Raw Wonder

A PORTFOLIO BY ADRIEL HEISEY Raw Wonder

An aerial photographer illuminates why he takes to the sky to get close "...I practically levitated into the great spaces above Arizona when I first discovered them as a young man."

Arizona may well be the best state in the union for flying.

That's a bold thing to say, I know, but I've spent two decades of my life proving it. Coming from the murk and muddle of Eastern skies, where I began my flying career, I practically levitated into the great spaces above Arizona when I first discovered them as a young man. They held everything I cherished: the drama of weather, of landform, of civilizations old and new and air clear enough to take it in all at once. Flying is what I do. It's how I put bread on the table, and it's also how I make sense of things. Add up all my pilot time, and it goes well past a year spent looking down on the vast puzzle of our world from one cockpit or another. Some fliers say that time in the sky doesn't count against their allotted lifespan. A quaint notion, perhaps, but for me there is indeed a feeling that I've somehow stepped out of the ordinary when I'm airborne. I can't feel tired or old or jaded. There's too much raw wonder.The trouble is that flying has become clinical. This is good for safety and reliability, but we risk making it so efficient and purpose-driven that the joy is squeezed out. We think of flying as being synonymous with speed and aloofness. What if it meant the opposite? What if you flew to get close to the land, to linger for understand-ing and to savor its beauty? What if you really didn't go anywhere but deeper into the place you already were by experiencing it in greater wholeness? This, too, can be flying, and it is my favorite kind.

Arizona from above-the intimate, loving regard of a land beyond reckoning-is a personal encounter far beyond the dimensions of our existence that moves us to quiet the chatter in our minds and remember our place in the scheme of things. In flight, we find ourselves identified anew with the true character of our home, and upon landing we are challenged to make good on our fresh understanding. "The sky islands of southern Arizona are a different world from the desert floor below, especially in winter. The day before I photographed this mountain [left], blizzard conditions assailed the peaks, while the San Pedro River valley nearby received gentle winter rains. I was in position at a valley airstrip the night before clearing was forecast, and took off in predawn gloom in hopes of finding better conditions aloft. I discovered a break in the clouds, and enduring the sting of snow crystals on my face, climbed to clear air above, where the splendor of sunrise greeted a wintry world."

"Camped in the remote Hopi Buttes of northern Arizona, I used a little-traveled dirt road as my runway, flying morning and evening to photograph the volcanic landscape [right] in the best light. A Navajo family living nearby came over to see my strange craft, and I didn't disappoint them; my plane is so skeletal that you see virtually every part of the machine in a casual walk-around. Later I sent them a print of a photo I made of their homesite-a lonely outpost in a vast land."

"What if you flew to get close to the land, to linger for understanding and to savor its beauty?"

Erosion in Paria Canyon

"Sometimes looking straight down at the floor of the land is an amazing aerial vantage. This can be counterintuitive in a place like Paria Canyon, where the great rock walls first grab your attention. But erosion, over time, leaves dazzling patterns that are all but lost underfoot to the earthbound hiker. As I flew between the canyon rims to make this photograph, I had to balance my attention between the captivating scene below and the looming rocks around me; this was no time for 'rapture of the heights.'"

To order a print of this photograph, see page 1.

Coyote Buttes

"You would never know I was hanging on for dear life in turbulent air by looking at this photograph [left], but the wind was brisk as it flowed over the cliffs and canyons of this rugged landscape. I struggled for a viewpoint that would frame both the buttes and their shadows. Returning safely to my landing strip at Lee's Ferry that evening felt like a new lease on life; rough air always stirs a primal fear in me, no matter how experienced I become."

To order a print of this photograph, see page 1.

SP Mountain With Lava Flow

"The high altitude necessary to show the lava flow and its crater of origin together [below] also offered better flying conditions. I found out the hard way that afternoon winds across the volcanic landscape north of Flagstaff kick up into rowdy turbulence closer to the ground."

Santa Cruz River Near Tubac

"Never do I feel more like I'm riding a magic carpet than when flying over a desert river [above] early on a summer morning. I smell the moist air rising from the treetops and feel the coolness still pooled in the valley bottom."

"While flying in the Bowie area one spring, I could see far out to the northeast an unmistakable smear of color across a distant mountain range [above]. Consulting my maps, I identified them as the Peloncillos, and discovered they held a canyon with this evocative name. On the next morning's flight, I found the canyon's namesake flower in full glory. How long has this hidden valley been growing wild stands of poppies to be memorialized on the topographic map?"

Morning Thunderstorm Approaching Sedona

"Even nonpilots know that flying near thunderstorms can be dangerous. But I learn to read the signs, like a sailor reading the sea-and I always have an escape plan. And then, sometimes, I'll accept the risk and move in for a ringside seat. On this late summer morning near Sedona [left], I made it safely back to the airport before the front hit, stowed my plane in its trailer and enjoyed the storm's arrival like any other sensible earthling."

"In flight, we find ourselves identified anew with the true character of our home..."

Lost Wilson Mountain and Sterling Canyon

"Flying around the rocks at Sedona [above] is great exercise for the imagination. Not only are the colors and forms endlessly shifting, but the geology makes me feel like a mayfly. I am waltzing through space that used to be solid rock."

Barchan Dunes, Navajo Nation

"Looking straight down is easy in my plane [left]. Just imagine leaning over in your desk chair to find a paperclip you dropped on the floor, and you've got the basic motion. But as I lean, my plane begins to bank, and then I have a clear view of what's directly beneath me. When I've made my shot, I level the wings, and if it was something special, I'll turn around and do it again."

Upper Reaches of the Santa Cruz River

"Flying over high desert grasslands [above] is a different sensation than flying over the Grand Canyon. I feel as if I could safely land anywhere below me, at a moment's notice, and my mood becomes serene. I notice how my inner state seems to mirror the topography below me. This is not a video game. I am airborne, but by no means aloof."

East End of the Grand Canyon

"Special airspace restrictions over the Grand Canyon keep pilots at high altitudes when they cross it [left]. So as I soared 2 miles above the chasm, bobbing in the currents, waves of awe and fear washed through me without mercy. A friend who flew with me once told me that riding in my plane felt like teetering on a thousand-foot-tall telephone pole. I never felt that way at all-until I flew above the Canyon."