Beyond the Rim

Crater Lake National Park, located high within the Cascade Mountains, provides visitors with knowledge and beauty the way her volcanic eruption produced lava 7700 years ago—steadily flowing with periodic bursts of insight and wonder. Her indigenous allure aroused deeper exploration, so I detoured off the grid and slowly trudged into the forested abyss. Just beyond the icy caldera rim, America’s deepest lake mirrored the prodigy of the night and created a liquid snapshot of man versus nature.

My latest image, “Beyond the Rim” was chosen as NASA’s Astronomy Picture of the Day (APOD) and is displayed today, April 25, 2012 on its website http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap120425.html. Each day an image or photograph relating to our universe is chosen by Astronomer and Astrophysicist Robert J. Nemiroff Ph.D., and Astrophysicist and Staff Scientist Jerry Bonnell, is made available to a huge fan base worldwide, and used as a tool for educational discussion and academic debate. I consider this opportunity a great honor because the APOD archive contains the largest collection of annotated astronomical images on the internet and is a highly respected resource for those in the field. Join me in celebration by clicking on to its website and having a look, or go to www.goldpaintphotography.com to view more of my astrophotography and landscape work.

To purchase prints, visit http://www.goldpaintphotography.com/purchase/.

I will be giving a Landscape Astrophotography Presentation at the Cascade Center of Photography on July 28th 7pm (doors open at 6:30pm). Click HERE for more info.

“Brad Goldpaint will present a slideshow of his landscape astrophotography images and time-lapse videos at the Cascade Center of Photography. With the increase of light polluting cities, most have become disconnected with the night sky. Brad has searched the desert floors and high altitude mountain ranges in search of the darkest areas in the Western United States. For 2 years, Brad spent his time escaping city lights and photographing the Milky Way, meteor showers, star trails, lunar eclipses, and additional elements. Brad will talk about obstacles he has overcome, factors involved with capturing the night sky, and many stories behind his images.”

Following this presentation will be an ‘Introduction to Landscape Astrophotography Workshop’ on August 18th. Sign up early! Space is limited. Click HERE for more info.

Hope to see you all there!

Cascade Center of Photography
390 SW Columbia Street, Suite 110
Bend, Oregon

Zodiacal light is a faint, roughly triangular, diffuse white glow seen in the night sky that appears to extend up from the vicinity of the Sun along the ecliptic or zodiac. It is best seen just after sunset and before sunrise in spring and autumn when the zodiac is at a steep angle to the horizon. Caused by sunlight scattered by space dust in the zodiacal cloud, it is so faint that either moonlight or light pollution renders it invisible. The zodiacal light decreases in intensity with distance from the Sun, but on very dark nights it has been observed in a band completely around the ecliptic. In fact, the zodiacal light covers the entire sky, being responsible for major parts of the total skylight on a moonless night. The dust forms a thick pancake-shaped cloud in the Solar System, collectively known as the zodiacal cloud, which occupies the same plane as the ecliptic.

I’ve outlined a closeup image of the zodiacal light in the image below so you can see what I’m referring to. It is faint, but definitely obvious. All in all, I experienced an incredible night of shooting and feel very fortunate to have had a break in the weather, just long enough to enjoy the galactic show.

What you will be learning:

• Understanding basics of the night sky (Earth’s orbit, location of the Milky Way, meteor showers, moon cycles, etc.)
• Introduction to various camera gear and settings
• How to focus your lens at night
• How to capture the night sky (Milky Way, star trails, long exposures)
• Noise reduction (how and when to use it)
• Working with light pollution
• Photographing the moon and moonlit landscapes
• Light painting techniques
• Time-Lapse photography
• Post processing techniques

For more information and to schedule your workshop, visit http://www.goldpaintphotography.com/workshops.

Looking forward to capturing the night sky with you!

I popped up before our 6am alarm alerted us to quit being lazy asses and get the hell out hiking. We loaded our gear, checked out of the hotel that represented the creature comforts of society, and headed to Schatz Bakery for hot coffee and huge egg croissants. The bus ride to Tuolumne is first come first serve, so we arrived at the pick-up place in plenty of time. Surprisingly, we were the only hikers there and among perhaps 8 on the entire bus. We arrived to the trail head amid total chaos. Bumper-to-bumper traffic, busloads of tourists, day hikers, groups of kids high on sucrose, and wannabe backpackers with too-heavy gear surrounded the trail head; we could not begin hiking out of there fast enough. Today was planned to be our induction-back-to-the-trail-after-months-of-no-training day. 10 miles of flat terrain through Lyell Canyon bestowed towering waterfalls, wildflowers, well fed deer, and a welcome reprise from civilization. Our steady conversations and Brad’s quick wit, the way he talks in circles but jumps back to something remarkable just when I think we both need a dose of meds, floated across the pathways and hovered around us like the eagles flying above. Just like last year, time on the PCT weaves together voices and the bodies and spirits of all those who have ventured out before us. I think it forms an important lifeline between where we have come from and where we are headed. The trail was very muddy in many areas and we had more creek crossings from the snow melt than last year. Today we hiked 10 miles with much too heavy packs full of camera gear, but our bodies felt strong. We had plenty of time to scout a great camp site near the river with peaceful solitude, and set up camp. We picked a safe and secluded spot that offered a warm stream of air, near a cool river that took us from the edge of our real lives and into the heart of the wilderness. The gentle sounds of nature and from intimate conversations became a slow rumble itself that quickly became the foundation for our trip.

The first morning rays awoke me promptly at 6am. I stepped outside the tent, zipped up the opening to keep the flesh biting mozzies out, and let the crisp, clean, morning air touch my face, hands, and arms. Then I noticed the wind shifting off the mountains and the way the light bounced over the river but never seemed to stop, as it pushed from one landmark to another. Again I understood, sitting in this one spot, how a vision like this could make you want to alter your whole life. The countless hues of blues and greens appeared and then vanished into small shadows as if to say, “…this way, the trail is this way.” Alas, my job during our mornings is to get our coffee brewing. As I’m waiting for the fresh snow melt to boil, I’m mesmerized by the unfolding of morning in the mountains and I do not want to miss one blink of a cloud or moving shadow. My thoughts turn to our difficult climb up Donahue today, what is about to happen, and if my body will be able to handle the strain. The first thing I noticed when we were back on the trail after a hot breakfast and folding up camp was the sun’s newborn rays piercing through the hazy canyons from the Lion fire. We began our ascent while the air was still cool and the familiar struggle did not offer a welcome reprieve. We crossed several small rivers that seemed to branch out in every direction, meandering its way across the trail and back again. It wasn’t long before we spotted patches of dirty snow, most of it was off the trail and we were able to easily navigate the worn out path. About 500 feet from the top, the trail turned to snow, with dirty foot tracks to follow along with. All morning we had the mountain to ourselves, so when we saw a young man spiriting up the trail wearing TWO packs, we just had to ask. Goldpaint smiled and said “hay, it looks like your pack had a baby!” Yes, he heavily breathed, gulping as much air as he could muster. Turning around, he pointed to a slow-moving figure down below and sputtered “I promised my mom if she would climb Donahue Pass with me, I’d carry her pack!” True to his word, that’s exactly what he was doing. Dumbfounded, I remember muttering under my breath, “…oh to be young again”, and when I returned back down to the cold, damp earth, I remembered that growing up did not happen overnight and transitioning from youth to middle age was not always easy. I must graciously give myself some credit for having earned every wrinkle and aching muscle, as I bear down through the pain of the final push uphill. When we reached the summit, we fixed ourselves a big lunch and enjoyed some very friendly wildlife. Nothing beats setting foot on your own private summit and soaking in the views you’ve just earned. I was also closely watching some storm clouds moving in behind us because sitting on a granite rock at 11,000 feet we were sitting ducks if lightning should strike. The moment we felt a soft sprinkle, we quickly packed up lunch and began our descent. On the south side of Donahue, we found much more snow and massive amounts of rushing melt that had formed new ponds and rivers, so the trail virtually disappeared for the next 3 miles.

The tracks we were following veered heavily to the right and away from the trail, so we decided to make our own way down. We could see the valley down below and wanted to camp near a small, secluded pond within a clearing. As we carefully navigated the terrain, it got a little sketchy in areas because we could see and hear massive amounts of water underneath the snow. This was not a comfortable feeling as we were carrying heavy packs. Post holing is one thing, but dropping into frigid waters, being swept underneath snow pack, dropping down violent falls, and sucked under by the impact did not sound like a good time. We made it down safely because we took our time, used our mountaineering experience of reading the terrain and using a partner, took no chances, and remained calm. Just as we got to the bottom, the skies released refreshing rain on our overheated backs. By the time we found the trail again, it was completely submerged in water. In some places, it was 6 feet deep and flowing much too rapidly for a safe crossing. We backtracked about a ½ mile looking for a safe place to cross when we finally spotted an area about 3 feet deep to traverse. The water flow seemed manageable, but I decided to keep my hiking shoes on for better traction over its slippery rocks. I knew we did not have much further to walk before making camp so I figured my feet could take a short, soggy pounding without blistering. Oh again, that water was so cold! At first it felt kind of refreshing on tired joints, but about halfway in, the cold sensation turned to freezing heat. By then, we were in the deepest section of the crossing so it’s not like we can speed things up or turn back. Numbness quickly crept its way in, seemingly from the inside out, and just when we thought “this isn’t so bad”, scalding sensations on our deadened limbs, intensified with every heartbeat! Fording rivers became routine that day until at last we reached our campsite overlooking a small, secluded pond. That night, after completing all our camp chores, I lay there warm and snug in my sleeping bag, and gazed upwards. It’s so easy to be at a place of gratitude at times like this because at elevation in the High Sierras, the sky is so huge, it’s blinding, and the stars look like giant diamonds.

During our second night on the trail, the rhythmic sounds of the frogs were deafening, and coupled with the altitude, we did not sleep well (10,200). Both of us slept late because Goldpaint was up most of the night shooting, and had planned for an easy day hike to Thousand Island Lakes. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and coffee meditation by the water. There is a spectrum of light in the morning that not everyone notices. It’s a signal of the first breath of a day that pushes through the storms and ominous clouds of even the darkest sky. The light is precious because so few really get to see it like this. The morning energy was an astounding blend of reverence and calm, and I thought about how lucky I was to be there.

Early into our hike we came across a raging river and were thankful it had log bridges to cross over on. As we struggled over Island Pass, we noticed very dark clouds rolling in and the trail was again, overtaken by too much snow melt that left the path buried under small ponds. In the distance, Banner was surrounded by very dark rain clouds, so we decided to “bushwack” it down to the lake and off the top of the mountain. I remember shouting through the wind to Goldpaint that we needed to think about hunkering down if the storm decided to move over us. We could hear rolling thunder at that point in the not too far distance. At that exact moment, a giant and blinding white flash surrounded us on all sides, and before Brad could shout out “WHOA!!” an earsplitting CRACK sent him ducking down as if he had been shot. My bones seemed to vibrate and my ears painfully started to ring. I yelled, “Shit, we need to hunker down RIGHT NOW!!” Quickly, with military precision, we found a protected area under some trees, and within minutes, had the tent set up and everything in it…including us. No joke, the temperature felt like it dropped 20 degrees and day immediately turned to night. The air itself seemed like a neurotic vibration that reached inside our tent, trapping us inside a violent wave that rolled on into infinity. We huddled together under our warm sleeping bags as her fury attacked us in a big circle for about 45 minutes, until she finally floated to a halt, letting nature get back on its course. Goldpaint cautiously waiting for another, final, thunderous clash on the other side of the hill just in case the storm cell changed its ugly mind and came back our direction. I slowly made my way out of our marble-sized, hail-covered refuge for a cautious look. The sounds of nature had returned, signaling the end, and a fine scent was in the air, indicating that we had survived the cosmic insanity of chance. As we slowly made our way down (there were new surges of water pouring down the mountain), we came across a group of three men with faces still white as ghosts. They said they had witnessed a lightning bolt come over Banner Peak, horizontally cross the lake, and hit close to where Goldpaint and I had just come from. With our lives still our own, we scouted for the perfect camp spot near the lake and to capture the brilliant shot Brad had pictured in his mind for over a year now. It did not take us long to set up camp, eat, and retreat back into the safe haven of our tent, as we were pounded again by another rain and hail storm. Our “easy” day had turned into quite the adventure so we called it an early night. Exhaustion set in and the soft rains of a passing storm lulled us into a deep sleep.

Each morning, waking up here at Thousand Island Lake, we felt our sleeping patterns blasted in a million directions because the light poured in from every nook and cranny of our tent at brilliant angles, distracting us from necessary sleep. We awoke to clear blue skies above us, but the moment I crawled out of the protected area of our tent, the mosquito’s swarmed over me, first hovering above my head, then slowly creeping their way over my body. Then I noticed several tufts of clouds peeking just above the top rim of each mountain peak, slowly advancing their way to us. Our window of opportunity today was going to be very small, perhaps about 30 minutes worth, and we wanted to take advantage of the warmth of the sun. We couldn’t stand the stench of our own smell, let alone each others, so we decided to bathe. We found a newly formed pond from recent storms that offered some privacy and a light breeze keeping the mozzies away from us nudies. I jumped naked into the coldest rainwater, disappearing inside the dousing of wetness that still felt as if it were ice cubes just moments before. I emerge from my bath, red, my skin raw and numb, but my senses as alive and fresh and keen as it has ever been. Nothing beats bathing in crystal clean snow melt at the top of the Sierras, and air dried by the high afternoon sun atop warm rocks. We completed our ablution just in time because storm clouds moved in and we were pounded by another rain storm. This was getting old…were we ever going to be given the chance to take some photos? As we were not used to just sitting around all day on the trail, Brad and I decided to venture out in the mist to scout out some comps down by the lake. Holy cow!! The mosquito’s were MUCH worse, so much so that I could not breathe without gulping down a few. On a scale of 1-10, I voted a big 12. Brad smartly had his head net on, so I had to go back to camp after a few short minutes. I climbed up on a rock and lit some sage. Did you know mozzies hate sage smoke? Sweet. That night, Brad was up all night vying for that lucky moment of capturing the Milky Way coming straight out of Banner Peak. He had studied all the best vantage points that offered a beautiful composition for the shot. It was more than happenstance that around midnight, he had the good fortune of the storm clouds parting in such a way, it opened the skies up to reveal the galaxy shooting out of the mountain and reflecting off the lake!

The adrenaline rush gave him the push to shoot all night and into the dawn’s first light. He was also able to capture the fiery Alpenglow reflecting off the water and snow. So at 6am, I was dreaming peacefully in stage 4 sleep, warm and cozy in my 15 degree bag, when Goldpaint roused me awake. “Hurry” he says! Oh man, what’s going on? “The light is perfect right now and I want to take a picture of the two of us with Banner in the background.” Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I responded by, “really? you must be joking!” Did he know what time it was? Then I looked at his smiling face and realized he was really serious. “You’re out of your mind, you know this right?” I responded as I pulled myself out into the cold, my hair sticking up and out in all directions, eyes still puffy from being rudely awakened from my beauty sleep, and breath able to knock out a grown man from 20 yards away. Sheesh!! He had painstakingly set the camera up in the perfect spot and all I had to do was stand there and look gorgeous. Done. Coffee anyone??

Today we decided to leave Thousand Island Lake because Goldpaint got his “money shot” and hoards of hikers were swarming into the area. We enjoy our solitude in the high country and like it when the chatter in our head disappears, and all we can hear is the silence. We saw groups arriving who had their supplies packed in by a string of 7 mules…no thank you, we’re outta here! A great example of somebody who just doesn’t get it came from a short dialogue we engaged in when 4 older gentlemen stopped to chat with us while we were taking a snack break on the trail. During the conversation, we shared a little about our experiences hiking the PCT last year, when one of the men in the group asked us in a sarcastic sort of way, “do you guys ever work?” There are many poignant reasons why Goldpaint and I chose to make it possible to have this kind of amazing experience, and take 6 months out of our busy lives to leave society and become part of the wilderness. It was a world away from our loves, old dreams, and the ever-quickening pace we had fallen into following a family loss and abusive past. For example, while “living” the trail, we were able to feel the high altitude, chilled air on our faces, be close to and drink in pure glacial waters, sit at tops of the world, and let it all pass right through us as if we had become transparent. Becoming part of nature, to pause and remember who we used to be, and living in the moment was an important lesson and we want to try and do it more often. But how could he possibly understand this? We told him we choose to work to hike…We do not live to work, but labor so we can live our dreams of back country hiking. We left him shaking his head, probably muttering under his breath something about “those hippies”, and subconsciously wishing he was brave enough to do the same thing.

Downhill is good, and most of the day was just that. In the lower elevations, the wildflowers were in full bloom, and when we were about 2 miles away from the road to Mammoth Lakes, we received the most amazing panoramic views from the trail. Our last night we decided to camp very close to the path-something we rarely ever do, but this spot offered amazing views of the sunset and sunrise, which overrode our desire for privacy this eve. We were so close to the end of our trip, that all I could think about was gulping down a big cheeseburger the next day. It’s like the old adage, ’the worst day on the trail is better than the best day at work’, so I did not care where we spent our last night. We set our tent up so we could enjoy the sunset from our supine positions, as we took a leisurely rest before making dinner. All of the sudden, we spotted 3 small squirrels scampering around our camp and foraging for any small morsel they could hijack and clamber up a tree with. We witnessed a strategic alliance being schemed for when we went to sleep that night to steal our stuff. Just then, one Olympian wanna-be-chippy flew from a tree onto the top of our tent, slid down my side, bounced forward atop the open flap, landed on my bear canister, and catapulted over our kitchen area. Oh hell no chipmunks! We were going to hull every single piece of equipment into our tent so those three amigos could not rob us of our house and home during the night. HA!

The next morning, we packed up our still-intact camp and headed for the bus that took us to the Main Lodge in Mammoth. I know we must have looked like hiker-trash, because the bus that was to take us down to the Village left when we walked right up to it, waved our arms and shouted that we wanted a ride. Oh well, 30 more minutes to wait at the bus stop and get funny looks from the many tourists who wouldn’t get near us. We must have stunk…nice! From the village, we took the trolley to where my car was parked and immediately went to “Burgers”, where we each consumed a ½ pound cheeseburger, fries, and big chocolate shake. I have to say, this burger is in my top 5 of all time. It was just like last year when we went out on the trail for days and days, and looked forward to a real meal of hot, greasy, chewy, sweet, and salty goodness to satisfy our ravenous hunger every time. As we devoured what would be classified as the perfect last meal, I felt grateful and proud of how our minds and bodies did on this leg. For one thing I am certain, when I walk in the forest along paths that lead for miles into the back country and witness daily the sun disappearing over jagged mountains into tomorrow’s horizon, each remarkable story of our experiences on the PCT are about connection and transformation that always leave us wanting more.

-Marci ‘Tie Dye’ Buckner

See more of Marci’s trail journals from 2011 HERE. To see her entire 2010 Pacific Crest Trail journal, click HERE.

There has been so much going on lately with entering competitions, completing business tasks, re-modeling my website, and the constant ‘go-go-go’ of chasing the light and clear skies. I’ve been banging my head for the past couple of months saying to myself, “I’ve got to write about my Arches trip!” So here I sit, almost 3 months later, with so many stories to write about and so many images to share with you. Instead of me rambling on about my trip, line for line, I’m going to share with you my favorite images and write about my story behind them.

I did a fair amount of research before planning this trip with my Dad. Google Earth gave me a good idea about what I was getting myself into and a conception of what I wanted to photograph. I bought a local map at REI and began highlighting every trail and arch I wanted to hike and possibly shoot. Dad didn’t really know much about the park, except how to get there, so the legwork was up to me. During my research about Arches National Park, I discovered the area has over 2,000 natural arches, and humans have occupied the region since the last ice age, nearly 10,000 years ago. Arches NP is also home to one of the most famous geological rock formations in the world called, “Delicate Arch.” This famous sandstone landmark is a 52-foot tall, freestanding natural arch, and is the most widely recognized historical landmark in the Park. It is depicted on Utah license plates and on postage stamps commemorating Utah’s centennial anniversary of statehood in 1996.

The first day we arrived in Arches, I decided to try my luck and headed up to the Delicate Arch for a chance at some night sky photography. I arrived at the trailhead as the sun was setting, and on my way up the 1.5 mile strenuous hike, I easily passed 300 tourists’ hiking down from the arch and its vantage point. Fortunately, I was the only one hiking up because this trail was no joke. It climbed in elevation up 480 ft within 1.5 miles. With my too-heavy pack full of camera gear, it easily felt like I had ascended 1,000 ft. up for least 3 miles. I do not recommend you hike this trail in the dark because the clear, dirt path quickly became solid rock. Thankfully, there were Cairns (rock piles) to help guide the way. As I finally reached the top of the mountain, I set my first sights on the arch and I was literally speechless! She was stunningly beautiful in rich color and texture. The distant surroundings and landscape also created this intimate, Zen-like experience for me. Unfortunately, 8 additional photographers were attempting night-sky photography at the arch, so I quickly realized I couldn’t capture a shot with everyone around. My plan was to try ‘light painting’ on the arch, for a simple silhouette was not going to be sufficient. After a couple hours of experimenting with different comps and trying to avoid other photographers, I decided to leave and try my luck somewhere else.

‘Double Arch’ was also on my list to shoot, and somehow I did not feel tired after the 9 hour drive. I decided to head over, hoping I would run into fewer crowds than at Delicate. Unfortunately, clouds began to move in and the stars disappeared as soon as I arrived at the pair of arches. I decided it would be a good time for some test shots since I was fortunate enough to be alone with the monument. The above image was a ‘light painting’ test that brought out the detail, color, and contrast in the Navajo sandstone.

Over the next few days I hiked around the crowded park with my Dad and saw some amazing places. We hiked up to Delicate Arch again during the day, along with the massive crowds of sightseers, and took a tour through Fiery Furnace. This trail is a maze of sandstone fins and slot canyons between the Delicate Arch turnoff and Devils Garden area. After a full day of hiking, it looked to be the clearest night of the trip so far, so I told my Dad it was time to make my move and pull an all-nighter of shooting. To get the best shots, I planned my ‘vacation’ around the new moon and the conditions could not have looked better. I eagerly packed my camera gear, some tasty snacks, all the charged batteries I could carry, and left the RV Park around 10:00 pm. I arrived at the Delicate Arch trailhead around 11:00 pm and started my trek up. Although the night was pitch black, this was the third time hiking up this trail so I felt very comfortable exploring it alone. As luck would have it, I arrived around midnight and had the most famous arch in the world all to myself. Naturally, I took advantage of the solitude for as long as possible.

As I patiently waited for the Milky Way to rotate into position, I decided to begin a star trail series. I found the comp I was looking for, set up my camera gear, and sat back to enjoy the stars and satellites passing across the night sky. Small desert mice conspired around me to steal my snacks and kept me company with their reconnaissance missions. Surprisingly, my iPhone had 3g service so I was able to make calls and catch up with my friends about the trip. When I spotted the Milky Way bursting out of the horizon around 1 am, it was time to play! The image above was captured and created by stacking 100 images together and artificially ‘light painting’ the arch.

From the moment I saw this particular arch in pictures on the internet and in travel or landscape magazines, I have been fascinated with its narrowest point. The entire monument is supported by a tiny and narrow piece of twisted sandstone. As I stood under the arch in the middle of that starry night, I could faintly hear tiny bits of sandstone crumbling to the dry desert floor. What an eerie feeling, knowing this towering form could crumble at any moment. Around 2:30am, the Milky Way finally positioned herself to the perfect place I had been waiting for. The image above became my masterpiece because from a compositional standpoint, it looked like an opened gateway inviting the viewer to enter into the unknown. It took a lot of patience, waiting for the Milky Way to intersect at the narrowest point of the arch, but I believe it was well worth the wait.

After shooting at Delicate Arch for a couple of hours, I decided to keep my inspirational energy going and quickly headed towards Double Arch. It was already 3:00 am so I had just 2 hurried hours before the sun started its daily rise and obscuring the stars. I began walking down the hill in pitch black darkness, and before long, I was half jogging and half stumbling. When I arrived, out of breath at the Arch, I was relieved to find not one other person there. Perfect solitude! I quickly began experimenting with multiple compositions because the position of the Milky Way was perfect. I loved how the arch framed the galaxy and the distant monoliths provided an unearthly feel to the finished image. As most of you know, this photograph was featured in National Geographic’s Daily Dozen, NASA’s Astronomy Picture of the Day, and Earthshots.org Picture of the Day. To see the publications, click HERE.

After several more comps, the sun began her slow ascent and the stars faded to tomorrow. In my experience with pulling all-nighters, this was my most successful because I came back with so many ‘keepers’. I’m already looking forward to, and am excited to go back and visit Utah again soon. Hiking all night in darkness and in the heat of the day with crowds was well worth the effort to experience the Milky Way in the desert. On a side note, Arches is open 24/7 and you can enter and exit as you please, but camping is not permitted within 2 miles of any named arch or trail. Please respect these fragile formations so others can enjoy in the future. If you would like to see more images from Arches National Park, click HERE.

“There are several ways of looking at Delicate Arch. Depending on your preconceptions you may see the eroded remnants of a sandstone fin, a giant engagement ring cemented in rock, a bow-legged pair of petrified cowboy chaps, a triumphal arch for a procession of angels, an illogical freak, a happening…. If Delicate Arch has any significance, it lies; I will venture, in the power of the odd and unexpected to startle the senses and surprise the mind out of their ruts of habit, to compel us into a reawakened awareness of the wonderful-that which is full of wonder.”
- Edward Abbey, noted naturalist and author

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed!

Brad

By the light of the silvery moon, figures dance “between the shadows”, and cast two-dimensional silhouettes against Mono Lake’s Tufa’s. The shadow plays offer a form of storytelling throughout the night by creating the illusion of moving images and personifying everything we may refuse to acknowledge about ourselves. Perhaps this is why in the 1860s, Mark Twain found the lake to be a “lifeless, treeless, hideous desert…the loneliest place on earth.” On this full moon night, the quiet solitude inspired us to capture the night sky’s attempts to brush the earth, and connect us to our own shadows.

To see all of my time-lapse videos, click HERE.

Thank you all for your continued interest and support during this exciting event!

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To purchase a print of Silent Effigy, contact me at info@goldpaintphotography.com.

Brad Goldpaint
www.goldpaintphotography.com

For the time being, I’m living next to a small lake that seems to be calling to me during a photographic sunrise and or sunset. Each day I wake up at 5:00am, (well, at least most mornings), make some strong coffee, and stare out the balcony window and welcome the morning rays. Usually, my camera gear is packed and ready to go to avoid scrambling around as I’m running out the door. In an area filled with mountains and high elevations, spectacular light may only last a couple of minutes so it is very important to be ready for anything, at anytime.

The image to the right was taken at the same lake pictured above. The sky exploded with light and bounced off the clouds, reflecting on its water and ice. Scenes like this are rare and few, but luckily I walked away with 5 images I really liked. Generally around 6:00pm, my eyes are peeled to the sky while staring out the windows of my cabin loft. I copiously look for far off clouds, openings in the sky, and then move to the next window and repeat the process. I pay close attention to what the light is doing and can usually make a decision by 6:30pm if I’m going to head out for a shoot. Even though the sunset waits until 8:00pm to show itself, I’m always catching myself rushing towards a location to shoot as if it was my last. I’m not sure why, but I always feel like I’m going to be late or miss a good opportunity, so I have the location planned in my head before getting in my car. If I leave a little earlier, I may be able to take an unplanned turn onto a dirt road and just see where the unscheduled detour takes me.

Another rule to stick to, besides aimlessly speeding around mountainous areas, is to NEVER LEAVE EARLY from a shoot! It is very difficult to predict what the clouds and sun are going to do at the end of a sunset. If you leave too early, you may miss the explosion of light before its real magic even begins. I may not have been able to capture the image to the left if I had stopped shooting when I ‘thought’ it was over. Many photographers have to learn the hard way to stay behind after the crowds dissipate. You never know what could happen and it is always better to stay behind until the clouds start to transform and bleed into the night. At the end of this particular sunset, the sky exploded with one last burst of light along the ridges of the distant mountains.

One last piece of advice I’d like to leave you with…do not leave home without an umbrella! This device has saved me and my camera many times when the weather turned ugly. There are many uses an umbrella can have when out in the middle of nowhere, so cram one into your pack when you go out for a shoot. During the shot to the right, the light was exploding on and off for roughly 15 minutes with scattered showers coming and going. If I didn’t have my umbrella with me, I would not have been able to capture this shot. If you look closely at the water in the foreground, you can see the ripples from droplets hitting the surface. I’ve been snowed on, rained on, and even hailed on during the past month. Without my umbrella, I probably would have left the area without getting a single shot. I own what is called the ‘GoLite Chrome Dome.’ It’s an ultralight backpacking umbrella that also reflects UV rays. When I was hiking through the desert along the PCT, it became my personal shade device and I was thankful I brought it. Seriously, go out and get one of these and thank me later.

In other news, I’m very happy to announce my images have made it to the front page of the ‘Explore’ section on Flickr. More than 7 million photos are uploaded to the online video and imaging website each day. The best and most popular 500 photos are selected and featured in the Explore section. Reaching the front pages of Explore is a high honor because only 10-15 of the featured photos are displayed daily. My work has recently been featured several times in Explore and on its front pages, allowing my work to be publicly displayed worldwide.