Tags
bear, bridalveil falls, cub, danger, Deby Dixon, El Capitan, fern spring, hiking, kind people, Merced River, national park, nature, outdoors, people, tourists, travel, vacation, visitors, waterfalls, Yosemite National Park, yosemite photos
Sit back, breathe, skip the plans and go with the flow…
Okay, so I’ll admit it – I have been going through my Yosemite photos and mourning the shots that I have been unable to get. I play all of the excuses in my head – 25 miles from the valley, the stale blue sky, intense sunlight, valley smog, camera difficulties and lack of luck. Yawn. All of that is true, to some extent.
Yosemite is a difficult place to shoot, particularly after May when the light changes, because it is enormous and its main features pop up time and time again, begging for another shot. Also, with the valley 3000 ft or more below those monuments, it goes into shade while the tops are bright against the sun.
Give it up Deby, it is time to go. Erase photos, make hard drive space, pack, enjoy the sunshine, read a book and smile. Sounds good to me. Yosemite meant so many other things to me – my return to the working world, the hiking and exploration, and most of all, personal growth. Those things are enough and I am satisfied.
I set out to drive into the valley, with no plans to do anything. My body relaxes. The cameras set on the seat beside me but I had no plans to use them.
Fern Spring calls out to me, as it often does. I had been thinking about trying to drink the water, like many do, and maybe this is the time.
I walk over and stare at the reflection of the trees and their leaves with the light bouncing off of an occasional drop of water falling dead center of the spring. No urge to drink, my mind is still working on that option.
I grab the camera and take a couple of test shots before returning for my tripod. The cool air and the rustle of the leaves shelters me in the spring’s darkened alcove.
Ready to take a few shots and a tour bus pulls up and people jump off. One man rushes into my shot with two cups to fill. He shrugs at me and grins. One cup filled he takes the lid off of the other and dumps its contents into the spring.
Without a thought, “No!” I stutter, unable to say more, thinking that I should mind my own business. My body trembles and I am mystified that anyone would dump their drink into the water that they intend to fill their cup with.
“No, its okay,” he assures me. “It is natural.”
The words still won’t come.
“It is tea, all natural tea, it is okay.”
I shake my head. My mouth might have shut but my body language betrays my attempt to mind my own business.
A couple of other people fill their cups and I wait. And then the gentleman returns with the straws from the drink cup that rests on the spring’s wall, and leans down to drink the water through the straws. Now this is a moment to capture.
Eventually the bus leaves and the drink cup remains.
I stop at Bridalveil Falls for some reason. The huge crowd and the flow of water pulls me there. I grab both cameras and my tripod and head up the short trail, thinking that the sun was way too bright for shooting a waterfall.
At the end of the path a man asks, “Are you going up to the top?”
“I was thinking about it.”
“If you go all of the way to the pool there are two rainbows,” he tells me. “You have to go, just follow the path.”
I start up but the “path” disappears into boulders, the first of which attempts to claim my right leg until a gentleman comes to my rescue. The man and his wife and I continue to climb, helping each other. I am at a disadvantage with no hands available.
What am I doing? All these months in Yosemite and all of the miles of hiking without injury, this is not a good time to start.
Again and again another hiker tells me, beyond their worry for my safety, how the view at the top is worth it. Towards the top, just as I am ready to turn back, my camera and tripod hitch a ride from a young man who will not take no for an answer. Climbing is easy with two hands.
At the top the water sprays and one and two rainbows arc perfectly over the pool of water and across the wet granite. I am speechless, so much so I hesitate to lift my camera. I find a boulder to stand behind so that my equipment will stay dry. When the wind shifts and blows the water to the right, I shoot.
By the next time the water has sprayed my way and moved left, my tripod is set up behind the rock and I am ready.
Jeremy, one of the young men who told me how he had never seen anything so beautiful and encouraged me to continue when I had started to turn back, walks down to find his pot of gold. He is dwarfed by the scale of the water and the wall.
As I shoot he and his friend/fiance, Lindsay with the rainbow, I hatch a plan to return safely to the valley floor.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell Jeremy when he returns from under the rainbow.”
“What is that?” he asks.
“If you help me get down, I’ll send you some photos.”
“Hell, yeah!”
Lindsay goes a ways down, wisely staying on dry rocks and Jeremy and I take photos of her.
Jeremy carries my tripod and I tuck the cameras into my belt. With both hands free, going down is easy. Still, I win the foolish, crazy old lady photographer award for the day.
USE CAUTION:
There are signs warning of the danger of climbing up to the waterfall, particularly over wet rocks, saying that people are injured or killed while doing so. I had no plans to climb up to some waterfall and never should have with two cameras and no free hands. One camera and the tripod in a backpack would have been a much wiser way to go. And I did not step out onto the wet rocks, which on that slick granite are like an ice skating rink. So, please, use extreme caution when climbing anywhere in Yosemite – keep your hands free, take a friend, wear good boots and make sure that your body is capable of the hike. I don’t give this advice lightly – people are rescued from the trails every day.
Down safely, I admit that the view was worth the climb but would not be worth an injury.
Later, I find myself on the Merced River, once again hoping to capture the river in slow motion with the evening light fading on El Capitan. I see a reflection moving in the back of my camera but nothing is there. The reflection continues and I hear a fisherman speaking behind me. I wonder who he is talking to but don’t turn to look. The reflection continues to bother me and I feel uneasy with a sense of danger lurking somewhere. The fisherman is not the source of my uneasiness.
A voice behind me and I finally turn to look. He points across the river but I don’t see anything.
“There’s a bear,” the fisherman tells me.
My heart jumps with excitement and sinks when I remember that I am shooting with a 17-35 mm, having left the other camera in the car for probably the first time. “You won’t see a bear,” I had told myself, while stepping over some scat. Figures.
I whirl around and shoot with the short lens, quickly adjusting the exposure and ƒ stop. I watch the bear for a few minutes and decide to hike back to the car for the other camera. I had finally given up on the D7000 for my wildlife shots, after allowing it to mess up all the the previous 15 bear sitings and put the 80-400 mm on my D700. Afterwards, I thought, now I’m ready to photograph a bear and probably won’t see one.
Cute little two year-old blonde cub number 16 was the second bear I had seen since changing cameras but the first, an unusual black bear, had been a ways off.
With the light gone from the river, the ISO is high – 3500 to 5000 – but my faith in the D700 persists. I know some shots will turn out. The cub hangs out for awhile, alternately eating and staring me down. The fisherman sits on a log, smoking a cigar and watching the cub. My heart is smiling and singing songs.
I shoot until the cub heads off into the forest and then I breathe. The fisherman looks at me and I thank him for telling me about the bear.
“You made my day,” I tell him. “I have been here, volunteering for three months, and camera problems have prevented my getting a good shot of a bear. I’d given up.”
Just goes to show, give up, relax and have a good time and then you will find the spirit of Yosemite. This was one great day – the kind that dreams are made of.