American River Canyon

Several weeks ago Kaela and I grabbed Obee and headed for the hills to get a day away from the city. Our first stop was the ridge overlooking the North Fork of the American River just below Lake Clementine.

Recently I purchased an adapter ring which allows me to use my old Canon bellows on my new camera. For macro work I use my old 50MM Canon lens with a reversing ring so the lens is attached backwards on the front of the bellows. This allows me to access the levers to set the F stop for control of the depth of field. It has been several years since I shot film with my old Canon F1 and I forgot how to release the stop lever. My first attempts at macro with the new setup suffer from a narrow depth of field due to a nearly wide open aperture. I have since figured out the trick to unlock the lever so things will improve in the future.

The florets in this, the first of three macro photos, are each about the size of the head of a pin.

To give a demonstration of scale - one of the pink flowers and the leaves can be seen at the tip of my boot.

Kaela caught me getting the shot with her iPod

Another small flower shot without the bellows.

Manzanita flowers.

No photo shoot is complete without at least one old rusty thing!

Soon we find ourselves on the ridge over the Middle Fork of the American River - the river lies far below.

Looking west - downstream - through the canyon.

Looking east towards the Sierra Nevada and our destination - Placer Big Trees to sit beneath a giant Sequoia or that snow in the distance, whichever comes first.

A couple of shots of the road twisting down into the canyon.

Nearing the bottom of the canyon we get a good view of an oxbow in the river.

The bridge over the North Branch of the Middle Fork of the American River.

Downstream from the bridge.

The river washes over veins of quartz below the bridge.

Next we head up the road on the south side of the canyon, back up to the next ridge.

Along the south side.

Over the ridge and down into the next canyon we find Ralston Reservoir

and the dam at the reservoir

An eagle soars above a ridge over Ralston.

Ridgetop trees silhouetted against broken clouds.

Several years ago a fire raged through the area leaving many trees skeletons.

Finally we reach the snow and a closed road about 5 miles short of our destination.

Obee had much more fun tossing his ball into the snow then digging it back out...

than in actually bringing it back to us.

Sculpted by wind, rain and warm temperatures a snow face looks over the forest.

We get one last look of the canyon as we return at the end of the day.

Strawberry Valley

Last weekend, my daughter's best friend was nearby to visit. She had moved to Virginia with her father about five months ago and was visiting her mother north of Marysville. Since she was only here for a couple of days I offered to take my daughter to see her.

I dropped my daughter off then headed out for a day of exploring.

My first thought was to check out Sutter Buttes, but then I remembered there is no public access except just a couple of days per year, so I headed east and north instead.

Sutter Buttes - the worlds smallest mountain range


Heading away from the Buttes...


I get my first glimpse of the foothills as I crest a hill.


The grasslands north east of Marysville seem to stretch on forever,
dotted with Heritage Oak trees.


I think Matt Dillon sat under this tree that time he got shot.


And I'm sure Hoss courted one of his few female interests under this cluster
until, as usual, she died in the next episode.


Still heading east I begin to enter the rolling foothills leading up to the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.


My destination is beyond the most distant ridge - visible towards the right of this photo above the valley in the foreground range.


My first find of the day!
(Did I ever tell you I like old rusty things?)
































As soon as I saw this I thought of my friend/fellow blogger/compatriot, Agent 99.
I know she will put it to good use.


The obligatory Floral Series:























Further on, the pavement is gone, replaced by a narrow gravel road. I am now just outside of the town of Strawberry Valley.

Founded in 1851 by Captain Mock and a band of gold miners, the town was named after the wild strawberries found growing everywhere.

It's not a place to make a mistake. The base of the trees in the foreground is about 30 feet below the edge of the road on which I am standing.


As the clouds begin to build, I find myself on a narrow dirt logging road...


which leads me to a burn scar. The timber was salvaged after the fire.




Next destination is the bottom of the canyon below the burn. A sound is calling me...


a babbling brook!


But something is wrong! This is nearly 4,000 feet elevation. The stream should be clear. There is a heavy nutrient load in this stream.


This plant seems to enjoy it, sprouting from the side of a rock.


Roots protruding from the bank make an interesting subject.