What can adventure bring to the photographer? We see professionals heading off to this or that exotic place and maybe to the amateur there is a sense of being left behind. Just maybe there is a desire to travel to those places and “live the romantic notion” of the photographer extraordinary.
In reality the romantic notions found in photography revolve around some seemingly non-existent ideal, but we each have an imagination whether that imagination works for or against our endeavors in the craft. Still there is that sense that an adventure is needed to really capture outstanding photographs. Of course, we really do not need to travel far for adventures in world of photography.
Recently I had a personal experience with this desire to be adventurous with my photographic work. I have long wanted to travel down a road located in northern Utah that starts around Snowville (Highway 33) and ends in Oasis, Nevada (Highway 233). I had heard that along the way the mountains of Utah’s west desert and Salt Flats could be seen, so with that in mind I struck out for Snowville, Utah one early Saturday afternoon.
After arriving in Snowville, I fueled my truck and made my way to Highway 33. There, and onward, it was not long before I came upon site that absolutely begged a photograph. It was lone Juniper tree, the only tree for miles around I might add, standing in the middle of a field of prairie grass. This scene, and its subsequent capture, literally set the mood for my day out photo-adventuring. Of course, what I did not know at the time was that the day would be treacherous and that I would learn a very valuable lesson, or two, from my experience.
Down the highway I went when I came upon a dirt road that led south. I had seen this road on the map I had with me and it looked like it connected with another dirt road, which would lead me back to Highway 33. Left turn and I was on my way bouncing down one of sandiest roads I had ever been on.
It was not long before I realized that the road I was on was not the road I had seen on my map. When I say it “was not long before”, of course I really mean four hours later with multiple dirt roads in my rearview mirror. I could not find my way back to the road I had come in on. Remember, I had set out to make my way down Highway 33 in to Nevada and it was at the four hour mark that I realized I would not be able to complete the scripted trip. But the photography was wonderful, so I continued on knowing that eventually I would find a road that would take me back to the Highway.
Along the ride, I thought of you my reader and of my fellow photographers who I wished were with me. Why? Because it is this area of my state, Utah, which I had apparently long neglected, that now revealed to me a beauty that was so overwhelming. I wanted to share it with you right then. Not by blog or by photo-share, but in person. I wanted you and me alone in the wild capturing the magnificence of that place I came to call the “big lonely”.
One of the lessons that came from my trip in to the “big lonely” was that even when there seems nothing to capture of significance, there is a photographic story to be told in that insignificance. In the wide open and expansive places where life is harsh and the whole world seems completely barren there is found a purpose for every photographer. That is, to reveal to others what you feel and then convey a story that your mind alone has imaged enhanced by the emotion that you have experienced.
The “big lonely” is a place of imagination and emotion. It is place where a photographer’s creative juices can really flow. You are forced to look for the story that must be told with little at your photographic disposal except for the feelings you are experiencing.
There is of course some things that can help you along the way in the “big lonely”. For instance, there is a history to all places that you and I may travel, barren or not. If a story cannot be told by the scenery around you, then there may be a history there that few have thought to tell.
An example of this is found in a road I eventually traveling down that was actually the old rail bed for the trains that traveled to and from San Francisco, California. As I made my way west, looking for the Highway, the rail bed provided me with some great photographic opportunities and a few thoughts about those who in the very late 1800’s and early 1900’s traveled down the very bed I was on to reach whatever destination they were seeking.
I imaged cowboys making their way west with their cattle on board heading for the markets of California. I saw in my mind a wife with children in tow making their way to their husband and father who had gone west for the gold rush. I felt the man headed east who had failed to find his fortune and chose to return to his home having exhausted everything material that he owned.
On I went and the travel was rough and smooth at varying times, but it was completely fascinating no matter the terrain. Then I made a bend in the road and was immediately overcome with emotion. My eyes fell to and before me laid the northwest shore of the Great Salt Lake with its blue water and gigantic “beaches”.
I was about to learn another lesson in my travel through the “big lonely”. Down to the shore I went, only the shore was at least two miles large to the water’s edge. Out of my truck and on to the sandy flats of the Great Salt Lake and there I learned a photographic lesson that seems ridiculous to me know, but was profound then.
Strewn about on the sandy flats were remnants of long ago trees, their roots exposed, lava rock, and driftwood. I immediately began composing my shots and found that there was no elevated angle from which to create the drama I was seeking for my story. To my belly I went and there was imagery I was looking for. In that belly flop was the simple lesson that I apparently needed.
The lesson? You have to get dirty. The photographers I mentioned in opening this piece, you know the pros, are all willing to do whatever it physically takes to get that photograph that tells that story they have in their mind. In my case, what it took to tell part of my story was to simply lay down and roll about in the sand.
However, there were consequences to this decision. I was absolutely miserable the rest of the day, because the sand had gotten in to everything, especially my shirt and shorts. It was worth it though; because I was able to make one of the most dramatic photographs (seen above) I have ever had the opportunity to make by doing what I did.
On I went, venturing further in to the “big lonely”. I just knew at some point I would run in to the Highway. As the time past and light began to fade I realized that I would be taking fewer and fewer photos. My nervousness about the amount of fuel I had and the fact that night was quickly coming was a tremendous distraction.
Just when I thought that maybe it was time to turn around, I rounded another bend in the road and below me lay one of the most desolate places I have ever seen before. It was the Salt Flats of the Great Salt Lake Desert and much like my earlier experience with the Great Salt Lake itself, I was once again overcome. It was at this point that I realized that it was not just the significance of the insignificance of the place where I had ventured that tugged at my photographic heart, but the fact that I was so insignificant compared to that which had revealed itself around me.
One feels very small in the “big lonely”. The land is big, the land treacherous, the land is expansive, and the land does not care. The land is the land; it has no emotion, it has no feeling, it has no compassion, and there is no sense from the land that you matter. It simply IS and how one deals with that “ISness” is how one deals with the preciousness of life.
My troubles intensified a little as I continued on. The Salt Flats screamed “shoot me, shoot me!” I obliged and noticed that I had not been paying attention to what was transpiring in the western sky. A storm began rolling in and with it came rain, lightning, and thunder.
As a photographer you know that such instances in weather change can bring opportunities for some really fantastic image making, so I stuck around and photographed the storm as it came closer and closer. By the time I was done with what I wanted to capture, darkness loomed and the storm blotted what little light that was left. It was time to find my way out.
I back tracked, or attempted to and found myself a little panicked, because the roads in did not look the same as they did going out; naturally. I did eventually make it out as must be obvious, because I am writing this article about my experience. The road out was wet and even more lonely than the road in, because at least on the way in I had the scenery around me to keep me occupied. I guess you could say that the “big lonely” is even lonelier when night invades and we are left to imagine the worst of possibilities without the benefit of landmarks.
For me this experience was one that brought a lot of understanding related to how I approach the art and craft of photography. Yes, there were those lessons that I learned, but more importantly I was taught a truth that I will keep with me where ever I may travel in capturing images. It is this; sacrifice is required.
This sacrifice can come in many forms and can manifest itself in different ways, but it is the thing required to prove one’s motives in making images. I set out that day to discover a Highway and in the end I discovered a mettle that I was not fully aware that I had in regard to my image making. I survived the “big lonely” for an afternoon and night and with that survival came a sense of great accomplishment.
Will I do it again? Oh yes, I will and my hope is that I am able to find myself lost in many other places unique to my state as well. Will I do things differently next time? Most certainly, and I will take those very precious lessons I learned on this wonderful photo-adventure with me when I go.
Until Next Time…
CbyM
A Note to the Photographer: Here is tip for those of you who may choose to venture out and have a real desire to capture what you think and feel as you traveled. Take with you a small digital recording devise or a pen and notebook. Being able to capture what you think, feel, and experience while on the move can assist you in your image making. It can also be a very valuable tool if you write about the photographs that you make.
Michael Frye
Harley Pebley
photographybb
