Rocky Mountain High

Today marks the 44th Earth Day. It's a time to think about our connection with the planet. I feel fortunate to be able to constantly follow the changing seasons in the Rocky Mountains, although the average backyard is full of wondrous sights for those who look closely. Close to home, wildflower seeds are beginning to sprout. Meanwhile on the distant slopes, the snow is receding and shrubs are becoming green again. The aspens are budding, and soon the leaves will be quaking in the wind.

Spring in the Rockies requires flexibility and patience. After an unusually mild winter, over twelve inches of snow fell in one early April day.

Some days are reminders of the amazing high country summers, while others are marked by morning snowfall that melts and evaporates by late afternoon. The prehistoric rock of the highest peaks is very slowly being uncovered.

I chose Rocky Mountain High as the title of this post because it seemed highly appropriate. As both the second state song of Colorado and the most famous song by John Denver (who was extremely passionate about the Rocky Mountains), it's a good choice for Earth Day. The second line, "...coming home to a place he'd never been before", resonates with me. I'll always remember how it felt to arrive in Colorado.

Waiting For Winter

This time of year can feel like a kind of limbo. The magnificent display of the changing aspens has long since turned into leaf litter on the forest floor. The first flurries of snow have fallen and melted away, and while it still decorates distant summits, no other signs of winter are forthcoming.

The summer visitors and festivals are long gone, but they've left behind a sense of peace. The roads and trails are especially quiet during this period.

In the time between autumn and winter, it would be easy to think that there is little to see in the high country. Still, if you can appreciate the simple things, there is always a new discovery to be made.

On this Black Friday I'm enjoying the silence outside, and the views of the mountains that I'm getting to know like good friends. Living a simple life means that it isn't always possible to take part in the big sales and shopping trends, but a walk in the wilderness is worth more to me than any gift or gadget that I can think of.

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is necessity; that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”  John Muir

To catch up with my latest work at From The High Country, you can go here.

Winter Approaches

As winter approaches and I prepare the cabin for the coming snow, I sometimes pause to reflect on the year that has passed by so quickly. While it was the same length as any other year, I feel that I've always been here, and that this is where I belong.

People have asked me if I still enjoy the wilderness, or if I still find interesting subjects for my work. The truth is that as I spend more and more time in the high country forests and mountains, my fascination only grows.

Each time I venture into the wilderness I learn a little more about my surroundings simply by being present and receptive to the lessons of the natural world.

Light snow has fallen in my small town for two consecutive nights. Although the afternoon sunlight causes the snow to melt, each morning brings opportunities to view wildlife tracks and picturesque glimpses of the winter to come.

Please visit From The High Country for more of my recent images, or take a look at the new "Scenes From The San Juans" 2013 calendar.

A Solstice Celebration

It seemed appropriate to celebrate the first day of summer by spending most of it outside. The weather was perfect for a long hike and one of Colorado's highest peaks was the goal.

The trail ascends sharply immediately after crossing a large stream, but shelter from the morning sun is provided by dense woodland. In the many small clearings, wildflowers are abundant. The beautiful death camas is in full bloom, and native columbines are irresistible to honey bees.

The clearings become larger until the treeline is reached and the mountains ahead become readily visible, while distant peaks can be seen when looking back toward the trailhead.

Mountain streams and carpets of wildflowers greet visitors and give evidence of last winter's snowpack. Marmots thrive in the nearby boulder fields and scree slopes and, aside from a few dry seasonal tributaries, there is little evidence of drought. Marsh marigolds line the upper streams until one final crossing leads the hiker away from the lush vegetation and into an arid, alpine environment.

Direction changes in the rocky trail lead to rapid elevation gains, allowing ever more impressive views of the valleys and mountains all around. The trail then becomes very steep, and the final ascent is an exhilarating 10 minutes of scrambling before a surprisingly simple walk along a windy ridge to the summit (marked by a USGS benchmark).

With no sign of adverse weather, the solstice afternoon was a perfect time to be at 14,000 ft.

"Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each." Henry Thoreau

All images shown in this post can be found in my summer gallery.

Close Encounters

During a rare break from making final arrangements in preparation for the big move, I realized that one special photo was missing from the website. I’ll remember the day it was taken for a long time. I had spotted four or five deer in a wooded area nearby. I readied my camera and hurried over. Once in range, I slowly moved closer and began to take photos. The herd didn’t seem to mind my presence, and as they allowed me to get amongst them I found myself sat in a snow bank just observing them. To be accepted as a guest was quite an honor. At a distance of no more than six feet, I raised my camera again and captured the moment:

Experiences such as this are the reason I am a photographer.

Merry Christmas!

This latest post comes a little later than I expected. I've been very busy, and I've had very few opportunities to get into the wilderness with my camera. That all changed this week! I'm in my adopted mountain home and have much to share. Let's start with a wintery scene:

I'm adding to my winter gallery on an almost daily basis. You can view it here: http://www.fromthehighcountry.com/winter

Winter in the mountains is very different to summer. The landscape changes drastically. Lightning storms are replaced by still, sunny (but very cold) afternoons. There is a whole new environment to be discovered!

Bygones

As the Thanksgiving break ended, I thought of previous winters, and one in particular came to mind. I was very young (five or six), and the winter snowfall had been unusually heavy for my area. A short drive to the local woodland revealed a magical white and green place, but the most memorable part was the sighting of fallow deer on the tree-lined path ahead.

Unfortunately I don't have a digital version of the photo that captured that moment. While searching online I was surprised that I was unable to find a similar shot. Instead, I'll leave you with this work by an artist local to the area:

I think it captures the experience of walking in a pristine, silent winter forest. I'm anxious to do it again, and this time, I'll be sure to capture a few of my own moments!

Daydreams

As the air starts to cool, I'm reminded of early morning ascents in the wilderness, where leaves are dew-covered and woodland creatures are surprised to find humans in the early light of dawn. A rushed breakfast is easily justified by lunch near the summit. A name and an altitude are not required - just a view like this:

As a part-time photographer, I can't always wait for the perfect shot. The weather and lighting can make or break a good shot, but when travelling it is very difficult to justify a long wait. I have to shoot and move on, and sometimes discard otherwise good images. On this occasion, the weather was perfect. The last cornice (as I sometimes call this shot) provides a reminder of the harsh winter while the rest of the foreground is bathed in summer sunlight. The clouds suggest the peaks are almost pushing against the roof of the world, and at 2.65 miles above sea-level, it sometimes feels like it!