Yellow Columbine, Albion Basin, Utah

I think this new image might become part of my portfolio. After more than a decade of capturing close-up images of Wasatch wildflowers, it takes something special, or at least something new, to get me excited about an image. One way to create new images is to photograph new subjects. When in the field, I usually don't want to spend my time photographing species of wildflowers I feel I have all ready captured in an artful way. I look for flowers that I've never photographed before, or species where I've never pulled off the artful image; never achieved my vision. This image goes against that norm, I all ready have a yellow columbine image I love (in my Wasatch Wildflower Close-ups gallery).

  Here's a side by side comparison between an HDR (high dynamic range) image and a single exposure.

The image on the left was created by combining three exposures using Photomatix Pro 3 software. Tone mapping was performed using the Photomatix tone compressor engine. I made adjustments for brightness, tonal range compression, and contrast adaptation. The image on the right is the best single exposure from the set. I've added a slight S-curve in Photoshop to help make it pop. I should note that I've still used my trusty graduated split neutral density filter for capturing this image. Without it, I would have needed to combine a wider range of exposures in Photomatix, and my single exposure would be completely unacceptable.

The HDR image looks much richer. Highlights are toned way down while shadow areas show much more color detail. I'm sure it would be possible to get similar results using Photoshop alone, but it would be much more tedious and time consuming. However, I do prefer the way Photoshop renders blue skies compared to Photomatix, not a big issue in this image, but as I've been working with Photomatix I've noticed some color shifts in areas of solid blue sky that I haven't particularly liked. 

North Thunder Mountain, Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah

Here's an image that was taken soon after I switched to digital capture.  Taken about an hour after sunset, from the side of the road in Little Cottonwood Canyon, this 30 second exposure really shows off the Nikon D300 sensor's ability to gather light without noise. Light on the mountain is from the moon, out of the frame to the left.

Sunburst, Bowman Fork, Mt. Olympus Wilderness, Utah

Here is my last photo of 2009, created December 27th. The use of a long telephoto lens and conversion to grayscale help to create a simple and powerful image from a busy and chaotic scene.

I read the November 2009 Outdoor Photographer feature article on Ian Plant with great interest. His images "Dreamscape" and "Alien Transmission" blew me away. It was fascinating to read how he deals with the issue of being original as an artist.  Plant says directly, "too often, nature photographers rely on the drama of the scenery to make powerful images ..." and..."too often nature photographers merely ‘chase the light,' waiting for that perfect sunset over a dramatic high mountain lake."
I think maybe dramatic scenery isn't the problem so much as it is, dramatic scenes: locations made famous by being beautifully photographed by dozens if not hundreds of skilled photographers.
Capturing a moment in time from a classic viewpoint, where lighting, and possibly season, are the main differences in composition between one image and another, doesn't help you grow as a photographer. That being said, I'll be the first to admit that sometimes you have to get the classic image out of the way before you can branch out and explore new ideas and new places.

Plant complains that too often nature photographers "just show up".  I would complain that too often nature photographers just show up at the classic viewpoints. A friend once told me about a friend of his who would go to Delicate Arch over and over again in order to capture the ultimate image of Delicate Arch. The same friend said he wasn't interested in taking a photograph of Delicate Arch because he thought it was cliché. I think my heart lies somewhere in between.  I know from experience, when I see a beautiful photograph of a stunning location; I want to go there not only to see it for myself, but to photograph it for myself. At the same time, every time I go out to photograph, weather in my own back yard or from the road in Grand Teton N.P., my interest is always in creating timeless art, not something derivative.

Images take on a life of their own, after the moment is gone, and the experience of being there dims. Most just fade away. Some can become etched into your memory.

I'm getting into my blog. It gives me a venue to show new work. Images that in the past may not have been seen by anyone but me. I would love any feedback.

When in the field photographing there's always a limited amount of time to work with.  How am I going to spend it? What am I going to photograph?
While in Big Sur, I was so overwhelmed by the whole scene, almost all of my images show the wide view. I barely shot any close-up or detail images. Of the time I had to spend photographing, much of it was spent trying to get my own image of the places that seemed most iconic, judging from images I'd looked at before my trip: McWay Creek Waterfall in Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park and Pfeiffer Arch at Pfeiffer Beach State Park. I spent a lot of my limited time trying to get images that had already been done.
This became a major dilemma while driving back to Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, to have a second go at photographing the McWay Creek Waterfall (on my first visit the waterfall and beach were completely shrouded in fog).  As I was headed back, the fog had lifted and late light was saturating the sea cliffs, just north of the park. But I couldn't stop. That "waterfall onto the beach" scene was drawing me in like a tractor beam. Even though I'd now seen at least a dozen images of that scene, all shot from more or less the same position. In my mind that was the quintessential Big Sur scene. But, I was running out of time. The light was fantastic, and I kept driving. As I got closer, it got foggier. Why hadn't I stopped? Should I turn around? I hadn't really scouted any of these other overlooks before. No time to waste, I told myself. Finally, I arrived at the parking area, directly off Highway 1, sprinted the short distance to the waterfall overlook to discover a light fog had muted that intense red light I'd seen earlier. But some light was getting through, and it was clear enough to see detail in the beach, the ocean, the rock, and the waterfall. Best of all, those pink lilies were just glowing in that late diffused light. As a bonus, I had the place to myself.
 In the end, I was very happy with the shot I came away with (see blog post Oct 22). I think it's one of the best I've seen of that scene, due in large part to lucky seasonal timing, and calm enough conditions to pull off a 5 second exposure. But, I've been having doubts about my need to rerecord scenes that have all ready become iconic. Is it enough to show the same basic scene, that's been photographed so well by so many others, even in great light and at some seasonal climax. Or should I always seek an image that hasn't been done. Should I only try to create my own icons?
 In contrast, my working methods at home have become more relaxed.  I've become more interested in finding expressive details than photographing the wider landscape from the road. Instead of racing up and down the road at 50 miles per hour, I walk up the trail and don't worry too much about how far I'm going to get, or the fact that I don't have time to get to the "destination".
While taking photos of leaves certainly isn't anything new, I like the fact that these images don't necessarily remind me of any images I've all ready seen. They represent some of my best "autumn" images of 2009. They come directly from the interaction between my heart and mind and the natural world on an intimate scale and level. Hopefully these images speak to a wider audience than just me.

This was the scene Thursday, March 5th at Solitude. One foot of fresh, super low density, Wasatch powder. What a glorious day to be on the mountain. Weather alternating between mixed sun and clouds, and snow.
Top and bottom images were made from the same position using a telephoto zoom on my DSLR. It was snowing hard at that point, which adds to the mood. All images were captured in about 1/500 of a second. The stop action shutter speed helps create a sense of motion and tension.
Top image shows Wayne reaching the end of the steep Evergreen mid-slope, while snow blows from the pines.
Middle image shows Judd kicking up a huge spray in Honeycomb Canyon. Aaahh  yeah, that's the stuff. The sun coming out was key to this image. The fast shutter speed freezes the spray, but the sun brings out the detail. Notice how the spray is casting a shadow.
Bottom image shows Marinda flying past me at  the bottom of Evergreen. I just love the feel of this image. I think it does a great job of expressing what it feels like to be at Solitude on a snow day.
March 9th was the last day it snowed in the central Wasatch, and that was a dusy - more than 20 inches at Solitude. On March 12th there was still some good snow to be found if you were willing to hike for it. Now, however, I fear we are in need of a storm. We could really use a few more days like this before the season ends.

I spent the night on top of the Pfeifferhorn in order to take this image at sunrise. Not really a great place to camp, but I wanted to be able to stay put after a sunset photo session and just slide out of my bag to photograph the sunrise. This was the second time I spent the night on top of a mountain, at over 11,000 ft. elevation. The chance for unique photography is enhanced by the fact that most people don't ever see summit views at the edges of the day. I love how the high western wall of Hogum Fork hides the Salt Lake Valley. Only the Oquirrh and Stasbury mountains in the distance. This view into the heart of the Lone Peak Wilderness, in close proximity to over a million people, is truly wild.

This image was taken near the summit of the Gobblers Knob, in the Wasatch Mountains, in July. The Gobblers Knob is on the ridge seperating Mill Creek Canyon and Big Cottonwood Canyon. The most direct route is from Mill Creek through picturesque Alexander Basin. This view is looking south into Big Cottonwood. Stormy conditions help create drama in the sky as well as soft light that makes the foreground flowers pop. I set-up my tripod low to the ground and as close to the nearest paintbrush as possible, while still keeping the distant Cottonwood Ridge and the flowers in the range of apparent focus. I used a 28mm lens set to f22 on 35mm Fujichrome Velvia film. I also used my 2 stop graduated neutral density filter and a cable release. As is often the case with mountaintop wildflower photography, wind was an issue, which makes the use of a cable release a must. For optimum sharpness you never want to touch your camera while making your exposure. You can do this without a cable release with the camera's self timer. However, a cable release allows you to expose the film or sensor at the exact instant the flowers stop moving and before they start moving again.