Passing storm over Herbert Lake, Icefields Parkway – Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada

Woke up on a rainy morning, wanted to stay in bed; but couldn’t go back to sleep, so I put on my rain gears and headed out. I took refuge from the rain staying under the trees on the shore of Herbert Lake. The rain stopped for a while, and Herbert Lake’s surface settled as the morning light broke through just enough to add dramatic colors to the storm clouds passing over the Bow Range. Standing alone in the woods, I thought perhaps I should have stayed on Lake Louise, but I was bored from shooting sunrise there with over a dozen other tripods. On Lake Louise, I felt like a tourist, on this small Herbert Lake a few miles away, I felt like a traveler. The difference between a tourist and a traveler? Not so much in term of semantics, but state of mind. Perhaps G.K. Chesterton said it best, “The traveler sees what he sees. The tourist sees what he has come to see.” On this cold and rainy sunrise, this was what I saw.

Golden sunrise light on Pyramid Mountain – Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada

I waited for nearly two hours to get this shot. It wasn’t a spectacular sunrise, but eventually, first light lit up the side of Pyramid Mountain for a few minutes. I love catching first light on mountain peaks mirrored by a perfectly still lake surface.

There is a sense of separation in this composition: the distant cloud formation seems to mimic the rock formation under water, and a piece of driftwood serves as a lone element connecting with the distant trees on the other side of the lake. The ethereal light on the mountain is the force that binds these displaced elements together. As I wrote in my previous post, light is what you see. I hope you see what you seek.

PS: Perhaps this scene looks familiar? It is the same location where I shot Every Man Should Paddle His Own Canoe.

Golden aspens awaiting first light as the morning mist rises from Patricia Lake, Jasper National Park – Alberta, Canada

I shot this image about fifteen minutes prior to my previous photo, Layers of Stillness. From this view, turn 120° left to see the alpenglow on the Triden Range. Patricia Lake is small and easily accessible, but when those aspens turn colors on a crystal clear lake water surface, this place is incredibly photogenic. Throw in a moody cold Autumn mist rising under a colorful sunrise sky, this place can take one’s breath away. The best part about this beautiful morning sunrise? I saw only two other sunrise watchers enjoying this scene in silence. Out on this small lake, I found my own space and time, and I loved the absolute stillness of this quiet sunrise. This was one of those rare intangible moments that I can’t described nor captured with my camera. I think of myself as a “light chaser”, but it is not just about the light, it’s about finding those “pauses” that make time stands still. “Light” is what you see.

First light on the snow-capped peaks of the Trident Range reflected in the stillness of Patricia Lake, Jasper National Park – Alberta, Canada

I mentioned in my previous post that I spent two hours on Patricia Lake for a sunrise that didn’t materialized; undeterred, I went back the next morning and caught this beautiful sunrise: first light struck the snowy peaks of the distant Trident Range as the Autumn fog slowly rose from the stillness of the lake water surface. Everything seemed to move in super slow motion in the quiet dawn hour. Being a city dweller, my sensory gets assaulted every day from every possible directions; thus being out here in this quietude was nirvana as I found myself lost in these layers of stillness …

Morning light and autumnal reflections on Pyramid Lake, Jasper National Park – Alberta, Canada

This photo is one of my favorite landscape shots that I’ve done to date. Technically speaking, this shot was difficult for me to pull off. I went to Patricia Lake for a sunrise shoot. After two hours of flat light and choppy water, I decided to move to Pyramid Lake where I found calm water just as the morning light began to light up the aspens on other side of the lake.

I setup my tripod inside this canoe, thinking that I’d get plenty of opportunities to experiment with different compositions; but every single movement I made caused ripples in the calm lake water, ruining the reflections. Then the wind started to pick up, sending ripples across the lake. So I sat inside this canoe and waited patiently for my shots as the morning light dappled in and out of the clouds. To get a good exposure was also a challenge. I stacked a two stops soft edge and a two stops hard edge Lee GND filter to keep the highlights in checked and to prevent the mountain details from getting lost in the shadows.

I love this shot not because of the technical challenges, but because how I felt so connected to this scene as I sat inside this canoe with my tripod and remote shuttle release cable. The wind was a blessing in disguise as it allowed me to contemplate about what I wanted my image to convey. Since I was in Canada, it’s fitting to quote Wayne Gretzky, “I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been.” In this shot, I aimed the canoe not at the light directly, but where I anticipated the light would be when I reached the other side of the lake. I’ve been paddling my own canoe since I was sixteen. Although my canoe might be old and leaky, it always takes me to where I want to go. Of course, I am speaking metaphorically. This canoe didn’t move at all during the time I sat in it, but it took me on a journey, a self-discovering journey that I will always remember.

Winter sunrise over Mt Morrison – Eastern Sierra, California

This is my first post for 2011 and I am at a loss of words, unsure what to write. Needing a break, I packed my gears and drove up the mountains last weekend. I should have been home with my family, but I didn’t want to sit around to discuss terminal illness and death and dying yet again.

It’s hard to explain how priceless these moments are to me: sitting in solitude waiting for first light to break through a dark and cold winter night. The process of waiting and anticipating for that first light restores my balance and increases my self-awareness of where I am and where I want to be. When those brilliant colors show up, nothing else matters. Even in the freezing temperatures, my heart glows with the sunrise light.

For those struggling to find your balance, I hope you find your own space that allows you to recharge and regain your focus. It does not have to be an exotic location. All one needs is a place to find inspiration in solitude. If you have not found yours, don’t rush, allow it to find you.

About this photo: The composition is not as clean as I would have liked. I found the left edge too distracting; but due to the ice and snow, my tripod location choices were limited. I used a 0.6 hard-edge GND filter and under-exposed by half a stop. I like to under expose my RAW file slightly to boost colors. As for interpretations, here are a few to think about: fire/ice, peaks/valleys, the end/the beginning, genesis, rebirth, reborn …

Sunrise light on the Tetons and the Moulton Barn, Grand Teton National Park – Wyoming, USA

The morning after Oxbow Bend Autumn Moon Companions, I decided to give this famous (a.k.a, over-photographed) Moulton Barn my own interpretation. I haven’t seen too many square format compositions of this iconic barn, so I thought I’d try my own take on this rather cliche’ subject.

I visited this weathered barn standing on a meadow against the stunning backdrop of the Tetons earlier during the day before; then returned before sunrise, setup my tripod and waited patiently for the light. What makes this shot unique for me is the light on the foreground grasses. The soft morning glow on those tall grasses lasted for a couple of minutes – just long enough for me to record six exposures. As with most of my other photographs, I always try to tell a story in my composition. There was no stone in the water for my “classic” composition, so I replaced my usual “stone in the corners” with a few foreground grass blades.

Pre-dawn colors and reflections at the Oxbow Bend, Grand Teton National Park – Wyoming, USA

I decided to dust off my camera and spent a few days in Grand Teton to find the motivation and inspiration to return to photography. I shot this image during my very first sunrise at this classic Grand Teton location, the Oxbow Bend on the Snake River. This is a fifteen seconds exposure made before first light reached Mt. Moran.

I love to photograph colorful sunrises and sunsets, but on this occasion, the quietness and the stillness of this scene resonated deep within me. I wasn’t looking for brilliant colors; I wasn’t looking for dramatic lighting; I was searching for a place that I could loose myself, and I found it. On this cold Autumn morning, although I shared this river bank with a few other photographers, I felt like I was the only one out there on this misty Snake river, breathing the cold morning air, watching the pre-dawn pink sky slowly revealing the surrounding landscape on a perfectly still water surface. I exposed a few different compositions, then sat down and waited for first light. In front of me, autumnal aspens waited for their turn to bathe in the warm morning sun. Above me, a late moon-set lingered on a muted pink sky. As first light struck the mountain peaks, I returned to my camera. Soon after, the river wildlife awoken and broke the silent dawn…

PS: I am still going through the selection process to decide which images to share. I don’t have time to post every day, but will do my best to post more often.

Early morning winter light on Mono Lake, California.

There I sat frozen on the edge of Mono Lake in the midst of gentle snowflakes tumbling down, enjoying every second of my winter solitude. I could time the gentle ripples on the lake surface; I could sense the clouds moving; I could feel the early winter morning light dancing on the distance mountain peaks; yet the stillness of the landscape was unmistakable. As out-of-this-world as those terrestrial sedimentary rock formations appeared, I felt so connected to my surroundings. Moments like these remind me that I am sharing my time with a living and breathing planet.

I arrived at the lake well before first light, hoping to catch a red sunrise sky on Mono Lake as I once witnessed, but this time, it wasn’t meant to be: dark clouds blanketed the eastern sky. Didn’t want to waste my effort of driving 400 miles and waking up before dawn to get to this location, I waited in the freezing cold for over two hours in to get this shot.

Some might say that Mono Lake has been done to death, but I love to capture scenes that I enjoy being apart of – regardless of how many times they’ve been photographed. It’s not the pursuit of uniqueness that I am after; it’s the desire of being in the moment that I seek.

First Light over Mt. Laurel, Convict Lake – Eastern Sierra, California

This is a color version of a similar shot converted to black and white I posted last week. I guess this is a “normal” view of the scene as opposed to the surrealism feel from the previous high contrast b&w version. The two were shot about an hour apart.