Joey Priola Wilderness Photography

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  • A rocky little island reflects in a still pond before sunrise on a late-summer morning. Adirondack Park, New York.
    First Blush
  • One of the best things about owning a canoe? Still being able to explore the wilderness when you bust your ankle. A morning paddle took me out to a rocky little island in the middle of a calm pond, where I thankfully was able to hobble around enough to find this little clutch of grass and flowers nestled in the rocks, with my canoe beached in the distance. Adirondack Park, New York.
    Morningtide
  • There's nothing like exploring the High Peaks after a snowstorm. After photographing the sunset from just below the summit of Marcy, descending into the sanctuary of the forest was a welcome escape from the hostile, wind-raked alpine zone. Soft moonlight illuminated the snowy evergreens with delicate light, and my descent of the mountain took much longer than it should have as I stopped often to attempt to capture the beauty. I passed this stand of evergreens on my way to the summit earlier in the day, and immediately became enraptured by the large tree on the left of this photo, as I had never before seen a tree caked with so much snow. The light from the moon was just strong enough to illuminate the snowy trees, and a slight halo in the thin fog around the moon added a final touch of etherealness. Knowing that I was the only person still out on the mountain made this moment all the more special, and helped to make the experience one of the most memorable ones I've had in these mountains. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    To the Heavens
  • Wind-carved snow and trees covered in rime ice created a magical winter scene near the summit of Algonquin Peak, on one of those rare winter days where the sun shines so bright and the air is so still that it makes you wish that spring would never come. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Mesmerized
  • Calm, foggy mornings are the perfect time to be out in a canoe, and sometimes the water is so still it feels like you're floating in a giant mirror. Adirondack Park, New York.
    Morning Mirror
  • Wind-carved snow and trees covered in rime ice created a magical winter scene near the summit of Algonquin Peak, on one of those rare winter days where the sun shines so bright and the air is so still that it makes you wish that spring would never come. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Euphoria
  • Wind-carved snow and trees covered in rime ice created a magical winter scene near the summit of Algonquin Peak, on one of those rare winter days where the sun shines so bright and the air is so still that it makes you wish that spring would never come. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Chiseled
  • Beautiful fall colors reflect in a still pond on a misty October morning. Acadia National Park, Maine.
    Autumn's Gift
  • Lily pads and reeds rest on the surface of a calm pond on a misty summer morning. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Reunited
  • The snowy landscape picks up a brilliant sunset glow high in the Adirondack Mountains.
    Ice in the Veins
  • Indian Falls is a beloved spot in the Adirondack High Peaks, and I have fond memories of laying out on the sun-warmed bedrock next to the falls after my dad and I climbed Mount Marcy together years ago. There would be no lounging around on this day, but the view looking out to the MacIntyre Range from Indian Falls might be even more beautiful in winter.
    Remember When
  • Towering Mount Marcy pokes through the clouds and catches the warm light of sunset. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Layers of Marcy
  • The snowy summit of Whiteface Mountain barely pokes above the clouds at dusk. The pink glow in the sky is known as the "Belt of Venus" and is commonly seen on clear days before sunrise and after sunset. It appears 10-20 degrees above the horizon on top of the Earth's dark blue shadow that's found just above the horizon, and the crisp low humidity days of winter seem to make this phenomenon appear stronger than other times of the year. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Island in the Sky
  • Hardy, snow-covered trees found high up the mountains are one of my favorite winter photography subjects, but what really drew me to this scene was the blanket of clouds on the distant mountains at dusk. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Insulation
  • Beautiful sunset light makes the snowy winter landscape come alive. The solitude and dramatic beauty of winter makes it my favorite time of year to explore the mountains. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Higher and Higher
  • Whiteface Mountain rises up from the valley into the clouds, as seen from below the summit of Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Layers of Whiteface
  • Fiery sunset light sets krummholz (a German word meaning "crooked wood" that's used to describe stunted, windblown trees) coated in rime ice ablaze. Adirondack High Peaks, New York
    Flamethrower
  • Krummholz (a German word meaning "crooked wood" that's used to describe stunted, windblown trees) coated in rime ice picks up the delicate post-sunset glow on a frigid summit in the Adirondacks.
    Alpine Ice Garden
  • Towering, whimsical evergreens caked with snow made it feel like I was hiking to Whoville. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Hiking to Whoville
  • A beautiful sunset reflects in a placid pond during a backcountry canoe camping trip in the Adirondacks.
    Inner Peace
  • The setting sun broke through the clouds just enough to bring the snowy landscape to life. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Renewal
  • Evergreens covered in rime ice stand like frozen sentinels at dusk keeping guard of the alpine zone of Algonquin Peak. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Summit Sentinels
  • On clear and cold winter days after a fresh snowfall, nothing is more fun to me than tramping through the snowy mountains seeking out the beauty of winter. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Tramping Through the Snow
  • Snowy evergreens blanket the slopes of Mount Marcy on a perfect winter day. The harsh and challenging conditions, relative solitude, and otherworldly landscape makes winter by far my favorite season to head to the high mountains. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    The Journey Ahead
  • Enjoying a view over the calm waters of an Adirondack lake on a sunny summer morning.
    No Days Wasted
  • Moonlight illuminates snowy evergreens on a clear and starry winter night. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Signs in the Sky
  • Snowy evergreens on the summit of Cascade bask in an incredible post-sunset glow. The stunning beauty of the mountains on this frigid winter day was made all the more memorable by the frigid -30 degree windchill that the evergreens and I endured as we took in the most beautiful winter sunset I've ever seen. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Transcendence
  • The alpine zone of the Adirondack High Peaks turns into a strange, beautiful, and often inhospitable land in winter. After climbing Algonquin Peak on an atypically sunny and calm day, I spent hours on the summit enjoying and photographing the wind-carved snow drifts and evergreens coated in rime ice.
    Top it Off
  • Puffy clouds reflect in the perfectly calm waters of a lovely Adirondack pond.
    Up is Down
  • Soft sunset light spreads across the sky and adds some warmth to the snowy winter mountains. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    A Winter Friend
  • Snow-covered trees frame a distant mountain on a cold and moody evening in the Adirondack Mountains.
    The Road That I Must Choose
  • A band of post-sunset color adds a touch of vibrancy to the snowy and moody winter mountain landscape. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    The Thrill of Exploration
  • Soft moonlight illuminates snowy evergreens on a clear and starry winter night. There are few moments in nature as peaceful as those spent in the lonely, snowy mountains after dark. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Soothe the Soul
  • Sunrise colors and morning mist reflect in the calm waters of one of the many pristine ponds found throughout the Adirondacks.
    Endless Possibilities
  • A beautiful winter sunset from the windblown slopes of Mount Marcy, looking west towards Algonquin. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Leaders of the Pack
  • An evergreen branch coated in rime ice reaches out like the frosty hand of winter on a sunny but frigid January day. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    A Touch of Frost
  • Beautiful, glowing, and warm sunset light contrasts with snowy evergreens on a frigid winter day. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Floating in Fire
  • Intense sunset light illuminates the snowy mountains on a cold winter day. Light like this is incredibly fleeting, but witnessing the snowy landscape come to life while on a deserted summit makes the time and effort required to experience and photograph these special moments oh so worth it. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Always Worth It
  • A tree-studded island reflects in an Adirondack pond as sunrise marks the beginning of another glorious day on the water.
    Make it Count
  • Evening lights shines on snowy krummholz and distant mountains as the valley in between plunges into darkness. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    The Darkness In Between
  • A canoe rests on the shore of a rocky island in the Adirondacks on a beautiful summer day.
    Land Ho
  • The first photo from the first of what will surely be many wonderful trips in our new canoe, "Bobby."
    Maiden Voyage
  • Fresh snow blankets the evergreens along the trail to Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Powder
  • The moon shines in the clear winter sky and illuminates snowy evergreens below the summit of Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Sanctuary
  • Sometimes a photograph comes to fruition at the spur of the moment, with little to no planning or previsualization. Other times, however, much preparation and just the right circumstances are required for a vision to become reality. This photo of sunset from the snowy alpine zone below the summit of Mount Marcy falls squarely into the latter category, as I had been wanting to make this image for the past three winters before everything came together in early March 2020. After the Adirondacks got covered in 3 feet of snow from possibly the last snow storm of the season, I set off from the Adirondack Loj hopeful that I would finally be able to make the images that I had long sought. The trail conditions were fantastic, as other hikers and skiers had thankfully packed the powder down the previous day. As I gradually crept closer to the summit, my excitement grew as I realized that I'd finally have a chance to capture the photo that I sought for so long. I arrived at the summit area later than I had hoped, as I stopped often en route to the summit to photograph the snowy paradise that I hiked through. The quiet serenity of the forest was abruptly replaced by the howling winds of the alpine zone, and I searched out some compositions while struggling to stay warm. As the sun went down and the landscape was bathed in soft light, the beauty of the scene and the fact that I was capturing the photos that I had sought for so long made me forget about the cold and wind and the long hike out in the darkness. As the sky began to darken and I packed up for the journey down the mountain, I took one last look towards the summit of Marcy, and it dawned on me that in that moment, I was the highest  person in the state. In elevation, as well as spirit. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Above All Else
  • Snowy evergreens frame a distant Whiteface Mountain in the Adirondack High Peaks on a pristine winter evening.
    Where All the Fun Is
  • Snow-caked trees enjoy the sunset as Mount Colden towers over the valley in the distance. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Marshmallow World
  • Warm sunset light illuminates the distant summit of Whiteface on a cold and windy winter evening. Adirondack High Peaks, NY
    Deception
  • "Bobby" rests on the banks of a peaceful pond at sunrise on a perfect summer morning. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Keep Calm & Canoe On
  • Clouds reflect in a quiet pond while out for a peaceful evening paddle. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Moment of Reflection
  • The Adirondacks in winter is quite possibly my personal favorite photography subject. In particular,  the gnarled and hardy evergreens that occupy tree line and the beginning of the alpine zone make my heart pound and creativity flow unlike anything else found in nature when they become covered with snow in the depths of winter. After climbing the surprisingly deserted trail to the summit of Cascade, I was greeted with a windchill that approached -30 degrees Fahrenheit, and a fantasy-land of pure winter magic unlike anything I had seen before. The challenging weather conditions only added to the experience and made it that much more memorable, and as the sun dipped below the distant mountains and the most intense post-sunset glow I've ever witnessed emanated through the sky, I raced around like a madman capturing as many photos as I could. After the sky shifted from orange, to pink, to blue, to black, I began my descent down the dark and lonely trail, reveling in the feeling of pure ecstasy that only comes from the wilderness and doing what you love most in the world.
    Ecstasy
  • Day transitions to night high in the Adirondack Mountains as the final faint glow of sunset yields to the sparking stars.
    Transition
  • Skiers hoof their way to some backcountry turns in the Adirondacks. Watching them whiz down the mountain as I trudged along made me wish I could replace my snowshoes with some skis!
    Summit Reward
  • One of my favorite parts of camping with my dad is chatting by the fire, often with a martini in hand, after an exciting day in the woods. While any topic of conversation is enjoyable, some of the most entertaining and memorable stories have been tales from my dad's youth working as a park ranger at Green Lakes State Park in Syracuse, NY.<br />
<br />
Green Lake and its neighbor, Round Lake, are both meromictic lakes, which means that their surface and bottom waters don't mix like most lakes do in the fall and spring. The fact that there are only about 20 meromictic lakes in North America makes Green Lake special, and its made even more unique by the fact that it possesses an incredible blue-green color that seems out of place in Upstate NY and more likely to be found in the tropics. This color comes from the high presence of minerals in the water that seeps through the surrounding bedrock and into the lake. Similar to the turquoise-colored glacial lakes that can be found in the Canadian Rockies and other parts of the world, Green Lake shimmers in otherworldly hues when sunlight hits the water. Green Lakes State Park, New York.
    Reminiscing
  • Low-angled evening light struck the snowy landscape at just the right angle to allow a little evergreen sapling to project a shadow much larger than the tree itself. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Projecting Confidence
  • I was afraid that the high winds on this frigid evening would blow over my camera while taking this self-portrait, which was how my first camera met its demise in Shenandoah National Park in 2014, but thankfully my current set-up made it through this unforgettable sunset unscathed. Adirondack High Peaks, NY.
    Mountain Rules
  • Snowy evergreens on a mountain summit bask in an incredible post-sunset glow. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Frozen in Place
  • Fresh snow covers towering evergreens along the trail to Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Snow Ghosts
  • High winds below the summit of Mount Marcy carved the snow into interesting patterns and lines. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Hostility
  • Stars begin to fill the moonlit sky at twilight below the summit of Mount Marcy. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Twilight
  • Soaking in a cold and beautiful winter sunset from just below a mountain summit in the Adirondacks.
    Energy
  • A skier works their way towards an Adirondack summit on a rare calm and sunny winter day. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    Ascension
  • Warm sunset light contrasts with frigid temperatures and illuminates snow-covered evergreens and distant mountains. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Closing Time
  • The alpine zone of the Adirondack High Peaks is one of the most unique geographic zones in New York state. Home to rare and fragile alpine plants, not to mention some unforgettable views, the high mountain summits reward hikers in many ways. While beautiful year-round, there's something extra special about the alpine zone in winter. Constantly evolving based on snow and wind, each trip to this paradise in the sky is filled with surprises in the winter. On this trip to Algonquin, I was intrigued by patterns in the crusty snow that reminded me of the swirling lines of a fingerprint, as if mother nature was leaving her signature on her winter handiwork. Adirondack High Peaks, NY.
    Winter's Fingerprint
  • Beautiful sunset light makes the snowy winter landscape come alive. The solitude and dramatic beauty of winter makes it my favorite time of year to explore the mountains. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    My Fingers Hurt
  • Heading out for a sunrise paddle on a calm Adirondack pond is the perfect beginning to a summer day.
    Morning Calm
  • An evergreen tree near the summit of Algonquin bows under the weight of snow and ice that accumulated over the course of a long winter in the alpine zone. Adirondack High Peaks, New York.
    Weight of Winter
  • Krummholz covered in rime ice catches the brilliant sunset light on a perfect winter day in the Adirondack High Peaks.
    Warp Speed
  • There is nothing that I enjoy more than taking a dip in a river, lake, or pond on a hot summer day. While I've had the great pleasure of diving into countless pristine natural bodies of water, it wasn't until I traveled to Georgian Bay that I discovered my ultimate swimming paradise. Blessed with an usually warm and calm late summer day, my dad and I whiled away the afternoon lounging and swimming along the rocky shore of the Bay. The lack of vegetation in the lake here gives the water an unbelievable vibrancy and clarity, and with my snorkel mask on, the beauty of the Bay fully revealed itself and beckoned me to enjoy and explore these crystalline waters forever. Bruce Peninsula National Park, Ontario.
    River Rat's Paradise
  • Twenty minutes before sunrise, a beautiful orange glow spreads across the horizon and reflects in the unusually calm waters of Georgian Bay. Bruce Peninsula National Park, Ontario.
    Fresh Start
  • While savage storms and squalls have littered the waters of Georgian Bay with numerous shipwrecks, rare calm days such as this reveal the subtle, soothing beauty of the Bay. The lack of vegetation in the lake here lends the water an incredible clarity, revealing a beautiful assortment of pebbles and boulders that extends as far as the eye can see. Bruce Peninsula National Park, Ontario.
    Serenity Now
  • A rare calm day on Georgian Bay reveals beautiful underwater rocks and boulders. The lack of vegetation in the lake here gives the water an unbelievable color and clarity, and the expansive blue waters of the Bay blended into the sky to form a seemingly endless view. Bruce Peninsula National Park, Ontario.
    Infinity
  • A self-portrait from inside a cave along the spectacular coast of Georgian Bay. The lack of vegetation in the lake here gives the water an unbelievable color and clarity, especially when the sun is shining. Bruce Peninsula National Park, Ontario.
    Caveman
  • A beautiful beach of white cobblestones lines the turquoise waters of Georgian Bay. The lack of vegetation in the lake here gives the water an unbelievable color and clarity, which can make Georgian Bay seem more Caribbean than Canada. Bruce Peninsula National Park, Ontario.
    Canadian Caribbean
  • A kayaker explores the rocky coast of Georgian Bay. The lack of vegetation along the shore here gives the water an incredible aquamarine color and clarity.
    Kayaking in Paradise
  • A rusted buoy rests on the white cobbles of a beautiful beach in Ontario's Bruce Peninsula National park.
    Castaway
  • There are moments in life when time seems to stand still. When all the outside noise slips away and the mind, body, and spirit are focused entirely on the moment at hand. For me, the wilderness is where I go to seek these moments. Whether it's been a stunning sunset along the ocean, a rewarding winter view after a punishing climb, or hearing the haunting call of a loon echo across a foggy lake, I've been fortunate to experience countless moments where nature has taken my breath away and made time stand still. Out of all these moments, there's one that stands out from the rest. On a trip to Great Smoky Mountains National Park, we were dying to see black bears in the wild. After a couple days of exploration with no sightings, we were rewarded with what likely was the greatest experience we've ever had in the wilds. A mama bear and her three cubs were hanging out at the base of a walnut tree, which itself was exhilarating to see. But then the cubs got restless, and began to climb the walnut tree. We stood awestruck as they deftly scaled the thin branches that swayed in the evening breeze, and I could feel my heart pounding so much with excitement that it felt like it would burst. This was one of those rare moments that cause you to ask aloud "is this real?" because it's unlike anything that your eyes have seen before. This was indeed real, and was a moment we'll never forget.
    Time Stood Still
  • Two small islands appear through thick fog and reflect in a still lake on a late-fall morning. Even after the colorful leaves of autumn drop and fade, there's still much beauty to be seen and photographed in the wilderness. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    An Autumn Haunting
  • Stars and the Milky Way fill the sky on a clear and still night of backcountry canoe camping on a wild Adirondack pond.
    Voyage to the Unknown
  • A loon gracefully glides across a still Adirondack pond on a calm summer morning. I purposely underexposed this image to put the focus on the beautiful shape and feather patterns of the loon.
    Out From the Shadows
  • When their haunting call floats across the surface of a wild lake on a still summer morning, my awe and appreciation of the Adirondacks is never greater.
    Adirondack Icon
  • Even after the leaves have fallen from the trees, there is still beauty to be found in the autumn forest. Adirondack Mountains, New York.
    After the Fall
  • The hardy, gnarled, and beautiful bristlecone pines found in the White Mountains of California are the oldest known living non-clonal trees in the world, with the oldest identified one being over 5,000 years old. Over the course of a week of exploring the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, I found myself returning time and again to this one particular tree. I was fascinated by  its twisting, barkless limbs, and the fact that only a small portion of the tree was still technically alive. You don't live for thousands of years without being a master of survival, and one of the ways in which these trees are able to live so long is their sectored architecture. Each root section feeds only the part of the tree directly above it, and as one root dies off due to exposure through soil erosion, only the sector of tree above that root dies. In the tree shown in this photograph, the right side has succumbed to exposure and erosion, while the upper left reaches are still clinging to life. On one of the last mornings of my visit, I was  able to capture this tree under a sky filled with surreal clouds shortly after sunrise, which felt like the perfect complement to the otherworldly shape and longevity of the ancient bristlecones.
    Father Time
  • The Bristlecone Pine trees found in California's White Mountains, home of the oldest known living tree in the world at over 5,000 years, are masters of survival. The colorful trunk of this particular tree managed to wrap itself around a pile of rocks, while still continuing to grow.
    Hourglass
  • One hundred years ago, on December 11, 1919, the SS Ethie got caught in a violent tempest off the west coast of Newfoundland. With the ship nearly out of coal and iced over, the decision was made to intentionally run the ship aground in an attempt to prevent it from being claimed by the storm and the savage sea. All 92 passengers were fortunately rescued and survived the ordeal, including a baby that was sent ashore via rope chair in a mail sack! News of the rescue spread far and wide, and the story was picked up by the Associated Press and was published in the Philadelphia Ledger. Somewhere along the way, as the story was retold and possibly embellished, the greatest hero of the rescue became a Newfoundland dog. The Hero Dog was said to have swum from the breached ship to land with a rope in its mouth, in order to bring the rope to observers on shore so that the passengers could be rescued. While the veracity of these stories will likely never be fully known, remnants of the wreck can still be seen strewn about the rocky and beautiful coast at Martin’s Point, and make for a very interesting spot to stop and explore while traveling the west coast of Newfoundland.
    Remembrance
  • Colorful clouds fill the sky before dawn and reflect in the absolutely still waters of Russel Pond in the backcountry of Maine's Baxter State Park.
    Dawn Dreams
  • A fogbow forms over the ocean and perfectly frames a bergy bit floating in the water below, as seen from the rugged cliffs of Quirpon Island, Newfoundland. Quirpon Island was once known as the "Isle of Demons" by sailors in the 16th century, and was thought to be inhabited by devils and wild beasts that would torment anyone that dared land on the island. Formed in a similar fashion as rainbows, fogbows are caused by sunlight passing through water droplets in thin fog. Since the water droplets in fog are so small, fogbows have only weak colors or are colorless, but still made for an exciting, unexpected, and spooky spectacle when it presented itself to us while hiking along the cliffs of the “Isle of Demons.”
    Isle of Demons
  • On any visit, it doesn’t take long to realize that Yellowstone National Park is a special place. With a concentration of wildlife and geothermal activity unseen anywhere else in the world, once-in-a-lifetime experiences occur daily when visiting the park. But with increased visitation, cell phone hot spots, and selfie stick-toting tourists cramming the boardwalks at places such as Old Faithful and Morning Glory Pool, it can be difficult to experience the “real” Yellowstone. Fortunately, the raw, remote, and sometimes savage beauty of Yellowstone is still there for those willing to put in the work required to see it. My friend and I found the real Yellowstone while on a 50 mile backpacking trip in October. We clambered over snowy mountain passes, hiked through rain, sleet, snow, mud, and brilliant sunshine, saw wolf and grizzly tracks, and soaked au naturel in hot springs almost 20 miles from the nearest road. Perhaps the most memorable moment of the trip, though, was watching and photographing the final sunrise of our journey from the shores of Shoshone Lake (the largest backcountry lake in the lower 48 states that can’t be reached by a road), deserted save for the two lakeside geysers that are steaming and sputtering in this photograph. Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming.
    Life on Mars
  • While driving back to the Sage Creek campground after photographing the sunset, I saw an elephant on the side of the road in the darkening twilight. Although I was pretty sure that there weren’t any wild elephants roaming the plains of South Dakota, the animal that I saw was so massive that “elephant” was the first explanation that popped into my head. I didn’t have time to contemplate any further, as up ahead more imposing figures began to take shape through the dusty night air. As I crept closer, I realized that these of course were not elephants, but rather a herd of approximately 100 buffalo. I parked in the middle of the road, turned off my car, stepped out, and listened to the buffalo run and play in the darkness. I couldn’t help but think that in days past, this unique and awe-inspiring experience that I was having would have been commonplace (if you were to trade my Civic for a horse), as the Plains were once filled with millions of buffalo. I eventually made it back to my campsite, and returned to the area the following morning, hoping to be lucky enough to photograph a similar experience. Fortunately, part of the herd from the previous night was still in the area. I was able to watch the sun rise with the buffalo, and captured this magical moment in the photograph you see here. Badlands National Park, South Dakota.
    Window to the Past
  • For one reason or another, it’s just hard to crawl out of bed on some mornings. Or, in the case of the morning this photo was taken, a sleeping bag. It was a damp and chilly dawn on the Washington coast, and I was still feeling weak from a bad stomach bug I’d suffered through the previous week. The thought of rolling over and burrowing deeper into my sleeping bag seemed heavenly, but I knew that I hadn’t traveled here to sleep. I can’t recall when it first happened, but on mornings like this throughout my travels, where the pull of the warmth and comfort of my tent seemed to be stronger than my desire to get out for sunrise, I had begun to recite a mantra of sorts in my head: “if you don’t go, you won’t know.” Maybe the sunrise would be a dud, but if I didn’t get out there to see for myself, I would never know what possibilities I might miss out on. So on this morning, I extracted myself from my cocoon of warmth and comfort, slipped into wet boots and dirty clothes, and struck out for the beach. On summer weekends, Shi Shi Beach can often be lined with hundreds of tents, but on this soggy November morning, the only creatures I shared the beach with were seagulls looking for breakfast. As I wandered about in the dim light of dawn, I could see a faint glow building in the sky to the east, over the forested slopes of the OIympic Peninsula. As the glow intensified, I settled on a composition, and all of a sudden the sky erupted into possibly the most vivid and colorful sunrise that I’ve ever seen. After the show was over, I wandered up and down the beach, admiring the patterns in the sand, the piles of driftwood, and the ceaseless sound of waves heaving against the shore. Eventually I made my way back to my tent, where I joyfully slipped back into my sleeping bag, fully at peace with what I now knew, after I had gone.
    If You Don't Go, You Won't Know
  • The most important lesson I learned while in San Francisco for a work conference was that when the rental car salesman offers to upgrade you from the cheap compact car that you had pre-booked to a Mustang convertible for just 60 bucks, you say yes. While my pre-conference backpacking trip along the wild and crystalline waters of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite National Park was surely a highlight of my trip to California, it was the journey to and from the trailhead in my trusty ‘Stang that is most etched in my memory. Ever since I had my first car, a piece of shit Saturn station wagon that crapped out after only 40,000 miles, I’ve been obsessed with the intoxicating feeling of absolute freedom and adventure that a full tank of gas and an open mind can provide. After finishing grad school and taking a year off to road trip throughout the American West and British Columbia, I thought that I had experienced pretty much everything that the open road had to offer. But as I bombed down 395 with the evening sun glistening off Mono Lake and the sweet smell of sage washing over me, topping 100 with the first 55 seconds of Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” blasting on loop and flipping the bird to every “speed monitored by aircraft” sign that I blew by, I realized that even after all the past trips and miles, the road still had undiscovered secrets to offer. That no matter how many places you’ve been and blank spaces on the map you’ve explored, the open road will always lead you to exactly where you need to be. As I approached my campsite for the night and the sky began to fade from blue to orange to purple, I chuckled as I thought to myself about how the idiom “my way or the highway” is all wrong. There is no choice to be made, after all, because as long as I’m able to climb into a car and press my forefoot on the accelerator, my way IS the highway.
    My Way is the Highway
  • It’s about the journey, not the destination. This well-worn saying can be applied to almost any context, but may hold most true when used in regards to climbing mountains. The sense of achievement, awe, and wonder gained from moving your being to a mountain summit rivals any other human activity or pursuit in terms of sheer intensity and emotion. Yet mountains are about so much more than just reaching the summit. The route to and from the apex of these wilderness temples is filled with challenges that crescendo with elevation gained, and beautiful nooks and crannies of the forest that the hurried hiker can easily blow right past. I was reminded of all of this on a winter trek into the High Peaks, when I took a break while clambering along Phelps Brook. I had been in a hurry to put in miles up to this point, but as I took a breather I discovered that in my haste to reach loftier destinations, I had nearly blown right by what would end up being the most beautiful thing I saw all day. Fresh snow and ice ringed the cascading brook that I had been absentmindedly hiking next to, and a stillness that can only be found in the winter forest permeated the air. I sat and watched and listened to the water flow and the ice crack for a long while, until the chill and mist rising from the brook made me get moving again. I hiked the rest of the day with new eyes and a new mindset, and reveled in each step of the journey. Adirondack High Peaks, New York
    The Journey
  • Birch trees catch the sunrise light on a calm and foggy autumn morning in the beautiful Vermont countryside.
    Be Still