The girls of Manzanar

One was photographed by Ansel Adams. The other wrote a best-selling memoir. Their stories still resonate.



The girls were 7 when Executive Order 9066 uprooted their lives in Los Angeles.

That April, in 1942, both ended up more than 200 miles away from their homes at the same desolate area in the arid Owens Valley, ordered by the U.S. government to live behind barbed wire fences and under the watchful eyes of armed guards in gun towers.

Joyce Okazaki of Seal Beach holds the book “Born Free and Equal,” which shows photographs of her, left, and her sister, Louise Nakamura, right, taken by Ansel Adams in 1943 at Manzanar War Relocation Center in the eastern Sierra. She now gives talks about that time in her life.

They were two children among 10,000 people, all of Japanese descent and two-thirds of them, like the girls, American citizens by birth.

They never crossed paths – at least not that they know of – at Manzanar War Relocation Center, where families lived in rows of Army barracks divided into blocks and “apartments” measuring 20-by-25 feet.

But, in different ways, each girl came to represent the place where their families were confined for more than two years.

The girl from Block 12, Joyce Nakamura Okazaki, became the face of Manzanar in 1944.

She’s the schoolgirl with the near-perfect curls in the book “Born Free and Equal: The Story of Loyal Japanese Americans” by famed photographer Ansel Adams, who hoped to suggest, as he says in the introduction, that “the broad concepts of American citizenship, and of liberal, democratic life the world over, must be protected in the prosecution of the war, and sustained in the building of the peace to come.”

The girl from Block 16, Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston, gave a voice to Manzanar with the 1973 publication of one of the most widely read memoirs written by an American author, “Farewell to Manzanar.”

Her story has sold more than 1 million copies, and has landed on banned book lists, too.

Both Okazaki and Houston now spend much of their time educating young and old alike about Manzanar.

Their Manzanar discussions are part of a series of OC Public Library programs centering on the theme “Searching for Democracy” that start this weekend and continue into October.


“Farewell to Manzanar” was not intended for any particular age group, but in 2001, Publishers Weekly listed the collaboration between Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston and her belated novelist husband, James D. Houston, as one of the bestselling children’s books of all time.

It became part of school curriculum around the country and standard reading in grade schools to universities all over the world. A TV movie aired in 1976.

“Farewell to Manzanar” broke decades of national silence on what happened to some 120,000 Japanese Americans – men, women and children – detained under presidential order between 1942 and 1945 at 10 camps around the country.

“I was writing it for my family, for myself,” Wakatsuki Houston says of her memoir. “We never imagined it would be a book that would live on this long.”

She believes the power of “Farewell to Manzanar” lies in the story it tells about a family, and what relocation did to them. Rather than bring the Wakatsukis closer together, life at Manzanar broke the family’s bonds.

“It’s an honest story,” says Wakatsuki Houston, who has traveled the world from her home in Santa Cruz to speak about Manzanar. Her stop in Orange County includes scheduled visits with youth at Orangewood Children’s Home and teens from the Brea and La Habra Branch libraries.

She never tires of the subject. She sees the opportunity to engage in discussions with young people about issues such as Manzanar as the true meaning of democracy.

“I hope it enlarges (students’) view of community, of California, of country, of ethnic and racial diversity – and see it as a plus.

“It’s why America is the great country it is,” she adds. “Of course we have failings. But we can still revert to our ideals.”


In the photo that Ansel Adems took on a sunny fall day in 1943, Joyce Okazaki is smiling.

Back then, she was Joyce Yuki Nakamura. She looks sweet and innocent, with her head and her smile tilted just so.

She does not look like an enemy.

But she admits to being a cranky 8-year-old with one of the world’s greatest photographers.

They were outside and she asked if he could shoot the photo in the shade. No. Could she at least face a different way? No.

She didn’t like the blue-and-white striped dress she wore either. Her sister, Louise, 4, got the dress with ruffles and flowers. It was a mismatch for both.

“She was the tomboy type,” Okazaki says. “I was the girly-girl.”

Her father, who graduated from Berkeley with a degree in architecture, had been allowed to travel to Idaho where he picked potatoes to earn extra money. He had bought and mailed the dresses to his girls.

Her mother, Yaeko Nakamura, is included in the book. A USC grad, Yaeko Nakamura’s ethnicity prevented her from being hired as a teacher before the war, but she taught physical education to youth at Manzanar.

Okazaki’s image appears on the cover of the 2001 reprint of “Born Free and Equal” and has been seen in a number of exhibits, including at the Japanese American National Museum in downtown Los Angeles, not far from where her grandfather ran a successful dry goods store before relocation, and at the Eastern California Museum in Independence, not far from Manzanar.

Okazaki, who lives in Seal Beach, retired in 2008 after working more than 20 years in libraries and media centers in the Los Alamitos School District.

She volunteers with the Manzanar Committee, the organization behind the successful effort to have Manzanar designated a national historic site. Okazaki answers often-asked questions about how to define the camps.

“My question is always, why was I, a child, put into a concentration camp?” Okazaki says. “I was a citizen. That’s against the Constitution.”

That’s not a discussion she could have had at 7, when relocation meant leaving behind her favorite doll, Buttercup.

But 70 years later, she can’t stop talking about what else was left behind.



The statewide California Reads program encourages youth and adults to read books and participate in discussions about the theme “Searching for Democracy.”

OC Public Libraries received a grant from Cal Humanities in partnership with California Center for the Book to help fund its presentations. Here are upcoming events at local libraries focusing on Japanese American relocation during World War II.

“Farewell to Manzanar” author Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston will speak Saturday at 2 p.m., Garden Grove Regional Library, 11200 Stanford Ave., Garden Grove, and on Sunday at 2 p.m., Laguna Niguel Library, 30341 Crown Valley Parkway, Laguna Niguel.

Joyce Okazaki, the schoolgirl photographed by Ansel Adams at Manzanar, will speak on Oct. 1, 7 p.m., at Los Alamitos Rossmoor Library, 12700 Montecito Road, Los Alamitos, and on Oct. 23, 3 p.m., at Cypress Library, 5331 Orange Ave., Cypress.

Artist Chizuko Judy Sugita de Queiroz will discuss her book “Camp Days 1942-1945” about childhood days at Poston, Ariz., and share movie clips on Oct. 26, 2 p.m., at El Toro Branch Library, 24672 Raymond Way, Lake Forest.

Through the month of October, the Fullerton Public Library is encouraging city residents to read “Farewell to Manzanar” as part of “Fullerton Reads, One City, One Book, One Adventure.” Activities will include an oral history project, speakers and community discussions.

Contact the writer: or 714-796-7793

Lecture to focus on people behind Ansel Adams images

PORT TOWNSEND — Ansel Adams photographs provide the images.

Clarence Moriwaki, president of the Bainbridge Island Japanese-American Exclusion Memorial Association, will offer the background. Moriwaki will speak at the Jefferson County Historical Society First Friday Lecture in the Port Townsend City Council chambers, 250 Madison St., at 7 p.m. Friday. read more

Exhibition reveals the more fluid side of Ansel Adams

SALEM — The photography of Ansel Adams is so sturdily composed, so enduringly right that it can feel like the aesthetic equivalent of granite. Unbudgeably there. Non-porous. A waste of time to take issue with.

These feelings emerge from qualities inherent in the photographs (the sharpness of their focus, their encompassing breadth of vision, their preternatural balance) as much as from their best known subjects, the mountains of Yosemite and Yellowstone National Parks.

But Adams was more protean and more various in his moods than is often acknowledged. And so it was a clever move by Phillip Prodger, the curator of photography at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, to build a major Adams show around a theme that is the very opposite of granite – a theme that suggests movement, flux, metamorphosis, and transience.

That theme is water.

“Ansel Adams: At the Water’s Edge” contains more than 100 original photographic prints by Adams – some of them very large. In all of them, water appears – or manifests – in various forms.

In a 1929 image called “Thunder Falls,” for instance, falling water forms a tremendous curtain of cascading lines, blurred by their own velocity. Adams makes these flying striations both rhyme and contrast with the crinkled vertical striations of the adamantine rock face that makes up the picture’s other half.

Historians of photography like to emphasize that around 1930, Adams shifted away from the Pictorialist style of soft-focus, fine art photography he had favored until then, and took up modernist precepts: crisp focus, clean lines, dynamic composition, dramatic contrasts of light and shade.

And so he did. But it’s interesting to note that more than 20 years after “Thunder Falls,” the mature Adams is still delighting in the contrast between blurred water and crystalline rock in such photographs as “El Capitan Falls, Yosemite Valley.”

Here, a sun-shot spray of mist and falling water splits two sections of towering cliff. Water and light threaten here to undermine the permanence of rock. The spray of the falls rises high above the cliffs, like incautiously poured champagne, conjuring a triumph of the insubstantial and evanescent over gravity and weight.

But, as always with Adams, it’s the sturdiness of the composition that counts. In “El Capitan Falls, Yosemite Valley,” one can only marvel at the way the diagonal line formed by the tops of the trees echoes the contour of the cliff over on the right, while the vertical trunks of the trees reinforce the edge of the cliff at far left. The whole arrangement holds together as tightly as the cables of a suspension bridge.

Waterfalls were a favorite subject for Adams. But water, of course, does not just fall: it freezes, crashes, sprays, pools and swells. It also reflects. And there are many images here where Adams makes inventive use of the mirroring effects of lakes.

In “Maroon Bells, Near Aspen, Colorado,” for instance, the optical reflection of iced up trees and snow in the lake at the bottom of the picture almost effaces the transition from land to water: It all seems like one flat and continuous scrim.

The effect is even bolder in photographs like “Mirror Lake, California” or “In the Lyell Fork of the Merced River, Yosemite National Park,” where increasingly large fractions of the image are made up of reflection. In the beautiful, mind-stilling “Reflections at Mono Lake, California,” the expanse of water reflecting clouds takes up four-fifths of the image.

In “Submerged Trees, Slide Lake, Teton Area,” Adams uses reflections to toy with principles of Japanese aesthetics – not only flatness and dynamic asymmetry, but a kind of crisp, poetic minimalism.

Adams’s aesthetic is so appealing, so crystalline, so classical, and so essentially bulletproof that it’s not surprising that his influence has been vast. If his vision has grown increasingly susceptible to cliche, that is not his fault. That’s simply what happens to great classical art. (Is it the Parthenon’s fault that the entire Western world is filled with buildings that mimic and bastardize its forms?)

What is true is that many of Adams’s images are so in thrall to nature’s majesty that they lack a feeling for human intimacy. This is as true of his close-ups of reeds and barnacles as it is of his distant, majestic landscapes.

Again, this is a symptom of his classicisim, and I find it strangely refreshing. It’s certainly interesting that, of all the special qualities inherent to photography which Adams adapted so brilliantly to his purposes, the one that he rarely touched upon was the one we indulge most frequently when using our cameras today: the longing for human intimacy, a longing that has since become inseparable from the kitsch of constant recording, of sentimentalizing our personal relationships before they have even had a chance to grow.

Adams remained gloriously aloof from all this. Which is just one more reason to like him.

UC Berkeley, as seen through Ansel Adams’ camera

Nearly 50 years, ago, American photographer and environmentalist Ansel Adams shot black-and-white images of the University of California campuses, creating a vast repository of 1960s photographs that was named “Fiat Lux” (“Let there be light”), after the university’s motto.


Wheeler Hall and the Campanile, (Photo by Ansel Adams)


Incoming freshmen and transfer students arriving at UC Berkeley starting today (Friday, June 1) for summer orientation are each receiving a special gift copy of the 1967 volume by Adams and Nancy Newhall as part of the campus’s annual On the Same Page program. The program for all new students and all faculty members was created in 2006 by the College of Letters & Science to give the campus community something in common to talk about, such as a book, a film or a theme, during the school year.

Viewing Adams’ images, taken at a turbulent time for the UC and commissioned by then-UC President Clark Kerr, may inspire students and faculty to think about the UC today and to imagine its future, organizers said.

“We are all stewards of the University of California,” said Catherine Cole, professor of theater, dance and performance studies, who proposed this year’s theme to the deans who selected it.

The Bancroft Library in September will open “Fiat Lux Redux,” an exhibit of Adams’ UC photos, so that members of the campus community can see the original prints.

Other events, activities and classroom opportunities tied to the chosen theme will unfold beginning in the fall.

An innovative aspect of this year’s program will be “Fiat Lux Remix,” a chance starting in mid-June for students to download images from the collection from the On the Same Page website and use them as a basis for their own creative and intellectual projects. There will be a prize for the best project, and student submissions that present the most thoughtful and creative visions of the UC’s future will be shared with the chancellor, UC president, UC Regents and other influential audiences.

More about this year’s “Fiat Lux” program and how to join in can be found on the OTSP website. Professor Ken Goldberg also contributed a blog post on the topic to the San Francisco Chronicle.

Ansel Adams’ assistant to speak at Effingham chamber banquet

Photographer Alan Ross says the advent of digital cameras has given more people the opportunity and inclination to take photographs, resulting in more ordinary people capturing extraordinary images.

Ross, an internationally respected photographer and educator, will speak at the annual banquet of the Effingham County Chamber of Commerce at 7 p.m. Thursday, June 7, at Effingham County High School.

Friday, June 1, is the last day to make reservations to attend the banquet.

Ross lives in Santa Fe, N.M., and is best known for his black-and-white photographs of the American west. His photographs hang in collections and galleries around the world.

Ross also worked for years as Ansel Adams’ photographic assistant and will speak about the famous photographer and environmentalist’s approach and technique.

He said one of the things that struck him most about Adams, when he first went to work for him, was that he made “an awful lot of very ordinary photographs.”

“I was somewhat stunned to learn that he had no illusions and no expectations that every film he exposed would wind up being another one of what he fondly called his ‘Mona Lisas,’” Ross has said.

Amateurs have fancied themselves as photographers for quite some time now, and that’s “really not a bad thing,” he said.

He quotes a friend of his as saying, “If you buy a camera, you’re a photographer. If you buy a flute, you own a flute.”

Ross said serious photographers don’t feel threatened by people who enjoy taking photographs.

He enjoys teaching and specializes in helping photographers at any level and using all formats and styles. He said one concern he has is that people are taking thousands of digital photographs but are failing to back up the images.

When a hard drive dies, which is a very common occurrence, or when technology is outdated, people’s whole photo albums are sometimes lost. “Who has the equipment to read a 5 ¼-inch floppy?” he said. “Have prints made of stuff that means something to you.”

Some of Ross’s prints will be available for purchase after his speech.

Also at the banquet, the chamber’s 26th annual meeting, will be the presentation of the Treutlen Award for outstanding community service in Effingham County. The Small Business of the Year Award and the Beacon Award for a top local Ambassador volunteer will also be presented.

Awards will go to this year’s Leadership Effingham class, the Members of Distinction and others. Brooke Graham will be presented a plaque as retiring board president.

Tickets for the banquet, with dinner from Poppy’s BBQ, are $50 each. Tables of six, eight or 12 may be reserved.

For more information or to purchase individual tickets or tables, contact the chamber by emailing to, or calling 912-754-3301. Fees may be paid by check or credit card.

For more information about Ross, go to

Ansel Adams’ photos of 1940 L.A. show him working in urban mode

Ansel Adams 1940 photo of Los Angeles City Hall
About 60 of Ansel Adams’ stepchildren will spend the coming four weeks hanging out in a downtown art gallery.

They’re pictures the great photographer of natural landscapes took of urbanized Los Angeles around 1940 – and donated to the Los Angeles Public Library more than 20 years later, with apologies because he thought that “none of the pictures were very good.”

John Huckert, director of drkrm gallery, which on Saturday will open “Ansel Adams Los Angeles: Photographs From the Los Angeles Public Library Ansel Adams Collection,” says the idea is to prove that Adams underestimated himself, while showing a side of his work far removed from the majestic scenes of Yosemite and the Southwest that made him famous.

Adams took the pictures while on assignment for Fortune magazine, which was featuring the burgeoning city and its aviation industry. They include shots of a hot dog stand and the Ocean Park pier in Santa Monica,  a view of downtown’s Hill Street from the heights of Bunker Hill, and pictures shot in a bar and a bowling alley.  The exhibition will run through March 17, occupying both the drkrm space and the adjoining Edgar Varela Fine Arts gallery, both at 727 S. Spring St.

The Fortune article, “City of the Angels,” ran in March 1941 and included just a few of the 216 photos Adams had taken, Huckert said.  Adams kept the negatives and apparently forgot about them until the early 1960s, when he looked through his files during a move from San Francisco to a new home in Carmel.  He donated them to the library rather meekly, noting in a letter that when he shot them — he guessed it was around 1939 —  “the weather was bad over a rather long period and none of the pictures were very good…. If they have no value whatsoever, please dispose of them in the incinerator…. At any event, I do not want them back.”

Ansel Adams 1940 LA bowling alley photog
Writing to thank Adams in 1962, Mary Helen Peterson, head of the library’s history department, said librarians were “delighted” to have his pictures.  “Even though you say they are not your best work, they present an interesting and useful study of the Los Angeles area in the late 1930s.”For Adams’ tax purposes, she said, the library had valued the gift at $150 — $50 more than the minimum worth he’d estimated in the letter he’d included with the negatives and prints.

Now the pictures are going to sell in limited edition silver-gelatin prints, starting at $2,500 or $10,000 each, depending on size. The library will get a cut of the proceeds, Huckert said, along with prints of the pictures.

John Matkowsky, who owns drkrm and is the show’s curator, developed the prints for the show. The library had engaged him last summer to do its photographic printing work, Huckert said; when Matkowsky learned about its collection of never-shown Ansel Adams negatives, he proposed the exhibition.Matkowsky “tried to duplicate the way Ansel Adams would have printed them,” Huckert said, trying to bring out some of the striking dark-and-light contrasts that are an Adams signature, and compensating in some images for the lack of contrast owing to the overcast weather that the photographer complained about in his donation letter to the library.

Huckert said that Matkowsky picked some of the images because they were so unlike anything the public associates with Ansel Adams. The bowling alley shots include one (pictured above) that’s “an out-of-focus weird shot that’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him…. One of a little girl outside a market, holding this weird little doll, looks like something Diane Arbus would have shot.”

William Turnage, who was Adams’ business manager for 12 years until the photographer’s death in 1984, said he only knows of one other set of negatives that Adams didn’t hold on to — pictures of the Manzanar Relocation Center he’d taken in 1943 because he was outraged over the wartime imprisonment of West Coast Japanese Americans. Adams gave those to the Library of Congress.

“It was unusual for him to give up or give away negatives,” Turnage said. “He was always pretty protective of them.”

As Adams moved to a new home in the early 1960s, Turnage said, “he probably was looking at his negatives and thinking, ‘Do I really need to keep all these?’ He built a vault behind his new house in Carmel that was like Ft. Knox, but it wasn’t very big. My surmise is they were given away because he didn’t have the space to properly store them, and didn’t anticipate any future use for them. He had a great respect for the Los Angeles Public Library.  He often spoke of it as an extraordinary place.”

The exhibition is affiliated with the Getty Trust’s Pacific Standard Time initiative, although the pictures predate the 1945-1980 time frame of that regionwide project’s examination of the L.A. art scene’s coming-of-age.

“Ansel Adams Los Angeles” will provide the second public glimpse in little more than a year of Adams working in L.A. as a photographer-for-hire. Last winter, 13 pictures he took for the Chadwick School in Palos Verdes were exhibited at the Palos Verdes Library, along with other Chadwick-related photos taken by Adams’ mentor and close friend, Cedric Wright. Wright had lived at a Chadwick-owned house for a time and sent his children to the school.

Adams’ other L.A. connection during the early ’40s was Art Center College of Design, where he taught photography.  That figured into the 2010 controversy ignited when Rick Norsigian claimed that old-fashioned glass plate negatives he had bought at a garage sale in Fresno were “lost” pictures of Yosemite and coastal Northern California that Adams took during the 1920s and 1930s.

Norsigian — whose claim was hotly protested by Turnage and other Adams experts and associates — said the person he bought the negatives from had mentioned they’d long been stored in a Los Angeles warehouse — leading to his theory that Adams might have left them behind after bringing them to L.A. to share with his students at Art Center.

Ansel Adams in LA

Eye local photos taken by the photo legend.

Quick. Think “Ansel Adams” and then tell us what the next thing is that springs to mind. Is it a stunning, ethereal shot of Yosemite’s Half Dome? Is it a panoramic take on some distant, snow-capped mountain range?

Did we hit close? Mr. Adams, a legend among legends in the photography pantheon, took many an iconic photo in his lifetime, but he is much associated with epic, breathtaking nature shots. But the California-born and California-loving auteur also snapped his share of city photos, too.

That subset includes many snaps taken in our own city. And now the Los Angeles photos of Ansel Adams have gone on display at drkrm gallery on Spring Street.

The exhibition is on now through March 17.

In the collection: A rather amazing depiction of Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills circa 1940. A domestic-themed picture of the Olympic Trailer Court. And some silver-gelatin-y wonders that capture the vigor and spirit of our downtown.

The photos are from the Los Angeles Public Library Ansel Adams Collection. Mr. Adams took the pics for a Fortune magazine assignment, says the gallery. And, here’s an interesting tidbit: The photos were “rediscovered” by the photographer in the 1960s. (They were “in his papers”; isn’t that where so much of our own stuff disappears?) It’s a plot point that adds just a bit more juicy backstory to a series that is already intriguing enough in its own right.

Ansel Adams Wilderness


“The Mountains That Made the Man”

A portfolio by Peter Essick pays tribute to Ansel Adams and the craggy California wilderness named in his honor.

On his first trip to the Sierra Nevada, in June of 1916, Ansel Adams went armed with a camera—a Kodak No. 1 Brownie—and started shooting. “I expect to be broke if I keep up the rate I am taking pictures,” the budding 14-year-old photographer wrote to his Aunt Mary in San Francisco that summer. “I have taken 30 already.”

He kept shooting for almost seven decades, until his death at age 82 in 1984, by which time he had become a world-famous photographer and a powerful voice for wilderness. Although he traveled far and wide, he returned again and again to the Sierra—”a noble gesture of the earth,” in his phrase—for the adventure, artistic inspiration, friendship, and solace he found among its jagged granite peaks, snow-swept passes, and brooding skies. His uncompromising portrayal of these subjects still draws pilgrims to the wilderness that bears his name, deep in the heart of the High Sierra, in hopes of seeing what Ansel Adams saw there.

On a bright August morning, a group of Adams admirers emerged from the trees on horseback, making a cloud of dust as they came into view of Thousand Island Lake, at 9,833 feet a splendid prospect in the strong, slanting sunlight. The boulder-strewn lake, surrounded by lush alpine meadows, glittered under a flawless blue sky, with the black hulks of Banner Peak and Mount Ritter anchoring the scene. The horsemen picketed their mounts in a stand of pines, and one of them explained the object of this journey. “We’re looking for Ansel’s tripod holes,” said Michael, at age 77 an ebullient internist from Fresno, now retired. He was joking about the tripod holes but not about his hope of finding the exact spot where Adams had made a memorable early image of the lake and Banner Peak—and surprised himself in the process.

“I made many drab shots and suffered some embarrassing failures,” Adams wrote in his autobiography, recalling the 1923 trip to Thousand Island Lake. But one image proved an exception. “I can recall the excitement of the scene,” he went on. “It seemed that everything fell into place in the most agreeable way: rock, cloud, mountain, and exposure … This picture still has a unity and magic that very few others suggested in those early years.”

It was a defining moment for Adams, then 21 and still undecided over whether to pursue a career as a classical pianist or a photographer. “That trip in 1923 helped push him toward photography—he knew he really had something,” said Michael, who had followed Adams’s career closely, analyzing his pictures, absorbing his writings, and traveling to many of the places where he had worked. But Michael had never visited this corner of Adams country, accessed via narrow trails that climb the eastern slope of the Sierra to emerge in the wilderness.

“Well, I finally made it to Thousand Island Lake,” crowed Michael, celebrating his arrival on the heights and seeming very much at home there. He wandered easily among the lakeside boulders in an old Stetson, and with his rugged good looks and white beard, he was the spitting image of Ansel Adams—for good reason: Michael Adams was the photographer’s only son, here to reconnect with the old man and round out a footnote of family history involving Banner Peak.

“When my father made that picture,” said Michael, “he was traveling with his friend Harold Saville. They had a burro to carry their equipment. Ansel took pictures, and Harold held the donkey. When the Banner Peak photo became famous, Harold loved telling everybody, ‘I held Ansel’s ass while he made that picture!’ Harold loved that story. And now I can say I’ve seen the place where Harold held Ansel’s ass!”

Michael was still chuckling over that one as he picked his way along the lakeshore, searching for the ass-holding place, while his son, Matthew, and I wandered up and down the lake, scrutinizing the scene, roasting in the unobstructed sun, and feeling deflated that none of the venues looked quite right. Finally we triangulated a couple of boulders with Banner Peak and nailed the location at 37° 43′ N, 119° 10′ W. The view was just as Ansel Adams had seen it, except for the absence of the feathery clouds that brushed his mountains and the presence of a pine on the right, which had insinuated its way into the composition since 1923.

“Otherwise, pretty much what my grandfather saw,” said Matthew Adams, who continues the family interest in photography as president of the Ansel Adams Gallery in Yosemite National Park. Loose-limbed and rangy, Matthew is a young version of his grandfather, with his Roman nose and dark, arching eyebrows. He whipped out a pocket camera and snapped a picture of his father, who took off his Stetson and beamed by the lake that had caught Ansel’s eye so long ago.

Mission accomplished, we saddled up and plodded back to camp on the sturdy, steady horses we had picked up in June Lake. We eased down one trail and up another, through high meadows bright with lupine and Indian paintbrush, past twisted junipers on the heights, and over the pass to the Clark Lakes, where our tent camp commanded a fine view of the mountains. The shadows lengthened, the stars popped into place, and the air chilled abruptly. We pulled our chairs closer to the fire, remembering the man who had brought us together.

“I think my father was happy that the Sierra Club and others put his work to good use,” Michael said. He had been fiddling with a new Polaroid camera, which prompted the obvious question: Was he a photographer too? “No, I’m not,” he said. “That’s the first thing people ask me. The second thing they ask is what my father would think of digital photography. My answer is that he’d love it. He was always excited by the technical aspects of photography. He was always experimenting. So yes, I think he’d be very enthusiastic about digital, and he would find some way to use it.”

To look at his photographs, you might get the mistaken notion that Ansel Adams was a severe man who viewed the world coldly, from a great distance and with little interest in humanity. In reality he was a gregarious creature with a salty sense of humor, a voluble style, and a sprawling network of friends who felt his death keenly.

Two such friends were William A. Turnage, then president of the Wilderness Society, and Alan Cranston, the California senator who rose to the position of Democratic whip in the late 1970s. When Adams died, Cranston wasted little time in calling Turnage to commiserate.

“What can we do for Ansel?” the senator asked. Turnage was ready with an answer: create a new Ansel Adams Wilderness area, which, along with the expanded John Muir Wilderness, would link two of the great High Sierra national parks, Yosemite and Sequoia. “This would thrill Ansel more than anything else could do—but it requires an act of Congress,” Turnage recalls telling Cranston.

The senator readily agreed and ran with the idea. He persuaded his Republican colleague from California, Senator Pete Wilson, to cosponsor legislation that added 119,000 acres to the existing Minarets Wilderness and renamed it to honor their friend. Within months of Adams’s death, the designation sailed through Congress with bipartisan support and was signed into law by President Ronald Reagan.

The campfire at the Clark Lakes was burning down. Michael Adams stared into the embers and spoke again of his father, now a permanent presence in the mountains all around us. “He’d be tickled to know that this part of the country has his name on it. He’d love that.”

Robert M. Poole’s latest book is On Hallowed Ground: The Story of Arlington National Cemetery. Photographer Peter Essick counts Ansel Adams as a major source of inspiration for his career.