Seasonal Update: (Listen here: https://youtube/watch?v=Degy54_qmp8 ) We are past the midway point in the month of September. Whispers of fall color fill the spaces of air between conversing photographers. Here Greg and I sit in the Mojave, broiled by four and a half months of a mad and over-heated sun. We often speak with desert rats who say they no longer notice the extreme temperatures of the desert. Honestly, I thought after another summer season in Nevada I would have become more familiar with the lingering moisture that has become an intricate feature to my brow, but I was mistaken. I am still not well accustomed to temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, even after a summer in Las Vegas. Admittedly so, it is painful knowing that at ten in the evening the air temperature is still standing in the upper 90s, especially in September. Obviously we have not quite acquainted ourselves with that vermin impulse to no longer “notice” the heat. No, no, the heat lasts far too long in the desert. I was born and raised in different parts of Texas. Growing up in a thirsty landscape gave me the notion that I had a good understanding of the strengths of the sun. I lived in the Midwest during my late teens and early twenties. This acquainted me with extreme cold, often measured at -38F at my house on the banks of Lake Michigan, a severe contrast to my heated Texas upbringing. I spent a few years in Northern Nevada, a climate that I favored due to its warm mid-day temperatures and cooler upper elevation evenings. That area of Nevada has seasons—yes, four seasons in the desert. Imagine that. Years in the Pacific Northwest taught me about moisture; the rains and gentle precipitation of Oregon and Washington linger, still today, quite heavily on my mind. They are faded memories now as I sit under the Mojave sun anticipating a few more weeks of the heat. Moving back down to Nevada I knew my Pacific Northwest coastal lifestyle which had accustomed me to an overcast low ceiling and cool temperatures had spoiled me completely rotten. I knew that summer here would come, but I sat in denial for most of our spring, by my pool—my office. And here I am today, on the other side of summer—a survivor. Dare I say I survived a “REAL” heated summer? I can rightfully declare; Texas ain’t got nothin’ on Nevada when it comes to extreme temperatures. We compulsively weather-watch, searching for breaks in the heat, a cooler and elevated place, monsoon light, flooding desert floors, and most recently—fall color. Landscape photographers favor the Golden Hours—the moments at sunrise and sunset when the sun lingers low on the horizon, emblazing landscapes with saturated smears of colored light. The “Golden Season”, if you will, is Fall. This is the season of shimmering hues of dandelion, amber, painted rust, warm vanillas, and saffron-tinted leaves and grasses. Golden Light. Golden Land. Golden opportunities for creating inspirational photographs. I must admit I am troubled with the task of romanticizing fall color while facing daily High Temperatures that are still in the 90s in Las Vegas. My body and mind ache for cooler air, but we are fortunate to live in an area that not only offers extreme contrasts in terrain—high elevation ancient forests juxtaposed with the Joshua Trees and Yucca of the desert floors—but also contrasts in temperatures. It takes but a short drive to escape the relentless heat of the Mojave. This has been my saving grace over the course of the past few months. Now, as Fall colors beckon our cameras’ attention we are ecstatic to put years of planning into motion. Greg and I have scouted Southwestern fall color locations both digitally and on foot for years. We have carefully designed weekend trips for the next few months to help us visit and backpack to each location to study the light and vibrant colors of the trees. Our first quest for color begins this weekend and I am delighted at the prospect of spending three days in the 60s and 70s, chasing the light. Moreover, I am especially interested in visiting these new locations which we have worked diligently for years to find. On Friday they will jump out of our computer screens and off of maps and lay before us in their natural environments. We look forward to the solitude and seclusion our adventures and the changing seasons have in store for us. Stay tuned… -Lara
Posted on: Wed, 17 Sep 2014 20:46:50 +0000
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