Calm Photos

January 18, 2000 - The day had started with a blessed sighting of a Bald Eagle, just outside of Kanab, Utah, and ended with a Chevy Tahoe stuck knee-deep in sand in Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. But as I’m fond of saying, all was well that ended well.

It’s amazing how just one day of experiences can provide so many lessons, mistakes and images that can impact all the other days to follow.
As a photographer I’m fortunate enough to have captured and gathered a growing library of images that remind me of those days, along with some notes in my archived daily pages from my Franklin Planner.

This image is a perfect example. I photographed this small slot canyon in the Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area in northern Arizona, just below the state border with Utah. It was taken late in the morning of the January day, somewhere near the Wire Pass Trail. The technical specs behind the shot include a Canon Elan IIe EOS 35mm film camera, a Vivitar 28mm wide angle, an old consumer-brand tripod and Fuji Velvia transparency film. But what is more important is how I came upon this image and the story behind it.

Please allow me a moment to set the stage with some additional background information. At that time in my life I was living in Salt Lake City, Utah with my wife Kristie and our oldest daughter Emma, who at that time was only 10 months old (today, April 10, 2007 is her 8th birthday). I was working as an account manager for a helthcare company that provided Employee Assistance Programs. It was my job to visit client groups throughout Utah and conduct on-site training programs that came with the EAP benefit. I was still attempting to make a go of it in the corporate world (a path I still regret going down to this day). However, one of the positive aspects of that job was the opportunity to travel not only throughout the entire state of Utah but in Wyoming, Idah and Montana as well, going through some of the most scenic locations that can be found out west.

That particular day - Tuesday, January 18, 2000 - I was between training programs, one the previous day in Cedar City, and the other the on the following day in St. George. Since I had already made the two-hour drive down from Salt Lake I was given the opportunity to have somewhat of a “open” day, so I jumped on the opportunity to hike and photograph some of the famous slot canyons that dot the remote landscape along the Utah-Arizona border. In particular I was looking for “The Wave” - a spectacular slot canyon that was very popular amongst nature and landscape photographers. The problem is that it is EXTREMELY difficult to find. It’s not marked on most maps and all most people have to work from is a general idea of its’ location, which lies somewhere in the Paria Canyon-Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area of Arizona. The key word here is “wilderness.”

After checking-in with the Bureau of Land Management office in Kanab, and purchasing my required day hiking pass, I set-out for the trailhead, an area off a two-lane country road without any signs. I was told to make the turn on a dirt road right before a bridge. This was about an hour drive from Kanab, Utah.

Along the way I had my first clue that this was going to one of those “special days.” Just off to the left amongst the scrub oak and sage I spotted the bright white head and tail feathers of a Bald Eagle. He or she was perched on a fence post. What was unusual about this sighting is that it was a Bald Eagle who was not near any river, stream or other body of water. Naturally I slammed my Chevy Tahoe to a stop and ran to the back for my camera gear. I knew it was a long shot and I probably wouldn’t be that lucky for the eagle to stay put while I put my largest telephoto lens on (which at that time was a Canon 300mm f4 IS lens), but it was worth a try. Of course he waited just long enough for me to have the lens on ready to focus when he flew-off and headed for a post further away. Regardless I did take some shots, but nothing worth keeping. What I did keep was the image in my mind’s eye of that beautiful, wild animal lit-up by the rising January sun in that high desert terrain of the Utah-Arizona border.

I continued with my journey to “The Wave,” passing my turn-off point at least two times before realizing that it had to be the dirt road I was looking for. After a dusty and bumpy ride for several miles I came to what looked like a small parking area and a trail head. Nearby was a primitive-looking sign stating “Wire Pass Trail” with a friendly warning that the trail eventually becomes “unmarked” a couple of miles into the area where the slot canyons could be found. This was deliberate as a way of “protecting” the area from too many visitors. Normally trails in canyonland and desert can be followed by looking for little piles of rocks placed a various intervals to let you know you are on the right track. Traversing this trail was dependent on one’s knowledge and previous visits to the area, or accompanied by an experienced guide, which I was lacking in both.

The problem with me is that when I’m out in an area such as this, with a photographic objective in mind, I plow ahead despite the inherent risks. For a while I was able to follow footprints, but then the trail turned cold as it entered an area that was mostly rock. I still had not found “The Wave” slot canyon after about five miles on the trail. So I came to the point where I could keep going, either getting lucky or becoming completely detached from any sign of the trail and end-up becoming a part of the landscape versus just visiting it. Or I could stop where I was at and explore around in the vicinity of a spot from where I knew could find my way back to the trail head. Fortunately for me reason the ruled the day. Besides, my time, water and food were rather limited.

Although I didn’t find the particular slot canyon that I was searching for, I did come across a smaller, less dramatic formation. Posted at the beginning of this blog entry is the image that resulted from that discovery. Below is another image from the time I spent exploring the area.

What always strikes me about being in such a remote and wild area, particularly in the deserts and canyons of the southern Utah, is the absolute silence. There is no sound, other than the wind, and the first time I experienced it was absolutely amazing. Because of the nature of our daily environments many of us do not know what it is like to experience absolute silence in nature. For some this would be very discomforting. For others it can come as soothing relief, offering an opportunity to be still and listen beyond the noise that bombards us from the outside as well as from all of the noise that builds-up within.

Where I found myself that day is also one of those natural areas where you can literally see the eons of ages past written into the rock, each layer representing thousands of years. My knowledge of geology is limited to one, required lab-science course during college, but I know enough to realize how sedimentary rock is formed, and just how long it takes. All the life that came before is written in the stone with the combined brushes of wind, rain and erosion.

After a couple of hours of exploration, photography and contemplation, I decided it would a good idea to find my way back to the trail. Even though I remained close to where I had ventured off the trail, it was still quite a challenge to re-trace my route on solid rock versus dirt or sand or anything else that would hold a footprint.

By the time I reached the parking area at the trail head it was late afternoon. This being January I knew I did not have much daylight remaining, yet there was still another area that I wanted to get to and photograph - the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park on the other side of Kanab, Utah. Arriving at about 4:30 PM I knew I had only about two hours of daylight to get into the park, find a trail head with a relatively easy trail and photograph some of the brilliant colors that can result from a late winter sunset combined with oranges and reds of canyon country sand dunes. I soon came upon something even better - a dirt road that allowed access to the sand dunes of which the park was noted for. I thought to myself “hey, no problem, Chevy Tahoe with four-wheel drive.”

After about a 1/4 of a mile I began to understand the difference between dirt and sand and how four-wheel drive actually works when in off-road conditions. Instead of having two wheels spinning and sinking in sand, a four-wheel drive vehicle simply multiplies that effect and speeds the along the process of having one’s vehicle actually sink into the ground.

I was stuck. The sand was all the way up to my floorboards, and the more I tried to get unstuck, the deeper I went.

Now here I was toward nightfall in a remote area of Utah wilderness, with my vehicle firmly planted in the ground, no cell phone signal and no one else around to help me get out of the mess that I found myself in. I decided to walk back to the main road and just hope that someone would still be in the park. It was either that or start on the 25 mile hike back to Kanab. This day had suddenly become the one where I pushed my luck, gambled and lost. I was lucky the first time to find my way out of the Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area only to later find myself stuck and alone in Coral Pink Sand Dunes.

What was my wife Kristie going to say ? How would I explain this one ? In my drive to capture nature and landscape photographs that were unique and from locations off the beaten path, I went beyond the common sense limits of appropriate caution and care.

Out on the main park road I tried for another cell phone signal. Nothing. Then I waited, hoping that someone, just someone, would be still in the park and on his or her way out. But I know it was long shot. It was the middle of winter - far from tourist season - and this was one the lesser known scenic areas of southern Utah. As the very last remnants of the light of day were fading I suddenly heard the sound of a car approaching and the flickering of headlights. “Yes, I’m saved !” I flagged down the car. I don’t remember the driver, but he did stop and was quite surprised to see me. He was on his way back to Kanab and said he would stop by the local towing service and have them come out. He was a local and seemed to have an expression that this wasn’t the first time that some dumb out-of-towner got himself stuck. But he was nice, cordial and helpful - qualities that I would soon come to appreciate about people in small town America, particularly Utah.

After about another hour I saw the approach of the tow truck. Out stepped Mr. Ramsey with a “got yourself stuck, huh.” Yep. “No problem. This happens all the time.” Once again, another nice guy from Kanab. However, after I showed him how far back I was on the sand road he informed me that there was no way he could get his truck back there without getting stuck himself. It was then that I really started to feel dumb. “But my son has one of those trucks with the big ‘balloon’ tires, made for four-wheeling in sand. That’s what you need to have on a vehicle if you’re going to drive on this stuff. The bigger the tire, the better.”

So Mr. Ramsey headed back into town, and about another hour later he returned with his son, with his son following behind in what would definitely qualify as a monster truck due to the four foot clearance off the ground from the huge tires. There was a time when I would like at four-wheelers with tires that big and wonder aloud “why such huge tires ?” Now I know. His truck went right back to where my Tahoe was and from the back they attached cables to my tow hitch and then taught me another lesson about driving in sand. If you let a bit of air out of your tires you can widen them, thus providing more traction. Sure enough, after the monster truck gave a few tugs back and forth, my Tahoe came up and out of its’ temporary grave of quick sand.

My Tahoe was towed back into town by Mr. Ramsey. I now needed to have air put back into my tires as well as have the vehicle looked over for any damage I may have caused. I rode back in the monster truck with his son and a whole bunch of spent shot gun shells covering the passenger side of the vehicle. On the way back into Kanab I was told how lucky I was and that they have seen much worse in the way of tourists and off-road accidents. “Wait till we show you our photo album.” Sure enough, once back at the shop, I got a look at the photo album that included picture after picture of rental RV’s rolled over, smashed, crashed, stuck, etc. “The Europeans are the worst. They come every summer wanting to visit the old west they see in so many American western movies. They’ll rent these RV’s without any idea of how to drive them on these small, back-country roads. Every summer it’s the same thing, over and over again. Off the cliff they go when they can’t make the turn.”

I started to feel better. At least my vehicle wasn’t crashed, sitting at the bottom of a canyon with me as coyote bait.

More importantly, I realized the importance of the kindness of strangers. People who don’t think twice about stopping and offering to help. It’s still alive and well, but unfortunately such qualities are relegated to the back country and small towns of rural America.

I try to keep the lesson of that day firmly planted in my mind, and like they say, I try to “play it forward.”

Later that night, after returning to my hotel room in St. George, I called my wife to tell her what had happened and why I was so late in phoning. She laughed it off, chalking it right up there with all my other dumb mistakes, bad calls and misjudgments.

I went to bed tired but happy - happy that I was blessed with a bit of good luck at the very last minute, and happy that there were still Bald Eagles and people in the world like Mr. Ramsey and his son. And I would never again make fun of monster trucks again.

All was well that ended well.

p.s. - One of the many lessons I learned that day was to always be prepared when headed out on the road and trail for a day or two of nature and landscape photography. This lesson, and what I do today to prepare, is the subject of my most recent entry over on Photodoto.com, titled “The Things I Carry.”