Welcome to the landscape photography blog by Chuck Derus. Thanks for looking and for your comments!
Mormon Row
To old time mountain men, a high mountain valley is known as a “hole.” Jackson Hole (originally called Jackson's Hole) is a valley between the Gros Ventre and Teton mountain ranges in Wyoming.
Wyoming’s population grew slowly before statehood in 1890. It remained relatively untouched and pristine until 1884 when the first white residents arrived. Most were drawn to the towns of Wilson and Jackson.
About the same time, leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS) sent parties from the Salt Lake Valley to establish new communities. They were expanding outside of Utah, Idaho and Arizona.
Their timing was excellent. The Homestead Act of 1862, the Timber Culture Act of 1873, and the Desert Act of 1877 all encouraged settlement of the West.
An LDS party selected a location fourteen miles north of Jackson, Wyoming in 1895. It had rich alluvial soil that was marginally better than the rock-filled dirt that covered the rest of the valley. Shelter from the wind provided by Blacktail Butte to the southwest prevented the topsoil from being blown away.
What those pioneers did was unusual. In stark contrast to typically isolated Western homesteads, the LDS homesteaders created a north-south community along a central road. They clustered their farms to share labor and community.
A church and a school were at its heart. Fields and agricultural lands were located behind each of the 27 homesteads. It was named Grovont by the U.S. Post Office after the nearby Gros Ventre River.
Mormon “line villages” such as Grovont were also known as “Mormon Rows” throughout the West. Initially the term was not flattering. Over time, it acquired a positive connotation.
The horse and wagon (sleigh in winter) remained the principal form of transportation in Jackson Hole, even after the introduction of automobiles. This kept the local cash crop of hay and oats economically viable.
Horse and hand labor built an intricate network of levees and dikes to funnel water from the nearby Gros Ventre River to their fields. Water still flows in some of those ditches today.
It was a hard life. A prolonged drought or a hailstorm could mean the difference between barely surviving and bankruptcy. The unpredictable weather caused farmers to diversify into small cattle and sheep operations.
Mormon Row initially flourished and then slowly faded over the span of nearly a century. Parcel by parcel, the National Park Service was gifted or acquired properties as leases expired.
The Shot
Often photographed, the Moulton barn with the Teton Range in the background is a symbol of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I was looking for a different take on this icon.
I received a heartwarming birthday gift on the evening of September 25. Our leader, Don Smith, had done the planning for a night shoot at the barn. The Milky Way would be above the barn with Blacktail Butte behind it.
Arriving before sunset, I set up my tripod with my friends, Mike Loebach and Jon Christofersen. When twilight ended and the skies really became dark, we proceeded to photograph the scene and light paint the barn with a small flashlight.
I felt blessed to celebrate my special day under the stars in such a historic location.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus
Like a Movie Scene
Schwabacher Landing is a photographer’s favorite. It’s one of the most popular locations in Grand Tetons National Park near Jackson, Wyoming.
The Landing offers a full, unobstructed view of the jagged, snow-capped Tetons framed by spruce and cottonwood trees. If you arrive before dawn, you can marvel at the glorious sunrise colors playing onto the glowing majestic peaks mirrored in the placid waters of the Snake River at your feet.
The location is named after a family of German immigrant settlers. The Schwabachers arrived in the late 1800s and established a homestead in the area. Beaver dams altered the course of the nearby Snake River creating a tranquil landing.
This boat landing provided vital river access. It allowed fur trappers and traders a means of entry to the remote wilderness and abundant wildlife of the Teton Range.
Over time, the fur trade waned, and Schwabacher Landing transitioned into a homestead and ranching area. Today, it is celebrated for its natural beauty, attracting photographers, nature enthusiasts, and wildlife observers.
It remains one of only four locations in the park where the Snake River can be easily accessed by fishermen, canoeists and rafters. Moose, pronghorn, mule deer, and bald eagles are commonly seen in the immediate vicinity of the landing.
Privately owned tour companies provide guided fishing and rafting trips commencing from the landing. The immediate area is also a popular spot for wedding parties. Above the landing, along the main highway, there are additional vistas of the Teton Range.
The 2010 Shot
I was privileged to first witness a sunrise at Schwabacher Landing back in 2010. I had never heard of it, but the workshop leader said it was a remarkable, hidden gem.
Out of the ten photographers on that 2010 workshop, only friend and fellow photographer Jon Christofersen and I joined our leader for a last morning of photography at Schwabacher. The rest were too exhausted and slept in.
After a short walk, we arrived to find a non-photographer sitting in a folding chair waiting to enjoy the sunrise. Jon and I set up our tripods in the tiny landing space and composed our shots. A little later, another photographer arrived, and we weaved our tripod legs together to make room for him.
The sky was severely clear (boring) that morning, so my favorite image was taken in the blue hour and featured star trails.
The Shot from September 23, 2024
When I returned to Schwabacher Landing with friends Jon Christofersen and Mike Loebach last month, we were again the first to arrive. After that, we noticed some differences.
The Landing had been cleared with room for dozens of photographers. And as dawn approached, the space was filled with camera buffs.
After taking this Friday’s Photo, we packed up and walked back to the parking lot. There must have been a hundred photographers lined up along the Snake with an equal number of tourists with camera phones enjoying the show. How times have changed.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus
Country Roads
Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong
West Virginia, Mountain Momma
Take me home, country roads
John Denver, from “Take Me Home, Country Roads”
Country Roads
Childhood memories run deep. Growing up in Minneapolis, my family often headed north to explore the Arrowhead region of Minnesota. I vividly remember taking the back roads, especially in a time when President Eisenhauer’s dream of an interstate highway system was just beginning to be realized.
The further north you traveled, the more rustic it became. Grand Marais, near the Canadian border on Lake Superior, was a sleepy little town. From there, you could drive into Minnesota’s wilderness on the Gunflint Trail, a dirt road.
John Denver’s 1971 hit, Take Me Home, Country Roads, is now one of the four official state anthems of West Virginia. But the inspiration for the song had nothing to do with West Virginia.
The inspiration struck while songwriters Taffy Nivert and Bill Danoff were driving along Clopper Road in Montgomery County, Maryland. Danoff stated, "I just started thinking, country roads, I started thinking of me growing up in western New England and going on all these small roads. It didn't have anything to do with Maryland or anyplace."
The Shot
Two weeks ago, I found myself on the Honeymoon Trail Road in the back country near Tofte, Minnesota. Suddenly, I was flooded with memories of my childhood vacations in the north woods. The country road had taken me home.
When our photography group saw the road curving nicely to the right and out of sight, we stopped for a picture. The road sign seemed to be the perfect counterpoint to the brilliant distant tunnel in the leaves where the road disappeared.
As with most rural signs, it had a few bullet holes. Actually, twenty-four bullet holes and two shotgun hits.
After taking this image, I wandered up and down the road in search of a better composition. After about an hour, we realized that the first image was the best and we piled back into the car seeking other compositions.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus
The Season with Two Names
Summer is over and winter hasn’t yet arrived. Do you call this season autumn or fall? And why does it have two names?
The names of our two extreme seasons, winter and summer, are very old words. The reconstructed Proto-Indo-European (PIE) language originated from around 4500 BCE to 2500 BCE in Eastern Europe and Central Asia.
Summer comes from the PIE root sem, which means half. This suggests that in Europe, there were originally only two seasons. The root sem transformed into many similar words such as sumor, sumar, and somer.
Winter comes from the PIE root wed, which means water, wet, or rainy. It was similarly transformed with the English word winter coming from the Proto-Germanic wintruz.
The other two seasons are relatively recent additions. There were no distinct English words for spring or fall until the 16th century.
Descriptions of springtime first appeared in Early Modern English, from the 14th to the 16th centuries. Numerous words such as vere, primetide, and lenten described springtime. According to Earl R. Anderson in his book Folk Taxonomies in Early English, this variety of terms suggests spring was unimportant compared to winter and summer.
The same applies to fall. It was sometimes described as the time for harvest, but harvest referred to an activity and not to a season.
Autumn first appeared in English around the late 14th and early 15th centuries. It coexisted with harvest as a loose description of the season for another 200 years.
Fall first shows up in the mid-16th century in England as the fall of the leaf, which was shortened to just fall. Like harvest, it was descriptive. But it also evoked a poetic sense of what made this season different.
The recognition of fall/autumn as a distinct season started in England at the same time the American colonies began to separate linguistically from British English.
Noah Webster, of Webster’s Dictionary, was an ardent spelling reformer. His work was sensible and logical (center instead of centre, for example). But he was also politically motivated to differentiate American English from British English. By the mid-19th century, Americans commonly used fall and the British commonly used autumn.
The Shot
Last week, friend and fellow photographer Jon Christofersen and I walked into the Hovland Woods Scenic and Natural Area near Grand Marais, Minnesota. We were in search of fall color.
The Woods are home to over a dozen native plant communities. Aspen-birch forest blankets roughly half of the 1,280 acres. Because nearby Lake Superior moderates the climate affording cooler summers, milder winters and higher humidity, a sugar maple hardwood forest can exist there.
After a pleasant hike, we arrived at the sugar maple forest. We had the occasional reds we were looking for to compliment the vibrant yellows, oranges, and greens of other leaves and the blue of the sky.
Pointing our cameras upwards and using the edge of a tree to produce a sun star, we rejoiced in being there and in capturing some of Minnesota’s beauty.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus
Rakaposhi
Last looks are often memorable. This one is forever etched in my memory.
It was November 11, 2023, our last evening of photography in Pakistan. I was standing with our photography group on the side of a dirt road just outside the remote village of Chaprot at over 9,000 feet above sea level.
There was a chill in the air. It was late fall, and when the sun dipped behind the ridge to our right, my jacket and hat provided me with a soothing warmth.
We peered into a picturesque valley and off into the distance. A small stream served as a striking photographic leading line transporting the viewer to a distant, compelling mountain peak.
It was Rakaposhi. The sight commanded our rapt attention. The mountain is simply spellbinding.
It’s the only peak on earth that descends directly and without interruption for almost 20,000 feet from its summit to its base. Rakaposhi is also the only mountain in the world rising directly from beautifully cultivated fields to its dizzying height of 25,550 feet.
It’s a tough climb. The first successful recorded ascent wasn’t until 1958 by Mike Banks and Tom Patey, members of a British expedition. It took another 21 years before the second team reached the summit in 1979.
If you decide to climb Rakaposhi, base camp is a record 16,400 feet below the summit. Every other tall mountain in the world has a shorter climb from base camp.
The Shot
We waited until the sun kissed just the top of the peak. I’m sure I looked less than graceful taking the picture. Placing the tree on the left in the ideal part of the frame required me to stand on my tippy toes on a small rock near the edge of a drop-off with the camera held as high as possible over my head.
It took several attempts before everything was in the frame and level. You’re probably laughing, but you try it!
We just stood in admiration as the mountain gradually lost its illumination. Finally, it was time for high fives, handshakes, and hugs as we reluctantly concluded our trip and prepared to start the journey home.
The downhill drive out of Chaprot to the highway took several long hours on a sketchy dirt road. It was several more hours until we arrived at our hotel for a good night’s sleep. But Pakistan was worth every minute of our arduous travels.
If you want to see a 39-second video of the start of our drive back to the hotel, it’s at Zenfolio | Chuck Derus | Pakistan
I’m on vacation for the next few weeks, so the next Friday Photo won’t be until October 11.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus