I’ve always been drawn to landscapes that refuse to shout for attention. While Washington’s Cascades and Olympics command reverence with their towering peaks and ancient forests, I find myself returning again and again to the quieter places that speak directly to my soul. The Lower Crab Creek Coulee, carved by ancient floods and shaped by millennia of wind and weather, is one such place—a testament to the understated power of the Columbia Plateau that continues to captivate me.
The Language of Light and Shadow
Photographing the Saddle Mountains in black and white was a revelation. It allowed me to see the landscape’s true character, unobscured by the distractions of color. The play of light and form, the subtle gradations that define each ridge and valley, and the way autumn’s slanted rays trace the contours of ancient basalt flows-all these elements were brought to the forefront, transforming a familiar scene into a new discovery.
As I stood there with my camera, I watched the rolling hills stretch toward the horizon like a geological symphony, each movement building upon the last. These aren’t the dramatic cliffs that grace postcards, but something more intimate—undulations that spoke to me of patience, of forces that work slowly but inexorably to shape the earth beneath our feet.
A Landscape Born of Catastrophe
What makes this scene even more remarkable to me is its origin story. The channeled scablands of eastern Washington, including this coulee system, weren’t carved by gentle erosion over millions of years but by some of the most catastrophic floods in Earth’s history. When glacial Lake Missoula burst through its ice dam repeatedly during the last ice age, walls of water hundreds of feet high scoured these channels, stripping away topsoil and leaving behind the bare bones of basalt.
Standing here today, those violent origins seem impossible for me to imagine. The landscape has found its peace, settled into rhythms of seasonal change and quiet persistence. Sagebrush and bunchgrass have colonized the spaces between stone, creating subtle textures that caught my eye and held the light in ways that demanded to be photographed.
The Art of Seeing
Photography has taught me that seeing is a skill that requires practice. In my hurried life, I often overlook the poetry that exists in ordinary moments and unremarkable places. This image from Lower Crab Creek Coulee reminds me that drama isn’t always about scale—sometimes it’s about recognition, about taking the time to notice how light falls across a hillside on an autumn afternoon.
My choice to work in monochrome wasn’t arbitrary. By removing color’s emotional shortcuts, I force myself—and, hopefully, viewers—to engage with the image differently. I notice the texture of clouds against the sky, the way shadows pool in the valleys, and the delicate balance between the darkest darks and the brightest highlights that give the entire scene its sense of depth and dimensionality.
Contemplation in the Digital Age
In our era of instant gratification and digital saturation, I find something revolutionary in slowing down enough to truly observe a landscape. This photograph invites the kind of contemplation I crave—not the quick scroll and double-tap of social media, but sustained attention that allows meaning to emerge gradually.
Having spent years exploring the Pacific Northwest, I’ve come to appreciate its unique beauty. While it’s renowned for its lush forests and pristine waters, its inland spaces, like the rain shadow of the Cascades, offer a different kind of beauty. It’s a beauty that reveals itself only to those willing to look, a beauty of resilience, adaptation, and finding grace in what seems empty. It’s a beauty that invites a sense of discovery and appreciation.
The Enduring Appeal of Black and White
I’m often asked why I still shoot in black and white in our full-color world. For me, monochrome photography mirrors how memory works—I rarely remember exact colors. Still, I do remember feelings, moods, and the quality of light. Black and white photography strips away the temporary and focuses on what I consider eternal: composition, contrast, and the fundamental relationships between elements in the frame.
This image of the Saddle Mountains, captured in black and white, exemplifies the enduring appeal of this style of photography. It could have been taken yesterday or fifty years ago, yet the essential character of the place remains constant. This continuity, this sense of timelessness, is what I find deeply comforting about black and white photography. It’s a reminder that some things endure beyond our brief human timescales, evoking a feeling of continuity and timelessness in the audience.
A Personal Invitation
I know not everyone will find beauty in the channeled scablands of eastern Washington. They require a different kind of appreciation than more obviously spectacular landscapes. But for those who learn to see them—really see them, as I have—these places offer rewards that are all the more precious for being subtle.
The Lower Crab Creek Coulee and its surrounding country represent one of North America’s most unique geological stories. They’re landscapes that have rewarded my curiosity, that reveal their secrets gradually to me each time I return. In our age of instant everything, that’s precisely what we need: places that insist we slow down, pay attention, and remember that the most profound experiences often come wrapped in the quietest packages.
The next time you find yourself driving through eastern Washington, I invite you to experience the landscape firsthand. Pull over somewhere along Highway 26 or one of the many back roads that wind through the coulees. Turn off the engine, step outside, and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear in the silence—and what you see when you learn, as I have, to trace the landscape with light. This invitation is designed to evoke a sense of anticipation and curiosity in the audience.
Frequently Asked Questions
Lower Crab Creek Coulee is part of the channeled scablands in south-central Washington, running roughly between the Columbia River and the Saddle Mountains. The area is accessible via Highway 26 and various county roads between Othello and Vantage.
I find autumn and late spring offer the most compelling light. The golden hour—that magical time just after sunrise or before sunset—really brings out the texture of these rolling hills. Winter can be beautiful, too, especially if you catch it with a light dusting of snow.
Most of the coulee system runs through public lands or alongside public roads, so no special permits are typically required. However, always respect private property boundaries and check current access conditions, especially during hunting seasons.
I often shoot in color and convert to black and white in post-processing, which gives me more control over the final image. For landscapes that contain both sky and ground, I pay special attention to the histogram to preserve detail in both shadows and highlights
Absolutely! The entire channeled scablands region offers incredible photographic opportunities. I’d recommend exploring areas around Dry Falls, the Palouse Falls region, and the coulees near Soap Lake. Each has its own character while sharing that distinctive scablands geology.
The Columbia Plateau supports a variety of wildlife, including mule deer, coyotes, and numerous bird species. Raptors are widespread—hawks, eagles, and owls that hunt over the grasslands. Early morning and evening are the best times for wildlife encounters.
It took time and patience. I started by spending hours just sitting in these places, learning to see beyond the obvious. Reading about the geological history helped me appreciate what I was looking at. Most importantly, I kept returning—the same location can look completely different depending on light, weather, and season.
Further Explorations:
Lower Crab Creek Coulee: A Meditation in Monochrome
Light, Texture, Silence: Photographing Lower Crab Creek Coulee
