Black And White Challenge

Two weeks ago I was challenged by friend and photographer Jerry Dodrill to post 5 black and white photographs on social media over 5 consecutive days. As I am not known for shooting much black and white, I dug back into my archives to see what I had. From that selection, I chose five photos from a variety of subject matter (landscape, wildlife, and architecture) that spoke to me more as fine art than editorial photos. Here is my selection collected together, along with a short synopsis of each.

Day One

Dawn breaks over Banner Peak and Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness
Dawn breaks over Banner Peak and Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

I shot this last year on my attempt at the John Muir Trail. Thousand Island Lake is a beautiful location in the heart of the Ansel Adams Wilderness. This was a dark, moody, stormy morning, and during a brief pause in the torrential downpour, I braved the elements and scrambled out of my tent to capture Banner Peak with the lake below. In order to convey my feelings at the time I shot it, it seemed like a perfect candidate for a B&W conversion.

Day Two

Death Valley's Mesquite Dunes are a study of form and lines
Death Valley’s Mesquite Dunes are a study of form and lines

This shot is of the Mesquite Dunes outside of Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley National Park. I shot this fairly wide (21mm) as I was standing on the foreground dune. Those who have photographed a lot of sand know that you can’t just back up to reshoot – you’ll end up with a photo full of footprints! Black and white allowed me to add contrast into the sand ripples along the crest of the dune.

Day Three

Four american white pelicans line up, all of them fishing at the same time. There was a nice symmetry to this image, which was calling very strongly to be rendered as a black and white fine art photograph.
Four american white pelicans line up, all of them fishing at the same time. There was a nice symmetry to this image, which was calling very strongly to be rendered as a black and white fine art photograph.

With this photo, I’m switching focus to birds (hey, birds can make great B&W too!) I was shooting a group of American White Pelicans and was waiting for that perfect, synergistic moment. Finally they all ducked down for fish at the same time (the white pelicans tend to be much lazier when eating as compared to the California Browns who are constantly dive bombing their food). I caught the moment and new it would make a nice pano crop – a conversion to a high-key black and white was icing on the cake.

Day Four

Church and cemetery, Great Smoky Mountains National Park
Church and cemetery, Great Smoky Mountains National Park

This image is a little different from my usual fare. Quite a few years ago, a friend and I were hiking through the woods of Great Smokey Mountain National Park. It was a still, crisp November day, and we were utterly alone with the trees. Throughout the day, we had been getting a very creepy vibe. Unlike the wilderness of the west, these forests are littered with remnants of past civilizations – small mountain villages linked to other settlements only via walking paths. It almost felt like the ghosts of the past were watching our progress through their woods. Suddenly our trail opened up into a clearing with an old church, complete with cemetery and 100+ year old headstones. When I took this photograph, I knew I wanted to try to convey that feeling that we’d been getting all day. A black and white, high contrast conversion was in order.

Day Five

Soft light across the dunes adds a milky texture to the wind carved lines, Death Valley National Park
Soft light across the dunes adds a milky texture to the wind carved lines, Death Valley National Park

My final shot is another B&W dune photo from Death Valley. This time I kept the contrast and the clarity low, to emphasize the soft buttery texture of twilight. What first attracted me to this spot was the three tall dunes in the background. I think they reminded me of pyramids off in the distance. I set about looking for a foreground. When I found layer upon layer of sand “waves” stacked up in front of the dunes, I knew I had my shot. I fell in love with the way the light moved across the sand like it was a living thing. In order to remove all other distractions from the photo, I subtracted all color and let the interplay between the shadows and highlights define the photograph.

When reality is too crazy to print

Those of us who have spent a good deal of time in nature have probably witnessed a few moments of pure magic when weather, light and other natural forces converge to create unforgettable events. I have had several such experiences, some of which I’ve been fortunate enough to have had a camera ready to capture them. When I see it in person, I’m often awe struck at the magnificence before me. But many times when I get home and process the resulting photos, I realize that I’m going to have some explaining to do. Sometimes the colors and lighting are so striking and unusual, that the resulting photo looks completely fake. This is especially true in this modern world of extreme photo manipulation capabilities.

But what to do in such circumstances? I certainly don’t want to de-saturate and alter the unusual colors so that the scene looks more “natural”. That is like saying these lighting events never occurred and what I witnessed should have looked like any other day. Instead I process the image so that the result matches my memory and add some written descriptions to allow the viewer to understand what they are seeing. So without further ado, here are three “crazy” lighting events and the resulting photos.

Dramatic light bursts from behind the Tetons at sunset. Thick smoke and haze from nearby forest fires create God beams as the sun drops behind the horizon, Grand Teton National Park
Dramatic light bursts from behind the Tetons at sunset. Thick smoke and haze from nearby forest fires create God beams as the sun drops behind the horizon, Grand Teton National Park

We’ll start with one of the most unbelievable sunsets I have ever seen. I was with some friends on a photo trip in Grand Tetons National Park a couple of years ago to photograph wildlife and fall colors against the spectacular backdrop of this mountain range. Smoke from nearby wildfires somewhat hampered our efforts early in the trip, but it also lent a special atmospheric quality to the otherwise clear skies.

The sun set behind the notch in the mountains, and we waited. Finally, it peeked out underneath the clouds on the horizon, cutting through the lingering smoke and turning the sky into an unbelievable magenta. In post processing, I kept finding myself wanting to desaturate or change the sky color, but finally I just left it as is. That is how I saw the scene, so I have to trust the colors.

Mt Wilson and the Wilson Mesa glow a light magenta under a cloud that catches the morning light.
Mt Wilson and the Wilson Mesa glow a light magenta under a cloud that catches the morning light.

The next example is from a recent fall color photography trip (notice a pattern here?) that I took to Colorado. Standing just below Last Dollar Road and looking out over the Wilson Mesa, I waited for what the sunrise would bring. The morning did not disappoint, and the clouds over Mt. Wilson lit up a beautiful orange. What was strange about the scene though, was that the entire landscape was cast in a similar orange, as if the color from the clouds on the horizon was emanating out in all directions.

What I realized later was that directly above me was a similar cloud catching similar light. It acted as a giant diffuser, coloring the grass, trees, and mountains in that same orange tint. Again I found myself tempted to remove the color cast, but again, that glow was real, and that is exactly how the scene looked that morning.

Clouds explode with light over the multi-colored rock at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park
Clouds explode with light over the multi-colored rock at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park

This sunrise was really spectacular. Given that I was shooting at a popular roadside pullout, the sky really saved the shot here and made it unique (which is why I emphasized it so much in this photo). The bright pink/magenta color continued to get more and more intense as the sun rose behind me. This was one of those moments when the heart starts beating faster and I can feel the blood pumping. I knew I had just seconds to capture the shots I wanted while this phenomenon remained. In all, within 30 seconds it was gone.

As I look back on these shots I see wild colors and unreal looking landscapes. I’m not sure if I’ll ever print any of these, because they look processed beyond reality. But looking at these photos also reminds me of some amazing moments that I’ve witnessed first hand. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Recent Publication – Backpacker Magazine

A backpacker descends from Horton Pass through Eagle Creek Canyon, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
A backpacker descends from Horton Pass through Eagle Creek Canyon, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon

The image above made its way into the June 2014 issue of Backpacker Magazine. The backpacker featured here is actually my dad – he and my brother agreed to be backpacker “models” on a trip to Eagle Cap Wilderness in Oregon a few years ago. As I mentioned in a recent article, you never know when a past photo will be used in the future, so it pays (literally!) to be well organized with your photo archive.

Occasionally while hiking with others, I lag behind so that I can get natural backpacking shots against stunning scenery. Sometimes these types of shots can work much better than planned photo shoots – this way I tend to get a more natural look out of my subjects.

Failing the John Muir Trail Part 2

If you missed part one of my JMT adventure, you can find it here.

Waking up the second morning of my JMT attempt, I felt rejuvenated and ready to go. I had dried out from the previous day’s afternoon thundershowers and the elevation gain did not look as grueling as the day before. Top that off with a 6AM start, and I was ready to get some miles under my feet.

Our day’s journey was supposed to take us at least to Tuolumne Meadows. If we made good time, we would consider pushing up into Lyell Canyon. As soon as we hit the trail, we were greeting by morning views of Mt Clark. The rising sun cast the peak in side-lighting, accentuating its scabrous textures.

The rising sun side lights Mt. Clark and casts sharp shadows across its face, Yosemite National Park
The rising sun side lights Mt. Clark and casts sharp shadows across its face, Yosemite National Park

As the trail climbed ever upward, it moved through areas of dense pine forest. As I often do in changing conditions, I made sure my camera / lens combo was set up for any rapidly unfolding situation. In this case, I attached my 70-200mm lens in case we happened to see wildlife stirring in the early morning. I was not disappointed!

A black bear cub climbs a tree to escape from unknown potential predators, Yosemite National Park
A black bear cub climbs a tree to escape from unknown potential predators, Yosemite National Park

We heard a rustling off to our right side and sighted a large black bear standing next to the trunk of a tree looking right at us. Movement above caught my eye and I realized that this was a mama bear who had just treed her two cubs in order to get them to safety. My heart instantly started thumping in my chest. It was very exciting to see so many bears at once, but a mother and her cubs can be a very dangerous combo. Luckily my camera was ready to go, and my ISO was raised high enough to manage the dark morning of the forest.

After a while, the mother turned and walked away from us, and her cubs realized it was time to go. They nearly ran backward down the tree and lumbered off toward their mom. This made four bears sighted in less than 12 hours, as we had seen a large male the evening before just after the rain stopped.

Soon we were on the well-worn train between Sunrise camp and Tuolumne Meadows. We made quick work of this portion of the trail as we had both done it together before. Of course, we had to stop for some of the prettier vistas.

Cathedral Peak stands tall overlooking the surrounding wilderness, Yosemite National Park
Cathedral Peak stands tall overlooking the surrounding wilderness, Yosemite National Park

The day grew hot and we slowed down. The backpacker’s campground seemed an endless distance, always just around the next corner. Finally we arrived in the early evening, definitely not able to continue further that night, as we were feeling the day’s 15 miles. We camped in Tuolumne, ready to hit the trail early and tackle Lyell canyon. As soon as we set up camp, rain visited us again. At least this time we were done for the day and could retreat into the relative comfort of our tents.

Next morning dawned clear and cool. Perfect weather for blasting up a relatively flat and open canyon, trying to get to Donohue Pass as early as possible. However, as soon as we began our climb, those ominous clouds began to form again, this time much earlier in the day.

Upward we climbed, ever closer to the pass, as the clouds gathered and darkened. Soon the familiar patter of rain filled the air, picking up intensity with every step. At first I hoped the clouds would pass on by, but finally I gave up and stopped to put my camera gear away. I was prepared with a dry bag big enough for my camera body and the two lenses I carried with me, but this meant hauling my ten pounds of photo gear without the benefit of being able to use it.

As the wind picked up and lighting started to test the distant peaks, our morale plummeted. Finally, Steve had enough. He stopped and yelled to the sky, “If this is the misery you’re going to put us through, at least show us a lightning bolt up close!” Not five seconds passed before the air concussed around us with the boom of thunder, as a lightning bolt hit a peak a quarter mile from the pass. “OK! That’s close enough!” I blurted out. We stared at each other wide eyed, instantly appreciating the potential ferocity of Mother Nature.

Noon stretched into a long, rain soaked afternoon. We reached the pass and descended through a pretty alpine valley, one I must visit again in better weather conditions. The storm demanded a forced march, as stopping in such wetness was even more miserable than moving through it. Our desired campsite for the day came and went; our problem this time not a lack of drinking water but that of a dry place to sleep. Finally we reached Thousand Island Lake, and after 20 miles, our exhausted bodies required we stop, dry campsite or not.

After quickly throwing our tents up and dumping out our gear, we huddled under Steve’s rain fly to eat a quick dinner. Passing out in my tent finally brought some somewhat dry relief.

Dawn breaks over Banner Peak and Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness
Dawn breaks over Banner Peak and Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Tired as I was, I woke before dawn to a dark gloomy sky. But at least it wasn’t raining. I got out of my tent to enjoy a few moments out in the air, and to see if I could grab a couple of pre-dawn shots of the lake. Even with the foreboding weather, this lake and Banner Peak that towers above it create a gorgeous scene. I converted the shot above to black and white, because the early light cast everything in a pale blue, flattening out the contrast. Using black and white allowed me to pull some of that contrast back into the photo, showing off the subtleties of the rocky shoreline and face of the peak.

Just as I walked back into camp and started packing my tent, the rain greeted us once again. This was too much! The only reason we were out here was to enjoy the long journey along the trail, and we certainly weren’t enjoying ourselves. We discussed abandoning, and after meeting up with a group of JMT hikers who had already decided the same, the deal was sealed. Seven short miles of descent and we were boarding a shuttle bus to Mammoth, where a shower, beers and burgers awaited.

Abandoning the trail was a disappointment, but turned out to be a good decision. As it poured in the mountains for another seven days, it turns out it was just not our year.

Copyright 2017 Hank Christensen