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.
The Rainbow Moment
I had a vision—Canyon de Chelly, wide-angled glory at sunrise, bathed in light from a low angle that revealed the shape of the formations. But dreams demand sacrifice. For me, that meant a grueling drive, a night in a primitive campground, and trusting my determination to turn odds into opportunity.
The rain was unexpected. At 4 a.m., its rhythmic patter on our tent made my heart sink. Light is everything in photography, and a rain-drenched dawn often leaves little but dull gray skies. My wife groggily suggested we sleep in, but I couldn’t shake the pull of the canyon’s call. Wrapped in my rain gear, camera awkwardly cocooned in a plastic shopping bag, I drove us to the overlook while she stayed warm in the car.
No one else was there. The canyon loomed, vast and indifferent, as rain dripped from the sandstone ledges. Crossing the stone wall meant breaking the rules, but I didn’t come all this way to settle for mediocrity. Carefully, I climbed out to a precarious rock formation that thrust itself over the abyss. The ground was slick beneath my boots, the smell of wet earth filling the air. The cold bit through my jacket, but the view commanded awe. The canyon’s walls plummeted down to shadows so deep they seemed to swallow sound.
The rain softened. I wanted to give up—pack the camera, admit defeat. But patience, a lesson learned through countless shoots, kept me rooted to that slippery perch.
And then it happened. A sudden break in the clouds. Golden light spilled through, illuminating the wet canyon walls. And then it happened, arching across the chasm, was a glorious full rainbow. No—more than a rainbow. Its arc extended deep into the canyon, forming a remarkable greater-than-180-degree embrace of the landscape. My breath caught. The impossible beauty demanded action.
Snap. Snap. Snap. I worked quickly, heart racing, as the moment unfolded. The sound of my shutter punctuated the silence. My hands trembled—not from the cold, but from the enormity of what I was witnessing.
And then it was gone. The rainbow dissolved, the canyon returned to its quiet majesty, and I stood there, soaking in the afterglow of serendipity. That photo—more than an image, a gift—reminds me every day why persistence matters.
