National and regional award-winning journalist, photographer, and activist (Hanford, Spokane River, regional clean air issues, national nuclear weapons and waste policy). Former senior editor Camas Magazine, former client and communications director, Center for Justice, Spokane.
Sixty favorite images from The Devil’s Toenail to the Cascade crest, and sometimes over the edge.
Click on photograph for details and pricing. Shipping costs (typically $8 to $10) are not included. Tim Connor photography (c)2013-2017. All images are copyright protected and may only be republished with permission. For additional info and orders: email@example.com
In a timeless cataract at Frenchman Coulee the future clings to the past.
For the 13,000 or so years before Frenchman Coulee became wildly popular among humans who like to climb rocks, a striking formation of basalt spires near its core stood merely as a graceful monument to the astonishing power of water and ice. The massive pillars are still here. It’s just that on any warm day, and many cold ones as well, fit and well-equipped people are attaching themselves to forty-foot walls of stone. The climbers’ resolve and athleticism offer what is, at least, a touch of poetry and elan to one of Washington’s lesser known natural wonders.
At first sight—as you look up beneath the rim of the coulee’s central alcove—it’s hard to trust what you’re seeing. Known as “The Feathers” it is a formation of exposed basalt crystals that barely withstood a succession of devastating floods. From the air, it looks as though a creature with jaws the size of the Rose Bowl has taken two bites from coulee’s upper terrace. The Feathers somehow survived as a gently curving causeway between the bite marks. There are places where you can easily walk from one side to the other, stepping through gaps between the massive crystals.
A decent camera can take the picture, capturing the nearby rock faces as well as the distant giant blades of the Wild Horse wind farm, straddling the flanks of Whiskey Dick Mountain on the far side of the river. But only a soul can register the deeper dimensions such a scene evokes.