Chapter 15

Merchant

Community

Property

Araphahoe Basin below Loveland Pass, Colo.

Chapter Fifteen

Gunnufson

The photographer searches a distant vista. He locks his camera onto a panoramic fantasia of low surrealistic clouds, lacing along the high treeless mountain peaks and separating the sky into layers of blue. The photographer places a sheet film holder into the back of his view camera and pulls out the dark slide. He studies the clouds dancing and playing along the snowy ridges. "Got it!" he cries realizing that he finally captured something very dear to his heart. The photographer values these images more than all the gold mined out of this region. These clouds appear only a few times a year, and he is driven to catch their mystical beauty on film and share it with others who can appreciate the magnificence of the mountains. He remembers one occasion when that compulsion nearly cost him his life.

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I remember driving over Loveland Pass one winter day. The light patterns created by the cloud cover were outstanding. I always kept a camera in my car, just in case a unique opportunity offered itself. Before leaving the car, I donned my ski hat and gloves to protect myself from the wind perpetually howling across the continent's Divide.

I anticipated a short walk to optimize my camera position, and only minimal exposure to the elements. After stopping several times and framing the landscape through my finder, its composition never felt complete, enticing me to move further and further from the car, in search of the view I could see in my mind. It seemed like I was looking through Alice's looking glass and being seduced to follow my dreams instead of reality. A hill in the foreground interrupted the continuity of the converging lines that added aesthetically to this alpine valley. As I climbed higher along the Continental Divide, the hill became less and less of an interruption. But each time I set up, I realized I hadn't gone quite far enough. So I walked still further from the road, ending up staying outside far longer than I'd originally expected to. A medium weight ski parka and a light pair of Nike hiking boots were fine for traveling to and from the car, but such minimal clothing required shooting photographs fairly quickly. They weren't adequate enough to protect me from the gusts of wind that swept the path along the top of the divide.

Ten Mile Range from Copper Mtn. , Colo.

After selecting my final camera position, I set up my tripod one last time. My camera lay directly over the Continental Divide with one tripod leg on the western slope and two on the east. The ski baskets on the ends of tripod legs prevented them from sinking into the snow. First I focused the scene on the ground glass and then framed a pleasing image. Instead of analyzing the composition for proportion, I instinctively searched through the ground glass until the composition felt right. Intuition was my only criterion. Had the weather been more pleasant, or had I dressed more appropriately, my instinct might have been more difficult to satisfy. Not only did the cold, biting wind nearly blow off my dark cloth and shake my bellows, but it also forced me into compromising my usual compositional criteria. How I wished the sun's rays would break through for a minute and transform this monotonous scene into something spectacular. Such unpredictable lighting makes or breaks landscape photography. Nature teased me with glimpses of light, but never fulfilled its promise. Over and over again, my illusions of beaming rays of light faded into the clouds. I had experienced similar disappointments an infinite number of times...always cherishing the few selective gifts from Lady Luck.

Although temperatures were nearly ten degrees above zero, the wind added significantly to the chill factor. In weather like this, to stand still is to freeze. I stayed longer than I should have. I started losing the feeling in my fingertips and knew it was time to leave. Just then the light started to break through. This ray of hope encouraged me to stay just a little longer. Each time I took off my gloves to operate the camera, my hands suffered from touching the metal parts of my camera. The metal of the compur shutter drew out what heat was left in my fingers and left the burning pain of cold in its place. I hoped the sun god wouldn't take much longer, and then I could leave. While waiting, I reached up and touched my face. There was no feeling in my cheeks. Without hesitation, I exposed a sheet of Tri-X. Cold, pain and danger triggered my action, rather than Cartier-Bresson's criteria of "the decisive moment" or Stieglitz's suggestion to "await the moment in which everything is in balance." The only "balance" needing attention at that moment was the balance of life...my life and body were in danger! Other times, I had waited much longer for nature's blessing, but now survival forced me to retreat immediately.

The wind blew much stronger on the way back. The horizon disappeared into an oncoming blizzard. Without any feeling in my feet I stumbled, fell and slowly progressed down the icy and rocky Divide. For relief from the cutting wind, I even walked backwards for a short time. Even in my numbing stupor, I realized how misguided my priorities were: I still continued carrying my heavy and cumbersome large format equipment. The last 200 feet seemed like the longest "short walk" of my life. After reaching my car I got inside, started the engine and turned on the heater. As the car warmed, I suffered through the long and painful thawing out period that only those who have suffered frostbite can understand.