I’ve been traveling to the Eastern Sierra for more years than I can count. I’ve stood on 14,000-foot summits, pushed through whiteout snowstorms, and baked in high-desert heat that makes your camera feel like it’s going to melt.
I thought I knew this place. I didn’t. Not like this.
There’s always something to photograph in the Alabama Hills—but this morning felt electric. A storm had just blown through, and the sky was alive. Clouds streamed and curled around the peaks, drifting in and out like a curtain rising and falling on a stage set just for us.
Every single minute, the scene transformed. Light spilled across granite, vanished, then returned softer, moodier, and more dramatic. It was exciting to watch the mountains reveal and conceal themselves in real time.
It was exhilarating—the kind of morning that reminds you exactly why you chase storms, climb peaks, and keep showing up with your camera. For a passionate landscape photographer, it doesn’t get any better than that.
