Porch photography bingeing Bowie

August 25, 2020

I was just about to head to bed for the night around 11PM when I happened to get a peek out the window to see the trees waving a bit more than usual. I stepped out on the porch to a rather dusty night, and after a few moments of enjoying the cool breeze, I noticed a few brief blips of light across the valley to the far North; Looks like I’ll get the chance to shoot my first lightning shots of the year.

I’m not sure if I am to blame it on my own hesitation, laziness, or there just hasn’t been that great of storms this year, but I’ve been pining to get some new shots the mesmerizing streaks across the sky, especially after my last (over-edited) shoot during 2019’s spring season. Tonight’s storm certainly wasn’t the best, and it was quite the trivial pursuit to get the 6 shots that I did - only five of which I’ll be posting below, for the sake of continuity between shots (all but one are landscape 2:3 or 16:9).

Overall I took something to the tune of 800 shots, all of which within a range of 3” to 5” second exposure time and a wildly varying aperture - 3.5 through 11 - mostly due to variations to the telescopic zoom. The shots of the mountain range and small, unlit power poles, stations, and trees along the ridgelines were all around about 100mm zoom, whereas the epic shots of Farnsworth Peak (tall, brightly lit towers) were all the way out at 300mm, which was a real bitch to focus in on without a reliable tripod, a purchase that is sorely needed.

Edit: The following paragraph is wrong, as Squarespace takes the images and resizes them to ~1500x1000.
If you want the full-size images, feel free to pick them up from my Google drive, here:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1ke6ctHCaJVftBAsnH0iNpgr1iI5KE7N1?usp=sharing

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Normally I’d upload the images at around 1920x~1080 in a jpeg file set to around 80% quality during export to save volumes of SSD space, but the images I’ll be providing today are quite the treat: I want to present you, dear viewer, with the best color gamut and range that a humble little noobie photoblog can provide, which means you’re looking at a width of around 4000px, in lossless PNG-24. I hope they are enjoyable, and feel free to download a few to use as desktop wallpapers if you so desire. Any other posting please just give credit and post the URL, and please forgive the (very possible) long load time.

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To view larger images with a dark background, simply click the photo.

Procrastination

August 03, 2020

I’ve always looked at the Oquirrh Mountains as a kind of backyard playground, full of adventure and intrigue. Since my early childhood I’ve used the now nearly entirely red-tapped Butterfield Canyon Road as a recreation outlet just 20 minutes drive from my home, hiking and camping along the road with friends throughout our teen years and into early adulthood. I’ve spent so much time in the canyon that I can now walk through it in the pitch black of night and tell you exactly where we are. It wasn’t until 2016 that I started to attempt bagging peaks, something that I thought was at least reserved for hyper-athletes and at most neigh impossible to traverse.

Just four years later and I have some 7 peaks down, with 2020 promised to be a big year of peak bagging for me personally. Unfortunately, procrastination and laziness has taken me over, as well as developing other very skill-intensive hobbies (fly fishing) as left me without any big names under my belt this year. Promising to have done Lowe for the last 2 years, I knew I had to get it done, it was just a matter of when; and When was supposed to be 2 weeks ago, in a loop trail that I had concocted connecting Rocky Peak, Lowe, and Flat Top Mountain in a single run, private land permissions in tow. However, I didn’t wake up in time, opting to sleep in weekend after weekend. This past Friday, 7.31.20, I arose at 7am - still late - and told myself that I would make it to the top of the mountain, no matter the conditions.

The first part of the ascent is the hour-long drive through the desert, parking at a trailhead deep in the clutches of the Ophir Canyon community - a sleepy little town that you’d think to be abandoned, but instead is filled with life, even boasting a community school - at the end of a long dirt road. My hike started out with a friendly conversation with a young man who I would assume to be a local hunter, telling me he and his grandfather were in the area just returning from their trip up to Flat Top. We spoke for a few minutes about our hunter adventures, how it was both our first years in the sport, and our admiration of traditional archery. With a few goodbyes and my pack loaded with 3.5L of water, I started up the trail, flicking my new InReach on just for testing.

The beginning of the trail was surprisingly verdant and moist, abundant with free-range cattle that spooked at the slightest step. Several river crossings offered a scenic and refreshing start to a hike you would assume to be almost entirely arid. The trail cut into the coarsing creek many times opting for a nice boot-cooling splash and an excuse to wet my hat before the major ascent.

I continued down for about 1.3 miles before coming across what looks to be a fork in the road, with the trail either continuing further along or fading into a large green field littered with aspen trees and shrub oak. It petered up slightly, guiding my view upward to the ridge above. This is the best way to get up to the saddle between Lowe and The Jumpof - another small but vertical climb before Flat Top - and offered me my first view of Lowe Peak - at this point some 3,000ft above me, it appeared to tower in the distance and flex her best intimidation.

Moving through the field is when I realized the reports of “wear pants!” were necessary. There is no trail in the area from here on out. Few game trails scatter the hillside, as you start to gain elevation and earn greater and greater gradient verticality. The overwhelmingly lush mountainside was not humble in it’s growth, with Oak, Pine, Sage and all sorts of wild flowers and shrubs clinging tightly to your legs, like the fingers of the dead trying to drag you down. Dredging this hillside at almost 20 degrees it felt, the best advice I could think to reassure myself was saying, “Are you moving up? OK, you’re going the right direction". A glance backward every 15 minutes or so to stop for water was proof enough, with each passing step becoming more beautiful and revealing more of the once hidden landscape.

The break in the treeline was abrupt and surprising, the sun beating down hard and hot with the loss of shade and the introduction of a purely sage-covered mountainside. I could see the crest of the ridge now, and continued to move through the richly scented fauna, filling my nose with a delightful aroma of wildflowers and fresh, blowing sagebrush. As I approached the crest of the mountain, a falcon appeared just above me, soaring with angelic grace and laser precision. I watched as it scoured the range for a meal, moving up and down the hills and falling into the valley below before divebombing towards the adjacent mountain range. Looking South, Lowe Peak was just a few tall hills away, from here it looks like it’d taken an eternity to reach.

Moving up the ridgeline was a relief, despite the ever increasing elevation. The breeze coarsed over the top of the mountain range, bringing with it the first clouds of the day, just as I started to make my ascent up the loose and rocky terrain. Several falcons now visible coursing the skies over their homes looking to provide a meal for the tweeting chicks in each nest. I marched forward and upward, moving closer to my goal and stopping at each major hilltop for a drink of water and a bite of energy chews.

I normally don’t bring waffles, sandwiches, or sugary chews on hikes, but this month of July has been my first long term break from a ketogenic lifestyle - something I do intend to return to in the next couple of days in fact - and I thought there would be no better snack to have atop a challenging hike than a half-hoagie from a local grocery store; once my favorite “premade” dinner hoagie available near me, and a staple of the days I used to explore the canyons below. As I looked down thousands of feet below, the Oquirrh Mountains revealed their intricate and ancient geology to me, the memories of my youth spent down below, camping, drinking, getting into mischief and celebrating with abandon, all feels like a lifetime away from where I am now.

Just as my legs began to show signs of stress - a pulling sensation in my left thigh, particularly - I made it to the summit. An American flag clasped tightly to a flagpole or storm rod gave the landmark a position of finality and a place to store the peak’s ledger and survey spike. I broke down my once 19.5lb pack, sat with my back against the pole, and began to eat my well-earned lunch. It wasn’t long until I became aware that I had in fact, just sat on my InReach - screen down - in a pile of rocks. The screen had earned it’s first battle scar, on it’s maiden voyage at that.

Various insects and butterflies kept me company atop the mountain, which provided stunning views of the Wasatch Front’s most breathtaking landmarks; To the North, Kelsey and Butterflied Peaks, Clipper even further behind, with the Stansbury Mountains and the Great Salt Lake peaking through the cracks of the range I stood upon. The Salt Lake Valley, in all it’s decadent smoggy splendor, laid to the East, dwarfed by the Wasatch mountains and the omnipotent Lone Peak towering about it all. Timpanogos and the Utah valley, Utah Lake in tow, all clearly visible to the South East, and the barren wastes of the West Desert and Five Mile Pass to the South West, the small town of Ophir lay in the canyon below, and further out to true West, the small city of Stockton appeared, just barely visible above the Rocky Peak area.

I moved back down the mountain with haste, as I had plans to be in Ogden this night and it was already creeping up to 3pm. It took me roughly two hours to get down the mountain, following the reverse of the information I had given myself before: “If you’re heading down, you’re going the right way”. On this stretch, I was glad to have brought my poles along for the trip, as many steep and barely visible dropoffs would have given me a good tumble into the weeds and fallen logs on my descent.

I’ll be returning to the Oquirrh range soon to claim my first Ultra-prominent peak, just 30ft higher in elevation than Lowe, the Flat Top Mountain to the South. I have obtained permission to walk the land here, all owned by the Ault Family. In earlier years, I had quarreled with that name, giving disdain and jealously that they owned such magic lands. Now in my adulthood, I have a different mindset on the matter, one of reverence and understanding; these folks, who offer hikers permission simply via a quick email, could block off their land, or even worse, sell off to the corporate entity running the all-encompassing mine to the north. But they’ve held out, likely to the miner’s chagrin, and it makes me happy to know that at least some part of the majestic Oquirrh range still belongs to the common people, who will to use the land not as a resource to exploit, but as a place to reconnect to our roots through recreation and observation. Thanks for letting us through, Weston, and I hope you and yours stay true to the land you possess.

Flies, Fish, & Mosquitos

A Birthday in the Uintas, post 1 of 2

Flies, Fish, and most of all, Mosquitos.

July 03, 2020

Tuesday morning was a late, lazy start as usual. Knowing we have some time, we made a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs and honey glazed ham with black coffee and a tall glass of milk for the Missus. It wasn’t until 1PM that we hit the trail, but light sleet and an endearing sense of adventure geared us up to get walking. It was our first time trying out the brand new ULA Equipment packs, and in an effort to reduce my normally ludicrous base weight, I opted to bring along a Smart Water bottle instead of my normal Nalgene - a whopping 5oz savings, I know! - but only a mile in with not even a sip, the bottle fell from the carry handle I had it attached to, blowing out the entire bottom of the bottle. An interesting start this, June 30th 2020, my 28th birthday.

Moving along the trail, in the beginning, was nothing short of a seemingly Norse epic fantasy novel, with snow-covered peaks and cool drifting air coursing through our rain shells. The icy sleet was bouncing off our packs mostly, a somewhat relieving effect to the fact of not having pack covers (we always use contractor bags for our down inside the packs though!) and moving higher up the trail past several scenic lakes. Each time I would stop to look back at my girlfriend Ylish, the views became even more breathtaking. The absence of hikers and backpackers on the trail was also a welcome change to the anticipation I had for the day, creeping closer to the celebrations of Independence Day in a post-COVID America would most certainly mean large numbers along the delicate alpine trails.

Moving up along the wet and rocky corridors, it didn’t take long until we were rewarded with extraordinary views of the many divided lakes, bald peaks, and notchy passes just a few hours walk from one of the most popular trailheads along this stretch of the range. The gloomy cleared away, bringing only occasional downpours of frozen raindrops and clear blue skies with the most serene and pure golden sunlight to pierce the immaculate fresh pine-tinged air. The lakes were bug-free, and the fish were looking to feed, so after getting our hammocks set up, I set out to the shoals to see what I may find.

The water was crystal clear and still giving 20/20 vision on all the lakes abundant Brook Trout dancing along the shoreline, occasionally popping up to nab a quick bite - perfect conditions to start fishing. I began casting out with a Parachute Adams #16 and was almost immediately rewarded with a bite, and my heart jumped into action. Stripping the little guy in, I was excited to snap a photo and let him off back into his home, then get back in an attempt to set myself a personal record. I’m still very new to the sport, having only picked up a spinning rod 2 years ago, and Fly Fishing just 3 months prior. I’ve fallen in love with fly fishing, thanks to the input of a few inspiring friends and mentors, and am all-in when it comes to dedication and learning all that I can about the game.

I cast out again with the Adams, and again, was met with another beautiful high-mountain trout. I continued to experiment through the evening until it was time to gather tinder, build a fire, and settle down for the night. As the sun set, the great Murdoc began his own ritual of cloud conjuration, blessing the lake with a monumental appearance before the sun faded entirely, leaving our lady Casseopia to watch over our little den from the other side of the mountain.

I awoke from bed around 5am, tossing a little too much in my sleep and deciding to get an early start in an attempt to catch a sunrise, something I don’t normally chase, wishing I had the discipline to do so. I was glad that I did, setting up my small alcohol stove on the shore for a coffee and oatmeal breakfast to watch the sky shift in a strange long-form light show of fuscia, garnet, coral and mauve into brilliant hues of marigold and macaroon, with a finale of Murdoc glancing into the mirror sheen of the lake at my feet. Another cast after the sunrise brought in a very small brookie. Some talking time and a nap for the two of us gave me enough energy to head out and catch another brook trout, this one as a lunchtime snack, before going on a midday adventure in search of more opportunity and bigger ponds.

We first visited the lake directly adjacent to us, not 50 paces away from the first, and began to throw flies at the fish inside. It seems they had become picky eaters in the sunlight, and I was only able to catch a few other very small fish before moving on to the third lake in our small campout area. This one was seemingly devoid of fish altogether, instead harboring various sizes of salamanders. Catching a few shots of the photogenic little critters, we looped around the lakes before I started fishing again as Ylish took to relaxing in the sun and observing the surroundings - the fantasy ranger eyes of the young lady were sharp enough to even spot a family of Mountain Goats high up on the steep cliffsides of the mountain whose shadow we rested in. I was even able to catch a few small guys before we headed back to our camp to begin preparing dinner - just Ramen noodles tonight.

The water began to boil over the top of the subtlely sexy Fancee Feest stove I never go without as my stomach grumbled in disappointment to the thought of eating just ramen for dinner. I excused myself, asking Ylish to take over the water and ramen process for me for a moment, promising her a trout for dinner. Not 10 minutes later I returned with two of the largest I had caught thus far, scoring their sides and roasting in a pan over the warm coals of a fire made earlier as a bid for mosquito repellant. Large swarms of gnats and mosquitos began to attack our campsite with full force and truly showed some muscle. I’ve never seen a mosquito season this rough, but I was at times surrounded by easily over 20 of the bloodsuckers if I stood still for more than a few moments.

Our thermacell and DEET seemed to do little against the horde, but as the sun moved to twilight, the lakes insects began to settle, and instead the fish sprung to life. I eagerly leaped at the opportunity to fly fish a high alpine lake in the Uintas, with a gorgeous sunset on the horizon of the lake and temperatures just perfect enough to stay without shivering. This is where I really began to move my daily catch record number higher than I would have imagined. At number 9, I turned to Ylish as the lake itself turned darker but glowed with the light of the sky, and asked if I should shoot for 10. She agreed, “Well, you really do want that double digit..” and smirk lit her face and I could do nothing but match as I began to cast out again.

My first ever double-digit day fly fishing was with a catch so comical I could do nothing but laugh across the lake, now loud with the sound of plops and gulps as the fish continued their frenzy. As I had cast out and saw the 10th trout take the lure - an #18 Mosquito - I set the hook, to my absolute suprise, a small 4 inch Brook Trout flew careening towards me and landed gently in the tall swampy grass at my feet. What a way to get a double digit night, the small guy really made the entire trip worth it.

I continued to cast into the luminescent twilight, a dreamlike landscape where it was just me, my beloved, and the lake that was providing to me what so freely and gleefully what others wish for. This moment was something that had my heart so warm, the cool air and humid air did nothing to my skin but invigorate me further. Each deep breath I took, each back cast and follow through I set down, every glance around the frenzy of trout in an otherwise serene landscape gave me moments of which I will close my eyes and think of for the rest of my life.

And we still had an entire day and night left up here.

Recent photo

Recent Innawoods

Porch photography bingeing Bowie

Procrastination

Flies, Fish, and most of all, Mosquitos.