My name is Marty Hulsebos and I've been a passionate landscape photographer since the late 1980's.
This photo trek brought me to Creste Butte, Colorado at the peak of autumn color.
The air smelled of pine and earth as we rumbled along the gravel road through the aspen forest of Kebler Pass. My wife and I had traded the comfort of our hotel for the cramped confines of our camper-topped truck, swapping hot breakfasts for cold cereal. Would it be worth it? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that the aspens, at the peak of their autumn splendor, deserved my very best effort.
Day after day, we drove deeper into the forest. The trees stood like sentinels, their golden leaves shimmering against the cobalt sky. I stopped often, stepping out into the crisp air, my camera in hand. Yet, time and again, the compositions fell flat. The vastness of the forest mocked me. Light was either too harsh or too dull. My vision of a photo that pulled the viewer into the scene remained elusive.
On the third morning, we rounded a bend, and my heart skipped a beat. Ahead, a hill rose gently, the aspens clustered in a way that hinted at possibility. I parked the truck, and my wife settled in with her book, her patience endless. Camera slung over my shoulder, I climbed the slope, every step crunching against dry leaves.
The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of a breeze. I studied the trees, their slender trunks glowing white against the underbrush. The arrangement felt close to perfect, but experience had taught me that precision was key. With my wide-angle lens, even a slight change in angle could alter the story the image told.
For an hour, I scouted, moving methodically, crouching low, standing tall, taking test shots. None quite captured the magic I sought. Frustration nipped at my determination until I spotted a deer path winding through the trees. Following its twists, I came to a clearing. The aspens framed the scene perfectly. The forest floor was a carpet of ferns in transition from green to rusty brown. This was it.
I set up the tripod, heart pounding. The silence seemed to hold its breath as I adjusted my settings. Then, with the press of the shutter, I captured it—the image I had dreamed of.
As we drove back that evening, I couldn’t stop smiling. I’d managed to convey the essence of Kebler Pass: its stillness, its brilliance, and its vast, golden beauty. The sacrifice had been worth it.
