Yavapai – On the road with Jim

Desert Dichotomy: Prickly Pear and Snow Peaks in the Weavers Picture of the Week - Congress, Arizona

Snow-capped peaks of the Weaver Mountains in the background with desert vegetation in the foreground on a sunny morning. — Desert Dichotomy: Prickly Pear and Snow Peaks in the Weavers – Early morning light bathes the Weaver Mountains, revealing a rare sight as winter’s frosty blanket contrasts sharply with the resilient desert flora of Arizona.

Greetings again from the heart of what’s suddenly become the Arctic Circle’s kissing cousin, our own Weaver’s Winter Wonderland. This week’s spotlight, Desert Dichotomy, is yet another snapshot from that astonishing February storm that dared to blanket the Weavers in snow. This time, I’ve dared to pair the icy peaks with the sopping-wet desert flora upfront, striking a contrast that even a snowbird might find chillingly beautiful.

It’s been a month heavy with winter portraits, an oddity for us desert dwellers, and an outright betrayal for the snowbirds who come here seeking sanctuary from their shovel-laden driveways. Bookmark your favorite image, friends, because the mercury is on an upward trajectory. Soon, as you fan yourself on a patio sweltering under a 115° sun, these images might be the only breeze you’ll feel. You’ll find larger copies on my website <Jim’s Page> and Fine Art Americas <FAA Link>.

Decisions, Decisions

There I was, knee-deep in mud, the cold nipping at my every extremity, and it hit me—I was actually having fun. A realization dawned, brighter than the sun glinting off the snow: Photography, with its promise of eternalizing a moment, is the lifeblood of my existence. It’s not the accolades or the Instagram likes; it’s the mud, the cold, and the hunt for the perfect shot.

Background and Evolution

In 2002, this website was a digital photo album devoid of captions, context, or care. As all things do, it evolved into a monthly newsletter recounting the high-stakes drama of our lives—Queen Anne and I versus the Wild. The Alaska expedition of 2016 demanded daily updates, transforming the newsletter into a casualty of efficiency. After returning to our home in Arizona, we switched to weekly posts, turning my Sunday mornings into a spirited race against my verbosity.

Feedback from you, dear readers, nudged me towards improvement. Books on writing, a thesaurus thick enough to serve as a murder weapon, online classes, and software soon became my weapons of choice in a battle against mediocrity. The downside? What once was a quick jaunt through my thoughts now takes days of meticulous crafting. In my quest to hone the written word, I nearly forgot the joy of wrestling with alligators—metaphorically speaking.

Frequency Insights

Buried in an internet rabbit hole, I unearthed a nugget of wisdom: The best newsletter frequency is once or twice a month. My inbox, swollen with the daily messages from overzealous websites, confirmed this truth. Too much of a good thing, and I’m out in the garage, hunting down the unsubscribe mallet.

Looking Ahead

Hence, we pivot. The weekly parade will cease, creating a monthly spectacle beginning in April. ‘The Picture of the Month’ will emerge, promising less inbox clutter and more breathing room for storytelling and photography. Imagine—more comprehensive tales, less repetition, and an inbox as unburdened as a desert sky.

Your seat on this journey is reserved; your input is invaluable. In the comments below, let us know your thoughts on our impending metamorphosis. With this shift on the horizon, we’re poised to dive deeper, travel further, and share the essence of our adventures with renewed vigor.

To more unhurried adventures and the promise of untold stories waiting just beyond the lens. Here’s to less time spent with the thesaurus and more pressing the shutter button.

Until our trails cross again;
jw

Peeples Valley Pastoral: A Chilly Morning Among the Cottonwoods Picture of the Week - Peeples Valley, Arizona

Cattle grazing in a field with frost under cottonwood trees at sunrise in Peeples Valley, Arizona — Peeples Valley Pastoral: A Chilly Morning Among the Cottonwoods – Cattle calmly grazing in Peeples Valley’s frost-kissed fields, with majestic cottonwood trees standing guard on a cool morning.

The enchanting snowscapes we’ve shared recently have sparked a sense of wonder and hope. They offer more than just a visual feast; they promise water—our desert’s lifeline. While winter’s chill entices snowbirds to the desert’s warm embrace for leisurely golf, the irony is stark; these dry, sunny days often come at the expense of precious groundwater pumped tirelessly to maintain verdant fairways.

Yet, behind this recreational facade lies a stark reality that Arizona has grappled with for over 20 years: an unyielding drought. It has depleted reservoir levels at historic lows and water tables, setting the stage for ecological challenges. From bark beetle infestations decimating Ponderosa pines to our iconic saguaros standing beleaguered under the strain of aridity, the impact extends beyond plant life. Wildlife, too, has felt the pinch, venturing ever closer to human settlements in an urgent quest for hydration.

In this delicate balance, even humans’ habits are shifting. Golf courses, once lush and abundant, are re-evaluating their water use. Cities across the Southwest, including Phoenix and Las Vegas, face the reality of water scarcity. We are reminded that water is a finite resource that requires our respect and careful management.

A Silver Lining in the Clouds

Nature’s wheel turns, and recent winters have brought whispers of change. Snowflakes and raindrops have graced our arid state more generously, hinting at a shift in the tide. Could this be the beginning of the end of Arizona’s long dry spell? Our hearts cling to hope.

We understand that recovery is a marathon, not a sprint. One season of abundant rain doesn’t herald the end of a drought; it is merely a single step. The land is thirsty—its water tables are like empty wells waiting to be refilled. Our great reservoirs, Lake Mead and Powell, exhibit their white rings—a bathtub’s stain that marks levels of plenty long gone.

This Week’s Reflections

This week’s images—a frozen puddle and grazing cattle in a frost-touched field—are snapshots of this hopeful chapter. They’re visual stories of the land in a rare, quenched state, testaments to the resilience and adaptability of life in Arizona.

As we marvel at the snow-capped peaks and frost-adorned fields, let these recent rains be a sigh of relief and a symbol of nature’s enduring cycle. It’s a cycle that echoes resilience and renewal, qualities deep within the Arizonian spirit. While we cherish this momentary abundance, let’s carry forward the wisdom it brings—to live in harmony with our desert’s rhythms and conserve every resource.

Close-up of a frozen puddle in a frosty field with the Weaver Mountains in the background on a cold Arizona morning — Morning Freeze: Ice Takes Hold in Peeples Valley – A stillness descends on Peeples Valley as dawn reveals a frozen puddle amidst the fields, with the majestic snow-capped Weaver Mountains in the distance.

Our beautiful, rugged state narrates stories of the past and hums with songs of the future, a reminder that as we hope for wetter winters, we must also adapt with creativity and care. We step forward with a sense of stewardship, treasuring each precious drop and each frozen morning as gifts to be respected and protected.

May our appreciation deepen for the water that sustains us and the entire tapestry of life that thrives in our majestic desert. Until the next rainfall, we remain vigilant and thankful, for we understand the value of the desert’s offering.

I invite you to view these moments captured in time, visit my website <Jim’s Site> and Fine Art America page <FAA Link> for larger versions, and witness the unusual beauty that unfolds when winter visits the desert.

Until next time, keep your canteens handy and your humor dry.
jw

Survey and Looking Forward

As we close the chapter on our March survey, there remains one last chance for your valuable feedback. Your insights are like the spring rain that nurtures this newsletter’s growth. Stay tuned—next week, we’ll unveil the survey results and explore what lies ahead for Arizona’s landscapes and this newsletter. Your voice matters, and I eagerly await sharing our future with you.

[formidable id=”4″]

Winter’s Veil: Snowy Peaks Along AZ 89 Picture or the Week - Congress, Arizona

Road leading to snow-covered Weaver Mountains in Arizona under blue skies — Winter’s Veil: Snowy Peaks Along AZ 89—The scenic Route AZ 89 cuts through the arid terrain, leading towards the snow-laden Weaver Mountains. It captures a rare and serene moment of winter’s touch in the heart of Arizona’s landscape.

Growing up in Pennsylvania, snow days were the surprise holiday every kid dreamed of. Schools shuttered—not just for our safety, I reckon, but for teachers to catch a break, too. We, oblivious to any danger, greeted the snow with the enthusiasm a child could muster. Clad in mittens, we carved new paths with our sleds, turning the white blanket into our playground. Then, the West Coast called, and I bid farewell to those spontaneous winter celebrations—until the desert showed me it, too, could play host to such marvels.

Fast forward a few decades to last month’s surprise in the desert. Snow days, they returned, albeit cloaked in an Arizona guise. The saguaros, sentinels in their own right, stood frosted—a sight as unexpected as snowflakes in the sunshine. And just like that, the desert transformed into a wintery ballroom, with creatures great and small stepping out for a dance in their frost-touched finery. The desert, it seems, had been harboring its childhood joy, awaiting just the right moment to release it into the wild.

School’s Out For Everyone

The desert flora isn’t just tough; it’s runway-ready, even in the cold. Take the plant in Desert Glow—it might look like a typical weed, but as the sun breaks, it turns into a golden firework. You could say it’s the desert’s way of holding onto the warmth any way it can, glowing defiantly against the nippy morning air.

Imagine, if you will, the desert’s snow day transforming into an arena for the most endearing of animal antics. Jackrabbits accessorize with fluffy earmuffs, while roadrunners trade their famed sprint for graceful glides across the ice. Enter the mule deer, the unexpected champions of snowball mischief. They masterfully dip their noses into the snow, crafting frosty pellets in their nostrils only to launch them at unsuspecting quail. It’s as if the desert whispers its tales of frolic and play under the winter sky. Here, amidst the silence of the snow, the fauna engages in a playful dodgeball match, where snowballs fly, and laughter echoes through the crisp air.

Out here, snow angels are more like snow lizards, and snowball fights are postponed due to lack of thumbs. But the quails seem delighted by the extra fluff on the ground and the coyotes? Let’s say they’ve never seen their shadow quite like this before.

Backlit desert plant glowing with a straw flower-like appearance at sunrise — Desert Glow: Sunrise Illuminates a Wild Shrub – A desert plant, bathed in the warm morning sunlight, transforms into a beacon of golden radiance against the tranquil backdrop of the Southwestern wilderness.

The Photos

The quest to capture nature’s impromptu art show was not without its slapstick moments—convincing a cactus wren it wasn’t auditioning for March of the Penguins or mistaking a cholla’s frosty disguise for a benign bush, a prickly mistake I won’t soon forget. Yet amidst these playful blunders, a simple desert shrub, caught in the soft glow of dawn, stole the show, its silhouette aglow with a warmth that only the morning sun could paint.

However, the lead in this week’s wintry saga is Arizona 89, our gateway to the high country. This asphalt ribbon, featured in Winter’s Veil, guides us from the snow’s gentle beginnings at the Weaver’s base, ascending to a crescendo of white in Prescott, where the snow day is not a mere memory but a living joy for children who, much like I once did, greet the snow with hearts wide open and sleds at the ready.

As the sun sets on our desert snow day, we’re reminded that life can sparkle, even with a chill in the air. And just like the desert after a rare snowfall, we come out on the other side, a little bit stronger and much more enjoyable. For a closer look at the day’s enchantment, I’ve posted larger versions of this week’s images on my website and Fine Art America. Feel the crisp air and witness the silent dance of winter in the desert by clicking [here for my website] and [here for FAA].

I’d love to hear about your most unexpected nature encounters! Please share your stories in the comments below, and let’s swap tales of when the weather went wild. Did you snap any cool critter pics? Let’s see them!

Until our next frosty surprise, keep your gloves close and your camera closer, but don’t put your tongue on the frozen glass.
jw

March Survey

Don’t forget to take a minute to fill out our March survey. Your feedback is as rare and valuable as snow in the Sonoran, and it helps us keep our content as fresh as a winter bloom. You’re all set if you filled it out last week—thank you! If not, here’s another chance to help shape our newsletter. Find the survey [here] or at the top of this email.

[formidable id=”4″]

Lone Winter Sentinel: Snow Graces the Date Creek Range Picture of the Week - Congress, Arizona

Snow-covered unnamed peak in the Date Creek Range, contrasting with dark storm clouds and the desert landscape — Lone Winter Sentinel: Snow Graces the Date Creek Range – The Date Creek Range is under a theatrical sky, with its highest peak adorned in a stunning snowcap amidst the desert’s earthy tones.

Imagine a tranquil blanket of white embracing the Weaver Mountains in Congress, turning the rugged landscape into a scene straight from a winter fairy tale. In my previous tales, I might have painted a picture of winter in the desert as a predictable season, with just enough chill to remind us it’s not always sunny in Arizona.

The Unpredictable Dance of Winter

But let’s be honest: predicting our winter weather is as straightforward as dancing with a hula hoop while bouncing on a pogo stick. Sure, if our weather patterns were a simple hula hoop spinning predictably around our waists, we could anticipate where it would land next with the precision of a well-practiced trick. “It’s all physics,” you might say. Given the Earth’s tilt, orbit, and seasons, one could forecast the weather with the same confidence as predicting the hoop’s path.

Yet, here’s the twist in our meteorological tale: what happens when you throw a pogo stick into the mix? Suddenly, the predictable rotation of the hoop is interrupted by leaps and bounds, each jump adding a new layer of complexity. That’s Arizona’s winter for you, where every jump in temperature and every bound of precipitation defies expectations, much like our unpredictable twins, El Niño and La Niña, who I’ll introduce to you next.

Ride that Pogo Stick, Cowboy

Enter the mischievous twins of climate variability: La Niña, the cool little sister with a dry sense of humor, and El Niño, the warm-hearted brother who likes to stir the pot. They lead in the El Niño-Southern Oscillation (ENSO) drama, a global weather narrative with plot twists dictated by fluctuating ocean temperatures in the equatorial Pacific.

While not the sole scriptwriters of Arizona’s winter tales, these siblings can certainly add surprising chapters. La Niña tends to skim moisture away from our skies, while El Niño generously spills warmth and rain across our desert stage. Understanding their patterns is like getting a peek at the rehearsal — it doesn’t give us the exact timing of every line. Still, it helps set the stage for the season’s performances, allowing us to anticipate whether we’ll need an umbrella or a sunhat as we step out into the year’s unpredictable acts.

These brats—er, I mean children- represent our Pogo stick’s up and down cycles. The El Niño bounce is associated with increased rainfall and warmer temperatures, while the La Nina phase brings the downward thrust of drier and cooler temps. These fluctuating climate patterns don’t have a regular cycle but can last 9-12 months (or years) and occur every two to seven years. Being able to predict these ocean temperature variants means that meteorologists need to consider what drives them. To paraphrase the most significant line from the movie Jaws, “I think we’re going to need a bigger computer.”

Our Photo

That’s a partial answer to why our exceptional winter storm was a delight and allowed me to get a series of great shots for this month’s project—which brings me to this week’s image called Lone Winter Sentinel.

On the morning after the snowfall, I intended to capture some images of the sugar-coated weavers, so I drove north on Route AZ89 and stopped along the roadside. As I faced north, I focused on the Weavers, medium-sized mountains with 4000-6500 foot peaks. After firing off several variants, I turned back to my trusty stead—the Turd—and that’s when I spotted snow on our other mountains—the Date Creek Mountains. These are minor mountains around 3,000 feet, but this morning, the snow revealed where in their midst they hid their NBA center. The contrast of white among the brown desert peaks made me walk across the highway to get a better shot. I think of them as our HO-scale Rockies.

Close-up of morning sunlight highlighting the patterns in a patch of snow in Peeples Valley — Dawn’s Glimmer: Patterns in the Snow – The first light of dawn casts a golden glow on the intricate snow patterns in Peeples Valley, highlighting nature’s subtle artistry.

Kids These Days

Before you go, let me share a bit of humor from this week. Queen Anne and I enjoyed an evening out at our local country club. Our server, a bright young woman, wore a ‘Kinzie’ name badge. Intrigued by her unique name, I ventured, “Kinzie, that’s quite distinctive. Reminds me of the Kinsey Report, doesn’t it?”

“No, it’s short for Mackenzie,” she answered.

“Oh, like in Mackenzie Phillips?”

“I don’t know who that is,” was her answer.

About halfway through my explanation of who Mackenzie Phillips was and the shows in which she stared, her eyes began to glaze over. I was losing her. I gave up and told her, “Go ask your mother.”

Kinzie said she would, pointed to another waitress on the floor, and continued, “That’s her, over there.”

When I glanced at the woman she pointed at, it dawned on me—her mother was also part of the generation more acquainted with digital downloads than with Mackenzie Phillips. I realized I was fishing for cultural references in a stream where even the concept of a mixed tape might be considered an archaeological find.

Thus, the moral of my story: When your pop culture references fall flat, or if you’re curious about the bygone era of hula hoops and pogo sticks, it might be more straightforward to say, “Go ask your mother—or better yet, your grandmother. They might teach you the lost art of keeping entertained without Wi-Fi.”

As is our norm, there are larger versions of this week’s image on my website, and you can view them by clicking on these links: < Jim’s Webpage> and <FAA Post>. Be sure to show up next week when we continue to play in the snow. We always look forward to reading your comments about photography, the weather, or even Mackenzie Phillips.

Until next time, keep your snowshoes handy and your humor dry.
jw

March Survey

This is the second week of our month-long survey. It’s unchanged from last week, so if you were kind enough to answer it, you’re done. I’m asking you to answer some questions about how we’re doing. The survey below will appear over the following weeks, but I only need your opinion once. At the end of the month, I’ll review your input and discuss any decisions we make. I dislike taking these surveys as much as you do, so I’m keeping it short. Mark the first pair of questions with a single answer, but the third is multiple choice. Tick all the boxes that apply to you.

If you don’t see the form in your email, you can get to it by clicking on the email’s title line or using this link <Survey Link>.
Thanks in advance for helping us.

[formidable id=”4″ minimize=”1″]

Snow-Capped Majesty: Winter Embraces the Weaver Mountains Picture of the Week - Congress, Arizona

Snow-covered Weaver Mountains with clouds caressing the peaks, viewed from Congress, Arizona — Snow-Capped Majesty: Winter Embraces the Weaver Mountains – A serene morning in Congress, Arizona, as snow blankets the Weaver Mountains, with clouds tenderly skimming the peaks.

I’m often dumbfounded when I encounter snowbirds flocking at the Denny’s cash register complaining about our January rain. Frequently, I’ll interrupt their griping with local folklore. I’ll say, “The natives have a word for this weird weather pattern.”

“Oh ya,” their curiosity peaks, and they’ll ask, “What do they call it?”

“They call it winter,” I respond as I walk past them out the door, but I can always hear their groans behind me.

Yes, Virginia, the Sonoran desert gets rainy in the winter. It’s not our wettest time of the year. That honor comes with the summer monsoons. The dueling wet seasons are why our desert is home to the famous saguaro cactus. The winter months provide enough water for these giants for a spring bloom, and the monsoons provide water for the seeds to germinate. I’m unsure how the behemoth cactus scheduled the weather around their needs.

Understanding Arizona’s Two-Faced Winters

Arizona’s winters showcase a dual personality, much to our visitors’ fascination—and sometimes frustration.

The Gulf of Alaska pens the first act of our winter weather. These storms script our late December and January, bringing a chill that bites through the desert air. They’re the colder of our two patterns, and though the California mountains tend to hoard most of the moisture, they occasionally let enough slip through to grace us with a frosty spectacle.

Then, as if on cue, February presents a delightful intermission with weather so perfect it feels like paradise remembered. Daytime highs coyly flirt with the 70s and 80s, while the nights, crisp in the 40s and 50s, are ideal for a lover’s embrace or a solo serenade under the stars. It’s when we remember why we endure the scorching soliloquies of our summers.

But the final act belongs to the Pineapple Express. These storms spun from the warm waters around Hawaii and debuted around March and April. They bring a wetter, warmer embrace, coaxing the delicate plants from their frosty fear. Yet, this is no guarantee of a tender ending—Easter snow has been known to make a dramatic cameo.

Our rains are brief, a fleeting audience to our desert stage. They come and go, cleansing the air of Phoenix’s smoggy shroud and leaving behind a verdant carpet that transforms the desert floor. It’s a weekly show, though some complain it’s too often on weekends. But we Zonies? We wouldn’t have it any other way.

First Glimpse

When one of these Arctic Blasts cuts through the air, it’s as if the mountains around our house don an exquisite coat of powdered sugar. While the sight is breathtaking, the sun’s warm embrace usually coaxes the snow to leave by noon. However, this January presented an extraordinary spectacle that graced the Weaver’s and Date Creek Ranges with a full, snowy embrace from crest to base. This was not just a fleeting visitation but a rare, all-encompassing transformation that demanded to be captured.

On that magical morning, the urgency of the moment overtook me. Coffee, usually the first crucial step of my day, was forgotten. Dressed against the chill, I grabbed my camera gear and drove up the hill, driven by a compulsion to immortalize the scene before the sun could chase the frost away. March’s theme, the Weaver Winter Wonderland, is thus a tribute to this exceptional event. Through my lens, I hope to share the beauty of snow in the desert and a rare moment that reminds us of nature’s capacity for surprise and wonder.

Photographs

This week’s image is titled Snow-Capped Majesty, and it shows the area where AZ 89 scales the mountainside to the Granite Mountain Hotshots Memorial State Park and Yarnell. I’m happy with the clouds cascading down the slope and the morning light reflecting off the glowing grass. This scene rarely happens, but when it does, I’m glad I moved here to witness it.

Our second image this week was taken later after all but traces of the snow had disappeared. I named it Chilly Dawn, one of the lower hills among the Weavers having a bit of frost in the air. Those of you with sharp eyes know that this was taken at a high elevation in Peeples Valley because of the appearance of the Juniper trees.

Early morning light casting a chilly haze over the hills above Peeples Valley, Arizona — Chilly Dawn: Hazy Morning Light Over Peeples Valley Hills – The early light of dawn bathes the hills above Peeples Valley in a soft, chilly haze, capturing the tranquil essence of an Arizona morning.

I hope you enjoy viewing my photographs as much as I share them with you. Perhaps we should bookmark and save this series to dig them out in July when it’s 118° outside. Queen Anne and I look forward to your comments about the photos or your winter memories. I have posted larger versions on my website < Jim’s Web> and Fine Art America <FAA Link> should you want to look closer. I’ll have more from Weaver Winter Wonderland next week, so return then.

Until then, keep your socks and humor dry.
jw

March Survey

I need your advice. Since it’s already March, it’s time to consider spring cleaning. To keep my customers happy, I’m asking you to answer some questions about how we’re doing. The survey below will appear for the next four weeks, but I only need your opinion once, so answer the questions once, and you’re done. At the end of the month, I’ll review your input and discuss any decisions we make. I dislike taking these surveys as much as you do, so I’m keeping it short. Mark the first pair of questions with a single answer, but the third is multiple choice. Tick all the boxes that apply to you.

Thanks in advance for helping us.

[formidable id=”4″]

The Gilded Road Home: Double Rainbows Over Congress Picture of the Week - Congress, Arizona

Double rainbows arching over State Route 71 with dark golden clouds and the Weaver Mountains in the background, Congress, Arizona. — Double Rainbows Over Congress: An Arizona Road Home – Explore a stunning double rainbow on Arizona’s SR 71. This golden hour capture sets the Weaver Mountains and road to Congress as the perfect backdrop

Welcome back to the final leg of our US 93 in the Golden Hour trip—it’s like a happy hour but with fewer hangovers and more lens flares. Last week, if you recall, we played hopscotch with raindrops beside the road, capturing the Date Creek Range in its full golden glory. After which, I hopped back in the truck, already chalking up the day as a wrap, convinced the photo gods had closed shop for the day.

As I barreled down the highway, I noticed two glorious arcs of color in my windshield. It was like the sky had painted its version of Starry Night but with rainbows. These weren’t your garden-variety, quick-glimpse-or-you’ll-miss-’em types. They were vivid, full-arc, double rainbows. You bet I thought about stopping there—if only the road weren’t hogging the frame. Nature’s light show so entranced me that I almost shot past my exit. Veering onto the ramp like a last-minute shopper on Black Friday, I parked at the bottom, hoping to snag that elusive west leg of the rainbow. No dice.

But then, the universe threw me a bone. As I swung left under the overpass, the eastern leg of the double rainbow was practically touching down on SR 71—my road to El Dorado. I couldn’t resist; the cosmos said, “Welcome home, Jim. Your pot of gold—aka Queen Anne dressed in pearls and pinafore is waiting with a nice pot roast.”

I wanted this shot to scream, “You’re almost home!” as loudly as an Irish setter wagging its tail at the front door. Standing in the middle of the asphalt, eyeballing the lens and framing that quintessential road view, felt right. The receding road signs served as breadcrumbs leading us to the mountain’s base—the ultimate exit sign to our slice of paradise. And hey, that mileage sign? Seven miles to home, folks. The rainbow, of course, gets top billing, occupying most of the frame because, let’s face it, it’s the Beyoncé of this visual concert.

Did you know you can never drive through a rainbow? Yep, don’t even bother revving that engine. That’s because rainbows aren’t physical entities; they’re celestial eye candy, illusions caused by sunlight’s refraction, dispersion, and reflection in raindrops. If you hadn’t fallen asleep in your high school physics class, you’d know these things. When sunlight enters a raindrop, it slows down and bends as it goes from air to water. Inside the raindrop, the light disperses into its various color components. It may reflect off other raindrops as it exits the raindrop, creating this stunning arc. The magic number here is a 42-degree angle of refraction. No, it’s not the secret of life, the universe, and everything—though it’s close—but rather the angle at which light is refracted to form that vibrant arc in the sky.”

And just when you thought one rainbow was enough to make you pull over and risk getting your shoes muddy, nature decides to double down. That’s right—a double rainbow, all the way! But wait, there’s a twist. If you look closely, you’ll notice the colors in the second, fainter rainbow are flipped. While the primary arc screams ‘ROYGBIV,’ its more introverted twin whispers’ VIBGYOR.’ What’s the deal with that, you ask? The second rainbow undergoes a second reflection inside the water droplets, effectively flipping the color scheme. It’s like nature’s version of a plot twist in a thriller movie. You never saw it coming, but it makes the story better.

You might be scratching your head, wondering why you don’t always get a two-for-one deal with rainbows. The answer, my friends, lies in the perfect concoction of light intensity, droplet size, and good ol’ atmospheric conditions. The second rainbow is like the shy sibling at a family gathering—too bashful to crash the party without an engraved invitation from the universe. It needs more specific conditions to come out and play, like bigger raindrops and darker skies to contrast its fainter colors. So, the next time you spot a lone rainbow, know its elusive twin wasn’t feeling the party vibe.

Hey there, rainbow chasers and golden hour aficionados! I hope you’ve enjoyed this magical journey down Arizona’s highways as much as I have. If this picture has left you starry-eyed and longing for more, don’t forget that you can see bigger versions of this photo in my New Work collection (Jim’s Web) or its page at Fine Art America (FAA Page).

While we’re wrapping up this month’s project, rest assured that another adventure is on the horizon. So make sure you swing back around next week for a new slice of life, served up Jim Witkowski style. Now it’s your turn. Have you ever encountered a vibrant double rainbow that made you forget about your exit? Or maybe you have a rainbow story that can top mine? Either way, spill the tea—or, in this case, the rainbow—in the comments below!

Till next time
jw

Techniques: The Wide-Angle Wonder—Capturing Expansive Landscapes

Do you know how the perfect landscape shot often feels like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole? There’s just too much beauty to squeeze into that tiny frame. Enter wide-angle lenses—the landscape photographer’s magic wand for making square pegs fit just right.

Let’s start by cracking the code on focal lengths. A wide-angle lens typically has a focal length of 35mm or less. And this little number can pack in a lot of sky, earth, and anything in between. That’s why it was my go-to for capturing this double rainbow phenomenon. It allowed me to give the rainbow—and its quieter, introverted sibling—the room they needed to shine.

Wide-angle lenses aren’t just for fitting more stuff into your shot; they’re great for storytelling, too. In our Double Rainbows Over Congress, the wide-angle lens allowed me to include the expansive sky, the road signs gradually shrinking into the distance, and the mountains’ embrace, all without cramping the style of the rainbows that are undoubtedly the stars of the show.

But it’s not all rainbows and unicorns. Wide-angle lenses can distort straight lines, making them curve towards the edges of the frame. Sometimes, you can turn this into a creative advantage, like making the road seem even more stretched, like reaching for the mountains. Other times, you might want to tweak things back to normal in post-processing, using lens correction features.

A word to the wise: wide angles can make close objects appear more prominent, and distant objects look farther away. But don’t be fooled—this lens isn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet for your frame. The trick isn’t to turn your photo into a yard sale of visual elements; it’s about emphasizing what matters. Do it right, and your image becomes a gourmet burger with just the right toppings. Do it wrong, and you’ve got yourself a Dagwood sandwich—so stuffed you don’t know where to take the first bite. That’s where your artistic judgment comes into play. How much space do you want to give each element so they all get their moment in the sun, in this case, between the rain showers?

And there you have it—a quick but jam-packed dive into the wonders of wide-angle lenses for landscape photography. I hope you find it as liberating as I do when you’re chasing your next perfect shot.

A New Day’s Glow at the Granite Dells Picture of the Week - Prescott, Arizona

A subtle sunrise over the Granite Dells in Prescott, Arizona, highlighting lichen-covered rocks resembling toes and victory signs. — A New Day’s Glow at the Granite Dells – A playful sunrise at the Granite Dells, where imagination meets nature. The subtle glow highlights formations that evoke toes and victory signs, making for a captivating morning scene.

As an undergraduate in college, I signed up for a class in art history for three automatic credits. Many students complain that this required course is lame. Still, I must have accidentally learned something when I thought I was napping in the classroom because now and then, I’ll spot something on TV, and I get to turn to Queen Anne and spout some useless trivia to impress her—it doesn’t work, and I get the usual eye-roll. One of the things I wondered about in that class was why were so many of the Greek and Roman era statues damaged. Later, I found out that looters damaged them when they ripped the artwork from their pedestals. But I still wonder, “What happened to Venus de Milo’s arms, and where are those missing hands and feet?”

I may have found a partial answer, and it’s in the final image from our Granite Dells project. On my morning outing, when it wasn’t hot, and I had plenty of water, my brain was operating at its peak as I followed the well-worn trail before dawn. My primary focus was not falling, but that still left time for me to snap photos when I wasn’t moving. One of those shots is A New Day’s Glow at the Granite Dells—this week’s featured image. Like last week’s picture, I later saw things in this image that weren’t there when I was on the trail.

At first glance, the image may look like just another example of weathered granite in the Dells. But on closer inspection, it’s as if the place is a secret stash for all those missing statue appendages I wondered about in college. Along the ridge left of the center, there’s a right foot with two toes jutting into the air, obscured partially by the bush. To the right of the center, there’s a left foot, complete with a visible toenail on the big toe. The more you look, the more toes start appearing throughout the photo. Eureka! It’s like I’ve stumbled upon the lost’ foot locker’ of ancient art—a clandestine graveyard of dismembered statue feet! Perhaps they hide it under a blue tarp during the day; otherwise, it would have been discovered by now.

I’m not alone when I look at the Dells and see things that aren’t there. Another group of visionary men did the same thing over a century ago. They were farmers from Chino Valley and Prescott, looking for reliable water sources to irrigate their expanding agricultural lands. Ignoring the rugged beauty of the Granite Dells, they recognized an opportunity in the flow of Willow Creek and Granite Creek. In 1900, they constructed the first dam, damming Willow Creek and forming what is now known as Willow Lake. A few years later, in 1908, they dammed Granite Creek, creating Watson Lake. These manufactured reservoirs transformed the wasteland into valuable water storage and provided the area with dependable year-round water, fueling growth and prosperity. Today, the lakes and the surrounding Granite Dells continue to be a vital resource, offering a balance between human needs and natural beauty.

Evening sun illuminating the granite domes over Lake Wilson, contrasting the rugged rocks with the serene ripples of water. — Water and Rock: Evening at the Dells – A tranquil evening view of the Granite Dells, where the golden light dances on the domes and the calm waters of Lake Wilson whisper reflections. The balance of serenity and strength is captured in a moment.

This week’s second photo shows Willow Lake waters lapping the Dells’s eastern shore. When the City of Prescott bought the lakes and surrounding land in 1997, they intended to preserve the area as a recreational preserve. And that’s how it worked out. Hikers, rock climbers, and old photographers use the dry sites, while other outdoor types like to get out on the water.

Granite Dells are more than just a collection of impressive rocks. Their charm lies in the subtle details and the stories they seem to tell. From imaginary toes to victory signs, from the gentle embrace of lichen to the lively dance of water plants, every visit unveils a new layer of beauty. We’re glad you joined us on the trails of Granite Dells, and we hope that you didn’t get frightened by the shape-shifting rocks. I have published two larger versions of this week’s image online, should you want to count the little piggies with roast beef. The first is on my Website (Jim’s web page), and the second is on my Fine Art America Page (FAA web page). I think it would be great to hear how many toes you found by leaving your count in the comments section below—of course, any snide remarks are welcome, too. We hope to see you back here next week when we begin a new project to get us through September—usually the last of our hot summer months.

Until next time
jw

Techniques: Playing with Reflections in Water

Capturing reflections in water can transform an ordinary photograph into a visually captivating image, providing a unique perspective and adding a sense of symmetry and depth. Whether it’s the clear reflection of a mountain in a calm lake or the distorted ripples of buildings in a bustling city canal, water reflections can be a photographer’s tool to create a sense of harmony and intrigue.

In this week’s second photo—Water and Rock: Evening at the Dells—the reflections in Willow Lake offer a mirror-like portrayal of the rock formations, doubling the visual impact and delivering a parallel world beneath the surface. These reflections emphasize the rock’s unique shapes and capture the colors and textures of the sky and landscape, enhancing the overall composition. Utilizing reflections requires keen observation and sometimes even waiting for the right moment when the wind calms and the water surface becomes still. Consider the angle of the light, the state of the water, and the composition to maximize the reflective effect. By experimenting with different perspectives and settings, reflections in water can become a decisive element in your photographic storytelling, elevating a simple scene into something extraordinary. Despite all that planning, sometimes you have to have dumb luck, as I did with this photo of the Ruby Range and Kluane Lake while on our 2016 Alaska adventure (see it here).