Under a May night sky by the moon's light, I made my way down the bumpy, dusty road into Shiprock. I wasn't heading to the base of the rock that morning, though. I have scoped out this ridge line thoroughly for years, trying to figure out a safe spot accessible with an easy climb. And when I say easy, I mean to say easy enough for a man still in recovery from a fractured spine with balancing issues as a result. Then, one cold day in February, I found a spot I thought would work but would have to wait for better weather.
So, while it was still dark in the early morning hours under the dim pale blue light of the half moon, I set off with one camera and two tripods (one for my iPhone) and a fanny pack filled with essentials and whatnots and also brought to the show an adventurous spirit as I set off for the steep hike and climb. Taking it slow with each step being cautious and deliberate, I took frequent breaks to catch my breath and listen to the early birds chirping and singing their morning praises to God, thanking Him for the promise of the new day. There is nothing like listening to the birds sing in the morning, so I found myself joining in with the carols of the choir of bird chants, praising God for this amazing and unique experience. The birds are so joyful to be alive, inspiring me to love life and my family a little more. We have a lot to be grateful for!
Upon reaching the top of the ridge, the dawn of twilight was breaking with a sliver of light across the eastern horizon. As that big ball of light kept rising and lighting up the desert around me, I could finally see how far up I was. Looking down, I realized, "I am going to have to climb back down for crying out loud." But for the moment, I enjoyed the view. Rocks, mesas, mountains, buildings, towers or anything with height never appear as high from the bottom as they do from the top. They're never quite as they seem from the bottom. It sounds like a great allegory in the making, but I currently have nothing.
I had envisioned this shot for years and finally made it happen. It turned out exactly as I had hoped and planned and prayed for once the glow of blue hourlight came up and lit up the surrounding desert just as I expected. The shot didn't take long to make, so I had my final shot. It was fast and to the point; it was done before you could say "Shiprock". Ok, well, maybe not that fast, but since I had planned this for so long, I knew instinctively that I had gotten my shot pretty much immediately and was done. I planned this as a morning blue hour light shot and nothing more. But still, this is slightly uncharacteristic of how I normally shoot. I'll usually sit in a spot for at least a half day, but more typically, it can be days. However, Shiprock is a place I know well, and I consider it my number one muse as a destination. I understand how light reacts in almost every aspect from any direction. It pays to visit a place often and to get to know it intimately. Shiprock is a powerful and prominent monolith. It demands respect just by association. I hope to convey this with any Shiprock picture I make.
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Dimitri Vasileiou • Editor