WAY OUT WEST WITH ESTHER HENDERSON

Way Out Cerest

Some years ago an Englishman, visiting Arizona for the first time, remarked to us: "This state of yours is really incomprehensible. Baffling, that is if you know what I mean."

Then and now, that seemed to be an accurate appraisal; neither the eye nor the mind can digest all of Arizona's wonders.

It is a land of elevations, color and contrast; it contains a climatic range from alpine to semi-tropical with flora and fauna indigenous to those zones. Its Grand Canyon lays open the pages of the greatest geological book on earth; it offers the receptive individual its scenic marvels to the eye and its revelations of time and evolution to the mind.

Into this incomparable land I came eighteen years ago with a crisp white document crackling in my purse like the starched paper of a gilt-edged bond. It was my diploma of graduation from a three-month course in a New York photo-

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"SUNSWEPT LAND." This is the sweep of Indian country; where the winds swirl yellow with sand and the cloud ceiling is golden with sunlight reflected from the shimmering wastes. These wind-buffeted monuments of Monument Valley symbolize that Navajo strength of character which enabled these nomads, refugees from Kit Carson's campaign in Canyon de Chelley, to pioneer new homes and grazing lands in this more barren and unfriendly land. 5x7 Ektachrome, 8% Goerz Dogmar lens, 1/10 at f. 30.

"BIG LAKE" White Mountains. The Apaches spit when they said it. "We won't be grandmothers to cattle like the white-eyes." But the years rolled on to the inevitable taming of those savage fighters who, after some insufferable government shenanigans, came into possession of a portion of Arizona's finest grazing land. Today, the White Mountains are abundant with herds of fine Apache herefords and the men who wouldn't become grandmothers to cattle did indeed become, not grandmas, but top cattlemen. 5x7 Ektachrome, 84" Dogmar lens, 1/10 at f. 22.

"SUMMER RANGE" White Mountains. The mud around the draw was marked with the indentations of cloven hooves. At sun-up we waited for the flock to water. At eight o'clock a dusty smudge appeared on the horizon, growing larger as two thousand head of sheep swept downhill. As we later learned, this was the last 'drink' of the season from this spring. Soon the herd would be moved to new grazing and thence to the feeding lots in the Salt River Valley. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/20 at f. 11.

"WATER HOLE" San Raphael Valley. It was summer in the San Raphael Valley east of Nogales. The storm, approaching from the Mustangs, swept in on a gale, furiously shaking the camera and tripod like a vicious witch bent on destruction. The focusing cloth blew away followed by the slide from the plate-holder; the camera shook like a loose shutter and the sun allowed only a few bright moments before capitulating under the onslaught of the torrent. It was more than that the clouds simply fell apart. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle, 1/50 at f. 8.

"MYSTERY VALLEY" North of Kayenta. Once, long ago, a few loose grains of soil hid from the wind and a tree was born. The persistent junipers cling to a precarious life among the tortured whorls of sand-scrubbed rock. In the gullies, between the hills, the foot-loose sands, as homeless as the poker chips that endlessly revolve around the table from one holder to the next, await transportation on another gale to further scour out each groove in passing. 5x7 Ektachrome. Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/10 at f. 30.

"BLUE FOREST" In Petrified Forest. "But what I don't understand is: How did those stripes get there?" These words, uttered by an out-of-state visitor, were probably not unusual for Arizona. For this is a land of 'stripes,' or more properly, sediments that were millions of years in their forming. The jewel-toned rock logs and the fragments that pebble the knolls of the Petrified Forest are no less exciting than the banded badlands themselves. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f. 45.

"SUMMER MORNING" Snowflake, Arizona. This is a picture of a morning, the morning you remember as a child. When you slapped the pickets with a stick as you walked down the dirt lane; where the mud in the puddle was waiting to ooze deliciously between your toes. That unique universe where you could see the sky by looking down and where your thoughts darted from one bright hope to another. This is that bucolic morning derided by the sophisticates, but the one, that in all hearts, is never forgotten. This picture appeals to me greatly because it portrays a completely opposite side of the Arizona scene. Grand views make Grand scenes but once in awhile a combination of insignificant ingredients tells a story that may be more understandable to more people than the most spectacular vista. For most people, at one time or other, have known, even briefly, the charm and quiet of a country street in a country town, and I feel, so many people would like to have the opportunity of returning to that scene and season. There is nothing important in a dirt lane, a picket fence, a mud puddle, a few little posies, some thin leaves and sunsplashed weeds, but together they convey the days we like to recall. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide-angle lens, 1/5 at f. 20.

CAMERA DATA AND COMMENTS BY ESTHER HENDERSON (CONTINUED) Center Panel

"MOODY AFTERNOON" Near Tucson. Autumn has passed and spring is yet to come. The hand of winter holds the season in a state of suspended animation; that haunting time between year's end and beginning. It is as though the land were waiting. The boat rests patiently, expectantly, anticipating the hand of spring, embodied, as it will be, in the person of a little boy. He will be the symbol of little boys everywhere; with small wants, great hopes, and a frog in his pocket. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/20 at f. 14.

"LAVA FLOW" Near Flagstaff. The loose, cindery slabs of Bonita lava flow tinkle like crockery when dislodged in walking. The extent and desolation of this volcanic area surrounding the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff, testify to the enormity of the ancient work of Vulcan. The rich, black, jagged masses and the convolutions like petrified molasses, give the feeling of the ancient fires having died out, not a thousand years ago, but only yesterday 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f. 20.

"ARTESIAN POND" Near St. David. When Coronado, with eyes alight for Cibola, marched up the San Pedro Valley, he little realized he was walking over Arizona's greatest treasure: Not the gold he was seeking but the water of the subterranean rivers. In the valley around St. David, it bubbles inexhaustibly to the surface where the underground reservoir is tapped, and each farm boasts an 'ole swimmin' hole of its own. 5x7 Kodachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f. 14.

"CASA GRANDE" Near Coolidge. The gaunt arms of a mesquite embrace this view of Casa Grande, ruined watchtower of the vanished Hohokams. Nearby, the vestiges of ancient canals threading the now dry valley attest the culture and industry of these first irrigation farmers. The hollow rooms echo to the tread of today's visitors who come to marvel at the height, thickness and workmanship of the building. An immense steel roof has been erected for future protection against the marauding elements. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f. 32 "SPRING SCENE" Near Ft. Bowie. Twenty years ago the Bowie-bound traveler jounced over a road so rough that he spent more time in the air than on the ground Chuck-hole dust rose in great clouds, obscuring the desert and mountains beyond. Even now, skimming along the modern highway, there is little to see, but come a wet spring the Bowie flats are bright with poppies, defying the parching wind and sparkling the sands with color during their brief stay Ektachrome 5x7, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f. 45.

"CANYON SUNSET" Grand Canyon. At Desert View one looks his last at the spectacular gorge below. For here, the muddy Colorado wanders off to the sea; here, the great eastern escarpment slopes to the desert; here, the last look at the fingering dark which slowly plucks out the sun-tipped talus slopes and temples. When you become the lone spectator at the sunset pageant, then the chill wind tells you the season is late and the time for leaving is at hand. 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f 10.

"SUN, SAND, SKY" Monument Valley. This is Navajoland For this, sing a song of sand, sun and sky. Let the notes be as airy as the fulminating clouds; as deep as the shadows that silhouette the rocks; as soft as the tread of a beetle-bug and as endless as the ripples of the encroaching sands. For man is a small entity in this place of erosion and change, his presence as ephemeral as the vagrant wind 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/10 at f. 29.

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"SWIRLING HEAVENS" Oak Creek Canyon area. Heat from the desert met the cold mountain air to do battle over the thirsting valley. After some hours of boiling clouds and rumbling thunder, cold air obtained the upper hand and sent marble-large pellets of hail to spank the hair off cattle and turn car tops into tea-strainers Then the gnashing ceased, the exhausted elemental giants swirled up in one final outburst of color, then fizzled like a spent fire-cracker 5x7 Ektachrome, Goerz Dagor wide angle lens, 1/5 at f. 8.

graphic school. The bold black letters helped bolster a confidence as wavering as a wind-blown willow; they certified a proficiency in the requirements of the portrait and commercial fields although those recently completed courses did little to prepare me to cope with the magnitude and diversity of my new surroundings. I felt as insignificant as one spine on a saguaro; as incompetent as a mule driver suddenly confronted with the operation of a locomotive.

My equipment was third-hand, consisting of one fiveby-seven view camera with a lens which covered a four-byfive plate, thus making it necessary to divide the plate into quarters and take four exposures on one film. I was not long in learning that one can't do a first-class job with thirdclass equipment.

Arriving in winter, I established myself in Tucson and, regrettably, like many newcomers, I was under the impression that the area immediately surrounding me was indicative of the state as a whole.

My first outdoor assignment took me to Prescott and Oak Creek Canyon. Then, for the first time, I realized how the elevations of Arizona determine the climate and how, within a short distance, they transform the landscape into a completely different scene and season; where the highlands resemble Canadian valleys and the architecture conforms to the climatic demands of the region.

In Oak Creek Canyon I first saw the vivid red sandstone that underlies the vast northeastern portion of the state; I was yet to learn that the red castellations of the area were only the ruffle on the petticoat of that giant red skirt which extends as far north as the Cedar Breaks of Utah with surprising outcroppings of buttes and canyons scattered in greater or lesser concentration over the Indian lands. Life was more restful before I saw these things; more challenging since.

When a summer traveller through the state on Highway 66 crosses the hot, treeless plains between Two Guns and Chambers, and pauses to stare into the blazing red-polled brilliance of the Painted Desert stretching north to the horizon and south to a thin blue line, he does not know that only one hundred miles south of him, that thin blue line represents the eleven thousand foot elevations of the White Mountains, a region of lakes and trout streams, grassy slopes grazed by cattle and sheep, dense forests of aspen, spruce and pine, habitat of the large predators, bear and mountainlion; watered cienegas grazed by elk and deer; an area where wild turkeys, beavers and lesser game can be seen in the forests almost any day.

Looking north, how can he conceive of the splendors of Indian country vistas and canyons where red buttes and volcanic necks pierce the sky-line and a large segment of Indian population lives a life of its own as distinct from ours as that of a Tibetan nomad? The visitor to an Arizona city, enjoying the conveniences of paved streets and the luxury of modern accommodations, can little realize that these accepted improvements, so recently come by, are but the thinnest veneer; the wrappings around a package that was heavy with time and events long before the first immigrant wagon roiled the dust and the first housewife threw a basin of water into the rutted street.

Even the conquistadores who carved their Kilroys on the rock walls of El Morro were Johnnies-Come-Lately to a land already history-filled.

Here seven thousand years of dust had already sifted Over the spear points of Ventana Cave; here desert scrub had overrun the ancient canals of the Salt River valley; here time and debris had dulled the outlines of the great communal dwellings built in the cliff crevices of remote canyons.

How, then, to portray this fabulous land, its scenic contrasts and its aura of antiquity?

The camera is the one medium within the reach and ability of all whereby each may interpret the time and place as he feels it; accent an aspect according to his judgment.

The problem is not easy with the best of equipment and good equipment by itself doesn't make a picture. Perhaps the first requirements are the eye to see and the mind to imagine. The eye will choose the location; the mind will comprehend the mood and invest the picture with that eral, a great deal of energy is needlessly spent in prowling; it is often better to make the best possible use of the ingredients at hand than to go green-grass chasing in distant fields.

Then again we may encounter the "gadgeteer"-a man so loaded with equipment that his opportunity has vanished by the time he has set up his rig.

This person will have at least two cameras, one of which, together with meter and focusing glass, is strung around his neck, thumping his stomach at every move. If he can disengage his neckwear soon enough he may obtain a picture but he opens his filter case and becomes so engrossed in making a selection that, by the time he has chosen the red one with the filter factor of nine, the sun is obscured and the wind is galloping through the foreground making it impossible to give the long exposure required. He is then intangible. The superior photograph will be the result.

The Stereo-Realist camera captures the illusion of dimension so remarkably that it almost transports the viewer into the actual scene. For the non-professional photographer whose object is to faithfully record his fleeting visit and convey the same impression to friends back home, there is nothing to compare with this equipment.

Outside of the Stereo, it would seem that satisfying pictures can be made on any size film in any type camera depending on the taste and wish of the photographer. The larger the plate size and the finer the lens, the better will be the definition in the final picture. However, even a box camera, well handled, can capture a poignant scene.

While driving, we often pass parked shutter-clickers who are apparently clicking away at the worst angle under the poorest lighting conditions. They are usually using good equipment and bad judgment.

On other occasions we will see a husky hill-climber scrabbling up a rise for a view from the top. I think, in general constrained to sit and wait for the next chance and light, which, like opportunity, rarely knock twice, at least in the same pattern. The picture he missed goes into the limbo of fishermen's dreams.

My equipment consists of a five-by-seven Deardorf View camera, Agfa studio tripod, three Goerz lenses of different focal lengths (short, medium and long) each equipped with a G filter, and two Weston exposure meters, one set for color and the other for black and white.

I have a large camera case in the car to carry the camera while travelling and four dozen loaded plateholders, half loaded for color, half for black and white. A smaller bag that I carry with me holds ten holders in one section followed by four other sections, one for each lens and one for meters.

Out of heavy black wool cloth doubled for extra thickness, I sewed a loose square pocket, open at the top for each lens. When finished with a shot I slip the lens into its pocket in its section. I have no lens shades or caps and keep the

filters over the lenses for protection thereby minimizing movements when pressed for time. I've lost pictures through poor judgment but never from fumbling with complicated equipment.

I have been asked, “What kind of camera should I buy?” and the answer certainly depends on the purpose of the purchase. For the Sunday photographer it would seem that any light, popular-sized camera of reputable make would suffice. The advanced person who wants to achieve more than a snapshot, to be able to choose his angles and interpret them in his own way, should have a camera with two or more lenses since one lens definitely limits the picture potential. Our state is particularly exasperating; the canyons are too steep and the mountains too distant to be accommodated pictorially on one lens. As for the vistas stretching infinitely-only infra-red will delineate those butted perforations in the expanse.Another question: “Should color pictures be taken before ten and after four contrary to recommendations on the film guide?” Answer: some of the most enchanting effects are seen before and after those hours. Exposure is more of a hazard but the gamble is worth it. Mornings are blue, evenings are red, and I see no reason for not capturing, if possible, those effects which to me are the most exciting.

After marriage to my photographer husband, we started camping in remote places until light and weather were favorable. With the advent of children, the trips came to a temporary halt; it seemed that just at the moment propitious for that elusive picture, one little boy would start yowling a cactus stuck him and the other would require unbuttoning.

The boys are now old enough to participate but the open camp we once enjoyed is too inconvenient, particularly in case of illness. We now have a small, fourteen foot housetrailer light enough to pull anywhere and affording us complete protection in all of Arizona's climates.

It is hard to be efficient with either camera or skillet the morning after an uncomfortable night in a rain-wracked camp. The trailer makes it possible to wait out a storm or move quickly and easily to a new location.

Light and time of year play an important role in picturegathering and we return to the same scene at different seasons to portray its various moods.

In fall we may drive four hundred miles to catch the aspens, after the first frost, only to find that between the times of our notification and arrival, a lusty wind has sped through the forest leaving our tree-top scene on the ground. It may still make a picture but not the one intended.

Then again we hear of a desert wild flower display and hasten to reach the location to find our journey futile. One One man's interpretation of a "field of Mariposa lilies" is revealed as being several acres of blooms but only one lily per square yard. It is a sight to the eye but not to the camera which only "sees" the first twenty square foreground yards, the rest of the display being lost in the profusion of range grass.

Perhaps the vagaries of color emulsions are the professional photographer's biggest headache. Some emulsions are so good as to yield effective results under any conditions; others so poor as to give only one satisfactory picture out of many. The boat scene, shown herein, is an example of the latter. It was the only successful shot out of eight taken that week end. There is no greater photographic despair than inferior results after time, money and effort have been expended; the film may be replaced but light, mood and circumstance cannot be duplicated.For us, photography is a family occupation. My husband and I used to carry different cameras and work independently. Some years ago we started pooling our combined efforts behind one outfit and found we could go farther and more efficiently.

While I am taking a shot, my husband is scouting another; if pressed for time he takes meter readings while I change lenses. We divide up the equipment for portage and on long hikes that means this individual, at least, is still breathing on reaching the location! My husband carries the film bag, I, the tripod, the oldest boy, the camera, and the littlest, the lunch. Cooperative endeavor, we believe, is more than a system for taking pictures efficiently-it is a good road for all families to travel.

One day last summer we stopped at a backroads gas station. The bearded patriarch of the hand-pump seemed to be edging ninety. Between chaws and spits he observed: "You folks new here? Oh, takin' pitchers, eh? W-e-ll, I don't know as how that can be done-I mean showin' this country the way it really is. I been here seventy-five years and I ain't seen it all yet. There's one thing no pitcher's got in it and that is the feel of the land. Now you take morning in the forest or rain on the desert. How can you get that in a pitcher or explain it to anybody ain't never been here?"

There was a big gap in years, environment and education between our English friend and the old native but they both struck the same note, each in his way. We can't bring to film half the glory that is there; the fragrance of the dead wet aspen leaves along the rim in fall; the dignity and resourcefulness of the ancients who wrested an existence from a turbulent land; the aura of infinity as revealed in the pages of the rocks. We can only picture the scene with the hope that you, too, will sometime participate in this unending pageant.