An Evening in Arches with the Aurora Borealis

When you’re a photographer who lives in Moab, you’ve got an endless variety of incredible landscapes to photograph. Wildflowers in the spring, monsoon storms in summer, gorgeous multi-hued leaves in the fall and pristine snow on red rocks in winter. There are canyons and waterfalls, arches and balancing rocks and twisted juniper trees, mountains and lakes, wildlife and wild sunsets. What you don’t have though, is the aurora. Colorful waves of light dancing across the northern sky before a curtain of twinkling stars. And then, on an autumn day in October, an aurora alert flashes across your iPhone screen. For three hours, from 9 to midnight, there’s a KP rating of 8 and a predicted 100% aurora viewing opportunity. It’s already dark, so you step into the backyard and point your iPhone camera to the north. There, on the screen, is a brilliant red aurora hovering over the roof of your neighbor’s house.

That’s exactly what happened to me last week. At almost 54 years old, and having been a nature photographer for 25 years, I was about to photograph my first aurora. The next few minutes were chaotic as I quickly threw on hiking boots, gathered my gear, grabbed a drink and some snacks, and tossed everything into the backseat of my Land Cruiser. Adrenalin flowing, Melissa and I excitedly sped toward Arches National Park. In the distance, a steady stream of headlights were visible climbing up the entrance road that ascends a series of switchbacks leading from the valley floor into the heart of the park. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who had received an aurora alert.

We made our first stop at Courthouse Towers, where several prominent landscape features erupt skyward in great pillars of red sandstone. I’ve shot this location dozens of times, in every season, and at all times of the day. I know it intimately and quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve grown somewhat tired of it. Until this night, that is. Nothing could have prepared me for the moment after the first click of my shutter. There on the LCD screen appeared an image of a hulking monolith known as The Organ, and above it was a vibrant ruby red, star filled sky. For what felt like minutes, I just stared at the screen. There they were, the freaking northern lights above the Moab desert! I was an aurora photographer!

Then, I zoomed in and quickly realized, I was an aurora photographer who was so overcome with excitement, I’d forgotten to focus my lens. That’s when reality bitch slapped me in the face. I knew absolutely nothing about photographing auroras. I’d gotten a few helpful tips from my friend Jason Hatfield, an insanely talented photographer with extensive experience shooting the night sky, including too many auroras to count. I took a moment to collect myself before my second attempt. Have you ever tried to manually focus on a distant object in near complete darkness? It ain’t easy. At least in my experience, it’s a matter of trial and error. Set the focus, shoot, check for sharpness, make a minor adjustment, repeat. Eventually, I got my focus dialed in and then went to work finding an optimal exposure. Jack up the ISO, set the exposure, keep the aperture at f/2.8. Nope, way too dark. Increase exposure, try again. And again. And again. Until finally, burned onto the memory card was a sharp(ish), mostly properly exposed image.

We stayed at Courthouse Towers for quite some time. I made a few dozen images, experimenting with different compositions, each one unique in that no two northern light photos are ever the same. When the colors began to fade, we moved on. Our next stop was Balanced Rock, where a significant crowd had gathered to enjoy this rare spectacle. The process repeated itself, and again we stayed until the aurora vanished. We moved on to the Windows area, but didn’t stay long as the colors were muted and occupied only a small area of the sky.

Reluctantly, we decided to call it a night. As we made our way out of the park, Melissa noticed a faint glow in the rear view mirror. We stopped again at Courthouse Towers to quickly check for the aurora using our iPhone cameras, one of the tips Jason had shared with me. Digital camera sensors are far more sensitive to light than our eyes, and auroras that may not be visible to the naked eye, can be easily recorded via camera and viewed on-screen. Much to our delight, the sky was again brimming with color! We stayed until the aurora disappeared completely. This time, I experimented with a lower ISO (400) and longer exposures (20 - 25 seconds), knowing that it would result in cleaner (i.e. less noise) image files. I was also pleased to discover that with a faint aurora, using a longer exposure seemed to result in brighter colors that covered more of the sky.

We pulled into our driveway at midnight. I had a Zoom meeting in just a few hours and though I was eager to download and view my images, I did the responsible thing and went to bed. That night, I dreamt of auroras. In my dreams, I could see them in the sky with my own eyes and they swirled around in a kaleidoscope of psychedelic colors. Following my meeting, I popped the SD card into my computer and began to cull through over 200 images from my incredible night with the northern lights, ultimately narrowing it down to about ten photographs, a few of which are displayed in this post. I guess now I need to order new business cards, so I can add “Aurora Photographer” to my title. ;-) This was an evening I won’t soon forget and if I’m lucky, somewhere down the road, I’ll have another opportunity to experience the northern lights.

A Last Minute Sunset Adventure at Corona Arch

One of the benefits of living in a place like Moab is that you can look out the window, assess conditions, and make a last minute decision to rally for a sunset. Such was the case recently on an unusually warm winter weekend. All day the sky alternated between partly to mostly cloudy, and at three hours before sunset a streak of blue sky spread on the western horizon below a blanket of light clouds. If it held, the sun would drop below the clouds just minutes before sunset and the sandstone would explode with vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow. Having spent the day in the house doing chores and running errands, I felt the need to escape beyond the walls. I invited Melissa and Jackson to join me for a sunset mission at Corona Arch and I was thrilled when they agreed.

We grabbed packs, threw on hiking boots, filled water bladders and were on the road within 45 minutes, arriving at the trailhead an hour and a half before sunset. I was surprised to see several cars bearing out of state plates in the parking lot. Moab locals usually get our town and trails back from the tourists in winter. This being one of the more popular hikes, we’d have to share it with a few others. As we ascended the first steep stretch of trail I looked over my shoulder and noted that the band of blue sky was quickly disappearing. My confidence in a dramatic sunset was beginning to wane.

It’s a quick hike to the arch and along the way a small, contorted juniper tree improbably sprouts from a crack in the sandstone. I’ve passed it at least a dozen times and never once considered photographing it. Today, however, it intrigued me. Melissa and Jackson continued toward the arch as I circled the tree, experimenting with various compositions. From one perspective, the sandstone appeared to form a vortex, perhaps responsible for the forces that twisted the juniper into its tortured shape. After creating a few images of the tree under the soft, diffused light I beat feet toward the arch, only to be stopped once again by yet another lovely intimate landscape.

Bowtie Arch, a pothole style arch with a small seep below supporting a surprisingly diverse hanging garden, greets hikers rounding the corner toward Corona Arch. This creates a weeping wall with patterns resembling abstract art. A small single leaf ash desperately clinging to autumn, leaves still ablaze, caught my eye. Maneuvering to a position that placed the ash in front of the weeping wall, I went to work fine tuning a composition. Colorful leaves backed by the almost monochromatic, textural sandstone provided a visual treat for my camera.

I regularly use the Peak Finder app as a photography tool, not only to learn the names of nearby mountains but more frequently to find the precise location of sunrise and sunset. I glimpsed at the western horizon and saw a hole in the clouds beginning to form. Referencing the app, I confirmed that the sun would set directly through that break in the clouds! I raced toward Corona Arch and begin scouting for compositions to the sounds of a drone flying overhead. Two men were seated directly under the arch, using the drone for selfies. Luckily, they moved out of the way but the drone continued to, well…drone, for the next 45 minutes with only a brief respite when the device required a battery change. So much for a peaceful experience in nature.

Having visited this spot at least a dozen times, I knew of a perfectly placed juniper tree that could be composed such that it filled the inside of the arch. Not knowing how long the sunset light would last, I set up my tripod and dialed in this composition. I then wandered around experimenting with other compositions through my camera’s viewfinder. On the left, a basic image of the arch rising from a sea of slickrock. To the right, a scraggly buckwheat plant that would make a wonderful foreground.

Colorful sunset clouds fill the sky behind the massive span of Corona Arch near Moab, Utah.

Returning to the original composition, I mounted my camera to the tripod, crossed my fingers and waited for the golden light I hoped would materialize. I didn’t have to wait long. Soon, a faint but noticeable glow emerged, quickly moving from pastel to neon as the entire area exploded with warm light! Working hastily, I made a few images, confirming each exposure before moving on to the other compositions. The light would ebb as the sun passed through cloud layers, then blow up again, which made for an exciting evening of photography.

Seeing what appeared to be a shadow of Corona Arch on a huge slickrock ramp behind it, I moved closer to the arch and couldn’t believe my luck. There it was, a perfect shadow! I had just enough time for two more photographs before the sun dove below the horizon. Hungry and chilled, I was tempted to pack it in but the thought of leaving the arch too early, and missing out on a colorful sky, overrode my hunger pangs. Cloud by cloud, the western sky transitioned from purplish blue, to light blue, to various shades of sherbet. As quickly as it arrived, the color faded and darkness began to fall.

We hiked out in the fading light without stopping to dig out our headlamps. The low light and lack of contrast demanded careful attention to each footstep, but we soon arrived back at the trailhead. In almost seventeen years, with more than a dozen visits to Corona Arch, this was the most spectacular light show I’ve witnessed here. Some days, it pays to look out the window and forego all responsibilities for a quick sunset hike!

Check out my guide to photographing Corona Arch, available for only $5.00 and downloadable as a PDF that can be viewed on almost any device.

A Retrospective on Iconography

I haven’t heard the term “iconography” in a couple of years, but in the past it was used to describe, in a somewhat derogatory or condescending manner, the practice of seeking out and photographing the icons of landscape photography: Delicate Arch, Snake River Overlook, Zabriskie Point, etc. Used in a sentence, it would be something like this: (Look down nose and speak in an intentionally nasally voice) “Ugh. Can you believe these people sharing photos of Delicate Arch? Don’t they know that there is nothing new to photograph there? Iconography is just sooo lame.”

Many years ago I wrote an article for the Nature Photographer’s Network website titled “Iconography: A Fresh Perspective”. It was, essentially, written in defense of those who, like myself, enjoy photographing well known, iconic locations. NPN was and still is the premier website for nature photographers to connect and share their work in a friendly, supportive online environment. In the article, which you will find below, I shared tips on how to create unique images at even the most iconic locations. I still believe that photographing iconic locations can be a powerful learning experience for new photographers and a valid creative exercise for seasoned ones. However, given the overcrowding issues at many of these locations and the unfortunate and sickening incidents of vandalism that are becoming more common, I’ve got mixed emotions about promoting iconography.

That original article was written ten or more years ago. Re-reading it today, the content is just as relevant but I believe there are new considerations to be made in light of the increased visitation and changing visitor demographic. Many of these can be summed up with one simple sentence: Don’t be an asshole. Seriously. I’ve heard photographers scream at families to “get out of the way!” while they’re briefly standing under Delicate Arch for a keepsake photo of their one and only visit to Arches National Park. At Mesa Arch I’ve seen photographers jostle others out of the way, or move a neighboring photographer’s tripod without permission. We’ve all heard of the truly enormous assholes vandalizing rock art and ruins (read my thoughts on this here), stealing the mysterious moving rocks at Death Valley’s Racetrack playa, toppling hoodoos in Goblin Valley…the list goes on and on. Here’s my advice: just don’t. Just don’t be that guy or gal. Be considerate of others. Expect large crowds at most iconic locations and understand that every one of those other folks have as much right to be there as you do. Your big expensive camera doesn’t give you any special privileges not held by all those other tourists. Figure out how to work around the crowds. Don’t climb inside ruins so you can build a fire for more “natural light” in your starry sky photo. Think, “Would my mama approve of my behavior or would I be getting an ass whoopin’ right now?”

Don’t like crowds? Consider an off-season visit, or if a location is normally photographed at sunrise, check it out at sunset. Try to find an alternative location from which to photograph. I’ve shot Delicate Arch at sunrise and Snake River Overlook at sunset, the opposite of what is typically recommended at both and you know what? There were fewer people and I made quality images at both locations. Consider it a challenge to your creativity. Or, if you just can’t play nice at the icons, don’t go. There’s no shortage of truly breathtaking scenery that you can have entirely to yourself.

We photographers shoulder much of the blame for the overcrowding we’re seeing now. We produce gorgeous photos and share them online, where they are viewed by Clark Griswold in Illinois, who decides that this summer he and the family are hoppin’ in the Wagon Queen Family Truckster and driving across the country to see the Grand Canyon for themselves…multiplied by thousands. Given that it’s partially our fault the icons are so busy, shouldn’t we visit them with a measure of grace and humility?

Original NPN Article

The 1.5 mile trail to Delicate Arch, in Arches National Park, is a rite of passage for many nature photographers.  We heft our heavy packs and start out across the gentle sandy path, cross the footbridge and are soon standing atop a short series of switchbacks.  Squinting into the western sky, we have a raven’s eye view of the small parking lot full of vehicles and buzzing with activity.  Continuing up the trail we ascend a wide swath of steep sandstone, using small cairns to guide us to the top of the otherwise near featureless rock.  Not long after summitting the big slab of red rock, we walk along a trail literally carved into a wall of sandstone with a precipitous drop to our left.  We round a bend and without warning, Delicate Arch makes a grand entrance right smack in front of our disbelieving eyes.  Through its massive span are the snowcapped La Sal Mountains, whose prominent peaks contrast sharply against a brilliant blue sky.  The scene before us is quite literally postcard perfect.  As our initial awe fades, our eyes stray from the beauty of the scene before us to the chorus line of photographers lining the narrow strip of sandstone at our feet.  It appears as though every inch of this small parcel of real estate has already been claimed by photographers and tourists who have all come for the same reason; to watch Delicate Arch awash in fiery hues during the final few minutes of the day.  So much for solitude! 

Chances are this scenario is precisely what comes to mind when you think of Delicate Arch.  There are tripod legs crossing tripod legs, random banter about photography gear and, during the last few minutes of golden light, the cacophony of a dozen shutters whirring in unison.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have the arch all to yourself and go home with a unique photograph of one of the most popular destinations in any National Park?  Well, you can.  Keep reading and I’ll tell you how. 

Icons have reached “icon” status for good reason.  They are jaw dropping, heart thumping, grab you by the throat and slap you around gorgeous.  In most cases they have become natural ambassadors, welcoming the throngs of tourists who infuse the local economies with a steady cash flow.  Therein lays the “problem”.  All those tourists have come to see with their own eyes the icon they have seen in countless magazines and postcards.  They all hike the same 1.5 mile trail and take a seat on the sandstone next to their fellow tourists, some of whom have come armed with tripods and cameras.  Ninety nine percent of them return home with the standard “La Sal Mountains framed by Delicate Arch” photo that has graced many a postcard.  They are oblivious to the fact that maybe, just maybe, there is a unique composition just around the corner, or down in the sandy bowl or across the way on that imposing bluff.  Along with that unique composition often comes something that so many photographers rightfully seek: solitude! 

I’ve learned that there are two simple rules to finding a new angle of an icon in peace and quiet, away from the crush of the crowds.   

1) Visit in the off-season 

Most iconic locations have an “off-season”, or a time when visitation shrinks to a mere fraction of the hustle and bustle experienced during the prime time.  During the winter months you will most likely find yourself among only a few other hikers who have come to watch sunset at Delicate Arch.  On my last visit, in January, a whopping five people had gathered for the day’s curtain call.  During spring and fall, it is not uncommon for over 100 hikers to be in attendance here. 

The off-season also has other wonderful benefits.  Hotels in Moab can be had for $50/night…including breakfast!  The Arches campground is nearly a ghost town during the winter, offering solitude and a place to pitch your tent that you won’t find in the summer.   

2) Scout it out! 

Whether you choose to visit during prime time or the off-season, scouting the area can and usually will reveal a number of unique compositions away from the crowds.  Arrive at the trailhead a few hours early and use the extra time to explore the area around the icon.  At Delicate Arch, there are a number of wonderful photographs to be had from inside the large bowl just below the arch.  Or, scramble up to the bluff behind the arch for uncommon views of its backside which, in winter, receives most of the warm sunset light. 

If you are pressed for time or simply too lazy to explore, bring along a model.  Including a person in your photo can lend scale to the scene and create a very different perspective, even if the overall composition is a fairly common one. 

Whether photographing an icon or an unknown spectacle of nature, photographers take pride in creating images that move the viewer.  But, there is a certain degree of satisfaction that comes from putting your own individual twist on an iconic scene and coming away with an extraordinary photo.     

I have been told that there isn’t a single scene at Delicate Arch that hasn’t already been photographed.  I have no doubt that many would say the same about the Maroon Bells in fall, Death Valley’s Zabriskie Point or the mighty Tetons from Schwabacher Landing.  I only hope that those who hold such a narrow-minded view won’t discourage others from experiencing the fulfillment that comes from challenge of discovering a new perspective on an old favorite.  To me, that is what iconography is all about.

Switching Gears: An Exercise in Creativity

Last month I co-led a photography workshop in the Tetons with my friend, Jason Hatfield.  We were lucky to have nine incredible people with diverse backgrounds, all of whom came together right away to create a really fun and supportive group.  I had many interesting conversations with our participants, but one in particular remains in my thoughts.  

A talented photographer from Texas rode with me to a sunset shoot one day.  En route we had a lengthy discussion about the challenges involved with photographing landscapes that are vastly different from those of our home turf.  For example, I live  in Moab, the land of red rock, canyons and arches.  I'm comfortable in the desert.  I've learned how to read the weather, find interesting compositions, work the seasons and otherwise be productive in a desert environment.  But as much as I love this arid land, I need an occasional escape.  Maybe I'll run to the mountains, or to the coast, but wherever I end up, it's almost always a vastly different landscape from my beloved desert.  Each time, there's a bit of re-calibration that takes place before I'm able to start seeing and creating images.

There are myriad ways to view this challenge.  I like to think of it as an exercise in creativity.  Photographing in an unfamiliar landscape pushes me to explore an area more thoroughly, which helps me to develop an intimate understanding of the local environment.  I find that the images I make on the first few days at a new location are rarely my best.  As I spend time familiarizing myself with an area, I discover little nuances that lead to opportunities for more dynamic imagery.  And when I return home, I'm rejuvenated.  My creative juices are flowing and I'm looking at the familiar desert landscape with fresh eyes.

It's good to get out of our comfort zones.  It's good to push ourselves, to constantly learn new things and feel free to experiment.  When we do, we grow, and growth always leads to good things.