HDR Photography
The Thanksgiving evening was perfectly clear, as late-autumn evenings in the desert often are, and I felt like I could see forever: stones and brush in the foreground, over the Pines to Palms Highway, across the irrigated valley floor, before slicing the final bits of sunlight off the tops of the Little San Bernardino Mountains.
While Coachella Valley is being aggressively developed, there are areas—around the edges, or in the expanse of the Salton Sea—where reminders of nature’s true intentions for the area are unavoidable.
When I last flew to southern California, I was relaxing in Coachella Valley and spending time in settings like this. This week, I’m back but in a completely different spatial and mental space: I am on high alert as I prepare a presentation on my scientific work and spending time in the urban core of San Diego. At least I can look back on images from a less stressful time.
Tucked into the jagged mountains of the Coachella Valley, the Quarry at La Quinta seems homey and familiar, if a little out of place.
When New Yorkers take their dogs for a walk, it’s down narrow, cramped, sandy, salty sidewalks in a frozen hellscape… At least, in comparison with the Californians, rendered miniature by the grandeur of the landscape.
At one level, this is a calming, nostalgic image: two people fishing from a causeway over Lake Cahuilla reservoir in Coachella Valley.
The layers of reflections and horizontal lines, however, give it a very surreal, Dali-esque topology: reality doesn’t quite seem to be shaped correctly here. Space is folded in on itself.
Rippling pool water, comfy lounge chairs, palm trees, and a beautiful blue sky all project a “vaporwave come to life” image.
The Lake Cahuilla reservoir on the periphery of Coachella Valley makes a charming setting for early-evening fishing just before the park closes.
Look at that little home, perched atop a cliff above the high-altitude desert north of Coachella Valley.
Apparently the original Lake Cahuilla was a prehistoric lake in the Coachella Valley; its modern recreation is a reservoir in the hills outside town. The relationship between humans and nature in the region is well-encapsulated by that point of comparison.
Along the sweeping curves of California’s Palms to Pines Highway, above the expanse of the Coachella Valley, my eye was captured by the tiny, static light emitter that was a parked car in a turnout. When the long exposure had converted every other vehicle to a ghostly stream, stillness mean detail—enough detail to start imagining noir-tinged stories about clandestine desert meetings. (I’m pretty sure the reality is more mundane…)
This mysterious small observatory outside Landers, California (not far from the Integratron) sticks out from the landscape—both figuratively and literally. Goings-on there strike me as excellent fodder for a science fiction novel.
Even without a full array of ancillary pillows, a spot to lounge by the pool on a cool desert evening seems like an enormous upgrade over the second half of winter in Northern New York.
Landers, California’s Integratron is said to be at the intersection of ley lines and underground reservoirs, and was originally designed to hold a device that its creator hoped would extend human lifespans. While I can’t say I’ve been able to verify any of that information, its stark white presence in the desert above the Coachella Valley is certainly striking.
While it was freezing and blustery outside, within the Integratron, the enormous parabolic dome of wood (with no metal used in its construction) was definitely warm and inviting. I’ll attribute this to thermodynamics more than supernatural forces.
An iconic image of renewable energy in California, if I do say so myself: scrub brush in the foreground, mountains in the background, and a huge wind turbine in the center of it all. I particularly like the way this particular shutter speed allowed for just a slight blur at the tips of the turbine blades.
Decaseconds 