04 Apr There Are Eyes Halfway Up That Ridge
There Are Eyes Halfway Up That Ridge
by Jon Presto
[avatar user=”Jon Presto” size=”thumbnail” align=”left” link=”https://www.penandtrail.com/author/jon-presto/” target=”_blank” /]
Riding down the open road on a dirt bike, backpack full with camera gear, saddle bags topped off of camping gear. No cars in sight, maybe a few trucks every fifty miles. Crosswinds blowing strong, just as they typically do once you hit Wyoming. There are no more mountains. The only things around are the beating sun, rolling hills, and those pesky trucks. Crosswinds have the bike sideways, but riding in a straight line isn’t too hard if you keep the speed above eighty and lean a little. It seems there could be nothing more exhilarating on such a trip, right?
Wrong.
All of the confidence that comes from racing down the highway or walking into restaurants alone with a fourteen inch Ka-bar on your waist, dirt everywhere, and a red bandana around your neck in the only time socially acceptable to wear one. It all goes out the window once you run into something bigger and badder. Flies out the window, and at breakneck speeds, to be more exact. That was the situation I had come into during my last night in Moab, Utah.
I always bring two things on any trip; a large knife and bear spray. They’re both on my waist at all times, just for comfort. Travelling alone can be freaky, to put it frankly. This night in particular I decided to head into a much less travelled area of Arches National Park. Eye of The Whale Arch, was my goal. It looked to be about a three quarter mile hike from a dirt road, which only myself and 4×4 trucks would be able to head down. It was also quite a few miles down this road. Going in at sunset, I knew I would likely be alone. This was exactly what I wanted.
A lot of us travel for the connection, as well as the solitude. To have a mix of both, where you can come upon an area, connect deeply with those you come across, then wander off into the sunset towards the next destination; that’s living. In my opinion, at least. Today was solitude. I finally saw the formation from my map come into view, and there was only one white jeep with two girls walking towards it. They pretty much left as I arrived. I unpacked my photo gear, unaware of what I would shoot, or how, just knowing that this “Eye of the Whale” arch was my goal. I didn’t even know what it looked like. Figured it would make sense once I saw it.
The trail looked to be about what I expected. I started as the sun was sinking behind the protrusion of sandstone, which I suspected I would be walking around, or into.
After about fifteen minutes of casually taking in the silence, the trail led me up to a large alcove in the rock. Now the tone changes. Nothing was casual anymore. I leaped up and down everything in my way, full of excitement to find this hidden arch before the sun’s golden color disappeared from the scene. I’m sure anybody with a camera can understand the fleeting feeling. Chasing that good light, as if the Sun itself is going to disappear forever once it falls beneath the blurring horizon. Although the color wasn’t fantastic, I knew my real prize would appear after dark. I am an astrophotographer. It’s my job to start an adventure at the same time most are looking for a restaurant back in town.
The arch was obvious. A little hole tucked into the back of the alcove, with a beautiful scene framed directly through it. Attempting to contain my excitement, I had immediately started planning my next four hours. Being that the sun was only now setting, I would have to wait quite a while before I could do my thing. I ended up taking various shots to get my brain spinning.
[Best_Wordpress_Gallery id=”2″ gal_title=”Mohab Utah”]
Everything was absolutely perfect. I had my compass out and shots of the Milky Way planned hours before they would happen. The only thing left was to shoot an image of the foreground in the same place I would later capture my first shot of the galaxy, allowing me to later layer the two together for maximum detail. This would be my money shot. Then the idea hit me. I had steel wool in my bag, which I hadn’t even used the entire trip. Was it worth it to get it?
Absolutely.
I immediately ran back to the bike, in what seemed like mere moments compared to the long walk I had taken earlier. I left my thirty pounds of gear at the shoot site, being that I had been the only soul for miles. Ripping the stuff out of the bottom of my saddle bags and leaving the rest a slight mess compared to my usual tight pack, I ran back off just as it began getting to be the exact amount of light I would need to illuminate the foreground on a two and a half second exposure.
I would really regret leaving everything in shambles just a few hours later. That, of course, wasn’t on my mind now though. I now had the perfect shot in mind. Once I get going, I can’t stop. I have witnesses to that, and those witnesses know that when I’m alone I’ll push even harder. It wasn’t dark enough to see the Milky Way yet, but being my fourth night out, I knew where it would be already.
That is the best part about the night; being out for this transition which we call twilight. The bright orange glow which covered everything like an amorphous blanket fades from thick to thin, slowly being replaced by a dull blue tint. The blue itself then slowly darkens over the next hour, each minute revealing a new point of light in the sky, from the brightest to the slightest. Depending on who you are, just a few of those points can reveal the entire night sky.
I was about a quarter of the way into this hour. With some stars coming out, I locked on and threw my camera down into its semi-permanent position for the next hour and a half. The first photo of the set had been taken. Now it was real. I was satisfied, so setting my Nikon to work out a few shots automatically, I took a walk around the wall in the last shot. Coming around, being in complete silence, I heard what I can only describe as.. a fluff.. and a puff.
That’s when I saw this unholy violation of every bit of privacy I’ve ever had in my entire life.
Eyes on the damn ridge. Eyes. On. That. Damned. Ridge.
If you want to make sense of that, just think about this alcove, and that it was upon the protrusion of rock itself. Walking around on this, one could find walls and higher platforms of rock all over the place. Well, the fluff and puff I mentioned earlier happened to be a mountain lion, comfortably resting on a higher ridge fifty meters away from where I was, who upon hearing me lifted his(her?) head, took a deep breath, and glanced over.
No matter how many moments spent wondering about your first encounter with wildlife, nothing can prepare you for making eye contact with a creature which could easily challenge your very existence if it had reason to. That feeling rushing through you, especially on a lone trip, is almost indescribable. Fear comes and slips away, immediately being replaced by a sickeningly tense readiness. Nothing feels real, and the only thing there is that moment and the mountain lion.
Now unfortunately, I had a mission there. I had something in mind and every last bit of me wanted to accomplish it. For those familiar with It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, the next two hours only happened thanks to an infinite loop of Charlie & Dennis’s Dayman song, forever cursing the Nightman into oblivion from my Samsung. It didn’t move from its perch, and I didn’t dare move my camera from its perfect spot to voluntarily face this beast, waiting on the other side of the very wall protecting my last slim bit of comfort.
There’s the explanation for all of you “pictures or it didn’t happen” people. That guy wasn’t my goal, he just so happened to be my terrifying neighbor, whom I was forced to spend time with due to a prior arrangement. It was time for me to get back to work.
Anyway.. The steel wool was the largest confidence booster of the night. I control fire, leave me alone; this was my first thought as I went on to spin at least four wire whisks full of flaming steel in such a quaint little spot with my neighborhood clawed madman. The hour between spinning the wool, then waiting for the darkness to consume the last blue bits of light with which the galaxy stayed hidden; that happened to be the worst of it all. I couldn’t shoot photos, or move my camera. What could I do?
DAYMAN, FIGHTER OF THE NIGHTMAN.
In what seemed to be a never ending loop as I waited, forever trembling with my bear spray and knife at the ready, just for the moment I could shoot the last shot. Fortunately, my friend kept a good distance. I like to think he didn’t want to mess with the psycho singing and spinning flames on the other end of the rock. Terrifying, but…
It was all worth it.
It’s almost always worth it. At least that’s what I’d like to think. A little bit of luck too? Maybe. Animals in the wild don’t exactly want to interact with humans, unless they are severely hungry or protective over their young. That was the first thing I looked for after seeing it; kittens. Lack of kittens was the deciding factor, along with determination for that shot, that allowed me to justify staying there and tormenting myself for hours. Even after that was over, I still stuck to the area and got some more.
For example.
This window, the Eye of the Whale arch, seemed destined to frame this insanely beautiful view of the galactic core.
Though, I cannot say I walked away from that area calmly. Big cats are known to stalk their prey, and it is absolutely recommended to not turn your back to them… Ever. Welp, I had to walk back to my bike eventually. This is when my sloppy repacking came back to bite me. After spending 10 minutes walking quickly, and with fake confidence, I had to reorganize the bags I had planned so perfectly for this trip, down to almost every last detail. While I did all of this, I turned my camera back for one last view.Â
That was the extent of the most exhilarating few hours of my 2017 summer. Even more so than spending two nights and a solar eclipse with gun-slinging Wyoming natives forty miles into a national forest alone, while making jokes with underlying skepticism about who’s going to murder who first. Oh yeah, and of course the only time I tipped the bike over happened to be heading away from that arch. I could have sworn I heard something moving around in the darkness, but I didn’t even want to humor the idea for a moment before I used every bit of my strength to stand that heavily weighed-down dirt bike back up again and rip my way through the sand out of there for good.
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