A marbled godwit walks along a muddy shore, looking for food. Canon 800mm f/5.6L IS lens with the EOS-7D. ISO 1250. Evaluative metering 0 EV: 1/200 sec. at f/5.6
Shell Beach is a small strip of broken shells at the eastern end of Foster City, California. It is a popular spot for shorebirds year round, and a nice stop over for migrants. I went there at dawn recently to check it out, and see who was around. The tide was out, so there was plenty of freshly exposed mud for the birds to poke around in looking for food. Several marbled godwits controlled the scene, keeping some of the smaller birds away from the prime real estate.
A black-bellied plover in winter plumage stands along the shore in shallow waves. Canon 800mm f/5.6L IS lens with the EOS-7D. ISO 1250. Evaluative metering 0 EV: 1/1600 sec. at f/7.1
Quite a few black-bellied plover were present, still in their winter plumage. They stood at the very edge of the bay, soaking in the warming rays of the rising sun.
A willet stands on broken shells, posing for a portrait. Canon 800mm f/5.6L IS lens with the EOS-7D. ISO 1250. Evaluative metering 0 EV: 1/1250 sec. at f/7.1
A willet roamed further from the water, preferring the broken shells that give the beach its name. It obliged me with a brief look back over its shoulder, giving me a quick opportunity for a portrait. Then it disappeared into some tall grass and out of sight for the morning.
A ruddy turnstone pokes through a muddy beach in search of food. Canon 800mm f/5.6L IS lens with the EOS-7D. ISO 1250. Evaluative metering 0 EV: 1/1600 sec. at f/7.1
Turning back to the beach, I saw a distant speck making its way toward me. I couldn’t distinguish what it was from that distance, but I knew it was different from any other bird currently around me. Since it was headed my direction, I hunkered down and waited, knowing that it is always better to let birds approach you, rather than risk spooking them. Eventually the speck materialized into a ruddy turnstone, pecking at the mud. It was soon joined by several others, who all continued past me and off into the rising sun.
Overall it was a pretty quiet morning at the edge of the bay. But an excellent way to welcome the morning.
Recently several people have asked me what alpenglow is, and what causes it. This term was probably popularized among photographers by Galen Rowell, who wrote about it and demonstrated it wonderfully through many of his fantastic landscapes. The term refers to the reddish pre-dawn and post-sunset lighting effects sometimes seen on mountain peaks. There is some debate as to whether it also refers to the light cast directly by the sun at the moment of sunrise or sunset, or if it only refers to an indirect red cast on the mountain top while the mountain is still in the earth’s shadow. Either way, it is a beautiful sight to behold.
Mt. Whitney glows red in pre-dawn light, Alabama Hills, CA
I got a chance to see intense alpenglow recently when I visited the Alabama Hills on the eastern side of the Sierra. In the photo above, you can see the intense red of alpenglow touching the peak of Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the continental US.
Why is alpenglow red? The longest and slowest moving light waves in the visible spectrum are red. As light travels through our atmosphere, the faster wave lengths (blue) are absorbed – only the red penetrates. Alpenglow is an extreme version of this light absorption because of the increased amount of atmosphere light has to travel through at this time of day. Here we have the sun rising on one horizon (east), striking an object on the opposite horizon (west). The red wave length is the only end of the spectrum that makes it through all that atmosphere. The fact that there are no features obstructing the sun as it rises across the Nevada desert, combined with the fact that the peaks of the eastern Sierra rise over 10,000 feet straight up, make the Alabama Hills one of the best places on earth to view alpenglow.
Light from the rising sun creeps down the face of Mt. Whitney at dawn, Alabama Hills, CA
Here we have another shot of Whitney taken less than four minutes after the first photo. Here the darker purple of the earth shadow moved down the face, and the red color was more orange as the sun rose above the eastern horizon. Even though it was only four minutes later, there was less atmosphere for the sun light to traverse, shifting the color away from red and toward the shorter wavelengths.
This is the conclusion of a recent backpacking trip to Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness. If you missed them, check out the first part here and the second part here.
At sunrise, a cloud bank moves up out of the valley to the east of Glacier Lake, catching the first rays of sunlight, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
I emerged from my tent half an hour before dawn on the morning of the fourth day a very cold man. My breath had frozen into ice crystals in the mesh on the inside of my tent and the 25 degree night had pushed my 30 degree sleeping bag beyond its limits. Watching the alpenglow emerge on the cliffs above the lake, I warmed myself by jumping up and down behind my tripod. Just as the sun was hitting the top of the peak, a cloud bank moved up out of the valley to the east, catching the sun’s rays.
The first rays of sunlight greet a backcountry campsite at Glacier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
The photo above shows our meager, no-fire campsite. Although cold, the entire area was beautiful to behold. With eager anticipation for some warmth, I watched the sun creep down the face of the cliff. The cloud bank continued to move up from the valley to the east, and a new set of much darker, ominous clouds emerged from the valley to the west. Suddenly I began to get nervous about some weather moving in, and we packed our site quickly, skipping breakfast.
Sun peaks over a cloud bank, touching the surface of Glacier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
As we were getting ready to leave, the sun finally hit the surface of the lake, generating steam rising from the frigid water.
The first rays of sunlight heat the cold waters of Glacier Lake, creating steam, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
The photo above shows the shoreline silhouetted against darkening storm clouds. The rising steam is backlit by the sun. It was definitely time to leave. I felt a little better that we were packed up, because if it started pouring on us, we could at least throw a poncho over us to keep dry. Packing up camp in a downpour on the other hand, was a miserable proposition.
Snow covered cliffs tower above Glacier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
As we hiked up out of Glacier Lake on our way to Glacier pass, the clouds continued to gather. From a higher elevation, the entire expanse of the lake was visible. The photo above was stitched from five overlapping photos, hand held. When photographing a panorama, the most important thing to keep consistent between images is focus and exposure. Things like white balance can be corrected on the computer later.
The west fork of the Wallowa River drains out of Galcier Lake and winds down the valley to Frazier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
Closer to the pass, we got a view of the west fork of the Wallowa River draining out of the eastern end of Glacier Lake, and continuing down the valley to Frazier Lake, which we visited the day before. This photo shows how the entire eastern side of Glacier Lake seems to float high above deep valleys on three sides. It was stitched together from nine vertical shots, all hand held. Whenever possible, I shoot panoramas in a vertical format to preserve the top and bottom of the final image. Often times, the warping of photos by the stitching algorithms can reduce the resulting photo to a thin strip. The vertical format helps to counteract the vertical image loss.
Eagle Cap towers over Mirror Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
We descended from Glacier Pass down to Moccasin Lake, and then a short distance to Mirror Lake. Originally I had planned to spend the night at Mirror Lake, but after talking to a ranger the night before, we decided to push through so our last day was not so long. She told us that there were over 60 groups camping at Mirror Lake the night before. Not wanting to hike for four days only to camp right on top of people, it was a no-brainer.
The peak of Eagle Cap is visible for many miles around, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
Past Mirror Lake, we climbed the steep trail to Horton Pass, our exit point of the Lakes Basin management area. Just before the top of the pass is the cutoff trail to the summit of Eagle Cap itself – the omniscient sentry overlooking much of the Lakes Basin. The trail junction offered up-close views of the peak and surrounding area.
At Horton Pass, I thought surely we had seen the highlights of the trip, and we could more or less blast through the descent from the pass to the car. However, Eagle Cap Wilderness had one final surprise in store for us – Eagle Creek Canyon.
False hellebore fills the meadows of Eagle Creek Canyon, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
We left the crowds behind (we didn’t see anyone else until we got close to our car the following day) and started downhill, all of our climbing behind us. As we descended further from the pass, the landscape got more beautiful. False hellebore turning golden and orange contrasted with the greens of the surrounding forest.
The setting sun lights up the cliffs surrounding Eagle Creek Canyon, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
Sharp peaks lined each side of the canyon, while Eagle Creek rushed ahead, gathering size and force with every tributary we passed.
Painted cliffs descend to a mixture of fir and pine along East Eagle Creek, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
Once again, fast moving clouds created an ever-changing light show on the eastern cliffs. We hiked until the sun set behind the western ridge overlooking the canyon. With several hours of daylight left, we had plenty of time to find a picturesque camp site shaded by a ring of trees. Nearby, Eagle Creek could be heard gurgling away.
Wildflowers adorn the meadows of Eagle Creek Canyon, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
The photo above was just outside of the tree ring surrounding our camp site. Wildflowers were everywhere, creating a variegated feast for the eyes. This canyon was as scenic (if not more so) than the Imnaha River Valley we visited earlier in the trip. It was well worth the additional effort of a longer drive and more elevation gain to visit these two rivers, offering more spectacular sights and more solitude than the popular Lakes Basin area.
Wildflowers line the trail through Eagle Creek Canyon, Eagle Cap Wilderness, Oregon
The next morning, we were up early and quickly broke camp and got on the trail. While we were anxious to get back to the car (and start our 7 hour drive!) we still lingered here and there to enjoy our surroundings. The beauty and variety of the scenery cemented my decision to come back to this part of Oregon for future trips. There is so much to explore here.
The sun peaks over the crater's rim, casting Crater Lake in the warm glow of sunrise, Crater Lake National Park, Oregon
On a recent trip to Crater Lake, I lucked out with a morning that wasn’t completely overcast. After shooting sunset the night before, I found myself back at the rim of the crater at 5:15 the next morning, trying to stay warm in sub-freezing temperatures. As soon as the sun’s glow started appearing over the far rim, I knew it would all be worth it.
Although I took many photos that morning, I think the one above is my favorite. The star burst effect on the sun is caused by using a small aperture (f/16 in this case). Below are a few more from that morning.
Light from the rising sun turns a blue sky orange and silhouettes the distant rim, Crater Lake National Park, OregonThe light of sunrise casts the overlook and the surrounding rim of Crater Lake in a warm glow, Crater Lake National Park, Oregon
