Joey Priola Wilderness Photography

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  • Moonlight illuminates snowy evergreens on a clear and starry winter night. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Signs in the Sky
  • Stars and the Milky Way fill the sky on a clear and still night of backcountry canoe camping on a wild Adirondack pond.
    Voyage to the Unknown
  • Soft moonlight illuminates snowy evergreens on a clear and starry winter night. There are few moments in nature as peaceful as those spent in the lonely, snowy mountains after dark. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Soothe the Soul
  • Tending to the fire on a cold autumn night. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Light of Life
  • Day transitions to night high in the Adirondack Mountains as the final faint glow of sunset yields to the sparking stars.
    Transition
  • Shooting stars streak across the beautiful night sky, at the height of the Perseid meteor shower in August 2016. The otherworldly bentonite clay formations in the foreground were the perfect complement to the shooting stars and the colorful nebulae of the Milky Way galaxy. I stayed up all night watching hundreds of shooting stars streak across the sky, and this was undoubtedly one of my favorite and most memorable moments (and photographs) of a year-long cross country road trip. Cathedral Gorge State Park, Nevada.
    Cosmic Cathedral
  • Nature can often be a source of quietude and peaceful serenity, but sometimes its raw and savage power is vividly on display. On days such as this one at Nevada’s Great Basin National Park, she displays both personalities. After spending the morning lounging in my hammock, adjusting to the 10,000 foot altitude and relaxing after the previous day’s 15 hour drive from Badlands National Park, I shouldered my pack to hike up towards some high alpine lakes for sunset. As I was about to leave my campsite, a ranger came up to tell me that they were evacuating the campground, due to a wildfire in the area. I thought he was joking at first, since it was a pristine summer day. He was serious, though, and just like that, my plans changed. I tore down my tent and began the winding drive down the shoulder of Wheeler Peak, thinking about where I would sleep that night and where my next destination would be. Distracted by these thoughts, I had almost forgotten the reason I had to leave the campground. That is, until the road broke free from the forest and I saw a scene unfold before me unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Gigantic clouds of smoke rose from the forested mountainside, glowing orange from the flames below and the sun above. The otherwise cloudless blue sky was barely visible. The power and indifference of the fire was overwhelming, and although I knew I needed to get the hell out of there, I just couldn’t look away. I eventually ran back to my car, and began the white-knuckle drive down the mountain, keeping one eye on the fire and one on the twisting road.  After such an exhilarating experience, the answer to the question “where to next?” was now abundantly clear – nowhere but here. This photo is my favorite from the three days I spent photographing the fire, and was captured at twilight on the first night of the fire when billowing clouds of smoke invaded the night sky and the moon hung over Wheeler Peak and silently watched the mountainsides burn.
    Luna & Lucifer
  • Mankind’s greatest discovery. That is how my friend, Evan and I often refer to fire when gathered around its warm, inviting glow while roaming the wild places of the world. While a campfire in the backcountry has always been an almost holy experience for us, we gained a deeper appreciation for the spiritual power of fire on this night. Watching the light from the flames ignite the alcove we were camping in with the most beautiful shades of orange and red, while our shadows danced on the sandstone walls, it became perfectly clear to me that I had never before felt so connected to early man. I could visualize our caveman predecessors having a night just as we were, reveling in the glory and mystery of fire, with no words spoken, because none needed to be. My friend’s shadow towering over him on the cave wall seemed as if it was an ancient ancestor watching over us, having come back to the cave where it once was captivated by the very flames that we will always look into with awe and wonderment.
    Primal Man
  • The most important lesson I learned while in San Francisco for a work conference was that when the rental car salesman offers to upgrade you from the cheap compact car that you had pre-booked to a Mustang convertible for just 60 bucks, you say yes. While my pre-conference backpacking trip along the wild and crystalline waters of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite National Park was surely a highlight of my trip to California, it was the journey to and from the trailhead in my trusty ‘Stang that is most etched in my memory. Ever since I had my first car, a piece of shit Saturn station wagon that crapped out after only 40,000 miles, I’ve been obsessed with the intoxicating feeling of absolute freedom and adventure that a full tank of gas and an open mind can provide. After finishing grad school and taking a year off to road trip throughout the American West and British Columbia, I thought that I had experienced pretty much everything that the open road had to offer. But as I bombed down 395 with the evening sun glistening off Mono Lake and the sweet smell of sage washing over me, topping 100 with the first 55 seconds of Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” blasting on loop and flipping the bird to every “speed monitored by aircraft” sign that I blew by, I realized that even after all the past trips and miles, the road still had undiscovered secrets to offer. That no matter how many places you’ve been and blank spaces on the map you’ve explored, the open road will always lead you to exactly where you need to be. As I approached my campsite for the night and the sky began to fade from blue to orange to purple, I chuckled as I thought to myself about how the idiom “my way or the highway” is all wrong. There is no choice to be made, after all, because as long as I’m able to climb into a car and press my forefoot on the accelerator, my way IS the highway.
    My Way is the Highway
  • An inviting A-frame cabin in the Adirondacks was the perfect haven from the cold on this starry winter night.
    Winter Hideaway
  • A beautiful A-frame cabin made for a wonderful winter getaway to the Adirondack Mountains and on this clear night the starry sky was the perfect complement to a roaring fire in the snow.
    Take a Seat
  • A crackling campfire was the perfect complement to a beautiful A-frame cabin in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom on this starry night.
    Cozy in the Kingdom
  • The Milky Way galaxy shines in the night sky above the jagged Minarets, as seen from the fractured granite bedrock at Iceberg Lake. Ansel Adams Wilderness, California.
    Runway to the Galaxy
  • Stars twinkle over the warm and cozy Mount Edith Cavell Hut, on a magical winter night in the backcountry of Alberta's Jasper National Park.
    Sweet Edith
  • Stars and the Milky Way streak through the night sky above Iceberg Lake and the Minarets, deep in the High Sierra. Ansel Adams Wilderness, California.
    Meditations
  • Stars shine over offshore sea stacks on a remote section of coastline in Washington's Olympic National Park. In November of 1920, the Chilean schooner W.J. Pirrie was being towed towards the Washington shores when a brutal storm hit the pair of ships, forcing the towing vessel to abandon the Pirrie. The ship was no match for the tempest, and 18 of the 20 crew members were killed. Their bodies washed up on the very beach where this photo was taken, and if you search in the woods behind the beach, you'll find a plaque memorial for the victims.
    Spirits In the Night
  • A boater enjoys a view of fireworks popping over the calm waters of Great Sacandaga Lake. Adirondack Park, New York.
    Summer Sendoff
  • Fourth of July fireworks and the full "Buck Moon" light up the sky and reflect in the calm waters of Great Sacandaga Lake. Adirondack Park, New York.
    Celestial Fireworks
  • There's nothing like exploring the High Peaks after a snowstorm. After photographing the sunset from just below the summit of Marcy, descending into the sanctuary of the forest was a welcome escape from the hostile, wind-raked alpine zone. Soft moonlight illuminated the snowy evergreens with delicate light, and my descent of the mountain took much longer than it should have as I stopped often to attempt to capture the beauty. I passed this stand of evergreens on my way to the summit earlier in the day, and immediately became enraptured by the large tree on the left of this photo, as I had never before seen a tree caked with so much snow. The light from the moon was just strong enough to illuminate the snowy trees, and a slight halo in the thin fog around the moon added a final touch of etherealness. Knowing that I was the only person still out on the mountain made this moment all the more special, and helped to make the experience one of the most memorable ones I've had in these mountains. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    To the Heavens
  • The moon shines in the clear winter sky and illuminates snowy evergreens below the summit of Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Sanctuary
  • Stars begin to fill the moonlit sky at twilight below the summit of Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Twilight
  • A granite dome rises up from an amphitheater of polished rock and basks in the twilight glow as the first stars begin to twinkle in the warm summer sky. Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne, Yosemite National Park, California.
    Granite Kingdom
  • Stars twinkle over a cabin nestled in the Adirondack Mountains.
    The Cozy Cabin
  • Is there anything more New England than a Christmas tree made out of lobster traps and buoys? "Trees" of different sizes and arrangements can be found in coastal towns throughout New England during the Christmas season, and the tree pictured here comes with the added bonus of having the Nubble Lighthouse, dressed in its own Christmas lights, as a backdrop.
    'Tis the Season
  • Starry skies over my tent along the beautiful coast of Washington's Olympic National Park.
    Spirit of Adventure
  • Is there anything more "summer" than making s'mores by a campfire?
    S'mores Season
  • Majestic Mount Robson, the tallest peak in the Canadian Rockies, towers over the forest at Robson Meadows, as seen during a spectacular September sunset. The Texqakallt, a Secwepemc people and the earliest inhabitants of the area, call Mount Robson Yuh-hai-has-kun, which translates to Mountain of the Spiral Road. The mountain is often cloaked in clouds, and nothing can prepare you for your first clear view of the mountain. Mine came on a chilly night at 2 AM, at the tail end of a marathon drive starting at the redwoods of Northern California, and ending at Robson Meadows campground. In a daze, thinking only of how good it would feel to finally set up my tent and slip into my sleeping bag for a deep slumber, I looked up and saw a white mass hovering in the starry, moonlit sky. As I drove closer, I realized that what I at first though was some sort of alien spaceship, was actually the snowy face of Mount Robson, towering nearly 10,000 feet above the surrounding meadows and forest. Slack-jawed and fortunate that no other cars were on the road for me to veer into, I finally arrived and set up camp. Even after 18 hours in the car, I had a hard time sleeping that night. I was full of excitement for the coming days of exploration after catching my first glimpse of the moonlit monolith, the Mountain of the Spiral Road.    Mount Robson Provincial Park, British Columbia, Canada.
    Mountain of the Spiral Road
  • While driving back to the Sage Creek campground after photographing the sunset, I saw an elephant on the side of the road in the darkening twilight. Although I was pretty sure that there weren’t any wild elephants roaming the plains of South Dakota, the animal that I saw was so massive that “elephant” was the first explanation that popped into my head. I didn’t have time to contemplate any further, as up ahead more imposing figures began to take shape through the dusty night air. As I crept closer, I realized that these of course were not elephants, but rather a herd of approximately 100 buffalo. I parked in the middle of the road, turned off my car, stepped out, and listened to the buffalo run and play in the darkness. I couldn’t help but think that in days past, this unique and awe-inspiring experience that I was having would have been commonplace (if you were to trade my Civic for a horse), as the Plains were once filled with millions of buffalo. I eventually made it back to my campsite, and returned to the area the following morning, hoping to be lucky enough to photograph a similar experience. Fortunately, part of the herd from the previous night was still in the area. I was able to watch the sun rise with the buffalo, and captured this magical moment in the photograph you see here. Badlands National Park, South Dakota.
    Window to the Past
  • As a teenager obsessed with running track and cross country, Steve Prefontaine was my idol. Hailing from the sleepy lumber town of Coos Bay, Oregon, “Pre” turned the running world on its head with his bravado and quotes like ” to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift” until he met his untimely end in 1975 at the age of 24. While it’s been years since I ran my last race, my admiration for Pre lives on. It thus seems fitting that during my post-grad school road trip I was lifted out of the deepest loneliness of my journey while in Coos Bay. <br />
Far from home and feeling lonelier than I ever thought possible, I aimlessly drove the backroads of Central Oregon until I found myself at the coast. After spending a restless night at a deserted campground in Newport, I awoke the next morning to find myself covered in poison oak. Barely able to open my eyes, I headed to the nearest urgent care, which happened to be just up the road in Coos Bay. After getting some meds and pondering my next move, not wanting to return to the suffocating loneliness that was waiting for me back at my campsite, I happened to see a flyer advertising the Prefontaine Memorial Gallery, an exhibit devoted to Steve Prefontaine. I immediately drove over and headed up to the gallery, and was in awe at what I found. The room was filled with countless trophies and medals that Pre had won, and even had some spikes that he had raced in. I spent most of the afternoon poring over each medal, marveling at how this man had made the most of his all too brief life.  By the time I was done in the gallery, I had a renewed vigor and zest for life, and drove back to my campsite eager to explore the very dunes that Pre himself used to train on. Because to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift, and this trip, I realized, was a gift that I just couldn’t sacrifice.
    The Gift
  • Ice coats rounded granite boulders along the rugged coast of Maine on a frigid evening in February. The night before was the coldest weather my Dad and I have ever camped in, with temperatures dipping close to -20 degrees Fahrenheit! Braving the winter weather has several advantages, though, including practically zero crowds and interesting photo-ops. Acadia National Park, Maine.
    Shiver
  • After a day of backpacking through misty summer rain, the clouds cleared just in time to reveal the glaciated Mount Shuksan massif at sunset. Look closely and you'll see two tents (mine is the yellow one on the left) perched above Lake Ann, ready to spend the night camping in a mountain dream. Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, Washington.
    Camping in a Dream
  • Boulders poke above the snow along the outlet of Cavell Lake on a pristine winter morning in Jasper National Park, Alberta. Spending a few nights at the Edith Cavell Hostel and exploring the surrounding backcountry was one of the best winter adventures I've experienced thus far, and I can't wait to return and make a longer excursion to explore the mythical Tonquin Valley.
    Go Beyond
  • The hum and warmth of the wood stove coupled with the incredibly comfy bed in the loft of the cabin made for some of the best nights of sleep ever. Adirondacks, New York.
    Sleeping Beauty