Foreword

At 7:45 p.m. on Sunday, July 25, 1993, I sauntered down the hill from Shelf Lake at 11,200 feet above sea level in Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park. I was headed to ponds of water in the alpine tundra that would reflect the west face of Longs Peak when it turned orange at sunset. It was day four of a weeklong expedition into the park’s Tyndall, Chaos, Loch Vale, and Glacier gorges with three “sherpas,” Jon, Greg, and Jim. At the end of day seven, we would have backpacked 45 miles, gained and lost 16,000 feet in elevation, and photographed 16 subalpine and alpine lakes. The boys each carried 70 pounds of food, tents, sleeping bags, and clothing, and I carried 65 pounds of large format 4x5 camera equipment.

I had seen the ponds that morning on the way up to the remote and untrailed Solitude Lake, and added them to my mental list of potential reflection photographs at sunset and sunrise. After a group dinner of our obligatory and nightly ramen noodles with canned chicken, onions, and bricks of cream cheese (with fat for energy), Jon and I walked down to the ponds with the camera gear. From a distance I saw the tiny silhouette of a person against the brightly lit Longs Peak. As I approached the ponds, I realized that this was a large format photographer, just like me, who had planted his tripod exactly where I had predicted I would plant mine earlier in the day! What were the odds that another professional photographer would end up miles from anywhere, and in a location not even accessible by a trail?

I introduced myself. He told me that he was Glenn Randall. We had not met before, but I recognized him as a nature photographer from Boulder. I also knew that he had a very good eye for composition, and, in fact, he was composing Longs Peak reflecting in the pond the way I had intended to design my image. Good photographers try to get the proportions exactly right, and in this case, I needed to set up my tripod where his already stood. I couldn’t very well ask him to move, so I negotiated overlapping my tripod legs with his. No harm, no foul.

For the next half hour, replacing exposed film with unexposed using sheet film holders in the backs of our cameras, spending $6 a shot and not knowing if we could feed our families the following week, we made sublime images of blood orange Longs Peak reflecting in the still water. When the sun finally set at 8:20 p.m., I asked Glenn if he would like to spend the night with us. It was my first year of a two-year project endorsed by the National Park Service, and I had permission to camp in Rocky Mountain National Park wherever I needed to. Glenn declined and chose to hike the seven miles back to Bear Lake trailhead in the dark.

This experience told me a lot about Glenn Randall. Good photography is the product of hard work and diligent planning. Study your maps, research daily paths of sun and moon, and preconceive what photographs to make before you ever get there. Scout locations to know beforehand where to make your finest images. The best photograph is made with “99% perspiration and 1% inspiration” says Glenn. If you never stop experimenting with designs and compositions, ultimately you will find that creativity that all artists seek. Be patient but learn to meter, compose, and expose quickly, for the finest moments of light are transitory.

I, like Glenn, have been exploring nature with a camera for more than 40 years. I know well what it takes to succeed. The second edition of The Art, Science, and Craft of Great Landscape Photography will teach you how to get more from your camera than you ever imagined. More importantly, it will guide you along the path that ends where, as Glenn says, “those who see your photographs will feel that they were standing next to you.”

John Fielder

Nature Photographer

Summit County, Colorado

Coxcomb Peak and Redcliff from the summit of Uncompahgre Peak at sunrise, Uncompahgre Wilderness, Uncompahgre National Forest, Colorado. Ebony SW-45 field camera, Fujichrome film. Lens and exposure unrecorded.