Lost and Found in the California Desert: A Tripod and Ball Head Find Their Way Home

What are the odds?

I’m not generally someone who believes in fate, or that the things that happen to us in life are predetermined. But every once in a while something happens to make me question those beliefs.

I recently had such an experience in the California desert southeast of San Diego. It was, if you will, an anti-Lemony Snicket series of events.

Chris and I recently led two back-to-back workshops for Atlas Obscura in California’s Anza-Borrego Desert to photograph Ricardo Breceda‘s amazing animal sculptures of mostly extinct creatures that once roamed the area.

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Jurassic Park in the Anza-Borrego Desert. Two life-size dinosaurs battle it out underneath the stars. Nikon D750 with an Irix 15mm f/2.4 lens, mounted on a Manfrotto 190go! tripod with an Acratech GPS ball head, light painted with a Luxli Viola. 25 seconds, f/4.5, ISO 4000.

Nearby Anza-Borrego Desert State Park is one of the remotest and hottest places in California, known primarily for spectacular wildflower displays called “super-blooms” in March and early April after an exceptionally wet winter. The park and the sculptures are the primary attractions of the area. It’s a great location for photographing the Milky Way, as Borrego Springs is an officially designated International Dark Sky Community, and the sculptures are cooperative subjects for light painting.

I had last visited Anza Borrego State Park in 1992—before the sculptures dotted the landscape—so I was eager to explore and to rediscover the area. Chris and I had arrived a couple of days early to scout and shoot for ourselves, and by the end of the first workshop we had been out late photographing for six nights in a row. We were having a blast, but we were tired.

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Two bugs in battle. Nikon D750 with an Irix 11mm f/4 lens, light painted with a Luxli Viola. 25 seconds, f/4.5, ISO 6400.

As we were packing up to leave on that sixth night, I set my tripod on the ground to open the rear hatch of our car, and consciously thought that I had to make sure to put the tripod back in the trunk before we left. Somehow, I got distracted, and didn’t. I left my prized Gitzo 2545 Traveler tripod and Acratech GPSS ball head all alone in the desert to fend for themselves. Yes, I know. It was a bone-headed move, and I probably deserved what I got. But it was late, and I was exhausted.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize my error until the next evening as we were preparing to go out for the night. Once I did realize, we looked everywhere we thought the tripod might be. The car. My room. Chris’ room. Our bags. The meeting space. The hotel lobby (had someone found and returned it?). We even checked the police station—you know, in case the tripod fell in with the wrong crowd. Finally, the previous night’s events played back in my head—I could see myself putting the tripod down, I could remember making a mental note to pick it up, but I couldn’t recall actually putting it in the car. So we hurried back to our last shoot location, the site of the magnificent gomphotherium.

Of course, it was too late. An entire night and day had passed, and someone had long since discovered and made off with my tripod. It wasn’t in front of the gomphotherium. It wasn’t beside the tortoises. It wasn’t under the camels. It was, quite simply, gone.

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Chris standing beside the gomphotherium, an extinct elephant that once roamed Southern California. Nikon D750 with a Sigma 24mm f/1.4 Art lens, light painted with a Coast HP7R. 13 seconds, f/2.2, ISO 6400.

Luckily for me, Chris had a second tripod, and he let me work with it for the second workshop. I wasn’t very happy about the situation, but there wasn’t much point in getting angry or upset. Besides, I had a workshop to teach. It turned out to be a great group, and the skies cooperated with us. The time flew by, and it was time to say goodbye.

Then things got interesting. Thus begins the series of fortunate events!

Our fellow National Parks at Night instructor Gabe Biderman received an email from Acratech asking if one of us had lost a tripod in the desert! We have a partner relationship with Acratech, and Gabe has been our point person for contact with them. It seems that my tripod had been found by another photographer, who also happened to own an Acratech. His name is Aeon Jones. Aeon had been scouting the location for a landscape photography workshop that was part of the Palm Beach Photo Festival when he came across my tripod early in the morning—mere hours after I had left it there.

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Poor Little Lost Tripod. © 2019 Aeon Jones.

Aeon wanted to get it back to its owner, and thought that perhaps it belonged to someone at the festival, so he carried it around all week hoping someone would recognize it. When no one did, he posted about it to Acratech’s Facebook page. Patty from Acratech saw the post, and wondered if the head had been registered. Aeon sent her the serial number, which showed up in Acratech’s records as having been shipped to NPAN.

By this point, the rest of the NPAN crew had heard my tale of woe, so Gabe already knew that the head was mine. Aeon wanted to be sure the tripod got back to its rightful owner, so, through Patty, he asked for me to confirm some details. I relayed what I knew about the tripod and the location where I lost it. Aeon knew he’d found his guy. He then put the tripod in the mail while he was traveling for a shoot in Moab. I arrived home from my next workshop at Maine Media to find the tripod outside my back door in the rain. The box was dented, soaked and falling apart, but the tripod and head were as good as new.

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A bighorn sheep (aka “a borrego”) with the moon rising behind it. Nikon D750 with a Tamron 15-30mm f/2.8 lens, light painted with a Coast HP5R. 15 seconds, f/5.6, ISO 6400.

So back to my original question: What are the odds?

First, the tripod needed to be found by someone who 1) realized its value, 2) was honest and wanted to return it to its owner, and 3) had to be resourceful and dedicated in getting it back to me. Thankfully, Aeon was all of those. The odds that the tripod would be discovered by another photographer who also had a tripod with an Acratech head was unlikely, but luckily for me, that’s what happened.

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After Aeon posted to Acratech’s Facebook page, Patty had to see the post and reach out to Aeon for the serial number, and that serial number had to have been registered in my name. I admit, I had not registered it—it was Acratech that kept good enough records to track me down. Once Patty discovered the owner, she had to take time out of her schedule to reach out to us, and then to connect Aeon and myself. From there, my tripod’s fate was in the hands of the U.S. Postal Service. The mail carrier left it on my porch in the rain where it could have been stolen while I was in Maine. But it wasn’t.

I have to admit that I never expected to see this tripod again, and I remember saying to Chris that the chances of someone trying to return it as opposed to keeping it or selling it on eBay were next to none. I thought that the chances of someone actually being able to track me down (my name wasn’t on the tripod) were even more remote.

Aeon Jones, you’ve restored this cynical photographer’s faith in humanity, and for that I thank you. I’ll always remember your good deed, and promise to pay it forward every time I get the chance. (I’m in California looking for lost tripods right now.)

By the way, Aeon told his side of the story on his own blog. To Patty, and the fine folks at Acratech: Thank you for maintaining good records, for responding to Aeon’s post, and for making heads so outstanding that another customer would want to make sure I got mine back.

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Aeon Jones. You can read his side of the tale on his blog.

Lance Keimig is a partner and workshop leader with National Parks at Night. He has been photographing at night for 30 years, and is the author of Night Photography and Light Painting: Finding Your Way in the Dark (Focal Press, 2015). Learn more about his images and workshops at www.thenightskye.com.

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UPCOMING WORKSHOPS FROM NATIONAL PARKS AT NIGHT

Celebrating the National Trails System Birthday with a Walk to an Arch

I love doing the photography, but sometimes—often, in fact—the experience is more important.

Such was true last night, when I hiked the Corona Arch Trail near Moab, Utah. The trail runs 1.5 miles one-way through BLM land to a pair of arches, one rather old and one rather youngish (by geological standards). The trail crosses railroad tracks and weaves through wildlife fences, and in two parts you need to hold a cable lest you fall, and in one part you need to climb a ladder lest you need to turn back. Along the way you see cacti and slickrock and washes and cliffs and boulders and a valley of high-desert landscape so beautiful that you’ll certainly stop walking for a moment just so you can stand and gaze and wonder how we’re so lucky to live on a planet so pretty.

I hiked this trail not because I had to. No assignment beckoned me, no promise obliged me. I wanted only to celebrate the 50th birthday of the National Trails System—which, you may know, is today. And what better way to celebrate, I figured, than to hike one of the newest national trails? Corona Arch Trail was named as such this past May.

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Union Pacific Railroad Potash Rail, along the Corona Arch Trail, Moab, Utah. Nikon D3s, 24-70mm f/2.8. 498 seconds, f/4, ISO 800.

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Milky Way and boulder, along the Corona Arch Trail, Moab, Utah. Nikon D3s, Irix 15mm f/2.4. 25 seconds, f/2.5, ISO 8000.

I set out on the trail as the sun set on the horizon. I always talk about scouting a location before photographing it at night, and that goes quadruple when you’re also hiking it at night.

Alas, I didn’t scout. I’d traveled to Moab only yesterday morning—to explore, to research, to photograph and to start getting ready to speak at the Out of Moab photography conference. I wasn’t here to hike a national trail, but the idea somehow got in the rental car with me, and it wouldn’t leave me alone for the 3.5-hour ride from the airport, so I relented and decided I’d walk into the unknown (albeit a short unknown) for my first night of shooting. On 4 hours of sleep. With jet lag.

First, I found a campsite near the trailhead, along the banks of the Colorado River, and pitched my tent. That’s not the sort of task I wanted delaying my walk till dark, but it’s also not the sort of task I wanted waiting for me at midnight after a hike. I preferred the ability to march off the trail late, collapse into my sleeping bag and quickly drift to sleep to the sounds of the rippling river and the whisper of wind through the willows and cottonwoods hovering over my tent.

The sun rolled down, and darkness rolled in—quickly. A new moon replaced that big ol’ sun, and some high clouds blocked some sky. And I was on a trail I didn’t know. It’s not the kind of trail that tunnels through a forest in an easy-to-see sort of way. Rather, it’s the kind that meanders over slabs of rock and over hills that don’t have much shrubbery to delineate where the side of a path ends and where the edge of wilderness begins. In other words, it’s the kind that can be hard to stay on without daylight.

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Before heading off on a trail I’m unfamiliar with (in the dark, no less), I took cell-phone pictures of the map and directions posted at the trailhead. It was useful info when I didn’t know where to turn.

I’ve been on hikes before. In Olympic, in Acadia, in Big Bend, in Rocky Mountain, in Bryce Canyon, in Lassen Volcanic, in Death Valley. With experience comes intuition. You often know which way the trail goes, even if you don’t know the trail. Last night, I was thinking that exact thought when I realized I hadn’t seen a cairn in a while. I was off trail. And I didn’t know how to get back on. So much for my intuition.

I backtracked, then tried another possible route. I backtracked again, then tried yet another. I stood on a rock ledge, now needing a flashlight to see anything at all, wondering if, halfway to my goal, I’d need to abandon my night’s mission. Then I saw it—a cairn in the valley! Succeeded by several more! Onward!

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Which way do I go? The trail through the valley and along the cliff isn’t too hard to follow in daytime, but proved a (fun) challenge with no moon. Can you spot the cairns in the photos below? How about in the dark?

I found the bottom of the cliff (not hard—it’s pretty high, in both an awe-inspiring and daunting way). Then I found the cables to steady myself on a steepish incline. And the smooth half-shoe-size steps scalloped into the rock face. And the second set of cables. And the ladder. I was also, now and then, finding faint paint blazes marking the direction of the trail. Green blazes, on red rock. For a guy who’s red-green color blind. I appreciated the gesture.

At that point, I could finally see Corona Arch. I still had some hiking to finish before reaching it, but the way was now obvious—just around the edge of the horseshoe-shaped cliff, where the rock was relatively flat and easy to walk on, and … wait a minute … from the corner of my eye … I could see … nothing. I turned my head and saw, just a few feet from where my feet met the rock … nothing. No more rock—no more ground. It was the edge of another cliff, but this time the edge led to lower elevations. I peered over and shined my flashlight down—way down, to piles of talus. I’d been walking along the edge of a sharp drop and hadn’t even noticed. (So this is what the BLM trail sign meant by “mild exposure to heights.”)

It was then that my focus shifted from enjoying the walk to surviving the hike. I don’t usually shine a light when walking in the dark, because my curse of color-blindness is offset by the blessing of excellent night vision. Also, I enjoy walking in the dark, relishing the mystery of the night landscape, mesmerized by the same stars our ancestors saw. You can see plenty well under a moon, and if you give your eyes time to adjust, under the stars too. (Which often reminds me of the John Denver line: “The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullaby.”)

But after noticing the drop, I switched on my Coast headlamp—not to my usually preferred red mode, but to bright, white light, because I have a 5-year-old daughter who’s expecting me home alive next week. I love walking under starry skies, but there will be more of them in future years, and I want to walk under them with her.

The headlamp served me well. (Except for when I used the red light to see if my finger was bleeding. Not effective.) So did my Coast HP7R, mostly for spotting cairns ahead on the trail, or for scanning the surrounds for mountain lions. (As always, I didn’t see any, except in my imagination. The only actual wildlife issue I had was moths banging into my headlamp.)

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The cairns led the way—when I could spot them with my flashlight.

What also served me well was my hiking shoes. I’ve been committed (not officially) to Salomon trail runners for many years. I trust their tread, and the tread treated me well on this trail—I didn’t slip once, which was critical for my confidence while hiking atop a cliff in the dark. I also trust their shoes’ wide base, which saved me from rolling an ankle several times on uneven rock.

I never felt in danger, but I was persistently aware of the palpable fact that I would be in danger if I didn’t mind my environment and make all my choices prudently. So I hiked on, confidently, though constantly looking to my right to make sure the cliff wasn’t close.

Then, I reached Corona Arch.

I turned off my headlamp and let my eyes adjust to the dark. It’s a beautiful location. An impressive rock formation 140 feet wide, 105 feet across. It’s a window to receding rock face on one side, and to that magnificent valley on the other. From the arch, you look across the landscape toward a wide ridge with rough character, while behind you a cliff with a couple of aspiring arches (see you in 10,000 years!) towers over your shoulders.

“Even when you don’t know where a trail is, you can usually tell where it isn’t, which is a very good place to start.”

I started moving around the location, working the scene, eager to have fun and to finally photograph. I tested some light painting with my Luxli, chose to mount my Irix for ease of focusing in the dark, and used PhotoPills to determine hyperfocal distance. I discovered that I’d left my intervalometers in the car, that the battery in my timer release was dead, and that I had mismatched the receiver and transmitter from two different sets of wireless remotes. It was a comedy of oversights not uncommon on the first night of a trip. But that’s OK. I love doing the photography, but yeah—the experience …

So I used my old simple Nikon trigger release with the camera on Bulb mode and counted my shutter speed in my head. During my final, 16-minute exposure, I lay back on the rock and watched the stars quietly pass behind the arch’s silhouette. I worked on only two compositions (remember: no sleep, yes jet lag), and then felt ready to hike back.

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Corona Arch, Moab, Utah—the better (I think) of my two setups from the location. Nikon D3s, Irix 15mm f/2.4 lens. 985 seconds, f/5.6, ISO 2500.

I began the return trip, confidently, though constantly looking at that cliff to my left.

My intuition was more reliable on the way out. I knew the trail now, knew the landmarks, knew the general direction. And even when I lost the trail, I found it. Even when you don’t know where a trail is, you can usually tell where it isn’t, which is a very good place to start. You re-find the trail by process of elimination.

I did get a little lost yet again, after losing sight of cairns and of green blazes on red rock, but I ended up on a ridge from where I could see the campfires of the other few people who had pitched tents not far from mine. Comfortable that I was nearly back, I decided to photograph some more, then I returned to the car, then to the tent, more tired and more satisfied than when I’d begun.

About 60,000 miles of national trails weave through our natural spaces. Some of these trails are famous: Appalachian, Pacific Crest, Continental Divide. Many are not: Ice Age, Ala Kahakai, Mormon Pioneer. They’re all worth walking a mile or more. And you don’t have to travel to Moab to do so. Every state in the U.S. has a national trail.

Happy 50th, National Trail System. Oh wow, the places you go.

For more information on the National Trails System, visit the NPS website. For more on the 50th Anniversary celebration of the national trails, see www.trails50.org.

Chris Nicholson is a partner and workshop leader with National Parks at Night, and author of Photographing National Parks (Sidelight Books, 2015). Learn more about national parks as photography destinations, subscribe to Chris' free e-newsletter, and more at www.PhotographingNationalParks.com.

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UPCOMING WORKSHOPS FROM NATIONAL PARKS AT NIGHT

Safety First: Know Your Wildlife Before You Head Into the Wild

Ah, the call of the night. I get goosebumps thinking about locations, moon phases and opportunities to create something in concert with nature.

But nature has other creatures besides night photographers. Such as bears. And coyotes. Some are dangerous to humans, some are not. Knowing your wildlife and their habits before you head out is vital. Safety first!

A Story

I want to tell you a tale about last night. ... We'll get to the safety part toward the end, so come along with me for a spell.

I was scouting a location near National Parks at Night's (NPAN) headquarters in the beautiful village of Catskill, New York. To the west and into the mountains is New York state's tallest two-stage waterfall, Kaaterskill Falls. It's in the northeast corner of Catskill State Park, and well worth the effort to visit. Must be why it's so popular ;-)

I read all about it on blogs, the official Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) website and some hiking books I have that detail adventures in the park. I was mostly focused on the difficulty of the hike, how well marked the trail is, and how long it would take.

I consulted the PhotoPills app to see when the half moon would scoot around the lip of the gorge. It happened to be not so long after dusk. Perfect. I decided to hike up during twilight to see the trail markers and note them mentally, and to identify places where I could make a navigation mistake on the way down. Fortunately for the traveler (not for the environment), I noted that this trail is well-worn and marked.

PhotoPills

... helped me plan the shot.

My 30-pound backpack weighed on me as I made my way along dry and wet earth, stone and mud. The 330-foot elevation gain from the trailhead was fairly easy, except for some aggressive staircases (covered with mosquitoes waiting for fools like me wearing no insect repellent).

I made it to the bottom of the topmost stage of the falls. I took a breather, and noticed the trail broke left (away from the falls). Honestly, I was not happy about that. I wanted to get a good view of the tallest portion and it looked like the yellow trail just ... kept ... going.

“I kept thinking to myself about the biggest mistake I’d made that night. I was alone.”

I tried it for a while and gave myself a pass. Turning around and coming back down, I was feeling silly, coming all this way only to turn back. But there was one area off to the left (toward the falls) I had not tried yet. So I followed this side path and voila! I was exactly where I wanted to be.

It was civil twilight by then, so I relaxed, meditated and waited for stars to appear. When they did, I set up to test for exposure and focus, and to find a spot dry enough to shoot (at the bottom of the falls there is a ton of mist blowing away). I chose a spot that gave me a good peekaboo look at the entire waterfall without standing in the rain-like wind.

I had a wonderful "What if?" moment while shooting my way toward the moon cresting the gorge edge. I asked how orange light painting would look against the deep blue of the night sky. See Figure 1 for the best image.

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Figure 1. 8 minutes, f/4, ISO 100. Nikon D750, Zeiss Distagon 15mm f/2.8 lens, Coast HP7R with Light Painting Tools Universal Connector and orange cone, plus a half moon.

Wow. Complementary colors are amazing. I decided to ride that train and work the scene with fiery water below and cool, icy blues above.

Here are a few more images that made the trip worth it. The last one is from after I hiked down and moved to another location. But...

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During the shoot, I kept thinking to myself about the biggest mistake I'd made that night. I was alone. Figures that I ignored my own advice and not used the buddy system. So, my vivid imagination being what it is, I started hearing noises. Animal noises! It wasn't really happening, especially over the roaring din of the waterfalls. But the worry stayed at the back of my mind. I solo night stuff all the time, right?

In the end, I packed up and began my way back down the steep staircase. Slow. One step at a time. Safe.

I know it's important to stop and look around, even though it bugs me out. So I continued to do this, focusing in and out with my headlamp. I'd scan the trail for markers first, scan the surrounding bushes for movement or sparkly eyes (yeah, I do that), and the trees for ... and then I saw it.

About four feet up on a tree in the middle of the path was heavily scratched bark. Bear markings. Yup, the survivalist in me started clamoring inside. Yet I stayed calm and chose to be even more aware. (I did not stop, take out my tripod and take a photo complete with beautiful light painting, forgive me. Enjoy these instead.)

I kept moving at a safe pace. I started saying, "Hey bear!" loudly and clapping my hands.

I saw a couple of holes dug in the soft earth. Another bear sign. They love ants. (Again, I did not stop to take a picture, so look at this.)

“The road was near, along with salvation from this possibly dangerous situation.”

I kept on moving. Steady and careful. My boot soles were wet from mud and water from runoff that crossed the path. I knew it would be easy to slip, so I slowed down a little.

I saw headlights! Yeah, baby. The road was near, along with salvation from this possibly dangerous situation. Another 100 steps and I came upon a very dark pile of scat. Now, if I said I wasn't alarmed by this, I'd by lying. I was. It was, plainly, bear shit. (Once again, I did not think it was an ideal time to be taking photos, so check this out to aid your imagination.)

So I scanned in a circle, looking for movement or sparkly eyes. Nothing. Good. Move on, baby.

In my increased haste, I did slip once, in plain sight of the trailhead. I was navigating some scree and my wet boot slipped on rock. I didn't tumble—it was just an awkward slide. My heavy backpack actually helped to counterbalance me.

I brushed off some blood from my shin and hustled to the trailhead. I was so relieved to see cars coming. And I was safe at last. I made it to my car and jumped in, locking the doors. I know, it's foolish to think a car window can stop a bear, but it made me feel good anyway.

So the moral of the story is that I can share some tips with you!

Advice:

1. Read about the wildlife where you will be visiting.

Great sources are the brochure you get when entering a park, the posted signs, official NPS or state park websites, and more.

Learn when they are active, what they eat (so you can avoid being near it), if they travel on human paths (which black bears do) and how to deal with any encounters.

If you are unsure, ask a ranger. Park rangers rock.

When I was warming up in the car after this shoot, I found this amazing page on CatskillMountaineer.com detailing black bears. All the things I'd learned as a boy in the Adirondacks rang true with their points. And the natural signs I had observed were affirmed when reading this.

So seek out local naturalists and hikers for the area you want to explore and sit under their learning tree. It will be time well spent.

If you want to find a black bear, try Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It has more of them per square mile than any other place in the U.S. Nikon D3S, Nikon 80-200mm f/2.8 lens at 200mm. Photo © 2013 Chris Nicholson. (He doesn't have any night photos of light-painted bears. I can't understand why.)

2. Use the buddy system.

Bring a friend or two with you. The more noise you make, and smells you offer, the less your chances of surprising any animals that could be dangerous.

3. If it's a short hike, try not to bring food.

If animals don't smell something they enjoy eating, they will most likely stay away. If you have to bring food, try to seal it as much as possible.

If you're bringing food into bear country, the current advice is to use a bear canister, because Yogi is smart enough to know about the food you hang from a rope between two trees. ;-)

4. Assume that most animals don't want to be near you.

As fellow NPANer Lance Keimig always says, there are far more plants that want to hurt you than animals. Animals usually attack only when feeling threatened and especially when their young are nearby. So don't freak out if you see a wild animal. Stay calm. Think.

5. Look for telltale signs.

Do you observe tracks, scat or other markers of animals nearby? Are they fresh?

6. Look around.

When you hike, it's normal to be looking at your feet all the time. Stop or slow down and look around into underbrush, shadows, etc.

7. When the wind is blowing in your face, be even more cautious.

Why? Your smell is not being blown ahead of your travel path.

8. Be aware of space.

If you know animals are near, try not to corner them in a gorge or canyon, because they may choose to escape right through you.

9. Stay Navigated.

This is not specific to animals, but always carry a compass, and know the basics of its use. It won't protect you from wildlife, but it will keep you moving in the right direction.

What animals live near you? What do you know about them? Had any close encounters? Let us know in the comments.

Locals bonus: More info on black bears, cougars and coyotes from the New York State DEC.

Matt Hill is a partner and workshop leader with National Parks at Night. See more about his photography, art, workshops and writing at MattHillArt.com. Follow Matt on Twitter Instagram Facebook.

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UPCOMING WORKSHOPS FROM NATIONAL PARKS AT NIGHT

How to Get Creative in National Parks without Being an Asshat

Header photo credit: Night sky at Owachomo Bridge (NPS/Jacob W. Frank)
 

THE PROBLEM

I am horrified by mentions of how careless individuals mistreat natural features in national parks. I want to draw attention to this, plus provide some helpful tips on how we can all honor our muse while also avoiding destructive actions. 

And it's also a warning to the careless punks that if I ever see you defacing or endangering something beautiful, I will find a ranger and get your butt arrested and hopefully fined out the wazoo.

SOME EXAMPLES

Let's review some examples of misbehavior in national parks. 

Recently a young artist with the internet moniker Creepytings2014 chose to leave some graffiti behind in seven national parks while hiking. Her choice to post photos of it on her Instagram was hard evidence. Fortunately, some popular hiking sites started discussions about it, and formed a petition to the Obama administration asking for action. She was banned from 524 million acres of public lands during two years of probation, plus 200 hours of community service.

#NatureIsGay #creepytings #caseynocketart

A photo posted by Casey Nocket (@theofficialcreepytings) on Oct 24, 2014 at 12:58pm PDT

Another from this year: The Canadian group High on Life SundayFundayz got lambasted by the internet for their jaunt onto Grand Prismatic Spring in Yellowstone. They attempted amends, and many didn't believe it sufficed, calling for prosecution. Wyoming issued warrants for their arrest.

And this came not a year after some poor fellow crashed his drone into that same hot spring, despite the aerial devices being banned from all U.S. national parks just two months before. The Dutch tourist had to pay $3,200 in fines and restitution, amid continued fears that the sunken drone could still degrade or even destroy the colorful spring.

Those are new examples, but the problem is certainly not new. In 2001, a Utah photographer plead guilty to seven federal misdemeanors for damaging Canyonlands and Arches national parks. Simply put, he had built fires with Duraflame logs to create dramatic lighting effects, scorching and discoloring iconic rock formations. He paid $10,900 in restitution.

I provide these examples not to single out anyone, but examples are needed. I want to illustrate that if you choose to deface or damage national parks, you can (and should, IMO) pay a steep price. Not only that, but let's imagine what you are taking away from every other person and generation that visits that spot ever after. It's selfish, and short-sighted.

Here is a very simple list of destructive ways I've seen others apply their creativity that could cause negative impact within a national park:

1. Using steel wool to make fire, especially during dry or forest-fire season (as happened in an incident in Big Cypress National Preserve just a couple of months ago, burning down a historic structure)

2. Fireworks: sparklers, rockets, firecrackers, etc.

3. Climbing on delicate features (they took millions of years to become that way, you can destroy it in a moment!)

HOW TO PREPARE AND ACT

Now that I've gotten the emotions out of the way, let's approach this with a little empathy. 

I believe it's first a matter of awareness. Not everyone thinks to read all the literature you get while on vacation or especially adventures. I mean, you're outdoors to have some time away from the hustle and bustle, right? Frankly, it doesn't mean you are off the hook of being responsible for your actions. By entering National Park lands, you are agreeing to leave it as you found it. Or perhaps you'll leave it in a better state and pick up someone else's litter.

Read the map and newsletter you are handed by the friendly rangers on the way in. You will get a great overview of all that is precious, plus the ground rules.

Let's take a look at the benchmark rule-book for how to treat the wilderness—the Center for Outdoor Ethics's simple “Leave No Trace Seven Principles.”

1. Plan Ahead and Prepare

2. Travel and Camp on Durable Surfaces

3. Dispose of Waste Properly

4. Leave What You Find

5. Minimize Campfire Impacts

6. Respect Wildlife

7. Be Considerate of Other Visitors

© 1999 by the Leave No Trace Center for Outdoor Ethics: www.LNT.org

It's not so hard so minimize your impact on a natural environment. Print out their principles. Memorize them. Apply them. Get a tattoo. It's good karma. At National Parks at Night, we spend time on these ideals during every workshop. It's in everyone's best interest.

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Delicate Arch at Night with Headlamp. NPS Photo.

HOW TO ACT 

If you are in a national park and are tempted to do something to leave your mark or do something you know is risky, ask yourself, "Who is this for? Me? Why am I doing it? What is the benefit of completing this idea?"

If you don't have an answer that rings true with your moral compass, give it a pass. Find another way to express yourself.

Another approach is to be deliberate. Make your own personal plan about what you want from your photo adventure.

We all have a mission, even if we've never written it down or spoken it aloud. I suggest before heading out into the wild, work on your artistic mission statement.

We were inspired by the mission statement (which you can read in its original form at the bottom of this page) of Thomas Mark Szelog, a photographer who is documenting the proposed new national park in the North Maine Woods. His statement describes exactly the sort of sentiment we should all have when we step anywhere into the great outdoors.

When I venture into the northern Maine forest I am fully aware that I am a guest in a house and home. And as any visitor into a home should, I behave properly. The denizens of the forest are no different than the human denizens of a city. The wildlife must seek food, water, and shelter. They use their home, the forest, to sleep, eat, rest, and reproduce and raise their families. I would not deny the right of a person to thrive in their home, nor would I deny the same for the wild creatures of the woods. ...

Mankind will never improve upon the beauty of Mother Nature. No manipulation of my photographs, or any use of computer or digital technology will make my images better. What nature allows me to see through my camera viewfinder is already outstanding. Mother Nature deserves all of the credit for the beauty in my photographs.

Wildlife photography is more than creating art, it is capturing an experience. — Thomas Mark Szelog

There is a power in writing down (and sharing!) a commitment. Try it. Write five sentences detailing who, what, where, when and how you will seek and apply your photographic vision.  Here is my first crack at it:

I, Matt Hill, choose to make art in the wilds of America's National Parks. I choose this because the natural beauty invokes awe and creative energy in me. I harness and focus this energy by applying the non-destructive media of light and time to make long-exposure photographs of night scenes. I adhere to the Leave No Trace Principles and share my photography so that it may inspire others to enjoy these spaces firsthand.

I challenge you to leave your personal version in the comments if you will. If you want to use mine and adjust it slightly, no worries! I would be honored.

Please choose to honor the natural beauty instead of modifying it. As Chris Nicholson has said to me in conversation, "The parks are our subject and inspiration, not our canvas." Well put, Chris.

See more about Matt's photography, art, workshops and writing at MattHillArt.com. Follow Matt on Twitter Instagram Facebook.

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Upcoming workshops from National Parks at Night

Eight Reasons Night Photographers are Awesome

Time for a little fun. Let's count down what makes night photographers so darn special.

1) You use more of your waking hours for creativity

Unless you are a very productive (and not just a relaxed, like hanging out ... which is also totally awesome) night owl, making photographs at night is a very practical way to use your creative energies. Use those creative energies more and they treat you better. And heck, you're very efficient for maxing out on creativity.

2) You are more observant of the present

Since you are restricted from taking many photos rapidly, you are more likely to slow down and actually SEE what is in front of you. If you brought a buddy or a group, you may strike up a conversation that otherwise may never have happened about things you may never have talked about. And if you are lucky and smart, you will take that time to enjoy the scene in front of you. Chances are, even without light you will see things that you could have been in too much of a hurry to see before.

3) You know that less is more

We don't need 64 GB of memory cards. In fact, we're happy when an extremely productive evening yields up to 50 exposures. That's a metric sh*t-ton of night photography. And since we make less, we value our time and choices more.

4) You get intimate with infinity

We're quite insignificant when compared to the vast infinite reaches of space. Right? Facing this, evening after evening, we have time to consider our meaning on this earth. Perhaps we make better choices after seeing marvelous things that the huge majority of the world sleeps through. Or perhaps we keep this as our little secret with ourselves and smile knowingly when others ask us why we do that "night photography" stuff.

5) You seek complexity

Let's just agree that night photography is not for someone who likes to phone it in. It's full of details. It's done in the dark. You have to do math. You have to use a tripod (do I have to carry that?). But nonetheless, you persevere. Which leads us to ...

6) You are tenacious

If you're lucky, the weather may comply with your sincere wishes. Otherwise, you're left holding the proverbial bag and have to troubleshoot your way to great looking photos—or pack up and go home. Which we never do, right? We go out with an attitude that we can overcome whatever mother nature throws at us and make at least one "banger"—maybe three!

7) You are patient

Kinda goes without saying, eh?

8) You are good looking

Everyone looks great at night! Especially me.

OK, so some of these are obviously tongue-in-cheek. But we night photographers tend to have a lot of fun doing what we do. Otherwise, why do it? Thank you for being you.

#seizethenight !

See more about Matt's photography, art, workshops and writing at MattHillArt.com. Follow Matt on Twitter Instagram Facebook.

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Upcoming workshops from National Parks at Night