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Revealed

Quinault River, Olympic Penninsula
How the mind races when I look through batches of images. One picture relives a journey, the icons of which flash across my mind. This was one of several to the Olympic Penninsula. I close my eyes and see the 360 from the peak of Hurricane Ridge, the edge of the West at Cape Flattery, the remoteness of Point of Arches, and the harmonies of Second and Ruby Beaches. The rain forests are different...the chaos of the woods doesn’t leave the same crisp image in my memory. They are a passage to openings, sometimes to the aforementioned vistas, but always an exercise in expectation. This was a day of weather lurking over the old growth, perfect for photographing waterfalls and foliage, not so great for pruned skin on wet fingers and a gradual hypothermia even with the rain gear. Towards the end of the day we found ourselves on the banks of the Quinault. It was an accident of timing to find an anonymous window, a scene subtle and unassuming compared to other great sweeps of eye-popping landscape. Shining in its moment, I stopped to appreciate the reveal as the ceiling began to lift and break apart, as if commanded to by the setting sun. It is moments like these that elements of the surroundings tend to gel together, telling a story that wasn’t evident at other times. As with ourselves, the veil parts, and we expose ourselves, little by little, to those we come to know. And what is revealed is how little we really know.

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Filename
Revealed
Copyright
©Ray Palmer all rights reserved no usage without permission
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2043x1367 / 2.0MB
Contained in galleries
West
Quinault River, Olympic Penninsula<br /> How the mind races when I look through batches of images. One picture relives a journey, the icons of which flash across my mind. This was one of several to the Olympic Penninsula. I close my eyes and see the 360 from the peak of Hurricane Ridge, the edge of the West at Cape Flattery, the remoteness of Point of Arches, and the harmonies of Second and Ruby Beaches. The rain forests are different...the chaos of the woods doesn’t leave the same crisp image in my memory. They are a passage to openings, sometimes to the aforementioned vistas, but always an exercise in expectation. This was a day of weather lurking over the old growth, perfect for photographing waterfalls and foliage, not so great for pruned skin on wet fingers and a gradual hypothermia even with the rain gear. Towards the end of the day we found ourselves on the banks of the Quinault. It was an accident of timing to find an anonymous window, a scene subtle and unassuming compared to other great sweeps of eye-popping landscape. Shining in its moment, I stopped to appreciate the reveal as the ceiling began to lift and break apart, as if commanded to by the setting sun. It is moments like these that elements of the surroundings tend to gel together, telling a story that wasn’t evident at other times. As with ourselves, the veil parts, and we expose ourselves, little by little, to those we come to know. And what is revealed is how little we really know.
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