Travels with Father – 1992, New Mexico

I turned 65 several months ago, and lately I've found myself thinking more and more about my father at that same age. A month before Dad turned 65, he and I took what would become the first of several fall photography trips together. Over the next nine years, we traveled throughout the West, cameras in hand. At the time, I thought we were simply going on photography trips. Looking back now, I realize they were something much more important: photography had given my father and me a way to repair a relationship that had been strained, and somewhere along those western highways and behind those cameras, we learned how to simply be father and son.

Unlike some of the other trips I've written about, this one has been difficult to reconstruct. Nearly 34 years have passed, and my memories of the trip have faded considerably. What I do remember has been supplemented by the 35mm slides Dad took, which I recently scanned, and by researching the places we visited. Even then, I'm probably only about 80 percent certain that I've reconstructed the trip correctly. The slides tell me where we were, and my memories fill in some of the gaps, but there are plenty of things I simply don't remember.

In the fall of 1992, I was working a swing-shift, five nights a week, 3 PM to 11:30 PM. I was still doing wedding photography as an avocation, which kept me busy most weekends between Memorial Day and Labor Day. I had been taking horseback riding lessons, and loved to watch westerns, with the 1985 film Silverado as my favorite. So, when Dad and I started to talk about where we’d go that fall, I suggested northern New Mexico, because Silverado had been filmed around Santa Fe, and even used Georgia O’Keefe’s Ghost Ranch as a location. Dad himself had been to northern New Mexico a couple of times, once with his parents, and again with his mother and my two older brothers. This time it was just us, so Dad, in his typical way, planned the trip carefully, and using the AAA Tour Book, secured our accommodations for the trip, and mapped our route accordingly.

I cannot tell you what day we left, but as I was recently scanning Dad’s 35mm slides from this trip, he had dated them around late September of 1992, which was a bit earlier than we usually traveled (our trips tended to be during the first week of October). On this trip our first leg was from my condo in Laguna Hills, California, to one of our favorite motels, the El Rancho in Wickenburg, Arizona. Dad and I had stayed there on our previous trips to and from Arizona, so it was familiar to both of us. The next day found us driving from Wickenburg into New Mexico, ending our day’s drive in Albuquerque. One thing I just realized as I was recalling this trip is that Dad really tried to keep our drives around 6 hours a day – roughly 250 miles.

I found on these later trips with Dad, and on subsequent trips I’d take with other photographers or by myself, that I need a full day of driving to decompress from work, so I was glad we had a couple of days to get into New Mexico – to allow the beauty of the New Mexico light to influence me. Dad wasn't much of a talker, so most of our time together on these trips was spent quietly. We'd stop somewhere, set up our cameras, and he would take photographs while I took photographs. Occasionally, he'd tell me a story about one of his earlier trips there with his parents or my brothers. Otherwise, we simply traveled together.

I had read many times (this was before social media or YouTube) about the beauty and quality of the light in New Mexico. It was the reason O’Keefe settled there and painted extraordinary works of art. Photographers and painters make the pilgrimage travel there because of the quality of light. On this day, coming out of Albuquerque, Dad and I headed north through Santa Fe, continuing on Highway 68 at Española before pulling into Taos in the afternoon. We checked into our hotel that would be our home for the next two nights and visited the Kit Carson house and museum. It was mid-afternoon, so we chose to drive into the Sangre de Cristos, stopping to take photographs of the golden aspen trees along the way, spending time at a pond at Palo Flechado Pass. After taking several late afternoon images, we headed back into Taos for dinner and an early evening.

The next morning dawned brisk and cool, and after breakfast Dad and I took a tour of the shops in the Taos Plaza. Our goal that day was to take the Highway 76 portion of the High Road to Taos, starting at Española, which led through the hills and old villages southeast of Taos. Our first stop was the San Franciso de Asis Catholic Mission Church. The light was not right for any good images of the large adobe walls, so we continued along Highway 68 to Española, where we joined up with Highway 76, heading northeast. Our first stop was Santuario de Chimayo, and amazing place that, like many of the churches and missions in northern New Mexico, forbids photographs of the interior due to the strong belief that the blending of native American and Christian spirits is strong in those places. The Santuario de Chimayo was also a place where one could purchase some dirt from a hole in the church that would contain healing properties.

One of the things photographers love is dramatic early morning or late afternoon skies, full of puffy clouds that break up the solid blue sky. As Dad and I drove deeper into the hills, the skies treated us kindly with storm clouds that provided dramatic lighting on the landscape and small villages. Our next stop was Truchas, a very small village that seemed to be stuck in the 19th century, with the Casa de las Nubes (House in the Clouds). We drove further into the village, stopping at the Presbyterian Mission Church, where Dad and I had a nice chat with the pastor of this small congregation. After we said our goodbyes, we returned to our route on Highway 76 until we reached the town of Trampas, where Dad and I stopped and photographed the San José de Gracia Church in the late afternoon light. We continued north on Highway 76 to where it intersected with Highway 75, where we headed east through Peñasco, and connected with Highway 518 north, back into Taos, where we got dinner and returned to our motel room.

The next morning dawned clear, but just as crisp and cool. We got breakfast, checked out of our motel, and headed into the Taos Pueblo. The Pueblo, which is a World Heritage Site, is an amazing place to visit, with large buildings that house multiple dwellings. I pulled out my medium format camera, placed it on a tripod, and was approached by a resident of the Pueblo, informing me that the photography we were attempting was prohibited. Not even Dad was allowed to take photographs, so we packed up our gear and left the Pueblo, disappointed that we were unable to photograph it. As we left the Pueblo, Dad suggested that I take a drive to Highway 64, where we could see the Rio Grande Gorge and cross over the bridge. We got to the famed bridge, which crosses over the Rio Grande River at a height of 650’, and started to walk across from the east end. I look at photos of the bridge’s walkway and see concrete, which must have been added since we were there, because I distinctly remember that the walkway was a metal grating, through which you could see all the way down. My fear of heights won almost immediately. I made it perhaps ten feet onto the bridge before turning around. Dad went farther, but eventually he turned around, too, and came back toward me and the car. I don't remember whether we said anything about it. We probably didn't. But somehow that little memory has stayed with me.

From there we headed back into Taos, and continued south, back down to Santa Fe and Albuquerque, where we connected with Interstate 40 and headed west. We pulled into Grants, New Mexico, around supper time, and secured a room for the night. It was a long and sleepless night for me, because the main line for the Santa Fe railroad went through town, and all night I heard train horns blasting away. Bleary-eyed the next morning, Dad and I continued west, reaching our last stop of the night in Wickenburg, Arizona, where we stayed at the El Rancho motel, bookending our trip.

This trip was about photography, especially capturing something elusive: light. And yes, there really is a quality to the light of northern New Mexico, along with a deep sense of spirituality and even mysticism. Catholic churches and missions dot the landscape, reminders of the layers of culture and faith that have shaped the region.

But as I look back at those slides nearly 34 years later, I realize that the most important thing Dad and I brought home from New Mexico wasn't on any of those rolls of film. It was the time we spent together.

Photography gave us a reason to travel together. Somewhere along those western Highways, stopping for light, old churches, mountain vistas and small towns, it also gave us a way to find our way back to each other.

 All photographs taken by Cliff Prothero, September/October1992, copyright August 2026