The Terra Galleria Blog – QT Luong

While 2020 has been a challenging year, I am grateful to have been able to find a bit of comfort, hope, and escape in our public lands. For the first time in decades, I spent almost no time in the national parks. Instead, I traveled for several weeks in national monuments, working on my forthcoming book. Thankfully, it turned out that those BLM lands are much better places for social distancing than the national parks, due to the considerably lighter visitation and absence of facilities that concentrate people. Traveling to them also fosters self-reliance, which in turn helps minimize contact with surrounding communities. Links below point to blog posts with more images and details.

In mid-March, I traveled to the Sonoran Desert during the annual bloom, visiting both Sonoran Desert National Monument and Ironwood Forest National Monument. I found both as beautiful as the better known Saguaro National Park. During that trip, I first started the socially-distanced autonomous travel practices that I would keep all year.

In Santa Clara County, we had the earliest shutdown in the country, starting in mid-March, just while I was returning from Arizona, and lasting into early June. This was a period of stringent and (maybe unwarranted?) closures. You couldn’t even go to the beach. In local city parks, bathrooms and playgrounds were all closed. Save for grocery shopping every other week and jogging every other day – that I did on suburban streets rather than trails as the latter are less amenable to social distancing, I stayed home until the early summer.

The spring had totally gone by, and even though summer is my least favorite season to travel, with the (too premature?) re-opening of California and the realization that one must take responsibility for their own safety, I started to catch up with my project backlog. In late June, as a test trip, I headed to Southern California, visiting the southern part of Giant Sequoia National Monument and hiking Mount Baldy in San Gabriel Mountains National Monument. Despite the Southern California heat, it felt good to get out of the city.

In early July, for my only visit to a national park this year, I drove to Roads End in Kings Canyon National Park to pick up family members hiking the John Muir Trail. On the way, I explored the northern part of Giant Sequoia National Monument. With the number of cases rising again, a new shutdown order was imposed. In San Jose, our summer went from bad to worse when the SCU fire became the second-largest in California’s history. It burned less than 5 miles away from our home, and a mandatory evacuation zone was declared less than a mile away.

In September, with the fire contained, I started to plan interstate travel again. Although a minor concern compared to family safety, the fire season was also causing problems for photography. Not only did I have to optimize travel time and take weather into consideration, I also needed to monitor rapidly changing air quality as smoky air can be unhealthy and doesn’t lend itself to great landscape photographs. Normally, I would have flown, as this saves both time and carbon emissions, but in the new normal, I embarked instead on a two week, 3300-mile road trip to public lands in the Northwest, revisiting Craters of the Moon National Monument and Hanford Reach National Monument.

The main objective of the trip was to visit Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument, the last park missing for my new book project. I had planned to go there in September 2019, but a car crash injury had sidelined me that entire month. By the time I had recovered, the ground was already covered by snow in central Montana. This time I caught autumn colors in perfect weather as I floated the river for four days.

In mid-October, barely after finishing processing images from the September Northwest tour, I hit the road again for the final major trip of the national monuments project. It was a culmination of sorts, as my most packed two-week trip to date: 4,000+ miles driven with each day including some off-pavement. With the objective to tighten up loose ends, it was a series of quick stops in many national monuments to locations that I had missed before, starting with the deserts: Mojave Trails, Ironwood Forest in the Sonoran Desert, and the Desert Peaks in the Chihuahuan Desert.

In the Sonoran, I had encountered temperatures up to 95F on short but steep hikes to obscure peaks. The return leg of the trip in Utah and Northern Arizona was marked by temperatures dropping as low as 16F during a day trip into the Grand Gulch, and day hikes up to 17 miles such as the Paria Canyon, but that did little to temper my enjoyment of all the beauty I was privileged to experience. In keeping with my chronicle of that last road trip, I will be writing about those adventures in the next few weeks.

I returned home on Election Eve. Slightly past noon that day, just before leaving Basin and Range National Monument, I made my last landscape photograph of the year a few yards from the park’s boundary.

If you’ve read so far, my sincere thanks for your interest in my work. I wish you and your loved one a safe and healthy 2021.

To those who celebrate the occasion, Merry Christmas!

Day 5

After driving 350 miles straight from Las Cruces save for a gas stop, I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing bright yellow spots dotting the Rio Grande River gorge. Shortly past the village of Pilar, NM-570 follows the river banks inside the gorge as forms a riparian corridor where the foliage of cottonwood trees contrasts with the barren plateaus above. Over the past days, I had been more hurried than I liked because I wanted to get to Rio Grande Del Norte National Monument while the leaves would still be on the trees.

Northern New Mexico as a whole is high desert, and most of Rio Grande Del Norte National Monument is about 7,000 ft. In December and January, temperatures barely rise above freezing even in the middle of the day. Snowfall occurs from November to April. During my first visit to Rio Grande Del Norte National Monument, at the end of December, when from a distance everything appeared bare and brown, a closer look at the shrubs revealed a varied palette of colors. However, as they were quite subtle, I still wanted to capture the lushness of the canyon with foliage. After coming back from a two-week trip to the Northwest at the beginning of October, I was planning to stay home for a month before hitting the road again. When in mid-October I inquired with a photographer living near the monument about fall foliage, he told me that it was turning quickly and would likely be gone by the beginning of November. Thus, I resolved to leave after barely two weeks at home. As I didn’t want to drive more total miles than absolutely necessary, I had to visit my target destinations in the specific order that would minimize the distance driven instead of heading to Rio Grande Del Norte National Monument first. As I was hiking in the desert, my mind was preoccupied by wondering if during those extra days the foliage would hold.

NM-570 stays inside the gorge for six miles past several riverside campgrounds, picnic areas, boat launches, and trailheads in the Orilla Verde (“green banks”) Recreation Area. Past the Taos Junction Bridge, the road turns briefly to dirt and climbs out of the gorge on the west side. As it was already late afternoon, with just two hours of daylight left, I turned around to head to my next destination. On my way up the gorge, I was mostly trying to evaluate possibilities as I was driving, with the idea of photographing on the drive back. On the way down the gorge, I made a single stop at the location that looked the most promising. I started with a wide-angle composition from the pullout, but the roadway intruded in the picture.

Framing more tightly eliminated the part of the roadway on the left of the image. However, a distant segment of it became more visible.

I tried a vertical composition that excluded the roadway, basically the right half of the previous image. While it is balanced enough, the flow wasn’t as good, and besides, I still wanted a horizontal composition.

Since I had exhausted the possibilities from the pullout, it was time to try a new viewpoint. I scrambled down the slope, so I would stand below the road level. From there, the trees hide the roadway.

Compared to the original wide-angle composition, improvements are possible. The river is partly obscured, therefore interrupting the flow, an issue similar to the modern photos of the Snake River Overlook picture where trees have grown since Ansel Adams created his celebrated photograph. The shape of the central riverbank also becomes too prominent.

Framing more tightly fixes those issues, with the arm of the river to the right now leading the eye from the right bottom corner and more prominence given to the trees.

Afterward, I drove to the Taos Valley Overlook. On the way, although a quick glimpse of a faraway view of the gorge looked intriguing, I didn’t stop. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this turned out to be maybe the first miss on the trip.

The Last Road Trip: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | to be continued

Days 3,4,5

Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument protects five mountain ranges located in four detached sections of distinct character straddling all sides of the city of Las Cruces and separated by two interstate highways, I-10 and I-25. To the east, the 20-mile-long Organ Mountains, although they form the second smallest section, are the most developed and most impressive. To the southwest, the Potrillo Mountains are the most remote section of the monument. To the northwest are the Robledo Mountains and Sierra de las Uvas. To the north are the Doña Ana Mountains, the smallest unit. Those three ranges together form the Desert Peaks. Having visited the Organ and Potrillo Mountains in a previous trip, this time my objective was to photograph the Desert Peaks.

Picacho Peak

The Robledo and Sierra de las Uvas section consists of low peaks, secluded canyons, grassy tablelands, and riparian areas. It memorializes the largest amount of human history in the monument. Valles Canyon includes rock art from three cultural periods. Also present are also records of early travelers along the Camino Real, the Gadsden Purchase, Civil and Apache Wars, outlaws, and World War II aircraft training targets. The vast area is little visited, except for the Picacho Mountain Recreation Area located just 7 miles west of Las Cruces.

The route to the Picacho Peak trailhead passes a residential area and follows Loop Road for 0.9 miles after it changes to dirt then turns north towards the mountain. Driving from Tucson, I arrived there with less than one hour of daylight left. Although in retrospect it would probably have been more productive to photograph by drone, after the long drive, I was eager to stretch my legs and instead started the hike to the peak through the well-used and wide trail (2.5 miles round-trip, 770 feet elevation gain). The area was popular with locals for hiking with their dogs, on the way up I met several walking down. Picacho Peak (4954 feet) provides a view of the entire monument, second in the area only to Organ Needle – a much more difficult hike, but by the time I made it to the summit, the light didn’t work very well.

I returned at dawn the next day, arriving at the summit about half an hour before sunrise. While the landscape was beautiful to see at dawn, I thought that the rather flat and distant landforms benefited from the stronger light that occurred after sunrise. The different light required a different foreground composition. Instead of backtracking I continued east and returned via the less used Box Canyon Loop Trail (5.3 miles, 1000 feet elevation gain) that traverses canyons and arroyos north of Picacho Peak. With the sun high and clear skies, I tried to look for places with light contrast and found some on slopes at an angle that made them grazed by the sunlight.

Dona Ana Peak

The Dona Ana Mountains section of the monument is centered around a striking cluster of pyramidal peaks of monzonite porphyry, of which the highest is Dona Ana Peak (5,835 feet). The area is popular with mountain bikers who use the trailhead located at the end of Desert Wind Way, quite a distance from the peaks. Unlike Picacho Peak, Dona Ana Peak is not popular for hiking. There is no signage, official trailhead nor established trails, and for the entire afternoon I didn’t see anybody. There are several ways to get closer to the peaks via unpaved roads, but they all require a SUV. The research I did prior to the trip turned out several accounts of requiring a 4WD truck. Because of the incident on the first day of the trip, this made me apprehensive, but the roads turned out to be only moderately challenging.

To approach the peak from the east, from US-70, I followed North Jordana Road for 3.7 miles, turned left at a cattle gate, right at a power line road, and left after 1.1 miles. From the end of the track to the summit, it was 1,000 feet elevation gain in less than a mile through the valley between the peaks reached by a class 2 scramble, and then a very steep slope with difficult footing straight towards the peak. Although there were sections of user trails, I mostly missed them, but fortunately, spiny desert plants were scattered. When I reached the ridge, the afternoon wind hit me with full force, but once at the top, by descending a bit on the downwind side, I found a spot sheltered enough to enable photos with long exposures at sunset without vibrations. Hiking down at night, by following the arroyo at the bottom of the valley rather than a path on the slope, the hiking was easier than on my way up until the dry watercourse dropped precipitously. I had to scramble up over rocks to reach passable terrain.

Back to Aguirre Spring

During my previous trip, I had misplanned my activities at Aguirre Spring, on the east side of the Organ Mountain. Since Aguirre Spring is the only campground in the monument, after hiking down from Dona Ana Peak, I drove there with the easy plan to photograph the mountains at sunrise. This time instead of being high up on the Pine Tree Loop Trail, I worked from the campground area, with its granite boulders and Chihuahuan Desert vegetation. It was a nice change from each of the two previous days, when starting to hike a mountain well before sunrise, I finished a hike on another mountain well after sunset.

The Last Road Trip: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | to be continued

Day 3

After arriving at the trailhead for Waterman Peak in Ironwood Forest National Monument at 12:30 am, I walked around to locate the trail. Having driven straight from the previous sunset location, I had re-arrange the gear in my new rental car to make room for sleeping before setting up the alarm clock for 5 am. I had two reasons to start early. I wanted to catch the sunrise high up on the mountain. Although it was late October, the Arizona weather forecast still called for high temperatures in the mid-90s, so I was hoping to be off the mountain before the day would heat up.

I could see the lights of Tucson, below, but as they were distant, I expected the quiet of the wilderness. Maybe around 4 am, the noise of an approaching truck woke me up. At first, I thought that maybe some other hikers had the same idea I had. However, it sounded like the truck turned around and left shortly after arriving at the trailhead. Then the same thing happened again, and that time I identified the noise as generated by a large truck. After the third occurrence, I just decided to wake up to see what was going on. A truck – big indeed – appeared to be going back and forth to spray water. I wondered why, but at least, it put me on an early start, as I started the trail before 5 am. Better too early than late.

Waterman Peak (3830 ft) is a rare desert limestone uplift featuring endangered flora such as Nichol’s Turk’s head cactus, a round blue-green barrel cactus, or the elephant tree reaching its easternmost range. The last population of bighorn sheep indigenous to the Tucson basin has thrived there since the establishment of the monument. To protect them, the BLM suggests not hike in the area during the calving season from February to April. My previous visit to Ironwood Forest National Monument was in March. Although the closure is voluntary rather than enforced, and although I wasn’t sure when I’d be back, I had refrained from hiking the mountain tops.

To reach the trailhead from I-10, follow the Avra Valley Road (exit 242 on I-10) for 20 miles, then turn left onto Johnson Mine Road. The trailhead is at the second parking area, 1.2 miles from Avra Valley Road, you won’t have to drive on any unpaved road to reach it.

The trail to the summit (3.5 miles, 1260 feet elevation gain) has the distinction of being the only official trail in the entire monument, but apart from the first half mile that follows an old mining road to a saddle, I found it faint. Fortunately, the rocks on the slope were stable and there was little vegetation, so missing the trail did not matter much. After an hour of hiking, I reached a second saddle, and although it was still too dark to see well, the position looked promising, as it offered views in several directions. I stopped and began photographing, at first using the “bright monitoring” function of the Sony that provides something akin to night vision. Soon enough, dawn arrived, and I alternated between compositions, orientations, and focal lengths as the light quickly changed.

The actual summit didn’t come to view until a broad ramp and required a bit of easy scrambling to reach a narrow summit ridge with excellent 360-degree views. It included a large open-pit mine. The century-old copper mining operation on the south side of Silverbell Mountain moves 3,6 billion pounds of earth every month and has sought to have the monument reduced so that they can assert new claims. Heavily loaded trucks frequently come and go and maybe that was why the road needed to be frequently maintained. The mine foregrounded any wide views of Ragged Top, the monument’s crown jewel – and not so wide views, the last photo above used a 200mm focal length! I figured it out that for a nature image, I could hide the mine with the western summit ridge of Waterman Peak, but with the sun in my back, the landscape lacked any depth. However, when isolated clouds began to quickly move across the land, I sensed an opportunity. It materialized when their shadow fell on the slopes of Silverbell Mountain, providing contrast and separation.

Back to the trailhead, having slept less than 4 hours, I yearned for a nap, but without any shade nearby, the temperature in the car was now too warm. On my way back to the interstate, I pulled out for 20 minutes on the parking lot of a church with a large tree before starting the 300-mile drive to my Picacho Peak. 300 miles you ask? Isn’t Picacho Peak just a short hop north on I-10? Well, I am referring to the less-known Picacho Peak in New Mexico, near Las Cruces. I would need to break the drive with another 20-minute nap before getting there.

The Last Road Trip: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | to be continued

Day 2

In Mojave Trails National Monument, Bigelow Cholla Garden Wilderness, 18 miles west of Needles, protects California’s densest population of the fluffy cactus. The Wilderness area is bounded by I-40 on the north and power utility roads on the southwest and southeast. On my first visit, I tried to drive the later roads in a regular SUV starting from the Water Road Exit, but they seriously degraded towards the east, and I had to turn around before locating the dense stands of cactus. The photograph below, made by standing on the car roof, is the best I could find. Not exactly dense.

Looking for more information about the area, I found the name of a BLM land manager who had posted images. Although he was no longer working in California, by contacting a local BLM bureau, I was able to get in touch with him. I learned from him that the easiest way to access dense stands of Bigelow Cholla cactus is right from I-40, just before South Pass. When planning my next trip, I used Google Earth to try to decide whether to show up for sunrise or sunset. Google Earth has a slider that lets you visualize shading at a given time of the day and year. It appeared that the light would be better at sunset (2nd image) since at sunrise closer hills on the east would block the light, as evidenced by the darker tones.

However, since I would be driving from San Jose and also planned to visit Bonanza Springs, located west of Bigelow Cholla Garden Wilderness before continuing on to Arizona, visiting the Bigelow Cholla Garden Wilderness at sunset meant that I would have to backtrack at night to be at Bonanza Springs for sunrise. Not only that, but I would be parked on the eastbound side of the I-40 and would need to continue east for quite a while to the next exit before going back west. Since it was already high-mileage a solo trip in an SUV, I didn’t like the idea of backtracking. Having read that Bonanza Springs requires 4WD, I also didn’t like the idea of trying to get there at night, when it is more difficult to see the road. So I decided to visit Bonanza Springs at sunset and Bigelow Cholla Garden Wilderness at sunrise.

In the previous entry, you can read how this plan turned out. By the time my replacement car had arrived, it was already mid-afternoon, way too late to make it to my next destination near Tucson before dark. That delay was a blessing in disguise, as it made it possible to photograph at sunset rather than sunrise. Going eastbound on I-40, South Pass has an enlarged shoulder used for emergency parking by trucks, with signs prohibiting non-emergency stops. I made sure to pull over before getting to South Pass. From the freeway shoulder, decent telephoto images are possible, but getting closer is much more satisfying.

Walking less than half a mile into the wilderness, I found those stands more extensive and dense than Joshua Tree National Park’s famed Cholla Cactus Garden. The land slopes towards the west. As the backlight of the late afternoon made them glow, I was elated to be able to walk cross-country around them in topographically diverse terrain with nobody else around, but even armed with a comb and pliers to remove spines, I had to be careful not to brush or even step on cactus segments, as the spines would easily go through my shoes.

I got back to my car as darkness felt around 6:45 PM, and started on the 350-mile drive to my next destination, Ironwood Forest National Monument. For the first half of the drive, the route did not follow freeways, but instead US-95, at this point winding and plied by many commercial trucks. At last, I got in sight of I-10. After refueling, I got my usual Subway veggie sandwich. It turned out to be the most sour ever, and the last time in a week I would buy any food. Due to the vagaries of time zones – Arizona is on MST but doesn’t observe Daylight Savings, the GPS estimated time to arrival jumped up by one hour, making me wonder how much sleep I would get since I had planned to start hiking up the mountain before sunrise the next day. It eventually self-corrected, and I arrived at 12:30 AM.

The Last Road Trip: 1 | 2 | 3 | to be continued

I am excited to be working on my new book, to be tentatively published on September 25, 2021 (National Public Lands Day). On that day of Thanksgiving, I am incredibly thankful for all the people in this country who have helped set apart and protect our public lands, and for the support of all my patrons and readers who have made it possible to continue to do work in them, a privilege made all the more special by the circumstances of this year.

The Antiquities Act of 1906 gave the President the authority to proclaim national monuments as an expedited way to protect areas of natural or cultural significance. From the north woods of Maine to the cactus-filled deserts of Arizona, national monuments include vast lands that rival the national parks in beauty, diversity, and historical heritage.

In 2017, an unprecedented executive order called for the review of 27 national monuments, 22 consisting of lands in the continental United States and 5 of oceanic waters. Back then, I encouraged readers of this blog to speak up for our public lands. At that time, I had been only to half a dozen of the national monuments under review. Since then, I have visited each of those 22 land-based monuments, most of them multiple times and with enough depth to do for them what I did for the national parks in Treasured Lands. At the end of the post, I am including an image for each of them and a link to related blog posts, with more on the way. I am honored that Ansel Adams award-winning photographer, filmmaker, author, and environmentalist Ian Shive, the only non-government person to have visited all the “visitable” marine national monuments, has agreed to provide images and writing about them.

This is the first book to open our eyes to each of those land and water areas under review. Located in 11 states and two oceans, they comprise most of the large national monuments. Combining hundreds of photographs with essays from each of the citizen conservation associations caring for those national treasures, the book comprehensive portrayals help readers understand what is at risk.

Those places, mostly under the Bureau of Land Management supervision, are under the radar and still offer considerable opportunities for solitude and adventure compared to the national parks. However, limited visitor information was available. Accompanying the collection of scenic photographs is an invaluable guide including maps of each national monument with carefully selected attractions keyed, as well as extended captions describing the locations of the photographs. Inviting the readers to experience for themselves those sacred lands and discover the remnants of cultures that thrived there, the book gives us hope that the last wild places in America remain untamed.

You may have noticed something quite important missing from the book description above: the title. I am still trying to decide on this, and that’s where your input would be helpful.

Update: Comments on final title/subtitle choice

Basin and Range

Bears Ears

Berryessa Snow Mountain

Canyon of the Ancients

Carrizo Plain

Cascade Siskiyou

Craters of the Moon

Giant Sequoia

Gold Butte

Grand Canyon-Parashant

Grand Staircase Escalante

Hanford Reach

Ironwood Forest

Katahdin Woods and Waters

Mojave Trails

Organ Mountains Desert Peaks

Rio Grande Del Norte

San Gabriel Mountains

Sand to Snow

Sonoran Desert

Upper Missouri River Breaks

Vermilion Cliffs

Day 1

At Bonanza Springs, the only water source of its size in more than 1,000 square miles of most arid desert, willows and cottonwoods line up a small canyon for half a mile. The watering hole sustains rare Mojave Desert wildlife including tortoises and bighorn sheep. It is a great place to camp and observe them sipping from the spring. We can only hope that nothing happens to it if the company Cadiz Inc is allowed to go ahead with plans to pump groundwater from a nearby aquifer, extracting 25 times more groundwater than is naturally recharged. Tribal peoples in the region also depend on ancestral water sources for their way of life. Bonanza Springs is located about 25 miles east of Amboy on Route 66. From there, it is only 3 miles on Danby Road, which is nothing more than a rocky and sandy single track, but believe the BLM when they say a high-clearance, 4WD vehicle is required. If you are interested in reading more about my car troubles, the story that I wrote onsite while waiting for the tow truck is included below.

Having left San Jose in the morning, I arrived at the parking lot marked by fences and picnic tables with left than half an hour left before sunset. Distant subjects need stronger light, so before the light started to fade, I headed up a trail that lead views of the oasis from a distance. As the sun went down, I walked back to the oasis, using the soft light for closer images that emphasized the organic shapes.

I had driven almost 500 miles on that day, but it was the last 3 miles that would become something to remember.

The BLM warned that the road to Bonanza Springs in Mojave Trails National Monument is for 4WDs. The NPS often says so for any dirt road, but the first clue that the BLM were more serious was right at the start of the road. Although I was expecting it, when the GPS driving app said to turn left, I wasn’t sure that what I saw was even a viable roadway. I drove past it a short distance before realizing that indeed it was the road and it would be rougher than I’d liked.

Less than a mile in, there was a small wash with big rocks. I hit the brakes to have more time to look how to best navigate around them. When I hit the gas pedal again, I got a sick feeling as the wheels started to spin. I tried to reverse with the same result. The sand wasn’t deep nor fine, but this was sandy enough to get stuck. Since this was the very first day of the trip, I felt stupid. I realized that I forgot to pack the shovel, and instead reached for the backpacking trovel – the one used to dig a cat hole for bathroom needs. I dug some, tried again to move the car to no avail. After adding small rocks, I was able to back. I decided it was nothing but a temporary setback and continued, making sure to keep momentum. This was tricky, as there were quite a few big rocks, so a combination of high clearance and 4WD would have been much welcome.

It had taken me less than fifteen minutes to deal with the incident, and I was glad I still had an hour before sunset. Eventually, the road eased up a bit, and I arrived at Bonanza Springs and stayed until dark. The oasis is extensive and a rare sight in the desert. Getting out of the site at night, I made a wrong turn and missed the road. Non-roads and roads are easy to confuse in the desert. After walking back with recorded GPS breadcrumbs on hand, I got back on track. I wondered whether to come out the same way, as I had glimpsed an alternative. Danville Road (yes, this 3-mile stretch of single track had even a name) intersected what appeared to be a wider and better-maintained road that was tempting, but just after a hundred yards, a section appeared sandy under the headlights. The devil you know is better than the one you don’t. I turned around and got back to Danville Road.

As I was making good progress and felt confident, I saw a large rock. I thought I’d have enough clearance and decided to straddle it rather than driving around. It would have worked, except that the tracks were of the same fine gravel that caused me trouble on the way in. With the tires sinking a bit, the vehicle became high-centered. Again, it was less than a mile from the pavement, and now that it was dark, I could see lights of settlements. But I knew nobody would come and help me, and there was no cell phone signal, so I’d have to extricate myself. I reached out for the manual in order to locate the jack. I looked around for rocks to prop it on. I managed to lift the front left tire off the ground, making it possible to fill the space with small rocks. Now the car was no longer touching the big rock. All I had to do was revert the car, and drive around the rock. Upon reaching the old highway 66, having self rescued twice, I felt good.

I was not out of the woods though – if you could say that about driving in the desert. Old Highway 66 was officially closed. There were plenty of signs and posts warning of its closure, but you could drive around them. Sometimes, there were bridges over a wash, in which case the posts would span the entire width of the bridge, but in that case, there was a track going down the wash and around the bridge. People live along the road and have been using it, although it has been years since it was officially closed. I had driven that road two years ago, so the road status would not normally have worried me, but this time, the dashboard started displaying an alarm that read “maximum rpm 3000” with warning signs. I noticed that no matter how I floored the gas pedal, I couldn’t go faster than 55mph on the totally empty road. Worried of breaking down on a closed section of road, I breathed easier when I drove past the last “road closed” sign and reached I-40.

A few miles later, I took exit 120 for Water Road to look for a camping spot. Water Road is paved for a quarter-mile before splitting into dirt roads that I had driven the previous spring looking unsuccessfully for dense stands of Bigelow Cholla Cacti. Numerous places on the web mention it is the largest such collection in California, but back then, I hardly saw any before turning around because the road was degrading.

A commercial truck was parked there, as well as a fellow traveler heading out from the bushes. I thought about parking nearby on the pavement but stuck with my plan to get away from highway noise by driving a dirt road for five minutes. However, after just two minutes of driving, the dashboard now flashed a “low oil pressure, do not drive” sign. I began to understand what happened, and although the dirt road was well graded, I didn’t want to become stranded out of the pavement. I located a spot to pull out, did a u-turn, and parked for the night. When I crouched down to look underneath the engine, sure, there was an alarming oil leak.

Being not much more than a mile from the freeway, I had a cell signal. When I called Lanchi, I only casually mentioned that I hit a rock and the car wasn’t happy. I blamed the European carmaker, WV, for producing such a fragile SUV. As she gave me a “I told you so, this is why I am always worried with you”, I refrained from providing more hairy details, promising to have the rental agency take care of the car. I went to bed and set up my alarm one hour before sunrise time, hopeful that the car would be able to make it less than five miles to the spot along I-40 that a BLM land manager had indicated as a good spot to see the dense stands of Bigelow cacti that had eluded me before. I could not help but marvel at the stars.

In the middle of the night, doubts flashed. Would the car even start? What if it broke down on the interstate? Upon waking up in the morning, I noticed headlights in the distance. Just as I headed out of the bushes, a truck drove by, just like I had driven by the other fellow last night. I envied his ground clearance. My car started, but to my concern, the engine made clicking noises. I kept my speed to the minimum. By a cosmic coincidence, just as the wheels reached the pavement, it came to a sudden stop. Although later It would restart, at this point it did not. Maybe it signaled that the interstate wouldn’t be a safe place to break down?

Although it was 45 minutes before sunrise, there was a group of half a dozen cars gathered there, getting ready for an off-road outing. I waved to them but didn’t even think about asking for help, since it was clear that my only option was to ask Thrifty for a replacement vehicle. I called at about 6:15. When the call ended after quite a few holds, the operator told me to call back at 8, when local agencies would open. They offered a Nissan Versa, but I insisted that I needed an SUV. Even after this misadventure, I still wanted to do more driving on dirt roads, and I had not even packed a tent since I had planned to sleep in the car. The operator agreed to provide one, and when asked for an estimated time, hazarded 2 hours and a half with the caveat that I’d have to wait for a confirmation from AAA. I had rented the car from Thrifty, but at 6am the day before nobody manned their counter, so it was Hertz that provided the car, and now the operator thanked me on behalf of Budget.

I thought that the directions towards the location I had given could not be more clear, but I received another call to confirm them, and yet another. The latter one was from the driver at last. He asked me to use an app to share my location with him. I told him I would have to figure out how to do so, but in the while, if he would tell me where he was located, I would provide him rough directions so he would be headed the right way. His reply Ontario, more than 3 hours away! So much for the day! As the temperature rose to the 90s, there was no shade around. A FedEx truck came for a rest, it’s engine running loudly suggesting the comfort of AC. Instead of being annoyed by the delay, I still felt gratitude that other humans were working to deliver me another car, even it was all my fault.

The Last Road Trip: 1 | 2 | to be continued

Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve is an immense, well-preserved and diverse volcanic landscape with remarkable features spanning 1177 square miles in South Central Idaho. Most visitors spend all their time in the National Park Service (NPS) Developed Area. Although only a small 16 square miles, that part of the monument lives up to its name, is it does include most of the monument’s facilities, among them a visitor center and a well-equipped campground. Since Craters of the Moon is not among the high-profile NPS units, I was surprised that in September the campground had filled out. Of all the areas in Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve, the NPS Developed Area has the densest concentration of natural features. They are reached via a 4-mile loop drive leading to short and well-marked trails.

For an iconic photograph, I sought a high point to picture the vast expense of the monument combined with a defining volcanic feature, but the choice in the Developed Area is limited. To protect resources, off-trail hiking is strictly regulated there – footprints in cinder remain for a long time, so summits such as North Crater are closed to hiking. From the one summit that is open to hiking, Inferno Cone, the Loop Road was too prominent. This led me to look into the Wilderness Area where by definition, there would be no roads. The NPS Wilderness Area (68 square miles) borders the NPS Developed Area to the west, east, and mostly south for a stretch of about 10 miles. Both areas are part of Craters of the Moon National Monument as it was established in 1924, before the huge expansion of 2000. After a bit of research, I determined that Echo Crater would be a promising destination. The crater rises high enough above the Snake River Plain to offer an extensive view of the surrounding landscape. Even if the photos posted by previous hikers were not great, they showed distinctive features that in better light could make a compelling middle ground. I determined that sunrise would be the best time, since I would be photographing towards the NW towards the Developed Area with Big Cinder Butte as a focal point, an angle that would provide good illumination with a bit of cross-lighting.

Craters of the Moon Wilderness is one of the most easily accessible designated wilderness areas in the country. It starts just 0.75 miles from the Tree Molds parking lot, and is accessed via the Wilderness Trail, which is almost flat. The 5-mile trail, ending at a crater called The Sentinel, passes next to Echo Crater about 3.5 miles from the trailhead. The NPS indicated that Echo Crater is a popular backpacking destination, but since the day before was so windy, there is no water there as the volcanic soil is porous, and a backpacking permit is required, I thought it would be simpler to approach it as a day hike. On Sept 25, the sunrise was at 7:24am, so I set up my alarm clock for 4am. The wide trail was easy to follow at night, and as it grazed the crater in pre-dawn, I bushwacked along the steep flank straight east to the top. With sheer walls below me, and a drop of several hundred feet on both sides, the view was even better than I anticipated. In the soft and directional light that occurs 15 minutes before sunrise, I made a satisfying photograph without a close foreground (opening image).

For a second composition to be made after sunrise with more vivid colors, I looked for a foreground to illustrate the beautiful texture of the volcanic rocks, and I also wanted to put more emphasis on the remarkable red cinders of the crater. I scrambled along a ridge and found a triangular shape that I used as foreground. However, it cut into the crater, making the picture difficult to read.

I moved a few steps to the right, which by the way is easier said than done, as the ridge was steep, narrow, and exposed. The foreground rocks now don’t interrupt the shape of the crater, however they don’t detach cleanly against the cinder slope due to the dead tree sticking out.

I lowered the camera by about one foot, thus hiding the dead tree behind the foreground rock. The diagonal of the rock originates from the lower left corner, making a better leading line. The composition is now established, and I just need to wait for sunlight. It was already past sunrise time, but the sun was still behind a bank of clouds on the eastern horizon.

I made the photograph just when the first rays of sunlight reached the crater. The sun was still partly occluded, resulting in light bright enough to enliven the landscape, yet soft enough to reveal all of it.

Less than one minute later, hard shadows have already obscured the crater, as well as broken the cinder cone slope. If I had waited for the sunlight to come before establishing the composition, that interval probably might not have had been enough fore me to get it right. Time to move to a different composition!

Having won in each of the 8 competitions entered (although it took two tries for the Indie Book Awards), I was running out of book awards in which to enter Treasured Lands. I turned to photography award competitions that have a “book” category and entered 4 of them.

What is the difference? For a book award, you send out copies of the book. That makes it possible for the book to be judged as … a book – the whole enchilada, with its physical realization, printing, design, flow. The photography award competitions let you submit only digital files, and not a whole lot of them. Three of those I entered use the same software that limit you to 8 jpegs, including the book cover. 7 spreads is barely representative of a 480-page book. They let you also upload a PDF, but the file size limit is so small that the option was useless for me: even after aggressive image compression, I could not even generate a PDF for the entirety of one of the 7 parts of Treasured Lands. So although the entry is called “book”, it is actually judged as a photo series. I entered the same spreads (Great Smoky Mountains National Park) in all 4 contests.

The outcome? Treasured Lands did not place in the Canadian Applied Arts Photo Illustration Awards. It was awarded the “nature book” Honorable Mention in International Photography Awards, Silver in Moscow International Foto Awards (MIFA), Gold in Prix de la Photographie Paris (PX3).

In the poll, readers unanimously agreed that the additional category in Foreword and the Grand Prize in Indie Book Awards for best non-fiction book of 2020 should be counted separately, so that was 10 awards. 13 is sometimes considered a lucky number, sometimes unlucky. In order not to take risks, I am not counting the honorable mention as a “win” and won’t be entering more contests. A dozen will be enough. Here is the final tally, with links to references:

• Independent Publisher Book Award (“IPPY”) – Coffee Table Books Gold Medal
• IBPA Benjamin Franklin Awards – Arts and Photography Gold Medal
• Nautilus Book Awards – Photography and Arts Silver Winner
• National Indie Excellence Awards – Photography Winner
• PubWest Design Awards – Photography Gold Winner
• Foreword INDIES Book of the Year – Nature Gold Winner, Travel Silver Winner
• Next Generation Indie Book Awards – Non-Fiction Grand Prize Winner, Coffee Table/Photography Winner (Acceptance speech)
• International Book Awards – Photography Winner
• Moscow International Foto Awards – Nature Book Silver Winner
• Prix de la Photographie Paris – Nature Book Gold Winner

Floating the Upper Missouri River in Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument is a great trip, offering the opportunity to connect with a time when the landscape of the West was wild, surrounded by unique and spectacular scenery. It is an easy multi-day adventure that doesn’t require much experience nor effort to arrange. This article explains the basics and details the highlights of the most remarkable White Cliffs section.

The River

The Upper Missouri River is meant to be paddled like Lewis and Clark did. Unlike modern travelers, Lewis and Clark traveled the river upstream, an indication of a placid river. It is indeed forgiving and does not require paddling experience. On the other hand, it is not great for motorized travel. Motorboats are strictly restricted and the riverbed is so shallow that you’d want a jetboat. The Upper Missouri River is Class I with no whitewater rapids. The only difficulty I found was that some landing spots were very muddy. Most boaters prefer canoes for carrying large items such as coolers to make camping more pleasant. Being more used to kayaks, I rented a double kayak, which had enough room for me to toss in my full-size photo backpack and my drone backpack, in addition to camping gear, food and water. I didn’t use dry bags, nor did I find it necessary to wrap my backpacks into waterproof plastic bags.

Logistics

Logistics aren’t difficult. Guided trips are available during the summer. If you’d rather go on your own, Missouri River Outfitters in Fort Benton offers canoe and kayak rentals. Conveniently, you pick up your boat at the departure point and leave it at the take out point. For a reasonable fee, they can also drive your car from the departure point to the take out. The developed campsites where I stayed had vault toilets and fire rings, and sometimes 3-walled shelters. Besides the usual camping preparations, you need to bring your own water. The Upper Missouri cannot be treated adequately by boiling or filtering because of sediment in the water and extensive cattle in the area. The BLM provides an excellent 65-page Boater’s Guide with detailed river maps. A printed copy can be bought online or obtained at the BLM visitor center, but I found it easier to keep track of river miles by GPS.

Time

Most river trips take place from mid-June to early September, and during that period campgrounds can be busy. The shoulder seasons extending a month on either side of the main floating season offer far greater solitude, but the weather is more dynamic and temperatures could drop down to near freezing – two pluses as far as I am concerned. The river flow is about 3mph, faster and higher in the spring, slower and lower in autumn.

The central section, from Coal Banks Landing (river mile 41.5) to Judith Landing (river mile 88.5) consists of 47 miles of river. Some people do the trip in 3 days, but most chose 4 days, and I even met a party who took 7 days. Even with 4 days, staying at the 3 popular developed camps, getting up before dawn and finishing well past sunset every day, and paddling quite hard, getting blisters on my hand, I felt that I could have used more time for hiking because there is so much to see around the river corridor.

Little Sandy

At Coal Banks Landing, a helpful BLM volunteer named Jim helped me carry the kayak to the water and go over the trip. He recommended that I stop at Little Sandy (river mile 46.7) to see ancient tipi rings, a reminder that the area has a long history with native Americans. I landed as soon as I saw the campground, but when I went looking for the tipi rings, the surrounding didn’t quite match his description. I found some rocks on a perfectly flat spot with commanding views of the river, but their shape was only vaguely related to the circles I was expecting. After getting into the kayak, once I floated downstream, I saw terrain matching the description at the other end of the campground – they can be pretty long. I landed and hiked back, only to find a creek between me and the campsite. Not wanting to get my feet wet, I strenuously paddled the kayak upstream. A short stroll above the campground, there were several perfect circles of stones. Robert, a fellow Californian traveling solo (for the 4th time!) who was camped there told me that they were in fact too perfect: modern visitors have added stones to them unlike at the undisturbed site I came upon earlier.

Burned Butte

I arrived at Burned Butte (river mile 55) with less than 30 minutes before sunset. In my rush to land, I had reached a spot that was so muddy that I struggled not to get my rubber boots sucked in. I then made a cross-country beeline for the top of the igneous rock plug, only to find the slope to be too steep and slippery to climb further. I didn’t get high enough before sunset for a good perspective on the river, but going down, I noticed a user trail. Although it was past sunset, I decided to investigate. It led me around the cliff for great views of the river. I was glad I had not given up, as the post-sunset glow turned out beautiful thanks to the clouds. After a few photos, I made sure to go back to my boat before dark, paddling a mile to the camp by moonlight.

Eagle Creek

When I arrived at Eagle Creek Boat Camp (river mile 56) in the dark, not wanting to miss the site, I floated too close to shore and I kept getting stuck on gravel bars. As I eventually landed at the first campsite, a group came to shore to let me know they were using it, and helpfully suggested another location downriver. The most popular destination on the river, the site faces impressive white cliffs well-lit at sunrise. I got up at 4:30 am, after the moon had set, to start an extremely promising night-to-day time-lapse, but sleepy as I was, I used the wrong settings. Next time, I’ve to make sure I don’t forget to review the first images of the sequence. After breakfast, hiking downriver into a narrowing canyon, I scrambled into Neat Coulee, a slot canyon where sandstone has been carved into fantastic curves and shapes (2 miles round trip). That is more the type of scenery that one expects in the Southwest, but I noticed that instead of smooth sculpted walls, those were full of knobs. I focussed on such a section, selecting one where the warm glow of reflected sunlight contrasted with the cool colors that open shade get from the blue sky. Hiking upriver from the camp, after crossing Eagle Creek, I found a site with petroglyphs etched in sandstone cliffs (1 mile roundtrip).

Hole-in-the-Wall

Hole-in-the-Wall, a natural hole within a vertiginous sheet of freestanding rock is one of the most iconic rock formations in the monument. It lies about a mile downriver from the Hole-in-the-Wall Developed Boat Camp (river mile 63) and after an easy approach on the flats, requires some rock scrambling to reach via its top. Even more impressive than the hole, the forest of pinnacles to the east, best lit in the afternoon, presented great depth and complexity in a spectacular setting high above the river. I wished I had arrived earlier at this world-class site to have time to find better viewpoints, especially since it was so windy that I was hesitant to venture out on exposed perches like the plank-like top of the rock. When the moon suddenly rose, I hurriedly scrambled to find a composition with it, and also to shelter my camera from the wind, as the telephoto lens I now used to make the moon appear bigger would be sensitive to vibrations. I had friended a group of three from Montana (Daniel, Jason, Jeff) and they were worried when I showed back to camp way after dark, but this was par the course for me, as when the moon became too bright relative with the landscape, I photographed with it as a substitute for sunrise. That turned out to be a good idea, since clouds moved in unexpectedly during the night. There was fantastic color in the sky for a few minutes before sunrise, when the sun illuminated the clouds from below, and after that, it was all overcast.

Valley of the Walls

The section of river from Hole-in-the-Wall to Dark Butte (river mile 69.8) is graced with the most notable geological wonders in the monument. At Valley of the Walls (mile 66.5), opposite the famous Seven Sisters rock formation, creeks have carved a spectacular canyon. As it is not obvious from the river or during the steep cross-country hike, getting a good view of it from the top of the hills was a rewarding surprise. After a difficult landing, I had started hiking under heavy overcast with nobody else in sight. Since I noticed the light getting brighter, I hanged out at the top in anticipation for the sun to come out, and it did. But that ate up my time for Dark Butte. After a short hike there, I hopped into the kayak to make sure I wouldn’t get to the next camp too late, and just arrived as it got dark.

Slaughter River Boat Camp

Past Slaughter River Developed Boat Camp (river mile 76.8), the character of the monument starts to change as white cliffs are replaced by rugged badlands. The camp is facing some of the last cliffs on the river. The shore next to the campground wasn’t inspiring, as it was somehow muddy and full of footprints, but by hiking half a mile downriver, I found a nice gravel spot. As I was photographing straight towards the east, I knew I had to photograph right at sunrise, before the sun in my back would be strong enough to cast a long and noticeable shadow. That section of the river had more cottonwoods, and therefore more foliage color than I saw on previous days.

More images of Upper Missouri River Breaks National Monument

Part 2 of 3: 1 | 2 | 3