Yosemite Moonbows and How My Tent Rolled Down Kearsarge Pass
In last month’s article, I documented an instance in which I bit off more than I could chew when it came to hiking a trail. That theme continues this month. My Memorial Day backpacking trip into Kings Canyon National Park turned into a comedy of errors.
Before that happened, however, I made another trip to Yosemite National Park. Last time, I visited in part to photograph rainbows; this time, I dropped by to photograph a moonbow. I first learned about them a few years ago. Moonbows occur in much the same circumstances as regular rainbows, but with moonlight instead of sunlight. To the naked eye, the moonbow appears white, but a camera can capture its various colors. I found out through Brian Hawkin’s website that a moonbow appears over Yosemite Falls several times a year if conditions lined up. Based on the estimates he provided for this year, I planned a weekend trip to the park during one of those windows.
So far as I know, I have only seen one other film photograph of a Yosemite Falls moonbow, from Keith Walket. All other photos I’ve encountered have been made on digital. As a result, I could take some degree of pride in knowing that I would be doing something a bit different, often a tall order when photographing in Yosemite. It would be a bit of a technical challenge. With a digital camera, a photographer can easily crank up the sensor’s sensitivity to light, record a shorter exposure of a scene, and double check the results on the screen. As a stubborn film shooter, I lacked all those capabilities, so I had to maximize my chances with some gear and technical choices.
I decided to use Fujifilm Provia 100F, a film well-suited to night photography because, unlike most color film, it does not require any exposure compensation for shots lasting up to two minutes. However, the fastest lens I had, the Nikkor 35mm AF-D, only opened up to an aperture of f/2, which meant that my exposure times needed to be at least a minute long. Based on Brian’s advice, any exposure longer than that risked the moonbow’s colors blurring as its position changed. I was cutting it close. Just to be safe, I borrowed a Nikkor 50mm f/1.4 AI-S lens from my friend Tiffany. The extra stop allowed me the flexibility to cut my exposure times down to 30 seconds.
On the night I arrived in the park, I hiked out to the footbridge at Lower Yosemite Falls, surprised to find a row of photographers already lined up against the railing facing the water. One of them kindly gave me some room, and I set up my camera and tripod there. As I’ve said before, I do not enjoy shooting in misty conditions. Water gets everywhere and it becomes a challenge to keep your camera dry. Because of the lengthier exposure times and the resulting increase in mist, in many of my photos I wiped down my lens in the middle of taking the photo. I bracketed several shots with both my 35mm and 50mm lens due to my uncertainty about how the moonbow would turn out depending on the exposure time. Thankfully, even the photos that were a half-stop underexposed turned out quite nicely.
With that visit seemingly successful, I turned my attention to the Memorial Day backpacking trip. When I first booked the permit for Kearsarge Pass, I had some vague notion of it being a strenuous hike, but thought it easily doable nonetheless. It would be my first time reaching 11,000 feet above sea level and crossing the crest of the Sierra Nevada. I thought of it as a perfect warm-up for an upcoming summer filled with several demanding backpacking trips. It was indeed the perfect warm-up, but for all the wrong reasons.
On the first day, I realized before leaving for the trailhead that I had forgotten to bring gloves with me. I paid a visit to a local outdoor gear shop but didn’t quite find what I wanted. I made do with some climbing gloves, as I wanted enough dexterity to use my phone and my camera.
After watching the Champions League Final in my car (Liverpool should have won!), I drove up to the trailhead and prepared to hike out. I struggled up the never-ending switchbacks as the trail gained about 1,200 feet of elevation in the span of two-and-a-half miles. The pain of hiking up switchback after switchback lessened somewhat when I noticed the beautiful scenery all around me.
I arrived at Matlock Lake in a mad rush. I knew I needed to set up camp before dark, but the clouds and light on the mountains over the lake looked better with each passing minute. After a few quick snapshots, I started setting up my tent, but the 40-mile-an-hour winds made it an exercise in frustration as my tent almost blew away on several occasions. I tried a combination of using rocks to weigh down the stakes and resting my backpack on the tent itself, both with seemingly little effect. It was only when the wind died down that I could finally set up camp in peace. With that done, I set off with my camera to the lake shore and photographed away as the sun set.
Once the sun dipped below the mountains, I prepared to set up my camera and tripod to do a few long exposures. I reached into my backpack to grab a headlamp…only to find that I had forgotten to bring it. Usually that would be a minor setback, as I often bring a camp lantern. But this time, I had ditched that in the car due to concerns over its weight and bulk. As a result, I had no means of illumination other than my phone flashlight. Undeterred, I set up my camera anyway, and made several images as the sky darkened.
For my last picture of the day, I decided to go for an ultra-long exposure on my Nikon F3 and left the shutter open for about 45 minutes. When I returned to the camera, I released the shutter but did not hear a click. Confused, I proceeded to remove the lens and shone my flashlight into the camera to take a better look. Much to my horror, I found the shutter still open, meaning my flashlight had just ruined the picture I spent the better part of the last hour photographing. After some more investigating, I found that the battery had died, and locked the shutter open. Dejected, and unwilling to spend more time in the cold and wind, I retreated to the tent with my gear and went to bed.
The next day, I packed up and started up the rest of the trail to Kearsarge Pass. It ended up being one of the hardest hikes I could remember. As I approached the 11,000-foot mark, I stopped at every single switchback to catch my breath. Later I learned that the air at that altitude contains only about two-thirds of the oxygen you would find at sea level, which explains a lot. I noticed a fellow hiker in front of me slowly making her way up to the pass as well. Eventually we ran into each other and introduced ourselves. Chana mentioned that this hike had become a Memorial Day tradition for her, and that this trip was her attempt to do some conditioning before a big backpacking trip later in the summer. We hiked together and bonded over the shared misery.
After painfully breathtaking hike, we finally reached the top of Kearsarge Pass, at 11,710 feet. The rest of the hike towards Kearsarge Lakes proceeded smoothly as we descended. Chana and I parted ways on the way down. After setting up camp and eating a late lunch, I explored the lakeshore and found some wildflowers. Clouds continued to roll in through the area, meaning I had some nice diffuse light throughout the afternoon.
When sunset rolled around, I hiked back up the trail towards Kearsarge Pass to find a good vantage point of the area. I felt cautiously optimistic about the conditions as I noticed clouds rolling in at the other end of the valley. Unfortunately, at this point the photography-related misfortunes began. Those clouds kept rolling and soon covered the entire valley in thick fog, which lifted only after the sun had disappeared. To make matters worse, a roll of film snapped in my F3 as I rewound it, putting the camera out of commission for the rest of the trip. Thankfully, I had a second camera body, but the series of mishaps with the F3 made me wonder if the camera had been cursed with some persistent bad luck. The jury’s still out on that one.
I had a difficult night’s sleep. This was my first time backpacking in the shoulder season, and though I knew that I’d encounter some cold, I didn’t expect the temperatures to drop into the 20s. I woke up to find that my water filter and hydration bladder had all frozen during the night. That kind of cold also meant that I needed every ounce of motivation I could summon to get out of my sleeping bag for sunrise.
As the sun rose and the alpenglow on the peaks intensified, I hurried to revisit and photograph some scenes from the day before. Here, my fingerless gloves failed me. I had bought them because I wanted extra dexterity, but instead my fingers became so cold that I could barely operate my camera or my phone. Ironic indeed.
On my way out, I ran into Chana again and we hiked together back up towards the pass. We made it to the top of the pass, tired but no worse for wear. Unfortunately, the moment of triumph soon turned into tragedy. Fifteen minutes or so after resuming our hike down from Kearsarge Pass, Chana pointed out something rolling down the mountain side behind me. I turned around, saw a familiar-looking stuff sack rolling at a steady clip down the 45-degree incline, and then my heart sank when I realized said bag contained my tent. It kept rolling…and rolling…and rolling…so long that I soon heard the Benny Hill theme song playing in my head as the tent continued its absurd and ignominious descent towards Big Pothole Lake.
Tent-related misfortunes aside, the rest of the hike back to civilization passed by uneventfully. I made it back to my car and drove back into Bishop for a well-deserved late lunch. On my way home, I happened to pass through Yosemite in time for sunset and found a few compositions that caught my eye.
I’ll admit, when I first got the pictures back from the lab, I felt quite disappointed at how the pictures turned out. The moonbow pictures turned out better than I expected, but I thought the photos from the Memorial Day trip left something to be desired. Looking back, I still feel that my compositions could have been better if I had more time to explore the area and hone in on the right scenes, but I don’t think I view the trip as a failure anymore. Regardless of the photographic results, I still enjoyed my time out in the wilderness visiting somewhere new. In the past, the disappointment would have stayed with me. Now, I have actively tried to reframe my perspective on my “unlucky” trips. They’re learning opportunities, which help me to find better photographs the next time I visit. I certainly learned quite a bit.
More importantly, I learned that I needed to be much better prepared for my next trip. On my next backpacking trip, I made sure to bring the gloves and the headlamp. I also bought a new tent.