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I stood mesmerized as I watched the sunset unfold across Bryce Canyon. The view before me was stunning to both my eyes and mind as I attempted to comprehend the countless hoodoos glowing in the light. Sometimes I simply gazed in wordless wonder, while other times I found myself studying various tiny details seen across the expanse.

Either way, I had a sense of awe while staring into the vastness, feeling the cool breeze upon my face and hearing the birds sing around me. I was filled with wonder as I marveled at how each tall, slender rock spire was uniquely beautiful — one of which looked like the character E.T. from certain perspectives.

Occasionally I try to photograph a grand scene like this, with a foolish hope of somehow preserving the moment to experience again later. I know these photographic attempts will ultimately fall short of my goal because they fail to carry the emotional weight that comes with standing on the rim of a spectacular canyon at sunset. Nature is not static, so no single image can represent the magical quality of light and shadows constantly shifting across the landscape, nor can it express the profound sense of presence that comes from simply being there.

After years of attempting and failing to capture these intangible moments, I find myself increasingly drawn to photographing more subtle experiences where beauty is waiting to be discovered along an empty trail. I found such experiences during the dawn and dusk hours while hiking below the rim in Bryce last October.

My favorite time to start hiking is in the early morning, just before it’s light enough to see the trail without a flashlight. Within minutes, my eyes adjust, so I can safely walk down into the quiet canyon. Although many people were gathering on the rim to claim “their spot” for sunrise, I quickly left them behind, and soon I felt like I had the entire canyon to myself during twilight.

Initially, the scene was too dark for photography, so I was simply walking in silence, immersing myself in the inspiring landscape surrounding me. As the landscape slowly illuminated, I enjoyed simply noticing the subtle textures and gentle curves of the terrain surrounding me.

By walking along the canyon’s trails, I got to experience the hoodoo rock formations up close, as well as the scattered trees that miraculously emerge from the barren landscape. I discovered lovely little scenes to photograph as the trail wound its way deeper into the canyon, occasionally passing through tunnels carved into cliffs.

I often find myself drawn to subjects where the forms can be clearly depicted in black and white; however, some subjects speak louder to me in color. As I walk, I’m fascinated by the views I’m close to and those too distant to capture with a normal lens. So occasionally I feel compelled to use a telephoto to get a good look at remote formations.

I find this way of seeing to be a more tangible and intimate experience than the vastness seen from above the rim. Getting “up close and personal” with the landscape helps me establish a deeper connection with it, allowing me to appreciate its beauty more holistically.

On that October morning, as the sun rose further above the rim and the trail became populated with other hikers, I found myself returning to the trailhead, bringing with me memories of the visual wonders I discovered while hiking alone in the predawn hours among the hoodoos.

I want to take a moment to express my sincere gratitude for this Substack community. Since joining in early 2025, I’ve been continually inspired by the creativity and generous support I’ve found here. Thank you for being part of my journey.

I wish you a happy and healthy New Year, and hope you find beautiful discoveries and inspiration along whatever path you follow.