I stand in the spot where he stood, watching mist swirl over the snake river, analyzing.
Like him?
He was a genius; waiting, waiting, waiting for the moment.
The decisive moment, the perfect light at the perfect time.
But then he would work; burning, dodging, technique and technical perfection.
Large format, huge, camera mounted to the roof of a car.
Light meters, analysis, an epic beard.
He sold black and white in an era of technicolor.
Why not?
I am too restless to be like him.
Climbing, chasing, impatient.
I do not even take a picture from the ledge overlooking the Snake river.
Why compete, tarnish the sacred?
But then the clouds break. . .
A road to the river, let’s take it.
A clear pool, let’s try a reflection.
Sunlight streaks and I sprint down the riverside trail.
Peaks visible for just 30 seconds, then gone again.
I forget everything save the chase, the positioning, the light, the awe.
