Lower Antelope Canyon

Author's Comments

You descend into this place. That is the first thing to understand. The entrance is a crack in the desert floor that you almost walk past, and then you are on a metal staircase going down into something that does not look like the world you just left. The walls close in. The light changes. What had been a flat hot afternoon at the surface becomes, twenty feet below, a corridor of orange and violet shadow that shifts as you walk through it. The sandstone here was carved by water moving fast and rarely, and the surfaces still hold the memory of that motion. Whorls. Long sweeping cuts. Folds that look almost soft until you reach out and feel the grit of them. In late morning, when the sun is high enough to send a shaft of direct light down through the slot above, the canyon goes from atmospheric to incandescent. The walls glow from within. The shadows go deep purple. This is the photograph everyone has seen, and it is still worth making. What I did not expect, the first time I went down, was how crowded it would feel. You are moving through with a guide and a group, and the canyon is narrow enough that there is almost no solitude to be had. The photography tour is worth the extra cost if you are serious. More time, a tripod, fewer elbows. Even then, you will be working quickly. Bring a wider lens than feels reasonable. The canyon does not give you room to step back. And look up often. The best compositions here are vertical, and the light is always richer overhead than it is at your feet.

Gallery