Photo Journal - Four Days in Snowy Yosemite: What I Expected vs. What I Learned

Some 10-15 years ago, I wandered into a Peter Lik gallery at the Venetian hotel in Las Vegas for the first time.  There among the dozens of serene beach scenes, dazzling cityscapes, and Japanese maple trees was a snowy winter scene that caught my eye.  It was called Mystic Valley, and it depicted a calm river, trees, and mountains shrouded under a blanket of fresh snow.  It was far beyond my budget at the time, but the image stayed with me long after I left the gallery. I later learned it had been photographed in Yosemite National Park. Years passed, and when I eventually became serious about landscape photography myself, visiting Yosemite in winter became a personal bucket list goal. Last week, I finally had the opportunity to check it off during a four-day winter workshop with photographer Gary Hart. So… how did it turn out?

Note: If you'd like to skip all the reading and just see the photos, check out the new Yosemite gallery.

Pre-Trip Planning and Watching the Weather

As the workshop approached, I found myself checking the weather forecast for Yosemite almost daily. It was calling for a major winter storm, with snowfall totals measured in feet rather than inches. Having never been to the park before, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d even make it there, let alone be able to take photos. Gary reassured us that our hotel sat at a lower elevation and was unlikely to see much accumulation. He also reminded us how rare this kind of snowfall is in Yosemite and how fortunate we were to experience it. Apparently, conditions like this don’t come around often. With those concerns mostly put to rest, I finalized my travel plans and waited for departure day.

One of the primary draws of this particular workshop was the chance to photograph the famous “Firefall” at Horsetail Fall. For a brief window in mid-to-late February, if there’s enough water flowing and the western sky is completely clear at sunset, the setting sun aligns perfectly with Horsetail Fall on the face of El Capitan. When that happens, the falling water lights up in a brilliant orange glow, giving the illusion of molten lava pouring down the granite wall. The effect only lasts a few minutes and depends entirely on the right combination of water flow, clear skies, and precise solar alignment. It’s apparently a pretty big deal in the photography world, drawing large crowds each year. Ironically, I hadn’t even heard of it when I signed up for the workshop.  I had come for Yosemite itself, but I quickly realized that for many in the group, capturing Firefall was the main event.  Given the weather forecast I had been reading, it didn't seem likely we'd experience this, but as the workshop drew near and I researched it, I found myself hoping we could.

Arrival Day: From Balmy Denver to Soggy Fresno

I decided to arrive a day early, just in case there were any flight delays or travel issues. Back home near Denver, Colorado, we've had an unseasonably warm winter, so it felt strange to be flying from 65 degrees and sunshine into what was supposed to be a heavy snowstorm in California.  Seemed a little backwards to me.

When I landed in Fresno though, snow wasn’t the issue. It was rain. And lots of it.  I arrived mid-afternoon in a torrential downpour, picked up my rental car, and then white-knuckled the 2+ hour drive toward Yosemite View Lodge just outside the park. Before heading up into the mountains, I stopped at Walmart to grab groceries and a set of tire chains, which can be required in Yosemite in winter at any time. I had no intention of putting them on, but you’re required to carry them.  I was told I could return them on the way back if they were unused.

From there, the drive began in earnest. I honestly can’t remember another trip where I drove through a rainstorm that heavy for that long. Thankfully, traffic was fairly light, and after several slow, cautious hours, I arrived safely and checked in late Monday evening. After enjoying the view of the raging Merced river from the balcony in my room for a bit, I turned in early, anticipating the workshop’s start the next day.

Day 1: The Workshop Begins

After a good night’s sleep, I woke up early and got a bit of work done. It was still raining that morning, but I noticed a few breaks in the clouds and briefly considered heading into the park on my own before the workshop orientation at 1:30. In the end, I decided against it. I didn’t know what conditions would be like inside the park, and I wasn’t yet comfortable navigating it on my own, so I chose to play it safe and stay at the hotel until the workshop began. It felt like the sensible decision at the time, though in hindsight, I realize it was also the first of several regrettable moments where I chose caution over curiosity. As it turned out, clear skies would be rare on this trip, but more on that in a bit.

The workshop began with a typical meet and greet, followed by an orientation where Gary explained how he runs his workshops and how he planned to adapt to the current conditions. It was a larger group than I was used to, with 12 participants, plus Gary and his brother leading the way.

From there, we caravanned into the park in three vehicles for the first time. By then, the snow was already falling heavily. Between the whiteout conditions and fogged windows, I could barely make out any of the major landmarks as we drove through the valley.  Our first stop was a pullout near the Bridalveil Fall trailhead. We spent about an hour fumbling around in the snow, trying to frame the falls while keeping our lenses dry. It was more survival than art at that point, and the effort proved mostly fruitless.

Near sunset, we moved on to Cascade Creek. Even through the storm, I could tell it was a beautiful location, but the snow was blowing directly into our faces, making it nearly impossible to just keep our eyes open let alone compose anything. After a short and somewhat chaotic attempt, we retreated to the cars and headed back to the lodge.

Nothing portfolio-worthy came out of that first evening, and if I’m being honest, it felt like a bit of a bust. Still, through the snow and fog, I certainly caught a few glimpses of just how beautiful Yosemite can be in winter.

Day 2: Catching a Break (In the Clouds)

The forecast for our second day called for heavy snow overnight and more throughout the day, so we were pleasantly surprised to wake up to clearing skies and a brief break from the relentless moisture. We headed into the park early, making our way toward Tunnel View. Unfortunately, the road was closed due to multiple downed trees from the storm.  This became a theme as the week went on.

We circled back, found a place to park, and trudged through snow up to my thighs to frame up Half Dome in the distance. Fog drifted in and out all morning, so I never got a clear shot and had to settle for a few veiled compositions. They weren’t super bold or dramatic, but I did my best to capture some of the winter beauty.

From there, we stopped at a roadside pullout with beautiful views of El Capitan and the Three Brothers under moody skies. A few of us would've liked to hike down to the river about a quarter mile below, but with several older participants in the group, Gary understandably decided it wasn’t worth the risk in those conditions. I understood, but it was hard not to feel like we were leaving something on the table.

We broke for breakfast and later regrouped for a photo review session. Each of us presented an image from the trip and received editing and compositional feedback from Gary. The advice was certainly valuable, but with somewhat clear skies overhead, part of me wished we were still outside shooting. Seeing a bit of blue in the sky had been so rare on this trip so far that every clear moment felt precious.

By afternoon when we went out to shoot again, the snow had returned in full force. Tunnel View remained closed, so we went back to Bridalveil Fall and wandered between the bridges and viewpoints near the trailhead. Snow pounded us once again, and fog covered much of the valley, but we kept trying and shot until it started getting dark.  Despite taking hundreds of frames here, I didn't really find anything that I thought was portfolio-worthy here.

After dinner at the lodge cafeteria, we headed back for the night. Another day of dull, gray skies was behind us, and more snow was forecast for the following day.  By this point, I was losing hope in coming home with much of anything to grow my portfolio.  It seemed like our only hope at this point was that the forecast for Friday, our last day, was supposed to be sunny and clear. It was looking like the only shot we would have of capturing Firefall, so I pinned my hopes on that.

I spent some time in the hotel that evening trying to process a few more of my photos.  This proved to be a rather challenging experience for me.  Yosemite in winter is definitely epic, but I was struggling. The editing techniques I’ve used for years in my other photos weren’t translating well in these flat, gray conditions. Snow definitely can simplify the scene, but it also removes most of the color and contrast. I found myself experimenting with black and white, which is not really something I enjoy doing, because it felt like the only way to bring any life back into the photo.  In the end, I did find a couple that I liked (as shown above), but it was a slog.

Day 3: An Abrupt End

We woke early again and headed into the park just after sunrise. The road up to Tunnel View was (you guessed it) still closed, so we returned to yet another overlook of Bridalveil Fall, this time with a stream in the foreground. For a brief stretch, we were gifted blue skies, and we scrambled to make the most of it. It was a beautiful scene, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had spent most of the workshop photographing Bridalveil from different angles. With key roads still closed, many of Yosemite’s most iconic viewpoints remained unavailable to us.  Still, the shot below became one of my favorites on the trip.  I especially enjoyed the angled tree.

From there, we moved to Swinging Bridge, which on a clear day offers a classic composition of Half Dome reflected in the Merced River with Yosemite Falls in the distance. Unfortunately, the snow returned with a vengeance, and visibility dropped to the point where we could see the trees in front of us, but not much else. We shot what we could and retreated for breakfast at the lodge.

The forecast didn’t look promising for more shooting this morning, so we regrouped at the hotel for another image review session. Ironically, as we sat inside discussing edits and compositions, the skies began to clear again. We packed up, ready to head back out for the afternoon, when Gary gathered us together and delivered the news: the park had just been closed due to heavy snow and downed trees. It would remain closed through the following day.

Just like that, the workshop was effectively over.

Friday (our final day) had been the one I was most looking forward to. Clear skies were forecast. We would very likely see the sun, and possibly even Firefall. And now, it was gone.

While others in the group expressed gratitude for witnessing Yosemite under such rare winter conditions, I stood there feeling deeply disappointed. My personal goal for the workshop had been to bring home at least a few strong additions to my portfolio. At that point, I wasn’t sure I had more than a handful. I felt frustrated at all the time and money I invested in this trip, but also, by my own reaction to the news. Why wasn’t I simply grateful to have experienced fresh snow in Yosemite like most everyone else? Why did I feel so focused on what we hadn't been able to shoot?

This moment was a bit of a turning point for me.  Not just because the park had closed, but because it forced me to think about my expectations.  I guess when you're trying to build a portfolio for a fine art photography business, expensive setbacks like these are tough to swallow.  

Day 4: The Beautiful Day That Wasn't

Friday dawned exactly as the forecast had promised -- clear, sunny, and beautiful. But instead of enjoying the first glimpse of the sun all week inside one of the most stunning national parks in the country, I found myself sitting in my hotel room, brooding over what might have been.

We gathered that morning for one final image review before saying our goodbyes. Most of the group was local to California, so they simply packed up and headed home. A few of us had flown in from other states, and with travel plans that weren’t easily changed, we remained for one more night. With the park closed, there wasn’t much to do in the area. I spent the afternoon working, tinkering with my images, and replaying the week in my head.

My flight on Saturday left at 12:45 p.m. I had roughly a two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Fresno ahead of me, plus a stop at Walmart to return the unused tire chains, a gas fill-up, rental car return, and the usual airport routine. I’m someone who likes to arrive at airports two hours early to avoid stress, so realistically, if I went into the park for sunrise, I’d only have an hour or two to shoot before needing to head out. The decision in front of me was simple: wake up at 5:00 a.m. and try to squeeze in one last attempt, or cut my losses and leave in a calmer, more stress-free way.

That evening, I had dinner at the hotel restaurant with Steve, another participant from Oregon who was in a similar situation. He told me he had decided to stay an extra night and try again the following day. The weather was expected to be clear, and the temptation was strong. After dinner, I went back to my room and seriously considered extending my trip.  But the cost added up quickly. Changing my flight would've been about $250, and the only available option was a 9:00 a.m. departure the next morning, meaning I’d need to drive to Fresno after sunset, book a hotel there, and extend the rental car. All told, it would have been close to $600, not including meals. In the end, I couldn’t justify it.

So I made another cautious choice. I decided to wake up early, shoot sunrise for an hour or two, and then head to Fresno as originally planned.  As I set my alarm, I couldn’t help but wonder...would I regret it?

Departure Day: Making the Best of It

I spent a restless night second-guessing my decision not to extend the trip and found myself wide awake before my 4:40 alarm even went off. I geared up for another cold morning shoot and met Steve outside the lobby. We decided to try sunrise from Swinging Bridge. We briefly considered Tunnel View, but since it had been closed all week, we suspected it might be crowded on a Saturday morning. It also doesn’t have a strong reputation for sunrise light. Ironically, I later saw some incredible shots taken from there that very morning.  Sigh...

Still, Swinging Bridge did not disappoint. It was far better than what we had seen earlier in the week. The landscape was fully visible, Yosemite Falls was flowing strongly, and we had subtle color in the sky. Nothing spectacular, but after days of fog and whiteout conditions, I was simply grateful to see blue sky and more than 50 feet in front of me.

After sunrise, we returned to the overlook where El Capitan and the Three Brothers are visible. This time, without the constraints of a large group, we hiked down to the river, which is something we both had wanted to do earlier in the week. Time was tight, but I managed to capture a reflection of the Three Brothers in the calm water below. I would have loved to continue and search for a reflection of El Capitan as well, but it was already after 8:00 a.m., and I knew I needed to head out. I said goodbye to Steve and began the drive back to Fresno.

The drive itself was uneventful, that is, until I reached town. I made the mistake of stopping at a different Walmart to return the tire chains, thinking it would save time. They refused the return because that location didn’t carry them. That meant a 15 minute detour back to the original store, a long line at customer service, and a surreal moment in the parking lot when a man on a bike rode past my rental car and dumped half a can of beer or soda onto it for no apparent reason. Whatever...it was a rental.  By then, my flight was less than an hour and fifteen minutes away, and I still needed to fill up the car and return it. My stress level was high.

Fortunately, Fresno’s airport is small and efficient. The rental return was quick, security was painless, and I made it to my gate with time to spare.

I didn’t enjoy the stress of that morning, but I did feel quietly proud of myself for getting up and making the effort. I had plenty of reasons to skip it, and I’m glad I didn’t.

That evening, after arriving home, I texted Steve to ask how his afternoon went. He had stayed, and he did get to see Firefall. He sent me a stunning image, and I was equal parts happy for him and jealous. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pang of regret. Being able to photograph that glowing cascade down El Capitan might have softened much of the disappointment I’d felt earlier in the week. It was hard not to think about what might have been.

But in the end, I'm grateful.  I had just experienced Yosemite blanketed in fresh snow.  It's something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time, but later realized is relatively rare. From a photography standpoint, the trip was a bit frustrating. The light was dull and gray much of the time. The conditions were unpredictable. The access was limited. But I left with a deeper understanding of winter photography, of expectation, and of myself. Oh, and a few photos I'm pretty happy with too.  It wasn’t the trip I had imagined, but it was the trip I had.  And that was enough for now.