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<< previous: day four
It is what photographers call "magic hour." It is the
brief period roughly forty-five minutes to an hour before sunset
(also forty-five minutes to an hour before sunrise). I am interviewing
Rich, the radiologist from Seattle. He is waiting for the light
to hit perfectly on a shot he has composed. Dykinga joins us. We
are perched on a large rock overhanging the river. Beth and I have
decided to sleep here tonight.
Dykinga gives Rich photo tips. Deanne, one of the river guides,
plays violin on the boat, as her fellow crewmembers snooze. Music
echoes through the canyon.
As the light begins to change, Rich buries himself under his focus
cloth. Dykinga talks on many subjects, but he never loses sight
of the light. Intermittently he will say, "Look at that cliff.
When those clouds shift, the light will be beautiful there."
I am beginning to understand what it means to enjoy the "journey"
of photography. Its an excuse to really see life. I
also have glimpsed at the difficulty in capturing these elusive
moments:
"At this sunset hour the canyon walls are indescribably
beautiful, and I fear the magic of photography can never record
what I see now. The tall spires near the rim of the canyon and
the walls of the canyon look as though God has reached out and
swiped a brush of golden paint across them, gilding those rocks
in the bright glow of a setting sun. Below the heights
the canyon is filled with a blue haze that is not unlike smoke.
The river winds lazy and brown through all of this beauty. Above
this grandeur float soft cumulus clouds, tinted with pastel shades
of evening. No, I fear the lenses of my cameras will never record
what my eyes see and my hand so feebly tries to capture in words."
I stop worrying about photographing this scene. This image, this
moment, will be implanted in my mind forever. I really saw today.
I am beginning to understand.
continued: day five
- elves chasm >>
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