With the inspiration from Worth and Witherill, I’ve explored high-key processing over the years. My images start out in Lightroom, where I work with the Develop module’s sliders. I will push the Shadows far to the right to open up the shadow details and see what is in there. Then I try out increasing the Whites and lessening the Blacks. I often take the Highlights slider far to the left to avoid clipping the highest values and to control the gradations of very light tones. Once I find an effective balance of contrast, I will often push the global Exposure values higher to lighten the overall image. A more literal rendition of this cypress photograph did not reflect my experience, which was more magical and bright than what I was seeing on my monitor. I decided to try a high-key approach to the image, meaning that all the tones in the file would be placed at the high end of the tonal range. The darkest value might be a middle gray, while most of the tones would be light gray and near white tones. As I added these adjustments, the image began to come to life. The fog glowed and the trees receded into pale whites. The image became more impressionistic and ethereal, more like my emotional response to the scene. It is good to remember this question when judging your photos: Does this image represent the emotional equivalent of what I saw and felt? Asking this question helped me discover the highkey option shown here. In my recent retrospective book, I had the satisfaction of presenting the major

thematic portfolios I’ve developed over four decades. The challenge for me is, what’s next? I am very excited to pursue a new direction, where ever it may lead. Nothing ventured, nothing gained!

Trees Growing on Moss-Covered Boulders | Baxter State Park, Maine | 1995

FOCUSED FIND YOUR PASSION, DEVELOP DEPTH, EDIT TIGHTLY

What kind of photographs do you make? “Oh, I try a little of this, and a little of that.” That is the most common answer I’ve heard when teaching over the past forty years. The seductive power of the camera is evident in student work since most of us are naturally pulled toward many subjects. The class portfolios most often indicate these diverse interests, but show little focus or thematic continuity. Certainly, the world is full of wonders to photograph, but how many of us have the time to take every branch in the road? The hectic pace of our lives and the expediency of clicking the shutter conspire to distract us. However, many photographers would benefit from a more focused approach to their image making. If you are a landscape photographer, and you see something of yourself mentioned above, consider what subject matter really attracts you. The subject can be broad or narrow, such as forests or aspens, deserts or Death Valley. The important thing is to focus on a theme, and photograph with the idea of creating a portfolio. The portfolio can take many forms: an actual portfolio box of fine prints, a book, or simply an online web gallery. The idea is to make photographs, and then edit them, with the intention of putting your best images on the subject in one place. There are two main requirements for your portfolio. First, as I said before, there must be a coherent theme that moves you and motivates you. Let’s say you have picked a theme of landscapes with some aspect of water involved. Possible images could include waterfalls, rivers, lakes, or the ocean. The second criterion is that there should be no single image that is of lesser quality than another. In any situation where you show your work, great images are diluted by the average images you might use to “fill out” your presentation, and the overall

impression of your photography is reduced. The editing process is not given enough priority by many aspiring photographers. The next step is to go through your files to find your very best “water landscapes.” If you adhere to my second premise, you will find the editing process to be difficult. Being self-critical is critical! Don’t be surprised if you find only a few images that are of equally high quality. The ultimate editor is you, the artist, but you may find it valuable to have your work evaluated by other, more experienced photographers, such as a workshop instructor. This “second opinion” approach will either confirm or force you to reconsider the level of your imagery. You should now have the foundation for your portfolio, be it two or twenty images, and a baseline from which to measure your progress. When you continue to photograph for the portfolio, your planning, exploring, and image making can be concentrated on the theme. New images are compared to your standard of excellence and can be added to the portfolio if they measure up. Over time, some new images might replace the original images as the overall quality of the portfolio is elevated. The images that endure, those that still excite you, remain in the portfolio. By evaluating this collection of premier images often, you can see and are rewarded by your progress. This project could last just a few months or for a lifetime. Like many nature photographers, I love to photograph trees, and I have an ongoing tree portfolio. Several years ago, my images were chosen for a book project to illustrate novelist John Fowles’s essay entitled The Tree (The Nature Company, 1994). The book provided an opportunity for my images to complement a classic piece of environmental writing with a strong message about the human need for wilderness, but it was not my ideal tree portfolio. The problem with doing books is that sometimes the photographer is not the editor. The photograph shown here, Trees Growing on Moss-Covered Boulders, has assumed a position among my select tree photographs. As is often the case for me, the process of creating this image began with discovery and a sense of wonder. The roots of these trees thoroughly amazed me with their grace and determination. My judgment of the image rests on three main things: the overall technical quality, that I feel the image is as good as my best tree photographs, and that the image emotionally reconnects me with the experience of being there.

To compose the image, I had to maneuver my tripod onto a nearly vertical, muddy slope and use a 90mm wide-angle lens on my 4x5 equivalent to 24mm in 35mm. This slope limited my options and forced me to compose tightly, as I was using the widestangle lens I have. The viewer’s attention is centered on the two roots coming down the rock. The boulder is not shown in its entirety, but its large size is implied. A sense of the surrounding forest is conveyed by small sections of trunks visible across the top of the frame. The previous night’s rainstorm had knocked down an abundance of leaves, which added an extra dimension to the wonder of the scene. The rainfall and the softness of the lighting conditions allowed the film to record rich, saturated colors. Once you have explored a theme in depth, and hopefully you have seen your own vision of the subject grow and coalesce, you will probably find other themes in your work to cultivate into new portfolios. As I write these words, I contemplate themes in my own body of work to develop. Creative thinking along these lines may lead you to themes, evolving from your own personal passions, that are yet unexplored by other photographers. The potential for rewards in terms of personal satisfaction, the refinement of your presentation, and for marketing your work are increased. The first level of creativity comes with the image making, but the next phase comes with the editing and organization of images in ways that reflect your unique style and perspective. Find your passion, develop depth, edit tightly—or more simply put: focus.

Striated Wall of an Ice Cave | Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada | 1995

PRACTICE AND WORK AN EDITORIAL ASSIGNMENT LED TO PERSONAL EXPRESSION

When Ansel Adams gave lectures late in his life, he made a point of letting his audience know that he had worked for sixty years as a commercial photographer. Although famed for his art, he accepted assignments and projects that helped pay the bills and allowed him to travel around the country while pursuing personal image making along the way. For example, during a break on a project for Kodak in the Southwest, he made his famous photographs of aspens in New Mexico. During World War II, while he worked on a documentary project on the Japanese internment camp of Manzanar near Lone Pine, California, Adams photographed two icons of landscape photography —Winter Sunrise, Sierra Nevada, from Lone Pine, California and Mount Williamson, Sierra Nevada, from Manzanar, California. Adams was out in the field long and often, whether photographing for a job or making art for himself. Nothing can improve your photography more than practice and hard work. Practice is the process of becoming ready to make a great image. Those past experiments and failures, those mental calculations for exposure, setting up your tripod quickly before the light changes, knowing how to refine a composition for the best image design— all have a cumulative value. There are no shortcuts for the experience that allows you to be instinctive. After many years of work, decision-making can become intuitive and your own vision has a chance to surface. Intuition, not technology or gadgetry, is the key to vision. Back in 1995, my wife and I traveled to Banff and Jasper National Parks in Canada to work on my book The Color of Nature. The assignment was to photograph turquoise

glacial lakes and glacial crevasses and caves to show ice-filtered, blue light from inside. I was told about an ice cave that I hoped would show the glowing blue I had seen in other photographs, but when I walked inside the cave, the light did not seem very blue. I photographed for about an hour around the opening where I could see some light passing through. Finally I figured that if blue light was there, I must have it on film by now. Then I shifted gears. While I had been working on the “color of nature” job at hand, I noticed some more interesting forms farther into the cave. The striped patterns of frozen debris and scalloped walls showed great potential. I worked for another hour at the edge of available light, making exposures in the four- to eight-minute range. I played with the composition, seeing how the lines of striation moved through the frame. I adjusted the proportion of cave floor to ice, alternated between vertical and horizontal framing, and changed my camera position for different perspectives. Finally satisfied, I hiked back to my van. That first hour or so spent “working” was like a sketching process. I had time to absorb the mood of the place. All the while, the ice dripped on me and my gear. My consolation was that it was drier inside the cave than outside in the pouring rain. The technical concerns facing me, the extreme depth of field (I could easily touch the ice ceiling above my head) and long exposure times, were similar to problems I had “practiced” when photographing many other situations before—for example, in the slot canyons of the Southwest. Like I had learned in slot canyons and other low-light situations, I compensated for the film’s “reciprocity failure.” The effect requires longer exposures for the film to be exposed properly, so I double my spot meter’s given exposure. By adjusting my 4x5 camera’s movements to conform to the cave ceiling, I could use a more moderate aperture of f/32 so that my exposure times weren’t too long. At f/64, the exposures would have been nearly half an hour. These solutions were second nature after many years of practice. My blue ice images were not so blue, and so were not used in the book. The great thickness of the ice at that location did not allow enough light to pass through for the blue effect. When I focused on the area of the cave that excited me, the results were much better. The ice cave photograph shown here has appeared as a limited-edition print in gallery exhibits and in a book of my best images, Landscapes of the Spirit, and variations on this composition have been published in several magazine articles. In any case, I wouldn’t have found the cave had it not been for my work. Sometimes

the “work” and “art” images are the same image. With my ice cave images, only the “art” image worked. Sometimes neither works. The one thing I do know is that practice works.

Cloud Reflections and Mt. Moran at the Oxbow Bend on the Snake River | Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming | 1990

ON THE HORIZON CONSIDERING WHERE TO PLACE THE HORIZON LINE

Do you know where your horizon is? In many types of nature photography, the horizon line in the image is often not apparent, nor is it important. However, the proportion of land to sky strongly affects the impact of a landscape photograph. In scenes with a broader view that include a foreground, distant objects, and sky, the decision of where to place the horizon is vital. The beginning photographer, before becoming very involved with the composition of his or her images, tends to place the horizon or other important subjects in the center of the viewfinder. Take these images to a workshop to share them with the class, and the experienced attendees will chime in, “that photo is too centered,” or “our camera club judge deducts points for centered images.” After beginners study enough successful photographs, they realize that centering a subject within the frame usually leads to a static composition. The viewer’s eye is led to the middle and is stuck there. Being aware that this is a tendency is an important step for good composition, but tendencies tend to become rules instead of becoming a simple awareness of potential problems. Many novice photographers seem to crave rules, but such photo-dogma is dangerous. I have been told it was Edward Weston who once advised, “Always question preconceived notions, especially your own!” I have often recalled this sage advice when I catch myself in a creative rut. Few truly creative photographers rely on rules to create their vision. The bottom line is that it is important to explore all the options—up, down, or center —without blinders. Even though I rarely place the subject, be it the horizon or a flower, in the center of my camera frame, I don’t want to narrow my choices. If I had adhered to the “don’t center” rule and my own tendency, I would not have made the

photograph shown here, Cloud Reflections and Mt. Moran at the Oxbow Bend on the Snake River. I had just arrived at Grand Teton National Park, and seeing that the clouds and light were intriguing, I stopped by the Oxbow Bend turnout along the Snake River. I set up my 4x5 with a 210mm lens (60mm in 35mm). As I photographed, I varied the composition to include more sky or more reflection. Even though many of the variations looked fine, I kept coming back to a centered horizon where the Rorschach inkblot pattern was strongest. I tried on a 90mm wide-angle lens so that the clouds and their reflections filled the frame, but then saw that the mountains receded too much, making them look too small. I decided that I needed the impact of the peaks so I returned to the 210mm lens so the peaks were prominent and I could still include the drama of the clouds. With a horizontal framing, I lost either the top group of clouds or their reflections, so the image’s balance was also lost. A vertical composition with the horizon very close to the center and the symmetry of clouds and reflection clearly emphasized was the most successful image. As soon as you become aware of the importance of the horizon line’s placement, you will be making similar decisions in designing your images. Watch carefully as you raise and lower your camera to see how relationships within the frame change. How do the mood, emphasis, and scale change? Think about what is most important to you in the image. When the foreground is most important, push the horizon toward the frame’s top edge to see if it works. When you have an amazing sky, try placing the horizon in a low position. If you find that you are indecisive in the field, you may wish to try variations on the horizon’s position. Then carefully study the resulting images in order to select the best variation. It can be easier to judge the results when removed from the excitement of the moment. With time, you will be more able to make the right decision at the time of exposure. Though we are able to make many post-exposure corrections, far more opportunities are present at the original scene in terms of composition. My favorite example of the importance of the horizon is Ansel Adams’s Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico. As the story is told, Ansel had only enough time for one exposure in order to capture the fading light. Despite the haste required, he knew what effect he wanted. His composition placed the horizon line about one third of the way up from the bottom, and the moon lies in the middle. Above the moon, the top

half the image is only sky. The feeling of space is an essential element to the photograph, and with this composition the expansive quality of the desert comes ringing through. Many other factors make Moonrise a great image, but the proportion of land to sky is an unsung yet essential factor. The next time you photograph the landscape, consider the horizon, break a few rules, and remember Ansel’s Moonrise.

Lava Flow Entering the Sea from Pu’u O’o Vent | Kamoamoa Coastline, Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Hawaii | 1994

CREATION PORTRAYING OUR EVOLVING PLANET

When I was in college and first became enthralled with photography, I frequented the local used bookstore in search of photography books. When I had some spare cash, I added a new book to my small but treasured collection. One of the first books I discovered was The Creation, by Ernst Haas. I was fascinated by the imagery, but even more so by the innovative theme of the book itself. The process of bringing images and concept together in a meaningful way was most intriguing. Besides the great photographs, the use of Genesis from the Bible to powerfully evoke Creation made the whole package far more powerful than the parts. This book provided a moving experience that celebrated the Earth as a grand gift, and upon seeing the magic as revealed by Haas, it made me appreciate nature more fully. Inspired by Haas’s book and others, I knew I wanted to create my own photography books someday. What I didn’t understand was the depth of imagery needed to make such a project work. It was one thing to make a few strong photographs on a subject, but it was another to accumulate a body of work that was both extensive and strong. Ideas within which a group of such photographs could resonate were still harder to come by. Resonance is what The Creation had for me. The dictionary states that something is resonant if it has “. . . a prolonged, subtle, or stimulating effect beyond the initial impact.” This is the quality I wanted in my imagery and hoped for in my books—for the viewer to feel resonance with the magic and mystery of nature. The subjects that have drawn my attention throughout my career are those that, when pared down by the process of composition, reveal the landscape’s essential forces. Images of these forces might show the erosion in the sandstone of a slot canyon, or

geologic plate tectonics seen in the uplifted strata of the Himalayas. This trend in my work was reinforced when I started work on a book called Traces in Time for the Exploratorium. It involved illustrating these very forces with images that show the process of changes in nature. The editing process showed that I had most of the images needed for the book already in my files. The creation theme appeared repeatedly in my work, and I then realized more clearly the influence of Haas’s book. My travels have taken me to many wonderful sights, some serene and some monumental. Probably the most awesome sight of all was on the island of Hawaii. I watched creation in action as lava turned to stone as it poured into the sea. I photographed the lava flows at the fading light of sunset, experimenting with various exposure times. At the beginning of my session, while there was more light, I worked with faster shutter speeds at around a quarter of a second. This effect slightly blurred the motion of the waves and conveyed the action before me. The ground trembled with geologic energy. As darkness came, I used slower exposure times of several seconds. As seen in the first photograph, the long exposure times enhanced the glow of steam as it was painted orange by the lava. The dark steam clouds, blown away from the flow, were also blurred in an intriguing way by the slow shutter speed. There was just enough light left to have a sense of the landscape, and it was just dark enough to bring out the glow of hot lava. The action of wave and lava changed constantly. Given the limited amount of good light, the motor drive allowed me to record many variations and combinations of waves cresting or pulling lava down the beach as they receded, or of the steam clouds shifting within the scene. In spite of all the frames I exposed, only one image (shown on the next page) captured a surging wave at just the right instant at just the right shutter speed. Many frames were very good, but these two images were the best, thanks to the speed of using the 35mm format. Haas himself took full advantage of the 35mm format’s strengths and was the master of capturing ephemeral moments in nature. I do not recommend that you try photographing this close to the lava flow. I worked with permission and the guidance of a very experienced, local professional cinematographer and volcanologist. The volcanic cliffs are continually breaking off into the surf. I was at this site two consecutive evenings, and a huge shelf of hardened lava on which I stood the first evening had disappeared the next day!

When I review the photographs I made of the lava flows, I am invigorated by the memory of that powerful experience. I remember my heart pounding as I exposed roll after roll while sunset turned to darkness. It was a seminal and energizing event for me. I recall Haas’s own beautiful lava images in The Creation, when he photographed a new island formed from a volcanic eruption off the coast of Iceland. He wrote of his own experience, “It was as if we were watching a very fast and small-scale creation of the world.” Looking back with the advantage of hindsight, I see that Haas’s work helped lead me where I wanted to go, and showed me that it was possible to get there. Creation is my inspiration, and creating images of evolving Earth, my sustenance.

Lava Flow Entering the Sea at Twilight | Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Hawaii | 1994

Cedar Trees and Rock Circle | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 1986

SEEKING IMAGES SEEING BEYOND THE ICONS

They come to Yosemite with hearts pounding. Landscape photographers, in pursuit of the soaring granite cliffs and pounding waterfalls, seek to make their own images of this iconic location. Hundreds of classic images are embedded in our memories and recalled at the recognition of a viewpoint seen somewhere in a book or online. Ah ha! This is where Ansel stood! With luck, and the right combination of lens and light, you too might expose a classic photograph. Why not try? I have stood at most of these spots in Yosemite, exposed many images, and relished standing where great art was made. After the brush with photo history fades, perhaps after a few visits or even a few years, one can start to see Yosemite, or any other iconic landscape for that matter, in a new way. If you wish to accept this challenging task, I have a few suggestions. Walk, without your camera. Leave it in the car, somewhere nearby, but not in hand. Expect nothing, feel everything. Let all your senses work for you. Enjoy nature for its own sake. Trust yourself to see, and trust that your own unique perspective will surface above the derivative, at least now and again. Explore, explore, explore! Methods that might help you tune into a location include meditation or yoga, going for a run or a swim, or making sketches of the landscape, all of which can be ways to prepare the mind and spirit for creativity. Canadian photographer Freeman Patterson wrote a great book along this theme, entitled Photography and the Art of Seeing. The book covers his philosophy on creative and visual thinking and is full of exercises that may help you develop or improve your personal style. Each photographer finds personal ways of seeking inspiration, both within nature and within himself or herself.

The image on the previous spread, Cedar Trees and Rock Circle, 1986, was taken in Yosemite National Park, a few miles from my home. The Merced River was running high with spring snowmelt. One evening I parked my car along the road and walked a few steps to the river’s edge. The roar of the river washed away all other sounds and mesmerized me. Along this section, the river ran fast but smooth. The sun was down behind the canyon wall, but a soft light glowed off the water as I faced west. I wandered along the bank, without my camera, of course. I noticed some cedar trees that were reflected in the current, and a circle of rocks that was probably an old campfire, yet it reminded me of ancient stone monuments. Off I went to retrieve my camera. The biggest issue in composing the image was carefully arranging the spaces between the trees, and between the trees and the rocks. I wanted the lines of each tree to be defined separately, so inched my tripod along the river to the right spot. I moved forward a bit, aiming the camera down slightly so that the tree trunks were at the top of the frame and the rocks at the bottom, leaving the space in between for the reflections. The exposure time was around two minutes because of low light and my use of a small aperture for maximum depth of field. Such long exposures made of moving water are wonderfully unpredictable and nearly always interesting in effect to me. The color of the western sky and the tree reflections would turn into a watercolor wash surrounding the hard edges of tree and rock. I made four exposures, dodging a million mosquitoes all the while, and then happily went home.

Cottonwoods and Mist | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019 For this photograph of cottonwood trees and mist, I used my 100–400mm lens at 360mm to isolate the graphic trees and atmospheric fog. Looking for small sections of Yosemite’s landscapes allows me to find compositions others might miss, and avoid repeating the standard iconic imagery.

Half Dome and Elm, Winter | Yosemite National Park, California | 1990

THE EDGE OF LIGHT USE CONTRAST TO CREATE STRIKING, GRAPHIC IMAGES

If you ask me what is my favorite light for landscape photography, I will say soft light, like on a rainy day. I will say the reasons for this preference are the subtlety of light where harsh shadows are not present and the richness of the colors film records in such conditions. Sometimes though, nature’s lighting is anything but subtle. When the sun is shining, I look for the edges of light. The most dramatic lighting conditions for outdoor photography often occur when light and shadow work together to define a subject. It is these grand theatrics in nature that gives landscape photographers such a thrill. The contrast of a dark shadow behind a backlit branch of autumn leaves, or a sunset-lit mountain, glowing out from a dark storm cloud, will give power to your images. Shapes and lines stand apart with graphic emphasis. However, the use of such contrast cannot be indiscriminate. If forms are to be accentuated by the light, then one must be highly selective. A branch without grace will only look more so in contrasting light. Extra time spent searching for the best shape or design is always worthwhile. My image Half Dome and Elm, Winter was photographed on a January afternoon in Yosemite Valley. I was driving into the valley from my nearby home to check my mail. I confess that my timing was based on hopes for some good light, and fortune came my way. Warm afternoon light struck this elm tree as Half Dome, darkened by storm clouds, brooded in the background. I plowed through the snow in the meadow with my 4x5 looking for the right place to stand. In these spectacular conditions, where an adequate photograph could have been taken blindfolded, I felt that corresponding adrenaline rush of opportunity. Still, I needed time to balance the elements of tree, meadow, and cliff. Fortunately, the light

remained long enough for me to find my spot. I placed the tree entirely within the frame but off to the right. By including the entire tree, the wonderful shape of it, which coincidentally echoes the shape of the Yosemite icon, is given prominence in this composition. With the angle I chose, Half Dome was clearly visible but of secondary importance. The dark background of Half Dome and the cliffs sets off the tree’s snow-laden branches. As with many clearing storms in Yosemite, by the time sunset arrived that day, the sky was clear, and the dramatic edge of light was gone. Sometimes, as with the Half Dome image, these edges of light are caused by weather. Other situations are more predictable, as they are a function of season or time of day in combination with the local geography. I know of meadows in Yosemite Valley where the oak trees become dramatically backlit as the morning sun rises over the cliffs. The cliffs, still in shadow, provide the dark backdrop. The graceful lines of the tree become silhouetted while the leaves are glowing in the light. These more predictable conditions are found everywhere, which is why frequenting your local and favorite landscape will give you the chance to learn its nuances. Dawn and dusk are times of the day when light is on the edge between day and night. Even though the contrast of light and shadow is not directly seen, the light reflected at a low angle through Earth’s atmosphere gives lovely colors and a glow on the landscape. This time of day, often during that half an hour before sunrise and after sunset, is a magical and productive time to photograph. In Cottonwoods, Ahwahnee Meadow, the side lighting brings out the texture on the trunks. The group of trees forms an island in the snowy meadow, which, combined with the dark background, sets off the grove as a well-defined graphic shape. The sunlit mist adds to the whole effect. The light is the key element in this image, but the design structure, the graphic underpinnings, holds the image together.

Cottonwoods | Ahwahnee Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2007

Cottonwoods Reflected | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 2014

In Cottonwoods Reflected, Merced River, the trees jump out from the shadows and are reinforced by their reflections in the water. A few autumn leaves still cling to the trees, heightening the sense of changing season. The spotlight lasted only a few minutes, then faded away as the cliff shadows crept across the valley. When out exploring or photographing, I try to maintain a Zen-like approach of accepting what opportunities I am given, staying in the moment. I am also often thinking about when the light might be better at a given location. There is a great advantage to learning what time of day, or what season, may have the most potential. All three photographs here were completely unplanned, but my instincts from experience in Yosemite lead me to the right spots. Frequenting local landscapes will give you the chance to learn their special nuances of light and weather and season. If you have learned your location well, the odds of making great images are greatly improved. Give yourself an assignment to create a portfolio based on your favorite nearby stream or lake or forest. I am sure you will become a better photographer in the process. If you will be visiting a new location, then a little research is helpful. With modern smartphones and apps, such as The Photographer’s Ephemeris and PhotoPills, any location can be researched for the sun or moon’s path, the rising and setting times and angles. We all like to improve our odds of making great images when we travel. With that said, be sure to allow for some serendipity. Unexpected discoveries are often the best ones. Keep learning the light. There are wondrous photographs to be found at the edge of light and shadow!

Blooming Dogwood and Giant Sequoia in the Fog | Sequoia National Park, California | 1993

WHISPERS IN THE FOG A MANTRA FOR MAKING CLEAN, CLEAR PHOTOGRAPHS

Simplicity. Subtlety. These are words I value in landscape photography. I love making quiet and simple images. I strive to distill aspects of nature that whisper and entice the viewer to delve deeper—into the image and, most importantly, into nature. A common tendency for landscape photographers is to include too much information: too many mountains or trees, too much foreground or sky. It is a natural and enthusiastic response to a great location or scene. Let’s describe it all! After all, it is the entire 360-degree, multisensory experience of sight, sound, and smell that makes us raise up our cameras. It is difficult to tell the whole story in one frame, so what happens most often is that the resulting image is merely a description. Including too much has the effect of diluting the composition. Had the photographer paused to consider how to create a composition that distills the experience, the viewer might have a chance to sense the place through the photographer’s eyes. To distill is the key idea here: to isolate and concentrate the key elements of the photographer’s interaction with the scene. Through this process of focusing compositionally, the selective process gives one a better opportunity to discover a new viewpoint. A few years ago, I traveled to Sequoia National Park on an assignment for Sunset magazine. My job was to photograph the sequoia groves in the park, and especially the newly preserved groves south of the park. When I first drove into one grove, a thick fog enveloped the forest. These conditions were not exactly the ideal conditions for the journalistic work at hand. Yet I was entranced. Perhaps I could make an image that would evoke the Sequoia’s timeless and epic qualities in a new way. I spent the next few hours wandering amongst the dogwood and giant sequoia as the fog sifted through the woods. Slowly and subtly, the fog thickened and lightened on a

soft breeze. While I photographed, I played a tape of meditative Japanese flute music, which further intensified the wondrous experience. What the fog provided me was a forest simplified. The combination of soft light and the reduction of depth and detail provided by the fog allowed me to distill the key elements around me. On a sunny day, I would not have even taken out my camera. I photographed dogwood branches with their blossoms seemingly suspended in air and floating in the fog. With my wide-angle lens I captured two lone sequoias soaring up into the fog, an image that was later used in a Nike ad. I photographed a dogwood tree growing in front of a sequoia. I made vertical and horizontal images in panoramic format. The creative juices were flowing, and I worked the scene until no more ideas would come. In Blooming Dogwood and Giant Sequoia in the Fog (shown on the previous spread), I chose to frame the delicate dogwood tree in contrast to the massive sequoia. The fog helped to simplify the image and draw attention to the two very different trees. The fog was gone the next day and the sun came out. I was able to make the type of images needed for the assignment. The magazine did not use any of my photographs made in the fog, but many of them have been subsequently published. It was a successful trip on all quarters, especially artistically for me! The mantra, once again, is: Simplicity and Subtlety.

Redbud in Fog | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina | 1991

Lichen-Covered Alder and Boulder | Yosemite National Park, California | 2003

BECOMING CREATIVE FIND YOUR UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE

A friend and fellow photographer once asked me a penetrating question. He expressed how he was struggling with how to become a creative artist: “Is my voice original at all, and does it matter?” I think we all battle with this question, so let me try to answer him here, and hopefully it will help you too. Do your images or mine matter? That depends on why you are making your photographs and for whom. I like to think that most of us make photographs for ourselves, for our personal enjoyment of experiencing nature and exploring the landscape, and not to please someone else. The less concerned we are with who will like or approve of our images, and the more concerned we are with the process of creating art, the better. A great read on this subject is the classic book Art & Fear, by Ted Orland and David Bayles. Here is one quote I like especially: “To make art is to sing with the human voice. To do this, you must first learn that the only voice you need is the voice you already have.” This seems obvious, but it is good for each of us to remember that great art is made from the heart and soul of the artist, not to gain the approval of others. Once we realize that the drive to create needs to come from within us, what next? What makes for a creative, original landscape photograph? When we see an inspirational image, our first response will usually be emotional. After the wow factor wears off, we can be more analytical. Does the photo have great light, or a captivating graphic design, or a unique perspective, or all of the above? Are the techniques applied invisible, or do you notice that a particular filter was used, or excessive color saturation or unnatural HDR applied? Whatever the technical qualities we might ascribe to such inspirational images, most importantly, we want to see a sense of

freshness, of innovation. Having a sense of the history of landscape photography is a valuable tool in the process of becoming creative by developing what I call visual literacy. This skill can be defined as the understanding of essential elements of visual design, technique, and aesthetic qualities of an image. It is also the knowledge or memory of photos you’ve seen, and the understanding of what makes images succeed or fail. We all have looked at thousands of photographs. It is this history stored in our brains, that of our favorite photographs made by our favorite photographers, that forms our “customized” visual literacy and that influences our compositions. For example, if I set up my camera in front of Half Dome in Yosemite and try some compositions, my mind is subconsciously referencing my visual library, my memory of Half Dome images, and I tend to skip over compositions that seem too familiar. If I am editing and discover an image that is very derivative of others, I will disqualify it for most uses. The photograph that opens this essay and the one opposite show an alder tree trunk in Yosemite. The combination of lichen-covered tree and rock, along with the ambiguity of depth between the two, has brought me back to this location often over the years. The image from 1984 is the first image I made there, and I felt it represented my own unique and creative viewpoint. A few years later I discovered two well-known photographers had previously made very similar images. I had not seen their versions before, so I was very disappointed. Well, life goes on, and I returned to this tree over many years to enjoy the magical scene and see how I might rework the subject. I have enjoyed the process of standing in that spot again, with my updated visual history in mind, while I’ve tried out new ideas on a location with limited compositional options. I kept trying, and I believed that an image that was unique to me was waiting to be made of this tree and rock. Twenty years later, I made the photograph on the previous spread. Maybe I succeeded, maybe not, but it is not “win or lose” to me.

Alder and Granite Boulder | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1984

Sand Patterns, Sunrise | Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes, Death Valley National Park, California | 1984

Rather, it is part of the ongoing process of striving to improve, striving for excellence. This experience taught me a valuable lesson. If one’s goal is to create unique images, it helps to know what has been done already. Like in Yosemite, Death Valley is heavily photographed these days, and it is tough to find original compositions. My dune pattern photograph is a favorite “out of the box” photograph of those famous sand dunes. I was fortunate to have known Ansel Adams, and I learned from him the importance of being true to one’s vision. I believe that every person has a unique perspective, and the first step to realizing that potential is to believe this is true, that it applies to you! So back to the original question: “Is my voice original at all, and does it matter?” I readily admit that I am always asking myself this question and have accepted these doubts as part of the artistic process. Enjoy the ride.

Morning Mist | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2013

ENVIRONMENTAL CONSERVATION MAKE A DIFFERENCE WITH YOUR PHOTOGRAPHS

I am a photographer and an environmentalist. My passion for each developed when I was in college at the University of Colorado in the 1970s. Colleges were just beginning to offer degrees in environmental studies, and I wanted to learn more about nature, natural resources, and conservation. I was browsing the CU catalog and found courses such as Dynamics of Mountain Ecosystems, Environmental Physics, Politics of Natural Resources, and Plant Ecology. When I found out I could take these courses while working toward an Environmental Conservation degree, I quickly switched out of my pursuit of a Political Science degree. Soon after graduation, I moved to Yosemite for a job with the National Park Service. Since that time way back in 1977, I have been exploring the park. As my Yosemite portfolio developed, I dreamt of publishing a book of my photographs, a dream that came true in 1994 with Yosemite: The Promise of Wildness, co-authored with environmental writer Tim Palmer. Besides featuring my images, Tim’s text delivers an impassioned plea for preserving Yosemite as a natural treasure and protecting the park from development and overuse. The book was greatly satisfying since it combines my efforts to capture the essence of Yosemite with Tim’s thoughtprovoking writing regarding the conservation issues the parks faced then, and still face today. The reason I mention this personal history is that I want encourage readers with ambitions of becoming nature photographers. The world needs more photographers with strong environmental and natural history backgrounds. Although I never held an environment-related job, my education has greatly enriched my understanding of nature. Though I wish I could say otherwise, I am not much of an activist, preferring a somewhat reclusive life here in the Sierra Nevada foothills near Yosemite. Still, I feel

that my education informs my images and that my art has had an impact on people’s appreciation of, and desire to protect, the natural world. There are many examples of environmental photographers making highly artistic imagery while also affecting important change to protect our Earth: John Weller, Robert Glen Ketchum, James Balog, Shawn Heinricks, Frans Lanting, Jack Dykinga, Jim Bradenburg, Boyd Norton, and Art Wolfe, to name but a few. Ansel Adams was a mentor in that regard for many photographers concerned with preserving wild lands and creatures. Organizations such as the North American Nature Photographers Association and the International League of Conservation Photographers are providing funding and forums for project-minded photographers wishing to make a difference in the world. My focus has been on creating images that reflect the magic, mystery, and spirituality I see in all of nature, whether in my backyard garden or the epic cliffs of Yosemite Valley. At the core of developing a sense of environmental responsibility is a desire to communicate your deepest feelings about nature, and in doing so, encourage others to act with respect and love for the natural beauty that surrounds us every day. There are many ways to make a powerful impact with your images. Which path will you take? Will you make a difference?

Morning Mist at Dawn | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2016

Black Oaks and Cathedral Rocks | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1984

IMMERSION COURSE COMMIT TO EXPLORING YOUR FAVORITE LOCATIONS IN DEPTH

One important goal for landscape photographers, or for any photographer, is to develop a body of images that shows both depth and creativity. Making images that are innovative is hard enough, but it is very difficult to sustain it. Especially if you aspire to market your images, showing a sustained level of excellence in your portfolio will draw attention to your work. There is so much generic imagery and so much competition that uniqueness is at a premium. One of the keys to developing depth in your work is to observe and photograph a chosen landscape for an extended period. The best opportunity is to explore a local nature preserve that you can return to often, during different seasons and times of day. Your sense of the place will grow. The choices you make when photographing will be informed by your knowledge of the local weather, light, and topography. Less photographed landscapes, with little published imagery by which to be influenced, perhaps offer greater opportunity for creative development than far-flung and famous ones. Ideally, you can observe your local landscape daily in order to watch for those subtle changes such as the first trees budding out in spring, or freshly fallen autumn leaves on the forest floor. I have heard world-class photographers say they hesitate to photograph Yosemite when visiting due to its history of remarkable imagery, and it certainly is difficult to rise above the ordinary when photographing famous landscapes. It took me three or four years of living in and photographing the park to take just a few unique images. I drove through Yosemite Valley on my way to and from work and had the great opportunity to observe a remarkable landscape closely and continually. There are certain compositions in the Valley that have intrigued me over

the years, and so I checked them out often. One was of oaks in El Capitan Meadow silhouetted against Cathedral Rocks. Each winter, the timing of my return home from work was at sunset or twilight, and the meadow often became misty in the evening. I made the image featured at the beginning of this essay, Black Oaks and Cathedral Rocks, after about five years of observation, and a few previous unsuccessful exposures. One evening on the way home, the conditions came together: the fog, the clouds illuminated by the evening glow. The interplay between the tree branches and the outline of the cliffs added strong graphic interest. The long exposure on film of about one minute and the blue sky shifted the colors to bluish purple, adding to the mysterious mood. Looking back, I feel like I studied hard and at last passed the final exam! Shrouded Cliffs and Trees on Glacier Point was made as a winter storm cleared and parts of Glacier Point were revealed in spectacular morning light. With these conditions, one could have found amazing photographs all around Yosemite Valley. I shot Autumn Snowstorm in 2015 during a fall snowstorm. When I have a delivery to make to The Ansel Adams Gallery, I will check the weather and time my drive into Yosemite for interesting conditions. Paying attention to timing allowed me to be in the perfect location to capture this recent favorite. I don’t live quite as close to Yosemite Valley as I used to twenty years ago and don’t commute there. In an effort to give myself more local options, I have been landscaping my own property with photographic potential in mind. I spread native wildflower and grass seed, and planted native redbud and other shrubs, in part to restore the area where my house was built, but also to compliment the rest of my relatively wild acre of manzanita, ponderosa pine, and oak woodland. I also added a waterfall feature and designed it with photography in mind. After twenty years in my current home, these efforts have paid off with many new portfolio images.

Shrouded Cliffs and Trees on Glacier Point | Yosemite National Park, California | 1994

Autumn Snowstorm | Yosemite National Park, California | 2015

Concentrating on your own special landscape is like taking an “immersion” language course. You focus your attention on one subject so intensely that your skills improve quickly. You begin to see nuances of a landscape’s appearance that were previously not apparent to you and are not apparent to the casual observer. The knowledge developed with such immersion should help define your vision, for yourself and to others, and those skills you develop will improve your results when you travel to new locales.

Reeds and Reflections | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2018

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE PERSISTENCE IS A KEY ELEMENT OF THE CREATIVE PROCESS

It was three o’clock in the morning and I was wide awake. I would soon be driving up to nearby Yosemite Valley to work with a private student for the day, starting at sunrise. A few days earlier, the valley had closed for the day due to flooding. I knew it would be a day for excellent water photography, and my excitement resulted in me waking up before my alarm went off. Come to think of it, I always wake up early when I know I’ll soon be in Yosemite Valley again. Spring was coming fast, but it was too early for dogwood blooms, so we spent a good deal of our time photographing rapids along the river and in the meadows where ponds full of reflections enticed us. At one point in the late morning, we walked out into a meadow where we could see Half Dome. I wanted Scott to know specific locations for when he’d be photographing the Valley without me. The light was mundane on the cliffs, but the clouds were starting to look ominous. In the meadow, I found a pond with a captivating group of bent grass blades forming graphic triangles. I pointed them out to Scott, and we spent the next hour working on variations. The clouds kept changing, as did the breeze, which constantly changed the textures on the surface of the water. I demonstrated my process of composing, as well as my choices of ISO, shutter speed, and aperture. We talked about camera position, which significantly changed the graphics of the triangular reflections. Small movements to the left or right changed the way the grass lines related to each other. When previewing my captures on the back of my camera, I noticed those graphics were stronger when bright clouds were reflected in the water

behind them. I was able to illustrate these various details on my LCD screen, so then my student could work on his own compositions while keeping my ideas in mind. I checked out his images as he made them, giving feedback and suggested refinements. Later that cloudy morning, we spent another hour or so photographing rapids along the Merced River. We went through a similar process as with the grasses and ponds. Our ability to change camera positions was limited, so much of our efforts focused on shutter speed and image design. I asked him to try a range of shutter speeds. It is vital to experiment in the field so that when you’re editing later on, you can compare the nuances of various options for blurring and streaking the water patterns. In a later essay, “Going with the Flow,” I discuss creative options for moving water imagery in detail. The gist is that you can’t predict which shutter speed will work the best without exposing many options. Persistence is a key element of the creative process. One example of this occurred as we worked along the Merced. I set up Scott at my favorite spot, and while he photographed, I checked out a slightly higher vantage point upstream. After I made a few images, I noticed that this angle was even better than where Scott was working. The higher position allowed for better separation between the two key standing waves of the composition. Scott came over so I could show him the difference, and even better images resulted. I am hoping that these examples show how we all can take our landscape photography to the next level. Working with Scott at both locations provided some valuable lessons: 1.1. Enjoy the journey, seize the day. Overplanning and high expectations of finding the perfect images can block the creative process. If you are not highly passionate about what you are seeing, move on and simply enjoy your explorations. 2.2. Explore the details within the landscape. Think in terms of visual storytelling to convey the spirit of a place. Consider adding a variety of scale to your portfolio. 3.3. Persistence. My sense of wonder for the natural world drives my daily practice of seeing the beauty that surrounds us every day. First, that passion

needs to be there, inside the photographer’s heart. The next steps require a highly selective process: great light is required. In my examples shown here, the overall soft light in the meadow, combined with the dramatic roiling clouds, provided the excellent background to the grasses. Also, great graphics are required. Not just any blades of grass would work here, but the bent blade reflections draw the eye to the strong shapes. Revealing the art of water was my goal with these images. The magic of reflections in a pond. The dynamic power of river rapids. Most importantly, my student went home with a fine group of new Yosemite photographs. His new portfolio now includes some classic views made in beautiful light, as well as some more personal compositions, discoveries made with the goal of looking past the standard cliches. Mission accomplished.

Rapid Waves | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 2018

Eroded Siltstone Formations and Clouds | Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah | 2002

DESERT ELEMENTS EARTH’S BARE BONES REVEALED

When we photograph the landscape, we are photographing the elements of life: earth, air, water, fire. Long before the periodic table of elements was defined, and we learned which elements combined to form rocks or air or water, ancient peoples understood these basic forces were essential to life. I love to photograph desert areas because these forces are laid bare, easy to observe, sense, and appreciate. The land and the plants growing on it show the wear of wind, the path of water. The horizons are often unlimited, giving the sky a prominence that many other landscapes don’t provide. The passage of time is evident everywhere, be it in the cracked mud of a drying streambed, or epochs of geologic times revealed in the layered stone of a desert canyon. I often look for images that portray the elements in interesting ways, in ways that convey my awe for our planet. Depicting, in some symbolic way, the process of change is one way to approach this challenge. The ever-changing cycle of water involves all the elements. Rain falls onto the earth, the water flows into rivers and then oceans, the sun evaporates the water skyward again to form clouds, and rain falls again. Canyons are carved. Mountains wear down. Even though we all understand the basic process, thinking of how to depict it visually may provide you with ways to see new imagery. In the desert, erosion is everywhere. Imagine the path a single drop of water might follow. Looking at the photograph on the previous spread, I can imagine that those clouds are building up into a downpour, and I visualize the rivulets gathering water into larger veins while cutting deeper into the ground. I didn’t stop to think about the elements or the water cycle, however, when I found this composition. I had been photographing intensely all morning, inspired by a bonanza of great subjects. It

seemed every step I took presented me with a new image. It is the experience of discovery that energizes me to photograph and brings meaning to the artistic process. This eroded hill stood isolated and lent itself to a simple combination of earth and sky. With a wide-angle lens, the curve of the hill was centered to give the sense that water collected atop the dome, then spread symmetrically in many directions. Crop off either side of the frame, and the image’s balance falls apart. A more obvious and classic image of water’s journey might be of the Colorado River cutting its way through the Grand Canyon. The image presented here is a more symbolic and less literal portrait of the water cycle. The anthropologist and naturalist Loren Eiseley told of exploring the Platte River on the Midwest prairie in his book The Immense Journey. Musing upon the journey of water, he wrote, “If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water . . . I thought of all this, standing quietly in the water, feeling the sand shifting away under my toes. Then I lay back in the floating position that left my face to the sky, and shoved off. The sky wheeled over me. For an instant, as I bobbed into the main channel, I had the sensation of sliding down the vast tilted face of the continent. It was then that I felt the cold needles of the alpine springs at my fingertips, and the warmth of the Gulf pulling me southward. Moving with me, leaving its taste upon my mouth and spouting under me in dancing springs of sand, was the immense body of the continent itself, flowing like the river was flowing, grain by grain, mountain by mountain, down to the sea. I was streaming over ancient sea beds thrust aloft where giant reptiles had once sported; I was wearing down the face of time and trundling cloud-wreathed ranges into oblivion . . . I was water.” His scientific and impassioned understanding of the interconnectedness of all of nature led him to this insightful experience about which he writes so poetically. Having a sense of the big picture leads us to a better understanding of our photographic subjects, and therefore, we can make more insightful images. We must remind people over and over of nature’s beauty and of its frailty, remembering that the earth is a living, ever-changing system that sustains us. It is easy to forget, but we must not.

Aggregate Boulders on Siltstone Pedastal Formations | Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah | 2002

Corn Lily Leaves | Yosemite National Park, California | 2013

FIELD OF POSSIBILITIES SOLVING FOCUS PROBLEMS IN THE FIELD To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour . . . – WILLIAM BLAKE

One of the main dilemmas for nature photographers is how to frame an image. The choice of camera position and lens angle greatly affects the image design. Nature often provides us with chaotic lines, shapes, and colors from which we must distill and extract the essence of our subject. What we include in the frame, as well as what we exclude, is a key factor in the success of our compositions. I was in Yosemite National Park back in 2013, photographing one of my favorite subjects: corn lilies. Returning to a favorite patch, I was happy to see that they were still fresh green, in spite of recent hot weather. The leaves were covered with pollen and a light rainfall added some water drops. The wind was blowing, which meant the leaves rarely held still for my camera. On top of that, the best camera position was on the shoulder of the road with tons of traffic moving the plants as the cars zoomed past a few feet away. I was a little late for most of the corn lilies since they had grown tall, making it difficult to aim downward where the leaf patterns are most strongly visible. Also, other plants amongst them made it difficult to simplify the composition. I usually prefer to zoom in tightly for a very graphic portrayal. I also shot a wider composition at the same location in 2008, shown on the opposite page. For this early photograph, I chose to embrace the chaos by using my 24mm tilt-

shift lens to include many plants. The plants were very dense and had not grown to their full height, making for a clean design despite the wide view. The tilt-shift function helped me retain focus from front to back of the subject area, just like I often did with my 4x5 camera, while still using a fast enough shutter speed. I shuffled my location around, trying to find a pleasing and well-balanced pattern in the lush vegetation. When I shot the vertical image in 2013, I tried dozens of framings, like I had with the horizontal version, using the 24mm tilt-shift, my 90mm tilt-shift, and my 50mm macro. A wider view was too cluttered, so I moved in close to one corn lily plant with my 50mm macro. I realized that the depth of these leaves was too great to capture in one frame, so I used focus bracketing. I exposed five frames, focusing first on the nearest edge of the leaf, and then incrementally turning my macro focus slightly for each subsequent exposure until I’d focused on the deepest area of the corn lily. Then I added those five files to a simple but effective application called Zerene Stacker, which blended the final image together with good sharpness throughout the frame. While processing the final image, I adjusted the contrast and density to make the spots of pollen and leaf lines stand out. While I photographed, time vanished. Wind, rain showers, and sunbeams came and went. I waited for still moments in the wind, and for breaks in the traffic. I hid from the mosquitoes inside my parka hood and slapped away the ones that broke through my defenses. In spite of the challenges, I was “in the zone,” blissfully focused on the beauty I saw and felt, and on finding ways to convey it all photographically. Before I knew it, I had spent two and a half hours photographing within a ten-foot section along the road, making over 200 images. As I drove home, I was greeted by the most amazing sunset, with golden light shining through pouring rain, accented by red clouds. I pulled into a turnout just to take it all in. As the rain drenched me, I howled loudly simply for the joy of it all.

Corn Lily Leaves | Summit Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2008

Autumn Elm and Sunbeams | Cook’s Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2014

FOCUS YOUR FALL PORTFOLIO WORK WITH A THEME TO CREATE A UNIQUE COLLECTION OF IMAGES

When autumn photography season approaches, I start to anticipate making new photographs. I have some ideas to share that may help you develop an excellent portfolio for the fall season. I have found it useful, for myself and for teaching my students, to think about creating a story line, or clear thematic focus. Consider what specific locations or aspects of autumn inspire you the most. The location could be your backyard, a nearby park or reserve, or a travel location where you can spend at least a few days to explore the area fully. A favorite aspect might include colorful reflections or the patterns of fallen leaves. This approach of specialization will help distinguish your autumn images from other photographers’ work. Two key elements needed for your selection of an autumn theme are passion for the subject and easy access during the season. Passion is a must-have ingredient for creative, insightful imagery. Repeated access to your location will build your knowledge of the light, weather, and seasonal changes, helping you find the best conditions for making great photographs. Instead of trophy hunting for singular, spectacular scenic images, I like to explore around for quiet images, ones that don’t shout too loud. In Yosemite, for example, I often find exciting details on the forest floor, in river reflections, or on cliff faces. Finding unique images often involves photographing small sections of the landscape rather than the wide views. However, even though I usually focus on intimate details, that doesn’t mean I will avoid those epic, rare events where weather and/or light explode with drama and energy. I have included some examples here from a recent season in Yosemite Valley. On one

dramatic morning, an amazing confluence of peak autumn color and morning mist rising off a frosted meadow unfolded before my student and me. We started out photographing from one excellent vantage point, then raced to where the sun was directly behind the extraordinary tree pictured in the opening image of this essay, where we witnessed sunbeams bursting through the graceful branches. Knowing that the mist would burn off soon, we worked rapidly to find the best camera position for him to block the rising sun with the tree’s limbs. Even though the lens was shaded, the high contrast and rapidly changing situation called for bracketing exposures to ensure a full range of data was captured. The end result, for both of us, were top portfolio “keepers.” The images portray the symbolism of “a new day,” and “light shining through the darkness.” But just as exciting to me were several quiet Yosemite images I photographed that fall. In my opinion, quiet intensity in an image can endure and engage the viewer for longer. With subtle imagery comes a depth that can be enjoyed more over time. When I pull together a group of photographs, such as from that autumn, I edit the collection by looking for the highest and most consistent quality, as well as for a balance of scale, light, weather, and subject matter. I might use a few wide-angle views to set the context of the portfolio as Yosemite Valley. However, my main focus would be my intimate landscapes, such as the river with tree reflections, or leaves floating through autumn-colored river reflections, as shown in the photograph Maple Leaves Along the Merced River. When you see the selected images as a group, such as in an exhibit or online gallery, they should create a visual story, a personal exploration, a creative viewpoint. What light is best for autumn photography? When I look through my favorite fall images, I see that I’ve favored two main types of light. The soft, even lighting of an overcast day, especially a rainy one, is prime light for forest scenes. Generally, the even tonalities make it easier to see the strong colors and details of leaves and branches of most forest scenes. I captured Autumn Forest during a soft rainfall in Maine’s Baxter State Park. I used my 4x5 camera and a 4x5 film back adapted for a 2:1 panoramic format. The colors were saturated and vibrant throughout the forest, but I selected this section of woods because there was an especially good variety of color as well as strong graphic shapes.

Maple Leaves Along the Merced River | Yosemite National Park, California | 2016

Autumn Forest | Baxter State Park, Maine | 1995

I made full-framed exposures as well as panoramic ones like this one. Although pleased with both, I especially liked how the rhythm of color and design is portrayed in the narrow format. The key quality in this photograph for me is the soft lighting provided by the rainstorm. That the leaves were wet and many of them had fallen to

the forest floor adds impact to the image. The hanging and fallen leaves blend somewhat in the composition, and this ambiguity gives the viewer pause to look more closely. Another favorite lighting condition for me is backlighting. When light comes from behind colorful leaves, the glow can be magical. The best times to find good backlight are early morning or late afternoon when the sun is low in the sky. Although aiming your camera toward the sun can be a challenge, you can get great results with a little extra care. Lens flare can be a problem, so watch for that in the viewfinder. When inside the forest, the simplest solution for flare is to use tree shadows to block the sun. The trees can become strongly silhouetted, the leaves brilliant, and the issue of flare eliminated. The photograph Kings Pond with Morning Mist was made at sunrise. My wife and I drove off from our motel in predawn darkness into the Green Mountains, hoping for great light and autumn color at this pond we had spotted the day before. In spite of the fact that I had no clue exactly when sunrise was or where the sun would rise, a little luck goes a long way. A nighttime rainstorm was just clearing at dawn, and the fog lifted to reveal this glorious scene. The wide scope of this scene required my 90mm lens (about 24mm focal length on a 35mm full-frame format) on my 4x5 camera. I aimed the camera just far enough away from the sun to avoid direct sunlight, shaded my lens carefully, and photographed quickly in the rapidly changing light. When you plan your next autumn’s field sessions, think about the lighting conditions and about what thematic project you could develop or add to. Think about what you want to say with your images. Your unique viewpoint will be better revealed, and the concept behind the photographs will heighten your portfolio’s impact.

Kings Pond with Morning Mist | Green Mountain National Forest, Vermont | 1991

Oak Tree and Ice | Yosemite National Park, California | 2004

WHAT THE ROAD PASSES BY THERE’S MORE TO A LANDSCAPE THAN AN ICONIC VANTAGE POINT How long the road is. But for all the time the journey has already taken, how you have needed every second of it in order to learn what the road passes by. – DAG HAMMARSKJOLD, MARKINGS

When I first started making photographs, I was an avid backpacker. I was energized by my explorations and the beauty I saw, and I wanted to share my treks with friends and family. As is the case for anyone starting out, my photographs were merely a beginner’s efforts. My subjects were the mountains of Glacier National Park, which are full of photographic potential, but my enthusiasm for my subject matter far outweighed my ability to convey the emotions of my experiences in the resulting images. The main excitement of making my photographs was in showing where I had been. I was nineteen, I had fallen in love with being in the mountain wilderness, and I felt like everyone should see their magnificence. So initially, it was the ability of photographs to illustrate my adventures that got me hooked on photography. Any deeper motivations for making photographs were unknown to me at that early stage. I was content to make descriptive snapshots as excuses to tell my friends stories about my backpacking trips. Not long after my first efforts in Glacier, I moved to Yosemite and began photographing in earnest. As I became more serious about my photography, I photographed Yosemite intensely, as well as all around the country, mostly in other National Parks and well-known landscape photography destinations, such as New England. I also traveled to photograph in India, Bhutan, Tibet, and China. Slowly, my skills developed as an artist, and I found that I was always finding exciting images no

matter how far from home or the road I was. I began to put less emphasis on how exotic or remote the location was, and more emphasis on cultivating the perception to find beauty near at hand, where others would pass it, and then to photograph it uniquely. I have been told that many of my favorite Yosemite images look like they could have been taken anywhere, that they don’t immediately say “Yosemite.” It is true that the icons of the park are not a focus of mine. Instead, for forty-three years, I have happily photographed the park’s more intimate details. Hopefully, I have captured images that others might otherwise have missed. As for many others, Yosemite is a magical place to me. I see Yosemite as my most important teacher, as a place where I have felt so at home, at peace, and energized by the special landscape. With a strong desire to create my own unique view of Yosemite, I have always found wondrous compositions everywhere I go, be it far from the road or while standing before the famous landmarks. This comfort level allowed me to take risks. My goal has been to make photographs beyond the ordinary and still create images with a sense of place, of Yosemite. For most photographers who don’t have a landscape such as Yosemite as their backyard, I believe that any landscape one really gets to know can serve as one’s strongest mentor. Knowing the weather, feeling the light, sensing that landscape’s most expressive moments, and learning the moods of each season are all vital factors to creating meaningful images. The photograph that opens this essay was made on my way to somewhere else, unplanned and unscheduled. It was made standing on the side of the road, with the road in between the ice-covered rock wall and me. Many years before, I had photographed icicles along this same area, so I was aware enough to glance in that direction as I was driving along this stretch of road. A lot of good images can come from scouting and planning a photo shoot, but it doesn’t work for me. My best images are largely those that were unexpected. I photographed this scene with both my 4x5 and my Canon 1DS Mark II and used my tripod. The image shown here was made with the Canon camera. A friend who was with me also set up his tripod and 4x5 camera to photograph the ice. When we

stopped on the side of the road, no one else was there. During those thirty minutes, I estimate that twenty to thirty vehicles either stopped to take a quick snapshot or slowed down to enjoy the icicles. A few more photographers with tripods also set up to photograph. Even before seeing the results of my efforts (let alone printing or publishing any images), I had succeeded in helping others see what the road passes by. While a single image like this one is not obviously a Yosemite image, a collective group of intimate, creative photographs of Yosemite or any landscape, whether taken by me or anyone else, can tell the viewers volumes about a place if we are truly seeing it through our own eyes. The lessons that a landscape can teach us are to slow down, to look inward as well as outward, to look for light or image design in composing images that elevate the ordinary to the extraordinary, and to trust our own vision of our world over someone else’s. “I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found was really going in.” – JOHN MUIR, NATURALIST

Redbud and Dogwood | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee | 1991

USING THE FRAME SEE THE PHOTOGRAPH AS A WHOLE

Creating a strong composition with a camera means framing, with the camera’s viewfinder, a section of the environment in which the photographer stands. The possible options for composing any given subject are nearly endless and include choices such as camera position or lens focal length. One error many beginning photographers make is to photograph at the first place they set up. They simply see one composition, click the camera, and move on. This approach is rarely as successful as it could have been. To fully explore the possibilities of any worthy situation, you should really work the scene and experiment with the many options. This is one of the most exciting parts of photography—the arrangement of objects within the rectangle. By very carefully observing the relationships of lines and forms, foreground and background, and the balance of tones, you can take the extra time to refine the image design. Work the scene by moving your feet. A step to the left or a step backward can make a huge difference in the image’s design. Try changing lenses to help find a different perspective. With digital capture, there is no more worry about film and processing expense, so don’t be too timid with your experimentations. The entire frame becomes your subject, and your attention in all parts of the frame is critical. As you have probably heard many times over, distractions around the edge of the frame can ruin an otherwise good photograph. A bright piece of sky on the edge of an otherwise darkly lit image will pull the viewer’s eye out of the frame. An out of focus branch in an otherwise sharp image will do the same. One of my favorite compositional techniques is to fill the frame with a textural

pattern. The frame is filled with an even pattern across the frame, isolating the subject from any distracting elements. Sometimes the image can give the effect of fabric or wallpaper. In the forest image shown on the previous spread, for example, the branches and blossoms spread throughout the frame. No sky or distracting bright areas are included, nor is any foreground. This gives the composition a flatness that heightens the textural effect. To create the Redbud and Dogwood image in the Great Smoky Mountains, I used a 360mm lens on my 4x5 camera, which is similar to a 100mm on 35mm format. The longer focal lengths are very useful for isolating a pattern from the larger view. Looking for some balance of color and form, I found an angle where the dogwood and redbud blossoms moved diagonally across the frame. This is often a process of trial and error, that of setting up the tripod, looking through the viewfinder, and moving again and again until all the elements come together. Strong composition means great footwork! On the same trip to the Smokies, I visited a famous overlook in the National Park. Along the back end of the parking lot, there was an exposed section of wonderful rock formations. While others photographed the grand scene from the designated overlook, I hunched over my 4x5 looking for the perfect design using the rock’s color and cracks, moving in close to isolate the strongest combination of these elements. As with the forest image, I filled the frame from edge to edge, moving the tripod until the frame included only what I felt to be essential. I think of the process of composing an image as a combination of exploration and refinement. Explore with your heart and refine with your mind. Photography is a system of visual editing. At bottom, it is a matter of surrounding with a frame a portion of one’s cone of vision, while standing in the right place at the right time. Like chess, or writing, it is a matter of choosing from among given possibilities, but in the case of photography the number of possibilities is not finite but infinite. – JOHN SZARKOWSKI IN ON PHOTOGRAPHY BY SUSAN SONTAG

Rock Design | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina | 1991

Aspens and Pond | Purgatory, Colorado | 1985

ASPEN VARIATIONS ALLOW YOUR INTERPRETATION TO GROW AND EVOLVE

Variations on a theme. More than one right answer. Work the subject thoroughly. As a teacher, I always look for key focus points that photographers can work on to improve. I keep coming back to the same concepts, encompassed by the phrases above. The creative process requires experimentation and exploration. When reviewing my own images, I continually analyze my successes and failures. Success occurs most often when I push myself beyond my initial composition for a given scene. The aspen photographs shown here illustrate a simple change of lens. I shot one image with a wide-angle lens and one with a normal focal length. The closer view is my favorite of the two. This tighter framing shows the lines of the aspens with more impact, with the strong graphics that I love. In keeping with the “less is more” adage, the composition has just enough of the essential componants: reflection, meadow, vertical trunks, evergreen trees, and yellow leaves, without one element distracting from another. I also recognized that I had a wonderful foreground element in the grasses at my feet. Using my 4x5 film camera, I changed from my “normal” 210mm lens to my 90mm, which is the equivalent to 28mm on a 35mm camera. This lens allowed me to add the beautiful curves of golden-colored grass leading into the scene. We also see more of the clouds hanging onto the mountains above the aspen grove. The wide-angle view provides a more clear sense of the location, and therefore has been a better seller. While most photographers would heavily promote the more popular image, I did the opposite. I guess I should have taken a marketing course in college. But the artist in me is stubborn. I’ve spent more energy marketing my

personal favorites because I want to be known for my very best artistic expressions. A light snow fell during my session, adding to the magic of the scene in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains. Though the snow is not visible due to a long exposure time, the feeling of seasonal transition, a favorite theme of mine, comes through in both images to me. The last clinging yellow leaves and bare aspen trunks indicate that winter is near. I have been making prints of both images ever since they were captured in 1985. Over those years, my printmaking for them has evolved. At first, I used analog materials, Cibachrome and Ilfochrome, as digital printing had yet to be born. Next, I used EverColor and Lightjet materials, back in the earliest days of digital printing. Each of those options had its advantages. I now happily use my Canon IPF pigment inkjet printers. As my Photoshop and Lightroom skills keep improving, nearly every time I open a file I find a way to elevate that photograph. I’ve been using the Luminosity masks offered by Tony Kuyper and taught through extensive tutorials by Sean Bagshaw. They are well worth a look. For my retrospective book, which includes 151 images, I opened every file to prep each one for publication, and in the process tweaked many of them. I’ve read about how Ansel Adams’s printing changed over the years, and he strived for that “perfection” over decades of work in his darkroom. His approach taught me to allow my interpretation to grow and evolve as my skills and tastes change. Lessons to be learned: 1.1. Explore and experiment. Work a scene thoroughly, “continually looking for the next right answer,” as Dewitt Jones so succinctly puts it. 2.2. Embrace your evolution. Always work to learn more, both creatively and regarding technique. Your perspective will always be changing, be it how you frame a composition, what lens you prefer for landscapes, or how you process the contrast and color of the final image. New techniques and new technology will offer new creative viewpoints.

3.3. Photograph what you love so that marketing will become about sharing your passions instead of simply trying to sell something. Most importantly, have fun and enjoy the ride!

Aspens and Pond | Purgatory, Colorado | 1985

Sunrise and Clouds | Amargosa Range, Death Valley National Park, California | 2007

MY VACATION BALANCING FAMILY TIME AND MAKING ART

From inside our tent, the incessant flapping told me that the spring winds were coming up today. It was still dark outside, and I was glad that we were going home and would miss out on the pending sandstorm. My family still slept, and dawn was about to come. For the past three mornings, I arose to photograph the Death Valley sunrise. The trip had been fun for the family, plus I was also very pleased with some new work I had made. On this morning, I decided to just get up and watch rather than blast off in my vehicle for a serious photo session. Sometimes I like to put the camera aside and just soak in nature’s beauty with all my senses. Besides, I wasn’t jaunting off to one of Death Valley’s prime sunrise locations like Zabriskie Point or Badwater, so I had no expectations photographically. But then as I sat outside our tent, in spite of my “morning off” plan, some clouds above me began to turn pink. Ah, yes . . . just soak it all in. Time to relax. I lasted about five minutes! The clouds were forming a beautiful pattern and the colors became brighter, so out came my camera. As I photographed the clouds, some ravens performed some antics in the sky above me with the dramatic clouds behind. Now I was awake and energized, and in full “seeing” mode. The ravens and clouds combined wonderfully in my frame. I wandered away from camp to where I could see the sun come over the mountains. Shafts of light streaked into the sky as the sun reached the horizon. After rising, the sun went behind some clouds above the peaks. Besides their dynamic formations, the clouds were showing luminous rainbow colors in their ice crystals. I was really having fun now, and when opportunity knocks . . . ! As I photographed, my daughter

ventured out of our tent and enjoyed the moment with me. The photograph Sunrise and Clouds, from that morning, was taken with my Canon 1DS Mark II. I stood in a clearing at Furnace Creek, aiming above some buildings and palm trees. This was not exactly a wilderness experience, but a 70–200mm zoom allowed me to isolate a simple composition of mountains and clouds. The exposure was tough, given the contrast range. Several life lessons occur to me regarding that magic morning in Death Valley. First and foremost is that every day is a gift (yes, I happily confess that I have been reading Dewitt’s columns for a couple of decades now). Such gifts will always come your way, so be ready to accept them. Be grateful for the opportunity to experience and share beauty with others. Balancing different parts of one’s life is another important lesson to learn. It is a high priority for me to balance photography with my family life. Given that I am not traveling far and wide to photograph these days, these breaks have afforded me time to photograph and spend quality time with the family. I have managed this balance on trips to Big Sur, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite’s high country, Death Valley, and to the East Coast in autumn. Although these were not highly focused photo sessions, I have been very pleased with the results. A major benefit of my family/photo vacations is that my kids are learning at an early age to appreciate nature, and also, hopefully, about their father’s artistic and environmental passions. By letting our children know our own sense of wonder for nature, the future has a chance of being brighter. If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in. – RACHEL CARSON

Seastacks at Sunset | Rialto Beach, Olympic National Park, Washington | 2014 On another vacation, we traveled to Olympic National Park. As with many of our trips, my family hung out at the beach near the car while I hiked up the beach for sunset at these spectacular rock formations.

Giant Sequoia and Fir Tree in the Fog | Sequoia National Park, California | 1993

A SENSE OF SCALE SIZE RELATIONSHIPS TELL A STORY

One key compositional technique in landscape photography is the use of scale. By including foreground subjects such as rocks, trees, or flowers in front of mountains, the photographer can convey depth in the scene, giving a stronger sense of the locale, and of “being there.” In many editorial uses for photographs, it is important to clearly describe the subject. Objects of known size give us clues as to the scale and depth. A sense of scale in an image can be affected in several ways. One way relates to how we arrange objects within the frame, such as the foreground and background in the example on the opposite page. Another method to convey scale is the choice of lens. If you use a telephoto lens to photograph a range of mountains, they look taller. Put on a wide-angle lens for the same scene, and the mountains shrink in scale. In the photograph shown here, Giant Sequoia and Fir Tree in the Fog, I chose a normal focal length 150mm lens for the 4x5. I composed the image so that the tree filled more than half the frame.

Morning Mist Rising | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2016

The small fir tree is dwarfed dramatically by the huge sequoia. Only a small part of the huge tree is included in the photograph, yet its presence is felt. The forest floor was cluttered with fallen branches, so I raised the front standard of my view camera to eliminate the distraction. This movement also served to keep the lines of the trees parallel. By not settling for the obvious approach—describing the whole tree—I discovered a fresh viewpoint, one that leaves the viewer to imagine the rest of the picture outside my frame. When describing the subject is not the main objective, but rather creative interpretation is the primary goal, the need for scale is less important. Done skillfully, a lack of scale can create a wonderful sense of wonder and mystery in your photographs. These two photographs of the same misty morning were taken at nearly the same time at different focal lengths, which changes the sense of scale between the trees and Bridalveil Fall. Remember to think about the use of scale in your landscape images on your next trip

into the field. Experiment by including interesting foreground elements, contrasting large and small objects, or removing content that suggests scale. Try all of these ideas and any variations that come to mind. The thrill of creating photographs, at least for me, is when a landscape—with all its aspects, such as light and graphic elements— becomes a work of art when translated through the photographer’s imagination.

Rising Mist at Sunrise | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2016

Tiger | Ranthambore National Park, Rajasthan, India | 2004

VERSATILITY REACH OUT TO EXPLORE

I have often admired photographers who are versatile, those who have the creativity to develop a personal style within diverse types of photography. For those interested in a career in photography, developing the skills to deal with many types of subjects is especially useful. Being versatile has not been a deliberate doctrine that I’ve focused on in my own career, but I stumbled into the approach by means of having a great deal of curiosity and interest in learning more about the world around me. It has served me well both artistically and in terms of my business. Creatively, it has been helpful for me to be open to exploring different realms of photography, such as travel or studio still-life imagery, and fine art efforts like my “Impression of Light” series. In terms of business, having more than one specialty will help you respond to the needs of clients, editors, or whomever you do business with. When I worked on a series of books with the Exploratorium of San Francisco, I was asked to illustrate a range of diverse subjects, from the pattern of a honeycomb to the colorful face of a male mandrill to specific geologic formations in Yosemite. Fortunately, I already had experience with macro setups, wildlife photography, and mountain landscapes. In the early years of establishing my career, I tried my hand at photojournalism and completed assignments for Outside, Smithsonian Magazine, Natural History Magazine, and even GQ. Although the storytelling aspect was not my cup of tea, I gained experience in editorial photography and in illustrating subjects with specific needs in mind. Over the years, I have also done a great deal of photography in India and the Himalayas where I photographed portraits, wildlife, various aspects of Hindu and Tibetan cultures, religious architecture, and other types of travel photography.

Some of my favorite photographers are, or were, very versatile. Ansel Adams operated a studio in San Francisco, and took on assignments requiring him to photograph a wide variety of subjects, which included documenting a controversial social issue such as the Japanese internment camp at Manzanar, located near Lone Pine, California, during World War II. Eliot Porter was another versatile photographer. He started out specializing in bird photography and worked in black and white, but became best known for his intimate, color landscape photographs made with a large-format 4x5 camera. Like Ansel Adams, he used his images very effectively in service of environmental causes and to inform the public about endangered landscapes. He created innovative photographs based on his strong interest in the natural sciences while exploring such landscapes as Maine, Antarctica, Baja, California, Iceland, and Glen Canyon, Utah, before it was flooded by Lake Powell. Perhaps my greatest source of inspiration has been the photographer Ernst Haas (1921–1986). I was fortunate to meet him and show him my photographs when he taught in Yosemite at The Ansel Adam Gallery’s summer workshop. Besides being versatile, he was highly creative and innovative. I strongly recommend that you go to the library or an online bookstore to find his books, and explore his official website (ernst-haas.com). The site is full of images and articles about him, and most illuminating to me is the “Writings by Haas” section. To see Haas’s genius in full display, check out his book The Creation. The book includes landscapes and macro photographs, wildlife and aerials, and creative imagery both blurred and sharp. This book had a great deal to do with inspiring me to become a photographer. In the back of the book are short but educational annotations by Haas about the process of making each image. Many amateur photographers show diverse interests within their work, which is great. Yet often they don’t take the time to develop any of them with significant depth. To avoid this tendency, start with one or two themes and explore them thoroughly. As you develop one area of specialization, you will gain the expertise and confidence to try out new directions. In the long run, you will have the satisfaction of completing comprehensive studies of those subjects that mean the most to you. Viewers and potential buyers of your images will respond more strongly when they see both depth and versatility in your portfolios. By being versatile, you will open the door to more

creative and business opportunities.

Elephant Seals | San Simeon, California | 2004

The limitations of photography are in yourself, for what we see is only what we are. – ERNST HAAS

Snow Formations on Rocks | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1979

WINTER’S GRACE THE HUSHED SOLITUDE OF PHOTOGRAPHY IN SNOW

I love to photograph nature during the winter. Emotionally, the quiet and stillness are calming and meditative to me. Here in the Yosemite area, the tourist traffic slows down and the atmosphere is less frenetic. Over the years, I have made more Yosemite images during winter than any other season. Visually, so many aspects appeal to me about the winter landscape. The bare branches of winter trees attract me to their strong lines and challenge me to compose images with dynamic graphic designs. When snow covers the ground, it absorbs sounds and obscures many distractions, making landscapes more simple and sublime. When the sun strikes the snow, especially at low angles, shadows and textures come alive. Rocks found along a river are transformed into sculpture.

Black Oaks in Winter | El Capitan Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 1994

The cold weather gives us another bonus of the season when ice forms an endless variety of patterns and designs on the often-quiet waters of winter. Exploring the frozen edges of rivers and ponds for magic designs in ice is a favorite winter activity of mine. When we photograph broad scenes in the winter, the images can benefit from the lines formed by bare trees that provide more graphic interest. If there is snow on the landscape, then the brighter snow sets off interesting shapes, which again creates an opportunity for a stronger graphic design in landscape compositions. Yes, colors are more muted in winter, but I’ve always liked to create images with subtle or monochromatic color, so this is more of an advantage than a disadvantage for me. The highlight of winter photography for me is when I manage to get out to photograph freshly fallen snow, especially before the snow is tracked up or melted off the trees by the sun. This freshness conveys a sense of the purity and wildness of nature. I made the photograph of snow forms shown on page 124, Snow Formations

on Rocks, along the Merced River after a snowstorm in Yosemite Valley. Using a 35mm film camera and a telephoto lens, I was able to isolate the highlighted shapes of the snow from surrounding distractions. I must confess that I made this image in 1979. I find it so rewarding to still enjoy some of my efforts from so long ago. I also made the photograph Black Oaks in Winter in Yosemite Valley after a snowstorm. I used my 4x5 camera to capture the wonderful patterns formed by these trees. I first photographed this set of trees forty years ago, and now they have become old friends whom I’ve watched throughout so many seasons. I especially love their winter shapes, standing bare against the cold. I have often felt that nature’s beauty is seen at its finest in winter’s elemental grace.

Giant Sequoias | Mariposa Grove, Yosemite National Park, California | 2007

IMPRESSIONS OF LIGHT CREATE ARTISTIC BLURS IN-CAMERA

I have been a photographer for four decades. I started out with my first camera in 1974, a 35mm Pentax Spotmatic film camera. Over the years, I have most often photographed natural patterns and other details in the landscape. In 1982, I acquired a 4x5 field camera, and for the next twenty years, I photographed mostly with 4x5 transparency film. I continued to concentrate on photographing landscape details as well as broad views and dramatic light. My intention in using a large-format camera was to render nature with great detail, such that the textures and eloquent light on my subjects became extraordinary. Since switching to digital, I’ve used Canon’s high-resolution DSLRs, and I currently use a Sony high-resolution camera to create most of my images. No matter the tool, my goal has remained the same: to inspire passion for the natural world and convey my emotional response to the subjects I photograph, which is one of awe and wonder. Back in 2005, I discovered a new way for me to convey such an emotional response. I give credit for this inspiration to students taking an online course I was teaching. They had picked up some blurring, or “painting with light,” techniques from other instructors. I had a strong visceral response to their images. I tried it out myself and became very intrigued by the possibilities, then immersed myself in creating this new portfolio of work. Since I was a boy, I have loved impressionistic painting. My mother was a docent at the National Gallery of Art when I lived near Washington, D.C., as a teenager. I was inspired by the plein air approach of Monet and by the pointillism of Van Gogh, which I viewed there. Art was one of my favorite elective courses during high school. In college, I became intrigued by the motion studies of the great color photographer

Ernst Haas. Another photographer who inspired me was Freeman Patterson, who also was using camera motion as a creative technique, as well as other methods for creating impressionistic photographs. The motion studies seen in my “Impressions of Light” work—some examples of which are presented in this essay—are simply another way to depict the profoundly moving beauty I see in nature. The technical aspect of sharpness or softness of focus ultimately doesn’t matter to me. I try all kinds of movement, up and down or sideways, starting and stopping and changing direction in the middle of the exposure. Sometimes I just jiggle the camera. It’s a learning process, a sort of feedback loop. Every frame is different. I tend to photograph in bursts of five to ten images at one shutter speed. I then watch the images come up on the LCD to see what happened. Based on what I see, I adjust shutter speed, focal length, or my camera position or movement to refine the effect. How I move the camera depends on the subject. If I’m working with a forest scene, like the Giant Sequoias image, I move the camera up and down. With the Sand Dunes image, I moved laterally to the right and left. In both cases, I panned along with the major lines in the scene. With other images, like those of flowers or leaves, I make very small motions instead of sweeping motions, so that the edges are softened. This technique works for my tastes since I usually want the shapes to be “painted” but distinctive of that subject. The degree of motion varies—sometimes long sweeps up and down, then some short. If I see an area of the scene that is distracting, like a bright sky or distracting object, I restrain my motion to avoid it. This process continues until I think I’ve created something good. I end up with dozens, and sometimes a few hundred, photographs after I try all the creative options that come to mind. The LCD screen is a vital tool in reviewing my results. As I edit the large number of images I generate, Adobe Lightroom (or any software that allows you to review and compare files) helps tremendously. My selection process involves rating the images that appear to have the most potential, and once I have several similar frames, I use the Compare View function. I rank my photographs as I edit and process them, coming back many times to arrive at the final top photos. Then I begin to work with those top images in Lightroom’s Develop module and/or in

Photoshop. In terms of composing, I start with an image design and camera position that would work for me as a sharp photograph. A great joy in making these images is the freeform and spontaneous style of capturing them. Still, I am conscientious about applying the same quality of any composition I make. For example, in my Winter Forest photo, I carefully moved my position to create the spaces between the trees that are a critical design element for the image. Since the camera is moving during the exposure, it is not possible to control precisely where objects land within the frame. Most compositional issues, such as distracting bright areas along the frame’s edge, can be corrected by responding to feedback from the LCD. Any other problems with composition can be solved in the editing process, as I make enough similar images that usually at least one works out.

Sand Dunes | Death Valley National Park, California | 2006

Winter Forest | Yosemite National Park, California | 2007

The most important note on my technique is that these images are all single exposures created with camera motion only. Having seen other techniques used, such as multiple exposure methods, I find the single-exposure approach works best for the mood I wish to create. The resulting images have an organic and painterly look, rather than a digitized look. Other methods often look heavily manipulated or Photoshopped, while my style is to work with the textures and light and color I see in my camera. Even when I use my camera set to its lowest ISO and the lens stopped way down, often there’s still too much ambient light to permit a long-enough exposure time. In that case, I use a Singh-Ray Vari-ND filter, with which I can adjust the strength of neutral density to reduce the light entering the camera by up to eight stops. This tool has greatly increased both my options in bright lightings conditions and in controlling the balance of aperture and shutter speed. For example, with my flower closeups, I can still use a slow shutter speed even when using the widest apertures. In my processing, I make a few minor adjustments in Photoshop, including boosting contrast lost when a scene’s brighter areas blur into darker ones. I output images with Canon’s 12-color, pigment-based printers, which have 24- and 44-inch carriage

widths, respectively. I usually print on Hahnemuhle Photo Rag, a watercolor-style paper. This paper’s texture is very effective at accentuating the painterly feel of these images. Here is what I am trying to do with my “Impressions of Light” series: Remove the context; distill down to the essence, convey the energy of a subject or scene in a fresh way. The blurring process has the effect of simplifying the landscape, much like what occurs in snowy or foggy conditions. For me, these images defect the mind’s tendency to dwell on the concrete issues of place and name when viewing a subject. The spirit of a place or an object is less objectified and can be more strongly conveyed. I’m trying to stretch, not just to be different but also to find new ways to express what I’ve been trying to show all along—the beauty of nature. It may sound trite, but that’s still what motivates my photographic explorations. To both grow and survive creatively as an artist, I have found it important to push myself in new directions—in other words, to evolve. Success towards this goal cannot be achieved passively, but it must be sought out. I have tried to adhere to the concept that as an artist, one should always question one’s preconceived notions.

Sand Dunes at Sunrise | Monument Valley Tribal Park, Arizona | 2002

MEDITATIONS IN BLACK AND WHITE OPEN YOURSELF UP TO NEW AVENUES OF CREATIVITY

I once had a client ask to see some black-and-white nature photographs to place in a corporate environment. Since I hadn’t made black-and-white photos at all during my career, except on a rare occasion, I was surprised. But her simple request led me down a path that was both creative and successful in terms of business. I have long been inspired by great black-and-white photography masters, such as Ansel Adams, Edward and Brett Weston, Minor White, and Paul Caponigro, which had led me to try a few conversions in Photoshop. You never know from where inspiration will come, but this project ignited my passion for black and white, and pushed me to expand my photographic repertoire. Ansel Adams used to proudly declare in his lectures that his years of making a living from his photography taught him many valuable lessons. During his career, he accepted assignments to make portraits, still-life product shots, architectural work, and more. He felt that the problem-solving nature of commercial work informed and improved his art in terms of discipline and technique. Practice makes perfect, so they say. My black-and-white project provides a good example of creative results coming from a practical assignment. The first step was to prepare and send JPGs to my client for her presentation. I received a list of color images that she found on my website. My assistant John and I compiled a portfolio using the Collections feature in Adobe Lightroom, which proved very useful for quickly previewing potential images converted to black and white. Once my black-and-white portfolio was edited down for my client, we made JPGs for her presentation. A few weeks later, I received an order for seven 30x40, fine art, black-and-white

prints. This was great news, but now the real work began. Each image had to be fully refined and mastered in Photoshop, then prepared for making the final photographs. We started with the high-res original film scan or digital capture. Next, adjustments to each image were made using multiple adjustment layers. Some layers were applied to the whole image, and others were applied using local masking. For example, if shadow detail needed to be improved, the mask would be specific to that area. The use of masks is much like the old-fashioned dodging and burning used when printing film to paper. One thing I learned from viewing Ansel Adams’s prints is the value of tonal separation. His prints show a fine degree of detail in both shadows and highlights. The whites are never washed out and we can see many gradations of light grays and white. I especially love how his shadow areas show each subtle tone of dark gray and black. His shadows are never really pure black and formless, but show clear shapes and form within them. It was Ansel’s inspirational prints that guided the black-and-white processing for this project. Once the images were finished in Photoshop, the printing began. Each file was sized to the final output dimensions, then sharpened for that specific size. The latest inkjet printers do an excellent job of handling black-and-white in their output. I used my Canon ImagePROGRAF, and I was very pleased with the results. We shipped them off, and the client was pleased too. Job done. The final step in this creative journey was the creation of an eBook entitled Meditations in Monochrome, which I made available on my website. I wrote an essay for the book’s introduction and selected fifty-two photographs for this digital portfolio, ranging from classic western landscapes to intimate details of nature. Locations include the coast of New England, the deserts of the Southwest, and my backyard in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Becoming a better photographer is about building skills. It is also about following one’s passions and pushing oneself creatively. My Meditations project started with a business deal that opened a door I had wanted to go through for a long time—adding a black-and-white portfolio to my collection of images. I hope Ansel would be proud.

Cloud Reflections and Mt Moran at the Oxbow Bend on the Snake River | Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming | 1990

Mud Cracks | Zion National Park, Utah | 1983

THE MAGIC ELEMENT: EMOTION LET YOUR HEART SHOW THE WAY

Photographs have the wonderful ability to reconnect us with emotions beyond the physical content of a scene or the feelings it evokes. An important aspect of being an artist is the ability and willingness to express and share emotions in your work. Of course, the viewer can only imagine the state of the artist’s mind, but if the work is successful, one can often gain an insight into the artist’s experience or mood. A strong work of art can elicit emotions in the viewer both obvious and unexpected, whether they are the same emotions the artist felt or not. Whether apparent or not, the artist’s emotions will, and should, affect the work. Most of my best images are a result of a passionate response to the subject. Many years ago, I was exploring in Zion National Park. One day when returning from a solo hike up a narrow canyon, I slipped on some steep sandstone and slid (in shorts, of course) down about thirty feet into a pothole full of water. All my gear was in a pack on my back and the water was five feet deep. It took me several minutes to get my pack off, throw it out of the pothole, and climb out. Meanwhile, my gear, which included my 4x5 and 35mm cameras and lenses, got soaked. I was scraped up pretty good, and so I cleaned up the “rug burns” on my arms and legs, and then spent hours trying to dry out my equipment. I remember using the hand dryer in a local campground restroom and leaving lenses in the sun on my car’s dashboard. At the end of the day, I called home only to hear some more bad news. Needless to say, I was seriously bummed out; half my camera gear wasn’t working, plus some personal issues were not helping my mood. Fortunately, my 4x5 dried out nicely, since no electronics were involved, and the lenses and film were okay, so the next day I went exploring again. As I wandered through a streambed, I found these

cool mud cracks. They had formed in a depression so that somehow the cracks were small at the top of the slope and progressively got bigger lower down, where the moisture had stayed longer. The composition of the image on the previous spread was made to show this transition. I liked the image when I exposed it, obviously, and I liked it even more when I saw the processed film. But I didn’t really stop to think about how my emotional state of mind might have affected the making of it. Only months later, when printing the image, did it strike me that the image reflected my mood that day. My emotions had surfaced through the making of this photograph. Looking back, I am happy to have made something good of a bad situation! Thinking about my own work over the years, the role of specific emotions in image making varies from image to image. Most often, it is the excitement of discovery, of finding a captivating subject in extraordinary light, that demands I make the photograph. On occasion, I have found that some images are also influenced by my frame of mind, like my Mud Cracks image. If one can accept that there is an artistic advantage to creating emotional work, perhaps those feelings will come through more often. The only trick I can think of for doing this is to give yourself permission to allow it. I don’t think there is an easy formula for doing this, nor do I believe it can be done every time. Fortunately, most of us don’t have bad days too often. I am glad I went out for another hike that day in spite of my mood. I am sure that experiencing the beauty of nature was therapeutic. So often nature’s beauty has restored my spirits, and sometimes even resulted in a good photograph. It is beneficial for our photographs to convey emotion—those of joy, curiosity, quiet meditation, or even those bummer days. Rather than make an ordinary photograph, I hope that you will let your emotions make their way into your images. How else will we see your special way of seeing? Seeing, in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject matter with your whole being. It means looking beyond the labels of things and discovering the remarkable world around you. – FREEMAN PATTERSON

Sunrise Over Sand Dunes | Death Valley National Park, California | 1989 My main memory of this sunrise is that it was the first ever photo session with my wife. She joined our workshop group, marching out into the dunes in the dark dawn. Shivering on that January morning, she got a sense of why we arose so early and how intense it was for photographers to try to capture it all. My experience of sharing it with her was amplified by the epic light and guiding our group to capture images reflecting their own experience.

Oaks in Fog | Ahwahnee Hills Regional Park, California | 2008

SIMPLICITY IS THE KEY KEYS TO CLEAN DESIGN What’s really important is to simplify. The work of most photographers would be improved immensely if they could do one thing: get rid of the extraneous. If you strive for simplicity, you are more likely to reach the viewer. – WILLIAM ALBERT ALLARD

I know you’ve heard this before: keep it simple. It is a good adage for life in general, and it works well for me in photography. Especially regarding image design, it is my mantra. One key way to create simple images with strong impact is to choose simple backgrounds for your subjects. Finding good subjects is hard enough, but finding them with good backgrounds is still harder. When composing your photographs, be sure to look carefully throughout the frame. This includes examining the foreground, the edges, and especially the background. I’ve included a few images in this essay that illustrate situations in the landscape that provide a simple background. One can often use weather or lighting conditions in nature to set subjects off from their backgrounds. Fog is one condition I love to use. In my Oaks in Fog image, I worked hard to create a balance of space between the tree trunks, but it is the fog that gives the simple background.

Bridalveil Fall | Yosemite National Park, California | 2015

Another type of lighting condition occurs when a subject is brightly lit and the background is in shadow, illustrated in the photograph of Bridalveil Fall in Yosemite Valley. If you get there at the right time of day, you can catch the sunlight hitting the water before the light strikes the cliff as well. Given the bright-white subject, the waterfall is very dramatic when set off by the dark background. Still another advantage of this lighting is that the side lighting brings out the textures of the water. Ansel Adams made this special lighting famous in his Bridalveil Fall from 1927. In situations like this, the light becomes a major component of the image design. The photograph Dogwood Along the Merced River is greatly simplified by my choice of background. The river rapids were blurred by the long exposure, and the branch and flower graphics stand out clearly. Watch all parts of a scene as you compose, and look for simple and clean backgrounds like this one. Make sure to make good use of your camera’s LCD to inspect your compositions. Even on the small screen, key factors that could be distracting can be spotted and corrected in the field. I stop

periodically to scroll through my captures in order to check myself, and doing this will often lead to ideas to improve a composition. It is much easier to fix problems with composition at the location than in post-processing!

Dogwood Along the Merced River | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019

Monterey Pines in Fog is another illustration of the advantage of seeking simple backdrops. The thick fog isolates the trees from any busy and distracting elements, other than the main subject—the forest. The spaces that I created between the trees were very difficult to manage because very small movements of my tripod made a large difference in the spaces. Whenever you compose an image, it is very important to watch how key shapes, forms, and lines relate to each other. These key elements of your composition can lose their impact when they merge. Even though this forest scene is very crowded with trees, the deliberate attempt to space the trees evenly throughout the frame creates a clean and rhythmic design from a chaotic situation. Ultimately, simplicity is the goal—in every art, and achieving simplicity is one

of the hardest things to do. Yet it’s easily the most essential. – PETE TURNER

Monterey Pines in Fog | Monterey, California | 2005

Twilight at Scripps Pier | La Jolla, California | 2010

GETTING OUT OF A RUT BREAK AWAY FROM YOUR USUAL SUBJECT MATTER

During spring break when my kids were in school, my family and I enjoyed a vacation at the beach. We stayed in La Jolla, California, a place I’ve been visiting since I was a small kid. We spent one day at SeaWorld, and another day at the beach. I’ve noticed Scripps Pier in the past, and I’ve enjoyed other photographers’ images of piers. Since I’d never photographed the subject before, my main photographic focus on this trip was the pier, which was near where we stayed. I usually avoid the “presence of humans” in my photographs, but I found this to be an exciting chance to try something different. I photographed here at sunrise earlier this day, and then again at sunset. My two favorite images are shown here. I captured the sunrise image during my first time photographing the pier. I carefully worked into the best camera position for what I had in mind, which was to contrast the symmetry of the man-made pier with the flow of the surf. For this image, I used my Singh-Ray Vari-ND filter to extend the length of the exposure to ten seconds. I waited for waves to wash up near my tripod, and then watched for the reflection to develop as the surf pulled back. Click. Timing is so critical when photographing surf. As I photographed, I watched the light and timed the exposures until I felt as though I had exhausted the session’s potential.

Sunrise at Scripps Pier | La Jolla, California | 2010

During the day, I downloaded the new images on my laptop and reviewed them in Adobe Lightroom. I often find that such a review gives me new ideas or points out any technical errors I might have made. In this case, seeing the sunrise images showed me that this location had more potential to be found at sunset, and this motivated me to return. When I first arrived just before sunset, I knew from my morning session where I wanted to stand. I was as precise as possible to create symmetry and equal spacing between the pillars. At first, the sunlight was too harsh, and my only option was to block the sun with one of the piers. Still, the sky was so bright that capturing detail in highlights and shadows was a problem. After the sun went below the horizon, the conditions improved. I worked the situation, trying variations on timing of the wave action. In each exposure, the reflections were different. It was nearly dark when I made the twilight image pictured on page 148. I got to the

point where my meter would not give me a reading at my desired aperture of f/22 or f/32, as the in-camera meter is limited to thirty seconds. I should have had a handheld meter for this situation, but I didn’t. I could have exposed with a wider aperture, but would have lost good near-to-far sharpness on the pier posts. I quickly extrapolated a good exposure based on readings at a wider aperture. I took out my iPhone to use its timer, started the exposure (with a cable release of course), and then started the stopwatch. I was excited about capturing these images. There is something about the “doorway” effect at the end of the pier, and the receding lines of pier posts seen against the soft flowing effect of blurred surf. The structure of the pier leads the viewer into the photograph, and the rest is left to their imagination. This wasn’t a direction that I continued to explore in depth. I won’t stop photographing the astounding beauty and purity I see in the natural landscape. On the other hand, nor will I stop exploring the creative options that photography offers, even if that includes the human landscape. What rut have you stepped out of lately?

Stones | 2009

Forest Fog | Monterey, California | 2009

BEST OF THE YEAR REVIEW YOUR IMAGES TO FIND NEW DIRECTIONS TO EXPLORE

Many years ago, when I was involved with Ansel Adams’s workshops, I was fortunate to hear lectures by many master photographers. One of them was Jerry Uelsmann, who became a good friend and mentor. During his lectures, he would show his work from the past year. Since his work involves compositing many images together into one, these images included variations he had tried, often with the same objects in different locations or scenes. Seeing this overview made it easier to see some of the progression of Jerry’s creative process. I always felt inspired by his presentations, and often thought I should do this myself each year in order to assess my year’s efforts, but for many years I never got around to it. With the advent of Facebook, Twitter, and blogs, it is now very easy to create a “Best Of” portfolio to share with friends and followers. The process of self-assessment is a vital part of artistic growth. In the day-to-day rush of life, we don’t often stop to see trends in our image making. By turning back the clock, we can see if we are stuck in a rut or have made great progress. One technique I’ve used to analyze my own work is to use the filters build into Adobe Lightroom or Bridge. The software will show you the metadata analytics for any folder of images you have. The data shows how many images were made with which camera body or lens; the shutter speed, aperture, or ISO used; or sort images according to ranking labels. I especially like seeing which lens I used the most, which is my Canon 70–200mm f/2.8. Even with this simple knowledge, I can recognize that I tend to photograph details of the landscape rather than wide views. This information can lead to ideas for a portfolio or theme. The data can also be a hint that I am in a rut and might want to break away from this trend to expand my repertoire of wide-angle landscapes.

Another option would be to filter by keywords to see what images I’ve made of water or trees, or with clouds and sky. Studying my photos in such a way might lead to the creation of a new eBook or a theme idea for an exhibit. Developing themes in your work is an important way to focus your photographic efforts. The photographs shown here are my favorites from 2009. Stones, 2009 was taken on my back patio. I have a tub of these colorful landscaping pebbles that I often photograph in various conditions. This version was created with two frames taken side by side to create a panoramic photograph. What works for me in this image is the powerful colors but also the even pattern spread across the frame. Later that year, I was photographing Monterey pine trees in a dense fog. Toward the end of my dawn shooting session, I decided to make some panoramic images, so I composed overlapping frames that could later be stitched in Photoshop. The Forest Fog frame was made from two exposures made side by side by rotating my tripod laterally, overlapping by about 25%. I knew that I would have to crop since I was aiming up into the trees at 160mm on my 70–200mm zoom, so I widened my composition to allow room to crop later. The main point here is to assess your photographic efforts on a regular basis. The beginning of the year is the ideal time for me, but you could also choose to do so annually on your birthday, for example. Ansel used to say that if a photographer made ten portfolio-grade images in one year, he or she had a great year. When you read this, go back and review your past year of work and see how well you do.

Monterey Bay Sunrise | Point Pinos, California | 2009

Grasslands at Sunset | Madera County, California | 2018

LAST LIGHT REVISITING THE KEY THEMES IN YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY

I was driving home at sunset as the last light of 2018 faded into darkness when I noticed some intense colors in the sky. I stopped to photograph at an open area of grassland with a clear view of the landscape and clouds. Using the magic of intentional camera motion (ICM), I moved my camera back and forth horizontally, blending the land and sky into a painterly abstraction of the scene before me. I relish the uncertainty of this process, where no capture looks the same and each one is hard to predict. In near darkness, I made seventy-three images in six minutes, experimenting with various shutter speeds and the speed of my camera motion. The exposure times ranged from .5 to 2.5 seconds. As 2018 ended and I reviewed my photographs from the past year, I noticed that I had not made any new “Impressions” photographs. So, on that last day of the year, it seemed the right time to push myself to add new work to my “Impressions” portfolio. Well, those results got me revved up for another session in the same area a few days later. This time I worked on a day with ominous clouds and beams of light striking the foothill grasslands, also shown here.

Grasslands at Twilight | Madera County, California | 2018

Progress happens one step at a time—one idea leads to another, and down the road we travel. The pathway toward elevating one’s photography is to continually add depth to those primary themes that inspire us. Creative tangents are critical to that growth, but sometimes can be too random. Most of us can benefit from a more focused approach. My recent images shown here will add valuable breadth to my “Impressions” series. For your own creative resolutions, target your key themes to build their depth and quality level, and plan shooting sessions with those targets in mind, and I bet you’ll see exciting improvements in your photography.

Valley Oak and Fog | Ahwahnee, California | 2010

MORNING LIGHT WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR CAMERA WITH YOU, GOOD LUCK TENDS TO HAPPEN

Isn’t it funny how ideas get started? When my kids went back to school one year, I gave myself the assignment to develop a new portfolio theme. My daughter’s new school was twenty minutes away from my house, and I was making the drive nearly every weekday during the school year, through beautiful Sierra Nevada foothills. I am always looking for great light and new photographs—I might as well use my time wisely. I planned on calling the portfolio “Morning Light.” For the first month or so, I found no good light. Indian Summer conditions gave us clear blue skies, and no interesting clouds. Finally, when our first winter rain arrived, I found great conditions for my series. One Sunday night, we had a rip-roaring thunderstorm in our area. When I drove my daughter to school on Monday morning, there was a thick fog in the area. On my way home after dropping her off, I spotted these beautiful oaks across from the school. I spent the next forty-five minutes reveling in the fog, photographing every variation I could think of, changing camera positions and lenses. I tried a few vertical panos, and shuffled along the fence line of this field as I worked on varying the spacing between the trees. The fog simplified the background, isolating the graphic shapes of these valley oaks. A few days later, while driving homeward from my morning school run, I came around a corner to see these pine trees on the ridge high above me. The sun was projecting these amazing beams and shadows of the trees onto the fog. I grabbed my camera, making the first frames without my tripod. Soon I realized I needed my tripod, so I raced back to my car to get it. The sun hadn’t appeared above the ridgeline yet, so I frantically set up with a tripod and cable release. As the sun appeared behind the tree, I made 147 frames, including some seven-stop brackets, as the contrast

became harsher. Looking back at the time stamps on my files, I had photographed for only twelve minutes before the effect disappeared. That I arrived at the right location at the right time was pure luck. Composing Sunbeams and Forest was an interesting challenge, especially given the quickly changing conditions. I wanted the sunbeams to be the central focus, of course, but placing them in the center of the frame was too static. The beams were stronger on the right side, so I aimed to the right to give them enough room to stand out against the dark background. This framing also gave the image a more diagonal rhythm of tree silhouettes along the ridgeline. As always, my most used lens was on my camera, a Canon 70–200mm f/2.8. The focal length was set at 165mm, which allowed me to reach past any distractions and isolate the key elements on the mountainside above me. The experience reminded me of all the photographs I had made many years earlier when I used to drive into Yosemite Valley to work at The Ansel Adams Gallery, and then back down the Merced River Canyon again at the end of each day. How fortunate I am to have had that experience, and to still live in an area of such beauty. Counting my blessings . . .

Sunbeams and Forest | Sierra Nevada Foothills, California | 2010

Rocks and Surf at Sunrise | Carmel, California | 2010

THE INTIMATE DETAIL MAKING AN IMAGE OF MAGIC AND MYSTERY

One time at a holiday party, I was talking to someone who asked me what kind of photographs I take. I answered that I specialize in photographing the intimate details of nature. One advantage to getting older for me is that I’ve gained a sense of myself as a photographer, a certain clarity about what inspires me to photograph and what I wish to communicate. Although I enjoy trying my hand at many types of photography, I’ve focused on the intimate landscape for four decades. Rather than simply describing the wide view before me, I try to imbue my images with some magic and mystery by isolating special details I discover. The photograph featured on the opposite page was made on a trip to Carmel, California. To find this location and when to be there, I took advantage of my iPhone apps, especially The Photographer’s Ephemeris. Both the app and website provide excellent tools for planning your photo sessions, such as sunrise and sunset times, which helped me make it to the beach just in time for the best light. The clouds were amazing, so I started making images with my wide-angle zoom, trying to capture the whole scene even though scenic views are not in my comfort zone. The colors were electric, both in the sky and reflected in the surf. I scrambled around trying various camera angles, looking for a poetic combination of foreground, ocean, and sky. I had a problem finding clean, wide views due to distracting elements in the background.

Rock Forms and Surf | Point Lobos State Park, California | 2010

Fortunately, the light stayed colorful and dramatic for an unusually long time, so I switched to my favorite landscape lens at the time, a 70–200mm zoom. Now I was in my element, focusing on a small part of the overall scene—just few rocks with waves washing over them. Positioning my camera and tripod so the sunlight would reflect on the sand and water, I timed my exposures for when the waves splashed over the rocks. I used my favorite filter, the Singh-Ray Vari-ND for this image. The filter allowed me to use a ten-second exposure, even while shooting into bright light. I worked on catching the best timing with the waves, for the misty blurred effect, and capturing the light reflecting off of the wet sand. Only one frame worked. The RAW capture was well exposed, which can be tough when the light values change during the exposure due to highlights bouncing off the moving waves. In terms of contrast and color, the file was very flat and looked nothing like what I had experienced. In my post-processing, I worked to bring out both the textures and the colorful light. In Lightroom, I added global Contrast, Black, and Clarity. From Lightroom, I took the image to Photoshop to apply the final touches on the image. Two Curves adjustment layers were added, one focused on bringing out separation of

tones in the dark areas of image, especially the textures in the rocks, and another to make the highlights brighter and more textured. Without my attention to these details in post-processing, the magic of that morning would not have come through. Later that day, I visited Point Lobos and spent a few hours exploring and looking for similar types of intimate landscape photographs featuring rock and surf imagery. Again, I played with color-patterned rocks in combination with long exposures of surf motion. The second image reflects both my photographic style and the powerful beauty of nature I experienced on that beach. As I wrote in my first article for Outdoor Photographer in 1986, “I would rather make an image that asks a question rather than answers one.” I continue following that path, focusing on intimate details. Consider what style or subjects drive your passion to photograph and follow that path, even if it is “the long road” to success.

Plum Blossom | Ahwahnee, California | 2010

MACRO MAGIC FIND NATURE’S SECRETS IN THE WORLD OF THE VERY SMALL

When I bought my first camera in 1974, it came with a set of extension tubes for macro photography. I was living in Boulder, Colorado, while attending the University of Colorado. I lived near Boulder Creek, which flows through the middle of the town. Wide-angled views of this area along the creek would show the urban environs, such homes and businesses. Because of this and my fascination with the details of nature, I often focused on macro photography rather than the scenic landscape. My enthusiasm for macro is alive and well. As in those early days, my tools are simple. I often use a pair of Canon extension tubes, in combination with my 50mm macro or 90mm tilt-shift lens. A key skill any macro photographer needs to learn is how to manage depth of field. These two lenses plus tubes offer me flexible options for a range of creative use of depth of field. Using a wide aperture and high magnification can give a beautiful soft-focus effect, especially by simplifying the background. Just as often in my macro photographs, I’ll want total sharpness to reveal the details of my subject, such as all of the tiny hairs and water droplets on a wet lupine leaf. For this situation, I will often use a small aperture for maximum depth of field. Although these aren’t the optimum apertures for resolution, I find that optimum focus is often more important than perfect resolution. Besides the obvious need for great light and composition, camera position is especially important with macro imagery. The angle at which one is photographing a subject can determine the degree of sharpness. For example, if you are aiming obliquely at a flat ice pattern at ground level, even a small aperture may not pull the

whole pattern into sharpness if the focus range is beyond the focal length/aperture combination. The more parallel the camera back is to the main plane of the subject, the better. The hardest part of making the photograph of lupine leaves was setting up the tripod so that the camera back was as parallel as possible to the group of leaves, without knocking the droplets off. I use Gitzo tripods with no center column and with legs that release to be opened wider, which allows for very low camera placement. Finding this group of lupine leaves was a highly selective process. I searched diligently for a group that was close together and of similar height to minimize the distance between the furthest and closest leaf. Even though all of the leaves in the area were beautiful, not all were equal in photogenic terms. The selection of lighting, form, and compositional aspects such as density of leaves and depth of field must all work together to make a great image. When using the wide-aperture, soft-focus effect, your camera angle is just as important. Besides focusing on the main object, such as a flower, it is vital to look for potential distractions around it. Bright areas in front of or behind the flower can draw the viewer’s eye away from what you are trying to show them. Whether handholding my camera or using a tripod, I maneuver around the object while watching carefully to see how the graphic elements fill the frame. As I framed the plum blossom in the opening image, I moved my position so the branch arched gracefully through the frame without conflicting with the flower’s shape. Once I found the best angle, I focused by moving the camera rather than trying to focus while handholding at high magnifications and/or long focal lengths. In terms of processing the blossom photograph, I added a second background layer, which I blurred in Photoshop to heighten the soft-focus, glowing effect. I have rarely used this technique, known as the Orton Effect, but found it to be a useful tool in this case. With either the soft- or sharp-focus approach, your choice of aperture is critical. It is often the case that no one aperture is perfect, and you must balance the need for sharpness throughout the main subject against the need for a soft, out-of-focus background. Because of this, I almost always bracket my captures with a range of

aperture settings. For the plum blossom photograph, I used the lens’s widest aperture, which was f/2.8 to give the softest possible effect. Had I wanted more sharpness in the flower, I would have tried exposures at smaller openings. By bracketing while in the field, I could later find the optimum balance of focus on the flower without too much sharpness in the background. I am able to see the subtle variations much more easily on my computer monitor. For this specific image, I was after a very soft, impressionistic effect, so I used my 90mm TS lens plus the 25mm tube. The tube allowed for macro focus, and I actually tilted the lens to increase the softness, much like using a Lens Baby. Whether you use a macro lens, extension tubes, or other macro options, learning the basics of close-up photography can add depth to your portfolio and open new excitement and exploration of the wondrous details of nature all around you.

Lupine Leaves | Ahwahnee, Sierra Nevada Foothills, California | 2008

Rock, Water, and Tree | Cascade Falls, Yosemite National Park, California | 2011

GOING WITH THE FLOW WORK YOUR SUBJECT FOR THE PERFECT PHOTOGRAPH

On a trip to Yosemite Valley in 2011, I spent some time photographing waterfalls. The water levels were still very high, but they were down quite a bit from the highest levels during that remarkable spring. I had been stuck in my office for far too long, working for about two weeks straight catching up with orders. I desperately needed this water therapy. I had the idea of finding some water details and abstracts at Cascade Falls. I wanted to see what variations I might come up with, like the detail shown on the next page made in 2005 using a fast shutter speed. I worked with bright sunlight again, but doubted I had any worthwhile images, so I ran my errands and returned to the same location in the evening. The two images presented here are of the same section of the falls; the smaller 2005 image is a detail within the area along the center-left edge of the vertical photo. One of the reasons for showing this is to illustrate how vastly different two interpretations can be. I also want to mention how much I photographed during both of these sessions. I use the approach of “working the scene thoroughly,” experimenting extensively during my field sessions, especially with photographs of moving water, including waterfalls and subjects such as surf at the beach. I make many frames with the same settings, as each frame is different as the water moves. I also bracket my shutter speeds. I have been photographing moving water for a long time, but I am never quite sure which shutter speed will give the best effect for a given scene. I watch the water carefully, looking for prime moments of action, like especially high leaps of spray. I make a burst of frames, and when I think I’ve caught a good moment, I’ll move on to

another shutter speed.

Cascade Falls | Yosemite National Park, California | 2005

For Rock, Water, and Tree, I made around 100 frames total, using about half a dozen shutter speeds. When editing my images from this one day, I had 450 frames made at several locations. For each composition, I had to view each frame with Adobe Lightroom’s Compare View tool to slowly edit down to the best expression of what I saw and felt. Each exposure had subtle differences. Rock, Water, and Tree was made with a 1/2-second exposure, whereas I shot Cascade Falls at 1/1000 second. My point is that it takes this kind of extra effort to push one’s work to the next level. All of the images showed intriguing textures of water motion, but only this one had the distinctive heart shape and sense of motion. There are some folks who might presume that this approach is sloppy or lazy—a “spray and pray” technique, pun intended. But if used with intense focus on a fastmoving and constantly changing subject, such as a waterfall, the technique can capture nuances that otherwise would be missed. I do believe in photographing with discipline and with as much intentional vision as possible. After all, for twenty years of my career I used a 4x5 view camera and had limited funds, so each exposure was

precious. Enjoy the luxury of digital capture as I’ve discussed above, but don’t depend on volume of captures or rescue in Photoshop to be an excuse for lack of attention to the details of lighting and composition. The freedom of this approach can be educational only if the results are studied carefully and learned from. It can also allow the photographer to capture thrilling moments in time, such as the frozen and blurred images shown here, that are beyond human perception.

Aspens and Approaching Storm | Conway Summit, California | 2010

SEPARATION OF TONES CREATE SEPARATION OF TONES TO COAX NUANCES OUT OF YOUR IMAGES

When I am teaching photographers how they can improve their photography, I often talk about the need to create separation of tones in post-processing. The idea is simple: key areas of an image, especially highlights and shadows, should show good detail and tonal separation. This concept was drummed into my head when I listened to Ansel Adams teach in the early 1980s. In making his prints, Adams used the Zone System to handle contrast decisions when developing and printing his negatives. His brilliant printing style gave a luminous quality to the shadows and smooth graduation in the highlight tones. Digital processing and print technologies currently allow for very high-quality printing too. Even though there are many techniques for capturing a full range of detail in high and low tones, I see many photographs from students and online that fail to show such nuanced detail in their highlights and shadows. I realize that contrast in processing and printing is a creative decision, and that some prefer the strong impact of highcontrast imagery. I have photographs that are better because black shadows accentuate the graphic qualities of the subject, or slightly washed-out highlights give a special glow to the image. But overall, with most landscape photographs, good separation of tones makes the image of better quality. When I work with private students, I teach them simple methods to pull these nuances out of their files. Whole books have been written on high-quality post-processing, and new software continues to become more powerful for refining your postprocessing. Our current software options offer excellent highlights and shadows tools. Reading up on the subject, keeping up with software improvements, and practicing diligently on your files will help you improve your skills.

The photograph here illustrates a simple method of creating a high-quality file from a high-contrast landscape. A few years ago, I made a trip over Tioga Pass for the fall colors. The timing was good for the aspens, and an approaching Sierra storm made for dramatic conditions. My photographic style leans strongly toward making detailed and intimate views of the landscape, often not including the sky. However, the amazing light I experienced demanded that I widen my perspective to include trees, mountains, and clouds. As I photographed, following the ebb and flow of the rapidly shifting light, I watched my histogram carefully. The backlit clouds were clearly too bright to capture in one exposure, so I bracketed my exposures using half-stop increments. Also, the wind was blowing hard and the aspen leaves and clouds were moving fast, so I bumped my ISO to 400. Still, I watched for moments of calm to ensure I recorded sharp leaves. For the image here, I recorded a seven-exposure bracket with half-stop increments. Back in my studio, I edited carefully to find the sequence with the best clouds, lighting on the aspens, and sharpest leaves. I tried various HDR renditions, but they didn’t have the impact that conveyed the emotion of the scene. So my next option was to find the best exposure for the shadows, and the best one for the highlights in clouds. These two frames were combined with simple blending techniques in Photoshop. The finished photograph meets two key criteria for me. Most importantly, it delivers the emotional impact of what I felt at the scene—awe at the beauty and the high energy of ominous storm clouds and brilliant autumn light. Second, the high-contrast lighting was handled by recording good detail in the highlights and shadows, rendering both in post-processing with clear separation and smooth transitions of tones. We can see the important textures of the dark areas of foreground aspens and grasses. In the strongly backlit edges of the clouds, we see their brilliance, but still have fine gradations of light grays, and it is this shading that defines the shapes of the clouds. One other ingredient helped me make this image: experience. Having photographed around Mono Lake for three decades, I knew to go there in these lighting conditions. I made some images in similar light twenty years before with my 4x5 camera, but the high wind and contrast made for mediocre results, lacking the resonance of what I saw and felt. By returning to a favorite location over many years in search of a better

image, I finally created a photograph that reconnects me with the wondrous experience of being there. Perseverance and improved post-processing software and skills helped me too. Develop your digital darkroom skills to bring out separation of tones in your own images to breathe life into your fine art prints. All of your experiences are part of the learning process, both successes and failures, and they are preparing you to make your next great photograph.

Bridalveil Fall Triptych | El Dorado National Forest, California | 2005

Manzanita Lake Triptych | Lassen Volcanic National Park, California | 2004

ON THE WAY HOME ALWAYS ON THE LOOKOUT

One summer my family and I camped at Lake Tahoe’s Emerald Bay for a couple of days. Each sunrise, I woke up to photograph dawn light over the bay and Eagle Falls. Each dawn was a gift I enjoyed in reverent solitude while my family slept in. The photographs, as reviewed on my laptop, seemed just okay. That was fine since I was on vacation, so my expectations were not too high. On the way home, driving at 65 mph on the highway, I spotted a little waterfall. With midday light shining down across the steep cliff, the light glanced across the water spray while the background was in deep shadow. I photographed intensely for about thirty minutes, piled the gang back into the car, and headed off. When I returned home, I started going through the images from the trip. I was pleased with my Tahoe images, but I didn’t see any stunning work, as I already suspected. When I started looking at the images made at a little wayside waterfall, I became very intrigued with the results. I found that in some of the images, I had isolated individual sprays that looked more like rays of light than water. The different shutter speeds I tried, mostly in the 1/20– 1/80 second range, defined the length of the “rays.” As I worked on the images in Photoshop, magnified views showed the lines of water even more dramatically. The lines etched out designs of excited energy. The sunlight had even worked its prismatic magic, giving color to the spray. Working with one exposure, I cropped out three images to make a triptych. I wish I could have seen what I had been recording more clearly as I photographed. I would have used a longer lens (400mm or more, instead of 200mm) to isolate these patterns

so I wouldn’t have had to crop. Fortunately, the subject matter and the good resolution of my camera made it possible to enlarge the cropped areas of a single frame without significant loss of detail. My triptych series is an exciting body of work for me. The idea is to present a set of images that communicates the beauty of subtle changes in nature’s patterns and processes better than a single image. The sets are composed to show a subject in the process of changing, or to explore the variations of pattern or design of a subject. This can be seen with three frames exposed within a close sequence of time, or by seeing a subject from alternate perspectives (like simply turning a shell or rock), or seen in changing light. My photography has always been about sharing my explorations in the landscape with the hope that the viewer will see, feel, and enjoy the subject more deeply. Much of the joy in exploring nature is in its variation and its change. These triptychs most beautifully reveal for me that there is no real peak moment, but rather a continuity of moments, and that there are subtleties in nature that only a camera can reveal. Since much of nature’s power and beauty is tied to its continual and infinite variation, its story cannot be fully told without reference to time and pattern. As photographers, we spend a great deal of energy featuring and promoting that one special decisive moment when we clicked the shutter. In a normal mode of operation, we wait and watch until a confluence of light and compositional elements inspires us to expose the image. After the fact, we sit in front of a lightbox or computer screen looking for that one frame out of many that “says it all.” The results of our efforts often lead us to find that “most perfect” image. These special frames deservedly end up as prints on our walls. Some subjects, however, can benefit from a more fluid treatment. The full beauty of a sunset is difficult to convey in one image. Like in a time-lapse video, with crimson clouds fading to dark, these triptychs can unveil the nuance and subtlety of change or design that we rarely focus on in still photography. I have created triptychs in several different ways. The Bridalveil Fall Triptych is an excerpt of the same scene: three images all taken at the same time. Exposing the same composition three times forms another type of triptych, and if the subject is moving,

the subtle changes can be seen. Each frame of the triptych could be exposed within one second, such as with the Manzanita Lake Triptych, or over the course of hours or days. Some triptychs I have made are simply photographed as a panoramic image made of three exposures. The possibilities are unlimited. My triptych images are an effort to find a fresh way to see the landscape and to expand my creative options beyond the traditional monocular perspective. I am not sure if the resulting images will be enduring, but I do know that pushing myself out of my comfort zone keeps me excited about making new photographs.

Redbud | Merced River Canyon, California | 2012

SPRING IN THE CANYON ALWAYS TRY TO IMPROVE

On Earth Day several years ago, my daughter and I visited the nearby Merced River Canyon, where I lived for twenty years. Although it was a little late in the blooming season, there were still a few beautiful redbud trees, lupine, and poppies to enjoy. It felt great to return to my “home” canyon, and it brought back many memories. I love the change of seasons there, as subtle as they are compared to most places, and the spring season is my favorite. Most years, the flowers start blooming in February, and they finally all turn brown in May. Besides the flowers, the river is exhilarating in its moods, especially during the high waters of spring. From my El Portal home, I could see the river from my living room only in the height of the spring runoff. Its rumbling sound was very loud and soothing at night. I’ve made many images in the Merced River Canyon over the years, and one of my favorites is one of a special tree overhanging the river, shown on the previous spread. I’ve also included my previous favorite redbud image from the Merced River Canyon, photographed with a 4x5 camera in 1989. Back at home, I edited the new images in the latest version of Adobe Lightroom. I had dozens of similar frames to assess. I find that this takes me several days to cull my images down to the best few. It is hard to imagine not having Lightroom to manage this process. Using the rating stars, I mark the images that show the best sharpness. Capturing sharp images was especially difficult with these branches hanging over the roaring river! I used the Compare function of Lightroom to judge one image next to another, seeing the difference between the overall images, as well as comparing them at 100%. This helped me find which frames were sharpest throughout.

Once I narrowed my collection down to the sharp images, I looked carefully at the effect of the various shutter speeds I had tried on the rapids. The two culling steps narrowed my selected images down to ten. The next phase of my workflow makes use of Lightroom’s Survey View tool. I selected all ten of the highest-rated images to see them on-screen at one time, then culled down to the final image or two. My final selection showed the best sharpness, plus the most graceful flow of water in relation to the redbud branches. As I compared the subtleties of the lighting on the water and redbud in each frame, I could also see stronger backlight in the leaves and flowers. These differences are hard to see in a small print or an online JPG, but I often make large prints for my clients in which these nuances stand out clearly. I am always in pursuit of excellence. I finally found my favorite photograph, and I started processing it in Lightroom. Although I use Photoshop for final finishing and printing, Lightroom has become a more and more powerful post-processing tool. Many of the global adjustments I used to make in Photoshop, I now make in Lightroom. I sent my new redbud image file to Photoshop where I worked with layer masks. There were two highlight areas that needed separate degrees of refinement, so I used two Curves adjustment layers to pull out the subtle separation of tones in the white rapids in the middle of the frame, and a similar adjustment in the reflected light in the upper right. For my final master file, I have four adjustment layers that allow me to make changes at any time. In fact, I’ve already tweaked one of the curves layers to further improve the image. I love the newer image, even more than my 4x5 Redbud and Merced River photograph, which has been in my portfolio for thirty-plus years. This is where the rubber meets the road in terms of artistic growth: to challenge myself to raise the bar above a long-time favorite. It’s not always the case, but this time I succeeded!

Redbud and Merced River | Merced River Canyon, California | 1989

Lilies | Ahwahnee, California | 2012

PHOTOGRAPHS FOR THE SPIRIT MAKING IMAGES FOR HEALING ENVIRONMENTS

Over the course of my career, which began in 1980, creative inspiration has come from various sources. One major source can be summed with one word: work. Whether for an exhibit, a new book project, or a commercial client, the process of fulfilling the needs of a project has often gotten me out of whatever rut I might be in at the time. The process also generates both technical and aesthetic ideas to solve image-making problems. For the images presented in this essay, my client was an art consultant who needed large images for a health care project. I love it when my images are used in medical clinics, hospitals, or assisted care facilities where people can be comforted by seeing the beauty of nature. Hopefully my art has even had some healing or restorative value.

Nautilus Shell | 2012

I was asked to select nature images that would have high impact but also provide a calming effect for some large spaces, such as a hospital hallway or waiting room. The

photographs needed to show universal aspects of nature, such as flowers, leaves, colorful stones, water details, or shells. The client had seen a past installation photo of mine, a nautilus shell image printed to approximately 8x12 feet for a newly built university building. However, this new usage might require even greater enlargement. In order to improve the resolution above that of one frame, I rephotographed the same shell (which I’ve had for twenty years!), using three frames stitched together in Photoshop. To do this, I used one of my favorite lenses, a Canon 90mm tilt-shift lens combined with the Canon EF 25 extension tube. Extension tubes are a great close-up tool for macro photography and also allow for closer focusing with telephoto lenses. I used the shift function, which moves the lens without having to adjust the tripod head while maintaining the same perspective. The lens was aimed straight down at the shell, so I simply turned the shift knob from one side of the shell to the other. The overlap was about 25%, a good rule with any pano stitch, to help Photoshop make a clean connection between frames. My client had also seen some past water lily photographs of mine and asked if they would enlarge well for a mural-sized piece. Although a single-frame, sharply exposed image from my camera can print very large, it would have to be cropped for the client’s space needs, which would compromise the output resolution. So I decided to try some new pano versions to make sure I had enough resolution, and luckily my lilies happened to be in bloom. From day to day, I watched to see where the flowers popped up, and how they were arranged with the pads. I would see a slightly different composition daily, which is a great advantage to growing your own photographic subjects. It is also a fun way to practice some key skills for nature photographers: observing nature daily and being selective in choices of timing and light. When I finally saw strong potential in my pond, I again used my 90mm tilt-shift lens. Just after the blooms opened in the morning light, I set my camera. Soon the light became too harsh, so I shaded my subjects with an umbrella to soften the contrast. The pond’s waterfall had washed the leaves and flowers with water, adding to the fresh quality of the image. Turning off the waterfall gave me the stillness I needed for sharpness.

The natural world has given me so much positive energy in my life that my work has been an effort to return the favor and share with others. I suppose that many folks don’t consider making photographs to be work, but I use it in the most positive sense of the word. My work involves the pursuit of connection with nature, seeing the magic of light, and communicating deeply what I have seen and felt. In whatever venue people see my photographs, whether online, in homes or office buildings, or in hospitals, to brighten their lives is a great honor.

Ferns | New Boston, New Hampshire | 2012

A SHORT WALK IN A NEW ENGLAND WOOD NOTICE THE WORLD AROUND YOU If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. – HENRY DAVID THOREAU

On a brief trip to the East Coast, I did not bring along my regular DSLR. I didn’t plan any photo sessions since this was a family trip. I am sure many of you have similar experiences, when business demands or psyche requires time away from the tools of our trade. Some call this a vacation, but I am not very good at taking vacations without a camera. I always see something amazing and enjoy sharing my discoveries on social media as a visual diary. “Seeing” is a daily ritual for me. Fortunately, I brought along my iPhone. After Sunday brunch with friends in a small New Hampshire town, we started the short walk through the town and up a country road to where we were staying. Across the street from the restaurant, a dense patch of Hosta grew in front of a local church, which caught my eye. The plants were fully shaded from the high sun. Out came my iPhone, and I made a few quick images. Bright sunlight filled the shade with a glowing light. I used Camera+ as my app, which has a stabilizer setting that doesn’t expose the image until I am steady— sharper images! I currently use an app called Pure Shot with which I can capture a high-res “raw” file without the iPhone’s JPG compression process. With the phone back in my pocket, I caught up with my family and friends.

Veratrum | New Boston, New Hampshire | 2012

After enjoying the Sunday farmers market in the town square, we headed up the road, chatting as we walked, and I noticed this great pattern of ferns bunched together along the road’s shoulder. As cars passed by, the fronds would bounce in the breeze, so I waited until they were still to photograph. By this time, the group had rounded the corner in the road, giving me a short walk alone through these New England woods. The morning’s “photo session” with my iPhone totaled about fifteen minutes, but it was deeply satisfying to engage with old “favorite” subjects I found along the way. I thought of Thoreau: As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives. – HENRY DAVID THOREAU

Take a walk. See the world around you. Beauty is everywhere.

Elderberry Leaves #5 | Ahwahnee, California | 2012

IMPROVING YOUR PORTFOLIO BUILD DEPTH AROUND FOCUSED THEMES TO CREATE A BROAD BODY OF WORK

As a teacher, I am often asked by students how they can improve. I repeatedly address their goal from various angles in my writings. One obvious answer for us all is to improve our technique, such as our use of composition and light. Another method for improvement that is not often mentioned is to develop greater depth to our work. While I am fundamentally a “less is more” kind of guy, having a lot of really good photographs is a great thing. When it comes to portfolios, a large, high-quality set of images gives you more options for presentation and marketing. For example, if you were to print up some of your portfolio images as a small set of notecards, four or five photographs are enough. What if a gallery director sees your notecards and asks you to hang an exhibit? Will you have twenty to thirty equally strong images? What if a book publisher sees your show and wants to publish a book using one hundred of your photographs? For most photographers, it takes many years to reach the point of having enough work for a book. Building depth is an ongoing process, and no matter where you are in that development, setting long-term goals and following your dreams are excellent motivations to create new photographs. We all have stories to tell with our photographs. Sometimes the stories are about where we live or where we have traveled. “Home/Work” is one of my ongoing thematic portfolios. It includes images made in and around my home in the Sierra Nevada foothills. In this series, I include still-life details of natural objects I’ve collected and then photographed using natural light in

my home, as well as nature studies I’ve created by photographing the landscape around my home. My portfolio’s story is that as an artist I endeavor to observe the beauty around me every day. I have built my theme based on this practice, and even though I have not published a completed “Home/Work” selection, the ongoing process is very rewarding. Seasonal changes are especially exciting to me. In front of my house, a small elderberry tree grows under a large, spreading oak. In early autumn, the elderberry leaves dry out and fall to my lawn. Over many years I’ve observed this process, but last autumn I noticed especially wonderful colors and patterns on these leaves, and so I gathered them into a box, which I placed in a corner in my dining room in between two windows. I watched and waited for special lighting, experimenting with exposures at different times of day, and eventually captured the image shown on the previous spread. The great advantage of this portfolio concept is that I don’t have to go on an expedition to make images, but I’m able to keep my creative juices flowing. I collected the seed head shown on the opposite page on my property, brought it inside, and photographed it in front of my lightbox. I’m always looking for the beauty that surrounds us every day—even weeds! After years of living and photographing around my home, the portfolio’s depth is now strongly established. The images are diverse but united visually by the theme of nature and pattern and locale. The portfolio title plays off the fact that I work at home and that my work blends with, and blurs into, my family life on a daily basis. Now I have an assignment for you. Think of a theme you might develop, perhaps a local bit of landscape that you can study every day, or at least every week. If you have an established local theme already, consider how you might improve it. Ask yourself what other subjects or approaches might add depth to your theme. Do you need to add more variety of seasons? A new camera angle? Wider views for context, or ones with a tighter scale for a more intimate perspective? More variety of light and weather conditions? In other words, what’s missing? Photograph specifically for your theme, with its concept and needs of the portfolio in mind. Plan your photo sessions for this assignment in terms of location, subject, time of day, etc., in order to maximize your efforts. Add new images to the existing group

that blend harmoniously and complement your established portfolio. Be open to new ideas and opportunities that present themselves while photographing, even if they are not on your checklist. When you spend a few months or even a few years on a portfolio, with passion and focus on improving it, you become a better photographer. And remember, our “seeing” needs daily practice. Beauty is all around us every day.

Salsify | Ahwahnee, California | 2018

Iceberg Sculpture | Pléneau Bay, Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014

ANTARCTIC DREAMS MOVING OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE Beyond words. Beyond my imagination. Was I dreaming?

In 2014 I had an amazing adventure to Antarctica. Only three weeks before departure, I was asked to replace an instructor who was unable to go. Lucky me! The tour started in Chile, and from there we flew to Antarctica rather than crossing the Drake Passage by ship. We photographed along the Antarctic Peninsula for five days, and I made 10,000 frames. The shooting conditions were challenging, as we were often photographing from our moving zodiacs or ship, which necessitated insurance frames. I photographed without a tripod, and with little time to deliberate on each composition. Handholding with two cameras around my neck, one with a wide-angle zoom and another with a telephoto zoom, was a constant struggle. I was definitely out of my slow-paced, “landscapes on a tripod” comfort zone. While adapting to the flow of this type of photography, I learned to watch carefully to see when the confluence of foreground elements such as icebergs aligned dynamically with the mountains and glaciers in the background. When I photograph on land with a tripod, I am always shuffling my feet—sideways, back and forth—to find the most interesting alignments. Now I was dealing with one-way, steady, lateral motion, so I was able to anticipate these alignments while looking ahead from the boats. When I found a stunning iceberg, I would also look for wildlife flying or swimming along to add an accent of scale. We were constantly seeing wildlife, including seals, penguins, and whales. It took good timing, a burst of exposures, and a good image-stabilization system to catch the action. The experience was sometimes frustrating, but mostly exhilarating.

Gentoo Penguin and Two Chicks | Cuverville Island, Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014

What follows illustrates a typical day on the trip. Our dawn photography along the Lemaire Channel began at 3:30 a.m., photographing from the ship as we cruised past volcanic peaks blanketed with glaciers cascading to the sea. After dropping anchor, our zodiac cruise in Pléneau Bay began at 5:30 a.m. This area is also known as the iceberg graveyard, where both large, tabular icebergs and older, rolled icebergs have found this backwater bay. One of the highlights of this session was photographing the iceberg shown on the previous spread with its amazing shapes and arch. We floated slowly past as our very excited group blazed away. Each inch of motion changed our camera positions, altering the relationship of each curve and line and arch opening. Many factors needing rapid analysis were distractions in the foreground, such as bits of ice; depth of field, especially if we were including a large area of foreground; and the shutter speed, as we needed to ensure a sharp image on a moving boat, with moving water ripples, and motion caused by six to eight photographers trying to photograph all at once. Even without wildlife in the photograph, setting the highest

frame rate on our cameras was nearly essential to guarantee some sharp frames. Our zodiac drivers/guides were exceptional at helping us find great photographic opportunities. After our early morning zodiac cruise, while we had breakfast, our ship relocated to Yalour Islands. It felt like we’d had a full day already, but when we landed to see a colony of Adelie penguins there, it was only 9:00 a.m. A short walk led us to grand views of the nearby mountains and glaciers, with penguins and their chicks in the foreground. The pace was leisurely now as we walked along a route laid out by our guides. While all of us kept the proper distance from the penguins, if we were still and patient, a few of these curious characters would approach within a few feet. Whether we photographed or not, this experience was priceless. Since we had such an outstanding experience on our early morning iceberg cruise, our leaders decided to return for a sunset session. We all boarded our zodiacs for an epic evening of golden light and the surreal shapes of sculpted icebergs. The summer sunset of Antarctica lasted for two hours. The day of January 30 started with the first image made at 3:45 a.m., and the last image made at 11:00 p.m., on the most spectacular day of photography I have ever experienced. A sweet Antarctic dream . . .

Blue Icebergs | Cierva Cove, Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014

Clearing Autumn Storm | Yosemite National Park, California | 2013

NEED TO KNOW AVOID TECH OVERLOAD—BE IN THE MOMENT

This is the golden age of information. Photographers have access to endless numbers of guides, tutorials, eBooks, podcasts, YouTube vloggers, and websites about making perfect photographs, any kind of photographs, and that includes landscape photographs. Need to learn techniques for composing, exposing, or post-processing your images? There are many sources available, offered by excellent photographers and teachers. Need to know where and when to photograph at a new location? With a smartphone, you can learn where to stand, and what time the sun rises and sets, so that you know how early to set your alarm! My own photographic path started in the “old days,” with 35mm film cameras in the 1970s. Then I used a 4x5 view camera and sheet film for twenty-five years. I began making digital prints in 1994, and since 2005 have switched entirely to digital capture. My digital skills have evolved slowly and steadily into a simple but effective toolset. When I can’t make my images say what I want them to say, when lack of technique is blocking my artistic expression, I update my skill set. I learn more. But in those early years, I made some very strong images with very little knowledge of technique. With all of this in mind, a question has been bouncing around my head lately: How much does a photographer need to know before he/she can make a great photograph? The focus on consuming every possible technique drives me crazy sometimes, or maybe I’m just lazy! Seriously, the way I stay creative is to keep it simple. If my mind is too full of tech thoughts, they get in my way. In the fall of 2013, I worked with a student from Hawaii who had never been to Yosemite before. The autumn color was peaking, especially the oaks and maples. A

storm was coming the morning we started. The forecast was for a rainy day, but I looked forward to taking advantage of the soft light to photograph the saturated colors and patterns of autumn leaves. A strong wind that night had brought down most of the yellow maple leaves, covering the forest floor, especially at Fern Springs. Our workshop was off to a great start, but then it began to pour, so we decided to wait out the rain over breakfast at the lodge. As we sat, we were thrilled to see that it started to snow. A few gulps later, we were out the door. One of our first stops was El Capitan Meadow, where we photographed golden oak leaves in the snowstorm. I help Sean work out his compositions, making sure he tried various shutter speeds. As with moving water, each change in shutter speed conveys a slightly different effect, blurring or freezing the rapidly falling snowflakes. I showed him how to create panoramic images like Autumn Oaks and Snowstorm, capturing multiple frames to stitch in Photoshop.

Autumn Oaks and Snowstorm | El Capitan Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2013

The conditions were thrilling, and next I found a deep-red dogwood tree with snow gathering on the leaves. I helped him find the best angles for simple and clear image designs. My instructions were simple, such as improving his camera angle and helping him find the right balance between shutter speed and aperture. Soon the clouds began to clear, so we headed to Tunnel View. Looking east at El Capitan and Half Dome, snow had dusted the trees and cliffs, and dramatic clouds hung around the cliffs. We immediately set up before the classic view. He had never photographed at Tunnel View before. I suggested to Sean that he visualize postprocessing this image as a black-and-white photo, which could heighten the forms of clouds and cliffs. This approach worked out very well for him for his final rendition

of this scene. As he photographed, I turned around to simply enjoy the clearing storm. To my pleasant surprise, I saw the magnificent conditions so sought after by photographers at the Tunnel View, but when looking east during sunrise or sunset. The nearby cliffs, not the iconic view, were beautifully backlit and shrouded with clouds, beams of sun streaming through the mist. The light was changing quickly, so we had little time to think or analyze. We worked on this new composition thoroughly, watching his histograms carefully in the brilliant and rapidly changing light. My own version of the scene is shown on page 204. The day continued with more spectacular photography of both intimate details and grand views, focusing on the experience and the basics of making good exposures: clean design and great light. We had the next day’s session to analyze, delve into technical issues, and discuss post-processing options. To summarize, Sean had an epic first day in Yosemite. My question remains: How much do we need to know? Hunger for more knowledge and better technique is a good thing. Sure, spend hours in front of your computer editing your images. But when you feel inspiration, whether in front of a grand landscape or a flower in your backyard, let go of the rules and regulations, and embrace the beauty. Be in the moment. Connect with your senses. Art will come through your emotions when they are most intense. On that glorious October day, all we “needed to know” was that we were there to see it.

Agave Attenuata | Island of Maui, Hawaii | 1994

VARIATIONS ON A THEME SOMETIMES YOUR FIRST INCLINATION ISN’T THE ONLY POSSIBILITY

The art of photography is about interpretation. What is right and what is wrong? You, the artist, get to decide. Listening to Ansel Adams lectures in my formative years, and seeing the creative renditions he made from his negatives to the final prints, I learned that I don’t need to adhere to a literal expression of my subjects. From this lesson, I try not to be dogmatic about how I compose and process my images. I listen to my inner voice about whether my photographs reflect what I saw and felt. I steer clear of rules and norms as much as possible. I may end up creating an image that has a standard tonal range, or compositional balance, but I am not locked into that. I made Agave Attenuata in Hawaii with a 4x5 view camera and film in 1994. Years later, I scanned the transparency and “played” with the file on my computer screen, starting with a color version. My goal was to convey the subtle variations of the green in the leaves, but also to bring out the bright edges to heighten their graphic lines. My next step was to convert the photograph to black and white, given the classic, graphic nature of the subject. Strongly influenced by one of Ansel’s former assistants, Don Worth, I took the tonalities in two different directions. Usually when I explore such divergent interpretations, one of them jumps out as the best option. In this case, I love all three directions. In both black-and-white photographs, I’ve created high-key and low-key versions by pushing the tones up or down. The low-key one shows the curve on the left side of the image’s histogram emphasizing the dark grays, whereas the high-key image’s tonal

range is pushed to the right side of the histogram. The photograph Ridges, on the opposite page, has many of the qualities I like for making a black-and-white landscape photograph—graphic lines, fine texture in the grasses, and a wide range of tones. However, when I converted it, I missed the warm tones of the late afternoon light. The black-and-white version was dramatic, but gave too cold a mood. Will you come up with three variations for most of your images? No. Will most landscape and nature photographs work best with a full range of tones? Yes. My advice is simply to not limit yourself.

Ridges | Mount Tamalpais State Park, California | 2019

Winter Sunset Reflections in Merced River | Gates of the Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1989

PROCESSING MAGIC LONG-TERM ARTISTIC GOALS

The creation of my images is guided by my efforts to interpret the landscape distinctively, an approach suggested to me many years ago by Ansel Adams. His approach was to make the most expressive photographs possible, believing that his passion gave him the greatest chance for creative success. He also felt his best art, after the fact, would inspire the desire for environmental conservation. With Ansel’s approach in mind, I’d like to walk you through my digital workflow. It has evolved over the years, beginning with Photoshop, prior to the introduction of Lightroom. Currently, my image processing begins in Lightroom. I find Lightroom to be an invaluable organizational tool for cataloging my extensive image library. I sort through all of the files for a given photo session, judging them for exposure, sharpness, and composition. I often use the Compare function to identify the ones I like best from a group of similar files. Each time I look through the images from that session, I will rank them using the star ratings. Although I started out using only Photoshop long ago, I now use the Develop module in Lightroom for many adjustments, mostly global ones that affect the whole image. I find the Highlights and Shadows sliders to be invaluable to bring out the nuances in my photographs, and the White, Black, and Clarity sliders get plenty of use. The Dehaze and Texture tools are helpful options too. As Lightroom has evolved with each new version, more and more local adjustments are available. The main one I use is the Adjustment Brush, and many photographers I know swear by the Graduated and Radial filters. At the end of my work on an image in Lightroom, I take it to Photoshop for the final

adjustments, mostly for local areas of refinement, such as adding contrast or saturating a specific color. Each change I make using Photoshop tools such as Curves, Levels, or Color Saturation is made on a separate layer. Most often, I use various masking techniques to tweak a problem area not fixed in Lightroom. I also use luminosity masks offered commercially by Tony Kuiper. The final step in my workflow is to create a PSD master file, adding “master” to the file name to remind me that it is the full-sized, multi-layered file. This applies to both scanned film and digital captures. I started using master files when first scanning my 4x5 film for digital printing in the early 1990s, thanks to my digital mentor Bill Atkinson. The master file becomes your archive for the full-resolution image plus the adjustment layers you’ve created. When I save the Photoshop file, that PSD file shows up back in Lightroom so that both the RAW and PSD files reside in the same place. I love this convenience. Even if I return to work on the image after many years, I have that visual reference of the original file and how I processed it, and I can see any variations that I might have experimented with, such as a black-and-white or a cropped version. With a layered PSD master file, I can make refinements easily at a later date by adding new layers or fine-tuning existing layers. Tastes and skills change over time. For my recent retrospective book, I revisited each of the 151 photographs, often making small tweaks. In terms of refining past adjustments in Lightroom, the software’s foundation is that those adjustments are non-destructive to the original RAW capture. It tracks your processing history and allows you to go back to adjust, reverse, or eliminate past changes. Although this isn’t as powerful as Photoshop’s adjustment layers, you can still refine or reverse your efforts. Your full-resolution master file is the primary foundation for preparing images for any use—fine art prints, JPGs for the web, files prepared for publishers, and so on. You flatten the layers, set the image size and resolution, sharpen for that output size, and save the new file with a name related to its use. When I make my fine art prints, I save the file named to the size output, so I don’t have to open and prep the master file when I next need to make a print that size.

The images shown in this essay reflect two of my “intimate landscape” interpretations of Yosemite. The winter image was taken in 1989 with my 4×5 camera and film. Although El Capitan was beautifully lit, I chose to exclude it. I saw magic in the subtle but distinct contrasts of cool and warm tones, and in the textures in the snow. My approach to processing was to maintain that subtlety without overplaying the key elements of color and texture. Small amounts of contrast and color saturation brought the scene to life. The image of backlit pines was taken in 2014. As with the Winter Sunset Reflections in Merced River photograph, I excerpted a part of the landscape before me, choosing to leave that which was out of the frame to the viewer’s imagination. My compositional emphasis was on the pattern of pine trunks and branches, especially the glistening needles. I processed the digital file to keep cliffs and trees dark, which helps the needles glow out of the dark background. My main goal is the interpretation, and all my efforts in processing my work are aimed at conveying the magic and mystery of that experience.

Backlit Ponderosa Pine Trees | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2014

Black Oak Branches in Winter | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1994

WINTER ETCHINGS TUNE INTO THE GRAPHIC, ELEGANT STARKNESS OF THE SEASON

I love photographing in winter. When trees are bare, their graceful forms are starkly revealed. The tones of beige and gray or black and white form a subtle palette in the landscape. The lines of grass and shrub, ice and fallen leaves, display themselves in simple, elegant designs, like a drawing or etching. Winter photography offers us options at all scales. While winter scenes are less colorful than other seasons, I am drawn to their monochromatic qualities. Winter weather can often provide more interesting and dramatic skies, with ominous clouds or clearing storms, which work especially well with broad scenic views. Many of my favorite winter images are vignettes of the landscape, such as my image of snow-covered branches. By zooming into a section of these oaks for my composition, the wonderful texture of the snow comes alive, and their lines form a dynamic graphic design that fills the frame. This image was made with my 4x5 camera and a Nikkor 360mm lens. Among my favorite winter subjects are ice details. The endless patterns and textures fascinate me. When I first picked up a camera in college, I explored Boulder Creek in Colorado on cold winter mornings before heading to class, making closeup images of the crystalline forms. The Merced River in Yosemite is now my “go to” location for ice imagery. I often find back eddies where ice forms around grasses at the water’s edge. These areas receive very little sun during the winter due to the high granite cliffs that form the valley’s southern rim. I seek out compositions, like my Crystal Ice and Oak Leaf photograph, where

brightly lit cliffs reflect in the ice to heighten the patterns. Currently, my favorite camera/lens combo is the Sony A7R2 and Metabones adapter with my Canon 90mm tilt-shift lens. In order to pick up the cliff reflections, I often need to use a low camera position. The lens’s tilt function helps me maintain sharpness throughout the depth of the subject area, as I used the same tilt function with my view camera. Although the ice is the main subject, I used the oak leaf as a small point of interest and context within an otherwise abstract pattern of ice. When you are creating your own winter compositions, tune into the graphic designs to be found in the landscape. Study the winter photographs by the great masters of landscape photography, such as these classic photographs: Chicago, Trees in Snow, 1950, by Harry Callahan; Little River, Redding, Connecticut, 1968, by Paul Caponigro; Pine Forest in Snow, Yosemite National Park, 1932, by Ansel Adams; or Stark Tree, 1956, by Wynn Bullock. If you have a case of cabin fever this winter, give yourself the assignment of producing a winter portfolio of new images. Get out to your favorite local woods, lake, or stream where you can return often in various weather and light conditions. Working locally will give you many more opportunities to be out there after a fresh snow, or after a hard freeze when ice is everywhere. After all, it is only through practice that you will be ready to make your next great photograph. Enjoy the season!

Crystal Ice and Oak Leaf | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2015

Pecan Grove | California | 2015

THE SPACE BETWEEN WATCH ALL THE ELEMENTS IN YOUR FRAME

The natural world is visual chaos. Plants grow, rivers flow, rocks roll, and clouds float along with no regard to where landscape photographers place their cameras. While light is a critical element for a great photograph, so is its design. How lines, shapes, and forms relate to each other, and where graphic elements fit in your frame are equally important—camera position matters. I love the process of designing photographs. Once I discover an inspirational subject and lighting, the graphic designer in me kicks in. Are there key elements that merge or clash, causing confusion? Are there unimportant objects that I could crop out? Can I move my camera position to create spacing between objects that makes the image more balanced or cleaner, with less distraction? Students who work with me in the field soon find out how much of a difference a few inches to the left or right, up or down, can make in their compositions. It is not so much that there is one perfect spot for any given image, but more about how closely you pay attention. It is all in the footwork, like it is for a dancer or athlete. Look around the edges of the frame and the spaces between and behind your subject. In my photograph of a pecan grove, the graphic design is apparent when you look at the finished image. What you don’t see is the process of getting to this final framing. A slight move to the left or right changed the relationship of every tree. I slowly moved the camera until each tree was separated from the others, and I could see as many trees as possible. The relationships between trees or any lines usually can’t be perfectly aligned, nor would you want them to be, but the spacing of these trees conveys more density and a certain symmetry. The dense fog serves to simplify the graphic quality of the tree trunks.

My photograph of Bridalveil Fall in Yosemite is another example of how spacing and camera position make a big difference. I was walking up to the base of the fall with family who were visiting from Canada. I wasn’t planning on photographing seriously, but had brought my camera along. However, I did time this short walk for my favored lighting conditions. The fresh green of the maple leaves glowed against the dark granite wall, and the waterfall itself danced wildly in the wind. I spent just a few minutes with this composition, at first focusing on the leaves and branches. After taking a few frames, I started “the dance.” I maneuvered around on the crowded trail, watching for a balance of critical elements. I found one spot where the top of the falls was visible, and the spray was blowing to the left, framing itself perfectly between maple branches. This photo was a “grab” shot in terms of time, but my experience and training helped me to quickly find and refine the image in a rushed and crowded situation.

Bridalveil Fall and Maple Leaves | Yosemite National Park, California | 2016

Burnt Trees and Shadows on Snow shows the need to pay attention to the spaces in between. I was driving in my van when I spotted this group of trees, so I parked nearby. The snow was three feet deep, and I found packed-down cross-country ski tracks to walk on. When I stepped off the tracks, I sank deeply into the snow. I needed to set up on top of the tracks because this high angle allowed me to see the separation between the shadows. If I had set up down in the snow, the shadow lines would have merged from that lower angle. Picture me perched on top of these narrow tracks trying to set my three tripod legs solidly on top of two narrow ski tracks—with my view camera no less! To find the best composition in terms of the spacing among the trees and shadows, I became immersed in the dance of design. I made some full-framed images, both horizontal and vertical. All the while, I watched how the graphics in the frame were working. Each small move of my camera position made a big difference. The fact that the shadows continually changed as I photographed heightened my excitement and made the process all the more challenging. I spent at least an hour with these burnt lodge-pole pines. Somewhere during that time, I made some panoramic versions that seemed to pare down the elements to the essentials. In the panoramic versions, the source of many of the shadows can’t be seen, which leaves something to the viewer’s imagination. As I worked, I remembered that I have a tendency to space objects uniformly through an image, and often that works for me. Sometimes, however, this leads to images that look too controlled. To paraphrase the great photographer Edward Weston, “Always question preconceived notions, especially your own.” With this thought in mind, I positioned my camera so that the lines of the trees nearly merged in places, creating some tension in the design. The blending of chaos and order, which is what I enjoyed about the scene, was achieved. The magic of the scene comes through clearly, but not too perfectly. Instead of overanalyzing each adjustment in the composition I made while in the field, I simply tried as many options as I could imagine. The lesson of the day: learn to watch all the elements in your frame, not just the main subject. See how they relate to each other, and look for “mergers” where key objects such the trees merge with, distract from, or minimize other graphic elements. Develop the habit of not accepting the first option when you set up your compositions. Always

push for better ones. When you take the time to edit the results carefully, you will get critical feedback on your successes and failures. This feedback loop of capturing images, then learning what works or not, will help you learn to trust your design instincts. Your photographs will be stronger when you seek to find some order to the chaos.

Burnt Trees and Shadows on Snow | Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming | 1993

Dogwood and Merced River | Yosemite National Park, California | 2017

ASPECTS OF THE LANDSCAPE EXPLORE NEW ASPECT RATIOS

One key “aspect” of composing landscape photographs is the ratio of the sensor or film frame. Most cameras have a standard 3:2 dimension, much like a 35mm film camera. Most of us accept that standard, use our cameras to frame the landscape, and present our work in print or online at that dimension. Beyond that standard shape, your choice of aspect ratio for your images can provide your portfolio with a distinct style, a visual signature that helps your work stand out. For example, master black-and-white photographer Michael Kenna is known for his moody, long-exposure, square-format images. Many landscape photographers use the panoramic format for its ability to capture the full breadth of a scene. With digital cameras, the ease of stitching multiple frames together opens the door to many creative possibilities. When I used a 4x5 camera, one of my film holders was modified so I could expose a 2:1 section of a sheet of film. Of course, I could have just cropped the full 4x5 framing later as desired, but by forcing myself to work to “see” the pano shape marked on my viewfinder in the field, I could better design my photograph and be decisive at the time of exposure. As a result, and continuing more recently with digital stitching, I’ve managed to assemble a decent portfolio of pano images. Given the large film size and resolution of 4x5-inch film, I felt comfortable cropping to the pano shape or sometimes a square shape. The dogwood image on the previous spread was captured with my 42MP Sony A7R2, and I intended for it to be a full-framed, 3:2 proportioned print. However, after working the photograph in post-processing, I began to see how this image would work more strongly as a square. Given the high-res sensor I was using, cropping would not be a significant compromise on image quality. The lines of the two trees on each side of the frame connect visually to the curved flow of the river rapids.

My Antarctica panorama was created in the early morning during my 2014 journey there. From the deck of our moving ship, handholding the camera, I made five frames across the breadth of this amazing landscape. One of my co-instructors on the trip, Kevin Raber, wisely advised us to be sure to try panos to capture a sense of the vast expanses of wild landscapes we would see. I used a 200mm focal length to reach out and bring to life this distant scene. During the cruise, I made many successful pano sets that add a great deal to my “Antarctic Dreams” portfolio. Since it is not possible to perfectly align side-by-side exposures when handholding a camera, I composed more widely than usual around the edges, knowing that the stitching software in Photoshop would require cropping. For me, the choice of aspect ratio is open-ended. I mostly try to maintain my camera’s proportion, but if I feel cropping is needed, I will lock down that same proportion when I crop. However, if I find during image processing that I can improve the photo’s composition with an entirely new ratio, I am open to that creative choice. I won’t compromise an image for the sake of a predetermined and standardized dimension.

Neumayer Channel | Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014

For photographers who might wish to explore a new format, the extra discipline of using one format to frame all subjects could be creatively invigorating. To fully launch oneself into seeing squarely, or within whatever shape appeals to you, set up your camera’s viewing format to see that shape, if possible (not available on my Sony), and give it a go for a few field sessions. If you like the results, keep at it to fully explore the possibilities. Regarding cropping, I don’t recommend being too dependent on it, as opposed to cropping the aspect ratio, to resolve image design issues. I’ve had students who

compose casually in the field, saying any problems with their captures can be “fixed” in post. Compositional skills should be learned, refined, and applied in the field where one can most affect the subtle adjustments needed for excellent design. Don’t let postexposure cropping be a crutch. It is especially difficult to correct for poor camera position, where lines are not aligned well or important forms merge. Some photographers believe in not cropping their images, wishing to preserve their vision at the moment of exposure. I fully respect that position, and adhere to it most of the time myself. However, with a clear understanding of its limitations, cropping can be done wisely. Assuming your goal is to make the best possible image, and you have an image that can be improved with cropping, then do so judicially. When we look for ways to improve our photographs and add depth to our portfolios, looking around for new ways of seeing and framing the landscape can energize our creative process. Experimenting with a new aspect ratio may be the ticket to moving your portfolio to a new plateau.

Yellow Pines in Snow | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1990

WHISPERS AND SHOUTS WHAT DO YOU WANT YOUR IMAGES TO SAY?

Standing behind your camera, looking through the viewfinder, what inside there inspires you? What do you want to say? Choices such as what light or weather you photograph in will help you create an emotive image. Is what I see now the best option, or do I need to come back in different light or during another season? Dramatic lighting during a clearing storm? Soft, subtle light on a cloudy day? During sunrise or sunset? I love making high-key images. My intent with them is to reflect the quiet, slowpaced meditative experience that I often have when exploring nature. I love making peaceful and serene images. I strive to distill those aspects of nature that whisper rather than shout. Sometimes a title will clarify a theme concept, helping you, the artist, as well as the viewer understand the intent. I came up with a theme title for my high-key imagery: “Whispers of Light.” I feel that those words express my emotions and intentions. Yellow Pines in Snow, with its use of high-key processing, is part of this portfolio. A heavy snowfall and a rare hush blanketed Yosemite Valley. If you can sense the silence, my photograph has succeeded. However, nature is not always subtle. Sometimes nature makes me want to shout. And howl with joy. I was browsing through my Lightroom catalog and remembered this epic scene in Antarctica. The late evening glow combined beautifully with swirling clouds layered across the mountainscapes. I started playing around with processing ideas. What did I want to convey? The light, the massive sense of scale I felt as we sailed past mountains and glaciers for hours? Subtlety was not in order; a shout not a whisper was required. I switched the color capture to black and white and

worked on the file to pull out all of the magic. I am hoping my rendition of the scene translates the power and awe I felt at the time. Although having an overall consistent style for your photography is a good thing, one shouldn’t be a slave to that style at the sacrifice of expressing the moment. Most of us gravitate toward seeking out and sharing the most epic lighting or weather or locations. Even though subtle images are less popular online, or perhaps because of this, I continue to pursue the quieter, more intimate landscape images. My two photographs shown in this essay are meant to illustrate that your subject selection or processing style can and should be affected by what you want to say. How you organize and present your photographs will have a significant impact on how viewers respond to your work. Once you find a theme and style direction, such as my high-key “Whispers of Light” series, you can focus your shooting and processing efforts on that body of work to build depth. This type of portfolio building can take months or years, but the extra focus can make it a more efficient way to create multiple themes in parallel. The stronger your theme concept, the stronger the communication to your viewer. When you decide what you want to say, you are more likely to be heard, whether you wish to whisper or shout!

Mountain and Iceberg at Twilight | Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014

Dune Patterns, Aerial | Death Valley National Monument, California | 1989

OF ABSTRACT NATURE FIND CREATIVE INSPIRATION BY FOCUSING ON DETAILS

The mind is a fascinating thing. One of the great unknowns when we share our photographs is how the viewer will respond. Once the artist has made an exposure and then edited it for presentation, a new life begins for any image shared with others. Each of us brings his or her mind, full of personal and photographic history, to the viewing process. When a scenic landscape photograph is viewed, we know where the sky is and where to “stand” in the image. But on the other end of the spectrum, when we view abstract photographs of nature, questions about orientation or scale or subject immediately come to mind. For example, I made the opening image flying over sand dunes, photographing out of a plane’s window. Few first-time viewers can guess the subject, which serves to focus full attention on the pure sensuousness of color and form. Recently I’ve been adding new images to my long-evolving series of nature abstractions. It started with clearing the overgrown rosemary shrubs away from my patio waterfall, then making ripple images once again. My very first ripple abstracts were made in 1976, at Golden Gate Canyon State Park in Colorado, where I built trails for the park. One day I sat next to a small stream as I ate my lunch and noticed the patterns of ripples in the stream. I had my camera with me, and the series began. As I have shown these images over the years, I have enjoyed people’s reactions. The first instinct is to define the content. “What is that?” It’s as if knowing the content is required to appreciate the artist’s effort. “Ah, so it’s mud. Well then, it is beautiful, isn’t it? I had no idea what it was at first.” If I don’t tell the viewer what the subject is right away, then their imagination is activated. The mind works to solve the riddle and, in the process, the viewer gets more engaged with the composition.

The intriguing part is how differently people see an abstract photograph. “I see a face.” “I see silk fabric.” “I see an elephant!” If the questions are answered quickly, then the viewer disengages sooner. I have often watched people flip through photography books: “Ah, lovely view of the Grand Canyon . . .” Flip the page. “Wow, what great light on Half Dome that day . . . ” Flip the page. “Now what is this? Is it a rock or a tree?” If the caption is readily visible, the reader looks urgently for the answer. “Oh, of course, it is rock detail!” Flip the page. Photographic abstractions of nature are based in reality, but are composed to give no clear reference to it. With an abstract photograph, we know the subject is real. The mind wants answers! So, here are the answers for the images pictured in this essay: Photo A is eucalyptus bark. Photo B is one of the ripple images of the waterfall on my patio. Photo C is also of my waterfall, and combines an abalone shell with water and bubbles flowing over it. Does knowing the subject help with your appreciation of each image? I find the idea of abstract imagery to be an exciting challenge, and the results are a significant addition to the overall portrait of the landscape that I’m making with my photograph. I want my portrait of the earth to be like a symphony, sounding the many notes of the land’s diversity.

Photo A

Photo B

Photo C

Merced River Reflections, Autumn | Yosemite National Park, California | 2018

DEALING WITH DEPTH CREATING IMAGES WITH EXTENDED DEPTH OF FIELD AND SHARPNESS

In landscape photography, we are often dealing with considerable depth of field, with objects near the camera and distant subjects off in the distance. Call me Captain Obvious! Greater distance from the nearest subject to the farthest requires the use of a smaller and smaller aperture. With each stop down, there will be a slight loss in resolution. The tradeoffs of losing resolution versus gaining sharpness near-to-far often require a balancing act. I miss the days when I could easily look at the depth-offield scale on my lenses, read the scale to adjust the hyperfocal distance, and adjust the aperture choice. View cameras or tilt-shift lenses give greater control over near/far image sharpness, but they don’t solve the issue in all situations. Smaller apertures are still needed where various angles in the landscape don’t match the flat plane of focus given from the tilt, such as when you’re photographing in a level meadow with tall trees in the distance. Calculating and making use of the lens’s hyperfocal distance is usually your primary solution. There are many ways to handle depth of field and many opinions on the best methods. If you are using manual focus, you can focus about one third into the depth of the scene, and guesstimate which aperture will bring both near and far points into focus. If you are using autofocus, you can select the focus point in your viewfinder at the estimated distance in the same manner. I’ve used this approach for many years, often bracketing apertures to help me find the best balance of depth-of-field and aperture. Another method I’ve read about but have not tried is called the “Double the Distance” method. With this technique, you calculate the distance to the nearest object you want to be sharp, then double that distance, and that’s where your hyperfocal distance is.

Don’t forget that you can see an accurate view of the depth of focus with the depthof-field preview or aperture preview button. This button “stops down” the lens (digitally or actually) to your chosen aperture. You can see the depth of field change as you open and close the aperture, allowing you to see what will be sharp or not. On my Sony camera, I set up a custom button to be my aperture preview button. Not all cameras have this preview button, so check your manual. Being able to see the results of your aperture choice makes this a valuable tool. When this button is held down, the screen gets darker, which can be a problem. Looking through the eyepiece rather than the LCD makes this easier, since more ambient light is blocked. There are many apps for smartphones that have accurate data for various camera/lens/aperture combinations that can be helpful. These are an excellent choice for more technically oriented photographers. Now let me get to the reason I started discussing the whole depth-of-field issue. For a few years, when I’ve found the need, I started using focus bracketing when dealing with extreme near-far differences. This technique is especially useful with macro subjects, but also with landscapes where no aperture is capable of capturing full sharpness from the foreground to the background. I make small shifts in focus throughout the near-far measurement, for as many frames as needed for the given depth. Next, I use the Helicon Focus or Zerene Stacker applications to blend the multiple frames into a fully sharp photograph. This technique is very effective, but also a bit tedious to execute in the field. Focus and click; shift the focus a tiny bit; click; focus again—clicking 5, 10, sometimes 15 frames. I’ve used this technique only occasionally. What got me excited recently was seeing that many camera makers are now offering an automated approach to focus shifting. I want that for my camera! I would use this often in my macro work and also telephoto landscapes. There is a creative reason behind my interest in gaining full sharpness in a scene or subject that has great depth. I like mystery in my photographs. I like strong design too. When I look for the graphics in a scene, I often like to combine the two qualities by making everything in the frame sharp, especially with intimate landscapes where there are fewer visual clues, like the sky, for example. When this approach works, the depth is not immediately apparent, and it becomes a visual pun or play on one’s perception. Such flattening of the perspective can add a bit of intrigue that engages

the curiosity of the viewer. Merced River Reflections was taken at 400mm with my 100–400mm Sony lens that serves to “flatten” the long stretch of riverbank depth into a flat-looking composition. My use of a small aperture gives near-to-far sharpness, with the curved grasses and their reflections receding across the frame, and my very sharp lens shows a minimum of resolution loss. I am also sharing my Dogwood in Bloom image here, which was taken a couple of years back using focus stacking. I took four frames, focusing from the frontmost blossoms to the cliffs behind them, then I merged them using Helicon Focus software. Every blossom is sharp in spite of the great depth, from the frontmost blossoms all the way back to the cliffs behind. I have a long-standing theme of forest tapestry photographs that this fits into quite well, and it matches the quality of the 4x5 film images in that group. The next time you find yourself dealing with difficult depth of field and sharpness dilemmas, give the tools discussed here a try. Stay sharp. Stay creative.

Dogwood Trees in Bloom | Yosemite National Park, California | 2017

Dogwood Blossoms | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019

PATIENCE AND PERSISTENCE GETTING A PHOTO “RIGHT” TAKES TIME

Patience and persistence are words that have been coming to my mind lately. These words are the answers to many questions I hear: How did you make that image? How did you build your career? It is no surprise that these words are key traits needed to make great photographs or create a successful business. However, I know that many of us get caught up in the rush of life, and are so focused on striving to make our next favorite image that maybe we don’t slow down enough to get it right. As I write this, I am just finishing another spring season photographing in Yosemite. As you might expect, my new photographs are mostly of dogwoods and waterfalls. Having lived in or nearby Yosemite Valley for forty years, I could all too easily become jaded or bored photographing this valley for so long. However, I always find something amazing and wonderous to see and sometimes photograph. When sharing this beauty with my students, I can reengage with and refresh my long love affair with this sanctuary. Although I’ve photographed these trees many times before, I am always trying to outdo myself, or at least equal my best work. Many of my favorite dogwood trees grow along the banks of the Merced River. The combination of graceful blossoms and branches hanging over the swift waters of the Merced is irresistible to me. With a slow shutter speed, the river becomes smooth and simplified while the dogwoods stand out sharply in contrast. The quandary for the photographer is how to pick a shutter speed that is slow enough for the river to blur and fast enough to capture the blossoms in focus. To find the right balance requires experimenting with your aperture, shutter speed, and ISO settings. I time my visits for when the light is soft and without harsh highlights on the water. Most importantly, getting it right takes time. Often, the branches are moving in the

breeze, so I watch and wait, sometimes for an hour or more. I set up my Sony to take three or five frames each time I release the shutter to increase my odds. Out of several-hundred dogwood images I took this spring, only a few were sharp enough: a low batting average of success, but worth the effort and frustrations. I also photographed the booming waterfalls this season, with my favorites being Horsetail, Upper Yosemite, and Bridalveil Fall. I had several excellent sessions with Horsetail. My timing was chosen for backlighting, and luckily, I arrived on windy days. Again, I made several-hundred images of the fall over three different days. Again, my camera made five frames for each release. Each time the wind and light were different. Many of my captures were good, but persistence was needed to catch the ultimate moment, as the conditions kept changing. I would wait and observe as gusts of wind would swirl the spray around the cliffs. The action was too dynamic to guess which split second would convey my excitement for what I was seeing. Back home, I sorted and compared the images on my computer to find the best one. I selected the image shown here for the pattern of mist blowing upward and sideways. I chose to convert it to black and white to emphasize the graphic qualities of the lighting, the rocks, and the bright spray being set off by a dark sky background. There is a delicate balance of knowing when to dig in and keep working a scene and when to move on to find a better angle or another subject. When I see a situation like I did for these two photographs, I might stay an hour or more in that spot, or I might return over many days to catch the right conditions, or purse an image idea over many years. When you find those exciting moments, slow down and have the patience and concentration to wait for the right moments, like dogwood blossoms holding still or the wind blowing a waterfall in wild directions. When it seems like you’ve “got it,” persist further, working that composition to find multiple “optimum moments.” Your editing sessions might be more difficult, having to pare down from many quality options, but in the end you will be happy when you pick the best image that shows those small nuances that make a strong photo more exceptional. Patience and Persistence.

Horsetail Fall | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019

Gulls at Sunrise | Natural Bridges State Beach, California | 2012

A DANCE ON THE BEACH FOCUS ON THE FUNDAMENTALS

I began teaching photography forty years ago. So much has changed since then— cameras, software, digital printing. It is such an exciting time for photographers, but it can be difficult to keep up with all the rapidly changing technology. After a couple of decades of using film, large-format cameras, and darkroom printing, I’ve managed to adapt. I switched to digital printing in 1993 and put the use of film behind me in 2005. I have no regrets. In 2008 I began teaching workshops in Yosemite after a long break. It has been such a pleasure to share my enthusiasm for this great National Park with my fellow photographers once again. In the process of teaching these sessions, I realized that although the tools have changed over the years, the lessons I am teaching now are much the same as when I started. Here is a reader’s digest of what I teach: Compose precisely: Watch the edges of your composition. Eliminate any distractions. Draw the viewer’s eye to your subject. Consider proportion and spacing of items within your frame. Find great light: Get up early. Stay out late. Pick dynamic conditions for dynamic photographs. If the sky is boring, don’t include it. Watch the weather, learn the light, wherever you are. Don’t settle for “OK” light. Be ready for inspiration: It will come if you have a sense of wonder about the world around you. Be ready to fail. Mistakes will happen and become our greatest lessons. Practice is the process of being ready for it all to come together! Trust your vision; you have a unique point of view. Having faith in yourself is critical.

You will become a better photographer if you focus on these fundamentals. The tip I’d like to focus on in this essay is the willingness to push oneself creatively. This has been a key trait for me as I try to grow as an artist. I often see photographers giving up too soon, or not moving from one spot, or only trying a few variations. Photography is a dance of possibilities! Experiment with everything from camera and light angles, to shutter speeds, to lens choice. Have fun with the process. The risks taken will result in many failures, but they will also lead to new ideas and creative breakthroughs. On a trip to the California coast, I was eager to photograph a local state beach at sunrise rather than the classic sunset hour. I got out there in the near darkness of dawn. It was a beautiful morning with warm glowing light, crashing waves, birds calling and scurrying to feed along the surf line. I started out with a broader and more typical view of the beach and arch formation that emphasized the sky colors. I was moving constantly, trying different options, focal lengths, and foregrounds, and playing with blurring the waves. I was especially intrigued with the natural arch formation, so my compositional arrangements began to zoom in more closely on just the arch and surf. I was having a great time when a flock of seagulls landed right in front of my viewfinder. At first, I was frustrated with them “blocking” my view and wanted to chase them off. But then I decided to incorporate them into the photograph. I experimented with various shutter speeds, hoping to have gull impressions “painted” onto the beach. The resulting image that included the gulls pulls together my vision more strongly than the wider views. A few small tweaks in post-processing emphasized the mood of a misty scene backlit by the early morning sun with the ghostly birds like a dream. Although I am pleased with the more classic image of the scene, I was able to push myself to find a more creative and mysterious interpretation of my experience that morning. Soon the gulls were gone, the good light passed, and I was famished, ready for breakfast after a joyful two-hour dance at the beach. Some things never change.

Sunset from Mt. Hoffman | Yosemite National Park, California | 1986

CELEBRATING WILDERNESS PHOTOGRAPHER PHILIP HYDE ACKNOWLEDGING OUR ROOTS There is no limit to what a man can do so long as he does not care who gets the credit. – PHILIP HYDE

On March 30, 2006, Philip Hyde passed away at the age of 84. The community of photographers and nature lovers lost a true friend and pioneer. I count myself as being very blessed for having known him. Many years before meeting Philip back in the early 1980s, I discovered his work in the Sierra Club’s famous Exhibit Format series of books. His images opened my eyes, along with those of thousands of other photographers and wilderness enthusiasts, to the beautiful and endangered landscapes he had explored. He helped us see the great potential use that landscape photographs could have for environmental protection. Philip’s images spoke to me quietly yet forcefully of wild nature’s value, and showed me the impact that hard work, dedication, and selflessness can have. Philip’s sphere of influence has expanded outward far and wide, quietly and profoundly. Hyde was the workhorse for the Sierra Club book series, providing images for nearly every battle of theirs in the 1960s and 1970s. When David Brower, the director of the club and creator of the book series, needed images to help preserve an endangered landscape, Philip and camera went to work. Books in which his photographs are instrumental include The Last Redwoods, Slickrock, Island in Time: The Point Reyes Peninsula, Time and the River Flowing, Navajo Wildlands, The Wild Cascades: Forgotten Wildlands, and This Is Dinosaur: Echo Park Country and Its Magic Rivers.

I have little doubt that every published nature photographer of my generation has been inspired by Philip’s efforts. The large number of photographers, professional or not, working today to use their imagery to help preserve wild places, both locally and on national issues, owe Philip a great debt. When I looked at those Sierra Club books as a college student, my wildest dream was to use my images in such books and other forums to further the cause of conservation, and to make photographs for a living. The success of the Sierra Club books not only gave a great boost to its own membership, but also showed publishers that such books had commercial value, thus spawning the publication of thousands of books modeled after them. The resulting nature book industry allowed many photographers to develop careers and brought to light many issues of preservation. Even those not familiar with the full extent of Hyde’s accomplishments can trace their roots to his efforts. Beyond his environmental contributions, Hyde has earned an honored place for his art. His photographs have a quality of serene reality. His choice of camera is a 4x5 for revealing the landscape in sharp detail. The color is not amplified. The light he preferred was understated, and he did not favor the “magic hour” that seduces most of us. He has a disdain for the redundant sunset motif. He chose Ektachrome film, over Kodachrome or Fujichrome, for its more neutral reproduction of nature’s colors. In similar fashion, Philip’s compositions and use of lenses are simple and direct. Rarely do you see a photograph where camera position or lens exaggerates any aspect of a landscape. Commenting on his evolution from being a black-and-white photographer to predominantly using color, Philip wrote in his book The Range of Light, “Black-andwhite lends itself to manipulation that can dramatize a subject. Color tends to record what is seen, so it is no coincidence that I use color for that purpose. I don’t feel nature needs to be dramatized: it is dramatic enough! . . . Color photographs that . . . rely too much on the shock value of color alone will not sustain interest.” Philip’s approach, which seems at first to show the landscape in ordinary descriptive terms, is his attempt to make us realize nature’s profound beauty is always there for us to see, not just during a monumental performance of light or color. There is selflessness to this approach. In his images, his own importance recedes in the face of nature’s beauty and need for protection. He once wrote to me, “There is no limit to

what a man can do so long as he does not care who gets the credit.” Many years ago, I hiked up Mt. Hoffman in Yosemite. I walked slowly upward, alone in my thoughts. I carried all my 4x5 gear to the summit, planning to photograph the sunset and then hike down in the twilight. At the top, the views of Yosemite’s wilderness stretch out all around. There was virtually no sign of human life below. The sunset light warmed the surrounding peaks, and the Sierra Nevada displayed why it is called “The Range of Light.” The serenity I felt was powerful. Thanks to far-sighted pioneers, this rare form of sanctuary exists for millions to enjoy. The initial preservation of Yosemite by President Lincoln in 1864 and the subsequent formation of the National Park System, the inspiring words and energetic crusading of John Muir, and the monumental photographs of Yosemite by Ansel Adams have all contributed to the cause of wilderness preservation. When a great person in our field or our life is lost, we might wonder who could ever replace them? It is an important time to stop and remember the impact each one of us can have. John Muir saw threats to the wildness of Yosemite and fought to preserve it. Ansel Adams felt deeply moved by the beauty of Yosemite and the Sierra that Muir helped to preserve, and he used his photographs to fight further for wilderness preservation. Philip Hyde, learning from the example of Muir, Adams, and David Brower, worked tirelessly to photograph threatened landscapes. Many photographers have followed Hyde’s example. As a ripple of water expanding outward in a circle, more will follow those who have followed him. We must all acknowledge our mentors, and I am proud to count Philip Hyde as one of mine. We honor their legacy by following their example. Let the circle be unbroken. I am interested primarily in what Emerson called “the integrity of natural objects.” They express wholeness and individuality, and it is this sense of place that is the foundation of my work. My life in photography has been taken up in exploring natural places for their beauty and uniqueness. It has been a labor of love, and nature has provided me the perfect object. – PHILIP HYDE

Reflections | Paria River, Paria Canyon-Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area, Utah | 1985 After a long hike wading downriver, I turned back toward the trailhead in late afternoon. I noticed the reflection of the cliffs in the water at my feet and composed this image to remove the source of the reflection. In doing so, the light glows out from the shadowed canyon.

STORIES WRITE ABOUT YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY TO BECOME A MORE POWERFUL STORYTELLER

When I first studied photography in college, the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my images. I just wanted to be outside exploring nature with my camera. My professor persisted, and so in order to pass the class, I had to define and defend my images in class. He wasn’t into landscape photography at all, and especially didn’t like Ansel Adams’s work. I was defensive about my favorite subject matter, so we clashed. Good thing I was stubborn back then. Oh yes, I still am. So here I sit four decades later, doing what I so resisted in school: talking about my photography, or in this case, writing about it. Along the way, starting in college, I poured through photo books, and soaked up all I could glean from what the photographers had to say, especially from the photo notes often included in the back. Eventually I realized how much I was learning from this process. As I began to teach photography myself, I shared stories about how images of mine were made. I include photo notes in my own books whenever possible, and my writings are an extension of that process.

Corn Lilies | Summit Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 1988 Photography is a quiet, contemplative activity for me. It is a time to slow down and enjoy the beauty of the natural world. I seek to experience and reveal the mysterious, spiritual aspects of nature.

Rock, Tree, and Waterfall | Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 “Seeing and feeling beauty is more vital to me than any resulting imagery. When the key elements of photography—light, composition, and emotion—are before me, I am fully engaged, yet detached, without expectations. The magic of my discovery—whether the dramatic light of a clearing storm or an intimate detail on the forest floor—recharges my spirit with a sense of wonder.” – from William Neill – Photographer, A Retrospective

When I look at my own work, I most enjoy recalling the overall event, such as the sounds or smells or the weather, as well as the emotion of finding the image. I don’t relish analyzing every step of process and technique, such as the decisions made in composition or metering or timing. However, one key lesson I learned from Ansel: the importance of sharing knowledge, as he set a stellar example with his workshops, books, and lectures. When I write notes for a book or write a column, I dissect my efforts for instruction’s sake in the spirit of giving back, of contributing to the tradition of landscape photography. One time I was at Ansel’s house, and he was sitting at his IBM word processor writing for his book Examples: The Making of 40 Photographs. In this book, he relates the making of his best-known images. I wondered aloud how he could remember the details of events that occurred many decades ago. We decided that he

was involved in post-rationalization (a word play on his well-known term “previsualization”). He laughed heartily and then assured me that he had a pretty good memory. Way back in 1985, I hiked down Paria Canyon, which straddles the Utah-Arizona border. I knew little about the trip, except that the best way to see the photogenic narrows of the canyon was to backpack, taking a few days to walk downstream to the Colorado River. It was a spur-of-the-moment trip and so I decided to take a long day hike in hopes of seeing the best parts. It was October, so the river was fairly low. I walked alongside it trying to keep my feet dry until I had crossed so many times that I just waded down the river, shoes on and full of sand and pebbles. I found a few photographs along the way, but pressed on into the deeper part of the canyon. I wasn’t prepared to camp, so finally, feeling unrewarded, I turned around and headed back upstream late in the afternoon. Of course, that was when I started seeing many images to photograph. The afternoon sun was shining far up the canyon wall and reflecting beautifully in the river. The contrast range of the light was wide, so I looked for compositions that fit within the film’s latitude. The image that opens this essay does not show the whole scope of the scene, with bright canyon walls and deep-blue desert sky. But by cropping out the sunlit walls and the sky, the contrast was manageable, and the reflections glow out from the shadowed canyon and become the central emphasis. Without knowing the context of the whole scene, the viewer has to imagine the source of light and the height of the walls. By the time I was finished making images, it was late afternoon with several hours of hiking to go. When I came out of the canyon, it was dark, and finding the path to the trailhead parking lot was an adventure. Hey, I was only lost for about an hour! And yes, I had a flashlight; it’s just that there were no trail signs in the river . . . We all have stories to tell about our photographs. Sometimes the stories are directly about the actual making of the photograph, such as a creative exposure solution or an unusual camera angle. Sometimes stories reveal the photographer’s experience, unseen in the image, but when heard, they make the photograph all the more special. From your stories, you may discover themes for an exhibit, portfolio, book, or slide

show because they often reveal what is most important to you. Think about what stories you repeatedly tell with excitement. With your stories and images combined, their collective story can powerfully convey a message, be it simply how much fun you had on a photo tour, or more seriously, why you think a wild corner of your state should be preserved. If you are serious about marketing your images, it doesn’t hurt to develop your writing or lecturing skills in order to better tell your tales. Ultimately, a photograph must stand on its own, and tell its own story regardless of the context or any words written about it. Ansel once wrote, “A true photograph need not be explained, nor can it be contained in words.” The key is that your image reconnects you, and hopefully connects the viewer, to your experience. First and foremost, make an image that needs no words. Then if you can expand and deepen the message with your stories, all the better. I asked Ansel once, as a photographer concerned with the environment, what he felt was more helpful for the cause: making an artistic image for its own sake or making an image in order to illustrate an environmental issue. He answered: Make your art. Your most deeply felt and seen images will reach people’s hearts and change minds! By the time I graduated from college, I had already decided to forsake a traditional path of employment and become a photographer. My father, who was a writer, suggested that it might help if I learned to combine writing along with my photographs. From his career as a journalist, he knew that combining image and word was often the most powerful way to communicate a story; that being able to do both added value and opportunity to my efforts. As a young man, I resisted, wanting my photographs to speak for themselves. Eventually, I came around to my dad’s suggestion. The emotions and experiences arising from my visual explorations began to formulate in my head, and through teaching, I discovered I had something I wanted to say, in words as well as images. My first opportunity to write in depth about my work was for Outdoor Photographer magazine in 1986. The essay I wrote was entitled “Intimate Landscapes.” The essay has endured for me, still ringing true, and the key ideas have formed my artist’s statement ever since. The article’s title pays homage to Eliot Porter’s book of the same name, and to the inspiration of his photographs. I open the essay with these words: “Photography is a quiet, contemplative activity for me. It is a time to slow down and enjoy the beauty of the natural world. I seek to experience and reveal the

mysterious, spiritual aspects of nature.” See “The Intimate Landscape” on page 21 for more discussion of this subject. To help clearly define your personal point of view, it is useful to give a meaningful title to your portfolios. A clear and concise title of your portfolio is vital. Depending on the audience or intent, the theme could be named descriptively, such as the name of the subject or location. Your potential viewer will literally know what to expect. For a series representing your most artistic work, a poetic or conceptual title will entice the potential audience to look further. At the very least, a subject or style should be communicated. Examples I’ve used include “Landscapes of the Spirit,” “Meditations in Monochrome,” and “Impressions of Light.” Each of them gives a sense of the mood or style by which I organized the portfolios. The right words can trigger curiosity and anticipation for what is within. Of course, the words we might use to describe our images don’t make the photo successful. Each photograph should stand alone on its own merit. However, good writing can explain, amplify, and expand the viewer’s understanding of the photographer’s philosophy, passions, and point of view. If you spend much time online, you know we are inundated daily by images on social media and blogs, eBooks and eZines. Most of the superstars of social media are making excellent photographs. Although much of social media emphasizes the image far more than the words, if you dig under the surface, you can discover the intriguing details of a photographer’s experience, their history and philosophy. I urge you to look deeper into those photographers that inspire you. Guy Tal is one photographer who has embraced both word and image. Coincidentally we happened to be corresponding as I was writing this essay. When I mentioned my essay’s theme, he shared these words: “I think that any creative artist must have an understanding, first of all, of what s/he wishes to express, and [should] then pick the best medium for it based on his personal taste and skills. To me, photography came after writing, and I realized early on that the two play complementary roles in my life, and that I had to do both to express what I find important and noble. Photography for me is a way of exploring the world outside myself, and then to overlay personal meaning on it. Writing for me is a way of exploring my inner thoughts and feelings, and then to overlay elements of the external world that elicit these thoughts and feelings.”

If you haven’t already, write an artist’s statement, find the themes about which you are most passionate, frame them with enticing titles, and help distinguish your own photography with words to define your own perspective.

Black Oaks | Merced River and El Capitan, Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1985 “From within these [Yosemite’s] protected walls, the peacefulness and beauty bring comfort and calm to me. Given this sense of sanctuary, my creative energies have been given the freedom to express what I feel, to express the connection between my spirit and the beauty of Creation.” – from William Neill – Photographer, A Retrospective

TECHNICAL NOTES I began making photographs seriously in 1974. Before then, I had used a cheap Kodak Instamatic to document my backpacking trips in Glacier National Park, where I worked in the summer. I was in college and longed for a 35mm camera so I could take better photos. When I found a used Pentax Spotmatic for sale in the photo department of a local drug store, I started saving for it. With my twentieth birthday coming soon, I asked my dad if he would split the price of $150 with me. He said yes, and my career began. I used this Pentax for several years and eventually replaced it with a more professional Nikon. In 1982, while working at The Ansel Adams Gallery and being influenced by Ansel’s work, I purchased a Wista Technical 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Camera. Using this camera opened the door to greater image quality and a slower, more disciplined style of photography. In addition to the more deliberate process of setting up large-format gear, the cost of film and processing was considerable for a young artist. It helped me consider very carefully whether to take an image or not. For the next twenty-two years, I used my view camera. I have used Kodak Ektachrome, Polaroid ProChrome 100D, and Fujichrome Velvia QuickLoad 4x5 film over the years, and all three film types are represented in this book. In 2004 I began to hear about how digital capture was improving significantly, so I tried out the Canon 1Ds. By 2005 when Canon released the EOS-1Ds Mark II, I decided to use digital full time. So many factors of this switch made my life easier. I no longer needed to scan my files before working with them on my computer, which saved me time and expense. Seeing the results of my efforts instantly on the back of the camera became an integral part of my creative process. This feedback allowed me to experiment and push myself beyond the few compositions I might have tried with a large format camera. I currently use a Sony a7R IV with Sony 16–35mm and 100–400mm G Master lenses. I also use Canon 24–105mm, 90mm tilt-shift, and 50mm macro lenses with a

Metabones adaptor. Despite the expediency of using digital, I wonder how its use affects photographers who know nothing about using film, and who have no experience with not seeing results until the film is developed. I cultivated a style and technique with film, using a couple of prime lenses. There was no zooming in and out; I had to use my feet and a couple of focal lengths. And I had to visualize my results. I think my experience with analog capture helps me wade through all the choices provided by digital gear. I must admit I love having all these choices, but I’m glad I learned to compose a photograph with limited options. If you ever feel stuck and overwhelmed with the opportunities in front of you, consider going out with one fixed focal length through which to see the world. Over the four decades that I’ve been a photographer, many new technologies have improved our options for capture and output. I have tried to evolve with the times and relish these opportunities. With a strong influence from Ansel, I have been focused on making the best prints possible. Color printing had many limitations back when I started, with less control than black and white in general, and particularly in terms of contrast. I look back and remember when I first started making Cibachrome prints in a friend’s bathroom that also served as a darkroom. For a few years, I printed in Ansel’s Yosemite darkroom. When I no longer had access to a darkroom, I found photo labs that specialized in working with photographers who were exhibiting in galleries and museums. They used contrast masks that helped to control Cibachrome’s narrow tonal range. In the very early days of digital printing, I connected with Bill Nordstrom and EverColor to make pigment prints for exhibits at The Ansel Adams Gallery and The Alinder Gallery, in conjunction with the release of my book Yosemite: The Promise of Wildness. The year was 1994. EverColor offered both pigment and chromogenic prints of the highest quality. They made both my film scans and prints, as few individuals had computers powerful enough to run Photoshop and the high-megapixel files generated when 4x5 film was scanned. The raw drum scans of my 4x5s were around 300MBs. Beginning with EverColor, my prints were made using the LightJet printer and Fujicolor Crystal Archive papers, which were offered by many labs at that time. The results were excellent. The next phase for me as a printmaker came when I purchased Epson’s Stylus Pro

7600 inkjet printer in 2003. Around this same time, my Mac computer was powerful enough for me to work on the large scanned files in Photoshop. I was finally gaining full control of printing my images. The Epson printer and its UltraChrome pigment inks made beautiful prints, but at first, color management was an issue. Fortunately, my earliest digital mentor Bill Atkinson had made his own color profiles, which he generously shared with me and other photographers. Bill’s profiles allowed us to create prints that looked like what we saw on our monitors. I also learned a great deal from Lewis Kemper, as well as from John Weller and John O’Connor, who both worked for me, and all of whom knew Photoshop far better than me. Another bit of good fortune was my relationship with West Coast Imaging, which was also located in Oakhurst, California. Rich Seiling and Terrance Reimer were a constant source of knowledge. Most of the scans for the film captures in this book were made by WCI’s master scanner Jeff Grandy. In 2007, through my association with Canon as an Explorer of Light, I started using their large format imagePROGRAF printers and pigment ink sets, and I continue to do so currently. The details of my technical evolution are probably not all that exciting to know. Still, I do think this information is instructive as to how we as artists can learn new approaches, and grow creatively from the foundations of our technique. Fortunately, the use of film still has its practitioners even while digital dominates the photo world. Using a view camera and transparency film is a significant part of my roots. But I don’t miss it. I look forward to what the future holds. Maybe a 150MP sensor for my iPhone?

PHOTOGRAPH INFORMATION

Page 2 Dawn | Lake Louise, Banff National Park, Canada | 1995 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 6 Sunrise on the Hana Coast | Koki Beach, Island of Maui, Hawaii | 1994 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Schneider Apo-Symmar 150mm f/5.6

Page 9 Two Rocks and Surf | Garrapata State Park, Big Sur, California | 2008 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1.5 sec at f/27, ISO 100

Page 11 Kelp | Carmel Beach, California | 2008 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 15 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 12 Black Oaks, Autumn | El Capitan Meadow, Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1984 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 15 Autumn Foliage | Ellis River, White Mountains, New Hampshire | 1990 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 16 Spring Storm | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1986 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 19 Pfeiffer Arch at Sunset | Pfeiffer Beach, Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, California | 2004 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 20 Crab Apple Blossoms Along the Oconaluftee River | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina | 1992 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Nikkor-T ED 360mm f/8.0

Page 24 Sunrise Storm Clouds | St. Mary Lake, Glacier National Park, Montana | 1995 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 28 Field of Lupine | Ahwahnee, California | 2005 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon Tilt-Shift 90.0mm Settings: 1/8 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 31 Pear Tree in Bloom | Fresno, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Sony FE 16-35mm f/2.8 GM 1/100 sec at f/13, ISO 640

Page 32 Cypress Trees in Fog | Monterey, California | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Sony FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM 1/3 sec at f/20, ISO 100

Page 36 Trees Growing on Moss-Covered Boulders | Baxter State Park, Maine | 1995 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Schneider Apo-Symmar 150mm f/5.6

Page 40 Striated Wall of an Ice Cave | Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada | 1995 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5

Page 44 Cloud Reflections and Mount Moran at the Oxbow Bend on the Snake River | Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming | 1990 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 48 Lava Flow Entering the Sea from Pu’u O’o Vent | Kamoamoa Coastline, Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Hawaii | 1994 Camera: Nikon FE2 Lens: Nikkor 80-200mm f/4.5

Page 51 Lava Flow Entering the Sea at Twilight | Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, Hawaii | 1994 Camera: Nikon FE2 Lens: Nikkor 80-200mm f/4.5

Page 52 Cedar Trees and Rock Circle | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 1986 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 55 Cottonwoods and Mist | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM4 Lens: Sony FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM Settings: 1/8 sec at f/11, ISO 100

Page 56 Half Dome and Elm, Winter | Yosemite National Park, California | 1990 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 59 Cottonwoods | Ahwahnee Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2007 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/90 sec at f/2.8, ISO 100

Page 60 Cottonwoods Reflected | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/6 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 62 Blooming Dogwood and Giant Sequoia in the Fog | Sequoia National Park, California | 1993 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 65 Redbud in Fog | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina | 1991 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 66 Lichen-Covered Alder and Boulder | Yosemite National Park, California | 2003 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 69 Alder and Granite Boulder | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park | California 1984 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 70 Sand Patterns, Sunrise | Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes, Death Valley National Park, California | 1984 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 72 Morning Mist | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2013 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 24-105mm f/4L Settings: 1/90 sec at f/16, ISO 100

Page 75 Morning Mist at Dawn | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/2 sec at f/18, ISO 100

Page 76 Black Oaks and Cathedral Rocks | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1984 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 79 Shrouded Cliffs and Trees on Glacier Point | Yosemite National Park, California | 1994 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 80 Autumn Snowstorm | Yosemite National Park, California | 2015 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/8 sec at f/16, ISO 400

Page 82 Reeds and Reflections | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/200 sec at f/16, ISO 400

Page 85 Rapid Waves | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1 sec at f/25, ISO 80

Page 86 Eroded Siltstone Formations and Clouds | Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah | 2002 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Schneider Apo-Symmar 150mm f/5.6

Page 89 Siltstone Pedestal Formations | Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah | 2002 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 90 Corn Lily Leaves | Yosemite National Park, California | 2013 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 50mm f/2.5 Compact Macro Settings: 1/2 sec at f/11, ISO 200

Page 93 Corn Lily Leaves | Summit Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2008 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 50mm f/2.5 Macro Settings: 30 sec at f/13, ISO 400

Page 94 Autumn Elm and Sunbeams | Cook’s Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/180 sec at f/22, ISO 200

Page 97 Maple Leaves Along the Merced River | Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1.60 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 98 Autumn Forest | Baxter State Park, Maine | 1995 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 99 Kings Pond with Morning Mist | Green Mountain National Forest, Vermont | 1991 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 100 Oak Tree and Ice | Yosemite National Park, California | 2004 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1 sec at f/25, ISO 100

Page 104 Redbud and Dogwood | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee | 1991 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 107 Rock Design | Great Smoky Mountains National Park, North Carolina | 1991 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 108 Aspens and Pond | Purgatory, Colorado | 1985 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 111 Aspens and Pond | Purgatory, Colorado | 1985 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Grandagon-N 90mm f/4.5

Page 112 Sunrise and Clouds | Amargosa Range, Death Valley National Park, California | 2007 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/5000 sec at f/3.2, ISO 200

Page 115 Seastacks at Sunset | Rialto Beach, Olympic National Park, Washington | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon F24-105mm f/4L IS Settings: 3 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 116 Giant Sequoia and Fir Tree in the Fog | Sequoia National Park, California | 1993 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 118 Morning Mist Rising | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/200 second at f/18, ISO 100

Page 119 Rising Mist at Sunrise | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/13 sec at f/20, ISO 100

Page 120 Tiger | Ranthambore National Park, Rajasthan, India | 2004 Camera: Canon EOS-1DS Lens: 300mm Settings: 1/180 sec at f/8, ISO 400

Page 123 Elephant Seals | San Simeon, California | 2004 Camera: Canon EOS-1DS Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L, 2X Extender Settings: 1/80 sec at f/22, ISO 200

Page 124 Snow Formations on Rocks | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1979 Camera: Pentax Spotmatic Lens: Unknown Telephoto

Page 126 Black Oaks in Winter | El Capitan Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 1994 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Nikkor-T ED 360mm f/8.0

Page 128 Giant Sequoias | Mariposa Grove, Yosemite National Park, California | 2007 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1.30 sec at f/13, ISO 100

Page 131 Sand Dunes | Death Valley National Park, California | 2006 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/6 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 132 Winter Forest | Yosemite National Park, California | 2007 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/2 sec at f/6.3, ISO 100

Page 134 Sand Dunes at Sunrise | Monument Valley Tribal Park, Arizona | 2002 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Schneider Apo-Symmar 150mm f/5.6

Page 137 Cloud Reflections and Mt. Moran at the Oxbow Bend on the Snake River | Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming | 1990 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Grandagon-N 90mm f/4.5

Page 138 Mud Cracks | Zion National Park, Utah | 1983 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 141 Sunrise Over Sand Dunes | Death Valley National Park, California | 1989 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 142 Oaks in Fog | Ahwahnee Hills Regional Park, California | 2008 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/125 sec at f/2.8, ISO 100

Page 144 Bridalveil Fall | Yosemite National Park, California | 2015 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/2000 sec at f/8, ISO 200

Page 145 Dogwood Along the Merced River | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 1/3 sec at f/16, ISO 100

Page 147 Monterey Pines in Fog | Monterey, California | 2005 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/1 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 148 Twilight at Scripps Pier | La Jolla, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 76 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 150 Sunrise at Scripps Pier | La Jolla, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 8 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 152

Stones | 2009 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon TS-E90mm f/2.8 Settings: 6 sec at f/27, ISO 100

Page 152 Forest Fog | Monterey, California | 2009 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 4 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 155 Monterey Bay Sunrise | Point Pinos, California | 2009 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 6 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 156 Grasslands at Sunset | Madera County, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 3.2 sec at f/5.6, ISO 100

Page 158 Grasslands at Twilight | Madera County, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 1/2 sec at f/11, ISO 100

Page 160 Valley Oak and Fog | Ahwahnee, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 16-35mm f/2.8L II Settings: 1/1000 sec at f/11, ISO 100

Page 163 Sunbeams and Forest | Sierra Nevada Foothills, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/1500 sec at f/8, ISO 100

Page 164 Rocks and Surf at Sunrise | Carmel, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 10 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 166 Rock Forms and Surf | Point Lobos State Park, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 50mm f/2.5 Macro Settings: 1/3 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 168 Plum Blossom | Ahwahnee, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon TS-E90mm f/2.8, Canon Extension Tube EF25 Settings: 1/180 sec at f/2.8, ISO 400

Page 171 Lupine Leaves | Ahwahnee, Sierra Nevada Foothills, California | 2008 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon Canon EF 50mm f/2.5 Macro Settings: 1 sec at f/32, ISO 100

Page 172 Rock, Water, and Tree | Cascade Falls, Yosemite National Park, California | 2011 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/2 sec at f/27, ISO 320

Page 174 Cascade Falls | Yosemite National Park, California | 2005 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/1000 sec at f/9, ISO 200

Page 176 Aspens and Approaching Storm | Conway Summit, California | 2010 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/45 sec at f/16, ISO 400

Page 180 Bridalveil Fall Triptych | El Dorado National Forest, California | 2005 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark II Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/30 sec at f/25, ISO 100

Page 180 Manzanita Lake Triptych | Lassen Volcanic National Park, California | 2004 Camera: Canon EOS-1DS Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/50 sec at f/18, ISO 100

Page 184 Redbud | Merced River Canyon, California | 2012 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1.50 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 187 Redbud and Merced River | Merced River Canyon, California | 1989 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 188

Lilies | Ahwahnee, California | 2012 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon Tilt-Shift 90mm f/2.8 Settings: 1 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 190 Nautilus Shell | 2012 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: TS-E90mm f/2.8 Settings: 20 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 192 Ferns | New Boston, New Hampshire | 2012 Camera: iPhone 4S Settings: 1/20 sec at f/2.4, ISO 80

Page 194 Veratrum | New Boston, New Hampshire | 2012 Camera: iPhone 4S Settings: 1/120 sec at f/2.4, ISO 100

Page 196 Elderberry Leaves #5 | Ahwahnee, California | 2012 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: TS-E90mm f/2.8 Settings: 1.5 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 199 Salsify | Ahwahnee | California 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 50mm f/2.5 Macro Settings: 1.3 sec at f/20, ISO 100

Page 200 Iceberg Sculpture | Pléneau Bay, Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L IS II USM Settings: 1/125 sec at f/19, ISO 800

Page 202 Gentoo Penguin and Two Chicks | Cuverville Island, Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L IS II USM +2x III Settings: 1/1000 sec at f/9.5, ISO 400

Page 203 Blue Icebergs | Cierva Cove, Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon EF 24-105mm f/4L Settings: 1/750 sec at f/22, ISO 1600

Page 204 Clearing Autumn Storm | Yosemite National Park, California | 2013 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/180 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 206 Autumn Oaks and Snowstorm | El Capitan Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 2013 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/15 sec at f/6.7, ISO 400

Page 208 Agave Attenuata | Island of Maui, Hawaii | 1994 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Schneider Apo-Symmar 150mm f/5.6

Page 211 Ridges | Mount Tamalpais State Park, California | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Sony FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM Settings: 1/125 sec at f/16, ISO 200

Page 212 Winter Sunset Reflections in Merced River | Gates of the Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1989 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 215 Backlit Ponderosa Pine Trees | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/250 sec at f/11, ISO 800

Page 216 Black Oak Branches in Winter | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1994 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Nikkor-T ED 360mm f/8.0

Page 219 Crystal Ice and Oak Leaf | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 2015 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: Canon TS-E90mm f/2.8 Settings: 1 sec at f/16, ISO 100

Page 220 Pecan Grove | California | 2015 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/2 sec at f/22, ISO 100

Page 223 Bridalveil Fall and Maple Leaves | Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: 24-105mm F4 G SSM OSS Settings: 1/640 sec at f/16, ISO 400

Page 225

Burnt Trees and Shadows on Snow | Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming | 1993 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 226 Dogwood and Merced River | Yosemite National Park, California | 2017 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1 sec at f/20, ISO 100

Page 228

Neumayer Channel | Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: EF 70-200mm f/2.8L IS II USM +Canon 1.4x III Extender Settings: 1/3000 sec at f/5.6, ISO 320

Page 230 Yellow Pines in Snow | Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1990 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 233 Mountain and Iceberg at Twilight | Antarctic Peninsula, Antarctica | 2014 Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark III Lens: EF 70-200mm f/2.8L IS II USM +2x III Settings: 1/500 sec at f/5.6, ISO 400

Page 234 Dune Patterns, Aerial | Death Valley National Monument, California | 1989 Camera: Nikon FE2 Lens: Micro-Nikkor 60mm f/2.8

Page 237 Ripples | Merced River, Yosemite National Park, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 1/80 sec at f/16, ISO 800

Page 237 Abalone Shell | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon Tilt-Shift 90mm/2.8 Settings: 1/400 sec at f/2.8, ISO 200

Page 237 Painted Bark Eucalyptus | Hana Coast, Maui, Hawaii | 1995 Camera: Wista 45SP 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Schneider Apo-Symmar 150mm f/5.6

Page 238 Merced River Reflections, Autumn | Yosemite National Park, California | 2018 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 3.20 sec at f/29, ISO 100

Page 241 Dogwood Trees in Bloom | Yosemite National Park, California | 2017 Camera: Sony 7RM2

Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 1/100 sec at f/13, ISO 400

Page 242 Dogwood Blossoms | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 1/6 sec at f/14, ISO 100

Page 245 Horsetail Fall | Yosemite National Park, California | 2019 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: FE 100-400mm F4.5-5.6 GM OSS Settings: 1/800 sec at f/18, ISO 100

Page 246 Gulls at Sunrise | Natural Bridges State Beach, California | 2012 Camera: Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 8 sec at f/27, ISO 100

Page 250 Sunset from Mt. Hoffman | Yosemite National Park, California | 1986 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 254 Reflections | Paria River, Paria Canyon-Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area, Utah | 1985 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 256 Corn Lilies | Summit Meadow, Yosemite National Park, California | 1988 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

Page 257 Rock, Tree, and Waterfall | Yosemite National Park, California | 2016 Camera: Sony 7RM2 Lens: Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L Settings: 2 sec at f/19, ISO 100

Page 261 Black Oaks | Merced River and El Capitan, Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park, California | 1985 Camera: Wista 45D 4x5 Metal Field Lens: Rodenstock Sironar-N 210mm f/5.6

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