(click image for larger view & details)

Rime ice on pine tree, San Bernardino National Forest, California

Dawn light on Mount Whitney from the Alabama Hills, Sequoia National Park, California

Crescent moon and dawn light over the Big Sur coast, California

Fall color and fresh snow at Lake Sabrina, Sierra Nevada Mountains, California

Sunset at Soberanes Point, Garrapata State Park, Big Sur, California

Barrel cactus in bloom, Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, California

 Backcountry skier in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, Sierra Nevada Mountains, California

Peninsular Bighorn Sheep, Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, California

The Eiffel Tower, Paris, France

Rime ice on pine cones and branches, San Bernardino National Forest, California

Hiker looking down on the colorful Cedar Breaks Amphitheater, Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah

There’s a popular climb at Joshua Tree called “Figures on a Landscape” that got me thinking about the connection between man and the environment. Not so much from an environmental standpoint (this could fill numerous posts), but photographically speaking. The climb is not long by Yosemite standards, but the lack of apparent holds on the colorful granite creates the illusion of climbers on a much larger stone palette.

Landscape photography can often portray the natural world in abstract even with the best intentions of  preserving its true form. It’s the nature of the beast – and that’s fine when you’re creating intentional abstracts or scale is irrelevant. Perspective control lenses and software can correct bending horizons and converging trees to create a more accurate representation if necessary, but there isn’t much else in nature that subscribes to our architectural way of thinking.

Now don’t get me wrong – that’s a good thing! Nature should be wild and chaotic and unpredictable, and in most cases that’s exactly what we’re hoping to capture. But there are times when this can also lead to confusion with our audience. When you’re trying to convey a sense of scale such as the immensity of the Grand Canyon or the vastness of the night sky the simple inclusion of a person in the frame can give your image an instant focal point and more importantly, a sense of perspective.

Climbers on the classic traverse of Matthes Crest, Yosemite National Park, California (click for larger view)

Exploring the high peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California is a magical experience. The Range of Light, as John Muir affectionately called it, is essentially in my backyard (just a few hours drive away) and I try to make the most of it throughout the year. Winter is a fantastic time to discover the vast solitude that awaits the backcountry skier, late spring and summer provide ample opportunity to backpack to secluded lakes and hidden valleys, and autumn, my favorite time of year, is perfect for sharing the lofty summits with good friends.

Many of the peaks in the range average over 13,000 feet and the views stretch far and wide. Photography in the crisp, clear alpine air needs no polarizing filter to faithfully reproduce the deep indigo hue that looks as if it must have been tweeked in Photoshop. My go-to lens in these high and wild places is the Nikkor 16mm, which has a wide field of view, provides maximum depth of field with extremely close focusing, and is very compact making it especially easy to climb with.

Climbing photography is challenging as vantage points are often limited and safety always comes first. But the heightened sense of awareness that is a requirement when scaling the peaks has a dual benefit - that of visual clarity. Great shots have a way of presenting themselves, and capturing those images is often just a matter of living in the moment.

Skier under Banner and Ritter Peaks, Ansel Adams Wilderness, Sierra Nevada Mountains, California

Backcountry skiing in the Sierra Nevada is a perfect winter counterpart to the Desert Solitaire of Edward Abbey’s Utah. This popular and often crowded summer destination takes on another form during the shortest days of the year where deep in the wilderness that rare form of quiet is still plentiful. 

Whether you want to ski your own private bowls or just enjoy the tranquility and unique photographic opportunities, it’s all there for the taking. Proper equipment and skills are obvious requirements and outdoor retailers like REI not only sell all the appropriate gear, but also offer classes in technique and safety.

Watching the LA Marathon today (on a cold, soggy morning in Southern California) got me thinking about the correlation between endurance sports and photography and the rewards involved when going the distance. Coming back from a remote shoot with successful imagery involves many factors that all need to come together and often requires the same discipline used in running a marathon. Call it hang time or as I prefer “marathon mentality”, it’s a willingness to stay just a little longer, travel just a little further, or even endure some discomfort - then expect the unexpected.

After racing many marathons over the past 15 years I began to see a connection between the investment and return for both my photography and racing. Both require the obvious advanced preparation and planning, photo equipment needs to function properly in extremes of temperature and often with rough handling  just as the body must be conditioned to endure the effects of running 26 miles. But once at a location or a race the mental process of being ”in the moment”, in a heightened sense of awareness for extended periods, is often just as important and can be the difference between success and failure.

I’m always amazed at the multitude of reasons why people run marathons, but the one thing they all have in common is a desire to push themselves further than they have ever gone before. In the same vein, your photography can be taken to the next level simply by tuning your senses to absorb all that is around you and a willingness to exercise your own marathon mentality.

Jack Johnson’s well known line sums it up nicely when it comes to many things and especially outdoor photography. It’s wonderful to visit and photograph beautiful locations, to have a permanent (or so we hope) record of our experience long after the trip is over, but an added plus is always being able to savor those moments with someone else.

A recent exchange online got me thinking about all the benefits of sharing your photographic adventures with a friend or partner. Beyond the obvious pleasure of simply enjoying a tropical sunset together or wandering down a forest trail and savoring the smell of wet pines after a storm, there’s another big perk – perspective. Having someone in your landscape images can often add a unique visual element that gives the viewer a sense of place, and with action shots the benefit of being able to give direction (although utmost care is needed here) can make for much more compelling imagery.

In this image, my wife Maureen and I are just starting off on a 16 mile journey down the Na Pali coast of Kauai. Shooting this close to the water is always risky business, but I managed to keep my equipment dry with the careful use of a drybag while my partner helped line up the perfect shots. So the next time you’re heading out to shoot bring a friend, and don’t forget to let them get in on the action.

Climber on Wall Street along the Colorado River Gorge, Utah

Rock climbing is one of those sports in which the sum is definitely greater than the parts. Originally just one facet of mountaineering, it evolved into it’s own specific niche with the advancement of equipment and bold new techniques, which allowed the seemingly impossible to be conquered. But as any climber will tell you, the rewards are much more than just the satisfaction of getting to the top.

For many, climbing is as much a spiritual journey as a physical one. It’s often compared to ballet in the vertical in which a sequence of moves are carefully choreographed and the mind is sharply focused on the next position or placement of protection. And like a chess game, the participant must constantly adapt his or her thinking with each move as the climb progresses.

Because of this requirement of critical thinking it’s not surprising that climbing courses have been encouraged by large corporations across the country to help their employees develope not only trust and teamwork, but focus and attention to detail – disciplines which are critical to success in both endeavors. And of course, the more obvious byproducts of a day at the craigs is great physical conditioning and a memorable adventure with good friends.

Adding photography to the mix is a natural for those looking to capture high action in a natural setting. Whether you’re a participant or just an observer, rock climbers move at a slow enough pace that capturing the moments that define the sport is relatively easy. My favorite lens while climbing is a 16mm, which not only provides a wide field of view to include a good sense of place but has incredible depth of field to make sure everything from the rope in my hands to the distant mountains are sharp.

There’s been an online discussion lately about art and copying, the process of creating images that are not the photographer’s personal vision so much as an attempt to duplicate the work of others. In extreme cases some would argue this isn’t art at all, but rather a mechanized form of duplication. The unfortunate result is that many photographers are no longer willing to share information about specific locations, and those photographers involved are missing the opportunity to show the world their own unique vision.

This trend is ironic given that we’re a country born of rugged individualism, and photography above all is a form of personal expression. But it’s no surprise when we are surrounded by such a lack of creativity in society today - movie remakes of 70′s television shows; advertisements using surprisingly similar images; even politicians repeating the same words as if they are uniquely their own. Perhaps this lack of originality is due to tight deadlines and too little time in our fast-paced world, or simply a fear of the unknown.

Before I head off on a shoot (especially if it’s a location I’ve never been to before) I thoroughly research the area geographically and geologically and I’ll also review images of the area as a reference point to get a sense of place. But then after immersing myself in the details at home, I use the travel time to clear my head and fine tune my receptors to soak in whatever the location may offer.

Instead of previsualizing, I prefer to see a place through a child’s eye as if I’m the first ever to experience it. I’ll often avoid the obvious viewpoint whenever possible in favor of an angle that combines the key elements of the scene in a fresh, new way. When that’s a challenge, I’ll try a different lens or shutter speed or perhaps just wait for the light or weather to change.

So dare to be different and embrass the unknown. Find your own unique vision and enjoy the rewards of the path less travelled.

Giant Sequoia in winter, Giant Forest, Sequoia National Park, California

Winter dawn on Carson Peak, June Lake, California 

California Poppy detail, Antelope Valley, California 

Wildflower abstract, Tehachapi Mountains, Angeles National Forest, California 

The Old North Church and gas street lamp on the Freedom Trail, Boston, Massachusetts 

Professional cyclists at the Amgen Tour of California, Santa Monica Mountains, California 

Salt pan under Telescope Peak at dawn, Death Valley National Park. California

Eroded hills below Zabriskie Point, Death Valley National Park. California 

Spanish fountain at the Santa Barbara Mission, Santa Barbara, California

Sea nettles at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, Monterey, California

Low tide and sunset over Santa Cruz Island, Channel Islands National Park, Ventura, California

There’s been a lot of discussion lately in adventure circles about the use of GPS (Global Positioning System) and PLB units (Personal Locator Beacons) for wilderness navigation and safety. While I have a portable GPS system that can be used in my car or handheld, I find its true value lies in showing me the drive time to the next shoot location and when the sun will rise or set rather than every bend in the trail.

On backcountry ski trips I’ll mark important waypoints like camp and water locations or a critical landmark in a tricky mountain descent, but then I’ll turn it off until that information is needed. Adventure by design requires an element of uncertainty and I feel that there is already enough technology in the wilderness between digital cameras, batteries, solar chargers and radios that I prefer to leave as much as possible out of the equation.

Having said that, it’s still nice to have a small piece of insurance tucked away in the pack in case things don’t go as planned. A PLB is one option, which is basically an “all or nothing” device that sends a distress signal with your coordinates via satellite to the local emergency or rescue service. Unfortunately, these units don’t allow any type of communication as to the nature of the situation and are too often deployed accidentally putting an unnecessary strain on emergency services.

Satellite phones are another option that allow for direct communication almost anywhere in the world however they are too expensive and heavy for the average user and are typically used only by large expeditions. Fortunately the SPOT personal messaging system has bridged the gap with a small, cost effective unit that allows static messages to be sent to any e-mail or phone via text using GPS and ComStar technology. It’s three transmitting options include a personal message with a link to your exact location in Google Earth, a personal (friends and family) help message which can be used to notify of a non-emergency delay in the trip, or a full emergency call similar to a PLB.

This image is from the summit of Bear Creek Spire at nearly 14,000 feet in the Sierra Nevada Mountains where my SPOT is sending a message home. It had been a beautiful climb with good friends Vic and Amy, but several delays had caused us to reach the summit late in the day followed by a technical descent in the dark. Although this was not an emergency situation, my wife Maureen was glad to see when we had reached the top and even more relieved when she received another message showing that we were safely back in camp.