Almost forty years ago, Antelope Canyon felt like a secret whispered among photographers. Galen’s directions were simple—park here, walk that way, and eventually you’ll fall into the canyon. And you did. Alone in that cool ribbon of sandstone, with light drifting down in soft, impossible colors, I made an image that still feels unmatched. Maybe it was the silence in me. Maybe it was the sense of discovery in me.
When I returned in 2022, the canyon was still beautiful, but it wasn’t the same place. Crowds filled the passages. Guides kept everyone moving. The quiet had vanished, replaced by schedules and cell phones. I walked to the start, and left…
Driving away, I understood: some places change, and some memories shouldn’t be chased. The canyon you photographed so long ago still exists—but now only in the image I made in 1986.
