close encounters of the bison kind

As you drive back Antelope Flats Road in Grand Teton National Park you pass a warning sign alongside the road. The sign has the silhouette of a buffalo on it and warns you not to approach wildlife. Upon entering the park, you also receive the flyer you see to the left, warning you not to approach buffalo. But what happens when the buffalo approach you? Both of the mornings I spent at Mormon Row, photographing the Moulton barns, I had close encounters of the bison kind.

Morning #1: I arrived at the John Moulton Homestead to shoot the barn there at sunrise. There were four guys there already, all friends who had arrived together. After I set up tripod & camera, we chatted while waiting for the sun to break the horizon at our backs and illuminate the barn with that sweet first light of morning. As we talked, we watched a big bull buffalo drift slowly over from the direction of Antelope Flats Road, then mosey along in front of the pink house, then start to angle over toward us. Hmmm. It didn’t escape our notice that all that was between us & him was the piddling little irrigation ditch. Thankfully, just as we started to get fidgety & discuss possible avenues of retreat, the bull stopped in a little clump of trees just to the left of the barn. And there he stayed, eyeballing us, until we had finished shooting and took the long way around back to our cars.

Morning #2: I was back on Mormon Row, this time at the southern barn (Thomas A. Moulton Homestead) to photograph at sunrise. This time I was the first to arrive. As I scouted camera angles, I noticed a small herd of buffalo, about a dozen animals, a quarter of a mile down the meadow to the left of the barn. It was about fifteen minutes before anyone else showed up—a lady & a guy from a photo workshop, and then a college-age girl from Lancaster, PA (a fellow Pennsylvanian!). I had set up by the boards crossing the irrigation ditch up in the corner of the field by the road, and the photo workshop folks set up a little ways over to my right. The girl from Lancaster & I chatted about Pennsylvania stuff, and we all waited for first light to hit the barn.

Meanwhile—yes, you guessed it—the herd of buffalo was slowly but surely moving up the field toward us. Closer. Closer. Hmmm. The photo workshop lady quickly packed up her equipment and got in their car. The guy looked like he wanted to duck back to the car also, but was watching to see what the Lancaster girl & I would do. What did we do? Brilliantly, we huddled behind two trees, away from the herd, who had now stopped twenty-five feet away and were just standing there looking at us. There was one bull with them who was HUGE. Maybe the same fellow from the morning before. Maybe he enjoys spending his mornings terrorizing photographers. Anyway, when you’re that close to a herd of bison with just a tree in between you & them, you’re suddenly, uneasily, fearfully aware of how large & pointy their horns are. It was all I could think about. “Dang, those horns look sharp!” must’ve run through my mind a thousand times.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably just a few minutes, the herd started to drift back down the field away from us. They made up for scaring us half to death by crossing over in front of the barn and providing us with some cool shots. The big bull was the last to cross over the ditch and then amble in front of the barn.

So those were my two mornings on Mormon Row photographing the Moulton barns. Let me tell you, starting your day off with close encounters of the bison kind will wake you up better than any cup of Starbucks coffee!

Thanks for reading about stuff I’ve photographed. ~ Rich

why i like the doing of it myself

If my vacation photos are the reason I’m going on vacation, what exactly do I gain by heading for (what I’m reasonably certain are) two of the most photographed national parks in the country? From Ansel Adams’ famous Snake River shot in 1942 to some anonymous tourist’s pic of Old Faithful taken last week, Grand Teton and Yellowstone have been photographed ad nauseam. Why waste my time beating a dead horse? Why not just go sit on a beach for a week instead?

Okay, so even if I went to the beach for a week, I’d still be snapping photos every chance I had, so what’s wrong with me?

I think I just like the doing of it myself. When I go somewhere, whether it’s Boulder Creek or the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, it’s not to imitate the photographs of others, but to fully embrace my own personal experience of the place. I go to accept nature’s invitation to draw away and, outside under the open sky, look beyond the boundaries of my own existence.

Photography, for me, is a creative contact with nature. It’s the passionate pursuit of this contact that calls me forward, always forward, to the next photograph. Hidden in each photograph is a new experience. And each new experience gives me a chance to celebrate the gift of being alive.

I must admit, there’s a certain restlessness in this pursuit of the next photograph, the next new experience. I think that’s because deep within each of us there’s a desire to celebrate the gift of life, and we’re always searching for some endeavor that will allow us to do that with every part of our true self. For some, that may be needlepoint or skydiving or gardening or rock climbing. But for me, it’s being outside with a camera.

So why am I heading for (what I’m reasonably certain are) two of the most photographed national parks in the country? Because it’s not just about the photographs I’ll bring back; it’s also about the experience those photographs will represent. That’s why I can never be content just looking at someone else’s pictures of a place. No, I like the doing of it myself.

bear lake to trail ridge road

I’d set the alarm for 3:45am, but I woke up about fifteen minutes before that, so I decided to just go ahead and roll out of bed. A bite of breakfast, wash my face, check I have all my gear, and I’m out the door a few minutes before 4.

No traffic to speak of on US-36 W (Boulder Turnpike), and very quickly I was rolling through Boulder. Twelve stoplights. A couple of times, I’ve zipped right through, no red lights. This morning I hit one. Still, in no time at all, I was blowing out the north end of town, heading for Lyons.

Heading north out of Boulder, I noticed the sky was beginning to lighten just a bit over in the direction of Longmont (home of PBR rider, Kody Lostroh). In short order, I arrived at the little burg of Lyons and, remembering they’re serious about their 25 mph speed limit, I geared down, even though it was 4:30am and not a creature was stirring.

Exiting Lyons, I felt an irrepressible smile begin to creep onto my face. There are very few things in life more fun than zipping up the winding road from Lyons to Estes Park in a Mini when there’s no one else out & about. I just always pray I don’t come cooking around a corner and find a mule deer standing in the road.

No deer (or elk) apparently want to be a hood ornament on this particular morning and I passed through the Beaver Meadows Entrance Station of Rocky Mountain National Park at exactly 5am. My plan was to be at Bear Lake for sunrise and I was right on schedule.

Up at the end of Bear Lake Road, I found four or five other vehicles in the parking lot, but to my surprise I had the lake all to myself. Especially on summer weekends, there are always a few other early bird photographers scattered around the shoreline, but not this morning. I found some rocks on the north shore of the lake to use as foreground & set up a composition that included Longs Peak over across the way. Still no one else around. Cool. There’s no breathtaking alpenglow accompanying the sun’s climb over the horizon, no pastel colored clouds heralding the dawn of this new day… but I have Bear Lake all to myself and suddenly this is no ordinary sunrise, it’s a private performance God is putting on just for me. Thanks, God.

When I planned my trip to the park, I had toyed with the idea of hiking up to Bierstadt Lake from Bear Lake, but after spending about forty minutes photographing at Bear Lake, I decided to ditch the hike and instead go back to the car & head over to Trail Ridge Road and see what was what.

On my way back down Bear Lake Road, I stopped at Moraine Park. Moraine Park is the large, wide-open meadow along the Big Thompson River & Cub Creek. It’s kind of confusing to call it a “park” since it’s in RMNP, but apparently it was a late addition to RMNP and retained its name. So it’s a park within The Park. While wandering around Moraine, I met a nice guy (even though he was shooting with a Nikon) from Indiana. He pulled up a shot on his LCD of a big bull elk he’d photographed the evening before as it was crossing the Big Thompson. It was a great shot, with the snow-capped mountains in the background. I couldn’t help but think, “Man! I’ve been up here two dozen times and never got a shot like that & this guy is here one day and hits the jackpot. Grrr.” Let it go, Rich. Let it go.

After shooting some trees in Moraine (I like trees), I headed for Trail Ridge Road. If you’ve never been up Trail Ridge Road, it’s incredible. It’s the highest continuous paved road in the U.S. (12,183 ft). Trail Ridge traverses RMNP from east to west, from Estes Park to Grand Lake, crossing the Continental Divide at Milner Pass. It’ll take you up above treeline and into the starkly beautiful alpine tundra where it’s like you’ve entered a whole other world. The mountain views all along the road are spectacular. When you visit Rocky Mountain National Park, you must drive up Trail Ridge Road. (Note: The road is closed each year from about mid-October to Memorial Day weekend.) Stop at all the overlooks. Hike up Heart Attack Hill above the Alpine Visitor Center at Fall River Pass. Check out the Tundra World Nature Trail above the Rock Cut Parking Area. Take it all in and you’ll be treated to views you’ll never forget.

Thanks for reading about stuff I’ve photographed. ~Rich