“IT’S ALMOST LIKE a meditation,” says Ranger Corey Lycopolus, as members of our group pause to compose photos with their Polaroid instant cameras. We’ve hiked about a half mile from the Valles Caldera National Preserve’s ranger station to a stand of ponderosa pines. Sunlight streams through the branches, which frame Redondo Peak in the distance of the 14-mile-wide volcanic crater. “Not only are we taking our time, planning our shots,” Lycopolus adds, “we are getting a piece of physical media we can touch.”
Our five-person group has come to the preserve on a chilly Sunday in February for the Instant Film Photography Program. A trained photographer, Lycopolus kicks off the workshop with some photography basics, ranging from the origins of the camera obscura to how the three layers of Polaroid instant film create an image. He even gives us some advice on the seven rules of composition before we set out with plastic cameras in hand.
Along the way, Lycopolus answers questions about the preserve, stopping to point out some elk tracks that cross our path. Our hike takes us into an area ravaged by the 2013 Thompson Ridge Fire, where he gives us a lesson in how the ponderosa’s thick bark and lack of low-hanging branches help to protect it. Still, the pines are hardly a match for the intense wildfires of the past few decades. “About 60 percent of the preserve has been impacted,” he tells us. “We say we’re an ecosystem in recovery.”
At the turnaround point, Lycopolus asks us to put our cameras and phones down. “Close your eyes and listen,” he instructs. It takes a minute or so for my brain to adjust. The wind blows over my ears. Sunshine warms my face. Everything is still, as if time itself has stopped. When we eventually open our eyes, the caldera greets us in all its vastness.
No wonder people have been attracted to this sacred place for thousands of years. And now, as told in this month’s “Wide, Wide World of Opportunities,” the Park Service is doing more to bring people to this underappreciated preserve.
When I get home, only one of the eight photos has turned out—the icy East Fork of the Jemez River winding through the caldera’s winter grasses. The others appear as yellow-toned forms with vague shapes of trees, a cabin, and a road. I’m disappointed, but the pictures weren’t actually the point of the workshop. It’s like Lycopolus told us back in the grove of pines: “Coming out to places like this, we can recharge, we can reconnect.”