I first
became entranced with the fluted cliffs, flying buttresses and jagged spires that rise above the East Fork of the Cimarron
River when I backpacked through the valley in the summer of 2007. I also noticed the aspen groves dotting the valley
floor and vowed to return some day in late September to shoot fall color there.
As I was studying maps of the San Juan Mountains
in the fall of 2010, I realized that Mount Jackson, a high point along the rim of the East Fork valley, might offer a superb
vantage point for photos of the valley and 14,309-foot Uncompahgre Peak, which rises at its head. Never mind that the
summit of Mt. Jackson lay 2,200 feet above the valley floor and that there was no water source nearby. I added a gallon
of water to all the camera and camping gear I needed for an overnight trip and headed up.
The weather, which had been dusty dry for more
than a week, had finally turned. With rain and snow in the forecast, I knew I could easily get shut out at both sunrise
and sunset. At least I could hope for dramatic skies instead of the boring, relentless blue I'd been shooting for days
on end. After setting up camp, I began searching for a foreground to complete the composition. Fortunately, I
found a grove of aspen with beautiful fall colors about 200 vertical feet below the canyon rim. Sunset was a bust, with
heavy clouds blocking the sunset light, but the skies had cleared by the time I finished dinner well after dark, and I went
to bed hoping for a good sunrise.
When I awoke well before dawn, I could see from the absence of stars that the clouds had returned. As dawn brightened,
I saw that rain was already falling over the Sneffels Range to the west and Uncompahgre Peak to the south. It would
just be a matter of time until the storm reached me as I waited next to my tripod. Then, to my astonishment, I noticed
a faint orange glow on the clouds gathering ominously over the East Fork. The rising sun had found a hole in the clouds
to the east and was starting to paint the clouds with a marvelous orange light. The glow intensified, and soon the orange
light bouncing off the clouds began backlighting the aspen trees in my foreground. Soon they too began to glow as if
burning with a fiery inner light.
All too soon, the light show faded. Minutes later, a curtain of rain swept over me. I waited, and was rewarded
for my patience with a gorgeous rainbow over Cimarron Ridge. As the storm broke up for good, I struck camp and headed
down in brilliant sunshine, blessing my good fortune to witness such a rare display of natural light.
