Captivating Views: Goosenecks and Monument Valley from Muley Point – From Muley Point, the San Juan River’s goosenecks carve a winding path, with Monument Valley faintly visible on the horizon. Cloud shadows dance across the rugged terrain.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been utterly captivated by a view during my days as a photographer. I’m talking about scenes that felt like they encompassed the entire world, vistas so mesmerizing that they made it nearly impossible to walk away. Places like the Summit Road on the Banks Peninsula in New Zealand, the patio of the North Rim Lodge at the Grand Canyon, Horseshoe Bend outside of Page, Arizona, and Bryce Canyon from Powell Point in Utah. These weren’t just beautiful landscapes but revelations that deepened my understanding of geography. During my May visit to the Bears Ears area, I discovered another such place—Muley Point on Cedar Mesa.
Why I Stopped at Muley Point:
From last month’s article, I drove to Utah intending to spend several days photographing various areas on the south side of Bears Ears National Monument. However, my trip was cut short when I threw out my back. After packing up and heading home from Natural Bridges, my back felt better within the supportive confines of the Turd’s captain chair. With some relief, I decided to stop and inspect the Muley Point overlook for future trips.
The three-mile dirt road to Muley Point was easy to traverse. When I arrived, I exited the truck, wandered the area, and took in the sights. I was immediately impressed. So much so that I decided to take some photographs, which meant returning to the SUV to fetch my camera and retracing the loop I had already hiked. Despite my initial setback, I’m glad to say that in the short time I was there, I managed to capture enough images to support this post.
Life on the Brink: Cedar at Cedar Mesa Edge – A cedar (piñon) tree clings to life along the edge of Cedar Mesa, demonstrating the incredible resilience of nature in the harsh Utah desert.
Geological Marvel:
Cedar Mesa, a striking landscape in southeastern Utah, is a geological marvel shaped by millions of years of natural forces. The mesa is primarily composed of Cedar Mesa Sandstone, a distinct formation different from the more well-known Navajo Sandstone. While Navajo Sandstone is renowned for its sweeping, cross-bedded dunes indicative of ancient desert environments, Cedar Mesa Sandstone is characterized by its horizontal layers, formed from sediment deposits in ancient coastal environments during the Pennsylvanian period, roughly 300 million years ago. These layers of sand and silt were compressed and cemented over time, creating the durable rock formations that define the mesa today.
The San Juan River, which carves its way through Cedar Mesa, has shaped one of the most dramatic landscapes in the region—the Goosenecks. These deep, serpentine bends result from a complex interplay between the uplift of the Colorado Plateau and the river’s erosive power. As the plateau slowly rose over millions of years, the San Juan River cut into the rock, deepening its channel. The combination of vertical uplift and horizontal river erosion created the meandering goosenecks, considered the deepest on the planet. These geological features provide a breathtaking testament to the relentless and patient forces of nature that sculpt our world.
Perched for a Fall: Cedar Mesa Sandstone Block – A fractured block of Cedar Mesa sandstone, shaped by wind, rain, and freezing temperatures, teeters on the mesa’s edge, ready to tumble down the cliff.
Cultural Significance:
Cedar Mesa and the surrounding Four Corners area are rich with traces of ancient cultures that once thrived here. The earliest known inhabitants were the Basketmaker people, who lived in the region from around 1500 BC to 500 AD. These early agricultural societies were named for their exceptional skill in weaving baskets, which they used for storing food and other essentials. The Basketmakers lived in semi-subterranean pit houses and were among the first to cultivate maize, beans, and squash in this arid landscape. Their success in agriculture, hunting, and gathering allowed them to establish relatively stable communities.
Following the Basketmakers, the Ancestral Puebloans, often called the Anasazi, inhabited the region from approximately 500 CE until the late 1200s. This period saw the construction of elaborate cliff dwellings and multi-room stone structures, many of which still dot the landscape of Cedar Mesa and Bears Ears today. The climate during the 12th century was somewhat wetter, supporting agricultural practices and allowing these communities to flourish. However, prolonged droughts in the late 13th century, along with social and possibly environmental pressures, led to the eventual migration of these people. They moved south and east, eventually becoming the Hopi, Zuni, and other Pueblo tribes of today. These migrations were driven by the need for more reliable water sources and agricultural land, leading to the dispersion and evolution of their cultures into the tribes we recognize today.
Twisted Roots: Cedar Mesa’s Resilient Juniper – A twisted juniper tree grows out of the sandstone rocks on Cedar Mesa. Despite its short height, the tree’s ancient trunk reveals its significant age and resilience.
Final Thoughts:
If you’re a desert lover like me, prepare to fall head over heels for Cedar Mesa. This place is a treasure trove of breathtaking vistas and rich subject matter, perfect for photographers and artists alike. It’s hard not to be captivated by the sheer beauty and history of the landscape. I plan to return here often. With the wonders of Bears Ears and the Grand Staircase nearby, it’s challenging to justify going anywhere else—except for the occasional indulgence in wine and coastal views to shake things up. If you visit, please be mindful to preserve this natural wonder for future generations.
Thank you for visiting and joining me on this journey. Head to my website or Fine Art America for larger versions of these images. These new photos will be featured for three months before they’re refreshed with new adventures. Since it’s August and we’re escaping the sweltering heat, stay tuned for next month’s article, where we’ll share our adventures on the Pacific coast. Until then, I’d love to hear your favorite views or stories from the Four Corners in the comments.
Until then, keep your humor dry and your eyes on the road.
jw
Ancient Waterway Overhang with Varnish Stains—Sedimentary layers and mineral stains highlight the geological history of this Natural Bridges formation.
I may not be the rugged outdoorsman that I appear to be. Until two years ago, Queen Anne’s and my camping world revolved around our little Casita trailer. We took it everywhere, from the Grand Canyon to Alaska. However, we had to part with it due to unforeseen circumstances and began using motels for our overnight trips.
As much as we enjoy watching The Big Bang Theory reruns in our motel room at night, it’s not the same as sitting around a campfire under the stars and eating Jimmyums. Recently, I decided that I would get back to basics on my next photo shoot—and the perfect opportunity was coming up.
Queen Anne’s Adventure
Anne’s sister Jane called about one of her bucket list items: a road trip to Utah’s Mighty-Five National Parks. Anne jumped at the chance to travel with her sister and even offered to drive. Their tour started for two weeks but got whittled down to a week by the time they left. While they were off ‘Thelma and Louise’-ing their way across the Beehive State, I decided to use that time to explore the Bears Ears National Monument near Blanding. After all, when we bought the Turd—my RAV4—I made sure there was room for me to stretch out in the back.
Natural Beauty: Owachomo Bridge from Above- The delicate span of Owachomo Bridge is set against the rugged canyon landscape.
Preparation for the Trip
As I prepared for my adventure, I dug out the remains of our camping gear from the attic and added some kitchen items to augment them. Since I’d be alone, I bought a bunch of canned goods for food, reducing the need for an ice chest. I always heated them on my single-burner propane stove when I camped as a younger man. Besides, Cup-O-Noodles and coffee make for an easy, warm meal on those chilly mornings.
One thing I splurged on was a heavy-duty air mattress. I can no longer tolerate sleeping on a hard surface without a cushion. The one I bought from Amazon was designed to fit in the back of SUVs. It’s T-shaped and broad at the back doors, then narrows between the wheel wells. Another nice feature is that each side inflates independently—so I could pack my camp boxes on the deflated side while day traveling. Did I mention that it was guaranteed not to leak? Yeah, about that…
Once the girls got a head start, I carefully packed my new mattress, all of my photo gear, plenty of clean socks and undies, and the rest of my provisions into the Turd and set off on my 9-hour journey to Natural Bridges National Monument in Utah. On the road again—what could go wrong?
The Struggle
I arrived at the park after 4:00 p.m., so the campground was full. I expected that, but the BLM runs the Mani-La Sal forest, so throw-down camping is permitted, and I had ample time to find a good spot. Before long, I backed into a lovely level spot surrounded by Ponderosa pines beneath the towering red cliffs of Bears Ears.
The air had a damp-cool chill, so I put on the sweater I brought before setting up camp. Since I didn’t have a table, I used my sturdy camp box for one, which doubled as an ottoman after dinner. I stowed the rest of my boxes on the truck roof to keep them out of the dirt.
After emptying the back of the Turd, I unrolled my mattress and started inflating it using the portable pump that it came with. Before I began to inflate the passenger side, I looked closely at the sky and felt it would rain, so I moved the rest of my boxes back inside along the flaccid side of the bed. It cramped my bed space, but I’d be fine since I wasn’t planning on spooning with a bear.
Before dinner, I had time to wander and capture video clips of the red cliffs and trees in the sunset. Upon returning to camp, I prepared an Epicurean meal of warmed-over canned ravioli, a cup of peaches, and a cup of tapioca pudding. As the night grew late, I gathered my things and climbed into the back of the truck. Ah! The life of Reilly.
Outside was silence except for the trees rustling in the gentle breeze—a cowboy’s lullaby. The yellow moonlight was coming in the passenger side windows as I dozed off. I watched it a bit before snuggling into my sleeping bag as sleep crept over me.
The next thing I knew was feeling uncomfortable and opening my eyes to figure out the irritation. The moonlight was now at the back door, so hours must have passed. The mattress still had air, and the sleeping bag was warm. What’s nagging me? Then it hit me: as an old man with a prostate the size of a grapefruit, I had to pee. The one thing that I hadn’t taken into consideration. I needed to get up and out of the truck—NOW.
First, I untangled myself from the twisted sleeping bag and opened the zipper. I began feeling around for my boots, and as I tried to put them on, the laces were tight, so I had to fix that. Once I had them on my feet, I opened the door on my right. While grabbing the handle over it, I tried lifting my legs and pivoting them out the opening, but my right leg got caught in the useless seat belt harness. After freeing myself from the straps, I successfully extracted myself. As I slowly unrolled into a standing position, my back said, “Don’t ever do that again.” But it was not to be. Simone Biles would have been proud to pull off that gymnastics routine once, but I did it three more times that night—and my back seized up in protest.
Natural Splendor: Kachina Bridge from the Rim-Kachina Bridge’s grand arch spans the lush canyon below, offering a stunning contrast of colors.
Where’s My Towel?
I could barely walk when I got out of the truck the final time. Dawn lit the eastern sky, so I hobbled over to my chair and managed to put on a pot of water. As I sat and drank my instant coffee, I pondered my predicament. I had driven a long way and hadn’t snapped a single photo, but I certainly couldn’t spend another night injuring myself in the truck. Not until I can figure out a better method of extracting myself.
I threw in the towel. After my coffee, I started packing the truck, including the camp box that was now too heavy for me to move. I had to remove its contents, then drag the big empty box into the Turd, and finally repack it.
Play Through the Pain
After I had loaded the RAV4, I drove back to the park’s visitor center. It was closed, and I had the entire park to myself. I convinced myself that I could do some shooting even if it meant not hiking down into the canyons. So, as daylight broke, I raced another car from Texas from overlook to overlook, taking pictures. Where the hikes were level and short, I walked like Quasimodo, pulling myself on the handrails where I could.
Thunderstorm Approaching Cedar Mesa Sandstone in Utah – The interplay of storm clouds and Cedar Mesa Sandstone highlights the raw beauty of Natural Bridges.
Notes To Future Self
After I returned home and reviewed my images on the computer, I was happy to find they were publishable—I must have been on auto-pilot. They weren’t the ones I hoped to get, but that encouraged me to return soon. Even hiking in pain may have been beneficial. My back feels much better after a week of rest and light work. The constant low-level pain is there, but that’s how people my age know which of their body parts are still attached. I also conjured some strategery for the next trip—like providing a handy stash for my car keys, opening the tailgate with my remote, and then rolling over on my hands and knees and backing out that door. I’m also going to keep a pair of loafers in the Turd.
Thank you for joining us again this month. I hope you enjoyed my Utah horror story more than I did. As we customarily do, larger versions of my photos are available for you to examine on my website <Jim’s New Work> and on the pages that I created on Fine Art America <FAA Page>. They will be on display for three months before being rotated. Finally, Queen Anne and I can hardly wait to hear the ribbing you’ll give in the comment section. Please share your thoughts about the photos, camping, Utah, or travel horror stories. We love to hear from you.
Until then, keep your spirits high and your Ben Gay handy.
jw.
Clouds Over Color: A Journey Through Time: The Petrified Forest’s Rainbow Room captivates with its rich hues of fossilized logs, set against a backdrop of the White Mountains and a dramatic sky.
In the darkness of a new moon night, as the planets aligned in an alphabetical parade across the sky, a mysterious vortex reveals itself on the Petrified Forest’s Blue Mesa. During our March visit, this phenomenon descended upon the desert so abruptly that even the coyotes ceased their howlings and sought refuge. Emitting a strange, bluish light that paradoxically cast no shadows, the vortex resembled a serene tornado devoid of wind or dust.
Queen Anne implored me to remain safely in the truck, but driven by an irrepressible curiosity—and a touch of male recklessness—I approached the enigmatic glow. To my astonishment, the light seemed to emanate from an infinitely deep shaft that absorbed all light, a celestial anomaly that didn’t just block but swallowed the stars behind it, much like a black hole. The sheer impossibility of its physics beckoned me closer yet filled me with an instinctual dread.
Retreating momentarily, I fetched a new tee shirt from our recent gift shop visit, wadded it into a makeshift projectile, and lobbed it at the spectral phenomenon. On contact, the light flared like a campfire doused in brandy, the tee shirt evaporating into a blaze of unknown physics, replaced by a window into another era. What lay before me was alien and familiar—the same lands but from an unfathomably distant past.
As I peered through the temporal aperture, the vivid contrast between past and present became strikingly clear. Below me, the landscape stretched out at a significantly lower elevation, nowhere near the mile-high expanse of the contemporary Colorado Plateau. The sun blazed directly overhead, its position a stark reminder of our proximity to the equator in this ancient era. This verdant vista was a sharp departure from the blue-gray dust bowl that surrounded me in my own time. Volcanoes loomed in the distance, their eruptions feeding a robust river that sustained expansive forests of towering Norfolk Island Pines along its banks. The trees, resembling those I had seen in the South Pacific, rose majestically above broad meadows draped with lush ferns.
Timeless Twins: Petrified Logs Standing Sentinel in Arizona’s Heartland—Red Remnants of Prehistory: Twin logs of petrified wood stand in stark contrast to the barren terrain of Petrified Forest’s central expanse.
A sense of awe welled inside me as I realized I was witnessing the Triassic Period, gazing upon the supercontinent of Pangaea during the dawn of the dinosaurs. I was observing the initial deposition of what would become the Chinle Formation. I recalled from my readings that this geological stratum could reach staggering thicknesses of up to 1,000 feet in some areas, comprising mud, volcanic ash, and silt layers. Each layer, uniquely colored by the minerals brought by successive floods, painted a vivid rainbow across the landscape. This explains today’s mesmerizing array of colors in the petrified logs and strata. These layers were like pages in a book, each telling a story of ancient environmental changes and cataclysmic events that shaped this prehistoric world.
I wanted Anne to witness this extraordinary spectacle, so I glanced at the truck, hoping to catch her eye. However, Anne was deeply ensconced in her usual road trip posture: head wedged comfortably between the headrest and the door window, eyes closed, with a gentle series of snores that rhythmically fogged the glass. Outside, the coyotes, usually the desert’s nocturnal soundtrack, had retreated into a tense silence, perhaps unnerved by the vortex’s eerie presence. Anne’s sporadic snoring crescendoed to fill the void in their absence, unwittingly providing a somewhat incongruous lullaby for the mystical night.
Every so often, her snoring reached such a volume that it startled her awake, causing a brief moment of confused blinking before she settled back into her dreams, her snores resuming their irregular serenade. It seemed even the peculiar happenings of the universe couldn’t rouse her as effectively as her resonant outbursts.
As I turned my gaze back to the mystical landscape before me, movement along the tree line caught my attention. A herd of dinosaurs grazed contentedly on the lush ferns, presenting a sight as bizarre as it was fascinating. Standing about as tall as me at their shoulders, these creatures appeared as if someone had whimsically grafted a walrus’s head onto a hippo’s body—only, the resemblance ended there. Unlike the smooth, blubbery skin of a hippo, these dinosaurs were decked out in what looked like nature’s version of leather armor, tough and textured, designed for the rough-and-tumble lifestyle of the Triassic.
Agate Assembly: Petrified Logs in Nature’s Mosaic at Petrified Forest – Scattered Legacy: A cluster of petrified logs in the agate-rich grounds of Petrified Forest, each piece a fragment of prehistoric life frozen in time.
Their grunts and murmurs filled the air, a primitive yet oddly harmonious symphony. They kept close contact, communicating in low rumbles that resonated through the ground, much like whales in an ocean vast with silence. Upon consulting my trusty Wikipedia back home, I confirmed these bizarre beasts were Placerias, herbivores of the Triassic who seemed to have missed the memo on needing fat ripples for insulation. Their skin, devoid of flabby undulations, clung to their frames, armored against predators and perhaps the occasional bad weather day.
Watching them, I couldn’t help but marvel at their comical appearance—imagine a group of dignitaries dressed in bulky, ill-fitting leather armor attending a gala where the dress code was strictly ‘prehistoric chic.’ Their grave, tusky faces and the earnest way they munched on ferns added an air of solemnity to their otherwise ludicrous ensemble.
As I continued observing this prehistoric tableau, I was drawn to another pair of Placerias further out in the meadow, engaged in a rather comical sport. These two weren’t simply grazing like their peers; instead, they were energetically flinging an orange Frisbee back and forth with surprising dexterity. Unlike dogs who catch with their mouths, these ancient athletes used their tusks to scoop the disk, then launched it with a practiced snap of their heads, turning a simple game into a spectacle of prehistoric lacrosse.
To my astonishment, one of them sported a familiar-looking tee shirt, now a makeshift jersey. Squinting for a better view, I couldn’t help but exclaim, “Hey, that’s my tee shirt!” Objects, too, could travel through time via the vortex. As I watched, they skillfully navigated their game of ‘Shirts and Skins,’ the tee shirt serving as a team uniform in this bizarre version of Jurassic Sports.
Their game was a peculiar sight—half-fetch, half-soccer, with all the earnestness of Olympic competitors. It was a scene of sporting prowess that would have baffled even the most imaginative sports commentator. Amid my amusement and disbelief, a part of me couldn’t help but feel a touch envious of their uninhibited joy—a stark contrast to my usual self-deprecation and haplessness, which at that moment seemed confined to the sidelines of time.
I dubbed the one sporting my shirt “Gonzo” for his daring antics, and the other I named “Norm” after his uncanny resemblance to the beloved barfly from Cheers with his leisurely demeanor and stout build. As Gonzo and Norm chased the Frisbee across the meadow, their surprising agility belied their substantial physiques; their scaly, armored skin showcased the muscle tone of seasoned athletes rather than any signs of bulk slowing them down. They weren’t the brightest crayons in the box, though. Their antics were a series of comedic missteps—tripping over their feet, tumbling in clumsy somersaults, wholly absorbed in their game.
Despite their athletic pursuits, they remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. Dark clouds rolled over the distant mountains, and thunder rumbled ominously, yet Gonzo and Norm continued their game undeterred. It was a stark reminder of their simple minds, focused solely on the moment’s joy, oblivious to the growing threat that gathered with each passing minute.
Even though this ancient land was far from the desert I call home, it shared one familiar trait: the occurrence of seasonal monsoons. The storms I observed gathered ferocity over the volcanic mountains, mirroring the summer storms of my own time. These prehistoric storms unleashed torrential flash floods that brought more rain in an hour than we see all year, transforming the tranquil scene into a landscape of chaos.
As I watched, a formidable wall of dark gray water mixed with ash and debris surged over the land. It moved with the relentless force of cement pouring from a mixer’s chute, snapping ancient trees as if they were mere twigs and sweeping them up in its muddy grasp. The deluge roared across the plains, an unstoppable force of nature.
The monstrous wave of mud and debris bore down on them, and Gonzo and Norm finally noticed the danger. There was a brief, comical attempt to outrun the flood—Norm’s legs churning comically fast, Gonzo awkwardly trying to scoop up the Frisbee with his tusks for one last throw. Perhaps they understood, in their simple way, that this was the end, but they faced it as they had lived: together, amid their favorite game. Their final squeals, a mixture of surprise and protest, were quickly silenced by the relentless flood as if the land wished to spare them any prolonged fear.
The spectacle I had witnessed was poignant, akin to losing friends in a sudden natural disaster, yet enlightening. It revealed how the distinctive popcorn-textured strata of the Chinle Formation were laid down and how the ancient trees and flora were interred within it. As the vortex gradually dimmed and vanished into the encroaching darkness of the night, I could hear coyotes yelping in the distance, perhaps sharing tales of the strange light show with their kin.
Blue Mesa’s Eroded Wonders: Textures of Time in Petrified Forest—Nature’s Sculpture: Blue Mesa’s eroded beauty unveils the Chinle Formation’s intricate textures, a testament to the relentless artistry of natural forces.
Lost in my reflections, I strolled back to the truck and gently nudged Anne awake. “Hey, ready to go back to the motel and get some sleep?” I asked, the irony not lost on me that I was interrupting her sleep to suggest we sleep. Her only response was a sleepy nod, barely comprehending the night’s extraordinary events.
Before leaving the Holbrook area the following day, we stopped at the park’s gift shop, hoping to replace the shirt I had lost to the vortex. I scanned the racks for something similar but found nothing. Seeing my frustration, the sales lady mentioned, “That style sold out yesterday, but a ranger brought in one just like it. Found it at a dig site, believe it or not. It’s in the lost and found. Would you like to see it?”
Curious, I nodded, and she fetched a bin from behind the counter. Inside was a stretched, soil-crusted shirt—remarkably similar to mine- with tags. My heart skipped a beat as I lifted it, revealing a beat-up orange Frisbee nestled underneath, riddled with puncture marks. “Looks like mine, alright,” I murmured, a chill running down my spine as the pieces of an impossible puzzle fell into place.
As Gonzo’s and Norm’s tale whimsically illustrates, the Petrified Forest National Park is not merely a portal to the past but a vibrant laboratory of ongoing discovery. Here, every visitor has the chance to tread amid echoes from millions of years ago, exploring the geological marvels of the Triassic period. Whether you’re an aspiring paleontologist, a lover of natural beauty, or a seeker of time-bound adventures, the Petrified Forest awaits to unfold its rich tapestry of tales. Plan your visit, and you might uncover a hidden chapter of Earth’s history, where the past and the present merge in the whispers of the stones.
Thank you for joining me on this incredible journey through Petrified Forest National Park. Suppose you’ve enjoyed this tale of prehistoric whimsy and modern-day mystery. In that case, I invite you to explore larger versions of this month’s images on my New Work portfolio and the detailed pieces I’ve posted on Fine Art America. These photos will be displayed there for three months before being rotated.
As the echoes of the ancient past slowly fade, let’s turn our gaze to a different historical exploration. Next month, join me for a night among the neon and nostalgia of Gallup’s abandoned motels. We’ll explore the haunting beauty of old motel signs, capturing the stories they whisper to the desert winds. Don’t miss this eerie yet visually captivating journey—subscribe now to get a reminder as soon as we go live.
Until then, keep exploring the layers of history around you, and perhaps you’ll discover your own story woven into the fabric of time.
jw
WPA Legacy: The Historic Cattle Dam of Gold Butte – Stepping Through Time: This WPA-constructed dam at Gold Butte stands as a rugged monument to past endeavors, harmonizing with the arid beauty that surrounds it. A silent witness to history, its stones speak of a bygone era of hope and hard work.
Victorious in my quest to capture the ancient whispers etched into stone, I returned to our trusty steed, the Turd. There, amidst the dust and echoes of bygone civilizations, sat Queen Anne; her latest book–escape, concluded. Her gaze met mine, an unspoken dialogue of adventure’s end, punctuated by a brief, ‘Can we go now?’ Her tone carried the weight of a royal decree, yet I knew the kingdom’s treasury of wonders still had one gem left to unveil.
At the end of the infamous paved road, you can turn south towards the abandoned town of Gold Butte or go straight towards the Arizona border and the Grand Canyon—Parashant National Monument. Both roads are equally evil to drive on, but I wanted to find another relic of history—a WPA-era dam, so I started east. We didn’t travel far because I spotted a cistern on the left as soon as we drove through the first dry wash. I pulled the truck over and grabbed my camera.
The cistern looked like a dry concrete bathtub, and a rusty pipe beckoned from the cistern to a narrow canyon on the right. A couple of creosote bushes blocked the view (and the path), so I brushed them back with my arm and saw the dam. It looked like a scale model of the Hoover Dam 50 miles downstream. Although it was built in the 30s and no longer maintained, it looked like it would still hold water if you closed the gate and valves. It is another testament to those folks’ work during the Great Depression.
After getting some shots, I wanted to see how deep the backside was, which meant climbing the stairs. In my younger days, I would have said, “Nothing to it,” and jogged up the stairs. But there’s no handrail, and my balance isn’t the same, so I did it the hard way—backing up one step at a time while sitting on my butt. I got my dose of vertigo and started back down the stairs when three outdoorsmen walked through the slot. My face turned red, and I apologized, “Sorry guys, this is how we geezers climb stairs these days.” One of them quipped, “We understand—Mister Girly-Boy.”
Nature’s Art Frame: The Erosion Window of Gold Butte -Carved by the patient hands of time and elements, this erosion window in Gold Butte’s canyon wall frames a story millions of years in the making—each layer a verse in earth’s grand narrative.
This week’s other photo is of a natural erosion window along the canyon’s narrow. Unless you’re the stature of our friend and frequent commenter, Deb Poteet, you can frame your face with it by standing on your toes. As usual, Anne wouldn’t get out of the car, so I had to settle for shooting the opening without her pretty face. Still, it’s pretty cool.
In the mirror
Queen Anne and I covered a lot of ground this year. We visited two California Wine regions without being tossed out on our ears. We followed some of our favorite trails and got reacquainted with the charming cities of Bisbee, Tombstone, and Douglas. We explored the Beeline Highway and the Mazatzal Mountains, shot wildflowers in the spring, got caught in a monsoon storm at sunset, and discovered some fantasy shapes in Prescott’s Granite Dells City Park. With pandemic restrictions lifted, we did a decent job of broadening our range and bringing you more diversity with this year’s photos and stories.
This has been a year of growing for us. I’ve tried to improve my writing skills. I completed a couple of online creative writing courses. You’d think it would make my work more manageable, but it didn’t. What I used to knock out on a Sunday morning now takes me three days of writing, editing, and revising before I’m ready to publish. I also invested in a grammar checker that—hopefully—gets most of the commas in the right places.
I’ve been tinkering with my photo processes by watching online photographers. I picked up some new tips and tricks, which I’ve tried to pass along to you in the Techniques section. I think you found them helpful because I’ve received positive feedback from you. Finally, to attract new subscribers, we started producing monthly YouTube videos. In each of the last few months, I converted one of my static portfolios into a five-ish-minute video with music and voice-overs. With these new videos, we’re blending the old-world charm of static images with the zippy excitement of moving pictures—without the smell of darkroom chemicals. It seems to be working because my web traffic is on the rise.
Through the windshield
I have an Arizona wall map on our laundry room wall with colored dots indicating the places we’ve visited in the last couple of years. Instead of being evenly distributed, two empty spots glare at me from the map. The first is along the southern border between Nogales and Yuma. Since that’s restricted chiefly to military ranges, there’s not a lot I can photograph without starring in my impromptu sequel to North by Northwest. The other section is the northeast corner of Arizona—the Navajo and Hopi reservations. I intend to paste a dot or two in that corner next year. Maybe you could suggest some locations.
There’s more to discover at Gold Butte National Monument. I plan to return this spring if the Turd’s crummy tires ever wear out. Getting stuck out there without communication is a genuine concern for us. Some sights we missed this year include Devil’s Throat, the remains of Gold Butte’s ghost town, and Little Finland.
Finally, next year’s wine region adventure will be in Northern California. Will it be Napa, Sonoma, or the Russian River? Let us know where your favorite California wine comes from. We haven’t picked a winner yet, but the trip will be in August. As Samuel Clements once said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” Some dispute that the quote is genuine, but for us desert dwellers, it’s a challenge.
Queen Anne and I wish you a very happy and prosperous New Year. We hope you’ll continue joining us on our escapades and maybe invite some friends. We’re always delighted to see you in the back seat. Feel free to share your New Year’s adventure plans in the comments below. They give us ideas for which roads we take.
Till next time, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw
BTW:
Last week, I released my latest YouTube video based on my portfolio of pictures of California. It’s five minutes of eye candy, and I invite you to see it by using this link: [https://youtu.be/cgXAHPyzQ5Y]
Geologic Puzzle: Unearthing Whitney Pocket’s Sandstone Secrets – Nature’s Tilt: Witnessing the Story of Uplift and Erosion in Whitney Pocket’s Sandstone Layers.
Arriving at a new location like Gold Butte ignites a whirlwind of excitement in me, and my initial instinct is to capture everything in sight. This flurry of photography is more about immersion than precision, leading to a digital pile-up that I inevitably sift through, discarding the excess like chaff. Unlike the costly days of film, where each shot was a precious commodity, the digital age allows me to indulge in this initial creative outburst, knowing it’s part of reaching the true gems.
Once the initial rush subsides, I transition from capturing to contemplating, delving into the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of the landscape before me. It’s here that Shawn Willsey’s geology videos come into play. As a professor at the College of Southern Idaho, Shawn has a gift for demystifying the complexities of earth science, guiding even the uninitiated through geological wonders. His explanations, particularly his Random Roadcuts segments, clarify unusual layering and erosion and bring a new depth to my photographs, transforming them from mere images to stories set in stone.
From a distance, the formation in the picture above looked like the blades of a turbine engine embedded in the Navajo Sandstone. For all I know, there is a 747 out there with the guts missing from one of its engine cowlings. The brown color, multi-layers, with rounded edges, stood out like the red marks on one of my term papers. How can I tell you about it when I haven’t a clue? So, I emailed Professor Willsey and asked if he’d look at my photo—and he accepted. He answered, “The feature in question is not a vein but appears to be an upturned section of Aztec (Navajo) sandstone. The near vertical layering is the cross beds deposited on the dune field’s backside (downwind) side. Some faults and other structures in this region of NV are likely the culprits that have tilted the rock layers. Very cool.” Then, he returned to hosting his live coverage of this week’s Iceland eruptions. Now, don’t you feel smarter?
Neapolitan Earth: Unraveling Whitney Pocket’s Colorful Geology – Stratified Delight: The Neapolitan Butte of Whitney Pocket, where Geology Meets Gastronomy.
There’s a question in this week’s other picture as well. It’s an image of a sandstone formation that looks like a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream after Queen Anne was done with it. I say that because Queen Anne always eats the chocolate and turns her nose up at the rest. The issue is that the red section appears on the white layer. From all I’ve read, the Entrada era—with its rust-colored sandstones—came before the white dunes. My best guess is that the forces that lifted the Virgin Mountain Range over a mile in the air also jumbled the natural order in this basin. What are your thoughts?
I have posted larger versions of Geologic Puzzle on my website < Jim’s Web> and my Fine Art America page <FAA Link> should you want to examine the layers closer. Next week, we wrap our foray into Gold Butte National Monument with one of the rare evidentiary remnants that anyone preceded us. It’s like unearthing the Spinx. Join us then, won’t you?
Until next time, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw
BTW:
As we gather to celebrate the holiday season, Queen Anne and I would like to extend a hearty Seasons Greetings to all of you. Whether you’re out there chasing the perfect light or cozening up at home with loved ones, may your days be merry, bright, and filled with the joy of discovery. Here’s to capturing more beauty, sharing more stories, and creating unforgettable memories in the year ahead.
Eagle Crags – Red-rock Vermilion Cliff outcrops covered in the snow make a perfect Christmas greeting card.
Have you ever been in a situation where you had to resort to Plan B at the last moment—and in the end, Plan B was always the better choice? In a convoluted way, that’s what I did to bring you this week’s picture. Let me start at the beginning.
When I set up my December project, I already had four photos picked out. Three of them went up without a hitch, and the last was scheduled for today. I thought it was a doozy—a view of looking down the stairwell of the Hassayampa Inn. You know, one of those shots where the stairs wrap around the frame and seem to go on forever. In the photography world, if you see a shot like that and don’t snap the photo, they will revoke your Artist License.
When I looked at the file closely this week, it was too blurry. The stairwell was dark, and I didn’t hold the camera steady enough while the shutter was open. If you saw it from across a large room, you couldn’t tell, but on close inspection, it looked like something my Aunt Kay would take. I gave up and deleted the file like the professors told me.
Now I panicked and started looking through my files for an alternative. This is where I got distracted and began chasing squirrels. My RAW image files are only halfway organized. I started a system a couple of years ago where I keep them grouped by State-Location-Year (I have so many Arizona pictures that I include a county folder, State-County-Location-Year). Since we moved to Congress, I’ve used this system, but my older files haven’t yet been sorted. It’s one of those Round-To-It things. You’ve probably guessed that I picked this week to start organizing and forgot that I was looking for this week’s post.
I was working on a 12-year-old file from a trip that my friend Jeff and I made to Zion National Park. We’d driven there on the long Thanksgiving weekend and shared a motel room. One image mixed in among the others was a shot of a Vermillion Cliffs uplift called Eagle Crags. When I looked at this image, I wondered, “Why haven’t I ever shown this file?” The mystery was solved when I looked at the file data. The camera that I used had a limited file size and couldn’t be used to make decent prints, so I considered it a snapshot of the weekend.
As I looked at the broken snow-covered sandstone, I remembered that Adobe had added a Photoshop tool that added pixels to an image from thin air—using artificial intelligence. So, I dug around and processed my small file using the “Super-Rez” tool, and the results were impressive. The original file would comfortably fit on a 5”x4” photo, but if you visit my store, you can see what it would look like 5 feet wide. It’s good enough to include on my Web Pages. So while I’m stuck in the house recovering from the crud Queen Anne passed to me, I can wade through more files and discover other hidden gems.
You can see a larger version of Eagle Crags on its Webpage by clicking here. I hope you agree that it’s a lovely Christmas card from Queen Anne and me. Next week we begin a New Year, a new month, and a new project. Be sure to come back then and see where the road takes us.
Till next time
Jw
BTW:
From the Witkowski household to you, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year.
KofA Thunderhead – An autumn thunderhead builds over the KofA Mountains in western Arizona.
Each time Queen Anne and I jump into the car; I pack a camera in the back seat. I don’t mean on local errands like a trip to the grocery store but on drives longer than an hour. Rarely do I stop to take a picture, but should one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments happens, I’m ready.
If I capture some unique photographs, they don’t fit our usual workflow. We usually pick a location as a month-long project and photograph enough shots for a month of articles (or even a book). My one-of-shots along the highway traditionally become forgotten orphans. No one gets to see them—until now.
For December, I decided to make this month’s project out of the non-project shots I collected this year. With these four pictures, a special moment made me pull over and stop the car. That’s pretty hard to do because once I have a destination set in my mind, I only stop for gas, a candy bar, and bladder relief.
Anne and I run to Mexico about four times a year. We go to Algodones to see our dentist and buy 90 days worth of prescriptions. We’re on Medicare, and we have a gap plan that pays for most of the pills we take, but some of the select drugs (hint: you see them advertised on TV) are so much cheaper in Mexico that it pays for the drive. If we don’t have to wait on the dentist, we can make a drug run in a day. We leave here at 8:00 am, walk two blocks across the border, stop at Mickey D’s for lunch, and get home by 5:00 pm.
That was our itinerary on September 22—the first fall day. As we drove home on Highway US 93, I watched a single thunderhead building thirty miles north over the KofA Mountains. I thought it unusual to have monsoon activity in autumn and a single storm cell develop so far west in Arizona. I spent the next half hour arguing with myself.
“That will be a great shot if the clouds hold together until we get there.”
“If we stop, we’ll get home after dark.”
“It’s an isolated cell, and it’s posing like a runway model.”
“It’s the wrong time of day, and the light is wrong.”
Just after passing the Border Patrol station that marks halfway between Yuma and Quartzsite, I noticed that the cloud was beginning to tear apart (the wispy part on the tower’s left side). It was time to stop the car. I reached back for my camera and hiked a few steps off the highway. I set the zoom-lens as wide as possible before framing and then snapping a couple of shots. I call this week’s featured image KofA Thunderhead.
The spot where I stopped was several miles away, and for perspective, the jagged KofA peaks rise a couple of thousand feet above the 500-foot high basin. That makes the billowing cumulus top nearly 40,000 feet in the air. Unfortunately, I didn’t capture any lightning strikes beneath the storm.
We returned to the road and continued the drive, watching the storm evolve. The upper winds blew the clouds apart by the time we were due east of it. That’s when we saw a funnel cloud drop below the ceiling. The tornado briefly touched the ground near Crystal Hill Road before it disappeared.
We weren’t done with it yet. After stopping for gas in Quartzsite, the storm ambushed us on the pass at Guadalupe Mountain. As it moved north over Interstate 10, it dumped rain so hard that the wipers couldn’t keep up, and traffic slowed to a crawl. We hoped we wouldn’t be surprised by a second tornado, but after a mile or so, we broke into the clear, and the deluge was only an image in the mirror.
You can see a larger version of KofA Thunderhead on its Webpage by clicking here. Next week, I’ll drag out another orphan photo for show and tell. We’ll see you then.
Till next time
jw
BTW:
Anne and I are negotiating next year’s schedule, so there will be a lot of yelling and screaming around here during the holidays. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtains.
