Reflection Lakes

Author's Comments

The mountain doubles in the water for maybe thirty minutes, and then it is gone. That is the whole equation at Reflection Lakes. You arrive in the dark, you set up in the dark, and you wait for the first color to come up behind the south face while the surface holds so still it feels like a held breath. By the time the sun is actually up, a breeze has usually crossed the lake and the reflection has fractured into ripples, and the postcard is over for the day. Late July is the version most people photograph. The wildflowers come right down to the shoreline, and if you can find a foreground of lupine or paintbrush that lines up with the peak, the frame arranges itself. But I have come to prefer early October. The huckleberry along the banks turns a red that is almost too saturated to be real, the crowds thin considerably once the summer reservation window closes, and the air is colder and stiller in the hour before dawn. The mountain still has snow. The lake still holds it. This is not a hidden place and I will not pretend otherwise. On a clear July morning you will share the shoreline with fifty other tripods, and everyone will be making some version of the same photograph. That is fine. The image is famous because it is genuinely that good, and standing there in the last minutes of dark, waiting for alpenglow to touch the summit, you understand why people keep making the drive. Get there earlier than you think you need to. The wind is patient with no one.

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