Preface

I was planning a follow-up to my January blog on Embracing Solitude with Desert Solitude. After this, I was going to write about my trip to the west coast of Vancouver Island near Tofino with two photographer friends, Terry Jackson and Christophe Potworowski. But then the virus hit, closely followed by the quarantine. Funny how life interjects and reminds us we are not in control, and our plans must change. Like so many, cooped up at home, I sat in front of my computer and watched the drama unfold; being a former clinical immunologist and having worked for a long time with influenza virus, I have a relatively unique vantage point. I was also working through my photographs from both trips and sharing glimpses of beauty on my Instagram account hoping to remind my friends to embrace beauty and count our many blessings.

Arriving at this date, May first, since I had just posted 66 images on my website, I decided to share both trips with you, interspersed with some spectacular shots of sunrises and sunsets illuminating the red cliffs of Sedona along with some fun abstracts, or doodles, really. So, consider this a twofer! It is a gift, a virtual “non-self-distancing” hug from me to you. We will emerge from this stronger than before and doom-sayers notwithstanding, I suspect the “new normal” will look a lot like the old normal. At least that is my prayer.

Enjoy!

Desert Solitude

For reasons I cannot fully explain, I am drawn to the desert. So, I returned in early January to Death Valley for my third visit, this time alone. Dragging my trailer behind my truck, I pulled into a likely camping spot; not a soul in sight. Perfect. Along with a book by Sharon Butala recommended by Freeman Patterson, I had enough food and water to wander in the desert for three or four days and nights.

Some of the highest sand dunes in the world loomed about a quarter mile from where I had set up my camp. Even though it was late morning by the time I was ready to hike up into them, the oblique angle of the winter sun was still casting intriguing shadow patterns. I loaded up and headed off into untracked sand to find ripples and crests and sensuous curves; if you’ve never ventured into sand dunes, you cannot understand what I am saying. Though nearly barren, the sand is alive. With creatures that leave their mark in passing. With movement, sculpted by wind and sparse rain, it is said that the dunes can sing, producing a basso profundo as from a pipe organ, which I would love to hear, but never have.

It was cool. Hiking in the bright sun was quite comfortable and I was delighted with my solitude. Cresting the top of one of the dunes, I am guessing about six hundred feet high, I stopped to take it all in, thinking about how fortunate I was to be in that place, at that time. With gratitude, I knew this had been created for me, and a prayer of thanks swelled in my heart.

Patterns in the sand. It was interesting that such details would call to me, but this has been a recurring theme in my photography, too. The detail that piece by piece makes up the part, which rock by rock, makes up the whole. The entire universe is made up of quantum sand! …you can get a little crazy out in the desert. With joy, I started to pick out these pieces, these individual voices, as they began calling out to me.

Some were perfect. So pristine, so smooth or so well-formed, so sublimely curved, like I've alluded to above, so profoundly feminine I was drawn in, lost in their warmth. Below, a few images of flawless figures in the sand.

In contrast, there were many that drew me to jarring juxtapositions of form and texture. Deep shadows, scruffy plants, tracks of all kinds; at first I resented these scars, footsteps left by interlopers, these intrusions into my landscapes! However, it began to to dawn on me, not so much then, but now more as I write this, they were part of the whole, flawed perhaps, but no less beautiful.

I roamed the sands into the mid-afternoon. It was enough for one day and I headed back to camp. As the sun dropped towards the horizon, so did the temperature and no amount of bundling helped so I set up the propane heater, mounted my cameras on their tripods, took to my folding chair in front of welcome warmth, and meditated about the changing light on the dunes. A dear photographer friend of mine said in effect, only two things have those sorts of curves, women and sand dunes. I think he’s right!

One additional highlight before I pause; later that evening, the full moon transfixed me as it arose over the dunes. So quiet. So cold. So sublimely beautiful! I watched the light change off and on throughout the night and was finally able to capture the dunes bathed in that unique glow several hours later as the moon was setting behind me. It is a fitting close to this episode.

Rainforest Reprise

When my friends contacted me from Vancouver BC and invited me to join them for a photo week in Tofino on Vancouver Island, I wrote back, “Where’s Tofino?” Nonplussed, they wrote back with Google references and a copy of a web page depicting the cabin we ended up renting. Tofino is on the west coast of the island, about four hours north of Victoria, but that’s if you are not a photographer.

Through small towns, seaside harbors, rainforests, and magnificent mountain vistas we drove, stopping whenever the spirit moved us. We were often moved. I had just come out of Death Valley a couple weeks previously and the cool, refreshing green of the forests and Canadian countryside was a bit of a shock; I was still reflecting on the significance of the many face masks in evidence when I landed at the Vancouver airport. The world seemed to be coming unhinged.

Once under way, our first stop was at a regional park on highway 4. I remember I was frustrated for some reason; not in the mood; nothing was calling to me it seemed. Then I stopped thinking and began pressing the shutter button. I’ve thought a lot about this since my return to Arizona, but I think I didn’t understand until I was writing about it just now. The world was headed into an apocalyptic frenzy and yet, the woods seemed undisturbed; there is something about the eternal in a rainforest. Peace, it spoke to me. I was frustrated trying to “capture” it, but I share my first image from the forest because it really did call to me. I did not recognize then what it was saying to me now.

The cool moist air, the warm soft light filtered by the canopy above, the stillness. Yes, the stillness even though there were plenty of people around. The record of past catastrophes littered the forest floor and yet, the forest thrives! If this is not metaphor, I don’t know what is! Peace, be still. And joy began to emerge again, my location, my friends, my camera, in that place, in this place. Place; space. When; time. Space, and time. As my friend Freeman Patterson just wrote in his newsletter, “Pandemics are common.” In forests, in history, even in the universe; the birth of a star results from another star’s tragedy. The lesson to me: Remember the eternal; peace, be still and know… I don’t understand this line of thought completely, why it seems to bubble up from somewhere inside unexpectedly, but I am grateful for it.

Canadians are so hospitable! They had constructed this magnificent boardwalk winding through the woods and a few minutes later down the trail, it led me to a stream, running fresh and clear and cold. Two birch trees caught my eye, standing in the midst of flowing water, sparkles of sunlight dancing around them. Another metaphor, perhaps? Although we are surrounded, we will survive.

Christophe and Terry were delightful companions. We had fun discussing the day; they were not bad cooks, either, aided and abetted by some really fine Scotch whiskey! I slept like a log, except when Christophe shook the rafters with his snoring! Ah, well. The wide flat beach was only a short walk and was punctuated by shallow fresh water streams that were easily hopped over by strolling couples. One such image turned into this abstract:

Though small, Tofino harbor made a worthy and fun venue for some mid-day photography. One example below took advantage of a moored boat bobbing on the water along with multiple exposures of the same frame.

We returned to the cabin for a short nap. Nothing better than like-minded travel companions! Later, to catch the late afternoon sun, we headed south along the shoreline. After hiking through another rainforest park, we raced off to Incinerator Rock just in time for the setting sun. At first, I was not impressed. From the surface of the sand, the flat aspect ratio was just not very intriguing. Plus, every person on Vancouver Island seemed to have the same idea in mind as evidenced by countless arms raised in selfie salutation. One rock towered about 80 feet above the beach and, better yet, nobody was crawling all over it! At sixty-seven, my agility is not what it once was, but undeterred, I clambered my way to the top and set up my tripod. I drew quite a bit of attention, but nobody seemed inclined to join me. Priceless! I waited for the sunset and thought about a bracketed exposure given the dynamic range presented by the scene, and much improved from my new vantage point by the way. But then I remembered my Death Valley experience and I patiently waited for the sun to drop below the horizon. Still, a high dynamic range photograph, I was nevertheless able to capture it in a single frame. Satisfied, I carefully picked my way down to the sand almost losing my footing and tumbling head over heels a couple times. That would have resulted in a different story!

Our last day, we headed out pretty early. The road work was delaying surprisingly heavy traffic and I was a little bit anxious about missing our ferry reservation. By this time, I was rather “done” with rainforests and beaches and was looking forward to getting back to Arizona. We seemed not to be making very good time. Suddenly, Christophe turned off the road saying there was a little park he wanted to check out. Rolling my eyes, I resigned myself to the inevitable, not in control, once again. Qualicum Falls was an absolute delight and I quickly forgot our schedule. Rather poor light provided opportunity for slow-exposure shooting and making my near final photograph of the day, we raced back down the trail in hopes of not missing the ferry. We didn’t, but just by a whisker!

Fin

Arriving back in Arizona, the situation with the virus pandemic had not improved. Christine and I had less than a week to smuggle my dad out of California and abandon him in his new digs in Cottonwood, just fifteen minutes from our home, but now in lockdown nonetheless. Then our quarantine started. I am mindful that even in the midst of disaster, beauty remains close at hand. Whether it is found in the kindness of strangers or the hands of a musician, it demonstrates and reminds that humans can be quite noble, the worst often bringing out the best. Being an expert in a field sometimes gets in the way of the human experience and I was certainly no exception. Despite the circumstances, I was often surprised by joy in a sunrise, in my wife playing the piano, in a fiery sunset enflaming the red cliffs of Sedona. I leave this final images with you as a reminder, a metaphor for the rainbow, we may be quarantined in solitude, but we are not alone.

Bless you and hang in there.