Jerry Dodrill

Red Tide

2011-09-16T10:28:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I was driving up the grade on Highway 1 north of Jenner on the Sonoma Coast. Just before dropping down toward Fort Ross the morning fog broke away and I was aghast at the sight of the ocean. It looked like a biblical prophecy had been fulfilled; the water had turned to blood.

At the first chance I swerved into a pull out and got out the camera. Was it a major oil spill like the Deepwater Horizon? No, it was the most extensive red tide ever seen on the Sonoma Coast, and its effect on the salt water ecosystem has been devestating.

A red tide is a harmful algal bloom of dinoflagellate plankton that occurs when ocean conditions are warm and calm. It can contain a neurotoxin that poisons, suffocates and kills shell fish. This same little plankton also causes a wonderful display of bioluminescence that I photographed last november. While red tides are not uncommon, some sources suggest that this year's El Nino event, warming sea water temperatures, fertilizers, and pollution may have contributed to severity of the current event.

Within a week vast numbers of red abalone, mussels, sea urchins, sea stars and other invertebrates began washing up on Sonoma County shorelines. The major die-off is like nothing ever seen here and yesterday prompted the California Department of Fish and Game to enact an emergency action to close the 2011 abalone fishing season.

Yesterday, September 15, I returned to Salt Point State Park, and walked cove after cove of rugged shoreline. Normally I am excited to find a single perfectly shaped shell on the beach, but there is no joy in discovering large mounds of skeletons - the bones of our delicate oceanic neighbors.

For more information visit the Department of Fish and Game website.
© 2011 Jerry Dodrill Photography

Little Things

2011-07-09T20:36:00.000-07:00

As a long time Nikon user I’ve been super happy with most of the features of my SLRs. But I have to admit there is one feature that my companions who use Canon have that I have been jealous of, or I was jealous until last week.

In the effort to get tack sharp images I go through a series of steps to minimize vibration: Be sure my tripod feet are firmly planted, avoid using a center column, set the camera to lock up the mirror before releasing the shutter, and use a remote shutter release. There are many things that can cause vibration, but finger movement and camera vibration from the action of an SLR's spring-loaded mirror during slow exposures are most often to blame. Even the slightest image blur can make an exposure unusable for printing or publication.

It seems that I’m often working quickly to set up a composition as the light changes and in the hustle the remote release is somewhere in my bag or car that I just can’t find or be bothered to take the time to get out. I press the shutter release once and the mirror locks up. Then I’m ready to take the photo and try ever so softly to touch the button just hard enough to take the picture without vibrating the camera with my finger. I can’t set the camera for both mirror-lock up AND a shutter delay like my friends with Canon cameras. Or thats what I thought until I discussed the matter with a young photography workshop student at Lake Tahoe who told me to just turn on “Exposure delay mode.” HUH?!

I’d seen this setting deeply buried in Nikon’s vast menu but hadn’t checked to see what it did. I mean, why would I want to delay taking an exposure? Here’s why:

Duh! I looked at the student incredulously, realizing how happy I was to be introduced to this simple little setting. I immediately saved it into the “My Menu” folder to access it easily. I will still prefer to use my remote release, but forgetting it will be one less thing on my mind in the field.

You’d think one day I’d actually read the owner’s manual... Sheesh! It just goes to show, every day is a school day. The learning process is a truly an incredible experience and the student will always be the teacher!

Happy shooting!

Jerry Dodrill

Horsetail Fall

2011-03-02T22:57:00.000-08:00

I was still in the womb when Galen Rowell made his iconic 1973 image of Last Light on Horsetail Fall. Often imitated, rarely rivaled, photographers flock to Yosemite Valley each February to re-create images of this now famous natural optical phenomena. After spending several years working for Mr. Rowell I knew better than to go around copying his work so had made no attempts to photograph Horsetail. Galen was tragically killed in 2002 and now I feel a certain nostalgia about revisiting the places which defined his career. In February I stopped for the first time along Northside Drive and stood shoulder to shoulder with 60-70 others waiting for the light. When it peaked out through the clouds just before sunset a hushed reverence settled over the crowd, a thousand clicks reverberated through the air and the legacy of a visionary's spirit was channeled through another generation of landscape photographers.

Bioluminescence

2010-11-23T13:17:00.000-08:00

For years I’ve heard unbelievable stories about people’s surreal night time experiences in the ocean with glowing plankton blooms, but until recently I’d never seen it myself. The tip off came from Ellen Cruz, a friend from Bodega Bay who sent a note about an experience she’d just had on the coast:

...the ocean was illuminated as if under a black light...so awesome, cannot describe in words...no need to drop acid on this one...every white particle of wave was iridescent, florescent, glowing like you can't believe...step on the sand and your footprint glows and sparkles... there were banks of waves coming in, white caps in the distance just glowed, and when the waves connected it was elongated strips of fluorescent green stripes across the water... whew...

This strange oceanic occurrence is likely the root of ghost stories told by early sailors who saw the mysterious green fire in the water but failed to comprehend what they were seeing. Documented as far back as 500 B.C., most bioluminescent light occurs in tiny plants called dinoflagellates which live in the sea and gain energy from the photosynthesis of sunlight. In darkness they emit a blue light in response to movement within the water. The intensity of the light peaks about two hours after dark and is simply amazing to watch. During the day they turn red and can be the source of the neurotoxin that poisons shell fish during Red Tides.

After receiving Ellen’s note, and being somewhat fascinated by natural optical phenomena, my mind immediately began pre-visualizing how I could make an interesting photograph. I often try to imagine best-case situations that might occur in nature. The trick is to carefully consider the conditions which would be necessary for a scenario to occur and then consciously reverse engineer it and attempt to put yourself on location at just the right time while being prepared to capture the moment. Something magical often ends up happening, even if it is somewhat different than what you had imagined.

As I pondered the complexity of making an evocative image of the psychedelic tides I felt that the images would look very alien if there wasn’t an earthly land form with which the viewer can easily identify. I started piecing together two ideas that I thought I could achieve in the same night. I’d seen the first sliver of a moon the night before, just after sunset, and knew that the next day it would be about fifty minutes higher in the sky. So I wanted to first make an image of the crescent moon setting at twilight above the breakers and Arched Rock near Jenner. The second image I was visualizing was a long exposure at the cusp of night where I would have just enough light to see the arch, and enough darkness for the dinoflagellates to show up in the water.

I checked the wunderground.com weather satellite which showed crystal clear skies, then double checked the angle of the moon relative to the arch by using a very useful software for such things called The Photographer’s Ephemeris. All the elements seemed to align and it looked like a promising evening.

I pulled up at Goat Rock Beach in Sonoma Coast State Park right about sunset, (which-oops!- is when the Park closes), geared up in rubber boots and wind gear and headed south down Blind Beach in gorgeous light that I would normally have been shooting. This time I was on a mission for something more mysterious than a sunset but at one point I did stop and made a few exposures of boney rocks protruding from the sand with crazy beams of light coming over the horizon. This was an early and unexpected bonus shot. As the light diminished I came to where the convergence of the setting moon and the sea arch were just perfect.

The first set of images were exactly what I expected. In years past I’d made similar images here with the full moon setting at sunrise into the Earth’s shadow. What I didn’t expect this time is that my camera’s sensor was picking up the Milky Way directly above the Arch! This added a layer of intrigue to the image that was far beyond what I’d imagined. Soon the starry night was fully visible to the naked eye.

If the moon had been larger or higher I believe its light would have polluted the clear, cold night sky and blown out the reflection in the water. But it was just slight enough that the relative contrast between the starlight and reflections fell into a range which could be handled if I was careful. But it was the bioluminescence that was most incredible. Each waved rolled in looking like a million neon glow sticks had been dumped into them. The blue-green light shot across the breakers as they crashed, the more wave energy released, the more light emitted. The backwash on the beach left momentary trails of light which resembled a million little galaxies.

I was in “the zone” watching wave sets, adjusting exposures as it got darker and darker, moving south down the beach as the moon traversed to the north, trying to keep my juxtaposition with Arched Rock in alignment. It was a bit ridiculous to realize a shot like this had come together: crescent moon shining through the arch under the Milky Way with the glowing ocean. Then as if in a nod to affirm all was okay in the universe, I watched in awe as a brilliant shooting star streaked across the sky above the arch while I had the shutter open. All the while I was very aware that I should not have parked my car in the heavily patrolled parking lot.

The moon was finally setting so I packed and hiked across the beach toward the car, arriving just as two park rangers stepped out of their cruiser with spot lights on. “Hello!” I called out of the darkness in attempt to not get myself Tazed as I stepped into the blinding beams with a big tripod on my shoulder. I received the full lecture from them (the park closes at sunset...we don’t want to have to come looking for you...) and apologized sheepishly. They wanted to know what I was doing out there. Still buzzing from an incredible experience, I pulled out the camera and offered to show them. The three of us huddled in the wind with our heads close to the back of my Nikon’s LCD and looked through the entire image set frame by frame while dispatch ran my plates and ID. The officers have one of the best office views in the state out their front windshield and were excited to see my photographic interpretation of what they see every day. As it turns out we share mutual friends and a deep connection for preserving California’s wild coast. I didn’t get a ticket that night. Instead I walked away with a couple of new friends, some images with which I’m really happy, and the good info on where to park the car for my next outing.

-Jerry Dodrill

Sebastopol, CA

http://www.jerrydodrill.com

More info:

Bioluminescence: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bioluminescence

Sonoma Coast State Park: http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=451

Positive Vibrations

2010-08-08T21:38:00.000-07:00

Last week I had the good fortune to climb one the finest rock climbs the Sierra has to offer: Positive Vibrations (5.11a). The route, just west of Bridgeport, CA, (five miles and 3000+' hike up Little Slide Canyon) is on a striking monolith of granite perfection known as The Incredible Hulk.

Marty Roberts and Rob McKay were perfect partners for this adventure. Several years ago Marty and I climbed a different route on the Hulk; the Red Dihedral. Marty has been traveling for the last year and was just getting back into the climbing groove. Rob is a super strong climber from here in Sebastopol who I have only just begun climbing with this year. Our plan was to hike in on Wednesday, climb Positive Vibes on Thursday as a party of three, then another friend, Eric Berghorn would show up to climb another route as two parties on Friday.

Jerry and Rob in base camp.

The trek up the trail, across beaver swamps, along the creek and over boulders was a beautiful trudge. We talked and laughed, catching up on old times and past climbs. Finally the Hulk came looming into view, luring us forward. Even from a mile away we could see the dark specks of other climbers high on the shimmering white tower. It was hard to fathom that tomorrow we would be high on that same face.

We got an intentional late start, waiting for the temps to warm up. About 10am we got started, Rob leading first, swapping leads as we went, with Marty following, self belaying on a mini-traxion.

Each pitch was spectacular and seemed even better than the previous.

Thin cracks, wide chimneys, splitter finger and hand cracks, and technical face moves all with tremendous exposure; Positive Vibrations has it all.

We inched our way up the wall, arriving on the summit before the sun went behind the ridge, then began a long series of rappels down the blank face.

Psyched on the summit, and rappelling in evening light.

We got back to camp just as darkness fell, still totally stoked. The stove roared to life and we ate an insane amount of food before collapsing exhausted under the stars.

Eric hadn't arrived and I was concerned about whether he had gotten the time off work. In the morning we slept in and lounged around eating, and drinking coffee. Feeling tired, we decided to hike out, so packed our bags. Just as we were leaving Eric arrived in camp, throwing a welcome kink in the plan. We had a war council and decided that because Eric had driven from Calistoga and hiked all the way in to climb with us, it wasn't really right to leave without him climbing something. So Rob and Marty bailed to climb in Tuolumne Meadows while Eric and I switched gears and did an afternoon ascent of Red Dihedral.

We roped up at noon and cruised up the perfect cracks and corners, doing the route in about six hours, arriving back in camp before dark. Somewhere between the summit down-climb and the rappels to the descent gully I managed to lose one of my approach shoes, so had to walk down in one climbing shoe. This was really a bummer as the shoes were pretty new, I'd just put some expensive insoles in them, and my feet were already screaming from the tight climbing shoes. The thought of hiking all the way back to the car with one shoe was undesirable. I did have a pair of flip flops with me and with some tape and a sock turned one into a nice sandal that got me all the way down without suffering much. If anyone finds that shoe I'd be happy to get it back!

(Outguard Spire on the right, Reggae Pole on the left)

Once down we had a swim in chilly Twin Lakes and burritos in town. So another excellent adventure and good times were had by all. New stories were made, to be told and retold around campfires in years to come.

Photos by Jerry Dodrill and Marty Roberts.

For more information about the Incredible Hulk, visit the route beta page at SuperTopo.com

Jerry Dodrill Photography

www.jerrydodrill.com

End of the Road: New Idria

2010-07-22T09:48:00.000-07:00

My wife and I were relaxing at Mercey Hot Springs in the Panoche Hills south of Mt. Diablo. I’m not very good at vacation and was scanning the map to eek out an adventure. Thirty miles away the road enticingly ended at “New Idria.” Those words were familiar. I’d read an account of this place in a book called Up and Down California in 1860-1864, the Journal of William H Brewer. Mr. Brewer was part Josiah Whitney's California Geologic Survey. In 1861 they journeyed to New Idria quicksilver mine on horseback:

"The view is extensive and peculiar... the Panoche Plain, with the mountains beyond–chain after chain of mountains, most barren and desolate. No words can describe it...gray and dry rocks or soil, furrowed by ancient streams into innumerable canyons, now perfectly dry, without a tree, scarcely a shrub or other vegetation–none, absolutely, could be seen. It was a scene of unmixed desolation, more terrible for a stranger to be lost in than even the snows and glaciers of the alps.”

Intrigued, Arienne and I spent the afternoon driving out the neglected road, stepping back in time, enjoying the vast openness, eventually winding our way up into the stark mountains.

The road passed a number of ranches, turned to dirt and got steep before we finally we came to the Idria ghost town where the sign read:“Welcome to New Idria. Population: Me.” There were some other interesting signs as well. We had been told that despite the intimidation the road was public access and the often gun-weilding care-taker didn't have authority to run us off. (Though I don't tend to argue with flying bullets.)

This last sign was probably the greatest deterrent of them all.

There wasn’t a soul to be seen so we poked around a little bit, trying to avoid touching anything or breathing in the foul stench. There was a bad vibe in the air and it felt like something really terrible had happened here. The long bunk houses were trashed and filled with junk, windows smashed, doors kicked in, rats running around everywhere. The smell was horrendous. Arienne was smart enough to stay outside but I was fascinated by what looked like the set of a horror flick and ventured in for a moment.

Early Mexican, Chilean, Irish and Cornish migrant laborers earned just a couple dollars a day doing very dangerous jobs in the mine. Brewer wrote:

“Sulphurous acids, arsenic, vapors of mercury, etc., make a horrible atmosphere, which tells fearfully on the health of the workmen, but the wages always command men and there is no want of hands...”

The mine ceased production in 1972 and is now in a complicated state of bureaucracy between environmentalists, historians, government, and the current owner. The site has the unique distinction of being both a federal EPA Super Fund cleanup site and a California State Historical Site. The buildings are infected with the deadly hanta virus and need to be burned down, yet because of the historic status this cannot be done.

Just to add more complications, the Sierra Club has found some endangered species nearby, and the ground in the mountains is composed of asbestos, covered with poison oak, and crawling with rattlesnakes.

Rotary furnace building, built in 1917.

The website new-idria.org puts the situation in perspective:

"The New Idria Mercury Mine, the world's fourth largest quicksilver mine, became listed in the EPA's Comprehensive Environmental Response, Compensation, and Liability Information System (CERCLIS) database on April 16, 1996 because of the many complex environmental issues associated with this property's legacy as 115 years as a cinnabar mine and a mercury processing plant.
While there has been a good deal of study and concern about the pollution and contamination problems at New Idria, little has been done to begin remediation because the property owners lack the funds necessary for the environmental cleanup and hazard remediation. Regrettably, with several concerned environmental groups waiting in the litigation wings, it is doubtful that any well-off investor will purchase the property simply because litigation will begin the day after escrow closes."

New Idria was once a beacon of wealth and prosperity. But like other more current environmental disasters, the investors who prosper are quick to vanish leaving the aftermath for future generations. Brewer was accurate when he wrote:

“Such is New Idria and by such toils and sufferings do capitalists increase their wealth.”

-Jerry Dodrill

_____________________

For more info about New Idria: http://www.new-idria.org/

For a fascinating read about California history after the gold rush and during the civil war read:

Up and Down California in 1860-1864; The Journal of William H. Brewer

Jerry Dodrill

www.jerrydodrill.com

Back to the East Side

2010-04-29T19:01:00.000-07:00

I just never get tired of the Eastern Sierra. After driving all night last night I stumbled out of the car to just catch the moonset over Lone Pine Peak this morning. Over the next few days We'll be running up and down 395 chasing the light with John Shaw and the Mountain Light Workshop program. With all the recent storms we'll have some good material to work with.

Gallery Show in Bodega Bay

2010-02-03T13:16:00.000-08:00

Local Color Gallery
1580 Eastshore Rd., Bodega Bay, CA

For the past ten years, Jerry Dodrill has been following the edge of light along California's North Coast. Chasing storms and fog, he seeks the dramatic moment when time and place weave into an ethereal fabric of color and texture. This exhibit features a mix of Jerry's most classic images and brand new work from Point Reyes to Del Norte Redwoods.

Heaven and Earth

2009-08-27T16:48:00.000-07:00

I enjoy a good glass of wine as much of as anyone else in wine country. Last year I photographed extensively for Red Car Wine in a few of their vineyards. After many months visiting the beautiful locations I still hadn't had even a sip of their fine wine. So in conversation with owner Carroll Kemp, and hoping to get my hands on a bottle or two, I inquired... "So how good is this wine?" He laughed and said, "The folks who do the ratings have been kind to us." Carroll later decided to start a new brand called Heaven and Earth out of La Bohemé Vineyard, and used my photo on the label. I was quite honored! In July this year I heard that Heaven and Earth had been rated 97 out of 100 points by Wine Spectator; The highest grade ever given a California Pinot Noir. You can see a photo of the bottle on the cover (and inside) of the September 2009 issue of Wine Spectator Magazine, but good luck finding the wine. Only 292 cases were produced. I hear its pretty good and hope to get my hands on some...

Jerry Dodrill Photography
707-827-3547 Office
photo@jerrydodrill.com
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

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2009-08-24T10:49:00.001-07:00

I was running late, driving too fast on a remote mountain road, and didn't have time to stop. Speeding around a corner, a new, strange sign caught my eye. "LOST BIRD." A couple corners later and I was still processing the scene. There wasn't a house in sight. I'm in the middle of a thick forest, and someone lost a bird? Gotta go back. I found a pullout and grabbed my camera.

"Takkun" the seven year old cockatiel was missing. I felt bad for the owner, yet wondered why they chose that spot to post the sign. I looked up and whistled toward the forest canopy. "Here there, pretty bird." Nothing.

Still intrigued, I later called the number on the sign.
"Hello, this is John."
"Uh, hi, I saw your sign... did you find the bird?"
"No, not yet. Its my daughter's bird. She's had it since she was seven. Its flown away a number of times but always came back. This time we're worried. He's so friendly we thought maybe someone would find him. "
"Do you live in the area?"
"Yeah, just up the hill."
Its getting a little awkward now, as I don't have a clue where his bird is and he doesn't get why I'm calling. I'm not sure either.
"Well, sorry to trouble you. Good luck."
"Thanks. Bye..."

So, if you find a cockatiel near St. Helena Road, there's a little girl who will be elated to see him again.

Bishop with Muench and Mountain Light

2009-07-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

It was a pleasure working with David Muench this last week. We were leading a five day photo workshop based out of Mountain Light Gallery in Bishop, California. The area offers a tremendous visual feast of natural wonders. To work here with one of the great landscape masters, exploring the desert and mountains, was an especially wonderful a treat. As usual, we were up early and late, often getting to bed at 11pm and leaving at 3:30 the next morning to catch magic light. Below are some photos I made during our field sessions. Monday afternoon we start another week long class, this time based in Lee Vining, where we'll visit the Ghost town of Bodie, Yosemite's high country, and Mono Lake.

To join a Mountain Light Workshop, or for information, visit http://www.mountainlight.com

Tahoe Workshop with Sierra Nevada College

2009-06-26T21:39:00.000-07:00

During the last day week of June I was at Lake Tahoe leading my second annual photography workshop for Sierra Nevada College. It was almost a cruel joke to have a landscape workshop on the summer solstice. With sunsets at 8:30 and sunrise at 5:30, and some long pre-dawn drive times, sleep was more of a dream than a reality. It was more like an exercise in caffeine ingestion. But as with every group, the energy was contageous, spirits high, and we always found the best light. Long days gave plenty of time to work with and critique the images. In addition to the normal locations like Sand Harbor and Eagle Falls, we worked in some interesting other locations. At Lake Forest there was a large field of lupines and some canada geese, and up at Barker Pass, fields of Mule Ears carpet the hillsides. Here are some images I made alongside students during the class. Enjoy, and considering joining us next year. Watch the summer arts workshops at http://www.sierranevada.edu

Remembering "Brutus of Wyde"

2009-06-13T21:45:00.000-07:00

"They seek those moments when time stands still.
The catalysts are as varied as the individuals who pursue this path: a meteor shower; a night sky so star-filled that it snatches your breath; another rise of the sun over distant mountains vast and untouchable; dodging a rock careening crazily down a gully; a desperate icy struggle through whiteout and ground blizzard down to the safety of camp after an unsuccessful summit attempt; standing atop a mountain with a friend, the whole world at your feet, a blinding sun blazing out of a flawless sky, taking the time to watch that sun dip below the horizon even though camp is still many miles and many thousands of feet distant; stumbling over boulders and through brush in the darkness; watching the starlight and the storm wrest for possession of the night sky, seated on a narrow ledge beside your rope-mate with only the clothes on your back for shelter, shivering the night away, knowing that, sometime in a distant place you cannot now touch, the world will once again grow bright, the sun will rise, and you will look out on the infant day with new eyes."

These words were written by Bruce Bidner, a dedicated Sierra climber, friend, and brother through bond of the rope. He was an eloquent writer, capable of touching the very heart of any experience, who inspired a generation of climbers. I had the fortune to photograph him on El Capitan a few years ago. Bruce was killed in his car last night, en-route to another fine adventure. My words utterly fail to express the sadness.

Rest in peace my friend.

New Era

2009-06-01T13:36:00.000-07:00

It was a cold, drizzly morning in Charleston, Oregon. Across the green mud flats and dredged shipping channel, a weathered fishing troller named “New Era” was tied up alongside the dock. She wasn’t going out to sea that day, and it appeared that some time had passed since her bow sliced through the strong Pacific currents. It is indeed a new era for fishermen along the Oregon and California coast, where for the past two years the commercial salmon season has been suspended and a state of “resource disaster” and “commercial fishery failure” has been declared. For many of the boats, skippers and crew in Charleston, and ports up and down the coast, staying in harbor is a harsh new reality.

I was in Charleston with a group of photographers from the Mountain Light Photo Workshops. We were scouring the docks for images of colorful old boats and rusty textures. Now and then a weathered sailor would walk by wondering what all the fuss was about. Two young boat hands were overheard saying “There must be sumthin’ photographic ‘round here. They’re everywhere.” We weren’t journalists looking for a story, just creative photographers looking for material.

For several days we had been photographing lighthouses, beaches, and happy scenes of natural beauty. In contrast, photographing in Charleston was both challenging and a bit depressing. You had to really stop, look, and think. What is the story here? How can I tell that story?

When I made an image of Basin Tackle's storefront, I just thought it was a document of a typical building, covered in advertising. The lonely dog and empty parking lot exuded a feeling that more prosperous times were in the past. On closer inspection, the story was in the details. A salmon fishing closure sign was posted on the door. A big sign read: “Please, No Wave Energy, No Marine Reserves.” It was right next to an ad for “Monster Energy.” Such paradox! Caffeine and high fructose corn syrup is good, while renewable non-polluting energy harnessed from the ocean is bad. Taking fish, crab, and natural resources from the sea for money is good. But as for stewardship of the very eco-system that provides this source of lively-hood? Not in my backyard!

The very day after we were in Charleston, the state house of representatives voted unanimously (51-0) in favor of an historic bill to complete an evaluation and timeline for implementation of six marine reserve sites recommended by the Governor’s Ocean Policy Advisory Council. (read more at: http://www.salem-news.com/articles/may282009/coastal_bill_5-28-09.php)

Meanwhile, fishermen ate breakfast at the Basin Café, dogs waited patiently in parked cars, boats sat rusting in the harbor, and we drove back to Bandon for a lunch of Alaska salmon and halibut; another irony of the new era that reminded me of a fisherman's button which read: "Shop Local." Finding a sustainable balance in our local food supplies and the ecosystem at large is going to be a challenge and will take considerable sacrifice from all of us. But the consequences of not dealing with it today will clearly have ramifications well into the future.

http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Bandon Beach II

2009-05-26T15:20:00.000-07:00

Here are a few more pics from the workshop here at Bandon, Oregon.

http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Bandon Beach

2009-05-25T15:46:00.000-07:00

This morning at Bandon Beach, with a -1.8 tide

Rhodies

2009-05-24T16:23:00.000-07:00

We hiked deep into the forest yesterday, down and back up Damnation Creek Trail, scouting locations to shoot the best blooms of rhododendrons. This morning we went back out, with thick fog, to get the shots. The forest under-story was pretty tall, so I took the big tripod. Here is Justin putting it to good use at the best group of flowers we could find.

We're in Bandon now, gearing up for the workshop, which starts tomorrow.

Signing off for now,

Jerry Dodrill

Up the Coast - Crescent City

2009-05-23T23:35:00.000-07:00

I'm in a hotel in Crescent City, heading north, up the coast toward Bandon, Oregon for a week with my friend Justin Black, to assist John Shaw on a Mountain Light Photo Workshop. We stopped this evening at Damnation Creek Trail in Del Norte Redwoods to check out the rhododendrons. The are just coming on nicely. For four years in a row I've driven up here to shoot them and have never gotten it just right. Two weeks ago I was up again with my students from Pacific Union College. We scouted some nice locations but it was too early. Perhaps tomorrow morning, or next week on the way home, we'll nail the images I've been visualizing.

Tonight we checked out the Battery Point Light House, a pretty cool place. There is a jetty and these strange concrete breakwater objects. I saw an Asian fisherman on the point and found him to offer a great sense of scale against the ocean and forms. More to come as the trip progresses.

Desolation Skiing

2009-03-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

A few friends and I took off for a little excursion to Desolation Wilderness this past weekend. Berghorn and I skied in on Friday morning after getting a wilderness permit and sorting out the parking situation with the US Forest Circus, CHP, and some sheriffs officers who thought we were up to no good. Eric warded them off at the back of the car while I talked to CHP on my cell phone in the front seat. Nobody really knew what to tell us, and we ended up just parking along the road (the parking lot is closed all winter - brilliant). If it were to start snowing, we would be towed! Luckily, it didn't. The Forest Service hadn't issued a single wilderness permit this winter for the Pyramid Creek Trailhead at Twin Bridges, across from Lover's Leap. So virtually none of the snow was tracked.

Digging camp on a warm, windless day after skinning up the steep brushy slopes.
Meanwhile, Andrew and The Chiz were skiing in. Eric (Chisholm) brought a massage table up the hill with him, okay, not really, but we wished he had. They got to camp and we had a nice dinner.

Next morning the weather changed. Wind and clouds, and we were nervous about getting towed if it started snowing, which was in the forecast for the afternoon. Eric made breakfast, some amazing pancakes from scratch, and we watched the clouds.

After a while it started clearing up. Chisholm held down camp while the rest of us headed toward Pyramid Peak.

Weather was windy and funky, so we blew off the summit and headed down the awesome east slopes. Andrew dropping in...

Crossing bear tracks

Gunning it for camp

Andrew was pretty psyched on his new split board, hit the steeps and caused a little slider on the last drop. Luckily, we didn't have to use our avalanche beacons.

The weather was supposed to come in overnight and we didn't want to drive to Placerville to pick up our car from the impound, so we blasted out and caught climbing legend Fred Becky's slide show in South Lake. Good times indeed!

Whipped boys watching tv in the hotel after a great couple days schlepping loads up and down the hills. Next time we'll forgo he packs and blast it in a day.

Motivate...

Instigate...

-Jerry
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Easy Street? Never mind.

2009-01-29T13:09:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago I posted about risk in climbing relative to driving a car. Uh, yeah, well never mind. Danger is everywhere.

Yesterday, my friend Steve and I were at a popular local sport crag that we visit every week or two. He was lowering me off a route just at dark and I was swinging over to clean our draws off an adjacent line. I grabbed and pulled sideways on a feature that usually gets pulled straight down on. I unclipped the draw and still held on when to my dismay the feature rolled out out from the wall under my hand and went spinning toward the ground. It happened too fast to even yell ROCK!, though I might have yelled something else as I suddenly went flying through space. The 18" rock plate just missed Steve's head and glanced off his gloved brake hand.

It was a sobering moment. When you climb at your backyard crag all the time the risks seem to be under control. It seems like nothing can possibly happen there. It can.

Exploring the Mojave National Preserve

2008-12-29T16:05:00.000-08:00

With the holidays approaching, Arienne and I decided to load up our van and explore the desert for a few days before joining her family for Christmas in Las Vegas. We didn't really have a solid plan but headed toward Barstow on Hwy 58. Going through the outskirts of Mojave you start seeing the quirkiness of desert life and the effects of downsizing at Edwards Air Force Base.

When we got to Baker on I-15, we followed signs south to an area we had never visited, the Mojave National Preserve. I'd seen some great photos Jack Dykinga had made in the preserve, so thought we'd take a look and headed down Kelbaker Road toward Kelso, an old railroad stop. The Kelso Depot has been freshly renovated and looked more like a suburban Vegas clubhouse than something out of the old west. Fortunately the old post office had retained its "charm."

Tracks at Kelso

Next, we headed out to the expansive Kelso dunes and went for a hike. The dunes were amazing, with signs of wildlife everywhere and remnants of the spring wildflower bloom. We'll have to come back to see that.

Just to the south we could see high granite spires sticking over the horizon so went that way and found a campsite where I could get out and photograph at sunrise while Arienne slept in.

There was a storm rolling in and despite my hopes for a great sunrise, the clouds blocked the good light. It was bitter cold with strong wind, so before long I crawled back in the van and made a second cup of coffee. Arienne was ready to face the world and we went on a nice walk through the unworldly gardens of cactus, yucca, and joshua trees. I can only imagine what it will be like in March or April when everything is blooming!

With a bit of time left we explored some dirt roads near Cima where we found what is apparently the thickest forest of joshua trees in existence.

Off in the distance I saw an odd wooden structure and figured it could only be the remnant of an old mine. Piles of old tailings were a good clue. We followed a dirt road right to it and spent the better part of the day crawling down inside dark abandoned mine shafts. It was cool to see, and I think we found a gold nugget (fools gold most likely!).

So thats wraps up our first trip to the Mojave Preserve but you can bet we'll be back and next time we'll bring a 4wd so we can really get off the beaten path. If you have any favorite spots to see petroglyphs, wildlife, flowers, etc, I appreciate your input.

As always, your comments are welcome, and each of the image are available as fine art prints.

-Jerry Dodrill

photo@jerrydodrill.com

Easy Street

2008-12-29T13:48:00.000-08:00

As a rock climber of many years, I've endured numerous lectures from well intentioned folks about how dangerous climbing is. "Do you have a death wish? How can you justify such unnecessary risks?" These are age old questions that I continually fail to answer convincingly. A death wish? No. You've never felt more alive than when you're on the edge. But rather than describe the unexplainable about an activity which must be experienced to fully appreciate, I generally ramble on about the odd fact that statistically speaking, rock climbing is quite safe, and that the most dangerous part of climbing is the drive to and from the crag. Strangely, this is true.

Climbing is indeed a high risk environment, and as a result, we learn redundant systems and methods of communication to mitigate risk. Its heads-up all the time, and because of the inherent risks, we're on our guard and are actually being relatively safe. But at the end of the day, its all too easy to load up your gear, fasten the safety belt, crank the tunes, and blast home. I've never fallen asleep while climbing, but like many of us, I've caught myself nodding behind the wheel more times than I'd like to admit. RedBull and Starbucks have kept me going many hours late at night when I should have stopped and crawled in the back seat.

Having used this argument over and over to rationalize the risks involved in climbing, I at some point became aware of the staggering number of roadside memorials. One day I was driving along the levees over in the Sacramento Delta and began stopping to photograph them. It was immediately apparent how dangerous our roads are. The memorials are where they are for good reason. Each one was intriguing, unique, tragic, and packed with emotion. Personal items belonging to the deceased, religious icons, newspaper clippings, notes, ornately carved crosses, portraits, plastic flowers, wreaths and statues are left at the place of passing, often mixed with broken glass, bits of rubber and chrome. The weather decomposes everything, adding drama to these impromptu shrines.

I've made a point to watch for the memorials during my travels and climbing trips, and stop when I can to make photos of the interesting ones. My mind wants to know the story; What happened? Where were they going? Who were they? Just another traveller at the wrong place/wrong time? With so many variables and high rates of speed, anything can happen and there is little time to react. It could be any one of us.

The images here were made this past week out in the desolate Mojave Desert. At some point I'll figure out what to do with this growing body of work. Until then I'll just quote a warning from the Grateful Dead: "When life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door."

You've lived another year. Congrats, and be safe!

-Jerry Dodrill

http://www.jerrydodrill.com

photo@jerrydodrill.com

Nov. 5, 2008. Did you get a newspaper today?

2008-11-05T17:28:00.000-08:00

I drove all over town looking for one. I hadn't realized how many newspaper machines there are. They are everywhere! But they are all empty. News stands, drug stores, super markets, the liquor store, gas stations... nothing. I thought about stealing one off a neighbor's front porch. Drove to the Press Democrat printing facility in Rohnert Park. Nothing. Sold out. Not a single paper. My wife was looking in a recycling bin at the loading dock when a guy came out. He was sympathetic, looked around then said, "They screwed up and didn't print enough. Meet at Walmart in an hour. I'll have one for you."

We drove to Walmart, about a mile away, and hung out watching the odd big box social phenomenon. The guy rode up on a bike one hour and fifteen minutes later. He had bags of papers on his shoulders. They had finished a second run and he was filling the vending machines. He smiled and gave me one.

"NEW DAWN" was the headline, above a full page photo of President-Elect Barack Obama.

Now on NPR I hear that the whole country is sold out. Go figure.

Got mine.

Autumn in The Valley

2008-10-31T15:44:00.000-07:00

Where has the summer gone? Autumn leaves are falling, and what better than a rainy day with a fire burning in the fireplace to catch up on things. Here are some images from the most recent of many excursions over the last few months.

This past week I had the good fortune to watch the turning of the fall colors in Yosemite Valley while teaching a photography course for Elderhostel. When I drove in on Saturday the dogwood trees were bright red, maples yellow, and oaks gold.

Milkweed Eruption, Cooks Meadow

Smoky God Beams near Wawona

Sunrise, El Cap Meadow

Maple, Merced River Canyon

Trippy Autumn Reflection

Majestic Oaks

River Sunrise and color in El Cap Meadow.

The class went well and everyone was excited. As we broke after the final meeting, a great gust of wind blasted the Valley. In ten minutes the Autumn Glory was blown to pieces. Drifts of brightly colored leaves covered the ground, pine needles piled up on the road, and the first winter rain began to fall as I drove home. A perfect week.

Join me for a photo workshop in 2009! May in India, June at Lake Tahoe and October back in Yosemite! More dates announced shortly.

-Jerry
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Banner Trip

2008-07-14T18:50:00.000-07:00

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.” –John Muir
Brad stood nervously on the precipice like a child on the high dive for the very first time. This was his first mountain climb and by the gleam in his eye, I’d guess that it won’t be his last. Jared came up beside him, and Bob popped up over the edge to join us on the summit of Banner Peak (12,945’). The heavens prevailed above while the Earth fell away for thousands of feet to the alpine lakes and chaotic world beyond. For now, we were completely in the moment, filled with nature’s peace, and were indeed receiving the mountain’s good tidings.

Jared had called out of the blue, asking if I wanted to go on a backpacking trip with him and some friends. Arienne was heading off on a business trip and I had some flexibility, so being a sucker for spontaneity, I said “Sure!”

___________________________________________

Jared Chaney was a high school class mate of mine, though we didn’t really get to know each other until college. For a few years we were seemingly inseparable. We were both art majors, shared a house, worked together, climbed, mountain biked, and of course chased a few girls. We ended up knowing each other so well that on road trips we barely conversed except to debate opposing positions on irresolvable issues. On climbs we became a well-oiled machine; our system and communication polished to the point of utmost efficiency. It is rare that you find a climbing partner or friend like that.

(Jerry and Jared on Leaning Tower, Yosemite, 1994)

In 1995 Jared left to study architecture at Chico State. Our partnership was broken and we pursued different paths. He got married, had kids, built a house in Ukiah, and established a successful career. I pursued my own career, continued seeking mountain adventures, and found a beautiful bride of my own. Though we rarely saw each other for thirteen years, Jared is one of those friends who you can go long periods without seeing, then pick right up as if only a week had passed.

___________________________________________

The day after getting the call, six of us (Jared, Bob, Brad, Chris, Rick, and I) were grinding up the switchbacks on Rush Creek Trail, out of June Lakes on the East side of the Sierra Nevada. The sun beat down unrelentingly without a breath of wind, and smoke from forest fires fouled the usually crystal clear Sierra air. We took the trail to Clark Lakes, intending to unwind for a few days. Though the mosquitoes were insane, the campsite was amazing. We dumped our packs and went fishing. I caught a few brook trout and cooked them in the fire with garlic, wild onions, and lemon. Tasty! There were big views over the canyon edge and the sun, setting through thunderstorms and billowing smoke was spectacular.
That night we sat around the campfire reminiscing about youthful adventures, recounting anecdotes long forgotten, and swapping tall tales with new friends. Eventually, the conversation turned to tomorrow. What should we do? Maps were pulled from packs and pored over in the flickering light. Thousand Island Lake was the unanimous destination, though the mosquitoes were feared to be unbearable. We’d have to keep moving.
Beyond the lake, Mount Ritter and Banner Peak loomed up, dominating the view. I had wanted to bag these peaks for years and started my campaign to motivate and instigate. It wasn’t a completely selfish agenda …well perhaps… but the majority of the group was really excited to give it a go. With this plan, we would have no leisure trip. The easiest route from our camp would be fifteen miles round trip with about six thousand feet of elevation gain and then loss. If climbing had been our original goal, we’d have camped closer to our objective.

We started just after sunrise and fought through a vicious cloud of blood sucking mozzies the whole way, probably loosing a quart of blood between us. The pests motivated us to keep moving.

(click the photo above to enlarge and you'll see the cloud of mosquitos in the sky)

Before eleven we had crested Glacier Lake Pass (11,158) on the west side of the mountain and were at Lake Catherine below the Ritter/Banner glacier. Two of our party decided to wait here while the rest pressed on toward the summit of Banner Peak.
It was rough going but not technical getting up the glacier, scree, and talus that led to the summit. The barometer was dropping on Jared’s altimeter, so the elevation was off. It said we had another eight hundred feet to go, but when Brad climbed up on that block he found nothing but the heavens above. We had arrived.

(L-R" Bob, Brad, Jared, Jerry)

Jared had done a lot of rock climbing, but this was his highest elevation to date and first big Sierra Peak. Bob, Jared's uncle and the oldest of our group at 59, was strong as an ox and un-relenting in his effort. He had climbed Mt. Shasta previously, but this was his first big Sierra peak. It was Brad’s very first climb, and I don't know how many for me. Quite a few.
The descent became rushed as thunderstorms moved in overhead, hail and rain pounded, the wind howled, lightning cracked, and thunder boomed, echoing for an eternity through the granite canyons. It was awesome. We hurried down wet snow and slippery talus fields, nervous that the metal trekking poles we carried would become lighting rods. Thousand Island Lake, and our camp site beyond, were receiving a moderate flash flood, but it didn't quite hit us.
The wind blew its freshness into us, and the storm filled us with its energy. Our feet ached as we hiked back to camp, but our cares had fallen off like the autumn leaves. We fell into silence on the trail, each in our own thoughts, mesmerized by the rhythm of footsteps, content to have received full value from the day.

___________________________________________

“To see an old friend in a distant land, is like a refreshing rain after a long drought.”
-fortune cookie wisdom

___________________________________________

As I get older I appreciate personal history with friends more and more and value the people with whom I have grown up and experienced both the joy and sorrows of life. It was great making new friends, and fantastic seeing Jared again, climbing, cooking over an open fire, sharing a tent, debating philosophy and religion… carrying on just like old times.
Back in Santa Rosa, we separated our gear in a dirt pullout. I’ve never been one for long good byes, but after such a great trip in the wilderness, it was hard to just drive off and jump back into the fray of life and business. There wasn’t enough time to part ways in a manner that respected the time and experience we had just had together. So we said the normal cordialities; “nice to meet you.” “Hope to see you again sometime.” “See you later.” “Thanks for everything.” Handshakes, hugs all around, and off we went, back to the rat race, talking on cell phones almost as if nothing had happened. But even as we left, I noticed the sun burns and perma-grins acquired during our thrilling adventure were still plastered on our faces. The mountain glow may fade in a few days, but will stay in our memories forever.

Prints are available from all images on my blog

Sonora Pass Wildflowers

2008-07-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

Arienne and I just got back from a quick trip up Sonora Pass. Thought I'd post a couple photos of the outrageous wildflower display before heading out again to spend a few days in the high country at Thousand Island Lake with my old friend Jared Chaney. Stay tuned next week for a report from that trip. Hopefully we'll get some nice photos and catch big trout!
Until then...
...Motivate. Instigate.

-Jerry

http://www.jerrydodrill.com
© 2008 Jerry Dodrill

An Ascent of Mt. Laurel

2008-07-03T23:08:00.000-07:00

Valentines Day, 2004. I stood in the snow gazing at Mt. Laurel, a mile and a half across the frozen waters of Convict Lake. For a brief moment I scanned the route to the summit then snapped back to the task at hand. In a few minutes I would be married. Over the years I'd lost more climbing partners to marriage than to the mountains. Would today be the day I'd succumb to the same fate as the others? Not a chance. I made a vow that my life would be different and knew that it would be.

June 2008. Kurt, Eric, Kendall and I piled out of the car and hit the trail to climb Mt. Laurel. I'd been wanting to do it for over four years now.
Mount Laurel's Northeast Gully (III 5.2) rises four thousand feet above Convict Lake to the 11, 812 foot summit. This historic route was first climbed in 1930 by John Mendenhall and James Van Patten and marks the first place where a real roped belay was used in the High Sierra. While most of the High Sierra peaks are composed of immaculate granite, Laurel is loosely comprised of sandstone, slate and limestone. The N.E. Gully is polished smooth from avalanches sweeping the steep face, so the climbing is excellent. But if you get off route you are quickly on the worst rock imaginable. Despite the rich history, we decided to leave ropes in the car and simul-solo the long but easy face.
We cruised up the deep lower cleft and emerged into a broad bowl. Route finding became more difficult but we just followed the best rock up and left toward the summit. The geology was unlike any I'd ever seen. In the upper trough, the polished white rock yielded a beautiful red slate dike that Kurt climbed while I photographed.We reached the upper slopes and finally the summit.
Here, beautifully colored gneiss stones were scattered about like a blown up art project.Red Slate Mountain loomed in the south. Bloody Mountain to the West. Mammoth, the Minarets, Ritter and Banner Peaks to the North, and the upper Owens Valley was to the east. There was a funny moment where we each sat on the summit talking to our sweethearts on cell phones. We spent all this energy getting away with the boys, but when we reach the top, our natural reaction is to share the moment with the women we love.
Some time was spent taking in the tremendous view, then we blasted down the north ridge, descending long sandy slopes in a cloud of dust, finally arriving back at the car. We ate a quick bite and were off again to climb sport routes in Rock Creek before soaking our tired bodies in the natural hot springs. It was great spending time with my friends, in fact, these were my best men. But truth be told, the best part was getting home, kicking back, and sharing the story with my wife. Guess I'm a lost cause after all!

To see more photos from this set, see my Flickr page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/10454187@N07/sets/72157605941980595/

© 2008 Jerry Dodrill
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Interpreting the Big Trees: rambling among giants.

2008-06-25T19:27:00.000-07:00

When my friend Faith asked if I would take some photos of the Giant Sequoias at Calaveras Big Trees State Park, there was only one answer: YEAH! That was familiar ground. In college I spent three summers on a fuels management crew in this area, up in the western Sierra, half way between Yosemite and Tahoe. It had been years since I'd been back, so I was excited to have an excuse.
Faith Rumm is one of those people who never cease to amaze you, even as you get to know them more and more. Formerly a back-country ranger in Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park, she "gets it" when it comes to how badly we need to preserve wild places. In addition to being an inspirational mother, she is an accomplished artist who has painted and designed interpretive nature panels for many organizations including the Panda Bear Preserve in China. I've had the fortune to help her out with a few projects over the years and am delighted to provide my assistance on one of her current projects designing interpretive panels for California State Parks.
Many of my favorite places to photograph and rock-climb lie within Califoria's State Park System, and it is no wonder. A quick look at the State Park website (http://www.parks.ca.gov/) reveals that the system includes "nearly 1.4 million acres, with over 280 miles of coastline; (and) 625 miles of lake and river frontage." With the rapid increases in development, urban sprawl and intrusion into open spaces which we've seen just in my short lifetime (34 years), I fear for the future of wilderness. Sure, nature adapts. Peregrines live on downtown sky scrapers and raccoons live under my deck, but is it their job to adapt? No! We have a responsibility to be stewards of the land, and that includes accounting for the plants and critters. If we had the hindsight of just one of the Big Trees, chances are we would assign very different priorities to our lives and make more sustainable decisions.No amount of watching Planet Earth can replace the experience of actually seeing the autumn bird migration, or hiking along a gurgling brook filled with spawning salmon. I grew up camping in our state parks and hope to (some day) take my own kids to them. But with California's budget shortfalls and a governator who is willing to shut down our parks to save costs, it is more imperative than ever that both the park system and nature itself have active and vocal advocates.
I drove up to the Big Trees just after our epic on El Cap in May and spent three days roaming the woods and river making photographs among these stunningly enormous giants. The weather was perfect after a few storms during which an inch and a half of rain fell. One of the best parts of my job is just being out there getting "zen-ed out" with my camera, exploring the intricacies of an eco-system and finding a voice for Mother Earth. No, I'm not a barefoot tree hugger. A balance must be struck in all things, but it sure feels right to be making images that will go to work for a just cause.
As I drove home from the Big Trees I passed through hundreds of miles of urban jungle and pondered how the landscape would have appeared prior to our intrusion. I drove through the East Bay and recalled a passage from Malcom Margolin's "The Ohlone Way" in which he states that the number one cause of death for the native Ohlone tribe of native Americans along the San Franciso Bay prior to white settlement was from grizzly bear attacks! Grizzly bears! He described the wildlife-filled bay as a veritable Serengeti. It will of course never revert back to what it was. Our "progress" is deep and permanent. Even the seemingly pristine stretch of the Stanislaus River I had been photographing that morning is but an illusion of natural tranquility.
The water level is carefully controlled from the dam at Spicer Reservoir to give optimum amounts of power and water to the thirsty valley below. I went fishing for several hours and never saw a single fish.
It's a tough world for optimists and idealists, but you must have hope in something. I hope more people will kill the TV, go for a hike, take a dip in a remote swimming hole, and enjoy a sunset from a high mountaintop. It's the best program they'll ever see, and who knows, perhaps they might run across one of Faith's beautiful interpretive panels and learn something new.

Check out Faith's work: http://www.rummstudio.com

Motivate. Instigate.

-Jerry Dodrill
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Tahoe Workshop Trip Report

2008-06-22T14:28:00.000-07:00

Five days seemed like an eternity to spend with ten strangers. How would I keep everyone focused? What would they be like? Where would we go for our field shoots? Would the light work out? I'd done my prep work, but still felt the anxiety of anticipation. If I were climbing, I’d have stopped to shake out, focused on breathing, smiled, and put my head back together. But I wasn’t climbing, I was preparing to teach a photography workshop in Incline Village at Lake Tahoe’s Sierra Nevada College.
The jitters of the first day quickly subsided and the group settled into a nice groove. After orientation and introductions, we had a couple lectures, and the first of many delicious lunches in the cafeteria. By late afternoon we were in the field photographing near Sand Harbor. Next morning we were up early to shoot sunrise along the north Shore. Group dynamics are always an interesting part of the workshop experience. You want a mix of women and men, ages, and experience levels, and a healthy sense of humor. This class certainly had that. Of the ten participants, four were women, and there were four climbers. This was great and added an instant sense of brotherhood to the group. The age range varied nicely, with the youngest being seventeen. Of all the workshops I've done over the years, the energy of this group was among the best I've seen. With fifteen hours of sunlight, it quickly became apparent that sleep deprivation would be part of the program. The sun set at about eight thirty and rose at five. We were out late at night, up and out the door again by four or four thirty each morning. My philosophy for field sessions is to put people on location at the right place and right time so they have the opportunity to make exceptional photographs. I try to be available to help folks with their gear and equipment, answer questions, creative advice, and offer one-on-one time as participants work. I roam the area seeing if anyone needs help, but of course, also want to make some great images and feel obliged to bring quality work back to the critiques. So as the light begins to peak I’m often running from one location to the next, trying to bag my shots.
After our morning shoots we ate breakfast, downloaded and edited our photos and prepared for critique. The critiques are probably the most important part of a workshop. It is here that what we discuss in lectures, see in the field, and capture in-camera all come together to be evaluated. There are always amazing and unexpected images. You can put folks together at the same place in the field but will never see two images alike. In evaluations, people always say that they learned the most from critique, not just of their own images, but in observing and participating in the critique of what everyone else did as well.
When I was in college I was often frustrated by some of the soft-ball critiques art teachers would give to work that was obviously crap. Then, while working with Galen, I saw a whole different method. In his workshop critiques, he was always encouraging, never cruel, but dead honest in evaluating images. He would focus on the potential that an image had to become a finished piece. In this way, he found a positive way to give a tough critique that would inspire rather than intimidate a young photographer.
As we got deeper into the workshop, the participants really hit their artistic stride and the quality of their work increased with each critique. We all got accustomed to working creatively on limited sleep.
One direction I’ve been pushing is digital storytelling, and how we use photography as part of the way we tell stories and document our lives. So as the end of the workshop neared, we each worked on a final assignment to tell a story in pictures. I wasn’t sure how this would work, but with the mounting pressure of final critique, everyone went deep into the “zone” and came out with amazing projects. (I'll have to post some of those at a later date). All too soon, the class was over. Someone produced a case of Fat Tire (thanks Carol!), we toasted our new friends and parted, each in our separate ways. Over the five days we had a profoundly bonding creative experience. I want to thank all of the participants for a great workshop. I hope to see you again some day and will always cherish the time we shared chasing light on the shores of Lake Tahoe.
-Jerry Dodrill
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Lake Tahoe Workshop June 16-20, 2008

2008-06-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

There is still some space in my upcoming five day course at Sierra Nevada College, on the shore of Lake Tahoe at Incline Village. If you've been thinking about getting more serious about your photography, this is a great opportunity to just dive right in. Here is a link to the SNC web page where you can learn about the class and sign up online...

http://www.sierranevada.edu/898

Class in the Redwoods

2008-06-03T00:47:00.000-07:00

Cathedral Grove, Prairie Creek Redwoods

These past few months I’ve been teaching a photography class at Pacific Union College in Napa Valley. Teaching is a fun and rewarding experience, especially when you can get out of the classroom and spend quality time with your students. The highlight of this class is a three-day full-immersion landscape photography field trip. In the past, I’ve taken college students to Yosemite, Bishop, and Point Reyes, all excellent trips. This year we headed north to Redwood National Park and Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park where we packed in a full schedule of shooting and sight seeing. I am hoping to take a workshop up there in the fall or spring. Let me know if you are interested.

Gold Bluffs Beach

Driftwood at False Klamath Cove

Stream in Jedediah Smith Redwoods

Lupine at Gold Bluffs Beach

Trillium at Lady Bird Johnson Grove

Sea Palms and Crashing Wave

Lupine at Stone Lagoon

Red Car Wine Project

2008-05-27T21:31:00.000-07:00

Since last autumn I’ve been photographing for Carroll Kemp and his company; Red Car Wine. He is based down in Santa Maria but has vineyards here in western Sonoma County. When I began photographing, the fall colors were in full swing. It was a rich image making environment and I enjoyed working on the crisp foggy mornings.

All too soon, winter set in and the boney young vines proved challenging subjects. Pruning was a creative disaster. Bare stalks and wire just weren’t interesting, so like the vines I went dormant as well.

But soon enough, spring brought life to the land. Buds burst forth and wildflowers erupted everywhere.

With the recent warm weather, the vines are now growing wildly and looking great. You can view more of the images on the "vineyards" pages at www.redcarwine.com.

© Jerry Dodrill Photography
http://www.jerrydodrill.com

Picking at The Nose.

2008-05-27T10:38:00.000-07:00

The Nose of El Capitan is arguably the most striking visual line in Yosemite. Photographers and climbers alike are seduced by its shapely form. It was the first route climbed on the “Big Stone,” fifty years ago, back in 1958. Today it is one of the easiest, yet longest lines on El Cap, and that makes it the most popular as well. It was first climbed in a day in 1974, first free climbed in 1992, and the current speed record for the 3000’ face is less than three hours. I climbed the Zodiac, a shorter, harder, steeper line on the SE face, and a whole bunch of other big walls in the Valley, but always avoided The Nose and poopoo-ed it as being overdone, over crowded, a circus, and not a big deal. But the reality has crept into my mind that some day I’ll have to climb it.

Two years ago, Kevin Jorgeson and I roped up at the base intending to climb as far as Dolt Tower, a feature that rises to the one-third height. It was six in the morning on June 6, 2006. (That’s 6:00, 6/6/6. Perhaps a bad omen? Anyhow…) We got to Sickle Ledge, traversed right into the Stove Leg Cracks, and followed these perfect but ever widening splitters for four nearly vertical pitches to Dolt. I had greatly underestimated the Stove Legs. The ratings on these pitches are pretty tame but the climbing is burly and continuous. Starting as a thin finger crack, it widens to hands, fists, and finally 5.10c off-width. Better have some serious endurance if you plan to free these. I found myself pulling on gear, leapfrogging #3 and #4 cams up to the ledge and collapsed in a heap.

Kevin was a natural. This was his first time on a big wall and he was all psyched. We lounged on Dolt lying on our backs, looking up at the rest of the wall. Foreshortening played tricks on us and it didn’t look that big. We were happy to have done a third of the route in seven hours, and thought, this will be no problem. We rappelled down into strong afternoon winds that quickly tangled our ropes into a ball of knots and caused much difficulty. Eventually we made it down, but the Captain had slapped us into full attention. This isn’t a wall to take lightly.

Before venturing back up we decided to get some practice with the haul bag and porta ledge on smaller walls. This would give Kevin more experience with hauling procedures and help us get or entire system management and communication dialed in. We climbed Leaning Tower, a 1500’ overhanging spire to the right of Bridal Veil Fall. It went well and we figured that this year we were ready for another go on the Nose.

We drove to the Valley with a clear and determined sense of commitment, shouldered the enormous bags and headed for the base.

The weather called for a couple days of wind with a 20% chance of showers later in the week. That meant and 80% chance of sun. At 3pm we were roped up on our way to Sickle. We decided to haul everything with us to save time and energy and bivuac on our portaledge. (Most parties climb to Sickle and fix ropes down to the ground, then haul their gear up the fixed lines the next day. This is easier, but takes longer.)

The wind was blasting from the West as we climbed. The sun came and went between clouds and illuminated the headwall above. It was a peaceful night and we slept well.

Next morning we were up before sunrise and a team of strong Basque brothers (Eneko and Iker Pou) passed us. They were trying the Nose In A Day (NIAD). They were moving fast with no bags and were in high spirits. We advised them of the high winds, which they acknowledged and moved on. The traverse was done in good time. We lowered out and hauled the heavy bags and continued up. The morning wind came up with the sun. Today it was from the East and had a cold bite. Several pitches up the Stove Legs, we wore all of our clothes and the increasing gale was blowing straight through us.

Above, the Pou Brothers started to rappel as the wind was too intense. Kevin and I yelled into each other’s ears to be heard and decided to bail as well. We climbed a bit more to reach a rappel anchor and started putting gear away in preparation for descent. Meanwhile, Iker and Eneko were having trouble. Their ropes had hung up in a crack and were stuck. Eneko clipped in and went back up to free it, rappelled back down, and pulled the rope again. The wind blew that rope around the Nose like dental floss on a car antennae at eighty miles an hour. It was hopelessly stuck, lodged somewhere out of sight around the corner. There was much desperate communication between us. We were freezing and ready to rappel, but waited to see if they needed help. Their only option was to cut the rope. This left them two options; 1) continue to the top with the remaining rope (Only 40M. Desperate!), or 2) make several short rappels, leaving gear behind, and rappel down with us. They did not have enough rope to make it down on their own.

The climbing brotherhood transcends culture, language, and personal goals. In times of need, we bond together to help each other. Sometimes the proverbial crap hits the fan remarkably fast, as it did that day. In a moment, two amazing climbers were faced with a potential nightmare. But through the course of adversity, strong lifelong friendships and deep meaningful relationships are formed in the forge of shared history.

Instead of suffering, we all rappelled down, relieved, laughing at the situation, happy to have helped, and to have been helped. Later in the afternoon, we sat on the deck in Curry Village eating pizza, swapping stories, and learning about Basque country with our new friends. The Nose will always be there and we will climb it another day.

Welcome to my blog!

2008-05-24T18:18:00.000-07:00

Greetings Friends! For those of you who have been watching my regular website (http://www.jerrydodrill.com), or stopped by Bodega looking for us, you'll know that Arienne and I closed our photography gallery back in February. We greatly appreciate everyone who helped make that endeavor a huge success. Thank you! But after five years, and exacerbated by the downturn in the economy, our hearts were craving change. I needed more time in the mountains, behind the lens, climbing, traveling, and getting after it. The gallery both fed and drained my creative energy, and it was past time for Arienne to pursue her own dreams. Sitting in one place too long stifles the spirit.

I can't believe the opportunities that present themselves when you step out the door and shut it behind you. The world is there in front of you to see and experience. What I miss is the friends and regular visitors who stopped by to say hello and see what was new. It was you who kept me going. We are moving forward and the path is exciting.

So watch the regular website, but stay tuned here for current news, trip reports from climbing and photo excursions, random thoughts, perspectives. There's no telling how this will evolve.

Cheers,
Jerry Dodrill