My name is Marty Hulsebos and I've been a passionate landscape photographer since the late 1980's. Here's the story of this picture, and below it are ordering options.
A Beam of Light: My Journey to Antelope Canyon
The wheels of the Navajo guide’s truck churned through the deep, sandy wash, the tires crunching rhythmically as we bounced along the two-mile stretch toward Antelope Canyon. Warm desert air swirled around me, carrying the faint mineral scent of sandstone dust and the tang of sunbaked sagebrush. My heart beat as wildly as the landscape itself, a kaleidoscope of red and ochre cliffs towering over us. This wasn’t just a photo expedition. It was a test of my resolve—an attempt to immortalize the famed beam of light piercing through the slot canyon walls at exactly the right moment.
The guide stopped the truck abruptly at what seemed like an unremarkable fissure in a cliff face. “Here,” he said simply, gesturing to the narrow crack. The entrance loomed like a secret portal, a threshold into another world. I shouldered my gear and stepped into the cool, shadowed slot canyon. The temperature dropped instantly, and the air shifted—damp and tinged with the faint metallic smell of ancient stone.
Inside, the world was utterly transformed. The walls of the canyon swirled in mesmerizing ribbons of red and orange, as though a celestial artist had painted the curves of time itself. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional shuffling of shoes on sand. Looking up, I glimpsed narrow slices of brilliant blue sky framed by the undulating stone. It felt almost unreal.
Months of research had brought me here. The beam of light appeared only during specific weeks of the year, at a precise time of day, when the sun aligned perfectly overhead. Timing was everything, but even with the odds of success unknown, I was determined. My brothers, aware of my fixation, flanked me, ready to clear the frame of wandering tourists.
The clock ticked as I walked the canyon, scanning the shifting light. Suddenly, there it was—a thin, ethereal shaft piercing the gloom, a golden beacon illuminating a cascade of fine dust. My heart raced. This was it. Positioning my camera, I adjusted the settings instinctively, fighting the trembling excitement in my hands. My brothers worked like sentinels, shepherding curious onlookers aside.
For 10 fleeting minutes, I snapped frame after frame. Each shot felt like a prayer to eternity. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the beam faded, leaving behind only the glowing walls and the memory of light.
Back outside, the sun’s warmth embraced me again, but my thoughts remained inside the canyon. I had captured it—an impossible moment, frozen forever in my lens. Now, that photograph graces the homes of those who may never step into Antelope Canyon themselves. Each time I see it, I am reminded of the beauty of determination, the magic of light, and the privilege of holding a piece of infinity.
