If anyone knows about the Kelso Dunes — and I’ll wager not many do — then they know that one just doesn’t happen to “drive-by” these 650 foot tall sand dunes. Instead, you must plan to go there, even if for only a half hour, as I did this week.

The plan was to drive home (Salt Lake City) from my step-mother’s house in Southern California via the Mojave National Preserve rather than the shorter but tedious I-10 to I-15 interstate route.  Why? Because I wanted to see — and briefly photograph — the Kelso Dunes again. First, and last, there some 29 years ago, I had memories of climbing to the top of dunes for a sunset with my then girlfriend. We had camped in the nearby Providence Mountains and the austere, dry quiet of the Mojave had awed both of us. This was before the Preserve was established and the State of California created the Providence Mountains State Recreation Area (which, along with another 60+ state parks has been embarrassingly closed due to ‘deficit-reduction’ since 2008) and so toodling around in the desert carried more risk then then it does now. The roads were much rougher and pavement was much sparser.

Now, heading north into the heart of the Mojave Desert on the Kelbaker Road in my father’s VW Passat and listening to his old Doobie Brothers and Blood, Sweat & Tears cassettes (thinking of you dad), the experience and goal were of a different nature. Rather than camp and hike, I planned to drive and shoot. Climbing past the aptly named Granite Mountains and descending the long straight grade after the pass, there lay the long line of amber-ish colored dunes to the west and the short 3 mile long graded dirt road to the trailhead.

Of course many a visitor to National Parks execute true drive-bys. You’ve seen them, yes? They drive-up, stop the vehicle, perhaps turn-off the engine (but, probably not), and hold their point-and-shoot or smart phone at arm’s length, snap the digital shutter, climb back in the vehicle and disappear, heading to the next scenic spot where they are supposed to take a picture. I witnessed the ultimate drive-by last year when at the end of Chicken Corners Road in the Greater Canyonlands area — a partially 4WD road that takes 3-4 hours to drive one-way — a woman in the passenger side of a rented open-air jeep, said “awesome, just awesome” as she snapped a couple of frames, whilst the jeep turned around, and headed home again. The jeep didn’t stop and she didn’t get out. Is that not strange behavior of homo urbis?

I don’t really do true drive-bys, so grabbing my Pentax K-5 and my infrared modified Pentax K10, I started trudging towards the main dune in the 80 degree heat. No plan really other than to find a spot closer and perhaps nicer to shoot a few frames. After 15-20 minutes I found a few sand ripples and clumps of greenery and though it was late morning and the sun was harsh, I documented my desert side trip on the long journey home. The numerous creosote bushes were sporting small yellow flowers but the persistent breeze played havoc with any attempt to photograph them, so I didn’t. The four shots here, though perhaps borderline repetitive, will hopefully give one a feel for the unique nature of these plant-stabilized dunes. Reportedly the oldest dunes (~25,000 years) in North America, and the third highest (after the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado and the Eureka Sand Dunes in Death Valley National Park), the Kelso Dunes really deserve more than a drive-by.

Next time.

It was one month shy of a quarter century since I had last been here. Easter week in 1987 we – my wife, our 7-year old daughter, and our 2-year old golden retriever – pulled into the lee of the 700+ foot tall Eureka Sand Dunes in our 1972 International Scout. The only other person there was some bozo riding a 3-wheeler on the lower dunes, fortunately in the distance. There was no campground, certainly no outhouse, and in fact Death Valley was still a Monument and its boundaries did not yet extend to this lonely and remote valley. Against a crystal blue sky we climbed the highest dune and later that night relished a warm evening beneath a canopy of limitless stars.

Fast forward 299 months…the Scout is long gone, Whiskey – our first golden retriever – lived a long life but is also no longer with us, our daughter is grown up, my wife was at home, and me and my friend / photography-partner finally arrived after a 10+ hour drive at the primitive Eureka Valley campground on this cold, cloudy March afternoon. Death Valley National Park extended its borders a decade-and-a-half-ago to include this valley, as well as Saline and Panamint Valleys. Other than fourteen or so widely scattered campsites, and the one lone sentinel of an outhouse, it was hard to see any difference in what I remembered from 25 years ago. Oh yes, no bozos are permitted to ride their toys on the dunes…progress.

It was chilly but after selecting a site and setting up camp, we ventured into the lower march of dunes to photograph a sandy sunset. Little time remained before the sun dipped below the horizon, and my goal was to hike high on a dune ridge to a) be beyond any traces and tracks of human footprints – always a challenge in the dune environment – and b) be positioned appropriately to capture the waning light on the dunes.

It didn’t take me long to clamber high enough to reach a stretch of virgin sand, long with sinuous cascades of ripples. The clouds played havoc with the light – a muted softbox effect punctured by occasional bright bursts of the sun and its light – and ultimately yielded little in the way of dramatic and classic sunset colors. Nonetheless, there were brief windows when things worked and the elements came together to create interesting images: a knife-ridge here lit by golden light on one side, shadowy dusk descending on the other; a thin, struggling bush there acting as an organic counter-point to the mountains of silky silica. I concentrated on those moments and subjects, attempting to distill the essence of cool spring dusk turning into the winter of a cold, starry night; trying to do justice to the power, beauty, and serenity of the desert environment.   

Coming late to architecture, I had never heard of the Gamble House. But recently I was in the LA area for a quick architectural tour and my daughter suggested we check out this American Craftsman Style house of the Arts and Crafts Movement. Built in 1908 for David Gamble (of Proctor & Gamble fame) the house is outstanding from many perspectives. The architects – Greene & Greene – used an array of over 20 different woods. All of the furniture and finishings, including cabinets, picture frames and even a piano, were created in their millwork shop from original designs. Additionally, all of the lamps and wall sconces were individually designed. Throughout the entire house can be found an interesting interweaving of Japanese design and aesthetics with an American sense of spaciousness and the possible.

The only way to view the interior is via an hour long guided tour. It is worth it. The docent that led us was very well-versed in not only the minutiae of the Gamble family and their house, but he also knew much about the architect brothers. He also shared interesting details about life in the early 20^th century. For instance, there was a fear in the early days of electricity that direct exposure to light bulbs would be harmful. That is why all of the light bulbs are pointing upwards or otherwise shielded from direct view. Those deadly photons!

The house is essentially a working museum. The last Gamble lived there until 1966 and then the building and grounds were donated to the city of Pasadena. Through a special arrangement with USC, two senior architecture students live and study there every year. With little change, things are the way they were a 100 years ago.

From a photographic perspective, the interior is relatively low-lit, due to the pervasive light-dampening characteristics of all the dark woods. Some long exposures would be wonderful but photography is off-limits inside. When I was there it was mid-day and the light was pretty harsh. Nonetheless, I took a few color and infrared shots of the west-facing exterior. I believe the infrared converted to b/w images work the best. I took multiple exposures and blended them together which allowed for a rich depth of tones in the shadows and well-lit areas. The color images are less interesting to me, but I offer them as a juxtaposition.

If you love architecture and are in the LA area, you owe it to yourself to check out the Gamble House. If you have more time, there are several more Greene & Greene homes within walking distance, along the Arroyo Terrace. Discovering an architectural gem in the built environment can be almost as rewarding as exploring the wilderness. Almost.

Up until last week I had only two images of Griffith Observatory: one featuring James Dean, Sal Mineo, and Natalie Wood from 1955 and my own, a certainly less traumatic than Rebel Without a Cause sojourn to see the planetarium stars wheel to the kaleidoscope sounds of Pink Floyd, circa 1973. Instead of knife fights or psychedelic music, it was a pretty tame mid-morning occasion to photograph the observatory and perhaps even the un-smogged skies of Los Angeles.

It was a rare clear day in the land of angels and I primarily shot with my newly infrared-converted Pentax K10. I had ordered a non-standard 780nm filter from the gentleman – Clarence Spencer of Spencer’s Cameras – who had previously performed my Pentax DS conversion (to720nm) and my K100 conversion (to 830nm). Both of those are older 6mp cameras and I was looking forward to seeing more images from the 10mp Pentax. I had taken the K10 to the Greater Canyonlands area a few weeks back and was really stunned by one image in particular of the setting morning moon. This would be my first occasion to shoot architectural studies with the infrared camera and I was anticipating more stunning images.

The sun was bright, the shadows deep, the air (pretty) clear, and the observatory lines clean and sharp….perfect for infrared. There was much more to work there than I anticipated. Fortunately there also were not a lot of people at that time, so with a bit of patience, shooting unimpeded was easy. I particularly likely the stairs and archways that provided wonderfully strong and evocative compositions. Lots of lines to work with and the few thin, ethereal clouds provided the perfect foil to an otherwise featureless sky.

It was a good outing with I believe compelling results and I thank my patient family (whom I was visiting) for letting me shoot until I was finished…and, sending only one text, wondering where I was.

Racetrack Valley is justifiably famous for its moving rocks. The rocks are mainly scattered about the southern end of the playa and leave long gouges in the now-hard and caked mud. Some of these paths seem impossible with odd angles and strangely placed rocks in the middle of tracks. Theories abound from the silly (aliens and pranksters) to the scientific. Most of the credible theories revolve around a combination of wet, slick mud and high winds that push the rocks to and fro, in straight and sometimes varying directions. Some of the rocks are large and must weigh upwards of 50 pounds so the conditions must be just so. Of course, there is no record of anyone ever observing this behavior, hence the bit of mystery.

While we were there in April a Czech professor – Gunther Kletetschka – and his assistant were conducting research on the moving rocks. Their research adds a new set of wrinkles to the wind and water theories. I won’t reiterate the details as a fellow photographer I met out there has started a thread and done a very good job encapsulating the scientist’s thoughts. You can read about it here as well as see the photographer’s (Michael Kunitani) wonderful images.

I spent one morning and one evening working the moving rocks. There are a couple of obvious ways to approach the rocks from a photographic perspective: either low and centered on the rock or high with an ultra wide-angle capturing the rock and its trail. The previously referred to photographer has some very good examples of the low-approach, whilst most of my images are of the high-approach. Of course, in retrospect I wish I had at least shot a few as Michael did, but I guess I’ll work that approach when I return to the valley.

Unless you have cloud cover, shooting during the middle of the day will likely not produce a lot of successful images: the light is generally too harsh. Even if you like strong contrast and sharp shadows, stick to the extremes of the day where you can shoot very pronounced, elongated shadows. So, what to do during that late morning to mid-afternoon stretch? Well, I suppose you could sit in camp and drink beer, but frankly I didn’t drive 13 hours to sit in camp.

Like most of Death Valley, Racetrack Valley has seen its share of intrepid miners in the last century and a quarter. The mine sites vary from extensive and obvious to minuscule and difficult to find. In fact, at the south end of the valley there was even an optimistically named Ubehebe City supplied by weekly stagecoach service (hard to imagine how ‘pleasant’ that ride must have been!), but no trace of it exists today. The easiest to see and visit mine site is just a ½ mile or so from the campsites. The Lippincott mine features numerous mine tunnels and shafts as well as remnants of an old mill and a shot-up water tanker. Spelunkers have ventured into the tunnel complex, but for us a short 100 yards or so until it became pitch black was enough (bring a light!). A lead and silver mine Lippincott was in production until the early 1950’s. There is much to see here and a better part of an afternoon can be occupied poking around. You will also enjoy expansive views of not only Racetrack Valley but also of the much larger Saline Valley to the west.

From Racetrack Valley one could drop into Saline Valley via the infamous Lippincott Road. When I ventured down it years ago it was an incredibly nerve-wracking experience with huge boulders and ruts threatening to propel our vehicle into the chasm below. It appears much tamer now as it seems they periodically grade it. From where the road beings its rapid descent you can venture up the hillside due north for a good view of Saline Valley. Continuing on an old track the view opens up even more, exposing the western flank of the Last Chance Range and showing just how long Saline Valley is (~80 miles). 

Returning to exploring Racetrack Valley, a less obvious mine is the Sally Ann Mine. Located in the steep mountainside southeast of the playa, I stumbled around there for the better part of an hour but never could find a trail much less the actually diggings. I did find however the foundation of a campsite with shards of colored glass and bits of crockery strewn about. I also found the old camp dump where the never-very-environmentally-conscious miners tossed their tin cans.

The most rewarding exploration in the valley was my sunset race up the Copper Queen Mine/Ubehebe Peak trail. It was our last evening before heading home the next day and I wanted something different. Fortunately, earlier in the trip, I had purchased Michel Digonnet’s informative and essential guidebook, “Hiking Death Valley.” (Since my return I have also acquired his companion book, “Hiking Western Death Valley National Park: Panamint, Saline, and Eureka Valleys. I cannot recommend too highly either of these books. The amount of detail Michel provides is nothing short of comprehensively staggering.) Though the trail is obvious – it begins at the Grandstand turnout – there is no sign and one could be forgiven for thinking it impossible to climb the seemingly sheer eastern escarpment below the towering Ubehebe Peak. But lo, if one squints upward north of the peak towards a quasi-obvious saddle you can see a series of frightening switchbacks. The book claims that this ascent is “one of the most spectacular hikes in this desert” and though my experience in this region is dwarfed by Mr. Digonnet’s, I would merely add that it was awe-inspiring.

The race was to beat the setting sun so that I could shoot the Last Chance Range’s advancing shadow across Racetrack Valley. It was late afternoon and the 2 mile and 1200’ elevation gain seemed daunting. For some reason I was pumped and though I stopped a couple of times and moved a bit slowly through the last few very steeply pitched switchbacks (there are a total of 36 of them!) I crested at the saddle in 45 minutes. The view below was stupendous. And, indeed, I was able to photograph the shadow to my heart’s content. To the west, Saline Valley was in shadow from the even taller Inyo Mountains. If the sunset had not been a concern I could have continued to climb south to the summit of Ubehebe Peak (another mile away and 800’ higher) or descended a 1000 plus feet to the Copper Queen Mines. But those will have to wait until another visit with more time.

Our final venture was to photograph the Grandstand in the day’s fading light, so I couldn’t tarry on the high divide and instead raced down the twelve hundred feet back to the playa. We brought lights to shine on the aptly named Grandstand (located in the middle of the north end of the dried lakebed) but for me the after-dark experiment of shooting infrared yielded startling and alien-esque images.

It had been 27 years since I last explored the vast desiccated world of Death Valley, but it was pretty clear that I would not wait another quarter century to return: Spring of 2012 can’t come too soon!

It was 27 years ago that I had last traveled to Racetrack Valley.  It was a bit rougher in those days: no GPS, no mobile phones, little in the way of signage, only topo maps and your own innate sense of direction (or not).  We – my wife, our 9-year daughter, and our first golden retriever (Whiskey) – drove in through the northern ‘backdoor’ of Eureka Valley – not yet part of Death Valley National Park (in fact, the park was not yet a park, merely a monument) – via my old rattle-trap of a ’72 International Scout.  That vehicle had a lot of character and the temperament to match.  It could drive over anything…or break down trying.  After a day and night of camping and climbing the Eureka Dunes we continued south past Ubehebe Crater and onto the Racetrack Valley road: 28 miles of mean washboard.

Back then, at the aptly named Teakettle Junction (mile marker 19), we took a detour on the Hunter Mountain Road, where we spent a night in the Cottonwood Mountains with a glorious view of Death Valley, before backtracking the next day to Racetrack Valley.  Maybe I was just used to bumping along on stiff suspension back in those days, but I have no memories – negative or otherwise – of the Racetrack Valley Road being anything more than long. (Now, the Lippincott Mine Road is another story entirely, though one I’ll leave unsaid for now.) This time it really was a painful 3 hours of bumping and rattling and shimmying along.

But first, we made the mistake of asking at Park HQ in Furnace Creek how the road was.  I proceeded to get the 3^rd degree from a young ranger: What kind of tires do you have? How many plys are they?  What kind of vehicle are you driving? How many spares do you have? Etc. And then she started laying down the fear-factor: it’s a terrible road; lots of flat tires; big sharp rocks; you’re on your own; no tow service, ad nauseum.  The road was rocky (small, not big rocks and they didn’t seem particularly sharp either) and washboarded, but beyond that her hyperbole does the Park Service a disservice.  I understand that they have to deal with lots of boneheads who get themselves into stupid predicaments, but by deliberately inflating the risk of venturing out, they feed into the misguided mantra that the National Park system (read: the federal government) is just trying to “lock up the land.”

We also made the mistake of filling up at Furnace Creek: >$5/gallon!  But, really, that and Stovepipe Wells are your only two choices for fresh petrol in the Park.  (The latter is about a dollar cheaper so if you can, fill up there.)  As we drove north, the air was still quite hazy from over 24 hours of high winds. Why hazy?  The winds created a sandstorm in the Mesquite Flats area that basically completely blotted out Stovepipe Wells Village and the upper Death Valley basin for the better part of a day.  When you want clean sand dunes with little to no tracks, post storm is the time to wander in the dunes.

If you venture this will you leave the pavement at Ubehebe Crater. But, before you do so, check out the crater and surrounding ash lands left over from what appear to be a dramatic series of eruptions some 2,000-7,000 years ago.  A nice hour-plus long walk around the rim of the ½ mile wide, 777 feet deep crater is just what you need before the grind on Racetrack Valley Road.  

Slowly we climbed the long alluvial fan to the high point of Tin Pass (4990’).  This area is rich with Joshua Trees and if the light is right and you can afford the time, a break here to photograph the weirdly twisted and faintly anthropomorphic plants is a welcome reward.

A little less than an hour later and we arrive at Teakettle Junction.  Legend states that over a hundred years ago a miner placed a teakettle at this fork in the bad road. Tradition has lead to hundreds of people doing the same over the last century.  When I was last here there were but a few.  Now? Perhaps 50.

In the distance, some 6 miles away, gleamed Racetrack Valley while just beyond reared the dark southern extremity of the Last Chance Range. This was all familiar to me now: like returning to a well-loved place after many years. Which, it is.

Next Post: Grandstanding and Moving Rocks

I was browsing Facebook last week and one of the photography forums I follow posted an image and requested comments.  This is quite often an occasion for the fanboys to come out and say how ‘awesome’ even the most mundane of subject matter and composition is. (Surely, ‘awesome’ is one of the most frequently used and least meaningful words in the current vernacular of English. Don’t believe me? Still like to use it in everyday usage? Go to Flickr and type the word in the search bar. You will have over 2 million images of various levels of awesomeness to browse. Have fun!)  However, on this forum I have read insightful and constructive comments that someone actually put some thought into.

The particular image that caught my attention was of interesting subject matter and was converted to black and white, which generally piques my interest.   The composition was nice but what I objected to was the existence of an over-large watermark placed in the lower third of the image.  I’ve already written about the disease watermarkis blotis, which seems to be plaguing so many photographers today. In addition, the photographer had processed the image to the point where the sky featured prominent haloing.  There is using techniques to complement an image and then there is using it to effect.  Where one ends and the other begins is certainly subjective.  I have seen completely grunged-out images that work because the processing is well suited to the subject matter.  And, I’ve seen the opposite, many times over.

I left a short comment referencing the watermark and haloing and upon checking back 10-15 minutes later was surprised to see a small flame-war between one individual who liked the processing and another who only liked “real” photography.  The former was of the ‘live-and-let-live’ mindset while the “real photographer” (we’ll call him Mr. RP for short) was condescending, patronizing, absolutist, and quite full of his self.  His statements became sillier as the thread lengthened.  For instance, did you know that: HDR is fake; real photographers never have to use Photoshop; unless you are a “real photographer” you are merely a hobbyist; you must have a big camera to be “real photographer” and not merely a ‘cookie-cutter’ camera; if you shoot raw and in manual mode your image will need ‘nearly no’ post processing; if you're not looking to capture the “real thing” you should just steal an image off the net and manipulate it in Photoshop; and only full time photographers have anything of value to say about photography. Really? I did not know all of this. But, good news! Now, I do!

In all seriousness, I thought “this guy has got to be kidding.” I mean, I know a number of full time, and I would say quite real, photographers and they all use Photoshop, Lightroom and various plugins and yes, even the dreaded HDR software.  But this is all computer gimmickry of course and these folks – who have collectively sold thousands of images and published over 100 books – can clearly not be “real photographers!”  At least according to Mr. RP. So, I wondered; who the hell is this Mr. RP?  Though he did not list any websites on his public-facing Facebook profile (wouldn’t a real, full time photographer do that?), I was able to sleuth him out.

Navigating through his website galleries, some of his images were nicely composed and some were pretty journeyman-like, if not just plain boring.  A few series featured nice colors, if somewhat standard compositions. Generally though many of them lacked pizzazz, interest or excitement and would have been greatly aided by the serious use of post-processing tools. Low-contrast, color-deprived images are not necessarily more “real.” They are just low-contrast and color-deprived.  My goal is not to trash this unnamed photographer.  After all, his images must be EXACTLY what he wants out of photography, no matter how limited in vision they seem to me.  However, it is the visionaries in any creative field (be it art or science!) who push the bounds.  If not for them, photographs would be strictly representational à la 1850’s and painting would not have moved off of the cave walls of Lascaux.  I’ll leave it to Mr. RP to discuss with the ghosts of Messrs. Adams, Weston (all of them!), Brandt, Stieglitz and Steichen (amongst many others) the virtues of the wet chemistry equivalent to Photoshop.  And, I’ll leave it to others to educate him that shooting in RAW is advantageous primarily because you have the most amount of information to “play with” (not because somehow that format is more ‘real’ in appearance than TIFF or JPEG).

No it wasn’t objectionable that Mr. RP’s vision seemed so limited but rather that he insisted others conform to his “wisdom.”  Worse than parochialism is uninformed absolutism.  Expressing oneself in such a fashion says much more about the critic than the criticized.

(Warning: below are Photoshop processed images. If offended, please avert your eyes.)