This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Golden Touch, El Capitan and Horsetail Fall, Yosemite
Sony a7R V
Sony 24-105 f/4 G
ISO 64
f/10
1/10 second

I was planning to just write a brief Horsetail Fall update following last week’s workshop, but before I get into that, a couple of recent experiences have me wanting to say a few words about the bad photographer behavior I witness in my many travels.

The first occurred in Iceland, where Don Smith and I, along with our tour guides Albert Dros and Vincenzo Mazza (look them up!), guided our group on a short hike to a beautiful, and slightly off the beaten path, waterfall. Thrilled to find the scene blanketed with pristine snow, and to be the only ones there, we quickly set up on the footbridge spanning the river (the only place to photograph legally).

Everyone was quite content until a couple of other photographers wandered up the trail and joined us. Despite the fact that there was more than enough room for all of us on the bridge, these two newcomers ignored the “Keep Out” signs and hopped the barricade, trampling our perfect snow to set up shop in everyone’s frame as if we were all invisible. We tried in vain to get their attention (they clearly heard us but refused to acknowledge). Soon one of them whipped out a drone (also a violation of posted rules), launching it directly in front of the fall, while the other guy walked straight up to the base of the fall and planted himself directly in the middle of the scene (where it was impossible to compose him out).

I try not to stress too much about photographers who are simply unaware that they’re in my frame because it’s usually not too hard to remove them later, in Photoshop. But this kind of willful disregard for others transcends photography, damaging the experience for all visitors and reflecting poorly on all photographers.

Horsetail Fall Southside Drive crowd (2017): This is why we can’t have nice things (picture from the Yosemite Exploration Center)

The other instance of selfish photography is the “My shot is more important than the wellbeing of the natural beauty I’ve come to photograph” attitude that I witness every time I try to photograph Horsetail Fall. (This isn’t unique to Horsetail Fall.)

The general consensus among Yosemite photographer, with which I agree, is that the best Horsetail Fall photography spot on the valley floor is a raised riverbank on the Southside Drive side of the Merced River. Believe it or not, I used to be able to show up with a group to this location about 45 minutes before sunset, confident that all in my care would be able to find an unobstructed view.

But when the crowds took over (some photographers even claiming the prime spots for this sunset shot before breakfast) and the number of photographers far exceed the number of available places to set up, I started opting for the relative peace of the Northside Drive locations. I wasn’t terribly surprised to witness cars actually driving off-road and into the forest to park, and by the reports of Southside Drive fisticuffs that started to appear. All this Southside mayhem culminated with the riverbank’s collapse under the weight of the assembled masses, leading to the complete shutdown of Merced River south bank Horsetail Fall photography. Problem solved—or so I believed.

Put me in the camp of those who think that the NPS does an amazing job managing the virtually unmanageable crowds that swarm Yosemite Valley to photograph Horsetail Fall each February. The whole experience has gotten better (more enjoyable) with the Southside Drive ban, relatively liberal reservation system (it’s not that hard to view the Horsetail phenomenon with only a little planning and effort) to curtail crowds, and Northside Drive pedestrian accommodations.

Nevertheless, each year I still see photographers attempting to sneak into the prime Southside Drive view as if the rules don’t apply to them. Some simply park in the Southside Drive turnouts clearly marked “No Parking,” apparently oblivious to the $280 that will await their return.

More egregious (because it can’t be written off to ignorance) in my mind are the photographers who park legally, then sneak along the south river, shielded from view from the road by the elevated riverbank. This year, while waiting with the joyful crowd on Northside Drive, I actually saw several of these scofflaws (such a great word) skulking about across the river, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that they are quite visible to everyone on Northside Drive, including the numerous rangers (with 2-way radios), or to the fact that the rangers actually patrol the south riverbank each February afternoon and evening.

Maybe I’m just getting old, but it both angers and saddens me that there are photographers whose selfish desire exceeds their respect for their subjects, because it’s attitudes like these that lead to even further restrictions for everyone. A photograph should never be more important than its subject.

Now I need to go chase some kids off my lawn…

So anyway…

Some years Horsetail Fall is completely dry in February, other years it’s there but you really have to look closely to locate the Horsetail wet spot on El Capitan. This year I’d say the baseline flow in Horsetail Fall is good but not great, clearly visible as a thin white stripe descending from the top of El Capitan’s sloped east shoulder. By “baseline flow” I mean the minimum you can expect on any given day—a decent flow with the potential to ramp up nicely with a warm storm that drops heavy rain on the Horsetail watershed (above 7000 feet). Also this year, thanks to recent high country snowfall, there’s enough snow in that watershed that a few days of sunlight and above average temperatures could bring a noticeable flow increase.

FYI, if you want to photograph the Horsetail Fall phenomenon this year, you have about a week of good light remaining (as I write this on February 20)—but don’t forget that weekend visits require reservations. The crowds this year seem pretty typical, and shouldn’t pose a problem if you can park and start the 1 1/2 mile walk a couple of hours before sunset (the longer you wait to park, the farther you’ll need to walk). (Learn more about photographing Horsetail Fall in my Horsetail Fall Photo Tips article.)

Last week’s workshop group had two successful Horsetail Fall shoots—neither “epic,” but both very nice in their own way (and definitely worth the walk and wait). The workshop started last Tuesday—given the week’s weather forecast, I was more hopeful than optimistic about our Horsetail Fall chances. Since it looked like that first day might be our best (and maybe only) shot at getting it, after our orientation we headed straight up to Yosemite Valley and got ourselves into position beneath the fall, near the El Capitan Picnic Area (not my favorite spot, but the best for this group because of some mobility challenges).

We found the fall flowing decently (well enough to photograph) and the light good, until about 40 minutes before sunset when the afternoon’s promising mix of sunlight and clouds was replaced without warn by sunlight-swallowing clouds. As we waited (hoped) for the sunlight to return, I kept telling my group about my many last-minute Horsetail Fall miracle experiences, when the has dropped into an unseen (from our location the valley floor) gap on the horizon to paint the fall red.

Red Horsetail Fall, El Capitan, Yosemite

And that’s exactly what we got. This time it came so late that the light completely skipped the golden phase, going straight to red for about five minutes before turning off for the night. While the light this evening wasn’t as intense as I’ve seen it, the color was great and everyone was pretty thrilled.

But we weren’t done. The forecast improved as the week progressed, so after a Wednesday rain that recharged the flow, combined with a (new) “mostly sunny” Thursday promise from the weatherman, I decided to give the group another shot. I wouldn’t have done this if I thought the best we could do would be to repeat Tuesday, but because I knew the fall was flowing better, and I’d formulated a plan to get the whole group into an even better position about a quarter mile east of the picnic area, I thought it would be worth going for it. Still, I gave everyone the option to opt out for a different location, but no one took me up and we all returned to Horsetail.

For most of Thursday evening everything went exactly as planned: the fall’s flow was noticeably better, we ended up exactly where I’d hoped, and the sunlight was brilliant. Better still, a collection of clouds spent the evening performing a beautifully choreographed dance atop El Capitan.

The Horsetail Fall great light window lasts less than 10 minutes, starting out brilliant gold before slowly transitioning to orange, then coral, and ultimately (if the light lasts all the way to the end) ruby red. This evening we clicked like crazy as the shadow approached Horsetail and the light warmed to the intense gold stage. But just about the time started to get just a little optimistic that we might be in store for something truly special, the sunlight faded and never returned.

Fortunately, we did end up catching all of the gold phase, which was further enhanced by a few puffy clouds catching the same light, so all was not lost. Even though we missed the red of Tuesday evening, it seemed pretty unanimous that this was the better of the two shoots.

So I guess maybe sometimes we still can have nice things.

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