Cool Springs Route 66: Relics and Flags Picture of the Week - Oatman, Arizona

Vintage cars parked under a waving American flag at Cool Springs Station on Route 66, Oatman, Arizona.
Cool Springs Route 66: Relics and Flags – Echoes of the Past: Vintage cars sit silently under the vibrant hues of the American flag at Cool Springs Station, capturing the enduring spirit of Route 66.

The things you do for love. We don’t often get company, but when we do, Queen Anne transforms into a machine as she attempts to disinfect the house from top to bottom. My best chance of staying out of the trash bin or sucked into one of her vacuums is to lock myself in my office. That’s what happened the first week of December. Anne’s sisters came out for a long weekend visit, meaning that she spent the entire month of November scrubbing the walls. She only put down her Comet can for our traditional Thanksgiving dinner at Denny’s.

Before leaving to pick them up from the airport, imagine my surprise when she handed me a crisp $20.00 bill and told me, “Find someplace to spend the night.” It was predictable because we haven’t had enough beds for multiple guests since we sold our Casita (don’t remind me). I decided to drive over to the river and lose my newfound wealth on the Craps table. Since I was going in that direction, I thought I could get some Route 66 shots. And there, my friend is the story of how Oatman became January’s photo project.

In Arizona, there are two long stretches of the original Mother Road. The first and longest is the Seligman – Peach Springs – Kingman section. The other runs from Kingman, through Sitgraves Pass, to Oatman, and then the old bridge crossing the Colorado River. Since I have very few photos of Oatman, I took this route on my way home from Laughlin. I’m glad I did.

The only other time I drove this section of Old Route 66 was during the pandemic. At the time, we were avoiding people, so we didn’t stop to shoot any roadside attractions. However, the Cool Springs Station burned a hole in my lens, so it was a required stop on this trip.

Cool Springs Station and vintage gas pumps along Route 66 with Thimble Mountain in the background in Oatman, Arizona.
Cool Springs: Route 66’s Desert Jewel—Step back in time at Cool Springs Station, an iconic stop along Arizona’s stretch of Route 66, nestled against the majestic backdrop of Thimble Mountain.

You’ve likely seen pictures of this place in books or videos about Route 66. With its classic shiny red Mobil gas pumps (there’s a rusty one, too), it’s a perfect backdrop for motorheads to snap a portrait of their car. It hasn’t always been this gleaming jewel on the Mohave Desert floor. It has a history.

Nestled against the rugged backdrop of the Black Mountains, Cool Springs Station has stood as a silent witness to the ebb and flow of Route 66’s storied past. Established in the mid-1920s, Cool Springs was built to serve the burgeoning car culture of America, providing fuel, refreshments, and a welcome respite to weary travelers making their way through the Sitgreaves Pass. Its distinctive stone façade and gleaming gas pumps quickly became a symbol of the optimism and adventure spirit embodied by the Mother Road.

However, the passage of time and the shifting sands of progress were not always kind to Cool Springs. In the late 1960s, as the new interstate system redirected traffic away from Route 66, the station saw a decline, eventually falling into disrepair and was nearly forgotten. It wasn’t until 2001 that Ned Leuchtner, a Route 66 enthusiast, recognized the cultural and historical importance of Cool Springs. He undertook the painstaking task of reconstructing the station, using vintage photos as his guide to ensure authenticity. Today, the station has been restored to its former glory, complete with those classic red Mobil gas pumps and the original stone masonry, standing as a tribute to the enduring legacy of Route 66.

My picture of the month isn’t of the station but the yard art off to the side. The image is a trio of old car shells clustered under an American flag, with the Black Mountains as a background. Although these vehicles are historic, if they had any value, some collectors would have snatched them long ago.

The flapping flag is what made me choose this week’s photo. I shot this midday with lighting that blends the cars and mountains into a bland porridge. The flag becomes the image’s star. It’s almost like the flags that fly over our national cemeteries. The picture says, “These are the fallen heroes of the long Route 66 history.”

We’re tickled that you started this year by spending time with us. If you want to see a larger version of this month’s photo, they are online on my website < Jim’s Page> and Fine Art America <FAA Link>. If you want to buy the Chevy Truck, you can contact Uncle Jim’s Cherry, One Owner, Used Car Emporium by leaving a comment below.

We look forward to your comments, so don’t be bashful. We’ll return with more Oatman and Route 66 photos next week, so don’t touch that dial.

Till then, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw

Techniques: Waiting for the decisive moment.

You might think snapping a flag is a breeze, but let me tell you, it’s more like herding cats on a windy day. I aimed for a balance—not too limp and not overly taut—to convey a sense of movement and life. This required patience and timing, like capturing the peak moment in sports photography. With the wind’s whims as my conductor, I played a game of red and green light, waiting for Mother Nature’s perfect cue—talk about being at the mercy of the elements. In retrospect, a tripod would have saved me from the armache of holding steady through the breezes.

For the technically curious, this was a dance of light and speed. I shot in Aperture Priority mode with an f-stop of 6.1, relying on the bright midday sun to provide a fast enough shutter speed. My main concern was keeping the truck headlights and the flag’s stars and stripes in sharp focus. Choosing the correct f-stop or waiting for the wind is like deciding on the right spice for a stew or the right socks for sandals—not always obvious, but oh-so-important!

Erosion and Elevation: Arizona’s Basalt Playground Picture of the Week - Wikieup, Arizona

A sun-kissed Arizona landscape showcasing erosion patterns on basalt rock formations, a tear in the earth, and desert flora like Palo Verde and Saguaro.
Erosion and Elevation: Arizona’s Basalt Playground – This striking photograph captures the complex topography along Arizona’s US 93. Late afternoon light bathes a basalt outcrop and highlights the intricate erosion patterns, casting dramatic shadows across the earth. A tear-like ravine carves through the landscape, bordered by softly rolling hills and rugged cliffs. The terrain is dotted with native flora, such as Palo Verde trees and Saguaro cacti. Above this awe-inspiring scene, cumulus clouds meander across the sky, echoing the earth’s undulating forms.

Well, folks, it’s week two of our September golden hour stint along good ol’ US 93. Last week, we dabbled in the architectural nuances of silt cliffs—kind of like the Las Vegas Strip but without the neon lights or questionable life choices. Today, we clambered back into the truck, waved hasta la vista to the Big Sandy River, and headed south like snowbirds in reverse. After scaling what can only be described as a geographical hiccup of a hill, we’re greeted by the brooding spectacle of a lava dome. Not the explosive kind, mind you. This one’s been dormant long enough to warrant a picture.

This is one of those places that has escaped my camera for decades because I had been rushing to somewhere else, the light wasn’t right, or the ‘T’ on my typewriter sticks. Pick any excuse; it doesn’t matter. The truth is that I never made myself stop until this afternoon’s trip.

Have you ever driven on US 95 toward Goldfield, Nevada, and thought, “Gee, what this place needs is more cactus”? Well, welcome to Arizona’s answer. Trading Nevada’s coarse, scratchy sagebrush for a verdant army of Palo Verde and Saguaro cacti is far from the barrenness one might expect—like trading in a Ford Pinto for a Mustang.

Don’t be fooled by the lush desert life clinging to these hills. Forget garden-variety potting soil; what you’re laying eyes on is rugged, unyielding basalt—nature’s bedrock. Yep, volcanic rock is hard enough to make diamonds jealous. Another meandering mile down the asphalt ribbon, and we’ll find ourselves hovering on a bridge over a canyon so deep, it could swallow a 30-story building, where Burro Creek has sliced the basalt like it’s a hot knife through…well, rock. Nature’s got its own set of carving tools. It’s such a pretty place that you may want to spend a night in the campground at the bottom, where the song of the semis pounding on the bridge’s expansion joints will lull you into a deep sleep—or give you a headache.

Today’s photography menu featured a main course of Golden Hour light, served up like liquid gold spilling across the jagged landscape, and boy, did it deliver. This week’s photo offers a unique lens into Arizona’s oversized playground. You look at the flora covering these slopes and think, “Ah, a lush, manicured lawn.” But no, that’s not grass. It’s full-sized saguaro and palo verde trees, so don’t go planning a picnic.

What’s more, the distribution of the saguaro says a lot. They’re abundant on this ravine side but scarce on the far side. This is where an imaginary frost line is. That’s Mother Nature’s version of police tape preventing the saguaros from marching north and overrunning Reno. This line in the sand is the boundary between the Sonoran and Great Basin deserts.

Alright, time to hightail it back to the trusty truck; ominous storm clouds are massing in the southern sky, ready to let loose with a downpour. Before you know it, we’ll navigate a basalt slip ‘n slide. Please take a moment to check out larger versions of this week’s photo—Erosion and Elevation—on my website (Jim’s Site) and Fine Art America (FAA Page). Be sure to tune in next week; who knows what wonders—or calamities—we’ll encounter next.

Till next time
jw

Techniques: The Rule of Thirds and the Quest for Visual Balance

The Rule of Thirds is a fundamental principle in photography and art, but its origins are a bit murky. Some trace it back to John Thomas Smith’s 1797 book “Remarks on Rural Scenery,” while others connect it to broader theories of divine proportions. Regardless of its origins, the idea is simple: divide your frame into a 3×3 grid and position the subject or critical elements along those lines or at their intersections. Doing so generally leads to more dynamic, balanced compositions that are more engaging to the viewer.

In this week’s photograph, the basalt butte is a textbook example of the Rule of Thirds in action. It straddles the right vertical line, grounding the image, while its peak touches the lower horizontal line. This positioning does more than “look good”—it directs the viewer’s eyes around the frame in a natural progression, from the butte upward to the cloud lines.

Moreover, using the Rule of Thirds for the butte leaves space for the towering clouds overhead, which adds drama and scale to the photograph. This mirrors the real-life experience of being dwarfed by nature’s grandiosity. It also serves a practical purpose—making room for those clouds allows them to act as another compositional element, filling the frame without crowding it.

The Rule of Thirds isn’t an ironclad law—sometimes breaking it produces strikingly original work—but it’s useful for photographers looking to up their compositional game. Understanding and utilizing the Rule of Thirds can transform a ‘pretty view’ into a compelling visual narrative for a landscape photographer like myself.

Shadows and Spires: An Afternoon on Big Sandy River Picture of the Week - Wikieup, Arizona

Two sedimentary cliff prominence eroded to form preliminary hoodoos, captured during the golden hour near Big Sandy River, Arizona.
Shadows and Spires: An Afternoon on Big Sandy River – Captured during the golden hour, these eroding cliffs along the Big Sandy River reveal nature’s ceaseless artistry. With preliminary hoodoos and soft evening light, it’s a visual spectacle that evokes the grandeur of Bryce Canyon on a smaller scale.

Have you ever heard the saying, “Necessity is the mother of invention?” Let me tweak that: “Frustration is the father of discovery.” A couple of weeks ago, Queen Anne and I were on a quest to pick up her “new-to-us” car from Henderson, Nevada. Ah, the optimism. The plan was simple: drive up, sign paperwork, and zoom back to Congress. We were convinced we’d be home by 3:00. But reality had other plans: car dealerships—the black holes where time and patience vanish. So, our speedy mission morphed into an all-day ordeal, and instead of a quick casino lunch, we settled for an early Mexican dinner in Kingman.

Life’s little curveballs aren’t all bad. The Universe threw us a photographic bone: we were heading back during the golden hour. Of course, I’d left my camera back at the ranch. Insert a string of inventive curses here. Cut to a few days later, and I’m driving that route again, camera in hand and tank full of liquid gold, catching that magical golden hour. Trust me, the encore was worth every cent and expletive.

Situated just a stone’s throw south of Wikieup—Arizona’s self-proclaimed ‘Rattlesnake Capital’—we stumble upon an intriguing spectacle: silt cliffs carved by nature’s endless waltz of wind and water. But the real artist here? The Big Sandy River has been doing its chisel work for millennia, crafting an earthen canvas rich with geological stories. The formations boast early signs of hoodoo development, but erosion’s speedy pace keeps them from becoming full-fledged, free-standing wonders. Think of them as Bryce Canyon’s more humble cousins.

Veteran followers might recall a rookie error I made some years back: driving out here in the dead of night to shoot these west-facing cliffs at sunrise. Yeah, not my brightest moment. But this time, bathed in a warm honeyed glow, these cliffs were showing off for my camera. The low sun cast deep shadows, revealing the intricacies of erosion and the potential of fledgling hoodoos—sort of like teenagers eager to bust out on a Friday night.

Thanks for tagging along on this picturesque journey through Arizona’s road to Sin City—remarkable US 93. This highway, often buzzing with travelers darting between Phoenix and Las Vegas, has hidden gems that’ll soon vanish as Interstate 11 takes over. So catch these scenes while you can! For a high-definition experience, check out the larger version on my website (Jim’s) or peruse it on my Fine Art America page (FAA Page). And join us next week, where we’ll explore another sun-kissed snapshot from the drive on US 93 (boy, wouldn’t ‘drive on 95’ have rhymed so much better?).

Until next time
jw

Techniques: The Art of Capturing the Golden Hour

Ah, the golden hour—nature’s very own Instagram filter. This fleeting window right after dawn or before dusk can magically transform even the most drab scene into a masterpiece. Unlike the harsh glare of the midday sun, the golden hour bathes everything in a soft, ethereal light. It’s like Photoshop, but Mother Nature is at the helm.

Wake up early or set an alarm for the evening. Please make sure you’re in position well before the golden hour begins because, let me tell you, this light waits for no one. I’ve made that mistake before, and it was as frustrating as finding a rattlesnake in my boot.

Personal Note: On our Alaska expedition, I discovered that as you venture away from the equator, the golden hour stretches, much like a cat in a sunbeam. That hour of perfect light can become two during summer, and it’s an all-day thing north of the Canadian border in winter. However, it’s over in the blink of an eye in the arid southwest deserts, as if someone flipped off a celestial switch. Timing and location can throw some delicious curveballs into your golden hour captures, so be prepared.

And remember, while nature’s giving you a fantastic light show, your camera still needs some fine-tuning. Since the light is dimmer than mid-day, tripods can help stabilize long exposures, and a wider aperture can draw focus to your main subject. So, pack wisely, set up carefully, and prepare to create magic.

Water Tank Picture of the Week

Water Tank - The Richardsons added a water tank on their to ensure there was water during dry periods.
Water Tank—The Richardsons added a water tank to their property to ensure water availability during dry periods.

 It’s a miracle! We changed seasons on Tuesday, and we had our first summer rain on Thursday night. Getting rain during summer isn’t unusual, but getting it so soon was. It was nice to finally break our six-month dry spell. It wasn’t a deluge, but enough to tamp down the dust.

Our storm cell came through at 1:00 am, and I listened to the thunder approaching in bed. The weather service says you can tell how far away the strikes are by counting the time between the flash and the thunderclap. “If you count the number of seconds between the flash of lightning and the sound of thunder, and then divide by 5, you’ll get the distance in miles to the lightning: 5 seconds = 1 mile, 15 seconds = 3 miles, 0 seconds = very close.” As I lay in bed, I counted one, two, three …, and then there were a couple of strikes where I didn’t get to finish the one. That’s when I got up.

When I did, Queen Anne was already outside—in the dark—dressed in a T-shirt and flip-flops, moving flower pots around so the rain could water them. I scolded and reminded her about the 3 S’s (snakes, spiders, and scorpions). She seemed oblivious to the blue-white lightning streaking dozens of miles across the black sky above her head. At first, I was concerned that the strikes would start another wildfire because they struck close around us. When the rain started falling, it eased my mind, and I quickly got bored and went back to bed.

According to forecasters, we’re supposed to have an above-average monsoon this season. That’s good because our drought has lasted nearly 20 years. I’m not optimistic that I’ll see a recovery in my lifetime. Climatologists told us of 100-year droughts in the past, and they conjecture that those dry periods may have caused the Anasazi, Sinagua, and other Pueblo tribes to move in search of water.

Water has always been a concern in the desert west. That’s as true today as it was when the Richardsons homesteaded their place in Union Pass. There was a spring near the pass that supported their cattle and orchard. Can you imagine hauling water up 3000′ from the Colorado River? Even with a spring, they need a healthy water reserve to get through the dry months.
As you can see in this week’s photo, Water Tank, they built a large tank on the property for water storage. From this image, I guess the tank dates back to when they made the gas station. The concrete foundation work looks similar to that of the pump island.

I’m sure vandals added the graffiti and bullet holes to the tank’s side after the family moved off the property. They are another example of vandalism that supports my argument that the BLM should set this homestead aside for protection. Otherwise, these ruins won’t be around much longer.

I hope you enjoyed our month at the Richardson Homestead. You can see a larger version of Water Tank on its Website by clicking here. Next week, we begin a new project in a different location. Hopefully, it will be somewhere cool. Please come back then and see what Queen Anne picked for us.

Till Next Time
jw

Sideyard Picture of the Week

Sideyard - The west facing facade of the Richardson home bathed in early morning light.
Sideyard – The west-facing facade of the Richardson home bathed in the early morning light.

This week, we reluctantly leave last week’s Cozy Bed by the Fire and step outside of the historic stone house to explore further. On that May morning, the air was crisp, and the smell of sage-flavored tree pollen filled the air. They were sure signs that spring had come to the 3500′ Union Pass. Since I had spent the night at one of the river casinos, I had on my summer uniform—shorts and a T-shirt. The 60° temperature was perfect for encouraging me to keep moving.

I only took a few steps into the Sideyard before seeing the composition that triggered my instinct to take this week’s shot. It’s the west face of the Richardson house covered with a corrugated tin roof. It’s in pretty good shape, so I’m surprised that poachers haven’t already salvaged the metal.

Two weeks ago, Fred commented on the Richardson House post. He said, “…I admire people that can build rock houses. Not easy!” I agree, and as I processed this image, I wondered how John Richardson learned to build a rock house. This morning, I searched YouTube and found over a half dozen videos on the task, but John didn’t have that resource in 1897, did he? I understand his use of local volcanic stones—that makes sense. But, I have many other questions: did his dad teach him how to build, or did he take classes at night school?

To further appreciate this century and a quarter-year-old structure, we must remember that the family of five moved to Union Pass from Los Angeles because he had a respiratory disease. Lugging boulders around is fatiguing work for the healthiest of us. If Queen Anne suggested that I build a new home out in the Black Mountains, I’d look around at the rocks, trees, and water supply; then, I’d go hunting for a large cave. It would be faster for me to invent a giant 3D printer than to hand-lay all those rocks.

Maybe people back then were more resourceful than we were. My dad was. Once, in a land far away and a time long ago, my wife and I converted a spare bedroom into a den at our Scottsdale house. We had to pause because we needed shelves for the enormous 24″ TV we wanted in the closet space. In those days, we didn’t have Lowe’s, we had Sears and lumber yards were closed on Sundays. When my dad came by and we showed off our work, he drove to America’s department store and bought the cheapest skill saw they sold. Then he cut up the bi-fold closet doors and built our shelves out of the garbage we planned to take to the dump. Voila, we watched the football game on the big screen in our new den that evening. I never thought to re-use the scrap wood even though most of my brain cells still functioned then. It’s even worse today. Some mornings, I spent minutes staring at the back of the fridge until I remembered coming into the kitchen for a coffee spoon.

I didn’t appreciate how clever my father was until I had to stand alone. So, if you’re fortunate enough, hug your dad for no reason on this Father’s Day. Show your appreciation while there’s time.

You can see the larger version of Sideyard on its Web Page by clicking here. Come back next week, and we’ll see what shot I can come up with to finish our month with the Richardsons.

Till Next Time
jw