My shoulders and back thank another Chicago snowstorm for granting us a fresh blanket. I was amongst the walls and doors of Fortress Chicago some weeks ago in a similar storm and this long shuttered door behind the Oriental Institute caught my eye, buried as it was in a rather deep drift.
Beneath the mammoths dwell the mortals, campers and mule deer both. In the frame above, echos of images I would capture years later in Yosemite.
It is with no small amount of sadness that I pen this last post about Prairie Creek Redwood State Park. In retrospect it was this late summer trip that reset my photography and recentered my focus upon amateur-first, image-first thinking. I had just read Galen Rowell's Inner Game of Outdoor Photography (and just today recommended this book to a friend) and was eager to ditch the HDR approach I had taken for the previous three years in favor of something more subtle and authentic.
Processing was to become secondary to content. And the content that transformed me I found in the forests and the mountains and the oceans of California—the first of these being Prairie Creek. Many adventures await within this retrospective, many new images. All of me hopes to revisit NorCal before those posts are written, but part of me knows that may not come to pass.
So with these few images from a morning long past, spent walking amongst splendid redwood meadows, I expell at long last the juniper air of that voyage until again I can draw it forth from under the shadows of the giants.
From the beach to the headlands, we passed through impossibly beautiful groves of coastal redwoods, festooned in moss and grinning in the oblique light of an idyllic California afternoon.
When we reached Klamath point, the intertidals creating a checkerboard with what waves the wind could muster and the long, rocky limb of NorCal spread from shoal to bluff beneath our feet, we heated water and made soup. Around us passed the foggy onshore winds and a handful of motorcycle tourists on their way south or north or wherever the four winds commanded, the 2010 equivalent of long-haired men with bindles in railyards and wanderlust in their hearts.
It starts early.
Oliver looks through a lovely collection of Fairy Tales a colleague from Stanford gave us when he was born. Thanks Tao!