When I moved to Sedona two decades ago, I was a mountain biker with a 5-megapixel Nikon digital camera. I also was something of a refugee fleeing Southern California, which no longer agreed with me — too much noise, too many people and cars, and a bit too mercenary.
Red Rock Country was different in many ways, but what really stood out about my first summer in Arizona was how hot it was. The California surfer in me needed a beach, and I found it along the myriad informal paths off the Bell Trail that lead to quiet sections of Wet Beaver Creek. I’ll always remember my first afternoon there: lying on a red rock shelf in swim trunks, alternating between dripping and drying. The quiet and solitude were almost overwhelming.
I return to Wet Beaver Creek every spring and summer. Sometimes, I even take a camera.
It never ceases to amaze me that a place known for its desert landscapes can also be so green and lush. I tried to capture that lushness in this photo, which I made while standing waist-deep in the creek and waiting what seemed like forever for the pool to still. I was mesmerized by the Monet-like quality of the verdant canopy above and the impressionist reflections below. Because the creek here turns a corner and widens, it seemed as if the pool was growing right out of the canopy. And in the areas where mottled light hit the surface, the warm tones of the creek bottom were revealed.
What strikes me about this photo is its vibrancy: electric spring green, morning sun backlighting leaves and grasses, reflections in a long and mostly shadowed pool. But the single fall-colored sycamore leaf floating across the pool is the icing on the cake. The fact that a somewhat longer exposure of 0.6 seconds rendered the leaf and its reflection less than tack-sharp doesn’t really matter — in fact, it only adds to the impressionist feel. It draws my eye every time I look at this photo. As do so many things in Red Rock Country.