Morning on the Merced
The morning was cold and quiet along the Merced River. Water moved gently around the rocks and clumps of winter grass while the first light began to fill Yosemite Valley. Bare trees lined the riverbank, dark pines climbed toward the granite walls, and Bridalveil Fall spilled from the cliffs in the distance.
Winter brings a different kind of magic to Yosemite. It’s more subtle and understated. The crowds are thinner, the mornings are colder, and the granite walls seem even bigger rising above the bare trees and dark pines. If we are lucky and winter delivers enough snow, water moves throughout the valley, from waterfalls dropping thousands of feet from the cliffs to the Merced River winding quietly along the valley floor.
I had come to Yosemite in February 2021 for something much more dramatic: to witness the spectacle known as Firefall. For a brief period each February, the setting sun can catch Horsetail Fall at just the right angle and, if everything comes together, make the waterfall appear to glow against the granite wall as though it were on fire. That was the reason for the trip and where I had focused my attention for the previous two days.
On this morning, Firefall was behind me and I was on my way out of the park. Before leaving the valley, I stopped at Valley View, as I always do. It’s hardly an undiscovered corner of Yosemite. El Capitan dominates one side of the valley, Bridalveil Fall spills from the cliffs on the other, and the Merced River runs directly through the scene. Half Dome is even tucked into the distance if you know where to look. It’s Yosemite showing off.
That morning, though, it wasn’t one landmark that held my attention. It was the way everything came together. The river moved gently through the foreground, winding around the rocks and grasses. The trees along the bank were still mostly bare, and behind them the granite walls rose almost straight out of the valley floor. Clouds stretched across the sky as the morning light slowly worked its way into the scene.
I spent some time beside the river exploring different compositions before settling on this one. At the time, I was focused on responding to the scene in front of me and making the strongest photograph I could despite my fingers going numb. Even in moments like that, when I’m simply reacting to a landscape, my artist hat is always on. I’m not just documenting what I see; I’m looking for the relationships, balance, and feeling that can turn a scene into something more than a record of a place.
Morning on the Merced became one of the early photographs that helped shape the direction of my work. It confirmed what I responded to in a landscape, not simply the biggest landmark or most dramatic moment, but the relationship between all the smaller pieces within a scene. Water, rock, trees, light, and atmosphere all had a role to play. The quieter scenes often speak to me the loudest and hold my attention the longest.
In the years since, Morning on the Merced has become one of my signature images and one of my best-selling prints. It has been widely collected and has become an important part of my body of work, helping define the photographer I am today.
There is still something amusing about the way it happened. I drove to Yosemite chasing Firefall, one of the most dramatic and sought-after photographs the park can offer, where the color of the falling water becomes the subject. Yet one of the photographs that would end up meaning the most to me came quietly the next morning, beside the river, on my way home. Without color demanding attention, the individual elements of the landscape were free to speak for themselves.
I you would like to purchase a print of Morning on the Merced, you may see sizing and mediums here.
