When I pick up a camera for a day of photography in a national park, I sometimes think about Dad, particularly if I am photographing in a location he himself captured so many years ago, prior to my birth or sometime thereafter. You see, I come by my love of the art honestly, having inherited the photography “bug” from him.
Dad started playing around with a camera as far back as World War II. He continued working with cameras (his go-to was a Mamiya twin lens) after the births of two of his three daughters (1947 & 1951). When the family moved to Columbia Falls, Montana (where I was born in 1961) he was developing his own black & white photos in the basement darkroom and was also beginning to work with color film and a 35mm SLR.
Dad Loved (with a capital “L”) Glacier National Park and the land surrounding the park. We lived about 20 miles away from the park and during the weekends, he’d either be rafting the North Fork of the Flathead River (the western boundary of the park), or be roaming deep within the park itself, sometimes with the family and sometimes without. I think it’s because of this national park that he considered Montana rather than Texas to be his birthplace, and he would tell people he was a Montanan.
Dad loved to travel (I picked up the travel bug from him, too), and he and Mom would pack us girls into the trusty camper, sitting me in the crow’s nest where I would peer out upon the world (before the days of mandatory child seats and seatbelt laws). Have camper, will travel.
I knew some of the places to which we traveled, but not all. I didn't realize the extent of Dad's & Mom's national park camper trips until I began rummaging through the boxes and boxes of slides taken by Dad with either his Mamiya twin lens or Pentax SLR. Note: NEVER store slides in a hot attic because it alters the colors and creates spots - Mom didn't know this but that's what happened when we moved from the cool dry climate of Montana to the hot, humid climate of Kentucky.
From these old slides, I chronicled the family's trips to Dixie National Forest, Carlsbad Caverns, Banff, Jasper, Yoho and Waterton Lakes National Parks. They even took the Jasper National Park Athabasca Glacier tour that I eschewed this past April (but plan on doing when I next return to that park). The family drove to Grand Canyon National Park when I was three years old. I have no memory of that place, though, because Mom was deathly afraid to take me near the edge of a cliff for fear I’d fall off and kept a death grip on my little arm or shoulder each time Dad wanted a photo of all of us near the edge of the path overlooking the canyon scenery. I really consider my 2009 visit to Grand Canyon National Park as my first visit, since I actually got to *see* the canyon.
Our favorite photos that Dad captured are of the snow ghosts: trees caked with fluffy snow to the point that they didn’t look so much like trees as they did marshmallow-coated characters and castles and shapes from our imaginations. Big Mountain near Whitefish was a favorite spot for snow ghost photography, with the mountains of Glacier National Park in the background.
But back to Glacier National Park. Dad and his camera hiked many trails and many miles deep into the park during the summer, fall, winter and spring. Sometimes, Mom and my sisters and I would accompany him for hikes or camping trips, but more often than not, he was hiking solo. Terrible memories of the war continued to dog Dad throughout his life, and we think his sojourns into the park were a time for him to leave behind the mental baggage of the real world and to simply enjoy what Glacier National Park provided: a place to breathe in the fresh air, observe nature, enjoy the mountains and capture it all on film.
When I turned 9 years old, Dad accepted a job in Kentucky, far away from this national park he so loved. By then, my oldest sister was married and gone, and my middle sister was in college out-of-state. The day before we moved, Mom, Dad and I squeezed into Dad’s new little sportscar, top down. I sat in the back, wrapped in a blanket and we drove one last time along Going-To-The-Sun Road with the cool mountain wind fingering through our hair. With age comes wisdom (sometimes, anyway) and now I know it was bittersweet for Dad, but he needed to provide for the family and Kentucky afforded better prospects.
Discoveries mixed with memories of my family’s travels and Dad’s love of photography flood back each time I rummage through all those boxes of old slides pulled from my closet. Thanks, Dad, for taking so many photos in the national parks you and the family visited (pre- and post-Becky).
And Happy Father’s Day to all of you Dads out there, cameras in hand, ready to capture your own family experiences within a national park.
Comments
What a wonderful tribute to your Dad and the National Parks. I really enjoyed looking at your Dad's photos. You definitely take after your father. Great article!
What a rich family legacy!
what a great article on your Dad! I did not realize that he was so gifted. Obviously he passed those skills on to you. A tremendous gift.
Yes, wonderful photography....I cherish the pics my dad took too, of 50's-and 60's vacations in a 50's era Chevy station wagon....pole tents and Coleman camp stoves and those finger pinching fold up cots!