I just got back from ten days of photography in Zion National Park and the Nevada desert. While in Zion, I spent two days hiking and photographing the world-famous Narrows of the Virgin River. Actually, to be more precise, I spent two days hiking in the Virgin River. Most of the hike through the Narrows involves wading through ankle, knee, waist, or chest deep water . . . or even deeper! A dry suit or a pair of chest waders is a must, as well as a decent walking stick to help keep one’s balance (although a tripod works quite nicely in this regard).

The Narrows is arguably the Mother of all slot canyons. Most canyons called “slots” are very narrow, receiving little or no direct sunlight within their hidden interiors. The Narrows, by comparison, is not narrow at all, but because the cliffs on either side rise hundreds and even thousands of feet above the river, the effect is the same as with smaller slot canyons. Most of the light reaching the canyon interior is light reflecting from cliff faces high enough to catch the rays of the sun. This reflected light is what gives the Narrows its famous glow.

Although there are several “classic” shots within the Narrows, I tried not to concentrate on these places, and instead chose to wander the canyon looking for interesting compositions and light. The light constantly changes during the day, peaking in one place while fading in another. Some areas of the Narrows are relatively closed in, receiving only faint reflected light, while other areas are more open, receiving plenty of reflected light, and during the middle of the day, even direct sunlight. As a result, many plants thrive in the canyon, including cottonwood trees changing with the autumn season.

Finding interesting convergences of light and composition wasn’t difficult in the Narrows; it seemed that there was something incredible around every bend in the canyon. Wading through deep water forced me to slow down, which was good, but concentrating on keeping my balance distracted me from studying the details of the sculpted rock, and the interplay of light and shadow and cool and warm tones. So I made sure to stop frequently, and to take my camera out to search for compositions. I got into the habit of stopping every time I saw something interesting and taking a photograph, no matter how much longer it made my hike. I know it sounds cliché, but it was all about the journey, not the destination.

The sheer power and force of the water was evident in the sculpted sandstone formations. Periodic flash floods scour the canyon floor and present a hazard to hikers. The National Park Service does a good job of monitoring conditions and closing the Narrows when necessary, but nonetheless, the risk of rain falling hundreds of miles away creating a flash flood in the canyon is an ever-present danger, and the eroded rock is a constant reminder of this remote yet potential risk.

My favorite image of the trip came on the second day exploring the Narrows. I entered a relatively open section of the canyon, and turned around to see what things looked like behind me. It was a good thing that I did, because a scene of incomparable beauty unfolded before me. An exposed mountain peak dominated the view above the canyon walls, fully lit by the sun. Light from the peak, as well as from the blue sky above, bounced down upon the water and rocks at my feet, while in the background the canyon walls glowed orange. After choosing my composition (carefully excluding the sun-lit peak), I attached a polarizer filter to my lens. Spinning it around to change the level of polarization, I was reminded of peering through a kaleidoscope, as an explosion of colors emerged and disappeared with each revolution. Full polarization removed the reflections in the foreground water too much, whereas no polarization didn’t remove enough glare from the canyon walls, muting their color. Somewhere in between the two extremes proved to be, in the immortal words of Goldilocks, “just right.” The result is the image below.

I can’t wait to return to Zion and the Narrows. As much as I saw and photographed, the Narrows is the kind of place that seems to hold endless possibilities. With ever-changing light and water levels, unique compositions are literally waiting around ever bend.

What a great fall season it has been! I started out in late September shooting for 10 days in the Green Mountains of Vermont. We had a very successful workshop with great color and great students. After that, I headed down to the Monongahela National Forest for 7 days fo personal shooting and our West Virginia Fall Color Workshop. The color in West Virginia was off the hook this year with lots of reds and orange. It rained quite a bit and all the creeks and streams were at spring flow. Amazing! After returning home for a few days, I took off to the Blue Ridge Parkway in VA and took a quick side trip over to Babcock State Park in WV to shoot the Grist Mill. This past weekend rounded this fall out with a really fun and wet workshop in Great Falls National Park.

Here are my favorite images from the past month. Enjoy!

Our Next event is at Meadowlark, VA:

Mini-Workshop at Meadowlark Nature Center

In this four-hour mini-workshop, we will describe the techniques of abstract photography, of line and shape, as well as multiple exposure, panning, macro techniques, and software manipulation. Two hours will be devoted to outdoor experience. Please dress appropriately.

Register here 

Wow, what a workshop! It started out perfectly with beautiful rainy conditions giving us perfect soft light for the Friday evening “greet & shoot” and continued on into Saturday morning. Saturday night was spectacular on Clingmans Dome. We witnessed an awesome display with the low clouds below rolling across the distant ridge tops. I’ve been shooting here for 15 years and have never been lucky enough to photograph this. Sunday was a frosty and clear morning in Cades Cove and along Little River road. We finished the weekend back on Clingmans Dome for the final sunset shoot.

A few images that I came home with:

I couldn’t have picked a more perfect workshop to begin instructing again. After 4 years away from the workshop scene I’m so thankful to be back. Thanks Richard for partnering with me on this workshop and thanks to all that attended. I hope that you all enjoyed this weekend as much as I! Happy shooting.

Jerry Greer and I just finished up a very successful photo workshop in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park this past weekend (October 23-25, 2009). We had a variety of weather conditions, perfect fall color, and eager students.

A special shout out to Ian for the llama voodoo magic on image number 2. It’s a cheap replica, but you were the inspiration – and the llamas, of course.

Jerry and I will be offering this same workshop again through Mountain Trail Photo on October 22-24 of 2010. This year’s workshop was full, so register early. Check back with Mountain Trail Photo regularly for 2010 workshop listings.

Earlier in the week, my brother Danny and I hiked out to a dramatic rock outcrop along the Appalachian Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The four-mile hike to the rock formation, Charlies Bunion, was for the purpose of photographing the rock and it’s vistas for an upcoming book authored by Jerry Greer and myself, 50 Amazing Things You Must See and Do in the Smoky Mountains, due to be released Spring 2010 by Mountain Trail Press.

Our plans were to hike out in the afternoon to catch the evening light before spending the night at the Icewater Spings shelter on the A.T., which is about a mile from Charlies Bunion. In the morning, we would catch sunrise and hike back out.

This hike on the A.T. starts at the busy Newfound Gap parking lot and heads north. After gaining about 1000 feet in elevation over the first 2 miles, it’s a relatively easy walk to our destination. Where the trail traverses the northern slopes of Mount Kephart and Masa Knob, there was packed ice and snow from last week’s wintery weather. We even passed a snowman that was built by some hikers a day or two ahead of us.

Charlies Bunion is a rocky precipice that allows some outstanding views to the north and west, with limited visibility to the east and south. The exposed, craggy rock formation is the result of series of events that took place during the early part of last century. First, the area was extensively logged before the Smokies became a National Park. In their haste to harvest as much lumber as possible before the Park was created, the loggers left acres of  slash and brush piles behind. A resulting slash fire in 1925 left the soil bare. When a torrential cloudburst hit the area in 1929, most of that soil was washed away, exposing a series of  jagged, rocky ridges – the most prominent being Charlies Bunion.

Of course you are wondering about the name – Charlies Bunion. There’s got to be a story there, right? Well there is, of course. Shortly after the events described above, Horace Kephart, an early proponent for a national park in the Smokies region, noted photographer George Masa, and Charles Conner hiked out to the area to survey the damage. During the hike, Charles often complained about an ailment to his two companions and he must have shown them the bunion on his foot at some point. When they arrived at the newly-exposed rock formation, Horace commented that it looked very much like the formation on Charlie’s foot. So there ya go.

The shelter was crowded and the night skies were clear, so we decided to spread our sleeping bags out on the ground near the bunion and sleep under the stars. Sunrise bathed the rock with warm light as we sipped our coffee in the morning silence. After a few images were taken, we hit the trail and started the four-mile trek back to the parking lot. Charlies Bunion certainly is an amazing place to visit in the Smokies.

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The November issue of Outdoor Photographer is now online, and magazines should be in the mail and hitting newsstands over the next few weeks. Ian is profiled in the issue for his “Dreamscapes” series. This is Ian’s second time being profiled by OP. Click here to check it out!  [EDIT: OP's site is back up and running after being down most of the weekend!] 

Hi all, just got back from 10 days of shooting in the Adirondack High Peaks in upstate New York. I don’t really have any exciting adventures to report, as I spent the first half of my trip leading a workshop and the second half filming video, along with fellow Mountain Trail team member Richard Bernabe, for our upcoming instructional DVD. Despite the fact that I didn’t get any time to go tromping alone through the wilderness, I did manage to make some decent images along the way. I thought I’d share a few of my favorites, and describe how each was made.

The first image below was made at the very peak of fall color. Richard, his father, and I hiked to the top of Mt. Van Hoevenberg in the hopes of catching some decent light at sunset. Richard’s father, at 70 years old, is built like a tank and can out hike most people one-third his age. He hiked with us for several days, and just kept going like the Energizer bunny. He’d always hike behind Richard and I, saying each time “I’ll protect our rear from the enemy.” I laughed whenever he said this, until I realized that this brawny former Marine probably knew all sorts of useful things, like how to kill a man with a sharpened pencil and a rubber band. I stopped laughing. Actually, Richard Sr. was a real pleasure to have along, and a heck of a nice guy. 

Anyway, back to Mt. Van Hoevenberg. We got to the top and the clouds came rolling in, streaking swiftly across the sky. Our hopes of great light were dashed, but an opportunity of another sort emerged. The fall color in the valley below was simply stunning, and was glowing in the soft overcast light. Richard and I experimented with long exposures. I stacked several neutral density filters in front of my lens to get a thirty-second exposure. Several of my “neutral” density filters use the term quite loosely, and in fact have a slight magenta twang to them. For this image, the magenta cast worked to my advantage, as it gave some color to the sky and really caused the reds of the foliage to pop. The result, I believe, successfully conveys the feeling I had standing atop the mountain, looking down at one of the most incredible fall color displays I have ever seen. 

“Adirondack Fantasy”: A thirty second exposure blurs streaking clouds above brilliant color.

This next image was made on the West Branch of the Ausable River, one of the best places I know for photographing reflections of autumn foliage. The Ausable is a rushing mountain stream, tumbling over rapids and small waterfalls on its journey to Lake Champlain. Early in the morning on a clear day, reflected fall color can be juxtaposed with the cool tones of rocks and water in shadow, lit only by light bouncing off the blue sky above. For this image, I was attracted to the curve created by the rocks, and continued by the horseshoe-shaped rapids. The contrast of warm and cool tones further enhances the shape.  

“Monument Falls”: It was important for the stream to be in shadow when I made this image.

The image below is perhaps my favorite from the trip, although the most subtle. I discovered this scene along the “Flume” of Gill Brook in the Adirondack Mountain Reserve. Turning this chaotic jumble of autumn foliage and rushing water into a coherent picture was a real challenge. The stream flowing through the background of the image, the radiating shape of the foreground tree, and the intersection of several abstract lines in the upper left of the image all provide compositional structure. I find chaotic scenes to be much more fulfilling than working with simpler scenes, but I suspect most viewers don’t share my sentiment. Rather, it seems that very simple compositions tend to get a positive reaction more so than complex ones.

“Flume Foliage”: Chaotic scenes require abstract thinking to make order out of chaos. See my recent article on NPN for more information about learning the art of abstract image-making.

While exploring along Phelps Brook in the High Peaks Wilderness, I came upon this curled birch bark covered in fallen leaves. While I have no problem whatsoever with arranging fall foliage scenes, this one was pretty much found as is, making it all the more special. I removed some debris from the top of the birch bark, but otherwise kept the scene intact. To me, the curled birch bark is reminiscent of an ancient scroll. Moments after making this image, it started to rain, hard and steady, for about an hour.

“The Scroll of Life”: Ancient parchment tells the story of life, death, and rebirth in the forest.

This final image was made in the Adirondack Mountain Reserve on Wedge Brook. Richard was photographing the lower cascades of this waterfall while I explored the slippery upper cascades. After some slipping and sliding, I managed to work my way down to a precarious perch at the bottom of the upper cascades, standing on the edge of the twenty foot cliff that made up the lower cascades. After getting into position, I knew I had found something worth all my effort. Although it is something I tend not to do often, for this image I applied a gaussian blur layer at reduced opacity in Photoshop, to simulate a “soft focus” look for the image. Doing so reduced contrast and color saturation, and gave the image a softer, misty look, which to me helped capture the magic of the place.

“Wedge Brook Cascades”: The curving flow of the water and the dash of autumn color drew me to this scene, despite the danger of slipping and falling!

To see more of my Adirondack images, visit the Gallery page on my website.

I recently spent a week-and-a-half photographing Lake Superior, including four days of sea kayaking the Apostle Islands in Wisconsin. I had originally planned on backpacking Isle Royale National Park for a week, but when I arrived at Lake Superior, calm conditions convinced me to try to get to some of the Apostle’s superlative sea caves. So after several days photographing the Minnesota north shore of Superior, I drove to the Apostles and rented a kayak from Living Adventure in Red Cliff, Wisconsin. I own my own sea kayak but had left it behind because I planned to backpack, a mistake I will never make again when I travel to Lake Superior. Many of Superior’s most stunning landscapes can be found only by stuffing oneself into the cockpit of a kayak and heading out into the wilderness.

I spent the first day exploring a series of cliffs and sea caves off the mainland coast. Rough seas prevented me from exploring some of the caves, and for those I was able to enter, I could not find a suitable landing place for photography. And by ”suitable landing place” I mean any place where the water is only a few feet deep or less, thus allowing relatively easy exit and re-entry into the kayak and a place to set up a tripod. Any deeper and you’re swimming instead of photographing. Most of the caves were not exceptionally photogenic anyway, so I continued up the coast looking for an interesting spot for sunset. I finally found a suitable landing just below a small sea stack, which looked promising as a sunset image. I beached my kayak, dragged it up high on some rocks so that incoming waves wouldn’t sweep it away, took my camera and tripod out of dry storage, and set up in several feet of water.  I made this image right before the sun dipped below the horizon, with soft light striking the red sandstone of the sea stack. A polarizer filter coupled with a long exposure removed glare from the water and smoothed out the choppy seas.

I packed up, hoping to get back to my launch point before dark. No such luck. After an hour of paddling I was scanning the shoreline with a waterproof flashlight in the dark, looking for the wooden stairs that marked the kayak landing where I had started. I do a lot of night work, so stuff like this happens to me all the time. I eventually found the kayak landing and made it safely back to my campsite for the evening.

The next morning, I meandered over to Bear Island, my camping destination for the next two nights. In the early morning, the seas were a little rough, probably 1-3 feet, nothing that I couldn’t handle but nonetheless not ideal for finding landings for photography. The first stop on my way to Bear Island was Sand Island. After taking a brief rest stop on Sand’s wide beach, I rounded Swallow Point to explore a series of small sea caves. As soon as I rounded the point, I found myself on the lee side of the island, protected from wind and waves. Calm conditions allowed me to head into the larger caves. I spent a good portion of the morning photographing a series of interconnected chambers, wading around in water depths ranging from 1 to 4 feet.

The caves have been formed by eons of waves eroding the soft sandstone that makes up much of the Apostle Islands. The sandstone is red, interrupted here and there with a splash of green moss. I worked many angles inside the large cave, all the while with my kayak drifting behind me, tethered to me by a short piece of rope.

By the way, here’s my procedure for photographing sea caves:
1) find nice sea cave
2) wait for calm seas
3) paddle into cave if possible
4) find a place shallow enough to stand without being completely submerged
5) exit kayak
6) remove tripod and camera from (theoretically) waterproof hatch and dry bag
7) set up in water, being careful not to submerge camera; water is bad
8) tie rope to kayak, and then tie other end of rope to self
9) push kayak away and let it drift
10) compose shot
11) push kayak away again as it has drifted into the picture
12) start series of long exposures
13) grab falling tripod just in the nick of time, as it has been pushed over by the kayak which has drifted back and knocked said tripod over.
14) heave a sigh of relief that camera did not go under water; water is bad
15) yank on rope, pulling kayak back to you
16) put camera back in dry bag, pack dry bag and tripod back in (theoretically) waterproof hatch
17) re-enter kayak
18) paddle away
19) realize that you should have composed the image slightly to the right
20) repeat

After finishing with the sea cave, I pressed on to Bear Island, stopping at a few small islands along the way. I reached Bear’s southern end late in the afternoon, and begin to explore around its eastern side on my way to my campsite destination for the evening. I passed a large stretch of cliffs and sea caves, none of which I can land in. Towards evening, I found a short stretch of beach suitable for landing and camping. I landed and set up camp, hoping that the calm conditions that set in for the evening would continue the next day. I explored a stretch of nearby rocky shore at sunset, finally settling on this image in the dark twilight. An exposure of several minutes reveals the colors of dusk.

The next morning I awoke early to make a crossing to Devils Island, but found that during the night the wind and waves had built into a frenzy. Devils Island has some fantastic high cliffs and huge sea caves, but I know that conditions will make it impossible for me to photograph them without getting dashed against the rocks. In fact, it got so rough I decided to not even launch my kayak at all that day. I made some abstract images in the morning of waves crashing on Bear Island’s rocky shore, and spent the rest of the day exploring, reading, and resting.

At one point during the day, I crawled into my tent to get out of the cold wind for a few hours. I had left my water sandals on the beach with my kayak, and when I returned to fetch them, I noticed that one was missing! Although I could find no tracks to confirm my suspicion, I believe that a racoon was the culprit, since I had the whole island to myself. Either that, or a bald eagle swooped down and stole my sandal. Luckily, I had a pair of flip-flops with me, so that my feet would not go unshod for the rest of my journey. That evening, as the waves and wind began to die dow, I made this image of swash marks formed by waves crashing high on the beach.

The next day I awoke to calm seas. I opted for an early start, hoping to reach Devils Island before any wind or waves kicked up, so I launched before sunrise. After an hour of paddling, I reached Devil’s rocky northern shore, and was delighted to find towering cliffs and huge sea caves. Unfortunately, even though conditions were calm, Devils Island is more exposed than the others, and small waves were coming directly into the sea caves, their effect multiplied by the high rocks. Each cave had become a churning cauldron a water crashing on rock. It became readily apparent to me that I would be able to photograph the sea caves of Devils Island only in near to dead calm conditions. Frustrated, I continue to paddle around the island, stopping at its southern end for a break before heading back to Bear Island.

Upon returning to Bear, I broke camp and began to head back to the mainland. Along the way, I explored Bear’s western shore, and found several large sea caves. Conditions had gotten much calmer since I returned from Devils (I toy with the idea of returning to Devils, but I have to far to go by evening). I entered several of the sea caves and made a few images such as this one, small consolation for missing the opportunity to photograph Devils Island.

I then began my long paddle back to the mainland. Early in the evening, I finally reached my original launch point, Little Sand Bay. As I unpacked my kayak, I vowed to return again next year, with my own kayak and with more time to space. I could easily spend weeks exploring and shooting the Apostles — something I fully intend to do as soon as possible.

To see more of my Lake Superior images, visit the Gallery page on my website.

-Ian Plant

The latest update contains new images from team members Jerry Greer and George Stocking, check out the Recent Work Gallery today!  

The fall foliage of the Northeast is legendary, but one of my favorite places to shoot autumn color is just next door: the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. The Adirondacks have all the beautiful colors of the great north woods — including the oranges and reds of sugar maples, and the golden yellows of aspen and birch — as well as some of the most stunning mountain scenery in the Eastern United States. With a unique mix of rocky peaks, endless forests, swift-running streams and waterfalls, and innumerable mountain lakes, ponds, and alpine bogs, the Adirondacks are one of the finest places on earth to photograph the glory of autumn.

The rugged character of the Adirondacks adds to the drama of the scenery. Tall cliffs soar hundreds of feet above alpine tarns; waterfalls tumble down steep defiles into deep plunge pools; and glacial erratic boulders rest precariously on rocky summits. Because of the combination of high latitude and altitude, weather is highly unpredictible; autumn snowstorms are common, adding a sprinkling of white frosting over the autumn color. Early morning fog is common as well, adding an element of mystery.

Adirondack State Park is protected by the New York State Constitution, its lands to be kept “forever wild.” It is the only wild land preserve in the United States to have constitutional protection. The park is over six million acres in size, making it larger than Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Great Smoky, and Everglades National Park combined. It almost goes without saying: there’s no end of things to see and do in the Adirondacks.

I have been exploring the Adirondacks since I was a kid. I have hiked extensively in the region. I have backpacked the 130 mile-long Northville-Placid Trail, and I am an Adirondack 46er, having climbed the 46 highest peaks in the park. The Adirondack 46ers are the original “peak bagging” club in the United States. Originally, the challenge was to climb all the peaks above 4,000 feet, which numbered 46. Subsequently, 4 of the original peaks were shown to be just under 4,000 feet, but have been kept as part of the challenge nonetheless.

I am leading a Workshop in the Lake Placid region of the Adirondacks from October 1-4. There’s still a few spots open; hope to see you there! To learn more about places in the Adirondacks to visit, read my Article on the Mountain Trail Photo site.