Ravine Sunset

It had been nagging at me for months: Ravine Falls, but at sunset. I had seen it so many times before—too many times, always under the same midday sun. Like a song played on repeat. This place, Table Mountain, just outside of Oroville, is a popular spot. Always crawling with hikers, families, and photographers. I’d done it before, sure, but never in a way that truly stood out.

I had tried. A few times. I would come, wait, watch as the day faded into a muted sky, then make the 2-mile hike back in the dark with nothing. But it kept gnawing at me. Then, one evening, it all came together.

I made the hike out late in the day over the damp, muddy earth. The trickling of water is all that can be heard in the stillness of the mountain. As I approached the waterfall, the clouds seemed ripe for a good sunset, but I had been let down before. Mixed emotions of excitement and doubt swirled around me.

I came to my usual spot, got my camera out, and I waited. As the sun dipped behind the horizon my heart was racing, "Could this be it?" Then all of a sudden the sky exploded unlike anything I had ever seen before. Oranges, yellows, pinks, reds filled the entire sky, like how a painter fills an entire canvas leaving no blank spots whatsoever. When I clicked the shutter, it was as though I captured more than just an image. I caught a fleeting moment of magic, one of those rare instances when nature aligns perfectly with your vision. The sky, the waterfall, the verdant hills—all of it came together in a way that felt meant to be. The colors were impossibly vivid, the scene radiant with life. I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

As I packed up my gear, the last light of the sun fading away, a deep sense of fulfillment settled over me. I knew I had something truly special. Many people had seen this view, but not like this. I lingered for a moment longer, soaking it all in, the once-glowing landscape was now a silhouette against a deepening dark sky. I turned on my headlamp, the beam cutting through the shadows as I began the hike back. The trail was quieter now, just the crunch of gravel and the splash of mud under my boots. 

But even in the dark, I couldn’t stop thinking about the photo I had just taken. It felt like a turning point, a defining moment in my journey as a photographer. A familiar place seen in an entirely new way. The kind of shot that reminds you why you fell in love with photography in the first place.