Sunset light, high country, Yosemite NP, California. I made this photo on Monday evening as the sun sank into a gap in the clouds and started to light the peaks.

Subtropical regions of the world experience monsoons every summer. The most famous monsoon occurs over the Indian subcontinent. But North America also gets a monsoon. It’s a complex weather process, but a primary force is the hot summer temperatures over land, which creates a localized low-pressure area, which in turn pulls moisture from the Gulf of California (and, to a lesser extent, the eastern Pacific and Gulf of Mexico) over the deserts of northern Mexico and the southwestern U.S. This monsoonal moisture brings thunderstorms to these regions, especially over higher terrain. While these thunderstorms are usually scattered widely, they can cause intense downpours over local areas, generating flash floods.

Here in central California we’re at the outer limits of the North American monsoon region. Monsoonal moisture typically reaches us for only a few brief stretches each summer, and often only generates showers and thunderstorms over higher elevations as that moisture gets pushed upward, cooling the air and causing the water vapor to condense into clouds and rain.

A strong surge of monsoonal moisture reached us about a week ago, so Claudia and I decided to head up to the Yosemite high country to see what the weather might bring. We spent Monday night in the newly-renovated Tuolumne Meadows campground, and the abundant monsoonal clouds gave us a beautiful sunset that evening, and an equally beautiful sunrise the next morning.

When photographing weather like this I’m always trying to anticipate what might happen, especially in the short term. What will the weather do in the next hour, or even the next ten minutes? With short-term predictions the best tools aren’t the forecasts on your favorite weather app, but what your eyes see. What’s the weather doing right now? Which way are the clouds moving? Is there a gap in the clouds near the horizon so the sun could break through – especially a gap to the west at sunset, or to the east at sunrise?

And it helps to extend your vision over the horizon. If I have cell service, I can look at satellite and radar images to see what the weather is doing to the east, west, north, and south. Is rain heading my way, or is it moving out? Are there clear skies to the west or east? Webcams can also be helpful for seeing exactly what’s happening at certain spots.

But although I use all the tools at my disposal to make my best guess about what the weather will do, it’s still just a guess. Predicting the future with 100% accuracy is impossible. I do the best I can to put myself in the right place at the right time, but there’s always some luck involved. Sometimes things don’t pan out. Sometimes you realize – too late – that a different spot would have been better. And sometimes you get lucky.

I got lucky on Monday evening when the sun sank through a gap in the clouds to the west and lit up the mountains to the east. Then, as the sun got lower, the clouds to the west caught fire. Although I had noticed a gap to the west, I couldn’t see all the way to the horizon, so I couldn’t be sure the sun would break through until it actually did – and even then I couldn’t know whether the light would suddenly get snuffed out by an unseen cloud bank.

The next morning it looked like there were too many clouds to the east blocking the light. I picked a spot that might work if the sun happened to break through, but with little expectation that it would, so I worked at finding intimate compositions along the lakeshore. Then, right around sunrise, the clouds started to turn gold and orange. It wasn’t spectacularly colorful, but the shapes of the clouds were beautiful, which was more than enough.

So things worked out – twice. It would have been a fun little trip regardless, but it’s always more fun when the light and weather cooperate.

And just to add to the excitement, on our way home we drove through an intense downpour, with so much hail we shifted into four-wheel-drive to help navigate the slippery roads. (I’ve included a short video of that below.)

Since then we’ve returned to our typical summer pattern, with one sunny day after another. But next week we head to Greenland, so I think we’ll see a change in weather…

— Michael Frye

Sunset reflected in a high-country pond, Yosemite NP, California. On Monday evening, after the sun left the peaks, I turned around to look west toward the sunset.

Lake, clouds, and granite domes at sunrise, Yosemite NP, California. On Tuesday morning I thought clouds further east might block the light, but right around sunrise the beautifully-shaped clouds above the lake turned gold and orange.

Lakeshore, rocks, and reflections, Yosemite NP, California. I made this photo a little later on Tuesday morning, drawn to the patterns of rocks and reflections along the lakeshore.

Related Posts: Into the High Sierra; Melting Ice; In the Range of Light

Michael Frye is a professional photographer specializing in landscapes and nature. He lives near Yosemite National Park in California, but travels extensively to photograph natural landscapes in the American West and throughout the world.

Michael uses light, weather, and design to make photographs that capture the mood of the landscape, and convey the beauty, power, and mystery of nature. His work has received numerous awards, including the North American Nature Photography Association’s 2023 award for Fine Art in Nature Photography. Michael’s photographs have appeared in publications around the world, and he’s the author and/or principal photographer of several books, including Digital Landscape Photography: In the Footsteps of Ansel Adams and the Great Masters, and The Photographer’s Guide to Yosemite.

Michael loves to share his knowledge of photography through articles, books, workshops, online courses, and his blog. He’s taught over 200 workshops focused on landscape photography, night photography, digital image processing, and printing.