Solitude and the Denial of Stress

This is the story of a day of photography, but I expect the concepts can be adapted to nearly any medium.

I was once part of a discussion in a photography forum, about how frustrating it can be when we feel as if our artistic eye isn't growing, or we fall into a slump. We've got all the technical skills down pat, but our images seem flat, boring, or lackluster. It was one of the most active threads for group in quite a while, with a lot of well-thought-out responses, and words of encouragement for the original poster. The subject line of the thread was, “my love and my frustration”.

Most of the serious artists that I know, professional or amateur, feel the need for occasional solitude. Time alone and away from the stress of the world. We need to deny ourselves the day-to-day stress of getting through life; a day to stop and allow our creative juices to flow freely. For me, a day of solitude provides opportunity to contemplate my life, philosophize to myself, and lose myself in the viewfinder. Yes, I still use the viewfinder, in spite of having an articulated live view screen. But that’s a whole other discussion.

It helps to have a special place where you feel completely comfortable and able to just relax and play with the camera. For me that place is Gifford Pinchot National Forest, in southern Washington State. More specifically, the Mt Adams Ranger District. I was born and raised on the outskirts of Gifford Pinchot, and have spent most of my life within a 2-hour drive of its borders. This is where I feel truly and completely at home. When I’m there, I am able to completely relax.

On March 25, 2005, the weekend following my birthday, I took off on one of my days of solitude, aiming my truck for Gifford Pinchot. I had planned this day for weeks. It was my birthday present to myself. By “planning” I mean I knew the date I was going, and that I was going to spend the day in the Mt Adams District of the Gifford Pinchot. No details for a specific location, no time schedule. Too much detail would have created stress. As my wife can tell you, all too often I don’t handle stress well; it usually handles me.

The winter of 2004-2005 had been especially dry and replete with beautiful sunny days. Several high temperature records for February and March were broken that winter. Then the week of my trip, the weather turned wet and cool; basically things were back to normal. I kept an eye on the weather in the days leading up to my trip. Luckily that day was supposed to be the day between storms, and thus partly cloudy and relatively warm. My day was saved; the weather would be perfect for photography.

The night before, I made the decision to be out of the house by 5:00 a.m. so that I could start my day shooting sunrise in the Columbia River Gorge. From there, I would head straight for Gifford Pinchot for the remainder of the day, and try to catch the evening alpenlight on Mt Adams before heading home.

I arrived at Chanticleer Point about 5:50 a.m. I got a little wet during my futile wait for the sun to do something spectacular. Don’t get me wrong, it was a pleasant sunrise and I enjoyed it immensely, but I just wasn’t seeing any photographs. I left Chanticleer about 6:30 and began to work my way east on the Columbia Gorge Historic Scenic Highway, heroically resisting the mighty pull of “Waterfall Row” as many of us like to call it. I wanted to get to the peace and quiet of the forest as quickly as possible. If you’ve ever been down Waterfall Row you know just how difficult it was for me to drive on by without stopping. I probably should have taken the interstate!

Around 8:00a.m. I topped off my tank in Trout Lake, and bought a couple maps at the ranger station. After talking to the forest ranger about the road conditions, I realized that the snow hadn’t melted nearly as fast as I’d expected, in spite of the warm weather. I wasn’t going very deep into the forest today. I headed toward Bird Creek Meadows on the 82 road. After about 5 miles or so I was blocked by snow. At this point I stopped and studied the map a little, and decided that I would just wander aimlessly for a while and see what I found.

Eventually I found a landing and stopped to enjoy the quiet. I’m always overwhelmed by the quiet of the forest, with only the occasional breeze, bird chirp, eagle screech, a wood pecker hammering away at a tree, and of course my mild tinnitus. I quickly felt myself relax and become part of the environment.

Eventually I moseyed over to see what was over the rise in front of me. Finding nothing of interest, I came back to the truck, unloaded my gear, and set up the camera and tripod. I spent the next 2+ hours just snapping pictures in this one area. I nearly filled up a 2-gig CF card (I was shooting a Canon Digital Rebel – a 6MP sensor). I didn't come away with much, but I got lost in the viewfinder for a while and enjoyed every minute of it.

Knowing that I was relegated to a few roads near the southeast borders of the forest, I spent much of the rest of the day with the truck in 1st gear, eased out the clutch, and kept my foot off the accelerator. I just letting Ol' Bessy crawl along the forest roads at idle, as I kept my eyes open for photo ops.

I spent the entire day shooting with my Canon EF 70-200 f/4L, occasionally attaching my newly acquired extension tubes for some close-up and macro work. As it turned out, I didn't shoot the sunset that evening, but I had a peaceful easy day alone, and that’s what mattered most. I wasn’t on a strict itinerary, and I took what fate gave me that day. Fate didn't give me a sunset; no alpenlight today.

I ended my day at Trout Lake Creek campground. Being late March, I had the place all to myself. I sat by the water for an hour or so just... you guessed it, losing myself in the viewfinder, snapping comps of the boulders and rapids. While I was reviewing some of the shots, I looked up and saw the image that captured the essence of my day. I zoomed in on a section of stream coming at me with the water lazily taking the path of least resistance in and around the large rocks.



By now I was so relaxed, I was ready to craw in the back of the truck and sleep for the night, but I hadn't packed any camping gear so I had to head for the barn. It was a successful day.

I highly recommend this kind trip to any photographer at least once a year. If you've been struggling through a creative dry spell, get away from life for a day. If the forest isn't your thing, try the desert; or if you’re at home in the city, find a Saturday market or a favorite park. Wherever you choose, make sure you’re effectively alone, and no one is holding you to a schedule. Feel free to get home really late. On this particular trip, I left home at 5:00 a.m. and pulled into the driveway 16 hours later. I was too worn out to even dump my CF cards to the hard drive that night.

These trips always give me lots of time to think and always have a positive effect on my photography.

Go lose yourself in the viewfinder; it’s rewarding therapy.