Solitude

sol·i·tude
noun \ˈsä-lə-ˌtüd, -ˌtyüd\
Definition
1: the quality or state of being alone or remote from society : seclusion
2: a lonely place (as a desert)

It’s my instinctive inclination to think of solitude as one of the fringe benefits of the kind of photography that I like to pursue.  Finding oneself alone in a place of great beauty is something of a natural side effect of photographing the landscape in the most flattering light.  The “beauty” part is fairly obvious; it’s presumably what draws someone to a spot in the first place.  Of course others are drawn there as well, but for the most part, people don’t want to be inconvenienced by getting up very early simply to see a specific place in the first light of morning, or to stay out so late as to be on location when the last light of the evening is cast.  As a landscape photographer, I am willing to be so “put upon” and so I reap the rewards of “nuisance.”  (I should be so lucky to always suffer such a “bother.”)

Mt. Hood from Trillium Lake, Mt. Hood National Forest, Oregon

Of course, other photographers are every bit as attuned to the matter of light quality as I am and when it comes to popular–dare I say iconic–locations, it’s not only possible to find oneself among others when the good light comes, it’s to be expected.  These are the kinds of things you simply have to expect if you want to shoot sunrise at, say, Oxbow Bend at Grand Teton National Park or Mesa Arch at Canyonlands National Park.  It will be a surprise, in such instances, if you don’t encounter a forest of tripod legs.

Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Channel Islands from the Hurricane Ridge Road, Olympic National Park, Washington

The key to finding solitude amidst the landscape is finding your own spots.  It’s not necessary that one hike tens of miles into the back country to find solitude (though there’s nothing wrong with that approach, if you know what you’re doing and are up to it physically).  It’s possible to find oneself alone without being too far off the beaten path, if one’s cards are played properly, which usually means optimizing timing.  Many of the most heavily populated locations, after all, are deserted at certain, rather predictable, times.

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While I’ve enjoyed photographing with others, I believe that the vast majority of my best shooting has been done alone.  Some of the reasons for this are tangible and fairly obvious.  For instance, when shooting solo, one can decide where to go and how long to stay, without having to consult with or take account of anyone else, all of which certainly makes it easier to “work the site.”

Bisti Arch Moonrise, Bisti Badlands, New Mexico

But some of the reasons are more subtle and intangible in nature.  When shooting alone, I find it easier to really get the feel of a place.  It’s difficult to describe, but I find myself more able to absorb the essence of a location when no one else is around.  Maybe this is because there are fewer distractions.  Maybe my senses are heightened.  Maybe I don’t have to worry about having my vision confounded by that of someone else.  Perhaps it’s a combination of all of these things.  Whatever the explanation, I think I “see” more clearly when I’m by myself.  And seeing is the essence of photography.

Blackbird Knob Trail, Dolly Sods Wilderness, Monongahela National Forest, West Virginia

Photography aside, I find myself much more a part of the landscape when I’m alone.  The feelings accompanying solitude require work to summon when I’m caught up in the humdrum drudgery of day-to-day life in civilization.  My forays into the landscape encompass a kind of mental health refresher course that allow me to experience solitude with comparatively little effort; my camera gear is really my companion, providing a way to help me remember and relive these feelings during the bulk of my time that is not spent amidst nature’s beauty.

Red Jack Lake, Hiawatha National Forest, Michigan