Final Wrap
8-16-06
I'm back. Yesterday I dropped Sean off in Idaho Falls at 12:15 p.m. The plan in the itinerary was to take the scenic route from Evanston to Idaho Falls, but after breakfast, Sean and I both agreed we had finally had enough scenery, thank you very much. My eyes have been saturated, and
my photo urge sated. I did not take a single landscape photograph yesterday, though I drove through 950 miles of spectacular high desert mountainscapes.
I did snap a few photos at EBR-1, one of the newest additions to the National Historical Site list. This facility, located in the Idaho National Laboratory, was the first nuclear reactor ever to generate electricity. The faility has a quaint feel of 1950s hi-tech, but the overall impression is of wonder that anyone dared tinker with such forces using such primitive technology. Outside the facility are two frighteningly huge devices that were experimental nuclear-powered jet engines. The project was canceled by JFK after costing more than a billion 1950s dollars. It does boggle the mind how entranced the government was with playing with nuclear fire.
Some observations that didn't yet make it into the blog:
I have fallen in love with night photography. Zion and Arches have some of the clearest,
darkest night skies in the United States. Unfortunately, my digital camera does not have a bulb setting, so the longest exposure it could handle was eight seconds. I also did not bring my tripod, further hindering the quality of photography. Now I have an excuse to resurrect my Pentax: I can take night shots with it! Here's the best I could manage with what I had:
I've been reminded of how huge the sky can be in the desert. For all the spectacle of the sandstone monoliths, the sky is bigger, and when the clouds stack up, it holds a wonder all its own. This shot was taken at Arches.
In retrospect, I indulged my photo habit as I haven't since the last time I visited Utah, in 2001. I probably took more digital photos in the last ten days than I had in the three years I've owned this camera. I've learned some things about exposure that I could only guess at with my SLR, since by the time the pictures or slides got back, I'd usually forgotten how I'd tampered with the settings.
All wonder aside, this road trip was about fatherhood. I went where I did so that I could open Sean's mind to places and experiences that have been mind- and soul-expanding for me. Some of it he got, especially the wonder of the night sky--a fringe benefit I hadn't expected, as I've actually done very little camping in this places before last week. Other aspects didn't gel for him: he grew frustrated with my photo habit, was especially irked by the hard hiking I love to do in wild places. He did, as we came around the last corner and beheld the Delicate Arch, finally grasp why I do it: the destination is worth the effort.
We had church there at the Delicate Arch, sharing our view with probably a hundred other hikers. Some were there, like me, to drink in the wonder, to exult in what the infinite patience of the Maker has created through millennia of meticuluos work with wind, water, and ice. Many were there like tourists at a cathedral, posing in front of the altar, spoiling the view for those of us (like me) he really wanted an unobstructed photograph before the sun set (I did finally get one, as you'll see). Checking Sean's final entry, you'll see that I did succumb to that urge, as well; but first and foremost, I was there to experience this incredible sight, in as pure a spiritual experience as I can have in any house of worship. And on that note, I'll close this Travelog, once and for all.
Sean's Final Journal Entry
August 15, 2006
Sunday we climbed to the Delicate Arch. It was an interesting hike. Plus yesterday we went to Dinosaur National Monument but it was closed off. We also went to a museum called the Vernal Museum of Dinosaurs. I also got a fake raptor claw. It was very very interesting. I feel bad that our trip is coming to a complete stop. My favorite things were the dinosaurs and Sarah's cookies.
My Traveling Companion
My traveling companion is nine years old;
he is the child of my first marriage.
But I’ve reason to believe we both will be received in
Graceland.
8-14-06
From my first hearing of this song, I was moved by this line. I was in the first year of my own marriage, had not a clue when I’d even have children, let alone that the day would come when I would share the dreams of the single father in this song by Paul Simon. He’s on a quest for acceptance, for a sense of competence and worthiness, and he has his son along for the ride. It’s what he’s supposed to do, create vacation memories for the boy, so that when he grows up, he can tell his friends, his wife, his own kids, “Yeah, Dad took me to Graceland once. It was weird, but kinda cool. I don’t know why we went, but I really loved being on a trip with him, just my father and me.”
That day did come, not once but twice, and the task of making memories became starkly important as I sought to shield my children from the psychic evisceration I was experiencing. So three months into my first divorce, I took them to San Francisco for Spring Break. A year later, it was Disneyland, with a side trip to Yosemite—during which I learned the key to family vacation bliss is letting the children set at least part of the agenda. Who wants to see dumb old waterfalls and cliffs when there’s a great climbing rock just outside the cabin?
In recent years, as I’ve struggled with varying degrees of success to keep my head above water and establish myself in my new/old career of teaching music, the memory-making has fallen off. Some of it is adolescent inertia—“Why do we have to go on a trip? Can’t we just stay home?”—but there’s also been a failure of creativity on my own part. That has had to change this year. With the children spending most of the school year in Idaho Falls, I’ve been trying to make their trips to Oregon more memorable. The inertia is still there, but at least I’m finding ways to get the mountain moving toward Mohammed.
It was Sean who suggested the Grand Canyon to me. Without warning, he brought it up in June, shortly after the two of them arrived to spend two-thirds of the summer with me. I had only seen the canyon with one eye (see previous post), for about an hour, and I loved the idea. Sarah would be returning to Idaho early to take part in a mission trip, so that left the two of us with a ten-day block to fill however we wished. Suddenly a long-neglected dream was within my grasp: showing one of my children the part of the world that most sets my heart to singing.
Sean was wonderfully vague in his hopes for the trip. He wanted to see the Grand Canyon. The rest was my job. I got out the maps, and began working at the shape of this road trip, trying to keep it manageable. Bryce Canyon was an early casualty, and Zion’s place in the itinerary expanded as I realized I’d made a math error and had an extra day to fill. Finally it came time to load the car and hit the road.
Sean has proven a remarkably amiable traveling companion. He’s content most of the time to sit in the passenger seat reading and re-reading a graphic novel we checked out of the library or a Star Wars novel, drawing pictures, writing entries in his own journal, or playing his Gameboy. He only gets cranky when he thinks I’m making too many stops to take pictures.
On the trail, he’s not as easy. He lets me know frequently that he’s tolerating my dream of sharing this beauty with him, but it’s not his dream. Frequently his dream involves returning to camp and having something to eat. At its most basic, it means sitting down right now and guzzling all the remaining Gatorade. Somehow he manages to fight that urge, and to slog along, one foot in front of the other, moaning and groaning as if he’ll collapse at any moment—which he doesn’t, and is amply rewarded when we come around the last corner, and there is the Delicate Arch in all its glory.
Tomorrow my summer with him ends. Tomorrow I leave him in Idaho Falls. He’s looking forward to seeing his little brothers and big sister again, seeing his mother and step-father. He’ll miss me, he tells me, but I know he’ll be fine. Sean, robbed of his short-term memory by the same birth trauma that gave him epilepsy, has the gift of living in the moment. He has absolutely guileless. And if his jokes become repetitive, if he re-reads the same silly lines from the comic book aloud six times in one day, I just have to remember that this is Sean’s nowness at work. That joke will always be funny to him. His love for me will always be as fresh and sincere as it was when, as a toddler, he would race down the aisle to be in my arms for the benediction at Estacada United Methodist Church.
He’s been hugging me especially tightly these last few days. He knows we’re about to part, and that it’s a growing ache in my gut, a tickling in the back of my throat like a choked-off sob, and an extra layer of moisture in my eyes. I’m going to miss my traveling companion. I will have to dream up another road trip for the two of us to take.
Any ideas, Sean?
Sunrise to Sunset to Sunrise
8-13-06
It takes me time to adjust to sleeping on the ground, especially if there's anything at all worrying me. Once I finally get into the rhythm of ground-sleeping, I still don't get as much sleep as I would in my own bed. I'm far more likely to wake up, alarm-free, in time for the sunrise if I'm camping.
This has been especially true on this trip. Our last morning in Zion, I was awake by 5 a.m. The temperature outside was in the 60s, the air was bone-dry, and I decided I'd just get up and experience the place. I sat in one of our camp chairs and watched the cliffs around our campsite gradually come alive with light and color. I had much the same experience this morning, our first of two at Arches. I was 5:30, I wasn't going back to sleep, so I made my way to an empty campsite close to ours, sat on the picnic table, and waited for the sun. The horizon faded from blue to red to orange. At the moment the sun peeked over the distant mountains, coyotes in the hills greeted it with a minute of howling. As with sunset, the red rock is at its most striking when the sun is close to the horizon. Sunset last night was gorgeous--I've included a picture of it--but it was the brilliant orange of the sandstone that most captured my attention this morning. Unfortunately, the photo-uploading feature of this website seems to be on the blink, and I can't get the sunrise rock picture to show, so you'll just have to settle for sunset.
Sean continues to move me with his sense of wonder. Last night, as we toasted marshmallows, he became absorbed in the starry vault above us. I pointed out a few constellations and, as the darkness deepened, the Milky Way. While we were at Zion, Sean pleaded with me every night to let him stay up until the moon rose--something I never did, as that would have meant keeping him awake past midnight. Last night, he was disappointed when the moon made its appearance, overwhelming the stars. We were also lucky enough to witness several falling stars, some of them leaving blazing trails behind them. The icing on this celestial cake was a violent electrical storm that regularly lit up the sky to the east of us. Fortunately, it was never close enough that we could hear any thunder; this morning, however, we were chased out of our campsite, and to this internet cafe, by some ominous rumblings. It's bright and sunny in Moab, so I'm hopeful the storm has passed, and we'll be able to witness the Delicate Arch at sunset.
I face tonight with mixed emotions. This will be our last night of camping. I expect we'll do it again next summer, but the dynamic cannot help but be different then. Sean has been asking me if I'm looking forward to sleeping in a bed tomorrow night at the Motel 6 (he's hoping the motel has a swimming pool, as well), and I'm not sure what to tell him--other than that I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye. We'll stop at Dinosaurs National Monument on our way north, so it won't just be a driving day; but it will still be my final day with him, and as hard as the ground may feel, it can't compare to how empty my house will feel with neither child home.
I'll have some thoughts about traveling with Sean tomorrow night, probably typing them up at the Motel 6 (and posting them, if they've got wi-fi). It's been a watershed journey, one I will gladly repeat with either or both of my children in the future.
Sean's Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Day Journal
Today we saw the Landscape Arch:
It was in Devil's Garden. Dad said Landscape Arch should have been named Delicate Arch but the person goofed up.
Friday night we saw two elk. Both were bulls with many antlers.
Ten Miles in Four Hours
Where can I begin? The days have been crammed with wonder. "Earth's crammed with heaven," as my father's favorite poem declaims, "and every living thing afire with God." Nowhere in my experience is this truer than in the National Parks of the Desert Southwest. This may seem ironic to you, as the word "desert" conjures images of desolation (with which it shares a root) and barrenness; yet all about us on this trip have been signs of the stubborn hardiness of life in even hostile conditions. The mule deer that populate the Zion Canyon have large ears that function as cooling units on hot days. Wherever there is a drop of water, green bursts forth, and where water is limited to dew, life encrusts boulders. Perhaps the most powerful part of this experience for me, though, has been watching my son become entranced by the beauty of life, as he spent fifteen minutes contemplating a deer grazing near our campsite.
I'm in love with Zion now--in fact, it's become my favorite park--but yesterday it was time to move on. We had a lovely breakfast at the Zion lodge, courtesy of Clare, and then drove straight through to the Grand Canyon north rim. This was a point-and-shoot visit, as we had reservations at the south rim, but we made the most of our time, visiting far more views than Sean really wanted to. Sean's fear of heights also limited his experience. Visiting the Grand Canyon was his idea, and yet, it hadn't occurred to him that the Grand Canyon is a high, deep place!
Rim-to-rim, the canyon averages about ten miles. Driving from the north to the south rim, however, takes a minimum of four hours. We drove through the Painted Desert, and I regret to report that I was so hell-bent on getting to our campground that I did not take a single picture. Of course, the beauties of the Painted Desert are far subtler than those of either Zion or the Grand Canyon, but it does feel somehow almost blasphemous to ignore such a sacred place.
At any rate, we just managed to make it to the south rim in time for this sunset. I had to promise Sean a McDonald's meal to keep him patient long enough for me to get the shot. I wish I could say it was worth it, but in fact, the experience was tainted by the overwhelming number of tourists jostling for their own postcard shots, many of them noisily, not to mention the struggle to find parking at the viewpoint. I'd been spoiled by both Zion and the north rim, neither of which were anywhere near as swamped as the south rim is.
We were late getting to bed. The moon was full, and I contemplated taking a walk on the rim in the moonlight, but opted instead to spend some time working with photographs. As Sean has learned, I'm an unrecovered camera addict, and my habit has been rendered even worse by the digital age. Knowing I've got almost unlimited capacity--my memory card holds almost two hundred super-high-quality images, and I can download them whenever my laptop is adequately charged--I tend to take multiple shots of everything, tinkering with the aperture to get the best results. (I've found that Navajo sandstone is best captured by adjusting the camera to underexpose by a full stop, by the way.) We spent a good deal of time this morning getting started on our hike, really just a taste of the canyon before we leave tomorrow, figuring out the shuttle system, finally getting out to Hopi Point, then to Hermit's Rest on the bus, coming back to Hopi for a two-mile hike along the rim--and every few minutes, I stopped us to photograph the scenery. This is jaw-dropping stuff. I may have become a little too distracted by the beauty, in fact, for my eyes missed an irregularity in the paving of the trail, and before I knew it, I had acquired a souvenir:
Fortunately I didn't do my normal injury-reduction technique of rolling when I hit the pavement, as that would've taken me off the trail into some rather prickly-looking bushes that came between the trail and the drop to the canyon floor. I was in no danger of going over the edge, but it was certainly an unpleasant place to skin my knee.
I'm pleased to report, by the way, that Sean overcame his acrophobia within a few minutes of beginning the hike, especially when he got it into his head that he wanted to see the abandoned Orphan Mine. Yes, at one time, the Grand Canyon was mined for copper, and years later, uranium; in fact, this sacred place produced much of the material used to make atom bombs and to power nuclear reactors. The area around the mine is fenced off due to contamination by mining waste, but we did get some good views of the tower and glory hole, which can be found in Sean's entry for today.
As our journey nears completion, I find myself feeling melancholy. I have enjoyed having Sean for a traveling companion, taking him to places I've dreamed about visiting for years, fulfilling a parenting dream that is decades old. Soon it will end, though, and I'll be leaving Sean in Idaho Falls, returning to the status of visiting parent. It's not the life I would choose, but I believe I am making the best of it that I can. Yesterday as I contemplated the view from Cape Royal, I was moved to tears by what I was seeing for the first time in almost twenty years. I first glimpsed the canyon with one eye on my honeymoon. My glasses had been broken two nights before, I had torn one of my contacts, and a replacement lens was stuck in Phoenix because the Flagstaff airport was closed by snow. Even in two dimensions, it grabbed me. I had my trumpet along for the trip, and I took it out and improvised into the void. The immensity of it swallowed the sound so that I might as well have been playing into a pillow. Someday, I swore, I would come back. Now I have, for a day instead of an hour. Hopefully it will not take me another twenty years to return, and perhaps next time, I'll be able to leave the rim and venture into the wonders beyond.
The canyon was visited today by thunderstorms, a frequent occurrence here on the south rim. If anything, the clouds and lightning enhanced the beauty all around us. Here's a parting shot for your enjoyment.
Sean's Fifth and Sixth Day Journal
August 11th 2006
Yesterday we got into the Grand Canyon but today we hiked on the Rim Trail and saw the Orphan Mine.
I made a new friend and he left ten minutes later. Plus Dad fell on the trail and was bloodied up really bad. Tomorrow we leave to
get to Arches National Park.
Kvetch and Awe
8-9-06
What's travel writing without kvetching? I've amassed a few complaints here, though they have as much to do with my own incompetence as anything else.
Let's start with a lesson in humility. Yesterday when we were heading out on our drive up through the tunnel, we got stuck in the irrigation ditch that crosses our campsite. We didn't need to get stuck; I just happen to have really bad aim when I'm in reverse, and went not down the middle, but on the side. A ranger had to come and engineer me out of that particular pickle. I told him I'd try backing in when I returned from the trip, to make sure this wouldn't ha
ppen again--and you already know the next part of the story. Yep, as in my cleverness I was backing into our campsite, my aim was, again, execrable, and this time it was a rear wheel that got stuck in the muck. After an hour of struggling in 100+ degree high noon sunshine to repeat the ranger's miracle, that same ranger arrived and announced I was going to have to get a tow truck. Lo and behold, neither my cell plan nor my auto insurance (both of which changed in the last year) had the roadside assistance coverage I thought they did, so "Ow!" went my wallet. I think my face is still red, as well.
Grumblings: car alarms that honk, and people who have forgotten how to get into their cars without disarming, then re-arming, the danged honking alarm. They're all over the campground, and they go off (two honks here, three there) well into the night.
Here's another: Americans who are ignoring the magnificence within their borders. I've heard a dozen different languages as we've toured this wonderland, and precious few American accents. I read recently that Americans are staying home to luxuriate in the digital experience, rather than getting out and perspiring in nature's spectacles. Sure, it's hot here, but even a THX media center in an air-conditioned house can't hold a flickering melted candle to what I glimpse as I ride the shuttle bus up and down the canyon--not to mention what it's like to be out there, working my way up a trail, my senses overloading at every turn.
But in a similar vein--I am one of those Americans, and there just are not enough electrical outlets here. Just a year ago, I wouldn't have thought of griping about this--and really, I'm supposed to be getting away from the modern world to experience nature in the raw--but I've gotten attached to my digital camera and my laptop, two devices not nearly portable enough in a place without plugs. So it's more a complaint about myself than it is about this park. Five years ago, I spent three days in Bryce Canyon with nary a rechargable complaint. I did take six rolls of slides, one of which I can display now without purchasing a film scanner--but my, how I've changed.
That's enough of the curmudgeon; back to the naturalist. We woke to gentle rain this morning, which cleared up by noon. Undaunted by the precipitation, I talked Sean into a hike up to see the Lower Emerald Pool. A sidebar here: the shuttle bus system is a huge success, helped in large part by the free rein given to the drivers. Some restrict their announcements to a description of stops, but most have a bit of tourguide in them, and regale us with stories of the natural and human history of this place. I've learned as much from the busdrivers as I have from brochures and signs.
Back to our hike: Sean, to my chagrin, is afraid of heights. This severely restricts where we can go in Zion. Most hikes involve at least some dropoffs. Today, however, after nervously going up a relatively mild grade, Sean found himself entranced by the scenery and the wildlife, so that we were able on our way down from the pool to take a different route, and get the incredible view of the canyon with which I'll close this entry.
Sean's Third and Fourth Day Journal
8-9-06
Two days ago we walked in the river. Yesterday I played in the river, and had lots of fun. I also got hurt. I got a bruise on my shin. Today we sat down in the river, and I let the river carry me away. It was fun.
We heard two ranger programs. The first one was about the night sky and we saw the big dipper. The second one we heard about animals, including deer.
Tonight we are going to sleep under the stars.
Love,
Sean
God's Mountain
8-8-06
Zion Canyon is named after the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the hill upon which heaven was closest to earth in both Jewish and Muslim spirituality (and Christians are pretty fond of the place, too). From the first glimpse of the incredible sandstone monoliths that cram Zion National Park, I am on spiritual overload. These huge structures resemble thrones, altars, temples, cathedrals, palaces; and this is a park that is viewed primarily from the canyon floor, so the monoliths dwarf me as no clifftop visit could. Thousands of feet high, more massive than any human skyscraper, hundreds of millions of years in the making--this is why I come to Utah to recover my place in the universe. Awesome, ancient, incredibly beautiful, painstakingly crafted in tiny increments over a time span that is incomprehensible to the human mind by wind, rain, seeping water, gravity, and river--is there anything puny human beings have built that can even begin to compare? No wonder the Tower of Babel was considered such an act of hubris that God cursed humans with diverse tongues. How dare we even attempt engineering on this scale?
Enough sermonizing. We took a drive this morning, up through the tunnel to Checkerboard Mesa, and on the way, were able to recharge both the laptop and the camera. Sean has not, unfortunately, had the chance to do any more writing, but he'll have something up the next time I post. For now, here are some highlights:
Our first hike was along the Virgin River at the north end of the canyon, where we encountered a buck. On the way back, Sean posed atop a slab of sandstone.
At the top of the trail, we learned that the real glory of the river, the Narrows, involved river walking--something we were not equipped to do. Sean loved the idea of hiking in the river, though, so later in the afternoon, we returned with watersocks for him and old sneakers for me. Unfortunately, I soon discovered the sneakers offered inadequate support to me weak left ankle, as I stumbled from one submerged rock to the next. I stuck it out as long as I could--long enough to brave some shallow, but fiercely rushing, rapids, and to witness plenty of wonders, but nowhere near long enough for the Narrows to become....narrow. A passing couple told us they had been an hour farther upriver, to where the canyon was no more than eight feet wide.
We didn't make it that far, but we did witness a natural wonder: water seeping through the sandstone to create waterfalls. This water fell atop the mesa as many as 2500 years ago, and has only now emerged to give life to the hanging gardens that sprout from the rock face near the canyon floor.
As for our drive to Checkerboard Mesa and back--I can't do any of it justice. The greatest photographic challenge in Zion is knowing what pictures not to take. It's almost impossible to take a bad one here (unless you get part of your body in it, as happened with two of my better shots this morning): the incredible display of color, light, and shadow makes every picture a masterpiece. I'll include just one more for this post, taken from the East Canyon Overlook:
Sean's Second Day Journal
August 6, 2006
We have almost gotten to Zion. We also just saw an extinct volcano. It's really really cool here but it's really nice too. Awhile back we saw an old mining town. dad said it was really noisy. I thought the same thing. Right now we are seeing rocks with lots of iron in them. It's just so beautiful here. I love it!
Caliente in Nevada!
8-7-06--In truth, we didn't visit the aptly-named town of Caliente, but we did stop at a cemetery outside Austin, which was just too scenic not to photograph. This portion was the Masonic burial ground, I'm guessing.
Nevada is big and empty. Population seems to be concentrated around a few cities. We drove through several scenic sounds, all managing to look like vintage "Old West" without the tourist-trap sheen of places like Sisters, OR, or Park City, UT. In particular, the old mining town of Pioche was delightful, built along a winding old highway climbing a hill up to the now-dormant silver mine. Pioche has preserved, without actually refurbishing in any way, its old aerial bucket tram, by which (I'm guessing, not having read the historical marker) ore was probably ferried down the mountain to be refined. Here are some shots of Pioche and its tram:
As I said earlier, the predominant experience of Nevada is that it is big and empty. Here's an image of "Lake Valley," a plane that is probably the size of the Willamette Valley, but with a population that probably measures in the dozens. Sean and I were awed by the vastness of it--and glad we don't have to live here!
We reached Zion shortly before sunset, and will upload more pictures tomorrow, if we can. Internet access is $5.00 for 24 hours, and I'm hoping they're literal about that 24 figure. I'll also need to charge the laptop sometime soon--tricky, as there are no outlets anywhere in the campground. Perhaps we could take a short road excursion tomorrow morning...
Sean's First Day Journal
My Desert Road Trip
written by Sean Anderson
I am going on a road trip
To the Grand Canyon with my dad Mark.
We are going to see lots of cool stuff like mesas, arches,
Steens Mountain, and lots and lots of dry land. We might even go wading
and stay in a hotel dad says it will get really really hot but it will be
Worthwhile I am going because I am wanting to get more knowledge so far we have
Dads souvenirs mostly pictures of a very beautiful sunset we even have some
Terrific cookies that my sister Sarah baked in fact they are so good they are perfect
Hope to see you soon love Sean Anderson
Day One:The Road Goes Ever, Ever On
The road to Nevada was interminable. In fact, it was dark before we finally crossed the state line. We left only seven minutes later than I intended--12:07, to be exact--but ran into considerably more traffic on highway 97 than I had expected. Almost exactly eleven hours later, we finally arrived at the Battle Mountain Inn. Not bad for about 550 miles.
I didn't feel like we'd really hit the road until I got my first whiff of juniper. As we drove east from Bend, the juniper gradually gave way to creosote, a much more sour smell--which is even nastier here in Battle Mountain, as it mingles with cigarette smoke and other things I'd rather not think about. It'll improve as we get away from this place. The water from our hotel tap is tepid, so I've filled our bottles with ice.
Along the way, we saw a glorious sunset over Steens Mountain--mostly in the rear-view mirror, unfortunately! Here are some shots:
Sean has been a great traveling companion, helpful, nary a complaint, despite spending most of the day in the passenger seat. He spontaneously began writing his own journal, in fact, and at the next hot spot, I'll have him upload his own thoughts.
I'm keeping this post short: we're off to Zion as soon as the car's reloaded.
my photo urge sated. I did not take a single landscape photograph yesterday, though I drove through 950 miles of spectacular high desert mountainscapes.
darkest night skies in the United States. Unfortunately, my digital camera does not have a bulb setting, so the longest exposure it could handle was eight seconds. I also did not bring my tripod, further hindering the quality of photography. Now I have an excuse to resurrect my Pentax: I can take night shots with it! Here's the best I could manage with what I had:
I've been reminded of how huge the sky can be in the desert. For all the spectacle of the sandstone monoliths, the sky is bigger, and when the clouds stack up, it holds a wonder all its own. This shot was taken at Arches.
