Continuing with the full moonrise sequence (see earlier posts below): While I was captivated with the moonrise in the east, I wasn’t paying attention to what was building in the western sky above the recently-set sun. When I turned around and saw this, all thoughts of continuing back to the house evaporated. All those fiery clouds against a deep blue sky. Supper could wait a while longer; it was my soul that was being fed at the moment.

Continuing this series (see first entry below): I had thought I was done photographing the moonrise for the evening. I had my best shots; it would only get darker on me, so I started walking back to the house. It’s at times like these that I’m grateful to be wrong! Because as I was keeping an eye on the view east while I walked west, I realized that things had changed significantly. The now-set sun’s rays were reflecting off of particles in the atmosphere (haze, light clouds, dust, who knows) to form an Alpenglow pink band in the east, behind the San Francisco Peaks.

As I was excitedly consumed with this new view, I was oblivious to what was happening behind me, to the west. Which I will show in the next post. Stay tuned.

November 12 was the day before the official Full Moon, and as usual I was on the lookout for a good shot that evening. The evening before the full moon is the time to include it into landscape photos, because it comes up just early enough for the scenery to be acceptably well lit, and the moon looks as full as it will the next night, to the unaided eye.

I had been out cutting firewood that day. Watching the cloud cover as the afternoon wore on, I frowned as I saw high, hazy cloud cover to the east. Ah, I’m going to get shut out for this month, I thought. Might as well go back out into the woods and cut another load.

So I did. Except that, as sunset approached and I had a half load, I had the feeling that maybe I’d better get back. I’m so glad I followed those feelings, because the cloud cover had shifted and I could see the moon rising just above the horizon as I pulled into my yard. I grabbed my camera gear and walked out to enjoy the experience. This is the first example of what was to be an amazing evening.

With fresh snow (courtesy of the second major storm of the season) on the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff, Arizona, we were treated to an occurrence of alpenglow just after sunset this evening.

Alpenglow occurs when the Sun is just below the horizon, and a horizontal red glowing band is observed on the opposite horizon. It is easiest to observe when mountains are illuminated, such as in this photo. Since the Sun is below the horizon, it is not shining directly on the mountain. Instead, light reflects off airborne snow, water, or ice particles low in the atmosphere. It is this circumstance that separates a normal sunrise or sunset from alpenglow. [Source: Wikipedia].
 

Last night was the first snow of the fall season here on the Coconino Pleateau in northern Arizona. Lightning and rain, then snow as the elevation increased on my way north. Slippery roads around Flagstaff, trucks in a long line on I-40 westbound with all of their red lights along their sides, for miles. I was relieved to exit the Interstate and leave them on their way, while I drove slowly from Parks to the ranch with no other vehicles on the lonely, peaceful historic Route 66.

Now, the morning after, the storm has passed, and the sun is out to turn the heavy wet snow on the branches into glowing cotton. The last leaves on the elm trees that were left hanging brown and dried suddenly look almost gold against the deep blue sky. Pine wood burning hot in the wood stove in the house while I wander in the bright scene outside to record it with my camera and lenses.

The day after our historic Presidential election here in the U.S., we are treated to new snow on the San Francisco Peaks. This is actually the second snow of the season for The Peaks. The first was in early October, but it melted the next day and was dry for the rest of the month.

A heavy fall frost is illuminated by the rising sun in the Pittman Valley along historic Route 66 near Williams, Arizona. It was frost, fog, and sunshine all at once for a short while. Quite a scene.

The Arizona Strip is a huge, nearly empty, relatively unnoticed, intriguing chunk of space on the map north of Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon steals all the glory, and to the north is Utah; to the west is Nevada. The Strip like being out of the limelight just fine, I suspect. Except that there are a few communities and businesses out there, widely scattered and hopeful of your tourist dollars. They deserve them. Friendly people in a wide open and mind boggling land.

This photo was made from the switchbacks on route 89A as it ascends from the plateau floor up into the mountains. From here it goes west to Jacob Lake and from there you can drive south to the North Rim of Grand Canyon. The best rim. Or you can continue west and north to Fredonia, AZ, and up into Utah. Great country; you can’t go wrong whichever way you choose to turn.

A ponderosa pine snag (meaning a dead standing tree) accents the scene looking down into Grand Canyon from the Grandview Trail just below Grandview Point.

Grandview Point is one of my favorite vistas along the South Rim in Grand Canyon National Park. Walking a short distance down the Grandview Trail affords you some alternate views. The trail, though, is very steep and narrow and scary. Like most of the trails down into the inner canyon, it was originally built by miners. If you go down this trail even a short way, you will confirm what you always suspected: that miners are crazy. Especially back in those days.

Yesterday I was at Grand Canyon National Park, and this was the view from Desert View at sunset. Despite a lot of smoke from Forest Service controlled burns to the south, the sun managed to break through just before it set, illuminating the canyon walls in the distance. The Colorado River shines an aqua blue at upper left, despite the fact that it’s always a muddy brown river. It’s the reflection of the blue sky.