“Sunrise, Lake Manly and Panamint Mountains” — Sunrise on the Panamint Mountains reflected in the ephemeral waters of Lake Manly
This is a photograph that is normally not possible in Death Valley — The image of a snow-capped mountain range reflected in the extensive waters of a gigantic lake. These are the Panamint Mountains, rising to over 11,000 feet on the far side of Death Valley. This winter the playa was covered by the shallow waters of ephemeral Lake Manly.
It was hard to resist the symmetry of this scene with the reflection in the still water was a near duplicate of the distant scene. I made the photograph after the morning sun had arrived on the higher peaks, but before it had worked its way down to the valley floor, thus the dark band across the middle of the image.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
“Lake Manly Shoreline, Desert Mountains” The dark Panamint Mountains rise in the distance beyond the shoreline of ephemeral Lake Manly.
Typically I might simply not attempt to photograph this scene. The glaring sunlight, while somewhat filtered by the clouds, was brightly lighting the white sand deposits along the shoreline of Lake Manly. Distance, haze, and backlight combined to mute the details of the Panamint Mountains. And this light was harsh, not the softer light of early morning or evening. But somehow I felt that the composition and the drama of the light and atmosphere held some promise.
The salt deposits reminded me of important things about this valley. They were a reminder — as is the water of ephemeral Lake Manly — that water played a major role in the formation of this place. And, as high as the water of the lake was at this moment, the yet higher salt deposits made it clear that this is not an unprecedented thing, and that even higher lake levels are still probably possible.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
The ephemeral shadow of a passing figure on a wall in Manhattan.
One evening in Manhattan, we were out for a walk along the Highline Park. As always, I was carrying a camera. (Yes, I think I drive my family crazy that way.) I’ve been there a number of times, and I’m usually intrigued by the buildings that line this park — their textures, their windows and rooftops, the glimpses of what goes on in them as the life of the park moves past. I think I was trying to think of a way to photograph the texture of this concrete wall when I came upon this bit of light coming across the walkway and casting shadows.
It is hard to recall too many more specifics of the scene, though I have a series of perhaps a half dozen or more photographs, made as various people moved through the lower part of the scene or, more accurately, their vague shadows moved through the scene. When people ask what sort of camera I carry to places like this, my answer is that it is usually a small camera equipped with small prime lenses. This photograph perhaps illustrates why that is. I can always have such a camera with me, I can use it quickly and without much fuss, and it even works in very low light.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
UPDATE: As of 2020 I am no longer posting annual updates concerning this subject — and I am editing older posts on the subject in light of the need to be more responsible about not encouraging the onslaught. I also no longer recommend going to the Valley to see it. Unfortunately, too much exposure (yes, I played a part in it, unfortunately) has led to absurd crowds, traffic jams, littering, destruction of areas in the Valley where too many people go to see it… and the park has increasingly — and appropriately — cracked down. Parking options have been eliminated, at least one viewing location has been closed. Good news! The rest of Yosemite Valley is still there and often exceptionally beautiful at this time of year.
The silver strand of Horsetail Fall and water reflecting on surrounding cliffs in late afternoon light, Yosemite Valley.
This being February, it seems that Horsetail Fall has again (and more every year) become a hot topic. Horsetail Fall, sometimes referred to as the “Natural Firefall” has been popularized to an absurd and, frankly, dangerous level on social media and in the press. To be honest, I now recommend that you not go.
The conjunction of elements required to produce the most spectacular Horsetail Fall “event” is complex. First, it depends on the geological coincidences of the placement of the fall in a spot hight on the face of El Capitan that receives a narrow beam of sunset light during two brief periods each year. Second, the fall must be running – in roughly the middle of winter. The area supplying water to the fall is high enough to be snow-covered in a typical winter, but low enough that snow can melt and start the fall flowing even in the cold season – but this is not a sure thing. Essentially, there must be snow and then some warmth to melt it, or else some significant warm rain. Third, a series of meteorological events must play out just right. Obviously, the upper face of El Capitan must be clear of clouds. (Yosemite Valley fog and clouds ringing the cliffs are rather common in the winter season.) The sky west of the Valley must also be clear all the way to the horizon since the best color occurs just before the sun hits the horizon.
Most often the requirements do not align. Many of us can tell stories of light getting better and better, leading toward a brilliant finale… and then the “lights going out” just at the peak of color as the sun dropped behind clouds far to the west.
Hundreds and hundreds Thousands of photographers now show up to try to photograph the thing. I’ve done it in the past, though I’m no longer interested these days – partly because of the absurd crowds and partly because I’m often busy photographing other interesting things!
My best memory of photographing Horsetail was years ago when the park service was doing major road work on Northside Drive, the road along that side of the Valley. The road was completely closed as were the cross-valley roads that travel between Southside and Northside Drives. It had snowed and there was perhaps a foot or more of snow along this section of the Valley floor. I wanted to photograph the fall from a location on the north side of the Valley, so my only option was to put on lots of warm clothes, load up a pack of camera and other gear, and walk across the Valley in the snow. I arrived long before sunset, so I first walked west to El Capitan Meadow where I photographed in rare quiet and solitude on this car-free and carefree late afternoon. Later, I quietly walked back along the road to my shooting location and found perhaps three or four other people there. This quiet, peaceful, and relatively uncrowded experience became my touchstone for photographing Horsetail.
If you go today, there is no way that your experience will be even close, unfortunately.
In recent years, as more people have acquired digital cameras and become more serious about their photography and as the renown of the fall has increased, the crowds have also increased to the point that they have become unmanageable and are damaging the park. As I revise this article in 2020, the problem has become so acute that the park service has wisely put severe restrictions on access — there is no stopping allowed along large sections of nearby Valley roads and one of the popular locations has been completely closed due to damage to forest, meadows, and the river.
* Note: In a wonderful video about Horsetail Fall, Ansel Adams’ son Michael Adams speaks eloquently about his father’s early photographs of the phenomenon. I was intrigued by his comment that Ansel might not have photographed the fall the way we do now because he couldn’t – since he worked with black and white photography. Thinking of this, and being full of myself today, I thought that I’d post a black and white photograph of Horsetail Fall! :-)
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
