The morning light warmed my face through the open door. Blinking my eyes open, I found Chestnut staring at me, panting, and the van’s surfaces to have a layer of fine dust coating every surface. This must be what it was like to live in the Dust Bowl, I thought to myself as I grabbed my camera in hopes of capturing something in this golden light. Kristin was up as well, so all three of us wandered down to the water’s edge, without caffeine in our systems, not really saying a word. Chestnut wanted to play. I wanted to photograph. Kristin just looked out at the nature with a smile on her face.

First Sunrise On The Road

For the six years prior to this road trip, all of my personal projects carried a sense of urgency because I wanted to build a career in photography around travel and adventure. Starting late with a camera, at 22 years old and not taking it “serious” until 24, I had no time to waste. Years behind my peers and lightyears behind my idols, every location I visited I was motivated to “create something worth while”. No fluff, no fun, only straight to the point. Yes, I played, but the play was always intentionally focused on building a portfolio worth sharing. I scoffed at the idea of taking cute photos to tell a story and often beat myself up if an image was “perfect”. In the beginning, I understood the importance of holding yourself to a higher standard, but this desire for perfection and comparison to others started to squash my creativity. At times, an internal weight so heavy I considered giving up on the career.

So, on a relatively average morning in a place most would look at and say, “there is nothing here” certainly triggered me to snap a few photos. Those years of photographing every second of everyday are in the past, unless I am on an assignment, however, with my camera in hand I wanted to create something, so I pulled out the tools in my toolbelt and:

Attached a neutral density filter to the lens and slowed the shutter speed down between 1/6 and 1/2 second to create a motion blur panning image
Switched lenses to the Tamron 70-180mm G2 and found a high saturation area of the lake, got down on my knees, and focused on compressing the distant mountain range with the golden lake water as the foreground
Stood up, slowed the shutter speed down once more to soften the slushing water and focused on the heavily shadowed weeds growing out of the muddy lake bottom

As I write this, I want to defend myself against the critics who will “call out” the average images, but the reality is these are the images that presented themselves this morning. This is what I saw when I woke. This is what walking next to the Pitt-Taylor Dam reservoir during a golden sunrise is like. So, there is no need to sequester them away in my archive like a squirrel hiding nuts for the winter.

With enough images from the morning, I headed back to the van, and started to pack up. It was time to move along to the next destination. Photograph, move, photograph… that is the lifestyle I have conditioned myself to do. Yet, Kristin forced (yes, strong word, but well-placed in this case) me to go for a walk and talk. My rushing was for no reason. It wasn’t even 7am. Yet, I had made bad coffee because I didn’t want to wait, we hadn’t had breakfast, packed up, did some “yoga” because I was waiting, and stressed myself out about making it to our next location without knowing where that location was going to be for the day.

Just before driving over the Pitt-Taylor Dam, a perfect leading line to the mountains in remote Nevada. Photograph by Dalton Johnson, follow him on Instagram.

After our walk, we took a little bit more time around the area and then headed out. Along our slow and bumpy drive, I launched my drone into the sky to capture the two bodies of water split by the Pitt-Taylor Dam. Compared to the day before, this flight was windless and clear as far as the eye could see. Flying around brought me joy as I saw pelicans, stunning landscapes, and beauty in a place I would often overlook.

Our next stop would be a few hours north, for a short and quick micro-adventure.

Winnemucca Sand Dunes

A perfect example of when reality doesn’t meet expectation. We stopped at the Winnemucca Sand Dunes, a random collection of sand dunes along the Highway 95, to run around the dunes, hopefully go sledding or sand-boarding, but we quickly realized that was not going to be the case.

After parking and walking up the gradual slope of our first sand dune, Kristin and I looked at each with a nervous smile, “Surely we aren’t going to sliding down this!”

The dunes were a fun stop, pretty as well, but not what the images online made this place look like. Which is okay, this was a random micro-adventure along our day two journey, so we had to try and I tried! Like a foolish little boy overeager to slide down the dunes, we found the steepest section of the dune and sent it.

First, on my butt. That didn’t work.

Second, standing. That didn’t work.

Third, an acid drop onto the slope… faceplant.

That last attempt covered me in sand, cut open my pinky toe (maybe I shouldn’t have been shoeless), and had both Kristin and I laughing at my foolishness. While silly, I think this did set us up for the next hour of trying while not succeeding. The barriers fell away and we ran around with Chestnut, attempted to slide other slopes that still didn’t work, jumped off the ledge, and just laughed together.

After a while, the sun started to beat down upon us and the sand. Worried about Chestnut’s feet we set course across the dunes back to the van and lunch.

The dishes damage from our quick lunch of finishing left overs. Photograph by Dalton Johnson, follow him on Instagram.

The Not So Subtle Reminder That Things Add Up Quickly

It’s easy for me to get philosophical when tapping away at a keyboard and living within 72 square feet, but nothing was more obvious than the pile of dishes practically falling out of the bar sink after our “quick lunch”. Clearing out the refrigerator of our leftovers, we piled everything together for a caprese, brisket salad. Weird, yes. But, it worked and the dishes were stacked high.

Word of the wise, don’t let things build inside or leave a trail of messes, you’ll have to clean them up at some point. Tackle them head on now, so they don’t come up and bite you in the rumper later.

You’re welcome for the random diatribe and mansplaining. I’ll be here until the 25th.

Watching Rain Drip Down The Windshield

With the dishes done, we hit the road, north. After our sweaty and sandy outing, we needed to rinse off in some water. Zooming in and out of Google Maps, we found a river spot a few hours north, near Rome. Not the Rome most would think about when you say “I visited Rome” but a no-stoplight kinda farm town with a dramatic plateau lining the Owyhee River. Fun fact, this river is part of the Wild and Scenic Rivers designation and I photographed a campaign for Adventure Scientist back in 2021/22 for one of their data collection projects in the Pacific Northwest.

Turning off the highway, we headed to a boat launch and camping spot. With no intention of staying for more than a quick dip, we parked the van, found out the camping was free, and took a dip right away. Cooled down, a summer rainstorm came thundering across the landscape and started to pour rain. Sitting inside, looking out, we had two options; hit the road or sit and enjoy. We picked the second option.

Braving the rain, we set up Starlink and started getting some work done as the storm rained down on the windshield.

SUPing The Owyhee River

Once the thunder rolled away and our work was done for the day, I crawled into the van’s garage to pull out the stand-up paddle-boards. It was time to enjoy this river a little bit more. With a low flow and fish jumping, we pushed off the sandy bank. Kristin started with Chestnut and I paddled solo with a camera. I’m always worried to have the camera and Chestnut at the same time on the paddle-boards as he is a bit spontaneous, potentially flipping us, and swamping the camera. However, once I tuck away the camera into the dry-bag the worries are gone.

More than an hour passed as we paddled up the river and floated back to our starting place. Our bellies were grumbling for dinner, Chestnut was over the paddle-boards, and it was time to start settling in for the night.