Autumn in Arizona

(West Fork of Oak Creek, Sedona)

Fall in Arizona can compete with the best of 'em.

     Not only can the reds, yellows, oranges and pinks found on Arizona’s deciduous trees rival those found in the eastern part of the country, but here they last over 3 months! The aspen trees in the White Mountains, North Rim of the Grand Canyon and upper elevations of the San Francisco Peaks start changing colors in late September and last through early October. Throughout October, the bigtooth maples in the canyons along the Mogollon Rim blaze red and orange, while November brings brilliant color to the creeks dropping off the sky islands in Southern Arizona. Once the lower elevations start to see crisp, cold nights, the sycamore, walnut and cottonwood trees along the Sonoran Desert creeks turn yellow, and often the larger cottonwoods will hold onto their leaves through early January. For the landscape photographer (or general lover of fall colors), this means one heck of an awesome fall season!

     For those who didn’t have a chance to experience fall in AZ this year, I’ve put together a portfolio of my favorite fall scenes I’ve captured over the past couple years. Enjoy!

(click any photo to view it larger) 

(West Fork of Oak Creek, Sedona)

(Aspens line the shore of Bear Canyon Lake, Mogollon Rim)

(South Fork of Cave Creek, Chiricahua Mountains, southern AZ)

(Cottonwood tree reflected in a small pool in Coon Creek, near Roosevelt Lake)

(Reflections and leaf littler along Aravaipa Creek in southern AZ)

(Aspens and Humphreys Peak, near Flagstaff)

(A rainy autumn day in Aravaipa Canyon)

(Cottonwoods and the Goldfield Mountains along the lower Salt River, near Mesa)

(A kaleidocope of greens and yellows along Pinto Creek, near Roosevelt Lake)

(A small waterfall in lower Pinto Creek)

Purchase prints at www.joelhazelton.com

Thoughts from the Desert

I am home.

I've been on top of this mesa for no more than a few hours and I feel like I've been here for months. It's the familiar feeling of discontentment that clues me in on this fact. I feel stagnant up here-- lonely and misunderstood. I don't understand the landscape the way I did when I was hiking. Then, I was picking through a maze of topography, where each living thing served a purpose. The teddy bear cholla stood guard at saddles connecting massive buttes, the prickly pear carpeted broad mesas, and the saguaros danced along the slopes of canyons. My job was to walk, and I did so proudly and with determination.

Now, after being chased away from my camp by a pair of rogue bees, I am lying on my back, atop Black Top Mesa, in the shade of a Palo Verde tree.

My eyes move lazily from open to closed, occasionally stealing a glance at the clouds. But I'm not relaxed. At least, not in the traditional sense. My mind is running 100 miles an hour-- punishment for me doing nothing. How dare I waste away my backpacking trip? I came here to photograph Weaver's Needle, and here I am, three hours before the sweet sunset light, lying horizontal and looking at the clouds. Sure, I found a potential composition, but it's the type of shot that would require an exceptional sunset sky to work. So, essentially I have found nothing.

I lay and look at the clouds for a bit longer. They are high and wispy, only allowing pockets of blue to peak through. It's the sort of sky that will provide a brilliant pink sunset, but it's only 3PM and experience reminds me the clouds will probably clear up.

I figure the bees have gotten bored and moved on, so I get up and head back to my camp, which is comprised of nothing more than a tarp, sleeping pad and sleeping bag. It is minimal, but it's overlooking an amazing view, several miles deep in the Superstition Wilderness. I'm still not content, but moving makes me feel a little better.

I've got a couple hours to grab my camera and explore the mesa. This evening I may get a shot and I may not. The only thing I know is I'll return to the desert next week. 

(Weaver's Needle, photographed at sunset from Black Top Mesa)