I turned off the live-view on my camera as I focused on the headlamps of two tiny people standing underneath the dark and ominous figure of Delicate Arch in Arches National Park. There were at least fifteen photographers sitting in the little sandstone bowl that is the home to this iconic arch, and we were all shooting long exposures in attempt to capture the beauty that lay before us.
Camera set for 30 seconds, I pressed the shutter and let it rip. I was still annoyed by the fact that I left my wide-angle lens in the car parked at the trailhead 1.5 miles away so I decided that a portrait-style photo of the arch with my standard lens might just work as a creative bailout. In the final five seconds of the exposure, a bright but small light raced across the sky behind the standing piece of rock. My camera finished processing, the screen lit up, and my heart dropped—in the best of ways.
I ended up with my first ever shot of a shooting star and an image that in my opinion, captures the raw magic of Delicate Arch under a dark night sky. It is rare that I snap a photo that visually explains my feelings in a landscape in a particular moment. They are incredibly special.
Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be living, in the truest form of the word, and what it is that inspires me and what exactly makes me feel the most alive.
I’ve known for a while that the wilderness is essential to my mental health and stability. Time spent in the wild resets my mind like a clock. All of life’s little stressors and annoyances seem more and more insignificant. In fact, I’m convinced that there’s a direct relationship between time spent in the wilderness and how much you care about your responsibilities. A slippery slope…
Walking out into the darkness, in the land of solidified ocean sediment that has been preserved for hundreds of millions of years, to find something special to capture, makes me feel alive. Sitting out in the cold under the stars, contemplating what lies beyond our own little world, and realizing these are the darkest night skies you’ve seen in months— is just like coming home. Communicating with surrounding photographers, focusing in on tiny specs of light, the joy that washes over you when your camera screen lights up and you first see what you’ve just created; that is living. Being able to put all of your feelings and connections and energy and emotion that you experience in both the wilderness and everyday life into a single image is damn near impossible. But when it works out, it is truly extraordinary.
I’ve spent a lot of time in the wilderness in the last year or so. I almost always bring a camera, but rarely do I put my heart and soul into the creation of an image. A little night hike with some friends re-sparked my creativity and my passion for photography. It, combined with my story-telling is my method of self-expression. I was reminded of my passion over the span of two days in one of the most inspiring landscapes on Earth. And now sitting at home, I feel almost lost back in civilization after a weekend in the desert, but never before have I felt more alive.