It is odd how my blog, intended for the purposes of photography, was taken over by thoughts on running and thoughts while running. The running has ceased, at least in the glorious trail adventure sense, and so my attention slowly turns back to my first love - photography - and the reason I made this site and continue to find myself outside attempting to transpose nature's beauty into pixels I somehow get to call my own.
As a teenage boy, I started taking photos, experiencing an odd delight when snapping photos on my waterproof yellow-and-gray Minolta camera. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I loved it. Perhaps this is still true.
As this year winds to its 365th day, my attention has turned reflective, playing back the events and outings adventures of 2024. While I loathe the New Year’s Resolution racket, I am somehow in full support of all the year-in-reviews photos and albums and stories. And so I set about doing one of my own. In this review, my review, I decided I wanted to select my ten favorite photos from this year’s adventures. With the majority of my recreational time running instead of photorgraphing things, I thought the ubiquitious 'Top Ten' would be more than siffucient for my reflective purposes.
On my first pass, I placed 48 photos in the album, titled, “Top 10 2024.”
I renegotiated with myself. A 'Top 20' list it would be. Then I spent two days dramatically bidding farewell to 28 photos.
As photographs go, these may not be my best photos, but my experience while taking them has caused me to believe that they are my best work from this year. They will follow, organized by date and nothing more, along with an anecdote of why I’m enamored with the photo, or the moment that lead to it.
Nā Pali Coast
Nic Stover recommended a helicopter tour along the Nā Pali Coast. I get all my good ideas from him. He doesn’t disappoint.
After the previous day’s flight was cancelled due to inclement weather, this morning’s moody outing was on schedule. It was the wife’s and my second time in a helicopter, but the exuberance could have easily indicated that it was our first. The doors were off. Our eyes were big.
The Nā Pali Coast is primitive, wild, green, and no photo can speak to the wonder these green fingerling ridges bestow. I snapped photo after photo, attempting the impossible. For a moment, I had to put my camera down, hands in my lap, an attempt to absorb all that this place offers. So. Much. Wonder. And so, because of the symmetry and vibrant greens and yellows, and because all the doors were off, this photo starts off my best of 2024.
Fisher Towers (maybe?)
I made my way to a notable waterfall hike near Moab, UT - Professor Creek/Mary Jane Canyon. On the spur road towards the trailhead, the light danced before me, and this scene unfolded next to me. I paused here watching the clouds sail and the light shimmy. Gifts of light, when possible, should always involve as much lingering as one can spare. I made it to the trailhead, but much, much later than planned. Light must alwasy be waited on.
Sand Smear
This scene is long gone. Maybe they all are. I think this might be bordering on what could be called an intimate landscape. Nature in all its detail, zoomed all the way out or all the way in, does not cease to amaze. These colors - this white sand and orange sandstone, flecked with burnt reds - oh my! - what a delight. Water made this, maybe with the help of some wind. Water and wind will continue their creations forever, a scene lingering for only a moment. Impermanence at its very best.
Somewhere in the Arizonan Desert
This was an evening of light. We parked our vehicles on a slight rise of the red clay, the stickiest mud surrounding us on every side. We grabbed our cameras and ran on tiptoes towards whatever it was we were here to see. Thunder cracked. We ‘sheltered’ behind red sandstone formations hoping to escape the passing hail storm. There was no shelter, but thankfully this squall and associated weather pummeled us for less than five minutes.
On our way again, Nic and I parted ways, going where we felt pulled. I stopped to photograph a turquoise stream and he disappeared up and over some white rock cascading down a slight valley formed when the white rock collided with the red rock formation. The light danced and we pirouetted ourselves up and over rocks until the shadows overtook us. I might have 20 photos alone from this night. This one though - gah! - still takes me back so easily.
Agathla Peak
I was riding in the back seat of a Chevy Suburban, on our way to Hunts Mesa for the night. Being from the wet side of Washington State, a landscape that is burnt yellow and empty speaks to me in ways I am not accustomed. It is unreal on its own, but even more majestic in its emptiness. We stopped here to pee, to take pictures of nothing, and everything. This photo says a lot to me, in just a few words.
Canyon Wall, Anywhere, AZ
This wall, in all its yellows and oranges and reds, felt right diminished into monotone. The details and contours seem to come alive in this exercise in contrast. The undulations and holes of this wall pulled me in, a veritable wall of musing. And while this is special, this canyon seemed to outdo itself around every bend.
Tillamook Head Lighthouse
I ran from our hotel into Ecola State Park and meandered my way up and over to Indian Beach. The morning was moody, damp, water from the sky and underfoot. This was to be my turnaround point, but I couldn’t stop. There was that fizzing in my chest. Saying 'yes' to more is easy.
Asphalt turned to singletrack and plodding turned into the irregular cadence demanded by undulating trail.
I made it to the lookout and started back. I wanted my camera desperately. At the hotel, I convinced the wife that we needed to hike out to the lookout. She agreed. The big boi camera was for sure coming along. With a deep green ocean and a continuous gray haze sliding accross its surface, I felt such joy in the moodiness and minimalism of this scene. I was so pleased. I still am.
Bull Boy
On our way out from Ecola State Park, this bull was smorgasbording in the woods along the road. We stopped to take him in, watching him eat and amble through thick underbrush. We stopped to smell his wet fur and his warm breath. He watched us, but remained aloof. It is possible we smelled, too.
Enchanted Valley
This was the nieces' first backpacking trip. Apparently I am the most adept-in-the-woods human they know. That, or the most willing.
Their first backpacking trip ended up with 30 miles in three days in the most pristine valley. Spring it the PNW, especially on the western side of the Olympics, brings rain reliably. And while it did rain, we were mostly unscathed. To the contrary, we were benefitted with fog and wind and waterfalls and rumors of black bears. The ladies were sore, but bright. We spent all of Saturday afternoon learning to build a fire and snapping photos of trees moving in and out of fog. I’d do it all over.
Volcán de Fuego
This year I returned for a second viewing, climbing the 13,045 foot stratovolcano, Acatenango, just for a chance at this view. In 2023, we summited, sat freezing in every layer we had brought to Guatemala and never saw more than a trail of smoke. This year, Fuego was rumbling and burping and spitting, the orange glow of lava seen searing through the dawn. We were giddy, elated, exuberant. Standing on the top of Acatenango and feeling Fuego sputter about, I felt so insignificant (I am, but so lovely to be reminded of my place). And so Fuego makes the list (duh!).
Bee Butt
We got bees this year. As with most things in this life, this was made possible by a gift from two humans we really adore. And so I spent hours watching ‘our’ bees do bee things. Some comb got out of control and I cleaned it up, hoping to reorient these ladies to forming some straight comb. While they cleaned up the comb I had pillaged from them, I sat next to their boxed home, bearing witness to their unending work.
I skipped over this photo a number of times, but that singular bee leg on white comb kept pulling me back. Here we are.
Boundary Waters
I stood in the water snapping photos of the sunset, until I realized the water encompassing me had turned molten. Water alone enamors my senses. Mix in some golden frosting and I am swooning. This photo continues to do this to me.
Lone Tree
This is our fourth year camping across from this tree. I’ve snapped a photo of it every year, not because it’s alone, but because it’s red/brown bark stands in lovely contrast to every shade of green surrounding it. And so I sit atop my paddle board with my camera precariously wobbling over dark green water and I breathe deep. This photo still reminds me to breathe, still takes me back to crisp mornings, smooth water and all the greens.
Moonset over the Tetons
We had the privilege of being joined in the Tetons with friends and family this fall. The combination of Tetons and Yellowstone National Parks deliver. I’m already a fan, but the age old phenomenon of seeing it all again through the oohs and aaah’s of people new to these sights and wonders, surely did a number on me…again.
The weather was sunny, the skies blue. This crisp moonset with the mist rising off the snow-sprinkled Tetons has me dreaming of being back at their feet.
Oxbow Bend
I associate pelicans with the ocean. I am often wrong in my associations. A pair of pelicans paraded and flapped about Oxbow Bend as we waited for the sun to make its appearance. With the mist rising from the Snake River’s warm-in-comparison waters, I followed this pelican around with my lens, not wanting to miss a feather’s flutter.
Moose on a Mission
I enjoy seeing moose doing their moose things - eating from the bottoms of murky ponds, chasing the ladies about, and so on. A moose, like this boy, in an open field, at full stride really captivates my attention. I have to wonder where they’re going and why the hurry. They know, of course, but it seems so purposeful and me, parked at the side of the road with only my lens to capture snippets of this animal’s life, have no awareness of where this moose goes to sleep or eat or mate or anything more than just passing through this field. The wonder does not cease for me.
Mammoth Hot Springs
Although I wanted to drive out to Lamar Valley one more time, I told myself Enough. Having seen wolves the last three outings to Lamar Valley, I had to accept my wins. And something about being on the side of Mammoth Hot Springs in the morning light pulled at me.
I scampered about wooden walkways and waited for the light to arrive. The colors of this evolving rock brought me to gasps and giddy laughter. I felt so privileged to be here as witness to this morning’s dawning. This photo might be the favorite of my favorites.
Larch Mecca
The Enchantments are infamous. There is nothing I can say here that is not already known by the hordes of humanity that course through its center. The pull of turquoise-green lakes in hollowed out silvery granite, dotted with yellowed larches is irresistible. This is a fall hike that is worth doing again and again. I’m on my fourth year and I am already looking forward to next year's outing.
This photo is pixels of Prusik Peak. It almost feels like some sort of blasphemy to pull the color from the blue sky and white clouds and yellow larches and turn it into black and white and grays. I have no other explanation, not even an apology, as this speaks to me. It feels strong, powerful. So curse me if you will, or just go see the hundreds of thousands of color photos posted by the other humans that were here on this day. There is no shortage of humans or their saturated photos. So, you're welcome.
Shepperd’s Dell Falls
I ran with my friend Oliver to Larch Mountain. It rained. It fogged. And wonder arrived, as she does. We chatted and ran and deepened friendship. Being a solo runner by desire, I was surprised at all the surprises tucked into this run.
He left for home. I lingered, as I had nowhere to be until 3 pm. Being the smart boy that I am, my big boi camera was waiting for me in the truck. And so I stopped at Shepperd’s Dell, another one of Columbia Gorge’s tributaries that I had never taken the time to stop at before. There are bigger, better falls to see, I've told myself (see Multnomah Falls' parking lot). But there is something to be said for witnessing a waterfall descending away from me into nothing but green foliage. It felt profound then, and still does when I view it here.
The Olympics
A friend, Josh, and I, set out for a late season summit of Lightning Peak, a four-thousand foot nothing peak. I was expecting a steep six or seven mile day. I carried my camera, but no ice axe. Sure, it said it had snowed 18 inches a few nights before, but I was confident we would not be getting into shenanigans. We took our crampons. We were half thinking.
Needless to say, we never made the summit. We spent seven hours traversing just over seven miles. It was an effort, mostly in mental stamina. The clouds above and around fractured light in perpetual dancing, the Olympic Range across from us lighting up and going dark with no predictability. I believe this is Copper Peak, but I can’t be sure (does it matter?) Fresh snow on undulating peaks continues to be a love of mine. This place rims all that is wild. The roads end here. Everything else is accessible on foot, lens, and the stamina to see what's over the next ridge. We'll be back for you Lightning.
I am grateful for the places this year has allowed me to go. These places experienced and the subsequent wonder internalized have left indelible marks. These photos are but remnants of moments that were gifts to me in some moment of this life.
Happy New Year!
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