In early winter, 2023, we spent a month at a villa rental in Kaș, Türkiye. After overlanding the previous month from Antwerp, Belgium, it was nice to get out of the camper and "live" instead of "travel". During our stay we discovered a viewpoint above town which afforded a nice view of the city lights and harbor. This image was taken after a stormy few days, when the clouds were still hanging low above the bay.

In 2023 we spent the winter overlanding from Antwerp, Belgium to the southern coast of Türkiye. After a month in Kaș, we rented a villa in Gocek, a wealthy tourist town and popular stopover for mega yachts of the mega rich. Above town, a lookout provided a nice view of the bay and harbor. The short hike to the viewpoint gave us and the dog a chance to stretch our legs, and we must have returned to this spot a half dozen times to catch the best light at the end of the day.

Nevado Cocuy stands proud in the morning light, as sunrise comes to the eastern Andes in Colombia. We had camped in the fog at the top of the pass, hoping for clear skies in the morning. Our camp was dreary, dismal and damp, but at sunrise we were rewarded for our choice. The native U'wa tribe considers this to be sacred land, and we can see why.

Along Kona's west coast, ancient (and not so ancient) lava flows create interesting potholes, where waves cascade with each new surge. I spent a lot of evenings at this particular spot, and captured a dozen or more images, each one just a bit different, but each one as captivating as the next. With the right tide at the right time of day, and a bit of luck from the sky, this particular "surge hole" put on quite a show.

Immediately after I captured the other black and white image of the salt-brine polygons in Badwater Basin, I turned my camera directly westward toward the Panamint range, still frosted with snow from a recent winter storm. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, giving me an opportunity to bring the peaks into the composition. I like the way the lines of the clouds point inward to the peaks, mirroring to some extent the angled edges of the polygons closest to the camera. I don't recall noticing at the time the fractured "cell" at the very bottom-center of the image. Likely I was so intent on lining up the peaks with the patterns of the salt that it completely skipped my attention. It's funny how these little surprises can sometimes show up after the fact. I think that little fractured spot adds a nice point of interest to the image.  

When I arrived at the playa on the second evening of our Badwater Basin photo shoot, the clouds were looking pretty gloomy, and even threatened rain. I still had about an hour before the sun went down, and rather than wait and hope for the sky to clear and the sun to emerge for some classic sunset colors, I snapped off a "test" shot with my cellphone. I immediately processed it into black and white, and was really pleased with the results. Absent colors in the sky and on the playa, the contrast in the formations make them really stand out. I put the cellphone away, set up my camera on the tripod, and came away with a couple nice black and white images to add to my portfolio.

In January 2022 we spent a few days camping in Death Valley, and for two nights in a row I went out to photograph Badwater Basin. Although the basin is an immense salt flat covering nearly 200 square mile, most of the interest for photographers are the unique salt formations near the Badwater spring. If you're out there at sunset or sunrise, chances are you'll be sharing the area with dozens of other photographers. Still, with a bit of hiking, it's easy to get away from others and return with your own unique perspective and compositions. The other thing I like about the basin is that, depending on the light, you can get very different colors in the image. In this image, I went for the cool colors just as the sun was emerging from behind some clouds, perhaps only 15 minutes before it set. The warm colors in the sky had developed just enough to add some nice complementary colors to the foreground of the photo, without turning the entire scene magenta. A few minutes later and the whole color palette had changed. Of course, I captured those images too!

We made a quick trip up to Death Valley to camp for a few days, giving us an opportunity to explore a few places we'd missed on previous visits. Badwater basin, at 286 feet below sea level, is not only the lowest place in the US, but it is also a massive salt flat, covering some 200 square miles. Once a lake bed, the basin is now dry, and features some unique salt-encrusted formations. The patterns seem to spread out to the horizon, and where I was taking photos, are only a few inches tall. However, according to a ranger I spoke with, about six miles out into the playa they are nearly waist-high. Now that would be a tough hike! We lucked out with a couple days of clouds, and made sure we were out on the flat right at sunset to capture the glory of this amazing place. There's another image in my portfolio which I took about twenty minutes before this one, and in that photo the colors are more subtle with cooler hues of blue prevailing. Once the sun dropped and the magenta colors in the clouds fully developed, I captured this photo. Together, the two images taken minutes apart on the same night demonstrate how changes in light at the end of the day can really affect the end result. Both are nice in their own way, no?

In the middle of the summer tourist season we lucked out and got the last site at a little lakeside campground near Kebler Pass. Colorado's high country is extremely popular, and once the snow melts (sometimes well into July!), the crowds arrive. With so much beauty to behold, who can blame them? Like elsewhere in the American West, though, Colorado is at risk of being "loved to death" as dispersed camping areas fill up with not just people, but their offal. 

North of Rockport, California, coastal highway 1 turns inland towards Legget, and in doing so, creates a long stretch of isolated coastline, aptly named the Lost Coast. Trails continue north from Usal beach some 50 miles, giving adventurous hikers a unique opportunity to experience Mendocino's remote and rugged Sinkyone Wilderness, with only the gulls, otters, and the occasional passing whale for company.

South of Puebla, Mexico, the Tehuacan-Cuicatlan biosphere reserve features a large expanse of spectacular columnar cactus. The reserve is a UNESCO world heritage site, and includes a wonderful botanical garden: the Helia Bravo Hellis where a knowlegable guide will escort you along graveled path while explaining the various plant life unique to this important ecosystem. A nearby campground offers adventurers the opportunity to camp among the cactus, with additional trails and a few miradors one can climb for a better view of the surrounding terrain.

Rainfall begins as another storm comes to the Beartooth Mountains. Earlier in the day, our hike around the lake had been blessed by warm sun, and although the wind was blowing hard, it was about what one would expect on the high plateau. By evening though, calm had settled--if only momentarily--as the next wave of storms approached. It was as if the mountains were breathing in, anticipating the coming squall. I tried to capture the mood of the threatening clouds, which were still allowing a bit of light to penetrate from the far horizon. Within minutes of taking this picture we were scurrying back to camp, hard drops of rain pelting our jackets and muddying the trail home.

Just south of Coos Bay, Oregon, Sunset Bay state park features rocky headlands, hidden coves, and a small campground for tenters and RVers alike. A short trail winds along the cliffs, providing peek-a-boo glimpses of the Cape Arago lighthouse. I found this little viewpoint and caught the last rays of sunlight falling on the lighthouse. 

Montana's Crazy Mountains rise abruptly from the surrounding plains, channeling winter winds down nearby valleys, making nearby Livingston the windiest city in an already windy state. In spite of the severe climate, a few hardy ranchers work the land, raising cattle and growing crops to help their herds through the long winter months. My own relatives came to Montana from Austria and Slovenia in the late 19th century, and worked the coal mines near Corwin Springs, just north of Yellowstone National Park. Folks back then were sure a hardy bunch! These cottonwoods must be hardy as well, though they seem to be huddled together against the chill, hoping spring will soon bring relief.

South of Nevado Cocuy, frailejones (espeletia) grace the paramo. Crossing over from Boyoca on the west to Meta on the east, we made camp for the night right on the pass, at just over 10,000 feet altitude. We pulled onto an abandoned basketball court next to a small collection of weathered buildings, where two women sold gasoline and snacks to the rare passerby. I asked the ladies if the school had closed because there were no children in the area, and one of them replied "there are no children, and no machinery to make them, either." We both got a good laugh out of that.

As night fell, the fog thickened, and Karen and I huddled inside our camper, heater running full-bore. In the morning the day dawned clear and bright, revealing the wonders of the highest reaches of the Cordillera Oriental.

This image is taken looking north, with Nevado Cocuy (elevation 15,404) on the horizon. To the right of the photo, the cordillera drops to the Orinoco basin, less than 1000 feet above sea level.

Spring is a time for dramatic evening light in the Rocky Mountain west. Unstable air spawns brief but turbulent storms, which often clear at the end of the day. This image was taken not far from Ennis, Montana on the Madison river, one of America's premier trout streams. It took incredible effort to convince myself to exchange fly rod for tripod -- the fly fishing photographer's eternal dilemna.

The San Juan River winds its way below Muley Point before meeting its ultimate death at Lake Powell in southern Utah. The sinuous gorge creates the perfect playground for light and shadow at the end of the day.

Not far from Ennis, Montana, the famed Madison River braids into a myriad of channels, creating small streams where the wary brown trout lie. Moose bed in the willows, and sandhill cranes and the occasional trumpeter swan fly overhead, wings whistling in a chorus to their plaintive cries. We spent a few weeks renting a nearby cabin, and each evening would find us stalking the trout hiding along the banks, hoping for a tight line hookup.