Monument Valley Rainbow

Rainbow over Monument Valley

The air in Monument Valley tasted of dust and relentless heat on July 28, 2017. The towering sandstone monoliths, affectionately known as 'elephants,' loomed under an unforgiving, hazy sky, devoid of the vibrant light photographers crave. The dried up tumbleweeds offered little inspiration as foreground elements. As a photographer constantly chasing that ethereal glow, I found myself in a familiar bind: great subject, terrible conditions.

My travel companion and photographic mentor, Edwin Martinez, seemed unfazed. Edwin, a Canon "Crusader of Light," is a master of all things photography, from the intricate technical aspects of gear, to the artistry of composition, and the magic of post-processing. Over the past 10 years, Edwin has been my teacher on photography workshops and tours and has been instrumental in my growth as a photographer. But our connection runs deeper — we just get each other and always seem to find humor in the subtle absurdities that others miss.

And, we’ve certainly had our share of memorable, often hilarious, moments across continents. Edwin, as a co-owner of Wide Horizon Photo Tours, is almost always the embodiment of professionalism, but there are times when that professional facade takes a brief, humorous break. Take the time we were photographing lightning-fast bats in Costa Rica at night. We were all instructed to switch our cameras to single-shot mode to protect the flash units. But with only minutes left, and wanting to ensure an additional capture, Edwin mischievously grabbed my camera and, knowing full well the single-shot rule, switched it to burst mode. Then, a bat swooped in from the darkness and my camera triggered the flash. Multiple flashes fired so fast that it was virtually imperceptible to anyone. Incredibly, Alvaro, another sharp-eyed tour leader, instantly noticed the tell-tale burst and called us out, leading to a good-natured but deserved reprimand for me! Over the years, Edwin and I have encountered so many funny circumstances that some moments are now just shorthand between us, like the "change the frog" incident in Costa Rica or the "dot bird" saga from Caddo Lake, Texas. These little inside jokes are a testament to a friendship that transcends the lens.

Our journey through the magnificent desert landscapes of the southwestern United States had brought us to this moment in July of 2017. As we pulled into Monument Valley that afternoon, around three or four o'clock, the conversation had oddly turned to snakes. Living in Georgia, I'm accustomed to being aware of them and I always wear long pants and sturdy hiking boots when venturing off-trail. The deserts of Utah, I knew, were prime rattlesnake country, and I'd dressed accordingly, despite the oppressive heat. I began rattling off my precautions to Edwin – "Rattlesnakes are masters of camouflage, so watch where you step,” “don’t reach under any rocks or sticks,” and of course, “wear closed toed shoes." He seemed to take my precautions seriously, but I wasn't sure if he was genuinely concerned or just playing along.

The SUVs rolled to a dusty stop, and the tour participants stepped out. Everyone scattered across the parched landscape, searching in vain for foreground elements or leading lines that might help to showcase the giant "elephants" in the background. In the ensuing search for a compelling shot, I'd completely forgotten about the earlier snake discussion.

Then, I heard movement behind me, followed by a peculiar sound: a constant, repetitive hissing, whistling, sssssssssswishy sort of noise.  I turned, confused, to see Edwin, camera in hand, creating these strange sounds as he wandered cautiously among the nearby tumbleweeds. "What are you doing?" I asked, utterly baffled. His reply, delivered with a perfectly straight face, was, “trying to scare off any rattlesnakes that may be lurking!” I couldn't help but laugh; it was pure, classic Edwin.

We stayed on the desert floor for about an hour. I captured some photos that were marginally satisfactory as documentary evidence of this place, but none held the artistic appeal I sought. Disappointed, we all piled back into our assigned vehicles.

After a quick pit stop at the Navajo Tribal Park Visitor Center, we were all set to drive to our next destination. As I reached for the vehicle door, I caught a glimpse of Edwin in my peripheral vision. He was running toward the edge of the parking area, camera in hand — a dead sprint towards the overlook.

I was momentarily confused, but I quickly understood. This was a critical lesson I now always remember: when Edwin runs with his camera, I should grab mine and run too. So I did — we all did.

As I neared the overlook, the reason for his haste became breathtakingly clear: a storm was rolling into Monument Valley, and a magnificent rainbow had arched above the "elephants." I lifted my Nikon D850 with attached 27-70 lens up to my eye. I immediately realized that a wider lens would have been better for this expansive scene, but time was of the essence—rainbows, I knew, could be fleeting. So I fired off about five clicks with the lens I had before the rainbow vanished and the thunderstorm enveloped the valley.

We scrambled back into the SUVs and drove out of the valley, exhilarated by the magnificent rainbow. Over dinner at The Swinging Steak—an outdoor restaurant where steaks cooked on a screen that swung back and forth over an open fire—our group remained buoyant, reliving that amazing, unexpected shot.

My photograph of the rainbow above Monument Valley captures a beautiful moment in time. But the 'symphony behind the still' plays out in the frustration of the imperfect conditions for photography that existed that day, the hilarity of Edwin's rattlesnake deterrent behaviors, and the mad, exhilarating rush towards a vanishing opportunity. Yet the greatest realization lies in the dual rarity it reveals: the stunning good fortune of witnessing such a perfect natural spectacle, and the even more remarkable good fortune of finding a friend like Edwin — someone whose shared love for photography, generous spirit in teaching the craft, and similar sense of humor truly elevates me and everyone around him.