PREFACE: The complete set of pictures from my trip through the northwest USA can be viewed at this link on my website. That is if you wish to skip my prose! 🙄😇

Have you ever just wanted get in your vehicle and go? Somewhere? Not necessarily anywhere? In December I started my seventy first year 😲 and wanted to head somewhere in search of beauty, somewhere I could listen for the voice of God in the stillness. So, I packed my gear and headed North, just north, with Fernando Ortega to accompany me on lonely state and county roads.

A couple hours down the highway, I pulled off onto US Route 66 and rolled through the Arizona town of Seligman. The first photograph is always the hardest for me and I skipped several interesting possibilities in the small town. Nothing was “calling” to me. That is, until I came to the sign, Seligman Cemetery on the outskirts; they always are on the outskirts, are they not? I like cemeteries. The weather was gray and perfectly fit the subject.

You never know what you’re going to find until you find it. Murmuring the Photographer’s Prayer I climbed out of the truck, set up my gear, and wandered quietly through the poorly maintained graves. Not a living soul in sight. Perfect. And then I was called by the scores of anonymous white crosses; no names; only He knows who lies there. I pondered their stories, their origins, the circumstances that brought them to this place and when. I tried to honor them and Him with this first image.

That cemetery set my mood perfectly as I pressed onward. Now I was primed in anticipation of western deserts and lonely places. Driving, I thought of how I would capture emptiness, loneliness, simplicity, the vast expanses I knew were calling me.

Nothing. All the way over the Colorado River, through and beyond Las Vegas, a good 200 miles, nothing called. When I passed Creech and Nellis Air Force Bases and the town of Mercury, I realized why there was nothing: This is where most of our nuclear testing was done after World War II. I am sure Downwinders know well of this. The image below should give you some idea of the emptiness of this land; I have no doubt the dirt road leads to a distant military barrier.

I had promised myself and my wife that I would not drive at night. Chance made a liar out of me. Night comes early in winter and I came across no places to stay over. Then I saw some bright lights about five miles further on; it looked like it might be a gas station with an adjacent motel. Perfect. But when I pulled off the highway into the parking lot, there were no pumps. As I got closer to the motel thinking at least I’d have a place to sleep, I saw the large unlit sign, BORDELLO, in red block letters of course. Back on the road, in desert darkness I came to Beatty, the eastern entrance of Death Valley. A descent motel and some fast-food BBQ later, don’t deny the reality of inflation 🧐 I hit the rack thinking my first day was good.

After a leisurely Sunday morning spent in contemplation, I set out north towards Tonopah on lovely deserted state routes along the Shoshone Mountain Range. Nobody was going my way and very few vehicles were headed opposite. In the waning afternoon light, I drank in the glorious solitude. Parked by the side of the road, the light, and clouds, and mountains reminded me of pictures I’d seen of the Italian Dolomites. Click to see larger image.

As I climbed back into the truck, the weather was lowering, but somehow I managed to stay just ahead of it. I mused that this was why there might be so few vehicles on the road. Or maybe it was Sunday afternoon and the cold had kept people in. I wasn’t complaining; I was alone, but I wasn’t lonely. Priceless. For half an hour, parked in the middle of the highway in another spot (I could see five miles in either direction), my cameras captured the late afternoon ambiance and sense of isolation.

It was snowing pretty good by the time I made it to Battle Mountain through the darkness. Isn’t it amazing how dark it can be in the absence of street lights? I must have gone about a hundred miles like that, my only illumination the instrument lights, the road in front of my headlights, and the snowflakes whizzing by my windshield. I should have kept on going, but I was tired and hungry so I stopped at a casino hotel and restaurant. After wading through the cigarette smoke to arrange my room, when I opened the door I could smell lingering perfume from late-night assignations, but the sheets were clean and there was a shower so I headed to the restaurant for dinner and a beer. Finished, I retired to my room for a long winter’s nap. Yes, I was carrying.

With an early morning departure from Battle Mountain, there was still ice on I-80, I drove to Winnemucca where I should have stayed the night before; lots of motels off the highway in what seemed a nice town. I gassed up and took off north on US 95 and Nevada SR 140. It was here I began to appreciate the next few hundred empty miles of the road ahead.

I knew I needed to stay awake and pay attention as numerous signs warned of open range cattle grazing without the constraint of fences. Hitting one of those could spoil your truck – and your day. Then it began to snow, my constant companion for hundreds of miles. This was not a problem if you don’t count the steep ascents to and descents from high mountain passes. But I had 4WD, as long as I used it, which I did religiously after one exciting loopty-do. Sometimes, I’m not too smart. Click on images below to expand.

I made Medford Oregon as the sun disappeared over the western Cascades, somewhat disappointed in the paucity of photographic opportunities along the way, but contented to be off the road for the night and able to visit with my aunt and uncle.

On checking the weather forecast with my phone in the morning, I saw that the next two days were projected to be clear. Great news since I was aiming for Bend in central Oregon and hoping to stop at Crater Lake NP as well. Leaving early and eyeing the gray overcast, I nearly clobbered a small buck crossing the highway. It was snowing, again; not a good omen. I thought maybe the park would be above the overcast or perhaps the fog would burn off. No such luck. I was the only foolhardy person on the snow-covered park road and the clouds were getting lower and lower until I found myself in respectably foggy conditions. Finally pulling into the ranger kiosk, I asked if the crater was open. Yes, but only the south rim, one road in, same road out. Fog? We don’t know, our internet is down. How far? Seven miles. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

With a silent prayer, I headed on up the mountain with faith that, if you’re not there, you won’t get to see any miracles let alone take a picture worth keeping. I was pretty gloomy, but then, no lie 😲, the sky opened about a quarter mile from the rim. Glorious sunlight and no traffic, I parked in the middle of the road and crept to the rim through the twenty-one degree snow in street shoes and beheld a sight I hadn’t seen nor forgotten in sixty-five years. The Photgrapher’s Prayer, answered! Click on images below to see a larger version.

I stayed overnight with my cousin Randy and his wife, Connie in Redmond OR; a long-past-due reunion. The next day was brilliant though cold and he took me to Smith Rock for a short hike. Along the Deschutes River, we came upon this beautiful afternoon scene. It is one of only a few in full daylight color from the trip.

Pressing onward, I aimed at northern Idaho to visit another cousin. Though constantly snowing outside, the joy of our visit was not dampened. When I could shoot, it was through the windows and I could only capture that which was offered me: Simplicity. About three feet of snow fell in the two nights I stayed! Below, one example of that which I captured through a window:

From about a hundred miles below the Canadian border in northern Idaho, I left for Boise five hundred miles south through a dreadful snowstorm. The only pictures I captured were along the Snake River in Hell’s Canyon during a brief respite from the storm. I think the light had something of a supernatural quality. What do you think?

After two days in Boise ID with another cousin, I set out east intending to reach Salt Lake City and visit with my friend and former boss who was still Chair of Pathology at the University of Utah. I’d driven this stretch of I-84/I-15 several times and it was crappy weather and 75 mph has a way of holding one’s attention until I was arrested… by a sign for Bruneau Dunes State Park🤣 Not knowing what sort of brown water let alone sand dunes in Idaho might be worthy of a state park, I turned off the interstate for a hundred mile diversion on the chance that something interesting (ie, worthy of photographing) might appear. I think a couple of the best images from my trip occurred during this little excursion. Click on images below to see a larger version.

Each of these have an air of mystery that greatly intrigues me; partly perhaps because of the simple composition. If I had not been prepared to change my agenda, I would have passed them by and missed the gift that was offered. Heading back to the interstate, I reflected on the fact it took nearly ten days for me to begin to understand the purpose, the lessons, of my journey.

Out of Salt Lake City, I took the Loneliest Road in America (US 50) west. Again, I was met with glorious stillness, magnificent mountains, and stretches of emptiness: Emptiness without being empty, a conundrum for sure; frozen orchards, tilled land awaiting the coming of Spring, jagged mountain peaks in the distance, and a bonus, spectacular clouds. Empty, but not lonely. As I came to the border of Nevada, a beautiful panorama opened before me, no other person in sight, just the sound of a gentle wind moving over the land.

After crossing over near Great Basin National Park in early afternoon, I headed south. Now, the slowly setting sun was in my face at times glaring in the windshield. Hours of this and a few hundred miles later, I saw a sign for a state park and pulled into the parking lot; I needed a break. Click on images below to see a larger version.

It was like I’d stumbled into a miniature version of Bryce Canyon! The setting sun perfectly illuminated the formations, accented by just the right amount of snow. If I hadn’t reached the limit of my endurance, I could have invested several hours consuming beauty. If I hadn’t reached the limit of my endurance, I would have missed it all.

Now close to the end of my journey, I wanted to hit Valley of Fire SP in the morning so I found a place to stay close to the park entrance. Just before sunrise I headed out, nobody was attending to the kiosk 😏 so I was on my own. Perfect! This is where a funny story begins. Having avoided the $5 entrance fee 😳 and therefore no map 🙄 I drove along at a leisurely pace and stopped occasionally for a photograph. It only took about an hour to go through, but when I stopped at the manned kiosk (this time) to pay the fee I was told by the ranger I’d missed about sixty percent of the park by not taking the side roads which lead to short hiking trails and proper photographic vistas! Oh well. Sometimes a good deal (not having to pay) isn’t.

At least you can envision some of the fantastic color on this bright and beautiful day. I was within a healthy day’s drive from home, however, and so I continued on, leaving the Valley of Fire for a later exploration. Maybe with friends since it is only about five hours away!

In all, I covered almost 3,500 miles in nine days of driving. And I learned some things along the journey, perhaps more interesting for photographers, but important for all of us. Listen to the stillness. You never are alone. Simplicity is good. Patience – beauty will arrive. By the way, the Photographer’s Prayer, “Lord, grant me interesting subjects and beautiful light.” I think He was listening, too.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this rather long-winded discourse and the few images I’ve selected. The full collection can be seen at this link to my website.