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Evening, Black Mountains

Death Valley, California. One of the first lessons of photography is to always turn and look at what's in back of what your are shooting, because sometimes the spectacle in front of us also shines light on what's behind us. One mile in altitude above Badwater Basin, I have come to Dante's View in the Black Mountains, to watch the sun set behind the Panamint Range to the west. It is a spectacular view point with a precipitous drop, all the way to the salt flats on the floor of Death Valley. The sun is crouched behind a cloud out there, sending great streaks of light across the jagged peaks, at an angle that still doesn't totally penetrate to the depth of the valley--an image I will share at another time perhaps. But for now, I remembered to look back,for this view down the Amargosa Range. Coffin Peak drops more gradually from this side, the flank ridges forming a gunsite of sorts, aiming into the skyline of peaks beyond. The sky seems to literally come at me from this angle, clouds parting to either side of me as though I am unmovable, like water around an island in the stream. Geologically old, you look out into time here, and after awhile in the quiet, time creeps into my thoughts as well. As I watch, a spotlight appears on a mountainside down the line. Maybe it symbolizes a path, a route, that I could have done better, could have done different. I always think so...I wonder how you ever know, really, the best way. The view behind me is always of remembrance, and some things are stripped and barren when I look back. But memory has many landscapes, and to say mine are all this simple would not be fair. I look for as long as I dare while waiting for the end of this day, before I turn around again, and face into it.

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Evening, Black Mountains
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©Ray Palmer no usage without written permissions
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Death Valley, California. One of the first lessons of photography is to always turn and look at what's in back of what your are shooting, because sometimes the spectacle in front of us also shines light on what's behind us. One mile in altitude above Badwater Basin, I have come to Dante's View in the Black Mountains, to watch the sun set behind the Panamint Range to the west. It is a spectacular view point with a precipitous drop, all the way to the salt flats on the floor of Death Valley. The sun is crouched behind a cloud out there, sending great streaks of light across the jagged peaks, at an angle that still doesn't totally penetrate to the depth of the valley--an image I will share at another time perhaps. But for now, I remembered to look back,for this view down the Amargosa Range. Coffin Peak drops more gradually from this side, the flank ridges forming a gunsite of sorts, aiming into the skyline of peaks beyond. The sky seems to literally come at me from this angle, clouds parting to either side of me as though I am unmovable, like water around an island in the stream. Geologically old, you look out into time here, and after awhile in the quiet, time creeps into my thoughts as well. As I watch, a spotlight appears on a mountainside down the line. Maybe it symbolizes a path, a route, that I could have done better, could have done different. I always think so...I wonder how you ever know, really, the best way. The view behind me is always of remembrance, and some things are stripped and barren when I look back. But memory has many landscapes, and to say mine are all this simple would not be fair. I look for as long as I dare while waiting for the end of this day, before I turn around again, and face into it.
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