It’s a cliché of landscape photography that the huge scale of a landscape can best be conveyed be including a human. Though there is indeed a person in this picture, I think Laurel Falls needs no help. Perhaps that’s because of trail experience to reach it.
Roots draped elegantly over rocks beside a burbling brook create the more-naturally-occurring equivalent of a Japanese garden.
When hikers choose the trail this close to the river’s edge, they’re betting on the water level—will it be sloshing over the rocks and requiring a long detour? On this day, the hikers lucked out.
On a hike with my extended Decaseconds family to Laurel Falls, we paused by the flowing water to explore some strange arrangements of roots and rocks. Landscapes are so much more enticing to a human viewer when there are obviously human forms in the picture, they say, and this image definitely supports that thesis.
The hike to Laurel Falls brought a mix of sand and stone (and sandstone?) in its geology that differs from the Adirondack settings that I’m most used to. The mixture of geological features and stunted trees in the setting has a calming “natural equivalent of a Japanese garden” quality to it that I really appreciated.
Walking through the Great Smoky Mountains, I was astonished at the clarity of the water… Until I remembered that I was wearing polarized sunglasses that eliminated most of the surface light reflection.
Tennessee posts have previously been the domain of my Decaseconds co-author, but a recent visit to see him in Johnson City meant that I was able to photograph some of his regular haunts for myself. Our hike to Laurel Falls in the Great Smoky Mountains revealed some pretty spectacular natural settings.
Citizens of the North Country spent much of their spring quarantines in the woods; the campfire smoke from just beyond Lampson Falls attests to the family spending the night below.
The apparently slow and placid water above Lampson Falls seems out of character with the dramatic torrent downstream.
After days of rain, show finally settled over the North Country on Christmas afternoon. With little bits of grass poking above the snowy hillsides, I’m reminded of a sort of low-rent English countryside equivalent.
Dawn in Napa brings the kinds of landscapes, with layer upon layer of hills and fields and trees, that I associate with prints of impressionist oil paintings scattered around the average home in the late twentieth century.
A wet, mild California winter (rather the opposite of what the Bay Area is unfortunately currently experiencing) may make for a lovely view in wine country, but I’m not sure I’d want to stop at that particular seat… It looks like it has captured more than its share of the dampness of its environs.
Rolling Adirondack foothills make for a whole array of waterfalls around the North Country. Lampson Falls looks particularly good from this “impossible” (sans drone) profile perspective, with sunset light reflecting off the pool in the foreground.
Each pine tree in the forest stakes out its own space in the canopy, with only the tiniest channels of light between them.
The little islands in Canton’s stretch of the Grasse River make me think of Huckleberry Finn’s stops along the Mississippi but, you know, scaled down.