Two years ago I was taking a one-day photography class. We arrived at the eastern shore of Lake Tahoe in the late afternoon. Lake Tahoe is a magical place for photography — constantly beautiful no matter what time of day or what kind of weather. In winter, clouds rage over the Sierra Nevada range and drift across the lake unleashing furious snowfall, followed by clear skies and pure white light reflecting off the snow-covered mountains. In summer, a thousand shades of blue extend from the water’s edge to the sky overhead with miles of shifting reflections in between.
I was traipsing around the sandy shore, photographing rocks and dead wood and a boat moored at the dock. I looked up, across the water to the west and saw him standing on the boulders — tall and skinny like a Giacometti sculpture silhouetted just above the mountain range. The sun split into a radiant glare in my lens and hit the water like spilled diamonds. It was a perfect moment — man and earth, small and large, the world through my eyes and all of its endless possibilities.