Yosemite Journals

It almost seems like I’m the only nature photographer not to have co-opted Ken Burns’ National Parks series for some self promotion. There are two reasons for that: I don’t watch TV, and I don’t feel quite comfortable taking a free ride on someone else’s hard work. For those who haven’t heard me say it before: I am the world’s worst salesperson.

Still, all the buzz around the show (which I hope to get from Netflix at some point) and my recent re-reading of Ansel Adams’ biography had brought back some of my own memories of Yosemite – the first National Park I ever visited. I dredged up three journal entries (recreated from memory, unfortunately, as I can’t find the originals) written on separate trips to the park. I owe it my newly-found photographic career, and a lot more.

Journal Entry: I’m Still In There Somewhere

Sarah and I were just starting to date at the time, and she suggested a road trip to Yosemite. This is my personal account of that first trip that changed my life (back) around.

Entering the valley, I was struck simultaneously by the beauty of the place and by a shocking realization. At some point I became a different person, living a different life. The contrast between who I am and the child I used to be is so stark and yet the transition never occurred to me. As I stood there by the meadow taking in the astounding scenery, my thoughts raced to reconstruct and rationalize what I was feeling. It took just a few seconds but the conclusion felt like a sledgehammer shattering through my chest.

I had grown up a child of the fields. I spent much of my formative years without the company of other people, with just the natural world as my playground and I loved the fields, the plants, and animals, as I have any home and any family. My little dog kept me company in those days, for seventeen years, since I was just a year old. I can clearly remember the days, coming home from kindergarten or school, doing whatever homework I had and running out to the field to pursue whatever held my interest at the time – butterflies, lizards, beetles, birds. Thinking of those times, roaming the fields with my dog, I can remember every scent, every species of flower, the thrill of discovering a rare animal like an owl, a snake, or a wild boar. I miss it dearly, and yet right here and now I realize it’s been over a decade since I ventured outdoors or shared my life with a four-legged friend. What happened?

I suspect I began to lose touch with my childhood passions as I entered high school. I’m sure many can relate to the confusion of being a young adult and trying to come to terms with curious new social conventions that made no sense to someone used to just being themselves, unencumbered by the perceptions of others. Military service followed – an even more confusing time on so many levels. Then the academy. Life as a student and later as teacher was easy. Living in a tiny 1-bedroom apartment in the “big city”, dating, attending interesting classes. I don’t think I ever paused to consider what may come next. Then came the big break – a job offer in California. I was on a plane in less than a week. Working for a Silicon Valley startup took over my days, weekends, and holidays, but the thrill of it still kept my inner child at bay.

And now, standing in a meadow in Yosemite, the child is back. Every blade of grass, every insect, every dew drop is calling me, asking “remember when?” And I’m myself again – that same child who ran into the fields every chance he had, to make friends with geckos and draw maps of the hills, and have conversations with a dog. I realize the person I’d become was not the person I grew up as, and I miss that person, and I miss that dog terribly.

That day marked the return of the “real me”. In the years since, I have rediscovered my passion for photography, I have hiked, backpacked, and traveled across the West more than most people would in a lifetime, and tore myself away from a stressful career in a congested population center to a place where the child in me can run out to play every single day. Sarah and I adopted six animals (dogs and cats) and I am forever grateful for that one day in Yosemite that reminded me who I should be.

Journal Entry: The Day I Fell In Love With My Wife

Sarah and I were still dating at the time. Since my first visit I wanted to return to Yosemite, this time with my Nikon gear that sat unused for over 2 years.

We were on our way to the park and just out of the Central Valley. The scenery was starting to change and with it the anticipation of visiting that meadow again – the place that changed everything. As we rounded a bend, we noticed a dark shape by the side of the road – a cow. It had apparently been struck by a vehicle. I assumed it was dead but a split second before we drove past it, it raised its head slightly. To my shame I admit I was prepared to just continue driving. The thought of the beauty ahead and using my camera again was so alluring, I could think of little else.

Sarah made me stop. She ran to the dying cow, and I followed, feeling ashamed and wondering what we could possibly do for it. It didn’t matter to Sarah. She was going to do anything she possibly could, ignoring all else. My shame mixed with admiration. Here I was, the moral champion who started life over in protest of politics, who managed to stay human in the face of war, and all my grand ideas were reduced to nothing thinking I could drive by a suffering animal and never give it a second thought. My little Sarah, all 5ft of her, felt like a force to be reckoned with. She waved down a couple of vehicles and asked them to call Animal Services. She stayed with the dying cow while I drove to a nearby gas station to see if I could get anyone out to help. We stayed with that cow for a couple of hours until Animal Services arrived. It was heartbreaking.

Not for the first time, I discovered something about myself that I didn’t like. Though I can try to attribute it to any number of experiences that may have hardened my heart, I also knew there was no room for excuses. The person I used to be would not have ignored the plight of another being, no matter what rewards awaited. Once again, a trip to Yosemite made me realize how I have changed, and that I needed to undo much of it.

I have since had the pleasure of seeing Sarah’s heroism on other occasions. On one memorable day, she stopped rush hour traffic on a 4-lane freeway (Highway 101 in Palo Alto) to attempt to rescue a parade of ducklings who were trying to cross the road. Not all survived but we did manage to bring a couple of them to the local wildlife rescue shelter. She then helped rescue a stray cat in our neighborhood who, after a lot of work, had become part of our family for more than a decade now. As with any marriage, we run into challenges every now and then, but the memory of these times always strengthens my faith and love for her.

Journal Entry: Taking Photography Seriously

I had been a serious amateur photographer for years as a young adult. Yet, various life events and a general lack of free time (which I should have been more diligent in securing) drew me away from the camera. For a period of more than 2 years, my 35mm Nikon gear sat untouched. It was that first trip to Yosemite that ignited the passion again. I dusted off the old F3 and it felt so good use it again.

Our next National Park trip took us to Zion, where the passion intensified. We happened to stop at an unusual camera store in Kanab where I drooled over a pristine used F4s that was on display marked at $1,000. We left the store and after a short drive I decided I needed to return and buy the camera. Sarah and I were dating for just a few months at the time. I was a newly transplanted immigrant with no credit, and Sarah agreed to pay for it with her credit card, trusting me to repay her when we returned. For the rest of the trip I was in heaven – it was my first visit to the Colorado Plateau – the culmination of years of yearning to see it – and I had a new camera to record it with.

In the following years, Sarah and I were married, and continued our road trips. We returned to Utah a couple of times (and ultimately made our home here,) and visited Yellowstone. When my father came to visit, I took him on a long road trip around the Southwest. The whole time, the F4 was with me and to this day is my favorite camera ever made.

Still, I was curious to learn and became more driven. 35mm film just did not give me the kind of detail and prints I wanted. I finally picked up a used Pentax medium format camera. It was clear to me where I needed to take it – that meadow in Yosemite where I became myself again, where my passion for the wild and for photography was reborn. It was early winter and the valley was almost empty. No sooner had I stopped by the meadow that the rising sun lit up the top of the granite cliffs on the opposite end, as if inviting me to come out and play. I gingerly mounted the large camera on a tripod and made my first exposure. With that one click I realized this is more than just a serious hobby. I was in my element, the camera felt like a natural extension of my experience, and I knew I needed to continue exploring and learning.

The image on this page is the first photograph I made with that old Pentax. When the shutter clicked to capture it, is when I made my decision to pursue photography professionally. I owe it to Yosemite.

Tags: landscape, national park, photography, yosemite

Category: Journal, Places