Civilization is a strong word. Sin City can be a sensory shock after spending many quiet days in solitude. Blackout curtains offer a mild respite from infiltrating light. But the constant thump thump thump of popstar loops and live tribute acts blast through the air and permeate the thickest of hotel walls. 2AM? 4? The party stops around the blue hour. Visitors are loud and outrageous—typically eager to recreate a night from The Hangover.

Over the years, I’ve seen it all in downtown Las Vegas. I’ve encountered wild-eyed contortionists and Elvis impersonators. I’ve stumbled over drunks in a city blackout and escaped a high rise during a 3AM fire alarm. I’ve been propositioned for sex and drugs, groped by strangers, and hugged by a homeless double-amputee. All beneath the giddy screams of tourists ziplining overhead (at twenty bucks a pop) through a strange vortex of blinking lights. Ah, the Fremont Experience.

I spent a few nights in this oddly invigorating chaos, shooting everything that sparkled beyond the doorstep of my favorite casino under the reign of a giant neon cowboy. Before long, I needed a break from The Strip. Back to the mountains. It was a beautiful morning in the Mojave Desert, so I geared up for a day of bouldering, hopped in the car and headed westward.

Just beyond the outskirts of Las Vegas, about a twenty-minute drive from the boulevard, is a national conservation area known as Red Rock Canyon. Nestled within the Spring Mountain Range near the Nevada-California border, Red Rock’s Keystone Thrust Fault is a geological wonder that reflects fiery red hues if you’re lucky enough to be there when the sun is just right. The park is comprised of a 13-mile one-way scenic loop with various overlooks and intense hiking trails throughout. I consider it the heart of the Mojave Desert—a highlight of the many thousands of square miles of raw Nevada desert with limited services and poor cellular reception.

I showed my park pass to the attendant and entered the loop. Cruising alongside the Calico Hills, I became aware of how perfect the moment was. After months of traveling throughout the country, I was in my favorite park on a beautiful day. No crowds, no noise, no chaos. Just desert vistas and mountains and cacti and the occasional amphibian perched on a rock. The whole day ahead. I reached for the Radiohead CD I had set aside weeks ago and unpeeled the plastic wrapper. It was high time I listened to the new album from my all-time favorite band—music so good, I save it only for the best of occasions.

With just a taste of Thom Yorke’s latest lyrics, I arrived at Ice Box trailhead, a challenging hike along the periphery of Red Rock. It was early afternoon. Ready to tackle some boulders, I prepared for the day, loading plenty of water and energy bars into my pack along with my camera and smartphone. Leaving a door open as I locked my car, I zipped my keys into the pack, and set it on the seat while I changed my shoes. Bad idea. I had only just slipped off a sandal and grabbed a sock when, somehow, the door clicked shut.

Oh. Crap.

It took a moment to register. I tried the handle. Did this really just happen? I was locked out of my car, several miles deep into a remote national park with no water or phone. I considered breaking a window and wondered how much force was required. Too drastic. This wasn’t an emergency, was it? I looked around me. No one in sight.

With luck, I didn’t wait long before a friendly couple passed by and offered a lift back to the main entrance, after they too tried unsuccessfully to break into my car. Easy enough—I imagined borrowing a park ranger who would jimmy my lock and send me on my way. Surely anyone who works in a rugged wilderness frequented by tourists in rental cars would be a lockout guru. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Six or seven miles back at the visitor center, I was offered little help besides a thick yellow book and use of a phone. In the age of petrochemicals and polyethylene, even a wire coat hanger was impossible to come by. It took three calls before reaching a tow company still in service and willing to drive so far outside Las Vegas. I was reassured by a receptionist on the line that I was in the queue. Two hours for a service truck to arrive. I was dropped off at the entrance booths near the highway and waited.

Hours passed. Two. Three. I sat at a lone picnic table and watched tiny chipmunks dance and play at my feet, while admiring the changing spectrum of light that shifted the colors of the scenery. The golden hour came and went. Blue Hour. Dusk. The park was closing for the day. Follow-up phone calls yielded nothing. Apparently, the service truck couldn’t find the park and had moved on. What now?

It was Julie who came to my rescue. A kind and bright veteran park attendant working the entrance, she tended to me on her own accord, offering snacks and water and even a seat in a heated toll booth when the night brought a chill. She made a call (and follow-up calls) using her own AAA account and summoned a tow truck which arrived, finally, well after dark.

It turns out the average Las Vegas local has no idea this park exists. My young tow truck driver, accustomed to routine jobs in the city and suburbs, was bewildered by the unfamiliar rural landscape. I sat beside him as we hustled through miles of blackened desert, with headlights bleaching our immediate path ahead and nothing more. Darkness, everywhere. We found my car, just as I left it. He opened the door in under ten seconds. I tipped him well and offered directions back to the city and he headed off. His tail lights disappeared around a bend, and then, silence.

Red Rock closes before nightfall because it’s not equipped for dark. True to its nature there are no streetlights, no reflectors, few guardrails. Security had already swept the park at closing time and I knew I was the last one to leave. This, I realized, was the upside to a day spent stranded in the desert.

Turning the ignition, Lotus Flower suddenly came from the speakers. I rolled down all the windows and pulled onto the road, turning up the music to full volume—Radiohead reverberating in my own natural amphitheatre. Cruising faster and faster through the night, this was my chance to treat Red Rock like a racetrack, hugging the smooth curves of the desert road in the moonlight with my own soundtrack echoing off the mountains. A once in a lifetime moment, and so worth the wait.

As we entered Facebook Headquarters, we were greeted by staff in a bright entry hall covered floor-to-ceiling with hand-painted artwork and edgy typographic posters. A row of iPads guided us to check in and pick up our visitor badges. Signing an NDA with my fingertip was a first!

We met up with our host, Facebook’s Journalism Program Manager Vadim Lavrusik, and continued over to the photo department for lunch. Note the tall ceilings, open floor plan, and refreshingly casual creative environment.

Next, we squeezed into the head of a crowded conference room to sit and discuss the photos experience on Facebook and Instagram:

After a fun and productive meeting, we gathered our cameras and wandered Facebook’s campus for a while. Facebook HQ is a vast space—nearly one million square feet spread across 57 acres.  Nine buildings wrap around a broad path in a lush park setting lined with trees and speckled with open courtyards.

The environment is very open, collaborative, and social.

Giant touch-screen directories are located throughout Facebook campus to help people navigate the massive complex.

I found a few cluttered corners at Facebook—a familiar state of being for any hardworking creative.

Here’s a snap of us during our photowalk on Facebook’s campus, taken by Vadim Lavrusik. From left to right: Catherine Hall, Julia Peterson, Hillary Fox, Thomas Hawk, and Richard Koci Hernandez.

I had a fantastic time meeting some of the great minds behind the world’s biggest social network. I’m looking forward to returning one day!

I was a tad disappointed. In the weeks prior, I had planned to drive from Detroit to San Francisco for a fun weekend in the Bay Area, then head far south into the Mojave Desert. I was looking forward to spending a few quiet weeks shooting landscapes in the mountains to capture the approaching spring bring the desert to life.

But I had only been back in the States a few days after flying in from another three-month stretch in Amsterdam. Between catching up with old friends and family, wrapping up a big project, and struggling through some brutal jetlag, I simply ran out of time. Having just three days to drive 2,500 miles solo in the winter is pushing it a bit too far, even for me. So I booked a last-minute flight.

After a few hours in midair, I noticed the landscape outside my window begin to change. The grey skies, ice, and snow of the American Midwest gave way to the rugged pastels of the Southern Rockies. The skies were clear and bright. We were approaching Las Vegas. Two-hour layover ahead.

By the time the plane taxied to the gate, I could already feel the heat. Las Vegas is notorious for its sweltering summers with average temps around 106°F (41°C)—something I fondly refer to as “perfect weather”. I couldn’t wait to get off the plane and into a warm climate, if only for a couple hours.

I grabbed a quick breakfast inside the airport among a field of slot machines. In the food court under immense windows, I eyed the landscape with a hint of nostalgia. Detroit is where I was born and raised, but Las Vegas was the home I claimed as a young adult. I spent the majority of my twenties living in Las Vegas for months at a time, always with a strong sense of freedom and a deep love for the outdoors. With easy proximity to the best sights in the west—from Death Valley to Zion to the Grand Canyon, the list goes on—Las Vegas has been an irresistible home base for me. For any landscape photographer.

Having spent most of the past year outside the US, I’d been away from this home for way too long.

Wandering over to my gate, I double-checked the time for my connection to San Francisco. We should have been taking off within two hours, but the departure screen blinked an update in bold color: FLIGHT DELAY. This meant at least four more hours gazing out at a blue sky without feeling the sun on my face. I couldn’t do it. Life is too short and it was far too beautiful outside. I was done waiting.

On a whim, I decided to ditch my connecting flight. I went online and reserved a rental car within seconds, and spoke to the gate agent about getting my luggage pulled. Within a half hour (and only a little extra prodding), my suitcase appeared on an empty carousel in baggage claim. By the time an hour had passed, I found myself on a shuttle feeling liberated.

At the rental agency they were out of the standard cars I had reserved, so I got a free upgrade. Score! By noon, with the sun beaming overhead, I was on the freeway cruising south on I-15 in a brand new Dodge Charger the color of the deep sea. Cutting through the mountains of the Mojave Desert, I was in heaven.

I ended up having a beautiful 500-mile trip up to San Francisco—a long drive on the open road under a big blue sky, just like I wanted. This, my friends, is the biggest secret to traveling well: Remain flexible, and jump on unexpected opportunities. You might just get an even better trip than you asked for.

Photo Credits: © Hillary Fox

Of course, there are varying degrees of outdoor natural-light photography. Some photographers will use a standalone portable strobe as fill light or highlight to supplement the sun. Others will use reflecters to bounce and manipulate existing light. Still others will shoot with no additional gear and work entirely au naturel.

I typically fall into the latter category and shoot outdoors sans assistance, strobes, or reflectors. But earlier this year while shooting on assignment for Yuri Arcurs in South Africa, I captured some great comparison photos before and after the use of a simple photo reflector. These images are such good examples of fundamental light manipulation that I must share them with my fellow natural-light fanatics. Below you will see the results of pushing the boundaries of natural light, while still maintaining authenticity.

Before

Below is a photo of three young women socializing at an outdoor cafe at Camps Bay. Shot in completely natural light, note the flatness of the image. There is no depth or dimension, and the colors seem somewhat desaturated.

After

Just a moment later, I reshot the scene using a large white reflector to bounce the sunlight behind them back onto their faces. Instantly, this added a spark, intensity, and color to the photos. It also earned me kudos from Yuri Arcurs himself, along with applause from over a hundred fellow photographers. I must be doing something right!

Continuing on to another location, you’ll see the before and after below. These two women were lounging in a clubhouse pool. The first image is flat and desaturated. The second image, using a reflector to bounce the sunlight, has a rich golden hue.

Even if you’re a diehard natural light shooter like me, it’s worth taking the time to organically enhance existing light. When used properly, the results will make your images stand out. If you’re new to using reflectors in your photo shoots, I recommend this reflector on Amazon. Pick one up and experiment with techniques and angles. It will add another dimension to your photography.