HDR Photography
On the western edge of Cal’s campus (which is full of trees to begin with) sits this little grove of trees and benches commemorating the forestry club. The density of trees and the regularity of their positions creates this interesting corridor effect (even if there isn’t much to see on the other side).
My new academic home at St. Lawrence University has involved a serious shift from Berkeley’s urban campus to the bucolic surroundings of New York’s North Country. The gentle flower-and-grass smells waft through the campus in place of petrochemical fumes, and an the evening sun provides just the right bit of warmth.
Waterfalls don’t necessarily have the same impressive drama from the top, but they present another kind of wonder: the calm, burbling stream that disappears to infinity, replaced by the view of a sylvan landscape beyond. The pebbles and the trees contrast in lengthscale dramatically, but they all “belong” here.
On the rocks of Grizzly Peak, nothing resets your soul like seeing the hills and trees towering above the hazy sprawl of Oakland.
The Sun never quite cooperates, even when it’s at its loveliest. Winter means stark sunsets behind the Golden Gate Bridge or San Francisco itself; summer typically means only foggy nights. This was a rare occasion with broad cloud-wings in the upper atmosphere, but in early summer, the Sun drops behind the hills to the north.
There are few better spots to catch a sunset from in the bay area than Grizzly Peak in the Oakland/Berkeley hills. When the sun’s going down, drive on up and stand on a stump to catch a glimpse of the show that is the evening sky.
Tiny forest clearings feel like carefully decorated rooms to me: the carpet of springy fallen needles, the towering pillars of redwood trees, the edges bordered by ferns, and the minimalist furniture of moss-encrusted stumps. With the sonic environment of raindrops dripping gently through the limbs, the combination made a particularly relaxing effect.
In the dead of winter, the rocks and trees and streams of northwestern Connecticut are a textured but monotone canvas. In this photograph, I’ve only exaggerated the stark difference between the dormant surroundings and the bright red of the small barn-like structure perched at the creekside.
The sequoia trees of Muir Woods stand straight and proud (just like that Neil Young song), but not every tree is so cooperative. Leaning at a jaunty angle and encrusted with moss and wee ferns, this nonconformist of a tree doesn’t have time for any of the “straight up” nonsense.
Muir Woods astonishes and tempers with its beauty, but I had trouble avoiding the feeling that it was all a bit manicured and controlled by man. At first, that disappointed me. When I thought back to some of the gorgeous Zen gardens I’ve visited, however, I realized that curated natural beauty can be just as spectacular and authentic as true wilderness. The gentle drizzle between sequoias and down into the creek is the American version of the Zen garden.
Today’s guest post comes courtesy of Zack Mensinger.
After spending the afternoon in the Mariposa Grove, the plan was to head back to the valley for the evening, but after rounding the first bend offering a view of the valley, it was perfectly clear that the right choice would be to stay at Tunnel View and watch the sunset. The conditions with the fog alone were incredible, but the clouds promised beautiful sunset color as well. Nature delivered on this promise and the scene was unforgettable. This photo is from a single RAW exposure, with levels adjusted to better balance the valley and sky. My only real wish was that the foreground clouds would catch some color too, but they were too low and were in the shade of the mountains already. A little patience paid amazing returns in this case!
Up here in the Berkeley Hills, the entire Bay Area stretches out on a clear day. In the distance is Piedmont and the Oakland Airport, but I particularly engage with the sense of scale that the preposterously-steep fire trail adds to the image. There’s a space for humans in the sprawl of the East Bay.
Early in the morning, Muir Woods is still quiet as the first hikers gear up. This picture really conveys the difference in scale between the people and the enormous sequoias of the park. (I liked it so much, I had to sneak it up on a Saturday.)
A barn in the Northeast is a place of shelter and respite from frost and storms and snow. In the gorgeous Southwest, on the other hand, the barn is a gorgeous, open place with palm trees and big stalls.
Standing at the bottom of this small grove in the Sequoia sempervirens of Muir Woods, I have no trouble understanding the origins of the Deists’ beliefs. Rain and gentle sunlight drop between the branches of the redwoods and grace the tinier plants on the forest floor. The shape and order of it please the eye.
Decaseconds 