Landscape Photography – Page 23 – On the road with Jim

Poughkeepsie Gulch Picture of the Week

Even though we had to wing it, I think that the day in the mountains Fred and I had was a very successful adventure. We both got a lot out of it. Fred was able to put his—new to him—Toyota FJ through its paces, we saw some beautiful rugged country, we took a lot of pictures, and we came back in one piece. When we got back to base camp, our wives—Deb and Queen Anne—knew we had a good time from the big bug-stained grins on our faces, and the incessant chattering about our day.

We visited four of the two dozen high passes in the San Juan Mountains, and those were the day’s high points (pun intended) of our trip. Coincidentally, that’s enough material for a typical month’s worth of blog posts. But September has five Sundays this year, so I get to show you another picture that I took; of the twenty-two keepers, this one is my favorite.

I don’t usually work this way. When I’m out alone with my camera, I try to work a scene. I’ll shoot several angles, zoom in and out, add or remove elements in the composition, or maybe wait for better light. When I’m back at my desk, I’ll review the raw files and pick out the best. I don’t bother processing most of my shots. In Colorado, we covered a lot of area in one afternoon, and I was just along for the ride, so I snapped pictures when I could before moving on. For most of the day, the light wasn’t to my liking, but the mountains were strong enough to stand up in less than ideal conditions. As dinner time approached, the sun’s color began to warm, and the scattered clouds cast shadows on the peaks.

Poughkeepsie Peak - The late afternoon sun shines on the top of Tuttle Mountain, which overlooks Poughkeepsie Gulch. — Poughkeepsie Peak – The late afternoon sun shines on the top of Tuttle Mountain, which overlooks Poughkeepsie Gulch.

We were almost done for the day, and as we approached Hurricane Pass, I saw this scene on the road overlooking Como Lake. I consider it the best of the day. It’s the fish you pull from the creel after the guys have finished laughing at the other minnows from your basket. It’s called Poughkeepsie Gulch. In this image, the warm afternoon sun is shining through a hole in the clouds on Tuttle Mountain’s top, which is otherwise covered in cloud shadows. The 13,203’ peak overlooks Poughkeepsie Gulch and down there, you can see the road the rangers warned us was too advanced for amateurs like us.

You can see a larger version of Poughkeepsie Gulch on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy viewing it. Be sure to come back next week when we feature the scenery from another Arizona back road.

Until next time — jw

Sun Showers Picture of the Week

The day was getting late, and before Fred and I could go back, we needed to find one final pass to cross and return to Silverton—and eventually Durango. When we stopped to enjoy Lake Como—last week’s photo—it turns out that we were already near Hurricane Pass. Unlike the other passes, we didn’t have to crawl down one mountainside and up another. Instead, the road followed the ridgeline for a half-mile, and voila.

Unfortunately, Hurricane Pass wasn’t as photogenic as the others that day. The road simply turned east for a bit before disappearing down a crack. Of course, the crack opened into a gulch, then a river valley as we descended 5,000 feet into civilization. It was an anticlimactic way to end the day. The trail was soon gravel followed quickly by asphalt; with guardrails, of all things.

Sun Showers - Although small clouds filled the sky, the only rain we got was a sun-shower. — Sun Showers – Although small clouds filled the sky, the only rain we got was a sun-shower.

But don’t worry, I come bearing gifts. All during our outing, puffy little clouds filled the sky. They seemed to bump into one another like the balls on a billiard table. Then they would part again leaving large patches of blue sky. On our way down the hill, it started to rain—while the sun was shining. As we rounded a bend in the road, the sun appeared in one of those patches and backlit the mountainside. It’s one of those moments where the grass becomes iridescent and glows. I’ve seen this before in New Zealand. I failed to capture it there, but I think this week’s image is close. I call it Sun Showers. The mountain that we’re looking up as maybe Hurricane Peak, but I’m not sure. In case you’re wondering—yes, those are the Sun’s rays at the top. Did I tell you about the steep angles we experienced during this trip?

You can see a larger version of Sun Showers on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week when I’ll show you my favorite image from our adventure exploring Colorado’s San Juan Mountains in Fred’s Toyota—oh, sorry—Fred’s Jeep.

Until next time — jw

Hualapai Road Picture of the Week

To reiterate what I said in my first post on exploring the Hualapai Mountains, there isn’t much open space there. The little village consists of a cluster of homes, a general store, and the county park for everyone else. There aren’t the amenities that you expect in Flagstaff or the White Mountain communities, but if you like camping and a challenging day hike, the park at the top of Sawmill Canyon Road is a different destination.

When I first arrived, I explored every road to see what’s there, but the only trail leading out of town soon became to rough and exceeded my road rules, so I turned around and headed back to the park. Before I did, I liked the rustic feeling of the country road, so I composed this week’s featured photo of the scene. I call this image Hualapai Road, although it’s little more than a trail.

The reason that I selected this photo over some others was how the trail curves over a hill between the rocks and trees. It makes me wonder where it leads, and what will I see when I get there. The countryside also reminds me of the opening scene of the old TV show The Lone Ranger that I used to watch as a kid on Saturday mornings. It’s easy for me to imagine the masked hero galloping on his white stallion over the hill—kind of like me and Archie.

You can see a larger version Hualapai Road on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week when we start another series of image from another location.

Until next time — jw

Dean Peak Picture of the Week

There’s a Prime Video series Queen Anne, and I watched this month called Good Omens. We enjoyed it so much that we watched it a second time, and caught a lot of the subtler jokes that we missed the first time. The main characters—an angel and his demon buddy—aren’t very good at their jobs, and consequently, they screw up Armageddon. This riddle was in an episode, “How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” It’s a trick question because as God—the voice of Frances McDormand—explains; Angels don’t dance, that’s something the devil conjured, and there’s not a substantial enough number to count them all, because demons can line-dance in the spaces between the pin’s atoms—funny stuff. When I visited this month’s photo location, I thought about the show’s riddle.

For my August pictures, I only had to walk across the street—as such. My new subject is the mountain range on the west side of the Big Sandy River and U.S. Highway 93—the Hualapai Range. They’re part of the parallel mountain ranges making the Basin and Range Domain which runs from Utah to the California Sierras. From space, these formations look like a pack of caterpillars stampeding across a sidewalk.

The Hualapai’s are a twin to last month’s Aquarius Mountains, except they are high enough—7,000 to 8,400—for pinion and ponderosa pine to grow. That means they are often snow-covered in winter. They fill the area between Wikiup and Kingman.

When my folks lived in Kingman, I heard of a park up on the mountain, but never visited, so last week I loaded Archie and drove up Sawmill Canyon Road (alas, if there was a sawmill, it’s gone now). The DW Ranch Road exit on Interstate 40 is a handy shortcut to use if you’re coming from the valley. It’s less than 10 miles from the Interstate to the County Park which is situated in a tiny valley at the top, and where Kingman residents have packed summer cabins into every available space. As I drove along the deeply rutted streets, I wondered, “How many Ford executives can camp on the top of Hualapai Peak?” In the village’s center, there is a concrete catch basin that’s called Pine Lake, but I couldn’t find public access to it, and—from its color—I’m not sure you would want access anyway. I got frustrated at having to back out of each street I tried and decided to check out the Hualapai Mountain Park and campgrounds.

After paying a day fee, I parked in the trailhead parking lot and checked out the maps. It was already after five when I started on the path to Stair Step Overlook, about a half-mile hike. I was never athletic, and I don’t claim to be in great shape today. I grew up uncoordinated, and when I was a kid, I was always the last pick for team sports. But, I regularly walk now, and my average speed is over two miles an hour. I figured a 15-minute walk at the most, so I grabbed my camera and left my water in the truck. I was wrong. It took 10 minutes—coming back down the mountain. The trail climbed four-hundred feet in that half-mile. As I hiked, I followed a group of two men and a woman who were in their early thirties and equipped with day-packs. I followed them inch-worm style; they walked out of my sight and then they’d be resting when I caught up.

When I finally got to the overlook, my new hiking friends were lounging on large granite slabs and taking in the view. As I climbed up the stairs, I looked up to see six of them before my eyes could focus again. The woman looked concerned and asked, “Do you need water?”

“No,” I replied. “I only wanted to get here and take some pictures. I’m going back down right after that.”

Then the guy with the beard drove a stake through my heart, “Man! I hope that I can be hiking up and down some mountainside when I get as old as you are.”

I did get a shot from the overlook, but I took this week’s featured image on the drive home. I call it Dean Peak because that’s what this point’s name is. When I took this shot, the sun was almost down, and the lower part of the mountain was already in the shade. I hope you enjoy viewing it.

You can see a larger version of Dean Peak on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week when we’ll be showing more from the Hualapai Mountains.

Until next time — jw

Clay Hills Picture of the Week

July is soon ending, and I’ll be writing about a different mountain range and its backroads next month. In a way, I’m not ready to move on. The Aquarius Range has more that I’d like to explore, and it may be a while before I get a chance to come back. I could use an extra Sunday to squeeze in another story. Oh well—a promise is a promise.

So, this week, we’ll finish up at the beginning or end—depending on your direction of travel—of the Aquarius Range, its south end. Here, there’s no sharp boundary that identifies that we’ve arrived. The mountains just taper into low hills then gently deliver you into the Burro Creek Valley at Six-Mile Crossing.

Depending on the source the Clay Hills or Hell's Half Acre — Depending on your reference these are the Clay Hills or Hell’s Half Acre as viewed from the south end of the Aquarius Range near Burro Creek Crossing.

As you descend from the higher mountains into the valley, you’ll notice a cluster of small hills with buckskin-colored cliffs for which I found two names. On the valley floor, there are Bureau of Land Management (BLM) signs saying these Clay Hills were restoration protection. On my TOPO Maps, however, they’re called Hell’s Half Acre. It amuses me that when pioneers found land that wasn’t flat and plowable, they called it Hell’s This or Devil’s That. I once had a friend who was an Ohio farm boy who told me, “… the Grand Canyon is a wasteland. You can’t grow crops there.”

I took this week’s image after I poked around the Six-Mile crossing for a while. I looked for a pretty shot of the creek running under the Cottonwood trees. The water was slow, stagnant, and choked with algae. It resembled a cesspool, so I gave it a pass, although the shade was pleasant.

As I began driving up into the mountains, I stopped to capture the scene that I call Clay Hills. It was already late morning, and the pretty light was quickly disappearing. The glare of the harsh desert sun would soon replace the warm colors. The camera is pointed west in this perspective and highway US 93 crosses Burro Creek Canyon on the far side of the cliffs. The pointy mountain eight miles in the distance is Burro Peak, so the air was pretty clear considering the recent fires near Prescott. For a cherry topping, I threw in a young saguaro with fresh buds sprouting from its top like the hairdo kids wear these days.

~~Click here to see a larger version of Clay Hills on its Web Page~~. Be sure to come back next week when we set off for another adventure exploring more Arizona back roads.

Until next time — jw

Mohan Range Picture of the Week

Have you ever looked at an Arizona road map and noticed the large chunks of unpopulated areas? It seems like the western third of the state is deserted. Most of the time there’s a good reason no one lives there and maps that show the land ownership quickly show why. For example, the military uses much of the land between Interstate 8 and the Mexican Border for bombing practice—what better use of a desert is there? Most of the area north of Interstate 40 and Utah is either the Grand Canyon or tribal land. The western third of Arizona is lower Sonoran or Mohave desert, and it gets a lot less rain than the rest of the state.

Then there’s Arizona’s Bermuda Triangle. Three highways define its legs: U.S. 93 on the west, Interstate 40 on the north and its eastern boundary is Arizona 89. The land included here isn’t desert wasteland; it ranges in elevation from 3-6 thousand feet. It’s transitional grassland, about the same as Prescott Valley. As I look out my window, I see thunderheads developing in that direction—as they do on most monsoon afternoons, so it gets seasonal rain. Why are there no settlements up there?

As I wrote in last week’s post, this month’s area of exploration is the Aquarius Mountains, and my first journey into them was via Upper Trout Creek Road. It’s a short loop road that intersects with Bogles Ranch Road which my map incorrectly identifies. It climbs to a pass and down the far side. At the top, there’s a religious retreat with a parking area wide enough to stop, take in the view, and then turn around, just like I did when I took this week’s featured image called Mohan Range.

Mohan Range-Very few know or have visited the Mohan Mountains in Arizona. — Named for one of General Cook’s Indian scouts, the Mohan Range is seldom visited.

I had never seen or heard about the Mohan Mountains before because as you travel US 93, the Aquarius Range hides them. At one foot shy of 7500’, Mohan Peak is substantial—one of the top 100. I’ve learned since that you can see it in the distance on Interstate 40 and from higher Prescott elevations. As is my way of doing things, I wanted to learn more about these mountains, so when I got back to my office, I hit Google pretty hard. This time I found a goldmine.

The first referral that came back was on a Peakbaggers page. These are people who—for no good reason—like to climb the top 100 mountains in each state (I have no idea what the do in Florida). It’s very informative, well written, and has photos of their expedition. It had a link to a second Webpage written by Kathy McCraine, which has even better photography along with her story of the O-RO ranch.

So why aren’t there any settlements here? Because this land—all quarter million acres of it—is the O-RO ranch (no Dr. Carson, it’s not a cookie). The ranch’s east half started with the Baca Land Float #5. That’s right, one of the authentic Spanish land grants honored by the US Government. According to her story, the original owners merged with a second parcel on its west side—The Mohan Ranch—to create the most significant and oldest cattle ranch in Arizona. It’s run the same as it always was, cowboys on horses rounding up cattle and sleeping in tee-pees. With no town’s or roads, it a hard life and as Kathy tells it (I love this line), “Cowboy wannabe’s need not apply.” The ranch does not welcome visitors and if you’re the area, you best heed of the warning signs.

You can see a larger version of Mohan Range on its Web Page by clicking here. Be sure to come back next week when we set off for another adventure exploring Arizona’s back roads.

Until next time — jw

AD Wash Gap Picture of the Week

This month’s photo topic is Castle Hot Springs Road—part of my long-term project of getting off the highways to explore Arizona’s back roads. My only restriction is that the roads are accessible by regular passenger cars. That’s because I don’t want to buy some dune buggy for the project (Actual Read: Queen Anne won’t let me buy one).

Since I live on its west, Castle Hot Springs Road starts in Morristown at its junction with U.S. Highway 60—Grand Avenue. It loops northeast from Arizona State Route 74—which we always called Carefree Highway, but I see that it’s officially listed as Morristown-New River Highway—past the Wickenburg Mountains into the Buckhorn Range before it returns to SR 74 via the bed of Castle Creek through the Hieroglyphic Mountains. Its length is less than thirty-five miles, and you can use a pick-up truck because most of it is well-graded and broad. Its roughest section is on the east side, the several miles between Lake Pleasant and the resort, because it travels in the creek bottom. So, if you want to drive your Lamborghini to the Castle Hot Springs resort, take the clockwise direction from Morristown.

As I’ve said through the years, people build highways from roads, roads on trails, and trails from paths, so you shouldn’t be surprised that some of the Castle Hot Springs Road originated from the Wickenburg stagecoach route. “Why travel through the mountains when there’s a straight shot across the desert floor?” you may ask. Remember, stages needed water for both passengers and horses. The trip took all day at best. On the west side, some parts of the original stagecoach road remain, and you can drive them, but you need an ATV or Jeep for that.

AD Wash Gap–The AD Wash drains the local mountain and runs by the road before turning into a narrow canyon and eventually becoming part of Castle Springs. You get a peek of the Bradshaw Mountains in the distance in the gap.

This week’s image comes from the road’s west section, a mile up the road from last week’s photo. On the north side of the mountain seen in that photo, Rincon Spring feeds a runoff called AD Wash—there’s no reference to what the name means, even in my trusty Arizona Place Names. The wash drains the local mountain and feeds the Layton tank before it turns and flows through a canyon between the hills. On the other side, AD Wash drops a couple hundred feet into Castle Creek.

When I shot this photo, I wanted to capture the saguaro grove against the canyon’s jagged edges in the late afternoon light. When I saw it on my computer, I was pleased with the paloverde in bloom and the blue streak running through the cloudy sky. For those unfamiliar with our Sonoran Desert, the saguaros in this photo range from 40 to 60 feet tall, and that should help set a sense of scale to what you’re viewing.

~~You can see a larger version of AD Wash Gap on its Web Page by clicking here~~. Be sure to return next week when we see another beautiful stop I made on my Castle Hot Spring Road outing.

Until next time — jw