Over the years, I've gone backpacking in some of our nation's most spectacular outdoor destinations, including the Tetons, the Olympic rainforest, the Great Smoky Mountains, and the Colorado Rockies. But it's been a long-time dream of mine to reach this one particular, obscure spot: Dusy Basin, deep in Kings Canyon National Park. This was the summer I finally made it, as my trusty backpacking buddy Mark and I overcame the odds and the logistical hurdles of travel during this strange time for our country and the world, and trekked our way into an alpine fantasy land in the High Sierra of California. All that mattered up here were the mountains, the clear, crisp air at 12,000 feet elevation, and the unforgettable light.

In a typical year, this type of “serious” backpacking trip is something that I don’t often get a chance to do, between my normally busy work schedule of photo tours, scouting for potential new tours, and selling my images at art shows across New England. Of course, in the one year where all of those things vanish into non-existence, The “Covid Year,” a business like mine that is based on travel is forced to scale back tremendously and do what it can much closer to home (and for a while, operate literally from the home).

While in theory, this leaves me with more time, the same travel restrictions and closures that have affected my work meant that an ambitious backpacking trip would be even more of a challenge this year than any other year. Mark and I had actually made our back-country reservations six months in advance, before Covid was even on our radar. And as the world changed around us, ebbing and flowing with every week, we changed our minds about pursuing this adventure seemingly as often, all the way up to June, one month before our departure, when we finally committed to it once and for all.  So off we went, me from Boston, Mark from Kansas City, with masks and hand sanitizer and some ginormous backpacks, for what would probably be my last trip for quite a while.

I mapped my route for this adventure using Gaia GPS, which can produce a customized map of any area, and generated a PDF file which I printed on a single piece of 8.5x11 paper and then laminated, to keep in my backpack as a failsafe in case all our navigation devices decided to die. Modern technology is great for stuff like this. So much better than carrying a huge foldout map that contains more area than I need, like I would have years ago.

When a photographer goes backpacking, it can be a real conflict of interests. My everyday camera backpack has about 30 pounds of metal and glass in it, but clearly I couldn’t bring all of that if I was also packing all my stuff for living on the trail. What to bring? What to leave behind? Pure agony. Most non-photographers’ priority on the trail is simply to reduce weight, to make the trek easier over the miles at high elevation. I try to do the same, shaving ounces wherever I can... And then I throw ten pounds of camera gear on top of that. Ugh.

Coming straight from Massachusetts, where everything is pretty much at sea level, there’s no way to truly prepare yourself for an adventure in the High Sierra, no matter how much you train. At elevations approaching 12,000 feet, the air is thin enough for your lungs, your muscles, and your brain to feel it, especially on the steep upward climbs, and it’s worse for some than others. Your body needs more red blood cells to function properly up here, and it takes several days for you to produce enough of them.

After a very full day of hiking, and a lot of wheezing and whooping, we made it to Dusy Basin. There’s no better feeling than reaching your destination for the night and setting up camp. For non-photographers this would be a nice relaxing time, when you wind down for the evening, and kick back with dinner and an early bedtime. But of course the light decided to get nice, so for me, the second part of the work was just beginning.

Over the next few days and nights, I experienced the Basin under a variety of conditions, some worth photographing, some not. Clear, cloudless skies were not the most flattering look for the landscape, compared to the delicate purple clouds of the first evening, so I was more than content to eat my way through certain sunsets like a regular backpacker would.

While clear nights make for boring sunsets, they keep me up late doing star photography. It’s important to not just go wandering off from camp in the middle of the night, because you will get hopelessly lost. There are no roads, markers, or trails up here. Just pure wilderness. Make sure you scout your locations during the day, and practice going between your shooting location and your camp while it’s still light out. Mark the location of your campsite in your handheld GPS, and bring it with you in case you do get lost.

Who knows what the future will bring in these uncertain times, but it does seem that adventures like these will be few and far between. But the hard reality is that most human eyes will never get to see a place quite like this, so remote, beautiful, rugged, and pure, and for that I feel especially blessed that I have had these opportunities in my life and career.