I share a mutual passion with a platonic girlfriend named Lindsay. We often side-kick each other in rugged, remote areas with a shared mission: To explore new places of wildscapes and wildlife and capture these elements into images that display their natural beauty. And what better place to do our journeys than the four corner regions of the American Southwest. Here, landscapes are textured, stretched into cracks and canyons, and uplifted into high plains and mountain ranges. They are also uniquely illustrated in colorful arrangements as if native gods painted their visions on peyote-fueled sacraments. I have been exploring these remote areas for over 30 years and feel I have barely scratched the list of what I still need to explore.
If there were one word to sum up my and Lindsay's relationship, it would be Ambivalent. Simply because of our competitiveness, wonderment, and artistry in our mutual love of explorations in photography. To sum it up better, our relationship goes like this: Imagine you're planning an excursion into the backcountry. You agree on a plan, make the long four-wheeled trek into the wilderness, and then endure many miles of hiking. Finally, we gaze upon the awe-inspiring site we've longed to see. We are both amazed at what stands before us and can barely contain our explosive glee. We talk out loud and express the elements and leading lines. And in the next blink of an eye, we are suddenly unspoken contenders.
Now yards apart, we find ourselves affixed into odd positions to gain our expressions. I have an elevated, cramped foothold clinging onto the crack of a canyon wall to get a higher point of view. Holding on with one hand, I manage to look through my viewfinder, only to see Lindsay right in the middle of my shot, setting up her mini tripod for a low profile. Grrrr, hurry up and get the hell out of my shot! And so it continues throughout the day, going both ways.
Sometimes, I think we do it for grins and gall.
Our first stop is Navajo Bridge & The Guardians of the Gorge
At the start of the majestic Grand Canyon, where the vermilion cliffs stand tall, and the Colorado River carves its path, is Navajo Bridge. A symbol of connection between the past and the present, where modern engineering meets timeless natural beauty. Arriving mid-morning, the condors are now warmed enough by the radiant heat of the sheer canyon walls to start moving about. As they stretch their massive wings, you can tell they are preparing to leap off the 470-foot cliff and catch the morning updrafts.
As we await their flight, the mid-morning light paints the desert with gold and rose hues. I witness the canyon's awakening—the air hums with the whispers of the wind, carrying tales of generations past, and soon, brave river rafters will flow beneath us, embarking on their own spiritual journey. But it is not just the landscape that now stirs; the guardians of the gorge, the mighty California condors, have now taken flight, and our cameras are drawn upward. With wings over nine feet wide, they span like ebony sails against the sky and glide effortlessly, embodying the spirit of freedom that pervades this sacred land. Watching in awe, I genuinely wish I had wings to soar in unison with them. Above and below the bridge, I watch the condors dance upon the thermals, their graceful movements a ballet of survival and grace. They are masters of the air, soaring with a majesty that leaves me breathless.
As I click my camera, freezing moments in time, I feel a sense of reverence wash over me. These condors are not just birds; they are symbols of resilience, and their presence is a testament to the efforts of conservationists who have worked tirelessly to ensure their survival. Through my lens, I continue to capture their every twist and turn, their silhouettes etched against the canvas of the canyon walls. Each photograph tells a story of the strength and endurance of a species on the brink of extinction that has found hope amidst the cliffs and Navajo Bridge. As the sun climbs the sky, the condors ascend and land on the bridge girders to rest. I count six of them and watch how they interact with each other. The aerial show is over, and it's time to slowly stride off the bridge and back onto the canyon wall.
The bridge on the right was the original crossing built in 1929. It is now for pedestrians only and is a perfect vantage point to view the river and the condors.
The bridge on the left was built in 1995 and is for vehicles only. Total length: 909 feet across. Steel arch length: 726 feet. Height above the river: 470 feet. Amount of steel: 3,900,000 pounds. Amount of concrete: 1,790 cubic yards. Amount of steel reinforcement: 434,000 pounds.
Here is a fantastic visual of the wing span of the mighty Condor.
Ebony wings sail high and mighty in the sky.
A juvenile doing a "horaltic pose" with wings spread broad, increasing the surface area of their bodies so that the sun can more easily warm them.
A mature condor resting on the edge of the 470' high cliff.
A condo glides effortlessly on the thermal updrafts, embodying the spirit of freedom over their sacred land.
We don't have wings but are now flying down the highway en route to the day's next adventure. As we push through the air, their spirit lingers within me, a reminder of the delicate balance between man and nature and the importance of protecting the treasures within our grasp. Above all, I hope that the guardians of the gorge continue to soar into the endless expanse of the desert sky for generations to come.
Wire Pass & Buckskin Gulch
As we make the one-plus-hour trek on half pavement and half dirt road, we arrive at the trailhead. The sun is now high in the sky; its golden rays coat the rugged landscape of southern Utah. We set off into the wilderness with our camera backpacks slung over our shoulders and shoes firmly laced.
Wire Pass is a slot canyon in southern Utah carved through the Cockscomb by Coyote Wash. It is a branch of Buckskin Gulch, the world's longest and deepest slot canyon—a 23-mile gash carved through the desert. The trail winds its way up a sandy wash and eventually into red rock formations, towering cliffs, and ancient juniper trees, each step bringing us closer to the slot canyon's entrance. Entering the slot, walls rapidly encompass us to where they are up to 500 hundred feet tall. We capture the interplay of light and shadows dancing upon the etched eolian and Navajo sandstone walls.
As we meander deeper into the slot, we scramble down polished dry waterfalls, dropping many feet and crawling under and over massive tree trunks tightly lodged into the walls. They stand noticeably branchless and worn smooth by the power of water that stripped them bare. Continuing in amazement, we finally reached the junction of Buckskin Gulch—the longest slot canyon in the world. The walls here at the intersection are far apart, and we had to choose between trekking left or right. We both agreed to go left, heading in; the walls narrowed quickly, and the light direction left the soil cool, damp, and sticky in some places. There was pink pooled water at the edges of the walls, and it settled into a pinkish clay-like mud. It was so odd-looking that I wanted to drink in the ethereal beauty of the scene. The features capture the delicate patterns transforming from smooth, tepid mud pools into dry, cracked, and curled scales of earth.
As we ventured deeper into Buckskin Gulch, the canyon walls seemed to close around us, towering overhead like silent sentinels guarding the earth's secrets. Lindsay's photography became more intimate, focusing on the fine details of the canyon floor—the swirling patterns, the subtle hues of pink and orange, and the play of light casting down the narrow crevices. With each photograph, I felt more attuned to the rhythm of the canyon, more connected to the ancient forces that had shaped this landscape over millennia. Every image was a testament to the power and beauty of Mother Nature, a fleeting glimpse of her world hidden from the eyes that most would never see. After venturing down Buckskin for a while, I asked Lindsay, "How much further down this rabbit hole do you plan to venture?" It's 3:45, and the never-ending bends and curves pull you further down the canyon like a coyote drawing in its prey. Another fifteen minutes and I make a stay. Okay, it's time to turn around now, and she begrudgingly nods.
As we made an about-face, we noticed the light was ever-changing. We crept back through the maze, which allowed us in. Maneuvering back up the waterfall drops, we needed to assist each other in pushing and pulling our way up and out. I am sure it would have been quite a struggle alone. Eventually emerging from the slot, we were back, crunching our way down the sunny and sandy wash; arriving at the truck sluggishly, we refueled with snacks and water. It was time to backtrack down the long dirt road and head to Lees Ferry to make camp.
PLEASE NOTE: Distant storms can cause flash flooding in this Slot Canyon, making this hike one of the top 10 most dangerous hikes in the US! Please check the local weather forecast at least 50 miles north of this area several times before entering the canyon! Cell phones and GPS do not work in the canyon. Once you enter the slot canyon, there is no access out, and storms further north can send debris-filled water 40' high through the canyon.
Lee's Ferry
We arrived just before dark, got set up, and cracked a well-deserved beer. Lindsay mixed up a Mediterranean salad as I heated the Lasagna soup I had made the night before. I added a few hunks of buttery garlic bread, and we noshed as night settled in and the last rays of sunlight painted the canyon walls in shades of fiery orange and deep purple. I sparked up a campfire, and we encircled it to settle in, warm ourselves, and reflect on our extraordinary day. However, words could never fully convey the awe-inspiring grandeur of it all. Our photographs speak no words but convey an unwritten message drawn from nature's soul; they are communication in visual code that all can understand. As the campfire dies, the stars burn brighter, and it is time to turn in for the night and rest our weary legs.
As the early morning sun cast its golden rays over the ridge of Lee's Ferry, I hear Lindsay unzip her tent. I lift the back hatch of my truck and am met by the sounds of the mighty Colorado River rumbling, its soft but mighty roar echoing down the canyon walls. I get to work procuring a pot of coffee and stiffly crawl out of my truck. It's a new day that will be met with a new adventure. As I sip black brew and stretch, we agree to head down to the water immediately and start shooting the early morning glows of orange light. We drove down to the boat launch and departed the truck. Lindsay immediately disappeared into a golden thicket of reeds several feet taller than she. Breaking her way down a scant path, she would not be seen again for quite a while.
Walking down the river's edge, I crouched down and dipped my fingers into the chilly water. Just then, I spotted flocks of ducks busting into the opposite water's edge. And just like that, my shutter was on fire, capturing images of Western grebes, green-winged teal, common goldeneyes, mallards, and American coots. The pairs and small flocks continued pouring in, making for some fast-action shooting. After 20 or so minutes, I took a break to look up into the canyon and spotted three wild horses standing in the sun. They were more content warming themselves in the early sun rather than grazing the newly emerged spring grass.
Lees Ferry is in the heart of the rugged American Southwest, where the Colorado River cuts through the majestic red cliffs of northern Arizona. It is a place of historical significance and natural beauty. In 1871, Lee's Ferry was established as a crossing point for travelers heading westward along the Old Spanish Trail. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, it served as a critical point for scientific exploration and mapping of the region. Major John Wesley Powell, the famed explorer, and geologist, launched his historic expeditions down the Colorado River from Lees Ferry, charting the uncharted depths of the Grand Canyon and laying the groundwork for our understanding of its geological wonders. Lee's Ferry is also the start for all river rafters to launch their boats for their 280 river-mile excursion.
Below are the remnants of Lee's Ferry Fort, established in 1874.
Coal Mine Canyon
After breaking camp we made our way to a hidden gem called Coal Mine Canyon which lies just south of Tuba City on the Hopi reservation, which is shared among the Navajo. Driving up to the edge, you cannot imagine that anything would be there besides the expansive undulating hills dotted only with sagebrush and tumbleweeds. Its name evokes images of a bygone era when coal miners toiled beneath the scorching sun, their pickaxes ringing out against the rocky terrain. But now, Coal Mine Canyon is a place of quiet solitude, a sanctuary for those seeking solace in embracing nature's beauty.
We park and unpack our gear. As usual, we are drawn instantly into separate directions without a spoken word or plan. I find myself peering over the edge and instantly light up with what my eyes behold. Holy Shit! I blurted out loud. I wasn't expecting to view this! Drawn further along the rim, armed with two cameras, I sense a wanderlust moment and set out to explore the depths of Coal Mine Canyon in search of the perfect shot. As I make my way along the variations of ragged edges, I look back to see Lindsay perched atop a mound, setting up her tripod to capture her images.
As I hop and carefully make my way out on top of the broken, narrow peninsulas of the canyon, the world around me seems to come alive with color and light. Standing firmly above the sandstone walls, I peer down to see striated, colorful layers bearing witness to millions of years of geological history. Each twist and turn of the canyon reveals a new vista, a new opportunity to capture endless angles of images over this incredible canyon.
After some time exploring, I find myself quite far from Lindsay. I decided to hike back and soon see her close to where she started. I yell from atop a ridge to try and gain her attention, but the wind has turned from a breeze to a force that pushes you around. I wave my arms and motion her to hike over to me. As she approaches the top of the ridge to join me, the wind barely enables her to stay on her feet.
I pointed to where we needed to hike so she could witness these rock formations. She doesn't think she can make it without being blown into the canyon. I told her to walk in front of me and that I would shield her from the wind. I also tightly grasped her backpack to hold onto her. We carefully made our way to the points so that she could capture her images.
Wind, Sand, Tumbleweeds, and Hair Everywhere!
Taking full wind and sandblasting abuse, we made our way back to the truck. The wind was so strong that I had to go around and push Lindsay's door closed as she could not pull it from the sheer force. Once in the truck, we were amazed at what we had just hiked through. Exiting along the dirt road, we are continuously pelted with flying tumbleweeds, debris, and driving sand up to 70 mph. I think the native spirits were telling us it was time to leave their sacred land. We made the windy drive, pushing my truck about for the hour-long venture down the road to Cameron. We sought solace inside the Navajo trading post and restaurant where we shared a Navajo taco and rehydrated with water. Upon leaving, the winds had died down some, and we safely ventured back to Flagstaff, where Lindsay would repack and head the 2-hour drive back home to Phoenix.
Though the above paragraphs of words may fail to capture our trip's true essence, my photographs serve as a testament to the desert's timeless beauty. These Native wild lands transcend the boundaries of time and space and remind us of Mother Nature's magnitude, majesty, and raw beauty.
To view the best photos of these areas that are not shown here, venture onto my site by clicking EFlattVisualart.com and check out the sections of Arizona & Utah.