Reflections from Yosemite

Reflections from Swinging Bridge ©Lynne Buchanan

As I was leaving Yosemite, I kept thinking I have to go back someday.  There is so much to explore and I feel that I just touched the surface, even though I spent four days in the park. Even 360 degree views like the one from the summit of the Sentinel below, do not capture the grandeur of it all.

View from the Sentinel ©Lynne Buchanan

I entered Yosemite via Tioga Pass, which fortunately was still open. Right away I saw beautiful backlit aspens that look so healthy and vibrant, followed by several jewel-like lakes and a lovely stream that I photographed.  Next, I arrived at Tuolume Meadows and took a walk with nice views of Lembert Dome.  The park looked so healthy and full of beauty.  I was filled with a sense of peace and equanimity.

Glowing Aspens ©Lynne Buchanan

Tuolumne Meadows with Lembert Dome ©Lynne Buchanan

Then I continued driving towards the central part of the park, as my destination was Curry Village.  When I got to the East Rim, my heart broke.  This is where the fires were.  As I neared the area, the aroma in the air grew stronger and stronger.  At first I thought it was the smell of pines that has always felt so comforting to me, but then I sensed it was too intense and somewhat rancid.  I got out of the car and realized it was the life being burned out of these trees I have such an affinity for.  I could still see smoldering in the distance.  Something kept making me get in and out of the car at various points along the road.  I felt I had to witness the devastation we are causing to the earth.  At one stop, I made the image below.  When I looked through the viewfinder, I knew I had framed a ghostly scene of a desolate forest beneath the setting sun.   The destruction and sense of abandonment was palpable.  Then I noticed the limbs of a tree in the background that formed a Y.  It was almost as if the forest was saying yes to life, even in the aftermath of the fire. 

Aftermath ©Lynne Buchanan

It dawned on me that the life force energy is more powerful than anything we can conceive of.  Though we try to destroy the planet on a daily basis and often ourselves by not respecting how we care for life, there is some power that keeps the spark of life alive.    Nature continually transforms and tries to find a way to regenerate even in the direst of situations, just as my mother’s brain rerouted itself after her stroke and created new neural pathways.  Destruction and rebirth are essential parts of the cycle of life. I noticed a very large, partially dead tree that still had green sprigs on top.  There is something so moving about pockets of life in the midst of destruction.  Seeing that tree gave me hope for the forests of Yosemite, for the planet we are polluting, and for the rivers we are raping and diverting from their natural flow.  It gave me hope for my own self too, as I enter and move through middle age.  There is something inside me that wants to keep generating new shoots even as I let go of what I once could do easily like running marathons.

My friend Tom Skeele, who accompanied me to Glacier and Yellowstone suggested I write a blog about partially dead trees during one of our conversations during which I had told him about my friend Sally’s tree that had almost been decimated by three hurricanes and still bore fruit.  Her amazing pear tree and the survivors and new growth following the forest fire in Yosemite inspire me to not give up, but it is more than that.  Partially dead trees are beautifully imperfect. Their scars give them character, and they are mirrors for my own acceptance of aging and decay.  When I see them, I know it my gut that everything is partially dead from the moment it comes into being.  Instead of running away in fear, the trees that were not annihilated by the flames stood tall and against all odds, kept searching for earth, water, air and sunlight, just as roots often break through rock and cement to do the same, and rivers break down walls of stone to follow their true path.   I can’t help cheering on these underdogs, like this beautiful tree with a giant scar and burn marks

The Stories Scars Tell ©Lynne Buchanan

When I come across trees growing right in the middle of boulders, their perseverance always astounds me.  I have to wonder if they didn't get the memo that soil is a better place to put down roots.

View from Yosemite Falls ©Lynne Buchanan

Even more astonishing is the power of water, a substance that is soft and pliable, to slice through rock.  The persistence of following the same path day in and day out can cause rock faces to crumble and cave in on themselves.  Nothing is stronger or more obstinate than a river...

Nevada Falls ©Lynne Buchanan

On my way back from Nevada Falls, I passed Vernall Falls for a second time and was fortunate enough to experience the rainbow within the falls.  It was a little piece of magic, like nature was saying "Look what I can still do..."

Vernall Falls with Rainbow ©Lynne Buchanan

And then there are the sequoias which keep enduring and enduring, even when they unnaturally morph together like the Faithful Couple below.  Their bark does not contain resin, so these trees rarely burn to their death no matter what heat is threatening the forest.  And even after they do die, their roots are so immune to destruction that they don't decay.  The roots below are centuries old.

Faithful Couple ©Lynne Buchanan

Magical Sequoia Roots ©Lynne Buchanan

For me, a large part of my cross-country journey has been to accept my partial deadness, to recognize that I do not have all the energy I used to have, and to figure out how to pace myself so that I can keep the embers of my passion for life alive.  I am also learning how to connect with others through my vulnerability, my wrinkles, scars and other perfect imperfections that for the first time in my life I no longer want to change through superficial cosmetic aides.   I have been looking in the mirror less often and no longer worry about what people think of me.  I am finally becoming comfortable in my own skin, holding the alive and dead parts of myself in my heart together as one and looking at each day in the rosiest light possible as I embrace just being with gratitude and acceptance.

Half Dome Seen Through the Rose-Colored Glasses of Dusk  ©Lynne Buchanan

The Eastern Sierras

Before Yosemite, I was fortunate enough to attend a wonderful workshop in the Eastern Sierras with Jack Graham and Guy Tal.   I can’t say enough great things about these guys–regarding their talent and their personalities.  I learned so much, both technically and artistically and I had a fantastic time in the process.  I hope to stay in touch with them forever, as they had a profound impact on me.  They also don’t have overly large egos and when you communicate with them it is on a very real and personal level.  The workshop exceeded all my expectations.

When I connect with such gifted photographers as deeply as I did, it is an affirmation that I am on the right path in pursuing photography as a both a vocation and an avocation.  Jack and Guy really understand how photography makes you grateful and changes your perspective on the world.  They also understand that it is important to express your emotional response to nature in order for it to be art.  It is not enough to take a great photograph; it has to be about something and communicate that to the viewer.  Guy’s presentation on how composition and processing can enable you to communicate your artistic vision was clear and convincing and gave me more tools to work with.  Both Guy and Jack’s work is beautiful, and they were extremely helpful in the field.   I am so indebted to them for their kindness and guidance. 

Below are a few images I made while I was there.  There are many more that I am looking forward to processing when I get home.  Hope you enjoy the gifts nature gave me, which I am always so grateful to receive and embellish on…

Sunrise over Mount Whitney © Lynne Buchanan

We were told to take the obvious photograph first, the one that was right before our eyes and which we could not avoid in order to get it out of our system.  This was the second time I have been in the Eastern Sierras.  I did not isolate Mount Whitney in a photograph the first time I was there.  I didn't connect with its austere massiveness.  This time when the sun hit the mountains and turned the rock fiery shades of red, I was drawn to the colors and contrasts in textures between the rocks closer in and the jagged mountain edges far away.  There was something tactile and masculine and forceful that I identified with, which may have been a result of all the mountains I have climbed lately.  In traveling alone across the country, I have also come in contact with more inner strength and the masculine side of myself...

Bristlecone Forest Still Life © Lynne Buchanan

At the same time, I am always drawn to intimate, ordinary moments in life, moments where the apparent randomness of nature form exquisite patterns that I only notice after sitting quietly and paying attention for awhile.  Scenes like this make me realize how rewarding it is to stay in the moment and just notice.  The longer I look the more I see, at times even noting the sense of motion in stasis.  For me this heightened awareness is the real point of photography.

Moonrise in the Bristle Cone Pines

And then there is the value of simplicity; the power evoked by a few simple elements.  When I saw the moon rise and hit the intersection of the earth's shadows with the rose hues created by the setting sun juxtaposed against the bare tree trunk, I thought of the effectiveness of oriental compositions, the value of negative space.  So often there is too much detail crammed into our lives.  To take a step back and distill reality into larger shapes allows the forces of nature to operate more clearly.

Moonset Over Mono Lake © Lynne Buchanan

Mono Lake is very intriguing. The tufa towers, which are salt formations, are indescribably strange.  They can only been seen to be believed. There is something ephemeral and delicate about them, despite their weirdness, which touched a chord of vulnerability in me.  Unfortunately, the park is unsupervised and many unknowing tourists climb on the tuffs, potentially cracking pieces off of them each time they take a step.  The water was very low as well, as a result of the recent drought, again revealing the threats to the natural world and our water supply.  Standing in the presence of these unusual structures as the sun began to rise behind me and moon had not yet set while the earth's shadow came into view was an intimate experience for me, despite the throngs of photographers to my right and left.  Examining their cracks made me think of my own body's process of decay given all the toxicity in our environment.  All we can do is hope to stem the process of destruction in our remaining years.

Bodie Tattered and Torn © Lynne Buchanan

Of all the images I made during the workshop, this was the most emotionally intense for me.  It was made in Bodie, the abandoned ghost town high in the Sierras.  I had wandered off and found myself alone behind this building with peeling shards of canvas nailed on to criss-cross mismatched boards.  This small subsection of one wall encapsulated the entire feeling of abandonment for me.  Instead of experiencing the building as ruined though, I was drawn to the warm colors of the wood and the peach color of the inner side of the canvas.  It was both inviting and rejecting at the same time.  Oddly enough, I began thinking of my own body–the scars on my ankles and knees from surgery and a fll respectively, my slightly peeling nose from too much sun exposure, my no longer completely firm skin.  Yet for the first time in my life I am inhabiting my body without apology.  I have stopped worrying about my not completely flat abdomen, the scar on the bridge of my nose from falling out of bed as a child and the two small ones on my forehead from liquid nitrogen.  I am embracing my moles, my wrinkles, my aging because they are signs of the years I have lived which have increased my patience and understanding and ultimately made me more rather than less welcoming of my fellow inhabitants of the earth who are perfect the way they are though they might not grace the pages of fashion magazines.

Our National Parks are Such Treasures

As promised, here is a selection of a few recent photographs from Bryce Canyon, Zion, and Death Valley, which opened this morning although I did take an illicit photograph of is last night.  When I checked into the Furnace Creek Ranch last night, I confessed to the woman behind the desk that I had done this, and she said great word for it.  Our customers have been doing this all week.  This morning, as I left the sunrise at Zabriske Point, I saw a ranger opening up the restrooms.  How nice that people don't have to break the law to see land that belongs to all of us...

Every time I got to Bryce, I am astonished by what I see.  No one could dream up these hoodoos.  They are truly stranger than fiction.  It is easy to spend hours trying to figure out what you see in them.  A much better way to spend your time that watching television or playing video games. There are great expanses to enjoy, as well as captivating individual formations.  I am so glad it opened in time the day I was leaving and that I was able to book an extra night.

Hoodoos at Sunset ©Lynne Buchanan

Sunrise Bryce Canyon ©Lynne Buchanan

Zion, I believe, is my favorite park, although I have yet to process my photographs from Yellowstone.  Somehow, I was too busy enjoying all the varied sites and animals while I was there that I never had time to work on the computer...  In any event, the grandeur of Zion is unmistakable and makes an impression on everyone who steps foot in that park.  The long hike to Observation Point has wildflowers, tall canyon walls, and dramatic overlooks.  The walks by the Emerald Pools and river are equally beautiful in their own right.

Zion Canyon Walls ©Lynne Buchanan

Sunset Zion Canyon ©Lynne Buchanan

Observation Point ©Lynne Buchanan

Death Valley is always a special place to visit.  Just driving through is an incredible experience and always makes me want to get a motorcycle, although I don't trust my coordination enough for that!!  I arrived just in time for sunset, where a group of people were all enjoying the view illegally...  I was going to sleep in, but then I woke up anyway.  My unconscious must have recognized that it is not every day you can wake up in Death Valley and it is the best time of day to view the formations.  The colors are amazing and then the first rays of light are magic.

Couple Watching an Illicit Sunset ©Lynne Buchanan

Sunset Zabriske Point ©Lynne Buchanan

Moonrise from Zabriske Point ©Lynne Buchanan

Sunrise Zabriske Point ©Lynne Buchanan

The Magic of Sunlight ©Lynne Buchanan

Going Deeper in Southern Utah and Why I am Taking a Hiatus from Blogging

Self-Portrait ©Lynne Buchanan

I made this portrait while I was in Santa Fe.  I was walking down Canyon Road and I came across this window in a curio shop and it was perfect, especially with the reflections of the car and house though the engraved piece of stone in the window is what really spoke to me.  The inscription from Joseph Campbell reads, "The Big Question is whether you are going to be able to say a heart yes to your adventure."

Santa Fe River at Dusk ©Lynne Buchanan

In Santa Fe, I was able to find dynamic balance and inner peace as I stood in the river in Nature Conservancy land.    I also experienced deep love for nature and gratitude for the beauty she provides for us to enjoy when I celebrated the existence of an ideal Dahlia and became one with it as I made the photograph below.

Ideal Dahlia ©Lynne Buchanan

These natural experiences are ones that everyone can enjoy on any level.  They do not necessarily require delving beneath the surface of things to appreciate them.

In Southern Utah things began to shift for me and my experiences of nature are becoming much deeper.  It takes a long time to process images each day and write these blogs and though blogs are quite personal in nature, one still writes them expecting that at least a few people might read them.  This does add a filter of some sort and I have arrived at a phase in my journey where I need to wholeheartedly embrace being on the journey in the most fundamental, uncensored, primitive level.  The acts of both writing and photographing can no longer be done with the expectation of sharing them, though after I have returned and assimilated all my experiences I hope to share them again in a  more polished manner.  Perhaps in another week things will shift again and I will be able to write for you again, my reader, if you are out there.

Before I sign off, I wanted to share some photographs of my experience in Southern Utah which has been the portal to this new level, so that you will understand why I am taking a break from blogging.  This is my private journey into the center of my being, a journey that calls each and every one of us.  There is no need to go anywhere to take this journey.  For me though, I had to arrive at a place in the world where there are steps down to canyons that compress all outside appearances, a tunnel into who I am which appears to be continually shifting.

Escalante Sunset ©Lynne Buchanan

Two nights ago I sat on these rocks and could see no one else in sight.  I was all alone in this magical setting and I felt the energy of the earth deeply in my bones.  I took out my native american flute and played for quite some time.  I am not very good yet, but that didn't matter.  I was playing my song and it was being echoed by the rocks around me.  After I finished playing, I did not photograph or move.  I just was, in total harmony with the universe.  Then the sky began putting on the most phenomenal show.  Different bands of rock began to light up and graphic clouds formed that unified the heavens and the earth.  I began moving about on the rocks.  Different areas lit up at different times as the sun's position changed and the colors were bright yellow in some places and soft roses and pinks in others.

Escalante Bathed in Orange and Rose-Colored Light ©Lynne Buchanan

I couldn't believe my eyes.  Then, I looked behind me and I saw what the local Escalante residents referred to as an epic sunset that night.  I crossed the dirt road and ran up the hillside shouting thank you to the universe, just as Dewitt Jones taught me to do in Molokai last April.  I did not worry whether I deserved to see such beauty.  I just drank it all in.  There were tears in my eyes.  It was almost too much to take but not accepting such a gift would have been complete foolishness and so I enjoyed every last moment until the sun went down, murmuring my gratitude the whole time.

Epic Sunset ©Lynne Buchanan

Whether or not you believe this was the most amazing sunset ever is unimportant.  For me it was, and it changed who I am.  I was alone with divinity and became part of it, if only for the hour I spent in this incredible place.  Each of us needs to experience this or something like this for ourselves and then when we have we can all connect again as vessels who have been filled up with spirit.  Once something like this happens, your perception of your place in the universe shifts forever–at least mine did.  I recognized I was so small compared to all the vastness surrounding me.  The landscape seemed to go on and on forever.  And yet, I also knew that I was an equal and important part of the planet.  My place was just as significant as each small tree on the horizon and because I opened my heart and soul to this, I suddenly felt worthy in just the right, small way that comes from respecting Mother Nature and being in alignment with what is.

The next day, I went deeper still.  I had hired Rick, of Escalante Outfitters, to take me to the slot canyons.  We spent about seven hours together wandering in the desert and never saw a single soul.

Rick in Harris Wash ©Lynne Buchanan

Rick is an amazing guide.  He knows every square inch of the desert without a map.  He has wandered it for years, flown over it, and is one of two people responsible for search and rescue in all of Garfield County, which stretches from Zion to Lake Powell.  When Rick realized I was traveling solo on this journey, he became a little concerned as he has seen too many things. Although, in the back of my mind, I have known that a single female traveling alone across the country and venturing into very remote areas has its risks, I had never actually let myself consciously consider just how dangerous it could be.  Part of the reason I have been blogging, is that I thought if I stopped someone might realize there was a problem.  Now I see the rescue people need to have a much more exact idea of where you are if you are going to be found, so I am checking in with people where I stay or leaving word with family members or friends each day.  After our excursions, Rick felt much better about my going it alone and saw that I have acquired common sense over the years, plus I am cautious and don't want to injure myself.  Below are a couple of photographs of the slot canyons, which were not nearly as deep as the last time I  was there since about six feet of dirt were pushed through them by the recent floods (same storm system that hit Boulder).  The walls were narrower too, since we were going through the portion that was usually higher up.  I could have been disappointed not to experience the towering canyons, but this was a different experience and I fully embraced it for what it was.

Me in a Slot Canyon (photo by Rick)

Narrowing Canyon Walls ©Lynne Buchanan

Slot Canyon Sculpted Forms ©Lynne Buchanan

Slot Canyon with Six Feet of Earth Washed In
©Lynne Buchanan

Going into the slot canyons is always a surreal experience.  You feel the pressure of the walls around you, the force with which the layers of sand were compressed into walls over time, just as the layers of our shifting personalities ultimate coalesce into what we call our Self.  It is real yes, but it is tenuous and can be broken apart easily by the stresses of life, just as the roots of trees can cause fractures in the walls or the force of water rushing through these canyons can bury them or cause pieces to break free.  The slot canyons were definitely like a portal for me.  Although I made some images, I made far fewer than I expected and spent much of the day on a walkabout with Rick just experiencing where I was without worrying whether I needed a road map to get back out.  I went deeper than I ever could have alone, while being totally free to explore whatever nook or cranny called my attention, and we spoke of the meaning of life the whole way.  This is the best kind of guide one could ever hope for...

That night I drove to Bryce, as I had planned on visiting Bryce Canyon.  Of course that was not to be as politicians are holding our national parks hostage.  Although it was a minor inconvenience for me, my heart went out to all the people who are losing valuable income and will have to take out loans (that they may or may not be able to get) to make ends meet.  In these remote places the national parks and tourism industry are often the only way to earn a living wage.  I learned from Rick that it takes three years to get a permit on the Colorado River.  Those guides invest a lot of money and then they purchase provisions and now that aren't able to go and will never be able to recoup their expenses.  I should not forget to mention how upset the European tourists are and what an embarrassment our failing system of government has become.  I actually got blamed by some visitors at breakfast yesterday morning, as if politicians would ever listen to the public instead of businesses and other blocs with power.  Whew.  Anyway, I could have taken the Ruby's Inn Shuttle with a lot of  disgruntled people to the rim of Bryce Canyon for a peak.  Instead I chose to go off and explore Red Canyon on my own.

I took a five mile round trip hike to an amazing overlook of Losee Canyon, which is a hybrid of a mini Grand Canyon and a mini Bryce.  The weather was very changeable.   It had snowed several inches during the night.  As I walked it alternated between overcast skies, sleet, and snow.  When I got to the top, the sun broke through for a bit and I saw a bit of blue sky.  I was so excited I started making a few photographs and then I noticed storm clouds on the horizon, so I ran back down the trail to my trusty Prius.  As you enjoy these photographs, remember that you do not have to be in a National Park to find beauty.  It is all around us every day.  Good-bye for now and say yes to your adventure!!

The Edge of the Losee Canyon Overlook ©Lynne Buchanan

Clouds Rolling In Over Losee Canyon ©Lynne Buchanan

Small Tree, Big Storm Coming ©Lynne Buchanan

Following the Aspens

Aspens in the Forest ©Lynne Buchanan

Since moving to Florida in 2002, one of the things I have missed most is the changing of the seasons––especially fall colors.  When I planned this trip, I did not realize that I would actually be following the aspens in peak color.  In Jackson, they were peak.  Then I went to Santa Fe and drove up to the ski areas and the aspens were peak there too.  I went back to my cousin’s in Salt Lake City and the aspens were in peak with snow on the ground.  Next, I drove down to Escalante and the aspens were in peak all the way there and there were huge hillsides of them.  Below are a few examples of the beauty I was blessed enough to experience. 

Aspens in Millcreek Camyon ©Lynne Buchanan

Aspen Trunks ©Lynne Buchanan

Aspens with Starburst ©Lynne Buchanan

Aspens with View of Capitol Reef ©Lynne Buchanan

Fall Color in the Grand Tetons ©Lynne Buchanan

There are many reasons that aspens are one of my all time favorite trees––their delicate trunks that gently twist and turn in the light as they reach for the sun, their beautiful leaves which quiver and quake in the breeze making a poetic sound that is music to my ears.  These are the sensual, ephemeral reasons why I love these trees.  The deeper more philosophic reason is the way they are all part of a single organism while each one retains its individual form.  If one tree gets sick, they all pool their resources to send that tree what it needs to heal.  They are such delicate trees that I often think it would be difficult for particular ones to survive if they did not work together in such profound and giving ways.   For me, they are a symbol of how as human beings we could exist in much better alignment if we only shifted our perspective away from an egocentric mode of being.  We do not need to be powerful, unrelenting, and stubborn to get our way in life.  We could realize that it is okay to show our softer side, to know that we are just one small part of the web of life and that this is just the way it should be.  We would not be fearful, as we acknowledged our place in life, as we would know that our brothers and sisters were all there supporting us, as well as the sun and the rain and all the elements of the earth.  As I have been walking through the aspen-filled woods across the west, I have been touching the trunks of these trees thanking them for their wisdom and the many ways they inspire me each day.