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Dream Job is No Walk in the Park

THE COMMON MISPERCEPTION that working as a landscape photographer amounts to permanent vacation in the world's most beautiful locations in perfect weather leads otherwise sane people to chuck it all to pursue the glamorous life of a landscape photographer. Sort of like becoming a professional golfer, wandering well-manicured greens in a warm breeze and sinking 50-foot putts.

But every dream job requires a reality check. Photographers develop a different definition of "perfect weather." While golfers scramble for cover when the weather turns bad, photographers rush into the teeth of the tempest. They stalk a storm front for days, planning their approach. They relish the buildup and break of a storm, and scoff at the hazards to bring back dramatic images of pristine beauty.

Photographs in our special hiking section, beginning on page 8, are all born of long hours and hard work. Landscape photographers know a thing or two about long-distance hiking. Often, only long treks with heavy packs can take them into a remote wilderness.

Contributing photographer George Stocking came to his "dream job" the hard way. He changed careers in his mid-40s to pursue landscape photography after being laid off from the best job he ever had, building rocket systems for Orbital Sciences. He exchanged his 9-to-5 job for freelance freedom and the risks of working outdoors.

"There's an old adage that bad weather equals good photographs," he says. "I tend to seek out adverse conditions that put me in proximity of electrical storms. I'm pretty sure there's a lightning bolt out there with my name on it." Several incidents have already seared his psyche.

"I was in the Sierra Ancha, on the bluffs overlooking Roosevelt Lake, shooting the approach of a summer monsoon," he recalls. "I had just been blessed with a magnificent rainbow before sunset."

Stocking sought refuge in the back of his truck as the growling storm drew closer. He tried reading a book, but found himself counting the seconds between lightning flash and thunder crash. Soon the flashes and crashes were occurring simultaneously.

"The barrage was terrifying as I laid in the back of my suddenly pathetic shelter. "It seemed like it went on forever."

Finally the lightning storm passed, and he drifted off to sleep to the soothing sounds of raindrops on his roof.

"The next morning I got up before dawn, and my jaw dropped in amazement as I looked around the bluffs. I felt like Moses. There were burning bushes everywhere," Stocking says. "After surviving the lightning, it had never occurred to me that I might die in the resulting forest fire. The previous night's downpour had probably saved my life."

Another run-in with thunderbolts occurred as Stocking and his wife, Mary, explored the Chiricahua Mountains, photographing the dramatic skies conjured up by summer storms. They hiked the mile-and-a-half trail to Fort Bowie.

"Massive cumulus clouds gathered in the blue sky as soon as we arrived at the fort," he says. "As sunset approached, the gathering clouds had developed into a large black storm."

Mary, the voice of reason, suggested they start hiking back to the truck. Right at that moment, a rainbow formed against the dark, brooding sky over the adobe ruins.

"The opportunity was too good to miss, so I began shooting again. As the storm closed in, the rainbow became more intense," Stocking remembers. Ignoring his own better judgment, he kept working as lightning bolts pierced the air less than a mile away.

"Finally, Mary grabbed me and insisted it was time to depart. We had made only 200 yards on the trail when it started pouring. Barely able to see, we streaked onward," he says. "Just then, lightning struck right behind me. A cataclysmic crash split the sky. I remember seeing my shadow silhouette on the ground in front of me from the flash, and thinking I was probably going to die."

"Finally, Mary grabbed me and insisted it was time to depart. We had made only 200 yards on the trail when it started pouring. Barely able to see, we streaked onward," he says. "Just then, lightning struck right behind me. A cataclysmic crash split the sky. I remember seeing my shadow silhouette on the ground in front of me from the flash, and thinking I was probably going to die."

Under a corollary to Murphy's Law, the lightning ceased just as they reached the safety of their truck. Soaked to the skin, their senses on high alert, they laughed away their fright. Stocking admits that people wonder why he takes such risks.

"I'd say that it's my job as a photographer, and that outstanding images are born out of commitment. There is a direct correlation to the quality of your images and exactly what you do to get them."

When risk pays off, it's as sweet as sinking a 50-foot putt. Al