I sat in my room, cleaning lenses and loading film holders. I stopped, for the tenth time and read the Death Valley Daily Report; “Morning Forecast; Severe Thunderstorms, Flash Flood Warnings”. I was tired from the days work and quickly fell asleep dreaming of… thunderstorms.

 The Big Ben wind-up rang at 4:15am. I dressed, grabbed cameras and gear and jumped in the truck. I drove to the registration desk for a cup of coffee with John and Phil, Stovepipe’s night crew. We looked up at the starless sky and made predictions. Storms were coming. The question was where to take the camera. I chose Zabriskie Point, hoping to photograph storms crossing the valley. On Rt. 190, I could see thunderheads gathering in the east, right were the sun would rise. It’s pointless to worry, better to appreciate what’s there than chase expectations. I worried anyway.

I pulled into a deserted Zabriskie parking lot, 20 minutes before sunrise. In ten minutes my 8X10 was up and Manley Beacon glowed on the ground glass. The valley and distant mountains were streaked in morning light as huge thunderheads flew above. I turned and watched the eastern peaks behind the camera. There just above the glow where the sun would clear the mountain peaks sat a collapsing patch of blue. I was hoping for just a moment of light on Manley Beacon. I placed the film holder in the camera, pulled the dark slide and waited for sunrise. For an instant there was light, everywhere. I made the two-second exposure you see.  Before I could replace the dark slide and turn the film holder, the clouds closed and light vanished. There would be no second chance.

 I placed the tripod and camera on the ground as the wind accelerated. I was just in time. Powerful winds struck, pushing me over a 4-foot wall to a lower ledge. I missed by a foot falling another 15-feet. I got back over the wall grabbed the tripod and backpack and ran 300 yards to my truck. I was carrying a 6-foot aluminum tripod in an open parking lot. Somehow I was not lit-up. When I got back to Stovepipe I ran into 2 photographers cleaning their cameras. They had been on the dunes, “Wow you really missed it! It was just incredible on the dunes” well…with one behind ya can’t ride two horses.

I drove north on Saline Valley Rd, in predawn gray. Wandering over Hunter Mountain pass and through Hidden Valley. I was chasing hopes and thunderstorms, both born above the Sierra and flying across Death Valley.

At Tea Kettle Junction, I turned left towards “Racetrack” (in my opinion an unfortunate name for an ancient and beautiful place). I made a few exposures under heavy skies. There was a soft illumination revealing the playa and rock in dark gray and silver.

 I packed up the 8X10 and realized I was tired of rough road and wanted nothing more than my room and shower at Stovepipe. I passed “The Uhebehe Volcanic” formation around 3:30-pm and after 9 hours; I was back on paved road.

 I came to the junction of Rt. 190; a powerful thunderstorm was about to cross the northern portion of Death Valley. Realizing there was little time, I raced along the highway looking for something to place in front of the camera and beneath the sky and storm. I parked and carried the 8X10 onto the valley floor. I thought…death by lightning bolt, would be quick.

 You can see the salt creek formations in the foreground winding into the valley. The crossing thunderstorm was about to disappear very near Telescope Peak. I missed by seconds a chance to photograph my first lightening bolt. It struck during the exposure just outside the frame… “the one that got away”.

 I pulled into Stovepipe’s registration desk to let them know I was back…I was 90 minutes late. “Well…we were just about to send out rangers and bring back what ever was left”. I thanked them and apologized for being late… They watch out for folks at Stovepipe as Death Valley is well named.

I begin desert walks an hour before sunrise and in the afternoon 90 minutes before sunset. I hope to arrive at some spot and expose a scene using sidelight. When the sun is just above the horizon, the shadows are deep and long and the light, golden.

 I often work in Death Valley during the week of full moon. I might arrive 3 days before full moon, remaining 2 or 3 days after.

 In this way, I can photograph at moonrise or moonset when the sun is just above the horizon. Early morning walks beneath a full moon reveal the desert in deep gray silver tones. I feel as if I am in the midst of a place, outside ordinary time. I try to remain inwardly quiet and present to experience the desert.

 On this particular summer afternoon, I set out at 5pm anticipating the 6:30 moonrise above the eastern mountains. I looked for dune scene to place below the moon. When facing the full or near full moon the sun is directly behind the camera. It can be challenging to record detail in the dunes under that light.

 I print the image allowing the sky and dunes to darken. I hope you see in my print a distant reflection of the exquisite beauty of Death Valley in glowing shades of silver beneath moonlight.

I watched the storm through the windshield and thought, “Even if I was crazy I wouldn’t leave this truck”. Dense clouds of sand driven by 60-mph winds flew 500 feet above the desert. What appeared through the window was incredible. I sat in my truck and set-up the 4X5 camera in case of a courage attack. Thunder and lightening struck above the truck shaking my bones. I felt very small…my heart sinking to a place, beneath the road.

 In a moment the clouds over the western mountains broke and sunlight flooded the desert… I had my chance.

 I stopped thinking, grabbed the camera and jumped out. I walked for 15 minutes hood pulled up and head down to avoid flying sand. I stopped to measure progress and realized I was off course. The dunes lay far in the distance. Thinking hopefully of my truck, I turned to mark the return path. The truck, the mountains and road were nearly gone, there was only sand. Looking back towards the dunes the scene on the ground was still clear. I was lost in thought looking for a place ½ mile closer to the dunes to place the tripod… Thunder exploded above me. I was on the ground when a flash of lightening turned everything bright white. I got up suddenly realizing I had walked enough; the spot I was standing on was perfect.

 I dropped the backpack, opened the tripod and focused a shaking camera. I thought the camera and bellows would fly off. I made two exposures, then the sand hit. I packed up and followed a best guess direction but was blinded by flying sand. There, above the desert, the air glowed dim gold; it was sunset. I walked west towards the gold light. Eventually I found Rt.-190 and followed the line of the road until I bumped into my truck. 

 I sat exhausted, covered in sand. I watched lightening bolts thick as oak trees strike the desert. Back at Stovepipe, I spent the evening cleaning every item in my camera pack. Days later I was still removing sand from my ears. During that walk in the desert my hair stood on end in response to lightening bolts. The experience was magnificent.