Tag: Black Mesa

The Enigmatic Black Mesa: A Striking Basalt Landmark in Arizona Picture of the Week - Sunflower, Arizona

A view of Black Mesa, a pyramid-shaped basalt mountain in the Mazatzal Mountains
The Enigmatic Black Mesa – A stunning basalt pyramid rising majestically in the rugged beauty of the Mazatzal Mountains.

Welcome back to our exploration of the Mazatzal Mountains and the scenic journey along the Beeline Highway. As we continued our expedition, the changes in scenery required frequent stops for pictures. Although the scenery changes with each bend, over the years, the road has undergone its transformation—from a challenging back road to a modern highway.

My love/hate affair with the Beeline Highway began shortly after I arrived in Arizona half a century ago. At the time, I resided in south Scottsdale and had developed a passion for trout fishing. Despite my work obligations, I jumped at any opportunity to escape and make a Payson run. With a left turn at the end of McDowell Road, I could travel the picturesque route in just 90 minutes, reaching the tranquil Rim lakes where I would indulge in the serene beauty of nature and cast my fishing line.

However, weekends brought out the Beeline Highway’s dark side. State Route 87 north of Fountain Hills was a narrow, two-lane rollercoaster that could quickly diminish the joy of driving. While I found the route challenging and enjoyable under normal circumstances, the presence of holiday travelers towing trailers brought the fun to a screeching halt. A comfortable 90-minute journey became a tedious ordeal lasting several hours. These underpowered tow vehicles crawled up the grades at a snail’s pace, followed closely by a long line of frustrated drivers.

During my recent ride with Fred, I was pleasantly surprised by the Arizona Department of Transportation’s significant improvements to the Beeline Highway. The road has undergone a remarkable transformation. It now boasts four lanes for most of its length, except for a couple of long grades where they added a truck lane. The curve radius has been expanded, the shoulders widened, and other safety measures implemented, bringing the highway’s standard close to that of a freeway.

This week’s photograph was captured approximately 10 miles north of Four Peaks, featured in last week’s post. As we continue along the Beeline Highway, the elevation gradually increases, but at this particular spot, we find ourselves at the same elevation as Four Peaks Road. We haven’t gained much altitude because we recently drove over a pass at a large granite field, descending into another valley. Now, we’re beginning the ascent toward a second pass.

When I arrived at this location, the sun had just cleared the horizon, casting its soft light upon the mountaintops. It was the perfect opportunity to pull over and capture this week’s photograph of Black Mesa. Upon closer inspection of the photo, you can observe the traces of volcanism in black basalt trails running down the ravines on the mountain’s face. However, what truly caught my attention in this scene was the abundant presence of saguaro cacti on the southeast-facing slope. They outnumber the Palo Verde trees.

This is the last point on the road where saguaros thrive. Further up this grade, an imaginary frost line marks the limit for these majestic cacti to survive. As we ascend, the winters become too cold for the saguaros to endure. This splendid grove contrasts sharply with the sparse landscape and yellow grass we encountered last week. This week’s second photo was shot near where I stopped to look at a dense cluster of saguaros—the densest I’ve ever seen. It’s a testament to their resilience in this harsh desert environment, especially considering the recent wildfires that have thinned the surrounding landscape.

Close-up of a cluster of saguaro cacti in the Sonoran Desert
Desert Sentinels: Clusters of Saguaros Embracing the Sonoran Desert – A captivating ensemble of saguaros showcasing the beauty of the Sonoran Desert.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride so far. I appreciate your company as we explore the captivating landscapes of the Mazatzal Mountains. If you need a little break, I invite you to take some time to immerse yourself in the larger versions of The Enigmatic Black Mesa, available on my website (Black Mesa Webpage) or my Fine Art America upload (FAA Webpage). These images allow you to delve deeper into the beauty and details of this remarkable landmark. And remember, our adventure doesn’t end here. Join us next week as we explore the rugged Mazatzal Mountains on our way to Payson. There are more wonders to discover, and I look forward to sharing them with you.

Till next time
jw

Techniques: Mastering White Balance

Have you ever wondered at the wonky colors some of your photographs have? A simple answer could be the wrong White Balance adjustment. To the human eye and brain, a white sheet of paper looks white outside in the sun, in the shade, under house lights, or fluorescent bulbs. If you shoot using your camera’s raw data file, then you apply that fix in post-processing. But, if you’re shooting JPEGs or videos, the camera does the processing. Usually, cameras (and phones) have an Auto White Balance setting, but the color of a shirt, the distance of the subject, or even the wall color can easily fool it. It’s undependable.

Let’s look at it this way to keep this lesson short and sweet. The color of the sun we grew up and live with is white. If we lived on a different planet with a different sun, our brains would adjust to a new white in a few days. Scientists use the Kelvin scale as a way to measure relative color. It’s a numerical scale to measure the temperature of white light sources. A low Kelvin is warm and has a yellowish cast, so you add blue for balance. A higher Kelvin value is bluish and needs yellow for balance. For example, daylight is typically around 5500K, while tungsten lighting is around 3000K. So if you’re shooting outside, set your camera (or phone) to 5500k (or pick the sun icon), and if you’re using house lights, choose the light bulb icon (or around 3000k).

There are only a couple of exceptional instances. The first is in open shade—you’re out of the sun but under a blue sky, which are the conditions I had shooting this week’s pictures. Here, the light is being bounced off the sky, and the number needs to be higher to offset the additional blue cast. That Kelvin number is around 6500k, or the camera’s shade icon. The second exception is on cloudy days when there’s no blue sky. This is when you set the white balance to 6000k or use the camera’s cloud icon.

There is another infrequent situation that you may run into. It’s when you’re taking your eBay pictures in the garage, someone at a hospital, or a product in a retail store that has old fashion fluorescent tubes. They don’t emit red rays, so things look green. Not only do you have to adjust for the temperature, but you have to add the missing red. If your camera has a tube setting, you’re golden; otherwise, you’re alone.

If I’ve intrigued your interest and you’d like to dive deeper into white balance, numerous educational resources like this are available on YouTube (White Balance Video). You can also search YouTube for tutorials on “color correction” or “white balance” in your preferred post-processing software. There, you’ll find step-by-step guides and demonstrations to help you master this essential technique for getting natural color in your photographs.

New Water Black Mesa Picture of the Week

My first Phoenix visit was during the summer of my high school junior year. It wasn’t much of a visit. Dave and Edith—my mom’s niece and her husband lived here. They moved here from Michigan, and he hadn’t been able to find steady work as a mechanic, so my dad offered him a job maintaining his debilitated fleet of Corvair vans. They accepted and immediately packed up to move to the coast. Since I was on summer vacation and my wallet had that new-drivers-license smell, dad volunteered me to drive one of their trucks.

My father put me on an early flight out of the tiny Burbank Airport, and I arrived at an even smaller terminal where Dave met me. Parked at the curb outside was his white El Camino. I don’t remember the year, but it was loaded with toolboxes and the rest of his shop equipment. I didn’t question if it was overloaded because that was above my pay grade and comprehension at the time. I was only impressed that it had a four-on-the-floor, and it made a rumble when he started it.

We drove straight to their home, where a moving van was packed and ready for the trip. The only things that I got to see in Phoenix were the airport, the freeway, his house, and the biggest Goodyear Tire sign in the world. Even Hollywood didn’t have a sign that big and bright. I do remember that it was only mid-morning, and it was already hot. Automotive air conditioning was an exotic thing back then, so we drove with the windows down.

We didn’t spend much time at the house because everything was packed and ready. I was assigned to drive the El Camino, and he would follow in the U-Haul (or whatever brand he had rented). Both vehicles were packed to the gills, but Dave still had loads of unpacked clothes and threw them on my passenger seat before heading west on Highway 60.

Not many cars had air conditioning in 1963, but they all had wind-wings, little adjustable windows at the front of the door windows. They were useful for defogging the windshield, sucking out cigarette smoke, and when driving across the desert, they would divert the scorching wind from your face. By noon we were driving across the open desert west of Wickenburg, and my wind-wings were wide open.

Cars also had temperature gauges then because they frequently overheated. Nothing was broken; they just did that. While you drove, you watched your speed, the gas gauge, and the water temperature. You planned your stops by what the gauges said. As the day grew hotter, and the overloaded little El Camino began to run hot, and I pulled over to let Dave know. We began stopping at gas stations in each of the little towns we passed in an abundance of caution. There we would hose down the truck’s radiator and then continue on our way.

That was until we stopped at a place in the middle of nowhere. As I looked around, all I could see was the barren desert surrounded by dry, jagged mountains. The water spigot had a lock on it and a sign that read, “Water 1.00 a gallon.” That was five times the price of his gas; it was outrageous. The man behind the cash register justified the cost by saying, “Look around you, kid. Do you see any water? I have to pay to have this trucked in.” We gave in and bought a couple of gallons and slowly poured it over the gurgling radiator.

We drove another 200 miles without another incident, all the while the expensive water ate at my brain. Once we reached the cooler air in San Bernardino, the little truck behaved itself. As we drove the two-lane road crossing the lower Mohave Desert, we saw hundreds of freeway miles under construction off to the right. Interstate 10 was finished from L.A. to the Colorado River when I moved to Phoenix a decade later. In Arizona, it stopped at a place they called The Brenda Cutoff. For years I wondered who Brenda was. After moving to Congress, I realized that Brenda was the town where that infamous gas station was, and I finally put two and two together.

New Water Black Mesa - The early morning sun highlights the cliffs of Black Mesa overlooking Interstate 10 in western Arizona.
New Water Black Mesa – The early morning sun highlights Black Mesa’s cliffs overlooking Interstate 10 in western Arizona.

Last Tuesday, I pointed out the old station’s ruins and told Fred this story—well, an abridged version—as we drove back from our photo-shoot. We went there to photograph this week’s featured image of the Black Mesa in the New Water Wilderness Area. The Ramsey Mine Road approaches the wilderness, and it starts in Brenda. The lava-rock covered mesa cliffs are another of my favorite Interstate 10 landmarks. When I see them on the south side, I know that we’re almost to Quartzite, and the Colorado River is soon after. I’ve admired these formations each time I pass under them, and it’s taken me decades to figure out how to get closer. I called this shot New Water Black Mesa because there are dozens of Black Mesas throughout Arizona, so I have to start including which mesa I’m talking about.

You can see a larger version of New Water Black Mesa on its Web Page by clicking here. Next week we start a new monthly project as well as a new year. Queen Anne and I will still need to keep close to home, so come back next week and see what subject we chose.

Until next time — jw