Mt. Shasta from Weed
Confessions from the End of the Jetty, Borlänge, Sweden
“I remember distinctly the crushing weight of the solitude. Not a sad solitude, but the kind where your brain momentarily glitches and thinks, "Am I the only thing left?" That’s the feeling I wanted to photograph.”
Photographing the California Coastline: The Magic of Battery Point Lighthouse
The sky, though. It was giving me "50 Shades of Grey's-about-to-rain" moodiness, but you know what? It worked. The dramatic clouds actually made the bright pink ground and the white lighthouse pop even more.
Desert Prism
What began as a soft glow suddenly fractured. It wasn't just one sun. Shimmering symmetrically on either side, painted with subtle spectral golds and pale blues, were two clear, unmistakable sundogs—a phenomenon known as parhelia. The ice crystals were bending the light like a prism, giving the desert a triple-sun canopy.
Georgia O’Keeffe’s ‘Silent People’: The Caprock Column of Ghost Ranch
They call formations like this the ‘Silent People.’ I’m not sure if it’s more eerie or comforting, but standing on this trail, surrounded by these towering, eroded figures, you definitely get the sense that you are being watched by something ancient.
Capturing the Scale of Yosemite’s Grizzly Giant
Capturing this image required me to practically lay flat on the pine needles, much to the amusement, I’m sure, of the tourists passing by.
Chasing the Bandon "Keyhole"
At exactly 5:42 PM, it happened. The "heavy" clouds didn't vanish, but they fractured.
A narrow slit opened right at the horizon line, and the sun poured through like molten gold. For five minutes, the world turned into a high-contrast dream. The sea stacks, which had looked like dull gray monoliths all day, suddenly became towering guardians of light.
Finding the Magic in Yosemite Valley’s Morning Mist
Then, right on cue, Half Dome catches the light of the rising sun. It’s a weirdly bright, glowing contrast to the dark, damp, enshrouded trees below.
Church Rock Sandstone Butte in Winter
Church Rock rises from the red dust like a quiet sentinel as I roll on highway 191 into southern Utah