Trip Report: Lava and Water

Cold water rushes through a narrow ravine. On either side of the stream, sections of rock are exposed, revealing ancient breccia, a mixture of sharp-edged rock fragments and finer grains, like a rough, natural concrete, formed by ancient volcanic activity and other dramatic forces. Vibrant green moss covers the landscape as the water rushes over ancient boulders. The stream flows through a canyon surrounded by peaks over nine thousand feet high.

The American West and its geology fascinate me. Though the volcanic evidence here may not be connected to nearby Yellowstone, it is clear that lava and water formed this region.

The volatile events that formed this area and its geography remain somewhat mysterious. The results, however, are profoundly beautiful. Water and time are relentless, and their effects are felt in places such as these.

The smoky skies forced my friend and I to look for smaller scenes to photograph on my recent trip. Smaller, that is, than the typical grand landscapes associated with Montana. And so, we explored nearby waterfalls.

Many of these waterfalls are off the beaten path, known only to locals, many with no names. I hesitate to name their location so as not to spoil their subtle beauty and serene isolation. Perhaps that is selfish, but far too often people have no idea how to act in natural places, and those places soon become trampled by carelessness.

Venturing off the trail to find these falls posed some challenges. I’ve mentioned the risks of such an endeavor before. But thankfully, and by God’s grace, we arrived safely. Oftentimes, the trail was far away from the stream, so it was out of view. Finally, we chose a spot to walk down and hoped for the best.

We had to cross the stream a couple of times, so I switched to my water shoes. My friend decided to be like a mountain goat and jump over the water instead. He’s a lot older than me, by the way. I guess the mother in me came out a little bit, but my friend didn't listen.

Finally, we made it to the waterfall. It isn’t a large one by any stretch, maybe twelve or fifteen feet, if that. But it is in a very unique spot, with a large boulder wedged in between the sides of the ravine, almost hanging over the waterfall itself. In fact, I think the boulder is what formed the waterfall in the first place.

Water, of course, pays no mind to rock, and slowly but surely whittles it away, especially coarse and fine rock like breccia.

Earlier in my trip, I wrote about how I felt I could approach photography better. Consequently, I had to remind myself to slow down and take in the scene. So I sat by the edge of the creek and prayed, taking in the beauty around me.

Honestly, I could spend hours in a place like that. The rushing water (which was pretty nice on my feet after hiking, more on that later), the solitude, the colors of the moss, and the waterfall itself all come together to make a nice spot to rest.

What about this scene reminded me of God? What were the main characters? And how could I best capture it? These are the questions I needed to ask before I photographed this place.

It was immediately obvious that the moss-covered breccia was a unique feature of the location, not to mention the waterfall itself. To a lesser degree, some of the stones in the water had nice color and texture, so I spent some time trying to bring those into some images. Lastly, the overhanging rock provided shade, shadow, and texture to the scene.

Being a waterfall, I wanted to express some movement of the water—hard to do in a still photograph. I chose a moderately slow shutter speed, as I like a bit of texture in my water images. Too long a shutter speed and the water just turns into mist. Because I needed most of the scene in focus (a skill I still struggle with, if I’m honest), I chose a smaller aperture, though I can’t recall what number. ISO fell where it needed to to accommodate the other two values. As for the composition, I tried to emphasize different elements in different images. Of course, the waterfall stayed a prominent part of the scene.

I wish I had the opportunity at every location just to sit and observe before needing to shoot. Most of the time, conditions are changing so rapidly that you have to act quickly. But here, time was almost standing still, an irony given that the water never stops moving, like time itself. Time and photography go hand in hand, don’t they?

Finally, I found the composition seen in the first image of this post. I shot a variety of angles, but I felt that image was the best of them all.

Then it was time to go, so I stepped out of the water and realized that I couldn’t feel my feet. I guess I was a little too excited to photograph and forgot that this was very cold mountain water. A few minutes of slapping my feet and the hike back brought some blood flow back, thankfully.

I struggle to find words that connect this moment with the ancient, rugged history of this place. Only God knows what was happening here in the past. Somehow, between the force of the global flood and the power of volcanoes, this place came to be. Since then, the stream has continued to erode the rock, carving out this spectacular location. Water and time are relentless.

Time can erode us, as water does rock. We can become bitter as the troubles of this life chip away at us, causing our hearts to harden all the more. But God’s grace is relentless as well, and may He erode the rockiness of our hard hearts, as the water of this canyon erodes the ancient rock of this ravine.

Even as we reflect on time, it continues to march on. And yet, in places like this, we sometimes find a respite, where time seems to slow, and we can take in the beauty of this world that God has created.