Continues to photograph in the Los Angeles basin.
“On the side of Reche Canyon, 3:00 pm; a cloudless day with no shadows; smog is so heavy that the cars below have their lights on.
Ahead of me, a rattlesnake, as thick as my forearm, warns me . . . which is how he got so old, I guess. We’re each respectful, and lost.”
“Discovered yesterday there are people living in cardboard boxes in the dry wash beneath the four-level San Bernardino interchange.
Imagine what it must be like there at night (I haven’t the courage to go) with the trash and the little fires, the terrible noise,
the car lights sweeping out from the curves, out over the dark.”
—From notes made in 1982
Publishes an introductory essay in Daniel Wolf's The American Space: Meaning in Nineteenth-Century Landscape Photography:
“The end of the American Space is related, in ways mostly beyond the scope of the essay, to the two principal threats to life on earth—overpopulation and nuclear war.”
The Adamses’ dog is caught in a coyote trap on a public dirt road. They commit themselves to finding a way to end the use of steel-jaw
leghold traps and join with others in a campaign that succeeds, thirteen years later, in banning the traps in Colorado.
Publishes Our Lives and Our Children.