Yosemite’s Natural Fire Fall

A couple of weekends ago, I had the opportunity to witness one of nature’s most spectacular light phenomenons. For only a few days of only some years, a seasonal waterfall in Yosemite National Park glows like lava as it catches the last rays of waning sunlight. I had long wanted to witness this event in person, but timing or weather had thus far made it impossible. Luckily, my good friend Steve was on the ball, and invited me along. He had already taken care of all the logistics (thank you Steve!) and all I had to do was pack for snow and show up.

Snow covers the floor of Yosemite Valley after a winter storm.
Snow covers the floor of Yosemite Valley after a winter storm.

After a morning drive to Yosemite from the San Francisco Bay Area, we soon found ourselves in one of the most beautiful valleys on Earth. A recent storm had dropped several feet of snow on the ground and frosted the landscape, accentuating Yosemite Valley in all it wintry glory.

Snow covers the floor of Yosemite Valley after a winter storm.
Snow covers the floor of Yosemite Valley after a winter storm.

As I often do with grand vistas, I not only captured the standard landscape shots, but also used my telephoto lens to find scenes within the scene. Switching to my 70-200mm allowed me to isolate Bridalveil Falls cascading down icy cliffs.

Bridalveil Falls forms an icy sheen on the rocks below, Yosemite National Park, CA.
Bridalveil Falls forms an icy sheen on the rocks below, Yosemite National Park, CA.

We stopped off at the Bridalveil Falls trail and scrambled up the slippery path to the base of the falls. Here it became a frigid dance of setting up a shot on the tripod, wiping the icy spray that had accumulated on the lens, and quickly firing a shot. Many times the same shot had to be repeated due to poor wiping skills. Being able to immediately review each shot on the back of the camera was essential for success. With deep respect, I thought of the many photography legends who likely stood in this very spot using much more challenging gear.

Yosemite Falls is reflected in the calm water below, Yosemite National Park, CA.
Yosemite Falls is reflected in the calm water below, Yosemite National Park, CA.
Half Dome towers above Yosemite Valley in winter.
Half Dome towers above Yosemite Valley in winter.

Throughout midday, we were able to capture some of the valley’s most famous icons, dusted in powdery snow.

Finally it was time to prepare for the main event. Many parking lots in Yosemite Valley were closed due to the several feet of snow on the ground. We parked at the closest lot and then snowshoed about a mile to the principal location at which the fire falls phenomenon could be viewed. We set up cameras and tripods at around 2pm, and waited until sunset, which we wouldn’t see for another three and a half hours (yes, landscape photography requires patience!).

For only a few days a year, the setting sun lights up the seasonal horsetail falls, cascading down the sheer face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.
For only a few days a year, the setting sun lights up the seasonal horsetail falls, cascading down the sheer face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

Finally, just after 5pm, Horsetail Falls came to life. Starting with an intense yellow, the falls turned to orange lava over the course of ten minutes.

The story of the original Yosemite “fire falls” goes back to the early years of the National Park Service, at a time when it was struggling to define the meaning of “attraction” for park visitors.  One popular sentiment of the day was that the parks had to entertain visitors, much in the way a circus would entertain audiences through spectacle.   As much of the nation was still rural, the idea of simply having access to wilderness was not as precious as today.

For example, when black bears began to raid the poorly maintained Yosemite Valley dump where all food scraps would end up, the first thought was not the safety of the wild bears. Instead of building proper barricades to prevent the bears from habituating to human food, the park service built bleachers around the dump so that visitors could watch the action.  Another such misstep was the nightly building of a large bonfire at the top of Glacier Point.  As the fire burned down, the embers were shoveled off the cliff, creating a “fire fall” to wow the crowd below in Curry Village. Thankfully this practice was eliminated in the early 1960s. Little did people realize that nature was already providing a much more spectacular display of its own.

For only a few days a year, the setting sun lights up the seasonal horsetail falls, cascading down the sheer face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.
For only a few days a year, the setting sun lights up the seasonal horsetail falls, cascading down the sheer face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

In 1973, photographer Galen Rowel was coming back from a climb in the valley when he looked up and saw a stunning light display against the shadowed backdrop of El Capitan.  Amazed at what he saw, he rushed to photograph it, only to see the light disappear before his eyes.  Although he didn’t know if he’d ever see something like that again, the next night he was prepared.  Sure enough, around the same time of day, Horsetail Falls (a seasonal waterfall that only flows with the proper amount of snow melt) lit up like a beacon.  He quickly composed an image that would become famous, and introduced the world to this amazing natural “fire fall”, which is now photographed by hundreds of photographers annually.

For only a few days a year, the setting sun lights up the seasonal horsetail falls, cascading down the sheer face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.
For only a few days a year, the setting sun lights up the seasonal horsetail falls, cascading down the sheer face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

What Galen Rowel was seeing was the setting sun striking only Horsetail Falls, isolating it against the dark cliffs of El Capitan.  There is only about 10 minutes per day where this contrast can be seen, turning the water a reddish orange just before the sun dips over the horizon.  In addition, this perfect sun angle that is required to light the falls but not the cliff only happens twice a year for a few days at a time. And only in late February is there a chance that Horsetail Falls is actually flowing.  This explains why this natural “fire fall” was such a rare occurrence before anybody knew to look for it.

I was overjoyed to finally witness and photograph this phenomenon for myself.

Gear I used to create the photos in this post:

Hopin’ For Hoopoes

As I rounded the bend in a trail in Parc de l’Oreneta in Barcelona, I drew an audible gasp, my eyes widening in surprise. There on the ground about 30 yards in front of me was a hoopoe, digging through dead leaves and tree litter looking for his morning meal. I had been looking for this bird for the last five years, and finally, here it was quite unexpectedly in front of me! Having decorated the cover of a “birds of the world” guide on my bookshelf, the hoopoe’s beautiful feather characteristics caught my eye. Ever since, I have been hoping to photograph one in the wild. I searched for one in both Africa and India, but to no avail. For some reason, it didn’t even make my radar for target birds on this trip to Spain, yet here it was on a quiet Saturday morning in a city park.

A Eurasian hoopoe hunts through the grass for a morning snack, Parc de l'Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.
A Eurasian hoopoe hunts through the grass for a morning snack, Parc de l’Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.

Unfortunately, my stalking skills could not overcome this bird’s awareness, and it flew off before I could get better than distant identifying shots. No matter – I was thrilled to know this species was here, and I planned to be back in the park bright and early the next morning.

The next morning, I spent some time in an open clearing, hoping to get a hoopoe perched in the rising sun. After about an hour of searching and waiting (meanwhile photographing the many monk parakeets that dotted the trees), I decided to move into the forested part of the park. Knowing the hoopoe is a ground feeder, I picked a primitive trail, hoping to stay away from morning joggers along the larger gravel and dirt roads. The ground sloped uphill to the left of the trail, and that is where I focused my search. Soon, the rustling of leaves alerted me to a hoopoe poking through forest detritus scattered along the hillside.

A Eurasian hoopoe perches on a stout branch, Parc de l'Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.
A Eurasian hoopoe perches on a stout branch, Parc de l’Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.

As I moved closer, it flushed to a nearby tree branch. I was able to get some safety shots of the hoopoe, but it was still skittish and constantly scanning its surroundings. I knew I should not get closer, and had to try a completely different approach. I moved further down the trail, then straight up the hill through the forest, lugging my 13 pound camera rig over my shoulder. Now I was able to move down the hill toward the hoopoe from a different direction. It had moved from the first branch, but looked much more relaxed in its second perch.

A Eurasian hoopoe perches on a stout branch, Parc de l'Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.
A Eurasian hoopoe perches on a stout branch, Parc de l’Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.

I was able to create some wonderful portraits with a relaxed hoopoe in full view. However, I didn’t yet have the iconic hoopoe shot that I was after. With my heart beating in my chest, I slowed my breath and waited. After several minutes, the bird finally stretched out its wing as it prepared for a nap on the branch.

Stretching a wing, a Eurasian hoopoe displays its beautiful crest plumage, Parc de l'Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.
Stretching a wing, a Eurasian hoopoe displays its beautiful crest plumage, Parc de l’Oreneta, Barcelona, Spain.

With the stretch came that amazing crest of feathers along the top of its head. My shutter fired and I knew I had the shot I had spend 5 years hoping for.

Gear I used to create the photos in this post:

An Afternoon In Redwood Shores

I came across the following birds on a recent afternoon in Redwood Shores, California. Located right along San Francisco Bay with lots of calm water channels and sloughs, there are usually good opportunities to get close to these wetland species.

A greater yellowlegs stalks in shallow water, Redwood Shores, CA.
A greater yellowlegs stalks in shallow water, Redwood Shores, CA.

First to show his face was a greater yellowlegs stalking along the edge of a slough. The still water provided a faint reflection.

A gadwall swims through shallow, calm water, Redwood Shores, CA.
A gadwall swims through shallow, calm water, Redwood Shores, CA.

I came across quite a few gadwall, a winter specialist in the bay area. During the summer, they disappear to the north, so it is always nice to see these understated drakes bobbing along the surface. Look closely and you will see the beautiful interplay of buff, gray and black.

A tiny bushtit perches briefly on an ornamental bush, Redwood Shores, CA.
A tiny bushtit perches briefly on an ornamental bush, Redwood Shores, CA.

Bushtits are year round residents, but notoriously difficult to find and photograph. They travel in flocks, often spending less than 30 seconds on a set of bushes before flying off to the next. The best way to find them is listen for their signature peeping and then scramble to find the source of the sound. Here I managed to capture a brief look from a striking female before she moved on to find more food.

A green heron perches next to still water, reflecting fall colors, Redwood Shores, CA.
A green heron perches next to still water, reflecting fall colors, Redwood Shores, CA.

I always feel lucky to find green herons considering how much they can blend in. This one I followed down a water channel until I could get a nice backdrop of reflected fall colors. Whenever I can, I seek out simple, clean backgrounds as it greatly accentuates the main subject.

A double-crested cormorant perches on a small rock, reflected in still water, Redwood Shores, CA.
A double-crested cormorant perches on a small rock, reflected in still water, Redwood Shores, CA.

Just before sunset, I found this double-crested cormorant perched on a tiny rock out in the calm water. Although the light was fading, I found the posture of this bird interesting. After a few moments, he spread his wings and flew off somewhere to roost.

Gear I used to create the photos in this post:

Recent Publication – GeoLino Magazine

My German friends can check out the recent February 2018 issue of GeoLino Magazine to see one of my photos of an African caracal. I shot this photo in Namibia in 2016 at the Naan Ku Se Wildlife Sanctuary.

Excerpt from Feb 2018 issue of Geolino Magazine of article about the African caracal.
Excerpt from Feb 2018 issue of Geolino Magazine of article about the African caracal.

It is pretty amazing in the information age to be able to have such a global reach with one’s photography. Things sure have come a long way from mailing stock lists to photo editors and if you could spark any interest with the written word, mail a package of slides for consideration. Even in the early days of digital, mailing CDs of images was common place, as file transfer rates were still slow. Today however, stock collections can be made available for searching from anywhere in the world.

A caracal sits in the dappled shade of the afternoon sun, Naan Ku Se Wildlife Sanctuary, Namibia.
A caracal sits in the dappled shade of the afternoon sun, Naan Ku Se Wildlife Sanctuary, Namibia.

I look forward to seeing this awesome cat again in the future.