"Sir, have you ever driven a car in deep sand?", asks the park ranger.

"No," I answer, "but I watched a bunch of YouTube videos."

I'm at the Kanab Visitor Center in Utah, planning a trip to White Pocket -- an area of ancient rock formations deep in the desert of Vermilion Cliffs National Monument. Getting to White Pocket doesn't require money or a permit, but it does require a four wheel drive vehicle, a map, and an attentive driver who can navigate.

Using my white Jeep Wrangler, I head out. The trick to sand (which I learned on YouTube from some guy in Saudia Arabia driving his Toyota pickup over sand dunes) is to maintain speed. Simply let the car do what it wants when driving downhill (where it will slide like a sled), then maintain a steady flow of gas on flatland and when driving uphill. Anxious, yet excited, I slip and slide for an hour and half through the desert.

I arrive at White Pocket in the early afternoon. The sun is directly overhead without a single cloud in the sky. In other words, the light is dreadful. Harsh shadows abound. Colors are bleached and desaturated. I take photos anyway thinking I can make do, but secretly know I'm wasting my time.

And then, it hit me. In my excitement getting here, I didn't considered the journey back. To shoot this place in good light, I'll have to wait for sunset. But if I do that, I'll have to drive back to Kanab through the same deep sand, in the dark, without a soul around to help if I get stuck. With timing running out, I return to my Jeep and head back to my glamorous Airbnb garden shed.

Looking at my photos later that night, I'm angry. I'm upset. I'm pissed. I came all this way and I allowed a little fear and insecurity to get the better of me. The photos are terrible, irreclaimable.

Next day, change of plans. I'm going back. If I get stuck, so be it. I'll just huddle up in my Jeep and wait for whenever the next truck happens to come by.

Emboldened, I blaze through the sand while watching the sun drop lower and lower towards the horizon. I arrive in a cloud of dust, pop open the back, grab my tripod and bag, and quickly move out on foot.

This time, I'm all smiles. The light is nearly perfect. No more harsh shadows. As warm sunlight shifts to blue, the rocks begin to illuminate in shades of white, pink and magenta. Details which couldn't be seen before are now clearly visible. I'm scrambling, knowing that I only have twenty minutes or so to get the images I want before dark.

I stumble across an area I hadn't noticed yesterday. Strange, pillowy rocks resembling a quilt laid on top of tennis balls. And in their center, a circular pool of rain water. I'm not inspired at first, for I'm more focused on the colorful rock formations nearby, but once I look at the white rocks through the viewfinder, they look like something else entirely. Abstract. Alien. Indiscernible. Not the typical photo you see from the American midwest, with cobalt blue skies and fiery red rocks. Exactly the kind of minimalist subject I love.

Darkness has fallen, and it's time to begin the long drive home. On the way back I look up. The sky is completely clear, jet black, and bursting with white stars. So clear, in fact, I can see the blue and green texture of the milky way using only the naked eye.

~ ~ ~

You can see more photos from trip to White Pocket in this collection. Now planning a return trip (yes, again), but this time intend to camp overnight.

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