Covid Respite #5 - Angel Fire, NM

My brother, Rand, lives in Arkansas, and we had not seen each other in a long time, so in late August we decided to take a break from Covid quarantine . . . to meet and hang out for a few days in the ski resort village of Angel Fire, New Mexico.

Angel Fire is located at the southern end of a beautiful valley called the Moreno Valley in the Sangre de Cristo mountains of northern New Mexico, which are the southernmost end of the Rocky Mountains.  The valley began forming while the Rockies were being lifted up 75 million years ago, and it took its current shape over the past 2.5 million years.

We stayed in a VRBO rental cabin near the Angel Fire Country Club, where we had mule deer, hummingbirds, and a great view of the sky and mountains across the valley.

One morning, after rain and a bit of hail the afternoon before, we had a beautiful foggy sunrise:

We spent most of our time driving up and down the valley talking and enjoying the scenery, which included dramatic palisades along the Cimarron River . . .

 . . . a memorial to Vietnam veterans overlooking the valley . . .

 . . . and a cemetery located at the site of Elizabethtown, the first town in New Mexico to be incorporated.  Now it's a ghost town, with only a few ruins remaining, but the cemetery is still in use.

Of course, no trip to a remote area of New Mexico would be complete without an abandoned vehicle:

If you would like to see these images (and more) in a larger format, please visit my photography website, Todos Juntos Photography, by clicking here.

Enjoy!

Covid Respite #4 - Ojito Wilderness

 

In mid-August, my friend Alan and I took another half-day "Covid respite" trip . . . this time to the Ojito Wilderness about 40 miles northwest of Albuquerque.

Ojito is back-country, with mesas, arroyos, cactus, and interesting rock formations.  It's not as interesting as Bisti or Ah-Shi-Sle-Pah, but it's a good destination for getting out of the house for a few hours.

We chose a trail that winds around the base of Bernalillito Mesa (above) which is littered with rocks that have broken off and fallen from the cliff face above.

We hiked about a mile to reach a small outcropping of yellow-orange Dakota sandstone that formed teepees with swirling layers of color.

I was fascinated by the textures and colors:

After about 90 minutes, the morning sun was beating down on us and the temperature was headed into the 90s, so we hiked back to our cars and made our way home.

If you would like to see these images (and more) in a larger format, please visit my photography website, Todos Juntos Photography, by clicking here.

Enjoy!

Monsoon Storm Clouds

 

The rainiest season of our desert world -- when we normally get half our annual rainfall -- runs July through September.  That "half" amounts to about 4 inches, and the season is ironically dubbed the "monsoon" season.

Monsoon precipitation usually comes in brief, scattered, localized showers that pop up in the late afternoon or early evening -- not like the continuous drizzles or downpours in wetter climes.  And the rain almost always comes from dramatic cloud formations that are frequently photo-worthy.

About ten days ago, I was able to photograph one of those monsoon events from my own back yard and from a couple of locations within a hundred yards of my house -- without getting wet!

The main action began a little before 6pm.  A big cell had been building northeast of us all afternoon, and at first seemed to be moving southeast -- in effect, away from us.  But for some reason it suddenly turned directly south and moved down the Rio Grande River valley toward Albuquerque.

In the image above I'm looking a bit south of east toward the Sandia Mountains, which you see at the bottom of the image.  The storm cell is moving from left to right (north to south), with the front (in the center) followed by the rain (on the far left of the image).  If you look closely, you may be able to see a few tiny white streaks on the left side of the image -- those are raindrops captured by the camera.

As the storm passed from north to south, you could see the sheets of rain obscuring the mountains:

It took about an hour for the storm to pass by; then the clouds began to break and the setting sun gave us a rainbow and some dramatic anti-crepuscular rays.

A few minutes later, the anti-crepuscular rays faded and the trailing edge of the storm came into view (left side of the image below):

At this point, I moved from my back yard out to the street to get a better view of the trailing edge . . . and the clouds obliged by letting the sun shine on the scene:

As the storm cell moved further south, you could see the entire formation:

To get a better view of the receding storm, I walked around to a huge open space on the south side of my house, where I had a clear view of the Sandias (about 10 miles to the east) . . .

and all the way to the north side of Albuquerque (about 10 miles southeast).

The storm kept moving south and, as the sun set, the upper levels of the storm were illuminated while the lower levels grew dark:

The last light of the setting sun dissolved in the west and, after two hours and twenty minutes, the show was over.

Besides the giant cloud formations, I was also captivated by (relatively) smaller details within the larger scene -- clouds within clouds:

If you would like to see these images (and more) in a larger format, please visit my photography website, Todos Juntos Photography, by clicking here.

Enjoy!