The Ozarks are my homeland.  I was born and raised in these gentle mountains.  I spent my days as a child wandering the creeks and hollers collecting snakes and butterflies.  Later, as a photographer, I spent days hiking the Buffalo National River and surrounding watershed.  I searched out bluffs and waterfalls, elk and turtles with the same zeal I had as a child.  My travels have taken me all over the world, but I always return to the Ozarks, appreciating them a little bit more every time they call me home.

I say Ozarks, but I guess I really mean the Arkansas Ozarks.  While I have traveled into the Missouri sections before, I never spent the time to allow a solid impression of the area to sink in.  Well, that is all about to change.  Glenn and I had only a short time this trip, so we decided to make the photo road trip a little closer to home and a bit shorter.  It is essentially a weekend trip, one that is easily retraced for those so inclined.  Glenn has some familiarity with the region, having spent many days on those roller-coaster roads seeking out swimming holes for his first book, “Swimming Holes of the Ozarks”, several years ago.  I am hoping that his memory serves him as to where the hot-spots are, though I am sure we can find some beauty regardless.

 

7/27/07
As usual, Glenn and I didn’t get to leave Harrison until early afternoon, making our first stop at the Bass Pro Shops Catalog Outlet Store in Springfield, as Glenn was in dire need of woolen socks (in July).

Out of Springfield, we hit the highway in earnest, rolling east on Highway 60 towards Eminence.  The hills were familiar, if not tamer than those in northern Arkansas.  One thing those Missourians have figured out though is how to make those mountain roads fun.  Up and down, up and down - forget going around the hills, just go over them. It’s nearly as fun as a roller coaster, only it lasts for hours, ask Glenn how that works out for the passenger.

As you would expect in the summer, the woods were thick and verdant, just a mass of green along the highways.  Summer isn’t usually the best time to photograph for just that reason.  With so much growth it is hard to isolate elements and images tend to be cluttered and unorganized.  One of the reasons we chose the Missouri Ozarks for our summer trip however was the abundance of water.  The springs in the region are some of the largest in the world, so what better place to travel when the temperature creeps towards triple digits?

We marched on towards Eminence, through Mountain View, where we were compelled to pull over and shoot some pictures of a Coca-cola impoundment.  Those poor guys are jailed indefinitely for crimes they may or may not have committed, maybe we’ll write a letter to the judge when we get home (if you are confused, check the photo gallery).

Happening into Eminence about 4ish, we decided to check out Rocky Falls State Park, which was only about 15 miles or so out of town.  The roads were well marked and we got there without a hitch, and heard the splashing sounds of summer fun from around the bend.  The falls themselves aren’t really falls, but more like cascades.  Water rolls and tumbles down a reasonably steep slope over the course of about 50 vertical feet, and comes to rest in a nice, cool pool with easy access.  Since Glenn had forgotten his speedo, we were more interested in photographs than in swimming at this point. 

Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea as us, and was hunched over a tripod at the base of the falls.  Glenn, the consummate extravert, tried to strike up a conversation with the fella, but, he wasn’t having it.  He seemed more intent on communing with his waterfall.

This brings up an interesting digression into the motivations and predilections of photographers.  You find some, like Glenn and I, who find photographing with a partner to be invigorating.  It is someone to motivate you to get up for sunrise, or someone whose images inspire you to go one better.  While we are both more than capable of shooting on our own, each one gives the other a little push that may make our images a little bit better than they would have been otherwise.  Unfortunately, the opposite can prove true as well.  When we are both tired and hungry, it is a little easier to convince ourselves to head to McDonald’s. 

Other people, however, don’t feel the same way.  I read articles about professionals and advanced amateurs alike who shoot with the expressed intent of getting away from people, of connecting with nature.  I see no problems with this, in fact, I sometimes do the same thing, but it does beg the question of whether you can tell a photographers social demeanor by the images he takes.  Is it possible to get across that solitude and silence sought by these photographic loners?  Aside from images that contain people, is it possible to sense the fraternity and good-hearted one-uppingness in photographers who share nature with a buddy?  I don’t have the answer to this, but I will keep an eye out.

Anyway, with Ansel staked out at the bottom of the falls, Glenn and I were compelled to find a different angle.  We climbed to the top of the cascade and tried our hands, but I came away empty handed.  It is common knowledge in nature photography that it is hard to take a picture of water facing downstream.  I have spent a lot of time trying to prove that wrong, but so far to no avail.

The sun sank behind the mountain and the sky started to gray, but still Ansel controlled the scene, and we bailed.  Back in Eminence, we ate at the Apple Orchard, a place that Glenn remembered with fondness.  Unfortunately, the country-fried buffet didn’t exactly hit the spot, though I did manage to stuff a couple of pounds of fried shrimp and jalapeno poppers down.  The town of Eminence, however, had a special feeling.  Old stone buildings line the town’s one main street, not unlike the small town I grew up near.  The locals are friendly and it seems a peaceful place to spend some time.

After getting gas for almost $3/gallon (it was $2.60 elsewhere) we headed out to Alley Springs Campground.  We pitched the tent, stuffed it with our therma-rests and linens, and drove off.  I have had this idea for the past year or so that I want to take a picture of a waterfall at night.  I guess it was mostly inspired by an article photographed by Michael “Nick” Nichols (at least I think it was him) that appeared in National Geographic a little more than a year ago.  It was about the Grand Canyon, a real coup for a photographer because who wouldn’t want to get paid to take pictures of the Grand Canyon.  Well, the problem with the assignment though is that everyone has pictures of the Grand Canyon. Can you show me something new?

He got pictures of lightning strikes and snow fall, but the most impressive of his images were down in the canyon, captured at night, with star trails and moon glow.  In particular he had a great picture of a silken Havasu Falls with star trails in the background.  From the moment I saw those pictures, I have wanted to try my hand at it.  Since we were only about 30 minutes from Rocky Falls, we figured tonight would be the night. 

The place was deserted, as expected for 10pm, and the moon was just rising over the ridge, casting a blue light on the tumbling water.  We set up on a gravel bank near the water.  After a few test exposures, we dialed in what we wanted and laid on our camera bags enjoying the cool night breeze that kept the mosquitoes at bay and talking about photography.  These are some of my favorite moments.  Not necessarily the photography aspect, but just being out here.  Being in a beautiful place without crowds or noise.  Since night exposures necessitate a lot of sitting around, they are conducive to relaxation and stimulating conversation (sometimes).  

Glenn and I (and Jesse) had taken a trip out west in 2005 and spent some time in Arches National Park.  One evening we hiked up to delicate arch for the sunset, and found ourselves in a throng of perhaps 50 or more people with the same idea.  The little mountain top bowl was littered with people: climbing rocks, getting their pictures taken, and waiting not so quietly for the earth to turn.  While the sunset was still magical, it was surely a profoundly different experience than had we been there alone.  Recognition of that is all well and good, but it doesn’t change anything.  I expect there is hardly a day where you could find yourself alone there for a sunset.

As the sky darkened, however, the people quickly made themselves scarce.  They moseyed back to their campgrounds and RV’s and hotel room for dinner and a good nights sleep, content with the magical sunset they had witnessed.  We three photographers, however, found ourselves in a unique situation.  As we shot the dying light of the day, trying to capture the rising full moon behind delicate arch, we found ourselves utterly alone.  There were no insects or animals to be heard.  We sat, awaiting our exposures, in absolute silence.  A silence that was only broken when one of us remarked how quiet it was.  The night was clear and the stars were bright, even in contest with the moon.  We worked quietly and efficiently until nearly midnight.  The cool breeze on the exposed mountaintop was a welcome relief from the oppressively hot Utah July and carried with it the greetings of a band of coyotes in the distance. 

Back at Rocky Falls, the moon was rising further in the sky, lighting up the low clouds and obscuring the stars.  Without star trails, a long night exposure just looks like daytime, and what fun is that?  About 1:30am we packed our things and headed for our campsite, neither of us capturing what we were after, but both of us invigorated by our time at Rocky Falls nonetheless.

7/28/07

The night’s sleep was fitful, as are all sleeps on the ground.  While it cools down a bit at night, the air is sticky with humidity.  About 6:30 we were reminded how close to Jack’s Fork river we were, as the canoe shuttle services started through their aluminum canoes on the concrete boat ramp about 100 yards away:  there would be no more sleep.

After a few years of this type of outdoor travel photography Glenn and I have figured out that the easier it is to get ready to shoot in the early morning, the more apt you are to get up at an early hour.  In this case, it meant that we merely got out of the tent and into the car and drove the 2 minutes to Alley Mill.

Alley Mill, part of the Ozark National Scenic Waterways since 1961, was built in 1894 (though a mill has occupied the site since 1868) and named after a prominent local family.  Considered “High-Tech” in its day, it operates via turbine rather than a waterwheel and is directly fed by Alley Spring, which bubbles up (at a clip of 81 million gallons per day) just yards away.  Back in the times of settlers, mills served to join far-flung homesteads into communities, as farmers used the mill in common to process their grains into meal and flour.

Although the mill closed its doors over sixty years ago, it is very well preserved.  The mill itself is still bright red and the sluice gates show no signs of deterioration.  The water was running well this morning and we waded out into the overflow to image the mill from the water’s point of view.  The sun had yet to peak over the mountains and we had a great chance to capture a full range of colors.  The water, a deep blue at depth, nourishes a rich bed of brilliant green algae and along with the deeper greens of the foliage and bright reds of the mill makes a beautiful image.  A polarizer is a must for this situation.  By rotating the polarizer, the water turns from a milky white to a deep green (or whatever color the river bottom happens to be.  Since the full reflection of the water may be overwhelming and you may not be able to discern the motion in fully polarized images, neither of these extremes may be suitable for your composition. Slowly moving the polarizer, however, can get you a pleasing mixture of the two. 

When the sun finally came out and started the dapple the mill with troublesome hot-spots, we wandered the path that skirted the springs coming to a small rapids that acted as a relief valve for the penned up spring.  Here, in the shadows of giant sycamores, was a collection of moss colored rocks that offered a perfect place to capture some more abstract images.  By isolating the rocks and slowing down the shutter speed to blur the water, an image can convey both chaos and stability.  Sometimes visualizing the scene is difficult when you are working in three-dimensions, and this is where digital photography really shines.  With nearly instant review, you can adjust the polarizer, exposure and composition for better captures. .  Finding the perfect composition and light dynamics can prove taxing, but I think we both got some images worth keeping.

After leaving Alley Mill, we packed up our tent.  I took perhaps the coldest shower of my life and we were off.  Glenn had regaled me with tales of Blue Springs, so it was a necessity that we visit.  Sure enough, I was not disappointed.  Blue Springs is over 300 feet deep with a surreal, aqua-blue color.  It pours down an algae and moss covered stream into the Little Blue River at a point popular as a campsite with locals.  We set up and tried to capture the deep, clean colors of the water with varying degrees of success.  Glenn found a baby snapping turtle that I kept scaring under water, but I think we got a few shots of him. 

Given the brilliant clear waters of the spring, it is understandable, if not unfortunate, that people aren’t allowed in.  I, for one, contemplated whether it would be worth the fine to jump in anyway (but I did not).

After leaving Blue Springs, we made for lunch.  On our way to Ironton, we found the quaint little town of Ellington.  Like so many small towns, the road that passes through town, which used to be the main drag, was in various stages of abandonment and we could find no sustenance.  Eventually, after a few passes, we found a Hall’s, a mom and pop café with tasty ranch cheeseburgers.

From Ellington we headed north, towards Ironton and Johnson’s Shut-Ins.  The Shut-Ins are a somewhat famous shoal of rocks known for their swimming holes.  Recently, an impoundment on top of Taum Sauk Mountain that overlooks the Shut-Ins busted, and 1.3 billion gallons of water poured down the mountain, pushing and pulling mountains of debris through the Shut-Ins, forever changing their topography.  Glenn had been there before the flood, and was interested to get back and see the damage first hand.

Immediately after the flood, Johnson’s Shut-Ins was closed indefinitely for clean up, so we were relieved to see that it had opened, albeit only partially.  In the visitor’s center there are many before and after pictures of the area, as if people are more interested in the destruction than in of the remaining natural beauty of the area.

One of the few trails left open was the trail to the Shut-Ins proper.  It is a well maintained asphalt to boardwalk path that has an offramp for swimmers to get to the water and then continues uphill for a bird’s eye view of the area.  Glenn was stunned by the changes he saw, as the once deep, pristine swimming holes had been filled in with gravel and were all but wading pools.

My impression, void of preconception, was that it was still beautiful.  The water tumbles and slides down a gentle gradient, through and around vertical juts of volcanic rocks.  The rocks combine to form pools or “shut-ins” all through the run, providing a myriad of private pools for the large crowds of people that come to enjoy the cool waters.  Sure, you could tell (just based on the roped off section and habitat renewal signs) that something catastrophic had happened, but it was still appreciate the natural beauty that remained.

On this day, with the sun still high overhead and the shut-ins crowded with bathers, we didn’t take any pictures, instead electing merely to scout for angles and compositions.  One of Glenn’s favorite sayings is “A good photographer knows when not to take a picture.”  Now, this may be an excuse to not have to carry 40 pounds of camera gear up a mountain, but it is also true.  Not worrying about taking pictures frees you up to cover more ground, to explore more angles and to search for that perfect shot.  Another point to this end is that photography is about 1) Enjoying yourself and 2) communicating with your surroundings. Especially after a few hard days of shooting, it is easy to forget this and find yourself going through the motions. If you are tired and unmotivated your images will suffer, so sometime it is good practice to leave the camera in the car (if its not too hot) and just enjoy the scenery without the pressure of capturing a great shot. Unfortunately, this scouting mission of ours did not provide us that perfect vantage, though it did give me an overall impression of the area.

Back at the tourist info center, we were told that the park opened at 8am, setting our plans for the coming day.

Our chosen campsite for the night was perched on Taum Sauk Mountain, the highest point in Missouri.  We pitched our tent, added bedding and relaxed for a bit.  One thing about these photo road trips is that they wear you out.  Staying up for star trails and rising early for sunrises is the only way to do what we do and, unfortunately, without a home base or an RV, we don’t have a chance to rest midday when the light is bad.  I can’t complain too much though, it is a nice way to see the country and add to my photography stock.  It doesn’t hurt, however, to visualize improvements.

After a quick rest, we wound down the mountain to Elephant Rocks State Park.  Here sit the remains of an old granite quarry, abandoned quite some time ago it seems.  The trail meanders in a circular fashion around a bald knob of granite, topped with towering boulders - or “elephants” from which the park derives its name- that seem precariously balanced and ready to roll, like so many cherries on an ice cream sundae.  The granite is a dull red, flecked with shimmering chips of mica and feldspar.  The “elephants” are lined up along the ridge and in the valleys, and command a spectacular view of the surrounding hills.  Antique graffiti in the form of chiseled names dating from the 1800’s adorns both the “elephants” and the bedrock.

In the parking lot, we talked to a park employee who, in addition to giving us a run-down on the new flush toilets that came from Texas, told us that it would be acceptable for us to remain in the park past 8pm, the listed closing time.  Apparently, problems with local miscreants vandalizing the park were the reasons for the park to be closing at night.  It had been a while since they had had any run-ins, so, we were assured, the ranger would not come and lock the gates.  Here’s hoping she knows what she’s talking about.

Glenn and I dispersed when we reached the top of the granite hill, scrambling around to find the perfect vista for the fast-approaching sunset.  The compositional possibilities are endless here, with a nearly uncluttered (treeless) knob peppered with amorphous blobs of shimmering granite, wedged against one another or teetering on the edge of a drop-off.

The sun set to find us alone.  Once again we were sole witness to the magic of the dying light.  The yellow moon was rising to the north, which gave us some ideas for creative experimentation.  It is amazing how fast the moon moves, when you give it notice.  In the time it takes to compose, expose, and review a picture of the moon, the composition has changed and you have to move again.  As the sky darkened and the stars let themselves be seen, we experimented with silhouettes and multiple exposures with varying results.  About 10:30 we descended, under the moonlight, to our car which was, to our relief, neither ticketed or locked in the parking lot.

We then had dinner at the only place in Ironton that was open: McDonald’s.  We did also manage to find WiFi there and uploaded some images and caught up on emails.  I feel that the longer photo road trips goes on, the easier it will be to be connected.  Our ultimate idea is to upload multiple times from on the road during our trips.  Practically, however, it has not worked out that way.  By the time we finish shooting for the day, we hardly have time to download our shots before bed, much less edit and upload.  Even when we do feel like uploading the day of, it is harder to find a hot-spot than you would imagine.  Sure, there are hot-spots all over Austin or St. Louis, but try finding one in Eminence, Missouri.

After dinner we moved towards camp and another humid, sticky night of sleep.

7/29/07 

We aimed to rise with the sun, but, since Johnson’s Shut-Ins doesn’t open until 8, we slept-in a bit.  When we finally did get up, the morning found Glenn with a severe case of gout in his ankle.  At first, he could hardly move it.  Walking (limping) around some seemed to help and we were able to get the tent packed and get on the road.

At the Shut-Ins, the parking lot was happily empty but the sun was already high in the sky, not exactly perfect picture weather, but it was what we had.  Glenn was so stove up that he elected not to make the short hike to the shut-ins and, of course, I didn’t give him any guff about his old man gout.

Down at the water I was disappointed.  While the shut-ins themselves were impressive, the light wasn’t so great and it was hard to capture the image I wanted.  Eventually I gave up trying to find the blurry water zig-zagging through the frame idea and started taking of my clothes (for swimming, you see).  Ready for the water, I put my camera in my relatively new waterproof enclosure.  Made by EWA Marine, the enclosure is merely a clear, double laminated PVC bag with a optical quality glass fitting through which the lens peers.  While it is not as convenient as a hard plastic housing (its hard to push the buttons or adjust the exposure) this bag is significantly less expensive.

As I prepared my camera for an underwater adventure, who should appear at my side but old man Glenn, limping mightily.  Just to show me up, he had powered his way down here.

I jumped in the water, and was soon joined by Glenn.  We experimented quite a bit with half-in/half-out of water shots and just enjoyed the water.  We even got chatted-up by some rather mature ladies, but that is a story for another time.

It was getting on towards lunch time so we bailed.  I never really got the shot that I wanted at the shut-ins, but I guess that just means I need to go back.

On the road, our plan was to find some of the remains of the old Route 66 and follow it for as long as we could.  First, though, was a rendezvous with a supreme pizza at a tasty little spot in Potosi.  Before we arrived however, I received a text from my brother who is in his 4th year of medical school.  I had texted him earlier in the day to ask what Glenn should do about his gout.  Although he had flair-ups previously, his doctor was out of town and his medicine was back in Arkansas.  Well, my brother’s reply had been that Glenn should drink plenty of water and avoid anything with amino acids (protein).  So we sit down to lunch soon after I relay this message to Glenn and he orders a ribeye steak sandwich and tea.  Glenn, I say, are you joking?  Oh yeah, I forgot.  But I am still eating that steak sandwich…

Near Waynesville we found the first remnants of 66, and spent some time back and forth between the interstate and what was left of the old highway.  We got some photos of an abandoned motor lodge and some other interesting things we saw along the way.

Once again while on the road, we have another encounter with decay in the name of progress.  What a time it must have been to get on 66 in Chicago and drive across country on a 2-lane road with a speed limit of 55.  Long stretches of highway would have been virtually barren to be followed by the motel/hot eats places at every little town and rest stop in between.  What a different way to travel.  Personally, I think it would be a great way to see the countryside and the growing country, but not an easy way to travel.  Creeping along behind the log trucks on highway 7 south of Jasper is enough for me, I can’t imagine 2 lanes cross-country.

Our thoughts for the day, after losing 66 somewhere before Springfield, were to find a place for sunset.  Glenn, however, had been away from home for quite some time, and was getting ready to head off to Minnesota, so we decided it was in our best interest to return home, satisfied with what we had captured so far.  All told, the trip was around 700 miles and we got about 500 images each.  While this was a short trip, it was fruitful, and I was glad to get a more intimate perspective of the Show-me state version of my Ozarks.