Tent Rocks Reprise

The last several articles have had us revisiting a day trip I made to Tent Rocks National Monument in north-central New Mexico, back in 1998, equipped with the 8"x8" falling plate pinhole camera loaded with paper negatives, and a large wooden tripod.

Because of the size and weight of the equipment, my agility was rather restricted, and thus I could only progress so far up the increasingly steep trail before I felt I had to turn back.

The image posted in the previous article shows the entrance to a narrow and winding slot canyon that, while spectacularly scenic, was so restricting that I could barely manage getting through without incurring damage to either box camera or tripod. In addition, because of the narrow passage I could not manage to find adequate footing for the large tripod, else I would have tried an exposure in the shaded gloom between high canyon walls; which would have required several minute's exposure time.

Then there was the matter that this is a public National Monument and there were other people on the trail that day, and attempting such a lengthy exposure, even if I could have managed it, would have meant either blocking their passage or them interfering with the camera gear. So even though I had wanted to try my hand at a pinhole image of the slot canyon, I knew I couldn't. It is personally disappointing when you can sense there is such a powerful subject matter almost within your grasp, but forces outside your control conspire to prevent success.

It was with this sense of temporary disappointment that I proceeded forward, yet remained hopeful that something fortunate might present itself up ahead. After more bends in the trail, as it climbed higher and higher, I suddenly came across this scene and knew immediately that this was what I'd been hoping for.

The trail widens as it makes a bend to the left, in a relatively open area that's a marked change from the confines of the slot canyon now behind us. Though the terrain is steep and sloped, there's plenty of room for fellow hikers to pass, while my tripod's legs can find adequate footing. The challenge will be managing to tilt the camera up toward the conical formations while keeping the tripod from toppling over. I use to advantage the upward sloping terrain on the far side of the trail, where I can adjust the legs' splay to tilt the camera up while the terrain's contour serves to stabilize the center of gravity.

Knowing that this scene was directly exposed to the bright sun, and very light in tone and thus more reflective than other, redder geologies, I opted to shorten the exposure time a bit, so as not to over-expose the landscape.

With exposure complete and film plate properly dropped into the camera's lower storage area, I contemplated continuing ahead, but could already see that the trail only gets narrower and steeper up ahead. I decided that this was a good way to end my day, with several hopeful images yet to develop once back home.

I've returned numerous times to Tent Rocks since then, and every time I do it is with the memory from this day that serves to remind me of the lessens learned, of perseverance and overcoming challenges, of not ceding one's hopes to temporary disappointment but always looking further up the trail for more opportunity.

Tent Rocks Slot Canyon

In the precious article we are back in 1998 and are visiting Tent Rocks National Monument in north-central New Mexico, equipped with the 8" x 8" falling plate pinhole camera and large wooden tripod.

Carrying the camera atop tripod over one's shoulder, the path starts out from the parking area fairly gentle and wide, but as we progress into the canyon it gets steeper and narrower, with frequent stops to consider a potential composition.

The great thing about Tent Rocks is that the further inward and upward one hikes the more spectacular the scenery. But the limitation this day will be the massiveness of the box camera and the length of the tripod, because there is a narrow slot canyon one has to thread in order to get a view of the higher terrain and the spectacular conical formations up ahead that give the site its name. Parts of the canyon are so narrow that one can't progress further without leaning against the canyon's walls and struggling to get the box and tripod through without damage.

And get through I did, but not before first stopping to make this image of the rock striations and the dark fissure-like opening to the slot canyon itself, through whose passage we will find even greater vistas up ahead.

It is sites like this that challenge the whole concept of large format photography, where just being able to gain access to a particular vantage point represents a significant logistical challenge, given the weight and bulk of the gear, especially these box cameras that don't collapse down into a package small enough to fit into one's backpack.

In the next article we will examine my favorite image made with a pinhole camera at Tent Rocks, but couldn't have been made had we not been able to progress through this slot canyon.

The Power of Tenacity

It is 1998 and I have worked out enough of the bugs in the large wooden falling plate pinhole camera, and accompanying wooden tripod, that I've begun going afield, exploring what it might be capable of creating.

Every time I go afield with this bulky contraption I can't help but think of the formative years of photography, in the 19th century, when adventurous explorers, much braver than I, spent weeks or months in the wilderness capturing on photographic plates for the first time the wonders of this new continent. I'm no explorer, for certain, merely walking in the footsteps of giants.

Though the advantage I hold today is that of mechanized transport via automobile, and commercially manufactured films and papers rather than hand-coated on site, it still comes down to having to lug camera, tripod and accessories by hand, absent the portage once provided by pack mule. Today, I'm my own mule.

One drives north from Albuquerque along Interstate 25, then exit at mile marker 264, at the base of La Bajada Hill just south of Santa Fe, heading toward the town of Cochiti Pueblo. Directly adjacent to the massive earthen Cochiti Dam a left turn takes one out along what was then a rough, dirt road to the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument.

I had learned how to carry the large box camera, mounted atop its tripod, over my shoulder in such a way so as to keep the film plates from becoming dislodged, but I still had to be very careful as I hiked up into the slot canyon at Tent Rocks, in search of photographic possibilities, which I soon discovered to be all around me.

I soon found the main limitation to my handmade tripod was the lack of an articulating head, which limited how far from straight horizontal I could aim the pinhole; this is a canyon, after all. Yet I was able to come away with a number of decent images, among which is this portrayal of a tree which has been partially toppled over by flood waters and whose root system has been exposed by erosion.

Interestingly, I visited Tent Rocks again just this past summer, some 17 years later, and this same tree yet remains in its same precarious position, testimony to the power of tenacity.

Because of the bulk and weight of the camera and tripod, I turned back before entering the steeper parts of the hike through Tent Rocks, but not before recording a few more images, which I will share in subsequent articles.

If there's anything this project has taught me it's reliance upon adequate preparation beforehand, and tenacity to stick with one's intention to fruition, like that tree that yet clings to life in the harsh environment of the New Mexico badlands.