Last week, while hiking with my wife and a friend from Vero Beach in the Wild Rives Recreation Area, I noticed a scene near a campsite along the Red River where I knew I would want to return armed with more than a point-and-shoot camera.

Packing a 4X5 field camera and a dozen loaded film holders, I headed back to Wild Rivers Saturday where I camped along the Rio Grande Gorge. Well, to call it camping would be the kind of exaggeration one might expect from a politician, or from one of those talking heads that pass these days for journalists. In truth, I spent the night, not under the stars, but in and RV, bedded down on a Tempur-Pedic mattress.

Well rested, I awoke, not to the colorful sunrise I had hoped for, but to and overcast sky. A thin layer of clouds blanketed the landscape, casting muted light on the scene I had earlier pictured in my mind as illuminated by early morning sunshine. Hoping the skies would clear, I packed up my camera gear and headed down the El Aguaja trail, which descends 560 feet to the Red River near a point near where it merges with the Rio Grande.

When a reached the river, I realized the muted light would be perfect for a picture far different from the one I had envisioned. It was as if God, or whoever is in charge of such things, had placed a giant soft box over Wild Rivers. The filtered light gave the scene a mystical look, and it allowed me to shoot at a shutter speed slow enough to blur the motion of the flowing water, making it appear as a river of silk.

After photographing for nearly and hour, I placed my camera, lenses, film holders and tripod in my backpack and started up the switchbacks to the rim. As I hiked away from the river, I thought of how so very often, whether it is a photo shoot or something far more important, life does not conform to our expectations. It seems that I am continually being presented with opportunities to learn how to work with what the day brings. – Mark Schumann