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The Fish Creek Trail series came about because of a deadline pressure. In my day job, I write and take pictures for a newspaper. Deadlines are the norm. In this case, my brother Jim - he runs the Copper Mine Picture Cafe - suggested a photography show for December. I had the idea to take pictures in the alpine area of the White Mountains, off Highway 191. Hannagan's Meadow would be my base camp. I drove up on a Sunday in early October. I would wake early Monday and hike on a nearby trail. Before settling in, I took advantage of my 9,000 foot perch, gazing through the treetops at a clear sky, thick with stars. Then, as forecast, the rain came, tapping on my tent at midnight. In the morning, I woke to a gray sky and a cold, steady rain. Not the best day for a hike, but I had a deadline to meet. So I made a poncho from a big green garbage bag and grabbed an umbrella.

Just outside the campground, the trail split into Fish Creek Trail #60 and another trail that had something to do with bears. I took Fish Creek Trail. Here's what I knew about it. The Forest service had not maintained it, but the Sierra Club did some work on it. At least that's what I had online. Good enough. The trek to Fish Creek was a little more than 5 miles. I rambled through a temperature rain forest, broken up here and there by golden-brown meadows. They were covered by autumn grass, dying for the winter. I kept the camera beneath the garbage-bag poncho. When I took a picture, I'd bring it out, steady it with one hand while holding the umbrella over it with the other.

The trail ended at a service road, about a 100 feet from Fish Creek.I tramped down a steep slope falling just once- onto a stinging nettle.

That's the story behind the Fish Creek Trail #60 exhibit, except for the part where I got lost. On the way back, I simply couldn't pick up the trail and, for about five hours, followed forest service roads that went nowhere. It rained all the while. It was steady, unrelenting rain that drained into your socks. I finally chanced upon a camp and met a pair of elk hunters. By then it was 5:30, I sloshed when I walked and - as I soon llearned- had missed the Hannagan's Meadow campground by 10 miles. The elk hunters gave me a Budweiser and ride back. I don't remember their names, but I owe them a big thanks.