Kevin Palmer

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  • This image shows the stars apparent motion caused by the rotation of the earth. I setup my camera point at my tent while I camped in Anza Borrego.
    Anza Borrego Night
  • It was July 4th weekend, and most of the campgrounds in the Bighorn Mountains were full. But I didn't mind because I found a dispersed campsite instead with an amazing view of the milky way.
    Good Night
  • The views from Highland Park in the Cloud Peak Wilderness were even more beautiful at sunrise than they were at sunset. Dozens of elk were grazing in the meadow below while alpenglow touched the highest peaks. This might just be my favorite campsite I've ever found while backpacking.
    Highland Park Campsite
  • This might be my favorite campsite I've ever found while backpacking. The melodic sounds of elk would occasionally disturb the silence as dozens of them grazed in the meadow below. I awoke at 1AM just before the moon set so I could shoot the milky way.
    5,000 Star Hotel
  • I couldn’t let NEOWISE leave without trying to capture it over Devils Tower. But this wasn’t the shot I had in mind. The forecast called for mostly clear skies after earlier severe weather exited. But sometimes what actually happens is so much better than what I can imagine. This supercell popped up to the west around 10PM and the anvil quickly blocked out the comet. But then just as the storm was showing its best mothership structure during a close encounter with the tower, a hole in the clouds opened up. It was perfectly placed to reveal the comet once again for just a few minutes. It’s a good thing that most of the lightning was intracloud. If bolts of lightning were jumping out they would have been too bright to expose for the comet. Every single flash highlighted or backlit a different part of the storm. While the lightning continued for most of the night, I was glad the large hail stayed away. I didn’t want to test the hailproofness of my tent.
    A Hole in the Clouds
  • From the moment I woke up a deep red glow was visible through my tent walls. As I stepped outside a lone elk bounded away into the woods. There was so much color both in the sky and in the foliage below Cement Ridge in the Black Hills. It was the start of a beautiful fall day with temperatures in the 70's. But this season is short. By the next day it would be snowing heavily with subzero wind chills. The mountain in the distance is Terry Peak, the highest in the northern Black Hills.
    Explosion of Color
  • This was the view above Mistymoon Lake in the Cloud Peak Wilderness on Friday night. After hiking past this spot on the first day of my backpacking trip, I knew I would have to pitch my tent here the second night. When storms rolled through around 6:30, I was beginning to doubt if there would be a good sunset. But then the sun broke through in the west. First the sunlight painted the lower slopes of Bomber Mountain a salmon hue, but then the colors intensified further. There's something magical about a sunset at 10,000 feet. The mountain got it's name after a B-17 bomber crashed there during World War II. The crash site wasn't found until after the war and the wreckage still remains today.
    Mistymoon Panorama
  • This dawn marked the end of a very long night backpacking in Shenandoah National Park. Between chasing away pesky mice and having very strong winds topple my tent on me, I got very little sleep. I just hoped the sunrise would be worth it. It was. For about 30 minutes preceding sunrise I couldn't see more than 10 yards as Mary's Rock was trapped in a thick fog. But then the sun broke through. It was a struggle to keep myself and my tripod steady as the winds continued to gust. Clouds would race up the western slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. But once they reached the eastern side, the clouds would slow down and hardly move at all because the winds were calmer. Often times I would compose a picture, set my exposure, and then the opportunity would be gone as conditions changed by the second. This was my favorite picture from the morning. Mary's Rock is a 3,514 foot tall mountain above Thornton Gap near Luray, Virginia.
    Between Heaven and Earth
  • Every winter I try to go on at least one backpacking trip that involves climbing a mountain. In early January I spent the night on this 9500’ peak in the southern Bighorns. Winter backpacking is not without its challenges. The rule of thumb is that everything takes twice as long and requires double the effort compared to summer. Progress is slow when breaking trail through soft and deep snow. From pitching a tent, to cooking, melting snow for water, and packing up while pausing to thaw my hands, it all takes extra time. I have to be very selective in choosing a day with the best weather when it’s not snowing, not too frigid and not too windy. Things can go wrong very quickly if you’re unprepared. There’s never enough daylight and the nights seem to go on forever. But for all that trouble, this is the reward: to wake up to an amazing sunrise and a view that few people ever get to experience.
    New Day in the Bighorns
  • In front of me was a rainbow, lightning to the left, a colorful sunset behind me, and to my right were baby bighorn sheep prancing around. When the downpour ended and the sun came out, it was an overwhelming few minutes and I didn’t know where to point my camera. I was just lucky to be at this overlook in Badlands National Park. When the storm was closing in I made a bad decision to turn down a very muddy road. But somehow my car made it back out after spinning the wheels for 5 minutes. My last 2 visits to this South Dakota national park were both very short and involved waiting out heavy thunderstorms, which isn't all that enjoyable in a tent. One of these days I'll return when the weather is actually nice. But bad weather makes for the best pictures.
    Badlands Bow
  • After watching the northern lights for hours, I finally went to sleep at 3AM. Just 3 hours later I awoke to this view. It doesn’t get much better. I knew this was a risky spot to camp near the top of the Judith Mountains in Central Montana. If a storm popped up it was very exposed to wind, rain, and lightning. There was only a 20% chance of storms, but this was the lucky day out of 5. Rainbows are always biggest (84° wide) when the sun is at the horizon. The rainbow and amazing sunrise only lasted about 10 minutes. After this I hastily packed up my tent and took shelter in my car as a 2nd thunderstorm threatened behind this one. There’s a reason the Air Force built an early warning radar station on this mountaintop during the Cold War. The views out over the plains seem to go on forever, no matter which direction you look. This small but scenic mountain range north of Lewistown also contains gold deposits and two ghost towns. Even though I was still tired, I couldn’t complain. Rarely are the most memorable days the ones in which I get plenty of sleep.
    Sunrise Rainbow
  • At the end of February I went camping at Mammoth Hot Springs, the only campground in Yellowstone that stays open for the winter. With constant snow coming down, it was hard to get out of my tent in the morning. But as the sun started to climb over Mount Everts, I knew something special was about to happen. I climbed the hill across from the campground to watch this 22 degree halo appear. The sun was too bright to include in the photo so I used this tree to block it out.
    Mammoth Halo
  • This was the view above Mistymoon Lake in the Cloud Peak Wilderness on Friday night. After hiking past this spot on the first day of my backpacking trip, I knew I would have to pitch my tent here the second night. When storms rolled through around 6:30, I was beginning to doubt if there would be a good sunset. But then the sun broke through in the west. First the sunlight painted the lower slopes of Bomber Mountain a salmon hue, but then the colors intensified further. There's something magical about a sunset at 10,000 feet. The mountain got it's name after a B-17 bomber crashed there during World War II. The crash site wasn't found until after the war and the wreckage still remains today.
    Mistymoon Sunset
  • After pitching my tent and eating dinner, I watched this thunderstorm roll into the Bighorn Mountains. There's always something special about a sunset at 10,000 feet.
    Paint Rock Valley Sunset
  • As my alarm dinged at 4AM I didn't know what I'd see when I peeked outside my tent. The chances were about 50/50 whether it would be too cloudy to see the lunar eclipse. But to my delight the sky was clear. Right on schedule, the moon was entering Earth's shadow - called the umbra. The left half was dark while the right half was still brightly lit. As the moon sunk lower, the shadow deepened and took on the characteristic reddish color. While the middle of the US never got to see the moon in totality before setting, it was close enough. <br />
Chimney Rock is perhaps the most well-known landmark in Nebraska and on the Oregon Trail. The towering rock spire was seen by half a million migrants who passed by with wagon trains in the 1800's. It was visible from up to 30 miles away , which is a 2 day's journey. Back then it may have been up to 10% taller than it is today.
    Chimney Rock Moon
  • Not being a morning person, I don't shoot that many sunrises. But it's a lot easier while backpacking with an incredible view as my backyard. I set my alarm for 5AM, took a few shots and then went back to sleep. Rain showers and virga were passing overhead, which was highlighted by the rising sun. Few raindrops reached my tent. But sudden violent gusts of wind sometimes filtered down into this valley next to Lake Solitude. These were unpredictable, coming from any direction. It was a very warm morning for this elevation with the temperature over 50°F. But it was a lot more pleasant up here than in Sheridan where it got up to 98°F later in the afternoon. The willows had yet to leaf out and the aspen trees still had that bright green look to them. Some of the hazards of early season backpacking include tricky stream crossings, water and mud everywhere, and trails still hidden under deep snow drifts. It was going to be a long 12 mile hike out with wet shoes. But it's worth the scrapes and blisters to explore amazing places like the Cloud Peak Wilderness.
    Dawn at Paint Rock Creek
  • After studying a topo map of the Cloud Peak Wilderness, one lake in particular caught my eye. Upper Crater Lake has a perennial snowfield at the end and I knew there was a chance part of the lake could still be frozen. It was a challenging 12 mile hike to reach it, involving detours around blowdowns, plenty of stream crossings, and a steep off-trail scramble. Trees don't grow at this altitude 2 miles above sea level, and it was tough finding enough grass to pitch my tent. Relentless swarms of mosquitoes, blisters on my feet, and gear breaking all added to the adventure. When I first arrived the ice was on the far side of the lake. But just before sunset the wind shifted and blew these icebergs to where I could reach them.
    Icebergs in July
  • The beaches of Olympic National Park in northwest Washington are a special place. There are few stretches of coastline in the US that are this wild and undeveloped. Sea stacks dot the shoreline, some with trees growing on them. Many of the sea stacks are cut off at high tide, but can be reached at low tide. I spent the night on this beach, pitching my tent on the sand above the high-tide mark. Thick forests grow in the area, and rivers carry fallen trees out to sea. This leads to big piles of logs that have to be climbed over to reach most of the beaches. The sun didn't really set this evening. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but the red sun disappeared early into the thick smoke. The next morning it felt like I woke up on a different beach since the marine layer came in and the fog hid all the sea stacks from view.
    Sea Stack Sunset
  • Bats emerged from their hiding places and fluttered about as the rumbles of thunder drew closer. A herd of bighorn sheep and a couple of bison were grazing around me as I awaited the arrival of the storm. The sun had already gone down over the South Dakota Badlands, but the nearly continuous flashes of lightning provided enough light for my camera. The storm was advancing slowly, but once this striated shelf cloud emerged ahead of the rain core, then it picked up speed. I could hear and smell the rain before I felt it. Once the wall of water hit, the downpour wouldn't let up until 3 hours later. This perhaps wasn't the best night to be camping in the Badlands. Although my tent held up well enough with minimal leakage, the entire campground was a muddy mess the next morning.
    Badlands Shelf Cloud
  • As I was packing up my tent this halo appeared around the sun. This is near the top of Sheep Mountain, Wyoming.
    Sheep Mountain Halo
  • Sheep Mountain has been on my list of peaks to climb for awhile. In the summer it's possible to drive to the top of this 9,610' mountain. But that's too easy, so I went in the winter. Snow depths varied from bare ground to drifts 15 feet high. After snowshoeing an exhausting 6 miles while carrying a heavy pack, I made it to the top with barely enough time to pitch a tent before dark. The summit itself is too rocky and exposed to the wind, but I found a nearby campsite that was flat enough and more sheltered. At sunrise the next morning the views were incredible. Looking east, I could see parts of the Black Hills well over 100 miles away. When the sun made it over the horizon, it was only visible for a couple minutes. But this ephemeral light show was worth all the effort to get here.
    Sheep Mountain Sunrise
  • It didn't appear there would be any color at sunset, but then this lenticular cloud formed above Elk Lake in the Cloud Peak Wilderness. The cloud took on a fiery glow, giving the entire landscape a soft orange color as I hopped from rock to rock trying to find the perfect reflection. A lenticular cloud is nearly stationary and is formed by strong winds after encountering an obstacle like a mountain peak. It was calm at the moment, but the winds would soon descend and rage for most of the night. My tent was flattened and I was forced to relocate it to a more sheltered area. Ice was pushed across the lake and piled up. The shore would look very different in the morning.
    Sky Fire
  • It rained most of the morning at my campsite on Lost Twin Lake in the Cloud Peak Wilderness. The cold rain was at times accompanied by thunder and lightning, gusty winds, and graupel (snow pellets). Nearby waterfalls grew louder and the sound of a distant rock slide echoed across the lake. My plan of summiting Darton Peak would have to wait for another day. After the last rain shower, the clouds descended and obscured the highest peaks. I took this picture while enjoying a cup of hot coffee as the rain finally stopped. It's difficult to convey just how massive these cliffs are. The sheer granite walls rise 1-2 thousand feet above the lake. If you can see the white speck at the base of the cliff on the right, that is a tent. The top of this bowl-shaped valley, known as a cirque, was carved out by glaciers long ago.
    Clouds Descended
  • It was 1AM when my alarm went off. Between shooting the sunset, the stars, and the sunrise, I wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight. After slipping into my shoes that were still damp from trudging through the snow, I stepped out of my tent into the cold air. With the temperature near freezing and a strong breeze blowing, it certainly didn't feel like the first day of July. But the weather couldn't be more perfect for shooting the milky way galaxy. The moon was setting in the west, leaving me 2 hours of darkness to shoot a time lapse before morning twilight set in. This is a shot I've wanted to take since last year when I first heard about this spot. It's an alpine meadow called Highland Park set at the base of the 13,000' Blacktooth Mountain in the Cloud Peak Wilderness. I've tried shooting the milky way over these peaks before, but they were always too far away, I had to get closer. But the conditions needed to be perfect before I made the 18 mile trek. Between the snow levels, moon phase, position of the milky way, and weather conditions I knew I may only have a couple chances to get this shot. The atmosphere is a lot thinner at 10,000 feet and the stars seemed just a little bit closer on this night.
    Close to Heaven
  • In mid-September I went backpacking at Crystal Lake. This small lake is located at the edge of treeline at nearly 10,000 feet in the Bighorn Mountains. It was a chilly night with frost forming on my tent immediately after sunset. But soon after that the full moon began to rise out of sight to the east, illuminating the peaks to the west. Across the lake a waterfall tumbled down the cliffs and an early snow lingered above a rockfall of massive boulders. I left my wider lens behind, so I had to shoot a panorama to capture everything.
    Crystal Clear
  • A small herd of horses graze in a mountain pasture, backlit by a fiery sky. It was an early July evening and the colors of sunset lingered long after 9PM. When I saw these horses lining up at the top of a hill I knew I had to get a picture before the colors faded. They wouldn't stay still for me, but I kind of like the effect of the motion blur on their legs and tails. The horses were my alarm clock the next morning when they wandered by my tent and started snorting loudly.
    Pasture Bedtime
  • There's nothing quite like spending the night on top of a mountain. High above any haze and light pollution, the air up here is extra clear. Stars stretch from horizon to horizon. Their slow and steady movement is interrupted by the quick flashes of meteors and satellites. This time of year the milky way is up completely by the time it gets dark. Normally camping on a peak is not an option since it's too exposed to the wind and storms, plus the ground is too rocky and sloped to set up a tent. That's why I like to stay in fire lookout towers when possible. This particular one (Sheep Mountain in the Bighorns) is very popular and has to be reserved months in advance. The accommodations may be rustic but I prefer this to any hotel. You simply can't beat the views.
    Night on the Summit
  • It rained most of the morning at my campsite on Lost Twin Lake in the Cloud Peak Wilderness. The cold rain was at times accompanied by thunder and lightning, gusty winds, and graupel (snow pellets). Nearby waterfalls grew louder and the sound of a distant rock slide echoed across the lake. My plan of summiting Darton Peak would have to wait for another day. After the last rain shower, the clouds descended and obscured the highest peaks. I took this picture while enjoying a cup of hot coffee as the rain finally stopped. It's difficult to convey just how massive these cliffs are. The sheer granite walls rise 1-2 thousand feet above the lake. If you can see the white speck at the base of the cliff on the right, that is a tent. The top of this bowl-shaped valley, known as a cirque, was carved out by glaciers long ago.
    Clouds Descended B&W
  • This magpie was very bold as I was packing up my tent at the Mammoth Hot Springs Campground. It was looking for any food I may have dropped under the picnic table.
    Magpie in Tree
  • Bats emerged from their hiding places and fluttered about as the rumbles of thunder drew closer. A herd of bighorn sheep and a couple of bison were grazing around me as I awaited the arrival of the storm. The sun had already gone down over the South Dakota Badlands, but the nearly continuous flashes of lightning provided enough light for my camera. The storm was advancing slowly, but once this striated shelf cloud emerged ahead of the rain core, then it picked up speed. I could hear and smell the rain before I felt it. Once the wall of water hit, the downpour wouldn't let up until 3 hours later. This perhaps wasn't the best night to be camping in the Badlands. Although my tent held up well enough with minimal leakage, the entire campground was a muddy mess the next morning.
    Out of the Darkness
  • It didn't appear there would be any color at sunset, but then this lenticular cloud formed above Elk Lake in the Cloud Peak Wilderness. The cloud took on a fiery glow, giving the entire landscape a soft orange color as I hopped from rock to rock trying to find the perfect reflection. A lenticular cloud is nearly stationary and is formed by strong winds after encountering an obstacle like a mountain peak. It was calm at the moment, but the winds would soon descend and rage for most of the night. My tent was flattened and I was forced to relocate it to a more sheltered area. Ice was pushed across the lake and piled up. The shore would look very different in the morning. This is a 6 shot panorama.
    Elk Lake Sunset
  • In front of me was a rainbow, lightning to the left, a colorful sunset behind me, and to my right were baby bighorn sheep prancing around. When the downpour ended and the sun came out, it was an overwhelming few minutes and I didn’t know where to point my camera. I was just lucky to be at this overlook in Badlands National Park. When the storm was closing in I made a bad decision to turn down a very muddy road. But somehow my car made it back out after spinning the wheels for 5 minutes. My last 2 visits to this South Dakota national park were both very short and involved waiting out heavy thunderstorms, which isn't all that enjoyable in a tent. One of these days I'll return when the weather is actually nice. But bad weather makes for the best pictures.
    End of the Storm