Dillon Reservoir

Author's Comments

The reservoir is a wind problem more than a light problem. By nine in the morning the surface is already breaking up, and the reflection you came for is gone until the next dawn. So you arrive in the dark. You stand on the paved path near Frisco Bay with coffee going cold in your hand, and you wait for the Tenmile Range to start catching the first alpenglow, that high-altitude pink that lasts maybe four minutes and looks like nothing else. I prefer late September here. The aspens on the lower slopes are turning, the summer boat traffic has thinned, and the mornings are cold enough that the air feels properly thin. Nine thousand feet has its own quality of light. Cleaner, somehow. Less forgiving of a lazy composition but more rewarding when you get one right. The marina side gives you boats and masts in the foreground, which can either make or clutter the image depending on how you frame it. I tend to walk further along the path until the shoreline simplifies, until it is just water and the Gore Range and whatever sky the morning has decided to offer. A wide lens works. A longer lens, pulling the peaks closer across the still water, often works better. This is not a secret place. There will be other photographers at the obvious pullouts, and the recreation path sees walkers even at sunrise. But the reservoir is large enough that you can find your own piece of shoreline if you are willing to walk ten minutes from the parking lot. Most people are not. That is usually where the photograph is.

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