Gary Crandall

Though the temperature was plummeting and the rain torrential, wildlife photographer Gary Crandall ignored the temptation to seek refuge in his tent. He had returned to this particular spot, year after year, in Alaska’s Katmai National Park in an attempt to capture an image that, up until now, had existed only in his head. Then it happened. Three bear cubs clambered up on a rock and, for a wink-long second, struck the pose Crandall had been seeking. That moment allowed for two precious clicks, resulting in Rain Bears, one of Crandall’s most popular images. “Getting those two shots just reminded me that you’ve got to stick things out and persevere,” recalls Crandall.

Persevering doesn’t seem to have taken a toll on Crandall. On the contrary, this lanky man with a salt and pepper mountain man’s beard is as easy-going as his two Labrador Retrievers are hyper. Pilsner (named after his favorite beer) and Abbey (Think Beatles’ record) “guard” the doors of the Dancing Crane Studio, where Crandall and his wife Lillian print and prepare images for the Wild Spirits Gallery located on Main Street in Park City.

Wild Spirits Gallery exhibits “the critters” Crandall has come to know over the past 20 years as a wildlife photographer. His work takes him to some of the West’s most majestic landscapes, including Alaska, Northern Canada, the Northwest and Wyoming’s Teton Range. The feeling of proximity some viewers experience while observing Crandall’s images of wild creatures is both unsettling and awakening. Every sense is alert as an approaching cougar, just feet away, locks his eyes on you (Lion in Winter). Some of these images come from Crandall’s many visits to wildlife refuges throughout the West, such as the photograph of a rescued 9-month-old mountain lion named Dandelion, who Crandall accompanied for a week (Wildcat).

On average, Crandall heads out for two-week stints in hopes of returning with at least one image for the gallery. “Of course, there have been so many times I’ve come back with no images,” says Crandall, laughing at his bad luck. “But I come back refreshed, and figure next time I’ll get it.”

Luck is something as elusive as the “critters” Crandall seeks. He waits patiently and lets “critter luck” happen on its own. The life of a wildlife photographer might drive a type-A person loco. After all, the variables needed for a good image are not easily controlled. First, you need to find the “critter”; second, you must wait for the right light; and third, the wildlife must present itself in such a way that it provides for good composition. Crandall adds one more variable: weather. “[Different weather conditions] provide a greater sense of depth,” he explains, noting the same element in the work of his mentors, wildlife painter Robert Bateman and photographer Art Wolfe.

Seeking these images in the field, Crandall has a lot of time to reflect, (or swat mosquitoes). He may settle down 50 yards from an animal and wait all day for it to present a good shot. That’s why Sean Love, a buyer in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and now a friend, suggested four years ago that Crandall haul out one more camera and start snapping landscape images while he’s out there. Love witnesses the hours customers spend perusing Crandall’s photos in his store, and he consistently sells two or three images to a first-time buyer. “Clearly, these images — of landscape and wildlife — speak to a lot of folks.”

These “folks” are drawn into galleries in Breckenridge, Colorado, Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and Park City by the beauty of Crandall’s photos. “People come in just to sit and be surrounded by the images. They are somehow comforted by them,” says Crandall, who enjoys conversing with customers and hearing stories of why certain pictures resonate with them.

Despite making a living from his craft, selling his work is not Crandall’s raison d’etre. It is sharing his work and using it to remind people that there is a beautiful natural world beyond our cities that needs to be respected and preserved. “If you have the privilege of doing this for a living, you need to give something back,” says Crandall, who provides photos to the Nature Conservancy and other organizations with missions to protect wild places. He reaches back and grabs a plaque from the Nature Conservancy off his wall. “When it comes to being recognized, this means the most to me. I don’t care about photography awards or contests.”

Crandall doesn’t feed his ego. Rather, he focuses on stoking the sense of awe viewers glean from his images. He is looking for others to champion his beloved “critters” and the beautiful wild places that they call home. Currently, Crandall is working with the preservation group “Linking Communities” to produce a book highlighting the migratory routes that link shore and wadding birds’ (birds with large, webbed feet) journeys from Canada down to Mexico. All proceeds will go back to preservation efforts.

It wasn’t always bison, eagles, moose, and bears that Crandall was bringing home (albeit in images). As a kid he brought home snakes and turtles from the woods surrounding his New Jersey home. One summer, he even built a temporary sanctuary for a dozen frogs complete with pond. His boyhood was filled with camping and backpacking outings, but it wasn’t until he visited the West that he realized the vastness of “wide open spaces.” He wanted to experience it.

Crandall moved to Utah in 1978 and worked construction contract jobs for 15 years all over the West, while refining his photography hobby. After continual encouragement from his boss at the time, Crandall consciously made the leap to try and make a living at wildlife photography. “I didn’t want to lose him as an employee, but I knew he could make it,” recalls his former boss Rick Wangsgard. “He’s kind of a modest person and he kept giving his photos away. I told him he needed to start selling them, even if was to just cover his costs.” Now, one of Crandall’s images may sell anywhere from $200 to $1,500.

“Thank God for being stupid — I didn’t even know to fear it,” recalls Crandall, who points out that the world is full of incredibly talented people who don’t ever take the leap.

That lunge into being a full-time wildlife photographer means long stints away from home. But like a river flowing around a rock, Crandall’s attitude just incorporates what might otherwise be an obstacle into being part of the path. Any more than a total of three or four months out in the field means Crandall brings one or more family members along. His youngest, 9-year-old Annie, is his most frequent companion these days. She’ll rise at 4:30 a.m. with her dad to search out wildlife. “I go to see animals — especially bears — and to spend time with my dad,” says Annie.

One of Crandall’s favorite spots to photograph cranes and other birds is the Great Salt Lake wetlands, 20 minutes from his studio. Over the years, each of his children has accompanied him, sharing their own observations and asking questions that lead into discussions of migration, geography, biology and the environment. “Sharing this with my children is incredibly rewarding to me,” says Crandall. “I hope I’ve given them an appreciation and love for the outdoors.”

You can see Gary Crandall’s images at the Wild Spirits Gallery, 614 Main Street, Park City.