When Passions Collide

This article originally appeared on nwpphotoforum.com.

It's 4 AM and we wake from a short three-hour sleep just outside the West Gate of Yosemite National Park. Our rogue "campsite" was a discovery I made a few years back after realizing that civilized camping within park boundaries during tourist high season is impossible on short notice. Still barely awake, I silently drive us up the windy road, through the park's gate and into the lush forest. I love driving in Yosemite at night, the roads cleansed of monstrous RVs and radar wielding authorities. We soon find ourselves at Olmsted Point, a spot famous for hosting Ansel Adams’ photography workshops. These days, pausing here to take photos is for the tourists. We press on into one of the most glorious areas of the Park, Tuolumne Meadows. As we sort our climbing gear at the trailhead, I nervously watch the sky for signs of clouds or approaching thunderstorms. Today's adventure will require impeccable weather as we scale one of the most dramatic rock formations in the park and follow its spine for over a mile. Thankfully, the sky is clear as we pause to admire the ever-changing colors of the granite domes around us, obvious signs of the arriving day, as we begin our approach to Matthes Crest. 

Being an avid climber and photographer, I constantly have to battle with conflicting priorities. The climber wants the innocent, cloudless blue sky while the photographer yearns for the drama of menacing skies, lightning, explicit colors, puffy clouds. While in Yosemite during the summer months, my inner conflict is fueled with choices: to climb or to photograph, and how to do both at the same time? 

As night's velvety cloak puts the sun to rest, I hug my patient girlfriend and we walk hand in hand through the Meadows back to the waiting car. Although satisfied and complete, I feel a tinge of melancholy knowing that I witnessed a unique, rare moment of the world changing around us; changing me. Winding down the vanishing road, we rush towards our hidden rogue campsite, watching the distant flashes of lightning over Nevada. I can’t help but think, "Will I climb tomorrow? Will I photograph tomorrow?" And, of course the inevitable, "How can I do both?"