Alpine Lake Photography in Colorado’s San Juans

On a recent trip into the San Juan Mountains near Ouray, Colorado, I set out on a backpacking and photography trip guided by Tim Canfield. Like my previous slot canyon photo adventure in Utah, what drew me to this trip was the immersive nature of it— backpacking in, camping overnight for two nights, and having time to settle into the environment. Tim's deep knowledge of the area made the trip smoother and more enjoyable— right down to the homemade oatmeal that kept me fueled from breakfast to dinner.

We camped near a high alpine lake, perched above 12,500 feet. The lake is known for its vivid blue waters, and it certainly lived up to the reputation. While there are several alpine lakes in the region, this one sees fewer visitors— likely because of the effort required to get there. Over the course of two days, we saw fewer than ten visitors each day—and not a single other photographer. After 3 p.m., we had the entire basin to ourselves.

The hike in is strenuous, with over 2,500 feet of elevation gain and more than 16 switchbacks. Honestly, it could use a few more— some of the upper sections feel like they go straight up the mountain. With a full pack of camping gear, food, and a technical camera system, it was a demanding climb. The thin air added to the challenge. I felt noticeably foggy the first evening, but by the next day, both my legs and my brain were working better.

Camera Gear for Backcountry Photography: Arca-Swiss Pico and Hasselblad CFV 100C

For this trip, I brought a Hasselblad CFV 100C digital back mounted on an Arca-Swiss Pico technical camera. This setup gave me the flexibility to compose with precision in a variety of conditions. I carried four lenses:

• Rodenstock HR Digaron-W 40mm
• Schneider-Kreuznach Apo-Digitar 72L
• Schneider-Kreuznach Apo-Digitar 120 Asph
• Rodenstock HR Digaron-S 180mm

Light, Weather, and Image Making

Shortly after setting up camp, a storm rolled in. We got rained on and even pelted with hail. But just as quickly as it arrived, the weather shifted— and golden light broke through, sweeping across the peaks.

This image was made during that brief window when the light touched the mountains. It never returned for the rest of the evening, which made the moment feel even more significant. I was drawn to the way the foreground wildflowers and small water channel led the eye into the scene, while the reflected color on the lake and rim-lit peaks added contrast and structure. It's one of those rare alignments— light, timing, and composition all coming together before the sky closed back up.

The next morning during blue hour, I made a two-frame panorama while waiting for sunrise. The soft, even light gave everything a calm, balanced look— no harsh contrast, just cool tones and gentle transitions.

What drew me in here was how the scene felt suspended in that quiet moment before the light changed. I composed from a slightly elevated angle to let the wildflowers and small stream lead the viewer in— subtle elements that guide the eye without overpowering the scene.

In the previous composition, I used foreground rocks to anchor the scene. For this next one, I moved in to explore a closer perspective because I wanted the stream and wildflowers to carry more of the visual weight. The flow of water created a natural leading line into the frame, while the patchwork of flowers added rhythm and texture. Meanwhile, the warm morning light on the mountain brought out just enough detail without overwhelming the softness of the moment.

While hiking to higher ground, side light on the alpine grass caught my attention. The light was low and directional, skimming across the surface of the tundra and picking up just enough detail to bring out the contours in the grass and wildflowers.

Looking down from higher ground, I stitched together two images to create a 16:9 panoramic view that captured the full expanse of the lake and surrounding mountains.

The wide crop helped emphasize the lake's scale and gave the mountains room to breathe—an image more about form and flow than foreground detail.

After making the above image I turned around and saw dramatic light hitting one of the surrounding peaks. It faded fast, so I had to work quickly to capture it.

The clouds had closed in and most of the basin was in shadow, but for a few brief moments, this beam of light broke through and raked across the slope. It lit the upper peak and cut diagonally across the frame— adding depth, tension, and just enough structure to balance the dark surroundings. I didn't have time to second-guess the composition— just enough to frame it up and release the shutter before it changed.

Our camp was perched around 12,700 feet. We made oatmeal in the mornings and watched the clouds roll through each afternoon.

Final Thoughts

This trip checked all the boxes— solitude, challenge, beautiful conditions, and time to create. The physical effort made the experience more rewarding. Photographing the area alongside Tim was a highlight in itself. Sometimes we each went our own way, and other times we stayed close— sharing ideas and comparing notes. One piece of advice from Tim that stuck with me: when composing grand landscapes, "start from the back and work your way forward—make sure all your corners look good, and everything else will fall into place." A simple guideline, but a solid one.