Great Sand Dunes National Park, August 2015

I'd visited Great Sand Dunes National Park four times before this past Saturday, but had never actually hiked out into the dunes any appreciable distance. When opportunity arose, I decided to take advantage of it and hike to High Dune.

Unfortunately, weather conditions when I arrived seemed to conspire against me a bit.  I'd thought I'd arrive by 3:00.  Instead I didn't make it until around 5:30 and late afternoon thunderstorms were doing their late afternoon thing over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

I asked a ranger if he thought I'd be able to get to High Dune and back by sunset.  He hemmed and hawed, clearly not wanting to have to state the obvious as lightning crashed to the north.  "What's the worst that could happen," I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well, you could get hit by lightning," was the matter-of-fact response.  Super.

I pondered my options, but admittedly only briefly.  This was my only shot.  I figured I'd just keep a close eye on the sky, and if things got truly dicey I'd either turn back or just hunker down until it blew over.  So in a steady rain I headed out, crossing Medano Creek and following the clearly established tracks.  The moisture actually seemed to make the sand a little easier to walk on, and added an interesting visual dimension to the footprints.

I was making pretty good progress despite the rain.  An occasional low rumble of thunder still came from the north, but the lightning stopped.  Then the rain also ceased, and I felt vindicated by my decision to head out.  Traffic was light, too, likely as a result of other people having enough common sense not to try to make the hike at that time.

The clouds weren't particularly thick to the west.  So as the sun descended, it would shine through breaks in the clouds and yield some nice textures and shadows.

In roughly an hour I was at the summit of High Dune, and just elated at the sight.  An absolutely unique spectacle of nature.

I drank it all in, occasionally snapping but more often just trying to shield myself from wind gusts that were sandblasting me like a graffitied playground wall.

I've never had much success trying to capture wind in a still image, which makes sense since wind is defined by motion.  This was probably my best attempt at recording sand blowing off a ridge.

I used Lightroom's new HDR feature to blend three exposures of this scene.  Not bad.  But with that break between the lowest clouds and horizon, I felt that there was a chance for a spectacular sunset.  The problem was that sunset was still about 45 minutes away.  What to do ...

Duh.  I stuck it out, hunkered down below the ridge line for the most part to try and stay out of the strongest gusts.  A couple of young guys joined me, one of whom was wearing just shorts and a tank top.  THAT dude I felt bad for.

Another decision validated.  I knew I was in for something special right when the sun started to peek out from below the clouds.

I zoomed out and my breath caught in my throat.  I had to look up from the viewfinder to take in the scene with my own eyes.  Warm colors on the pristine dunes.  A bit of sand blowing off the ridge.  Rain falling in the distance.  And a beautiful starburst from the setting sun.  I gave a silent prayer of thanks for having the chance to witness this amazing moment, then added a little request to have managed to record it.

Bounding back down the dunes in the twilight I felt like I was walking on the moon, taking giant, loping strides and sliding in the sand.  I stopped for one shot, intrigued by how the textures changed in the low light.  Then I realized I wasn't going to get another shot even close to what I just had, and I still had to get dinner, and I still had to drive three more hours to Crested Butte.

It's really true that anything worth having is worth working for.  The drive, the hike, the hesitancy over the weather, the stinging sand.  Sure, I've gotten some great shots just pulling my car over and leaning out the window.  But this ... this was something I felt I'd earned.  I didn't just have a shot; I had an experience.  A memory.  A story.  One I'm delighted to get to share with you. :)

Great Sand Dunes: Winter

Last stop on my way out of Monte Vista actually involved a bit of a detour.  I have a hard time resisting the lure of a national park under any conditions, let alone ones as beautiful as this late winter morning. So after my sunrise shots south of town and a hearty breakfast back at the Monte Villa Inn I headed northeast to Great Sand Dunes National Park.

I didn't even have to get to the park before seeing scenery that took my breath away, like this view of Little Bear Peak and Blanca Peak.

I normally like the effect of leading lines drawing your eye into a photograph.  But even with the snow-covered road providing that here, I think I still prefer the previous peak shot.

Once in the park it wasn't like the views dropped off, like this look at Mount Herard with the dunefield starting to rise to the left.

The dunes themselves were even more magical than normal, the mix of dry sand, wet sand and snow combining to form truly unique patterns.

Quite a few hardy souls had made the trek into the dunefield.  If I'd had more time, I might have joined them.

Even with the fairly harsh midday light there was still plenty of texture in the landscape.

In hindsight I wish I'd gotten down on my belly to make the horses more prominent in this scene.  But there was no easy way to tell what was under those few inches of fresh snow; and I didn't really need to smell like manure on the four-hour drive back to Denver.

A fantastic end to the weekend -- really the cherry on top of a terrific trip!

Monte Vista Sunrise

The weather last Saturday when I was in Monte Vista for the 30th annual Crane Festival was uniformly overcast, with snow starting to fall in the afternoon. But the Sunday forecast called for clear skies, so I made sure to get up before sunrise and headed out hoping for some stunning photo conditions.

I wasn't disappointed.

My plan was to head back to the wildlife refuge.  But these brick ruins of what I assume were all that was left of a burned-down house called to me along the way.

By the time the sun had started to break over the horizon I'd found a nice place to set up on the edge of the refuge.

Trees, mountains, low fog, fresh snow and the rising sun.  A pretty solid combination to work with.

Silhouettes make me happy.

I forgot all about the cranes for a while, just enjoying how the beauty of the landscape continued to reveal itself as the sun climbed in the sky.

Is it greedy of me to wish there had been just a few clouds in the sky to add a little texture?

I think the temperature was 17 degrees when I left the hotel.  I share that in case you can't feel the cold just from looking at the pictures.

The color of the branches indicated that spring wasn't far off.  But the fresh snow coating them said that winter wasn't quite ready to yield just yet.  And I was glad that it hadn't.

Monte Vista Crane Festival 2013

I don't remember exactly how I found about it, or what possessed me to make the four-hour drive to be part of it. But this past Saturday I found myself shivering in the Monte Vista National Wildlife Refuge watching and listening to thousands of Greater Sandhill Cranes fatten up for their migration north. All part of the 30th annual Monte Vista Crane Festival.

I heard someone use the word "prehistoric" to describe the sound the cranes make.  It was sort of a cross between a turkey's gobble and a rusty hinge.  Not exactly songbirds.

Awkward and halting on the ground, the birds were downright elegant in the air.

With such a large group, isolating a single crane in a photo wasn't easy.  Fortunately this fellow -- or possibly lady -- obliged.

Ah, courtship rituals.  When do you not look ridiculous?  Even the Canada Goose was too embarrassed to watch.

This group seemed to be doing a thorough job keeping an eye out for trouble.

The birds seek out wetlands in which to roost at night, standing on one leg in shallow water like a flamingo.

Not cranes.   But the Canada Geese sure did think the cranes had found a good place to feed.

And to drink, apparently.

Also not a crane.  But this Great Horned Owl was in the same tree all day, not perturbed enough by the peeping humans to flush.  That's birder talk for "fly off."

I thought a Parks & Wildlife volunteer summed up the likely thoughts of the cranes on the ground when this ginormous flock of Canada Geese flew in nicely.  "Well, there goes the neighborhood."

I joined group tours three times on Saturday, and went out on my own Saturday afternoon and again Sunday morning.  I think I got my best shots when I was alone; but if I hadn't taken the group tours I wouldn't have known where the prime viewing locations were.

Being around real birders always makes me realize that I'm not one.  And that I'm OK with that.  Still, an enjoyable trip in the sense of something you don't often get the opportunity to do and see.  Maybe next year I'll head out to Nebraska to see the 500,000 Lesser Sandhill Cranes that return north through the Central Flyway instead for comparison!

Signs of Colorado Gators

You don't need to see the actual animals from Colorado Gators Reptile Park to understand what the place is like. Just checking out some of the signs will tell you all you need to know.

If you find the following at all entertaining -- intentionally or otherwise -- I recommend paying the place a visit. If not, you might find another area attraction more to your liking.

Of all things, I didn't actually get a shot of the entrance off of Route 17.  Thanks to Cedar House Photography for bailing me out.

And not like roses.

Not sure how much legal protection this actually affords them.

How often do you think they change this?

I'm not familiar with the underlying science here.

There goes the whole "he's only sleeping" line I usually feed the kids in these situations.

You know what was not behind this sign?  Any rattlers.

Of all the things that should be obvious, I agree that alligators not making good pets ranks fairly high on the list.

I really had no idea what we were supposed to do with our goat after reading this.

Totally unnecessary sign.  Everyone knows that large piles of tires make perfect habitat for pickpockets and alligators.

I suspect the hunters are rather gamey.  *Knee slap*

Yes, that's the BioDome in the background.  Pauly Shore strikes again.

Prima donna would not sign autographs.

The rationale behind going with an Old English style for this sign is one of life's great mysteries.

Fortunately, there's wood and wire separating you from an alligator with the word "mangle" in his name.

Seriously, the place is worth a stop if only to appreciate the hard work the folks running it put in to making a working fish farm and wildlife rescue into a family attraction.  Just don't plan on getting rid of your goats.