Clearly, I am not the only one who loves fireweed.

Nikon D50 | 105mm f/2.8G ED-IF AF-S VR | f/7.1 | 1/320 sec | aperture priority mode

Even I don't eat this well!

Captured in Seward, July 2007.

Nikon D50 | 70-300mm f/4-5.6G AF | f/5.6 | 1/1250 sec | 300mm | manual mode

From the first time I saw them, I marveled at the ice stalactites I saw along the Turnagain Arm in the wintertime - the paused waterfalls that tumbled down the sides of the mountain. There was something eerie about them, perhaps because it reminded me of being deep underground and seeing all those conventional stalactites in completely otherworldly surroundings.

Until I saw this and read Eiger Dreams, I didn't realize that people were actually crazy enough to climb them. While this is by no means a stunning photograph, I think that was these climbers are doing is stunning. It's shot under a typical late November sun, low to the horizon, giving the entire day a flattering sunset-like light quality that I miss so much.

Nikon D50 | 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6G ED AF-S DX | f/5 | 1/2500 sec | 24mm | manual mode

Love those mountain harebells, clinging to the rock and moss of the Chugach Mountains, getting tossed in the breeze. They possess a quiet elegance and will to survive that one has to admire.

Nikon D50 | 105mm f/2.8G ED-IF AF-S VR | f/5.6 | 1/500 sec | manual mode

I lived up in Alaska for three years and one of my favorite things to do was drive up to Talkeetna to try to get a glimpse of the mountain. Y'know, that big one. Something about it being the tallest mountain in North America. Sound familiar? We could see it on a (really) clear day (or night, come summertime - nothing better than seeing Denali silhouetted against the sky during a sunset that's taking place at midnight) in Anchorage, but come on, that's far away. Talkeetna is so much closer.

Well apparently, Denali liked to thumb its nose at me, because no matter what, even if I could see the mountain from Anchorage, by the time I would get to Denali it was shrouded in the clouds it made itself. I moved away from Alaska never having achieved this dream - no matter how many times I stopped at the overlook just outside of town or went to the Susitna River beach, plaintively raking my eyes across the horizon, the mountain wasn't there.

That is, until Cory and I visited this summer. We had been mostly foiled the day we went into the park itself, but the next day, on the way home, the MOUNTAIN WAS OUT! We stopped off at a handful of viewpoints, finally getting the pictures I had waited so long for, and by the time we pulled into Talkeetna Cory was famished. I, of course, still wanted my beach shot of the mountain and Cory tried to tell me that we would go down there after lunch, but oh no, I had learned my lesson during my time living in Alaska: if you have an opportunity to see or do something, you had better do it right then, because the opportunity can vanish very, very quickly and you never know when you'll get it again. So I dragged him to the river's beach, got my photo, and then we went to lunch at Cafe Michele (holy crap, who knew there was fine dining in Talkeetna??? This place was awesome: fantastic quality food with the laid-back Talkeetna attitude) and by the time we had finished our excellent meal, the mountain was completely shrouded again.

In Alaska, you take what you can get when the gettin's good.

Nikon D50 | 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6G ED AF-S DX | f/7.1 | 1/640 sec | 55mm | aperture priority mode

The variety of bears that we encountered at Katmai National Park was just staggering. You could tell from watching them: they have distinct personalities. By and away our favorite bear was one that we nicknamed Mickey Mouse Bear.

Mickey Mouse bear looked to be a yearling cub, but mama was nowhere to be seen. By rights she probably should have been teaching him how to fish. Instead, he was going at it alone, and let's face it: he was not a good fisherbear. What he lacked in skill, however, he totally made up for in heart! He made more attempts at salmon than any other bear we saw that day, and even though we all wanted so badly for him to succeed, the fish just weren't swimming his way. During the hour or so we were on the lower viewer platform where he was fishing, there were many times where he perched up on a rock, bounded off across the river, stuck his face in the water, and tried like hell to catch some lunch. But even when he had just stuck his whole head in the water, his ears - oh, those ears - would still be disproportionally huge and fuzzy. In every photo I took of him (and there are probably hundreds) his ears are his most distinctive feature and they just make me want to go up, give him a huge hug, and fuzz up those ears even more.

Those fuzzy, fuzzy ears make me forget that he could - and would - totally eat my face.

Nikon D50 | 70-300mm f/4-5.6G AF | f/5.6 | 1/500 sec | 300mm | aperture priority mode

Don't let people tell you that Alaska only has two seasons: autumn is definitely one of the most underrated things about that great state. Though it is admittedly short, it crams enough spectacular scenery into the month of September to make sure that it counts. Likewise, It's not uncommon to see people trying to squeeze every last drop out of that un-snow-laded month - they're clearly trying to make fall count for them too. Among them is this angler I saw in the Susitna River, maybe trying to land himself a straggling salmon that hadn't already turned bright red. Or, perhaps more likely, he was simply using the fishing as an excuse to get out there and enjoy a stunning late autumn day in the state that does nothing by half-measures.

Nikon D50 | 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6G ED AF-S DX | f/8 | 1/250 sec | 38mm | manual mode

There were so many things I wanted to do when I lived in Alaska. However, the state is so huge and so full of natural wonders that it's impossible to see and do it all. Once I left, though, my biggest regret was not getting to Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park on the Alaska Peninsula.

My first exposure to this area was when I was around eleven years old during a family vacation to Grand Teton National Park. We were staying in Jackson Hole and my parents became transfixed by the Thomas Mangelsen gallery there. I was totally taken in too and remember standing in front of his iconic photograph Catch of the Day, completely awed. Shortly after moving to Anchorage, I learned that that picture, and many others like it, were taken just a couple hundred miles away from my house. You had to take a float plane to get there, but you could get there all the same. I tried to talk my Mom, whose favorite animal is the Grizzly, into doing it and I redoubled my efforts once a couple of my friends took the trip and came back gushing about the experience, justifying the cost with cliche-sounding but totally true phrases like "once in a lifetime experience," but for some reason she resisted.

Fast forward to this last summer when Cory and I took a two-week vacation back to Alaska. In addition to the hikes and restaurants that were on our must-do list two big summertime experiences I missed out on during my time there: Denali and Katmai. Convincing Cory of Denali was no big thing: he was almost as eager to do it as I was. Katmai, however, took some doing. Eventually, though, I got him to agree to it, as apparently my once-in-a-lifetime logic (not to mention my stubbornness and persistence) began to justify the cost.

We contacted Steve Jones, the same pilot that my friends Dave and Amy used on their trip, and before we knew it we were on our way to the Alaska Peninsula. Let me tell you, I cannot recommend him enough. He was friendly, extremely knowledgeable, and a very proficient, experienced pilot: the trifecta Alaskan bush and float-plane pilots. He even remembered Dave and Amy from nearly two years before. He was also experienced with what happens on the ground: for instance, he knew to keep herding me along when I saw the first batch of mama/cub groupings far from the falls because if you stopped anywhere, you risked getting stuck there if a nearby bear necessitated a trail closure. So we pressed on until we got to the viewing platforms.

Words can't even begin to describe the experience we there, but luckily I took over 1,000 (yes, more than one thousand) pictures that day. If a picture is worth a thousand words then I have more than a million collected that should tell the story pretty well. I'll begin with one of the photos I took once we had gotten to the much-desired upper viewing platform, one of a brave mama bear breaking the rules of bear society, fishing with three cubs in tow so that she could continue to feed them. I gotta say, I like her style: just standing there, waiting for a fish to jump into her waiting jaws. I wouldn't do it much differently myself!

Nikon D50 | 70-300mm f/4-5.6G AF | f/7.1 | 1/640 sec | 250mm | aperture priority mode

I don't love flowers the way most women seem to. I don't live to plant them in my garden, I abhor floral prints, and receiving a bouquet certainly won't cure any ills caused by a significant other. However, I have a soft spot for Alaskan wildflowers and as far as I'm concerned, fireweed reigns over them all. I've missed the plant keenly since moving first to the Mojave and then the Sonoran deserts and so I was giddy with glee when, during our Alaskan vacation this summer, fireweed was making a strong showing.

Nikon D50 | 105mm f/2.8G ED-IF AF-S VR | f/3 | 1/320 sec | 105mm | aperture priority mode

My first trip into Denali National Park, September 2008, at which point you're allowed to drive about 30 miles into the park. Denali was visible when we first drove in but quickly became covered by clouds - you can see the bottom portion of that towering mountain in the far left of the frame.

Though the park looks completely different in the fall when compared with summer, it's no less beautiful. It's far more severe, hinting at what the winter will bring, the colors muted as the tundra scrub dies.

Nikon D50 | 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6G ED AF-S DX | f/8 | 1/320 sec | 42mm | manual mode

Mount Susitna is a wonderful feature of the Anchorage cityscape. Also known as the Sleeping Lady for the way its silhouette, well, resembles a sleeping lady, it's visible from practically anywhere in the city. It's so close that newcomers (myself included) often mistake it for Denali because it looks as big as we seem to think the largest mountain in North America should look.

I'm especially fond of Mt Susitna near the equinoxes because the sun sets behind the mountain, casting gorgeous silhouettes. However, it's hard to get a real appreciation for the mountain unless you get outside of the city a bit. I managed to do just that on my hike to Wolverine Peak. The trail offers spectacular views of the city and the angle is just right to catch the Sleeping Lady watching over Anchorage. I love the view so much that this very nearly became the masthead for this summer over on Life in a Northern Town. Alas, it's a real challenge for something that is allegedly sleeping to portray the same joi de vivre exhibited by Sienna, so Susitna was barely edged out of place. Better luck next time to the Sleeping Lady.

If you want to see a larger version, click on the photo to download it.

Nikon D50

It may very well be that the crippling soreness that's taken up residence in my calves these days can be attributed to my stubborn determination to drag my camera and all my lenses over 10 miles and up a mountain, but really, would a hike like that be worth it if you didn't bring that particular companion along to share the view?

A few of us - accompanied by two most excellent Alaska Adventure Dogs - conquered Wolverine Peak on Saturday. It's a hike I had been wanting to do for two years but had always been deterred not so much by the steepness or length, but by the supplies required by the length. The rapidly changing weather around the mountains plays a factor too. Let's just say that when I finally dragged my totally glycogen-depleted muscles up to that bit where there's no where else to go, only to be greeted by dense cloud cover completely obscuring any view, I was beyond disappointed, and if I hadn't been so focused on getting some fuel to my body I would have been pretty angry.

I sat down to eat a peanut butter sandwich (the cure for all bonks) and lo, before I had finished the clouds had rolled away to reveal a stunning vista into the Chugach Mountains, cleverly hidden from most hikers (including those who've conquered Flattop) by the front of the range. That view was all I needed - that hike was totally worth it.

Nikon D50

This is my last summer in Alaska. I'm not dealing with that bit of information very well. Summer arrived oh, about a week ago, and I've been feeling the urge to spend every glorious, green, sunny, and amazing Alaska minute outside. As soon as I got off work today I took Sienna to our favorite haunt, University Lake, with my trusty camera in tow. It was a sparkling day and I snapped, oh, about three billion pictures of Sienna. So I'll be posting those for a while... The photo that I didn't get was of the moose I ran into. It scared the bujeezus outta me because it's time for the calves to be dropping, and I've already talked about how I don't like encountering moose with Sienna around, especially when baby moose may be involved. Luckily there was a lack of mooselet, so the critter I ran across today was probably still pregnant. I didn't really stick around long enough to tell. But I digress. So to mark my return to the photoblogosphere, I submit photographic evidence that Alaska really is the best place ever to have a furry four-legged friend.

Nikon D50

One of the things I love about this photo is that it could have only been taken in September. Since Alaska is at such a high latitude, the place in the sky that the sun rises (and sets) changes dramatically as the length of the days waxes and wanes. The equinoxes are prettymuch the only time the sun rises in the east (forget that normal sun behavior you learned as a kid, that knowledge doesn't apply in Alaska!), but of course this couldn't have been taken in March -- just look at the leaves and the lack of snow! Anyway, I took this on the grey morning of September 14th, 2006, just as the sun had peeked over the Chugach Mountains and had set alight the fog that had settled over the city. My vantage point was Earthquake Park and downtown Anchorage is visible in the left side of the photo.

Click the image to see a larger version.

Nikon D50

Sure, it's a sleepy, tiny little down, but I absolutely love Moose Pass. It's got attitude -- as you drive through the town you see signs declaring "Come in just for the halibut!" -- to go along with its mountains, lakes, and very high ratio of float planes per capita. I always stop there on my way to Seward for the pie, the halibut quesadillas, and the views. Trail Lake, which borders Moose Pass proper, is a beautiful glacial lake, stained green by the deposits that the ice has left behind. When juxtaposed with a mountain, a deep blue sky, and, of course, the requisite float plane, the scene is quite nice.

Nikon D50

To Alaskans, fireweed is more than just one of the most recognizable parts of our landscape, a pioneer plant, one of the first bits of life to return to a glacier-scarred landscape or to revegetate a land ravaged by forest fire. It's also a warning of how much time you have left before winter hits. See, the blossoms start at the bottom of the stalk and work their way up as the summer progresses, and once they've reached the top you've got a scant six weeks until winter.

Though termination dust, the harsh harbinger of the coming of winter that I noticed last year has yet to appear, the fireweed is about spent. There are a few plants scattered about that still have a few blossoms stubbornly affixed to the top, but most have gone to seed and others' leaves have turned a bright, fiery red. Many of us have started lamenting this unfortunate fact, as though by culturing some fireweed in a greenhouse whose blossoms have just burst open at the bottom of the stalk we could buy more time.

So, in lieu of turning back the clock or vainly wishing for summer to last forever, I present this photo taken in mid-July, when the fireweed was still telling a more hopeful story.

Nikon D50

Even on its coldest, wettest, most miserable summer days, Alaska is still a place that impresses and inspires awe.

On Cory's most recent visit we took the same wildlife cruise I took last year with my parents, and the weather could not have been more different. But even though it was rainy and foggy, the scenery was still amazing. The mountains all around were hiding their peaks in wispy fog, providing what may have been an even more interesting landscape.

Luckily, when we pulled into Holgate Arm to view the eponymous glacier, the glacial winds gave us a respite, which is good because my hands were almost so frozen that I couldn't use the camera in the first place. While we were viewing the massive ice formations around us, enthralled by the lone seal chilling on an ice floe just feet from the glacier, someone spotted a bald eagle above. I just started snapping pictures like crazy(er) and was very pleasantly surprised to capture this stunning, beautiful, and understated result.

Nikon D50

I wish that I could have done this scene justice.

Nikon D50

I already kinda felt like I was cheating by taking photographs in Alaska. I am a mediocre landscape photographer at best, but it's not like it's hard to get amazing images here. I have felt doubly dishonest in the last week though: with changing leaves and rainbows and sunsets (that happen before midnight, mind you!), and with them all happening simultaneously, how could I not be cheating? I'd be like the worst photographer in the world if I couldn't pull off something aesthetically pleasing.

So even though I feel like I'm swindling the world (despite the fact that I run this site for my own amusement and not cash) I'm posting images captured in the middle of Anchorage (again with the cheating!). It's just the beginning of fall, so I'm already planning my next adventures.

Nikon D50

The whole area around Eklutna Lake is amazing, not least of all because of the tremendous variance in landscape around it. On a hike to Thunderbird Falls we passed this canyon, at the bottom of which is the Eklutna River. Tress were growing straight up out of the rock, somehow surviving and thriving, a testament to the tenacity of life. I can't wait to go back in the fall -- I'm sure the colors along this canyon wall are breathtaking.

Nikon D50

Stunning is always the word that comes to mind whenever I try to explain Eklutna Lake. A glacial lake tucked back from the road, it is so closely surrounded by mountains that it seems impossible, surreal. Going out there on a clear day reveals colors like I have hardly ever known before. It is simply beyond beautiful.

Nikon FM

The highlight of today's hike came when I was polishing my macro skills: I found blueberries! This was followed by a discovery of raspberries, which sealed the deal: this is the Best. Hike. Ever.

Nikon D50

Today was a perfect Alaska day.

I finally got to do a hike I've been wanting to do since I first discovered Turnagain Arm: the trail off of the Potter Creek trailhead. It's a beautiful hike, peaceful, and not difficult -- it's worth it in every way imaginable.

Nikon D50

Cory (of he-gave-me-the-D50 fame) came to visit me on his mid-tour leave. Since we only get to see each other about every three months, we made the most of it. However, since Alaska is really, really big, (if you divided Alaska in half, what would that make Texas? The third largest state! Oh, I love this place) there are still many many places for us to go together, so we've barely even touched the tip of the iceberg in our adventures. Wherever we went, we dedicated time to rectifying the we-have-no-pictures-of-us problem. The following pictures were composed by me on a tripod and snapped using the D50's remote.

Nikon D50

I used to think that the drive along the Columbia River Gorge was one of the most beautiful in the world.

Alaska, however, has proved me ignorant: the drive south from Anchorage along Turnagain Arm now takes the cake and reminds one of the Gorge farther south, yet is many times more majestic and breathtaking.

Further travels around Alaska may prove me wrong again, and I intend to give you the photographic evidence to prove it. Until then, I leave you with this, one photo of what should have been a panorama, if only I had the money to spend on a professional-level photo-stitching program.

Click on the image for a larger-resolution view.

Nikon Coolpix 3100