I sometimes joke that travel days have a way of stealing a little dignity from you. By the time we reached Furnace Creek after three flights, a cab ride across Vegas, and two hours of squinting at desert roads in a rented camper, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to unpack my gear or just collapse face first into the nearest patch of sand. But exhaustion has never stood a chance against good light, and the February sun dropping toward the Panamint Range made the choice for me.
Checking in at the campground felt like moving underwater. The woman behind the counter was cheerful in a way I couldn’t quite process, and the clip of the pen sounded oddly sharp. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been awake for twenty hours. Everything gets louder except your brain. I remember glancing at the sky and noticing the shadows getting longer, and that was enough to snap me back into photographer mode. My wife gave me the knowing look she’s perfected over decades of these adventures, the one that silently says, “We’re going, aren’t we?” We were.
Zabriskie Point was the only place close enough to reach before the color drained out of the landscape. The drive felt quicker than it probably was, mostly because the adrenaline had kicked in and I’d stopped feeling the stiffness in my legs. When we got out of the camper, the breeze hit my face and carried that dry, almost sweet desert scent that always makes me feel like I’ve stepped into a memory I can’t quite place.
The short walk up the path gave us a view that somehow managed to wake me up more effectively than any nap could’ve. The badlands stretched out in folds and ridges, each one catching the late light in a slightly different way, like the earth was turning its face toward the sun one last time. There’s no polite way to say this, but I forgot how tired I was. Completely forgot. The excitement of seeing a new landscape for the first time doesn’t leave much room for complaints.
I spotted the composition almost instantly. A vertical frame with the foreground pulling the eye right into the heart of the valley. Clean, simple, honest. Sometimes I agonize over angles and framing, but that moment felt easy, like the land had already done the heavy lifting and I was just there to take notes. I fired a few test shots to settle my hands, then set up the tripod before the sun could slip any lower.
Looking back, the shot feels like more than a travel memory. It carries the weight of tired bones and stubborn joy, of choosing a moment even when your body wants a nap, and of remembering who you are when you’re standing in front of something bigger than you.
Click to see and shop this image.
Here is a collection of other images from this trip.