One of the keys for any budding photographer is to shoot often, and stay well organized. You never know when photos you have taken in the past might some day become marketable. Several years ago, I shot a series of photographs on spec for a national magazine, including the photo you see here. Shooting on spec means that the magazine is requesting a photo with particular specifications, but has not given you an assignment and guaranteed publication. This is something I wouldn’t recommend unless it is almost no cost to you (including time spent!). My brother graciously volunteered to come along an be my model for the day.
Unfortunately, the magazine didn’t use my photographs for the intended article (in fact, I don’t know if they ended up running that article at all). This happens all too often with editorial publishing, which is why shooting on spec is almost never a good idea, especially if photography is your primary source of income. However, a couple of years later, that same national magazine did print one photo from this outing for a different article, and just recently another magazine is looking at these photos for publication as well.
The only way this was possible was for my photos to be well organized so they were easy to submit for other uses over the years. This means they were well captioned, titled, and tagged with keywords. Even though the original intent for the photos fell through, they were still very usable and have become part of my photo archive. Who knows when one of these photos will be used again in the future?
Dark-eyed juncos are most often seen on the ground, pecking around for bits of seed. But in this photo, I managed to capture one perched for a long period of time in a tree branch, seemingly displaying his tail feathers.
Normal courtship behavior for a male is to stand on the ground near the female, dip his head and raise his tail feathers while fanning them out to each side. I had never before seen one fanning its feathers up in a tree. And no females were anywhere to be seen. If this bird was attempting a courtship display, he was going about it all wrong.
But it was amusing for me, and I snapped away, capturing a behavior and location that I had never seen before with this bird.
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
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
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
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
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.
Last July, my friend Steve and I set out to hike the John Muir Trail, something we had been talking about for several years. We had already canceled the trip once before several years ago when a 70 mile training hike along the PCT aggravated some cartilage damage in one of my knees and it swelled up for several weeks. But this year, we had been careful with our training, planned all the food and mailed off our resupply. We were ready to go!
We met mid day in Bishop, and drove down to Whitney Portal to drop one of our cars at the trail head, which would serve as the terminus of our trip. After more than 10 hours of driving, we were finally back in Bishop, getting an early night sleep so that we could get an early start.
Five AM rolled around and we drove back to Yosemite, stopping in Tuolumne Meadows to drop a food resupply that we would pick up the following day along the trail. Finally, we got back down to a jam packed Yosemite Valley, bursting at the seams with summer visitors.
By now, it was almost 11AM, a very late start for a full day on the trail. In addition, we were unfortunate enough to start our trip on one of the hottest days of the summer. It was north of 100 degrees when we began our laden slog up the switchbacks to Nevada Falls. There were safety volunteers all along the trail warning people of heatstroke and helping those who were in danger of passing out.
Liberty Cap looms above Nevada Falls, showing mid summer flow
Being midsummer in a dry year, Nevada Falls was flowing at far less than maximum. But the stunning beauty of the Sierra Nevada more than made up for a somewhat anemic waterfall.
After a grueling afternoon, we finally got off the veritable highway that is the Half Dome trail, and continued along the more secluded JMT. The crowds faded away and it finally began to feel like the start of our journey. Soon however, afternoon storm clouds started rolling in, followed in short order by the ominous rumbling of distant thunder. Rain drops, softened by their journey through the forest canopy, began to splash around us.
A rainbow peaks through the dark clouds of an afternoon thunder storm, Yosemite National Park
Worried glances were exchanged, but not solely due to the increasing rain. During the entire climb from the falls, we had seen creek bed after creek bed, all bone dry. The light snow pack of the previous winter had rendered the high country a dry zone, punctuated only by year-round mountain lakes. Ironically (considering the downpour), we had to find water before setting camp, or we would go to bed hungry and thirsty, risking severe dehydration.
We stopped for a short time under a towering redwood watching the storm pass through. But time was marching on and the afternoon was growing old. Continuing our climb at an anxious pace, we passed grand views of Mt Clark.
A late afternoon thunderstorm moves across the sky over Mt. Clark, Yosemite National Park
Finally, using his uncanny sixth sense, Steve “sensed” water and left the trail. Off trail, over a low rise, we finally came to a narrow trough in the forest floor. Water bubbled along its bottom, giving us just enough volume from which to pull drinking water. Exhausted, we set up camp, ate a quick dinner, and collapsed in our tents, forgoing a camp fire. Secretly I hoped we had seen the worst of the rain. If only I knew what was coming….
