In the 19th century economic changes in the Eastern United States and discoveries in the West gave rise to a new school of thought. Transcendentalism, as this movement became known, is rooted in a reverence for nature and in the belief that individual intuition can be a basis for understanding the universe. These ideas were articulated by the poet Emerson, they resonated in the writings of Thoreau and Muir, and inspired landscape painters who headed West.

Echoes of transcendentalism can be found in the work of many American landscape photographers, including that of Galen Rowell, who infused this tradition with a new energy. His intellect made him understand; his strength allowed him to pursue; and his technical skills enabled him to capture the ephemeral moments when light and landscape intersect in ways that evoke the grand scenes expressed by transcendentalist painters like Bierstadt and Church.

During a workshop Galen and I taught together a few years ago, I witnessed how different his approach was from most other photographers. We had taken our class to a scenic landscape north of San Francisco where people gathered on a road overlooking hills rolling down to the Pacific Ocean. The light was flat and everyone was hoping that something would happen. Everyone except Galen. He dashed off downslope alone. Instead of waiting for the sun to set, he had decided to make it go down, by changing his vantage point.

When I realized what Galen was doing, he became an irresistible focal point for a different kind of photo than the one he envisioned. I worked my way along the road until his intention of lining up the sun behind a tree became clear in my viewfinder.

At the time my goal was simply to show Galen at work, but when I look at the image now it represents a precious memory of one man’s unique ability to transcend landscapes in his own way.