The reality of the natural world is that it rarely, if ever, bends to the will of the best-laid plans of human beings. This is abundantly clear in the realm of natural photography. Ever dynamic weather, the whimsical nature of natural light, the fleeting chance of encounters with wildlife, and even the direction in which a particular plant decides to grow can, and will, throw aside even an expert photographer's creative intents. At first, this seems the height of frustration. Under the surface, it's the real driving force for many to venture out and create these images.
Adventure is as intertwined in the human spirit as life itself. I am no exception to this rule. I crave the experiences that come with new places, incredible landscapes, and a pushing my greater understanding of the world during my short time upon it. The extra challenge of capturing invoking images of the scenes that stirred my soul only added to an already positive experience. Starting last year, I compelled myself to consistently chase day and overnight trips into the wilds to chase down and create my photographs. I broke all my records in capturing images, started a website, made a calendar, and thoroughly enjoyed almost every moment.
Of the thirty photographs I considered 'excellent' creations last year, and that made it onto my website, there were a few of my personal favorites. However, it was one of my final photos last year that stands out as my absolute favorite of the bunch. It represents the culmination of knowledge and practice gained over the expanse of a year of photography. It is a work I am genuinely proud of. That photo is aptly called "Crown," and this its story.
Late October in 2019, the leaves were just beginning to turn when the first snow fell in Spokane, Washington. Trees, unprepared for the sudden burden of wet snow on their leafy branches were torn apart overnight. I listened as branches snapped and popped in the early hours of the morning. The result was masses of branches and downed trees spread all over the Inland Northwest. Cleaning up this mess was, of course, a pain, and the sight of many ruined trees was saddening, but the thought of early season snow piqued my interest.
It had been some time since I'd been up to the Selkirk Mountains in northern Idaho. There was a mountain lake at the end of a short hike that I'd yet to reach. I imagined that lake with a bit of snow around it, but with a trail leading to it still passable in the warmer weather. It was a great plan, right up until the moment I stepped on the path.
After the hour-long drive to the relatively easily accessed trailhead near Bonner's Ferry, Idaho, I was greeted by a not so welcoming trail ahead of me. Limbs covered the first hundred yards of the path I could see and required climbing over or under. Added to this fact was that the trail started just above the snow line and had several inches on it already, more to be expected as I climbed. Without proper snow gear and no knowledge of how many downed trees or limbs may yet block the path ahead, I made the begrudging but safe decision not to make my planned hike.
I wasn't too bitter about not making the hike to be perfectly honest. It was near mid-day, so the light wouldn't have been conducive for photography anyway. Today was more or less a scouting trip to see if the lake would be a suitable spot for camping in the summer. Also, just because one place didn't work, doesn't mean I didn't have a lot of choices. This part of Idaho just happened to be the location of several points of interest for me, like the Kootenai Wildlife Refuge, which I'd visit later that day. I could also use the time to check out various offshoot roads for potential truck camping sites.
On the way off the mountain stood a sign I'd seen a half dozen times before. It was the trailhead marker for Snow Creek Falls. I'd never stopped and made the trip as I'd always been on my way to another hike or returning sore and tired from one. Today was the perfect day than to explore this hardly noticeable little spot. I should have known then it would be like finding a treasure. This wasn't my first time stopping at a roadside waterfall trail only to discover something amazing.
Heading down the trail, through some private land at first, I emerged into a fairytale-like forest. The midday sun trickled down through the canopies, and the fall air was still warm enough for the whole of the woods to give a hypnotic peace. It was a sense of enchantment only Mother Nature could manage. A sign split the trail in two directions, one toward the lower falls, and one to the upper. I headed to the lower falls first. I was surprised how quickly I came upon the sound of crashing water and then the falls themselves. Hard to believe I'd passed up this place so many times when it was so easy and enjoyable to reach.
The Lower Snow Falls were rushing with water from the out of season snow melting higher up in the Selkirks. The rush of cold water created frost and ice to form on the rocks nearest the torrent. Soft light tricked down through the canopy, but the forest shielded enough of the now early afternoon sun that the falls themselves fell in shadow. Lucky for me as I didn't have any neutral density filters.
To "slow down" the water in my waterfall photos, I generally shoot a longer exposure, meaning the shutter is held open longer. This makes the movement of the water become more of a blur. I typically play around until I find the movement that best matches the waterfall I'm working with. On average, around 0.8 to 0.6 seconds of exposure works well. This, of course, depends on your ISO and F stop, but that can be discussed more in a full lesson on waterfall photography coming later this year.
The lower falls were a bit of a challenge to shoot as it required a bit of fence hopping, and I had to be very careful with the creek flowing as it was. Do not underestimate the power of a mountain-fed stream, in Spring, and this unique case in Fall, they can be quite dangerous. Rocks also become icy and slick. With that all in mind, I slowly searched around for a few compositions. One I found further down, but a massive fallen tree across the frame completely breaks the composition for me.
Moving up closer to the fall, I tried a few compositions there and ultimately settled on one that included the warmer light coming down through the trees further up the creek. This composition ultimately didn't work for me because the falls pull all the attention to the bottom of the photo, and there isn't an easy path for the viewer's eye to trace through the image. The sense of depth also doesn't translate well, which is probably one of my favorite techniques to work into my compositions.
Even with two compositions I knew were only okay, setting off toward the upper falls, I felt invigorated knowing I had some shots on the memory card. Sometimes that's what it takes to kick start the creative drive, a warm-up. Back into the fairy forest, I went, gazing up at the great trunks of ancient trees warmed in the afternoon sun. It wasn't an epic hike up to an incredible mountain lake, true. Still, this casual stroll through the forest was precisely the soul-lifting experience that I love so much about getting out into nature.
As I came back down the path into the stream nestled below the falls, I knew I had found a treasure. A 30-foot waterfall cascaded down into a rock-filled creek bed, water winding and crashing about. Just above the falls, the first signs of Fall peaked out in bright orange. The whole of it lit in soft light and shadow. I was in a little piece of paradise, and I had it all to myself.
I had been visualizing an opportunity like this for some time. I hadn't expected the perfect chance to try it, but here I was. I set about composing right away, using the rocks and pools of water to create a visual path that led up to the waterfall. Just above the fall sat a branch filled with backlit orange leaves, which became the ending point of this visual story I was composing. I carefully set up the tripod atop slick wet rocks while letting my boots soak in the freezing water. It would be worth a mild discomfort on the hike back to get this right. Using a vertical composition, I adjusted the height of the camera until I felt the balance of foreground and background match up just right.
Then I just took a photo, right?
Not quite. I first focused on the falls and took a few test shots feeling out the flow of the water and the shutter speed. My first inclination to shoot at 0.8 seconds was correct. It was then time to deal with the real difficulty of a scene with this much depth. My foreground was only a few feet away while the waterfall was much further. There was no possible way for my lens to sharp focus on both, and everything else in the scene, at the same time. So I used one of the new techniques I had learned earlier that year, focus stacking. I carefully focused on the closest feature in the scene, a rock at the bottom of the composition, and took the first photo. I moved back through the scene, choosing prominent elements, focusing on them, and then taking another photo. I very deliberately didn't move the camera or anything except the focus ring. In all, I ended up with five exposures from which the final image resulted. These were combined using a workflow that involves Adobe Lightroom and Photoshop.
Why focus stacking is needed. Above, foreground rocks are in focus but the icicles further back in the image are not. Below, the icicles are now in focus, but the rocks are not. Focus stacking combines these images to make everything appear in focus.
There are only a few times when I know I have it. When I realize right away, the image I just captured is one that will be in my portfolio. Over time I've gotten better at creating photos that meet my standards, but often I don't know until I get home and start editing it. This photo was one I knew immediately I would love.
As I worked my way back up the trail, taking in the afternoon light of the forest, I felt myself smiling with a sense of accomplishment. My best-laid plans had been cast aside by mother nature, and I couldn't have been happier for it. The best part and worst parts of photographing nature are that one is always at its whim. But the reward is absolutely beyond the worth. Especially when it hands you a treasure like the “Crown.”
