Tag: sunrise

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Lake Vernon Loop

The spray from Wapama Falls creates a rainbow as it rushes into the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, Yosemite National Park
The spray from Wapama Falls creates a rainbow as it rushes into the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, Yosemite National Park

Recently a friend and I headed up to Yosemite for an early season 4-day backpacking trip. It was a good excuse to loosen up the joints for the summer and get out in the Sierra backcountry. We chose the area around Lake Vernon as sort of a staging point from which to launch an off-trail loop into some of the less explored drainages. Supposedly, this area was relatively snow-free compared to other areas at similar elevation (7,000 – 9,000 ft).

We decided to hike up out of Hetch Hetchy due to the easy access. Because permits are issued at the entrance gate, you can get a wilderness permit the night before as late as 9pm. That is a huge help for those driving up after work from the Bay Area. We got there Friday night, got our permit, and settled in at the backpacker’s campground overlooking O’Shaughnessy Dam. We were up at 5:30 the next morning, and hit the trail by 7am. We had a very long day of hiking and lots of climbing, so we needed the early start.

The uneventful hike along the edge of Hetch Hetchy reservoir was punctuated only by the raging waters of Wapama Falls (see photo above). A couple of weeks earlier, the flow from the fast snow melt was so great that park rangers closed the bridges across the falls and shuttled people by boat around the dangerous spots. I was happy that we timed it such that it was a easy walk through the water spray.

We reached Rancheria Falls by 9:30 and began our long climb up out of the lower elevations of Hetch Hetchy. After a long day of absolutely nowhere to camp (not that we were ready to stop anyway), we reached our destination of Lake Vernon. It ended up being a 16 mile day with 4800 ft of elevation gain. Not surprisingly, we were pretty worn out for a first day of the season! With little time to scout before it was fully dark, I set my alarm to wake up before sunrise and do some quick scouting for shots along the shoreline.

Twisted trunks of trees are reflecting in Lake Vernon are silhouetted against the pre-dawn light, Yosemite National Park
Twisted trunks of trees are reflecting in Lake Vernon are silhouetted against the pre-dawn light, Yosemite National Park

One of the features of the lake that struck me was that all along the shoreline, trees were growing directly out of the water. I’m guessing that the Lake was at peak capacity and was flooding the base of the trees, but it definitely made for an interesting silhouette abstract. The sun soon rose into a cloudless sky, and we were quickly packed up and ready to hit the trail once again.

Above Lake Vernon, we hit quite a few places where the trail was under one to two feet of water. Large patches of snow began appearing amongst the trees. As we climbed higher, we began to worry about our original plan of climbing off trail to 9,000 feet and from there, exploring some of the ridge lines. As we got closer to our destination, we could see the ridges were still full of snow. With no choice but to change our plans, we camped up above Lake Wilma on some flat granite slabs next to a quiet cascade.

Water cascades down flat, open granite above Wilma Lake, Yosemite National Park
Water cascades down flat, open granite above Wilma Lake, Yosemite National Park

The next morning we decided that the best course of action was to more or less retrace our steps back to Lake Vernon, as we were pretty worn out from trudging through flooded meadows and snow drifts. At least this day would be mostly downhill (only 1500 ft of elevation gain), as the previous two days combined were close to 8,000 ft of gain. Walking downhill most of the day allowed us to enjoy the beauty of Falls Creek, which the trail followed most of the day.

We set up camp in the same spot along Lake Vernon that we had used two nights earlier. A bonus was getting to use the rest of the firewood we had already gathered! The next morning was quiet and beautiful. The surface of the lake had settled into a mirror, reflecting everything along the shore with perfection.

A large pine grows out of a pile of granite boulders along the shore of Lake Vernon, Yosemite National Park
A large pine grows out of a pile of granite boulders along the shore of Lake Vernon, Yosemite National Park

After enjoying a leisurely morning at the lake, we didn’t hit the trail until 9:30, our latest start yet. That was okay, because we had only an 11 mile hike out to the car, downhill almost the entire way. We left the lake opposite our entry point, creating a loop from Hetch Hetchy to Lake Vernon. We made quick time, blasting out of there in 4 1/2 hours. The most scenic part of the last day was descending the old construction road from Beehive Meadows. This was a road built to service the building of the dam, which has been converted into a hiking trail. A few chunks of asphalt were still seen here and there, but for the most part, mother nature had wiped out this road long ago with severe freeze/thaw cycles and many rock slides. Although the exposed decent was hot and hard on the joints, it did offer some stunning views of the reservoir.

Lupine blooms adorn the hillsides surrounding the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, Yosemite National Park
Lupine blooms adorn the hillsides surrounding the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, Yosemite National Park

As I was reaching the waterline, I couldn’t help but try to visualize what this valley would look like in its original condition, before the dam was built. I couldn’t help but feel a touch of remorse as I imagined John Muir shaking his head in disgust.

We reached the car by 2pm and began the drive home. It was a great first trip of the season, clocking in at 3 1/2 days of hiking, just over 50 miles covered, and over 10,000 ft of elevation gained. If this was a warmup trip, what’s the next trip going to be like?

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Went Hunting For Birds And I Got Skunked

A couple days ago I was out for sunrise along San Francisco Bay near my house, looking specifically for a Pacific Golden Plover in breeding plumage. One had been spotted in the area the day before, and I wanted to see if I could find him before he continued his migration north.

Upon arriving at the site, I immediately knew there would be no opportunities that morning. The tide was out, and all of the shorebirds were well out away from the sand in some soupy viscous mud. I knew that if I ventured out to where they were, I’d be at least up to my knees in the stuff, unable to move quietly, and a mucky mess. Oh well – I gave it a shot. Low tide was right around noon, which is usually a terrible time for photography.

A striped skunk poses for a portrait in pickleweed growing along the San Francisco Bay
A striped skunk poses for a portrait in pickleweed growing along the San Francisco Bay

As I turned around to head back to the car, I saw some movement in the rocks that separate the beach from a bay trail. To my surprise it was a striped skunk, heading out for a late breakfast. I had only ever seen skunks before at dusk, and usually when its already fairly dark out.

He descended into the pickleweed and disappeared entirely. Most of the time, he could only be detected by the rustling of bushes, and loud smacking and crunching whenever he ate what he dug up. Occasionally a beautiful tail would appear waving above the pickleweed.

A striped skunk tail emerges from a thick growth of pickleweed along the San Francisco Bay
A striped skunk tail emerges from a thick growth of pickleweed along the San Francisco Bay

As he moved closer to me, I would back up, making sure to give him plenty of space. It was extremely difficult to keep focus on him as he moved through the pickleweed, because he could move quickly when he wanted to, and I usually only got to see flashes of black fur. Finally however, he emerged at the edge of the thicket and gave me the shot I was hoping for. A quick burst of frames and I got only one keeper which is the first shot of the post.

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Sunrise Over The Salt Pan

The rising sun creeps toward the eastern horizon as the dried flats of Salt Creek sit in shadow, Death Valley National Park
The rising sun creeps toward the eastern horizon as the dried flats of Salt Creek sit in shadow, Death Valley National Park

On the final morning of the recent Death Valley Dykinga workshop, we headed to the Salt Creek area in the heart of the park. This year it was dry as a bone, the water evaporating off the salt to form geometric shapes in the salt crust. This morning we only had clouds to the east, so I knew my first opportunity would be sunlit clouds in that direction, as the sun was still well behind the eastern mountains. Walking west from the road, I moved out into the salt pan far enough so that when I looked back to the east, the road was indistinguishable from the mountains. I knew that with my selected exposure, any cars (and other photographers!) would disappear into shadowed insignificance.

With the sun fast approaching, I hunted for the perfect foreground. This can be tricky to see with the naked eye – I can find my compositions better by looking through my viewfinder with the camera off-tripod. Once I see the composition I like, I set up the tripod in that spot. Then it is a matter of fine tuning up or down, left or right until the edges of the frame are just right. For the shot above, I decided not to go too wide because I wanted to fill the top of the frame with the meager clouds.

Instead of using a graduated ND filter, I took two shots – one exposed for the foreground and one for the sky. I knew I’d have more blending latitude on the computer later. I know many photographers who frown on this practice. They preach “getting it right” in the field. I consider that a noble pursuit, but I see my method as more future-proof. As my blending technique improves over time, I can always go back to my originals and recreate a better blend.

Sunlight moves down the mountains to the west of Salt Creek, now a dried salt flat, Death Valley National Park
Sunlight moves down the mountains to the west of Salt Creek, now a dried salt flat, Death Valley National Park

As soon as I was finished with my first shot, I looked west and started pre-visualizing my second desired shot for the morning. This is when I really started getting excited. When the sun rose behind me, it would first strike the top of the western mountains and then start moving down, painting them red and orange (due to the mountains reflecting only the longer wavelengths of light as it traveled through the atmosphere). The whole time, the salt pan would still be in shadow, the pure white salt reflecting cool blue tones. One of my favorite things to do with photography is find places in nature that combine hot and cold tones together. Here was a great opportunity!

There was only one problem. Directly in front of me was a huge patch of dark mud, disrupting the disappearing patterns of the salt pan. I needed to move to the south of the mud field so I had uninterrupted salt pans fading to the base of the mountains. With little time to spare, I mounted my camera on my chest harness, picked up my tripod and ran to the south as fast as I could. As I got farther from the mud field, the ridges of the salt pan grew more shallow, which added a delicate feeling to the salt.

I found my composition, went ultra wide to accentuate the enormity of the salt pan, and waited. The sun had risen behind me and was already touching the highest peaks to the west. As the sun moved down the mountains, I took several safety shots, but I knew that I wanted as much of those mountains in red as possible. Soon the clouds to the east began brushing the mountain tops with light shadow patterns, and I knew this was the moment. Click.

I spent the rest of the morning experimenting with different lenses and techniques, unconcerned about getting anything else of substance that morning. I was pretty happy with my haul.

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Zabriskie Point Sunrise

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

During my recent visit to Death Valley National Park, one morning was spent at Zabriskie Point, a popular roadside overlook filled with tourists. Usually, I try to avoid these places, but it was my first visit to the park, and as much as I hate to admit it, these roadside tourist zoos were put there for a good reason. They offer amazing views! So, it was time to buck up and stand elbow to elbow with every other photographer in the park that morning.

The sky turns pink at first light at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park
The sky turns pink at first light at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park

No one there that morning was disappointed. As the sun rose behind us, the sky to the west exploded with light. Unearthly pink hues skipped across the bottom of the clouds, topping the canyon of ribboned stone below with a surreal canopy. A hundred clicks echoed off the walls of the valley before us.

Dawn light permeates the clouds at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park
Dawn light permeates the clouds at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park

It was on. I felt myself move into the space between consciousness and dreaming, where my creative mind took control and the technical operations of my camera faded from thought. Landscape, portrait, panorama, zoom in, pull out. My fingers flew over the controls as my mind prepared the next shot. In an instant, it was over and all around me came a collective sigh of relief. The race to capture first light was over – time to have a brief pause before the sun started peaking over the eastern hills.

Muted light plays across the ridges of rock at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park
Muted light plays across the ridges of rock at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park

Soon people were packing up to leave. I took this opportunity to capture some of the details of the rippled rock below. It was still in shade, but with so much light bouncing off the bright walls of the canyon, all the shadows were full and rich in detail.

Before long I was packing up as well. The streams of outgoing photographers were replaced with point-and-shoot tourists, fresh after a morning breakfast. I knew that seeking originality from Zabriskie Point was likely a lost cause, but it was hard not to be inspired by such a light show. I left with a huge smile on my face, thankful for the unending gift of nature.

Copyright 2017 Hank Christensen