That Crazy Algorithm Called Life
A fellow Instagram photographer posted a personal note on his story a few days ago, complaining about when people “like” several of your photos but don’t “follow” you afterwards. I guess that would be frustrating to someone who has 11K followers and apparently is dying for just one more follow… ha ha ha. And then he posted the next day, complaining about how many people sent him negative messages about his previous post. Apparently he doesn’t get it! I almost unfollowed him (although I was little worried about his mental state with 11K -1) but sadly I really like his photography!! I have thought long and hard about his lack of gratitude or appreciation for his popularity on IG. Myself, on the other hand, who consistently seeks ways to improve my style and composition in photography, is teetering close to 380 followers. Let me state now, I know I’m not the best and have room to improve, but to be constantly in the app and not see a tremendous growth can be a little disappointing and make me question my talent (or lack of). Yet I keep researching and hearing about tapping into the “algorithm.” Follow this person, post at this time, use this hashtag. I’ve done it all. But the magical social media algorithm is not within my reach. It’s all good- I’m happy to please my 380 followers, ha ha. Here’s my take-away from the latest social media drama- every human has the crazy algorithm called life— and we can be encouraged by the possibility of endless adventures and treasures that are found along the way. We just have to find a way to tap into them!
One such adventure came along my way during Spring Break this year. I went hiking up along the “Lollipop Loop” in the White Tank Mountains, which I’ve done for years. It’s about 10 miles, and if you’re not in shape, it will kick your butt and make you hurt for days. Luckily I’ve been hiking a ton lately and felt pretty confident and strong along the way. When I reached a specific dry river bed, I veered off-trail to explore one of the elusive “white tanks” that hold the rain water for weeks after a heavy rainstorm. It had rained a week beforehand, and I was curious what treasures the rain pools would have in store for me. (I have found a Giant Desert Centipede in a rain pool several years ago). Any geologist would marvel at the magnitude and grandeur of the length and complexity of the granite floor that stretches for almost a mile long and hundreds of yards across. It’s bleached white, which gives it the name “white tank.” (I learned the hard way last year, never hike on it during a “gullywasher.” It’s as slippery as ice and is unforgiving when you fall.).
Walking along the swells and ripples of the hardened volcanic rock is like solving a Tetris puzzle. You have to walk down this ripple to step over to another to move down the giant white tank. It’s a lot of fun and reminds me of exploring tide pools at the beach, hopping from one wet sandy area to get to another. As I reached close to the bottom of all the ripples, I sat down to enjoy the cool soft surface of the granite. It was perfectly curved to make a natural seat for someone who needed to rest their weary legs. Looking up at the clear blue Arizona sky, feeling the cool granite against my back, and listening to the wind whisper through the nearby Saguaro cactus, I marveled at how much of a gem this location really is. And that I seem to be the only one who knows about its whereabouts. Then I thought, “If this collects rainwater thousands of years after the Hohokam Native Americans lived here, it must have been quite a valuable source of survival for the desert tribe during their existence. You would think they would have documented it somehow.” I started scanning the surrounding dark granite boulders that created a natural wall and partial roof, and something caught my eye. I squinted at it… could it be? Is it my imagination? Of course I left my zoom lens and binoculars at home, so I couldn’t see further than what my eyes could take in. And it was exactly what I thought… 2 sets of petroglyphs etched into the dark rock, hidden from a casual observer by the angle that they were drawn at. You would have to be directly underneath, looking upward, to see them. I took some photos- like I said, I didn’t bring the right camera gear so my iPhone photos were the only documentation and not the best quality.
But the true treasure was the actual experience of viewing secluded Native American artwork that was generated thousands of years ago. This ingenious form of communication validates my theory that this exact location was very special to the tribe’s existence. It is a treasure that I am honored to experience on my hiking adventure.
