5 PM
Mar 20, 2026
San Francisco International Airport, San Francisco
I’m headed back to Death Valley — this time to complete a magazine piece. There’s 10-year superbloom happening right now that will really round out the article narrative. But the flowers are already dying. It’s too hot. We’re already up to 105º F in the basin, causing the flowers to set seed. We may see another bloom in a month or so, but I’m out of time for the magazine piece and can’t risk missing it.
Meghan says that if I get one good shot of a flower, it’ll have been worth it.
I’ve got a backpack loaded with my Leica, three types of film, a bivy sack, sunscreen, and a sat phone. I guess this is what traveling for Cypress looks like.
1 PM
Mar 21, 2026
Furnace Creek, Death Valley NP
If you’re reading this, I’ve melted.
Temperature while camping last night: 83º F
Current temperature: 102º F
I’ve sought out shade and a cafe to fight the heat. Or to stay awake. Or just for the break.
My sincerest thank you goes out to the campers next to me who broke camp at 5:30 AM. Them waking me up meant that I could make it to Badwater Basin before sunrise. Soft light, cool colors, very few people. The national park dream. I even spent ten minutes lying in the dirt along the roadside, timing a sun flare just as it peeked over the mountaintop. It may turn out to be one of the coolest photos from the trip. We’ll find out together in the next magazine issue.
A whole roll of film by 8 AM feels like a new record. The panic set in slightly: did I find the right spot this early in the trip, or do I need to slow down? Or both? Best to assume both.
My entire shot list and plan pivoted around 9 AM. I stopped at the Furnace Creek Visitor Center to update my annual park pass and came across an updated superbloom map. Luckily, Badwater was the only spot from my original agenda that was still firing. Everything else had changed.
But we live for chaos. And I own a compass and a map.
So today has been crisscrossing the park chasing flowers. Badwater. Panamint. Wildrose.
I was meant to return to Badwater for sunset — but the 13-mile valley road to Dante’s View is now in bloom. If I time all of this right, I’ll catch a fourth bloom, a sunset at Dante’s tonight, and a sunrise at Zabriskie Point in the morning. All under 100º F.
A 6 AM – 8 PM shooting schedule.
This just became a job.
9 PM
Mar 21, 2026
Fiddler’s Campground, Death Valley NP
I just witnessed — I’m fairly certain — the best sunset of my life. I’ve seen glowing oceans, wind-cut islands, and alpine forests lit up at dusk, but this one was indescribable. The colors erupted across every part of the sky. Surreal, vibrant oranges above the peaks. Soft pinks across the basin. Reflections hitting the salt flats and small runoff rivers that looked as if glowing worms were crawling across the valley floor.
Dante’s View was worth it. I waited three hours at the peak, hoping for the light to change. It did.
There were four new species of flowers that I hadn’t yet shot before climbing above the valley. I assume finally being at elevation was a factor.
Oh, and a rattlesnake ran me off one of the trails. When it’s quiet and you’re alone along a loose gravel ridge and you hear that rattle, your body freezes before you even process what just happened. But I stayed calm and did what any good Boy Scout should: froze, assessed the situation, asked kindly for a picture, and pulled out my phone. Turns out he was a friendly snake. I did then leave him alone to his trail.
This update comes to you live from the communal camp table, written under a red headlamp with a lukewarm Coors Banquet. I’ve had a literal gallon of water today, so the change is welcomed.
Cheers to the two couples on either side of my campsite, who appear to have never been camping together before. One has had their car running for the past hour, doors open and headlights on, to light their tent-pitching instructions.
I’m grateful to be witnessing two relationship-defining nights simultaneously.
12 PM
Mar 22, 2026
Harry Reid International Airport, Las Vegas
Cowboy camping under the stars last night. It was that hot. But the breeze was nice, and mother earth graced me with a clear view of the Milky Way. An owl kept me company. When he wasn’t hooting softly from the tree, I could just barely make out his silhouette hunting above me. I felt safer because of him. And I’ve never heard so much variation in an owl’s pitch and cadence as I did throughout the night.
Sunrise at Zabriskie Point. I scuttled up the north side onto Manly Beacon behind another photographer. Our red headlamps disappeared and reappeared, bouncing along the ridge in the dark, while a steady stream of tourists walked up the paved path below us with their phone lights turned up to full brightness. It was quiet on our side.
We chatted intermittently for nearly two hours waiting for the morning light to break. “Where’s the best Milky Way national park shot?” and “Have you ever been out on Highway 50 in the middle of the night?” — broken up by groups of two or three popping up behind us out of breath, taking a quick iPhone photo, and leaving.
Calm. Patience.
I brought an extra roll of film up the ridge. I ended up shooting a roll and a half while the sun sat behind clouds on the horizon. A prolonged blue hour. A compressed golden hour. More soft pastels than vibrant oranges. But patience paid off when the light changed and revealed a field of flowers opening around us that had been hiding all morning.
And again, two new species I hadn’t shot yesterday.
An electric sunset followed by an intimate sunrise. It was the right way to come down from the weekend.
Then a mad dash back to Vegas. A quick gas station coffee. A frantic car wash with a windshield squeegee. Baby wipe bath. Repack the backpack. Return the rental. Make it in time for my flight.
2.5 days
500 miles covered
4 rolls of film shot
The life.
