“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s
not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
–Heraclitus, Greek philosopher, circa 6th c. B.C.

In my case, I did not “step into” the same river twice, because both the river and I have changed. I have photographed Lagunitas Creek for more than 30 years. The river changed each time–with the seasons, the weather and the hour of day. I too am different, tempered by what I saw. I was drawn first by the spectacular light I found there. Later, I was seduced by the mystery of fog-dampened shapes along the banks, and, most recently I stood in awe at the water’s edge when the moon shone or stars reflected on the still waters. What follows are the highlights, in pictures, of my thirty-year journey along Lagunitas Creek.

A dramatic display of sunbeams discovered in August, 1990 from the Green Bridge.

Lagunitas Creek is also known as Papermill Creek. On maps it’s always spelled Lagunitas, but the locals have long called this beautiful channel Papermill Creek, named for the Pioneer Paper Mill that produced its products adjacent to the creek in Lagunitas from 1856 – 1915. I have used both names in the titles of my photographs.

Lagunitas Creek courses some 24 miles through west Marin county. The creek’s headwaters are on the northern slope of Mount Tamalpais. The stream steps down, passing through several reservoir lakes, eventually winding through the Samuel P Taylor redwoods park. From there it passes just west of Point Reyes Station before turning north to empty into Tomales Bay at Inverness.

More dramatic light at the Green Bridge, June, 1991

Just south of town it flows under The Green Bridge, an old steel bridge spanning Highway One. Then it courses gently though the wetlands of Point Reyes as it heads toward a bend in the creek known as White House Pool. It is at these two places, near my home, the Green Bridge/Wetlands and White House Pool that I have created my most memorable creekside photographs.

My art career began in 1986 when I found these clouds painting the water at White House Pool.

These favored nearby places have provided many distinctly different views and moods. I am grateful to live in such a visually rich natural environment and to have access to the ever-changing beauty that surrounds us here.

Scroll down for some more photographs I’ve made at Lagunitas Creek during the last 30+ years. As with all photographs on this site, prints and framed editions in varying sizes may be ordered online. They are cataloged here: Lagunitas Creek Collection.

A rare hot summer afternoon – seen from the Green Bridge (near infrared photograph.

A flood tide at White House Pool and brilliant clouds above Black Mountain herald spring.

Fog lifts at Lagunitas Creek (cover photo of One Place Deeply.)

Mysterious fog–shapes and reflections seen on an October morning.

The morning light at Lagunitas Creek softens this view at the Point Reyes Wetlands.

Another view from the Green Bridge, looking east this time.

A full moon shines in the waters at White House Pool.

A fountain of stars from the Milky Way shine above and reflects below in the creek.

The bright galactic center of the Milky Way shot up from the horizon—a fountain of light bursting high into the night sky…

June in Point Reyes Starry Nights 2023 calendar

Lake Nicasio has long been a favorite haunt of mine. Since arriving in West Marin County in 1973, I’ve been drawn to photograph the shapes and light at the placid waters there. I drive past the lake often while leaving Point Reyes for destinations beyond here. To this day, I’m struck by its sensual, curving shoreline ringed by rounded hills and ridges. It’s an ethereal place and during quiet times, the waters reflect the soft hills that ring the lake. On certain days, I’ve walked along the edges of the lake with my camera, lost in sweet reverie. I went there on sunny afternoons and foggy mornings, when the air was still, and photographed the reflections I found there.

In 2016 I began photographing the wonders of the starry night sky. I returned to some of my favorite vistas not far from my Point Reyes home. I wondered what a starry sky would look like reflecting in still waters. Lake Nicasio came to mind—how could I forget! So, in late October, I arrived at a roadside turnout near the lake. It was several hours after sunset on a moonless night. The air was clear and still and the Milky Way was rising just south of the iconic folds of Black Mountain.

As I walked along the roadside, I noticed a sign prohibiting visits to the lake after sunset. It was there to discourage fishing or camping at night. Since I was doing neither, I decided to take my chances. Still, though, I felt like a thief in the night as I prepared to make my way toward the water’s edge. I looked around then ducked low and quickly wove my way through the brush to the lake’s shore. I was cautious, not wanting to draw attention to my “stealth” visit there.

In a couple of minutes I was standing on the shore. A wondrous sight was revealed. With no wind, the still water reflected the brightest stars above. The bright galactic center of the Milky Way shot up from the horizon— a fountain of light bursting high into the night sky. For a moment I was struck still by the sight. Then, regaining my composure, I set my camera on the tripod. I aimed it for a composition that I hoped would express some of the wonder I felt as I witnessed the galactic display. Milky Way Reflecting at Lake Nicasio is the featured photo for June in the Point Reyes Starry Nights 2023 wall calendar.

A few weeks later, I went to the coast to find stars reflecting on still waters.  Abbotts Lagoon, Stars from the Bridge, heads the month of September in the 2023 wall calendar.

Abbotts Lagoon Stars Reflecting

And in 2018, just a couple of hundred yards from my home, I photographed Milky Way Rises, Lagunitas Creek in the wetlands along the Green Bridge Trail. It is November in my Starry Nights 2023 wall calendar.

Milky Way Rises at Lagunitas Creek

In 2016 Brooks Jensen, publisher of Lenswork, featured a photo essay of my work, titled Infrared Trees, in his Lenswork Extended #125 edition. Included in this collection is Backlit Oak, which Brooks later reviewed in his online series, Looking at Images. I am honored to have had my photograph reviewed by Brooks, who has long been and continues to be an inspiration to me in my artistic efforts. You can read his review immediately below this image of Backlit Oak. The audio version, read by Brooks, is here:

Looking at Images with Brooks Jensen

Ansel Adams famously advised that any darkroom manipulations that were visible and obvious were an indication that they were done poorly. More succinctly, if you can see it, it ain’t right.

This, precisely, has always been my struggle with infrared photography. Until I saw this particular image by Marty Knapp, I always felt that viewing an infrared photograph simply screamed INFRARED. In fact, infrared photographs scream INFRARED so loudly, that I’m almost never aware of the subject, let alone the emotional or experiential content I am supposed to see in the artwork. Infrared photographs — like no others — suffer from their overpowering technological existence. Just my way of thinking about it, but I know some people love it.

The trick with all photographic technology is to use the technology that’s appropriate for the artistic and aesthetic statement we choose to make. So used, technology disappears into the artistic and aesthetic statement. When Eric Clapton plays a soulful blues riff on his guitar, we are not aware in the least what brand of guitar strings or pick he uses. We don’t even know the brand of the guitar! But there is no question that Eric Clapton does, and probably has made those technological choices because they are the very best of the available alternatives. This is no different for the graphic arts, photography included.

This photograph by Marty Knapp is, perhaps, the most effective use of infrared materials I’ve ever seen. It’s not that the infrared affect is subtle, but rather that it is perfectly appropriate for the sense of light, backlit illumination, skeletal structure, and the bright sunny day that he is hoping comes through in this photograph. In fact, if the leaves were dark green (as they would be with color film), or even dark gray (as they would be with panchromatic black-and-white film), they would fail to render the same sense of backlit illumination we see here. Rendered in infrared white and light gray tones, we can feel the warmth in the leaves and their intimate relationship with the sun.

And speaking of the sun, it seems critically important in this image that we can see the sun and its starburst affect. That changes the tones in the leaves in this image from merely white to brightly backlit. Imagine this image without the visible sun and you’ll see what I mean.

And finally, hopefully not beating a dead horse, as I’ve said so many times before, photography is about relationships. The three main players in this triad of relationships are the sun, the leaves, and the skeletal structure of the tree trunk and branches. Because the leaves are rendered in photographic infrared tones, the trunk and branches become more visible because of their contrast to the light colored leaves that form the backdrop. This is an exquisitely timed photograph, requiring the sun to be in the exact relationship to the tree so that Knapp’s angle of view contains the relatively open space on the side of the tree. Perhaps he was lucky, perhaps he planned this moment perfectly. Either way, it demonstrates how critical timing can be in landscape photography. Also, I secretly love that he demonstrates so well the silliness in all that business about the “golden hour.” Great photographs can be made at any time, in any light, when a sensitive photographer employs the right tools for the right reasons.