Best of Cape Cod September 17 - 20

I’m partnering with for a repeat of last year’s super fun Cape Cod adventure. Tony is an amazing teacher and a joy to work with. Our students were all super happy with the opportunities we had last September.

Based in Eastham, Massachusetts, we’ll explore scenic salt marshes and incredible dune environments of the Middle and Upper Cape. We’ll peer inside historic lighthouses, peek at the fishing fleet, and hope to spot seabirds, seals, and the foxes of Provincetown.

Whether you’re photographing the night sky over Nauset Light, the weathered textures of classic clapboard cedar shingles on the historic architecture of the Cape, or the serene beauty of a salt marsh at sunset, you’ll return home with stunning images and lasting memories.

We hope you can join us on this trip!

Learn More and Sign Up

Acadia Fall Foliage October 12 - 16

Like I mentioned above, we’re down to just two more spaces on this trip, a classic if there ever was one. Acadia is where many photographers want to be in the fall. If you’ve been, you know. If you haven’t, well, what are you waiting for?

Kurt and I have both been leading trips here for decades, and we’d love to show you why we love it so much. In addition to classic coastal seascapes and the famous forest paths, we’ll explore the hidden gems and help you find your own personal expressions in this dazzling and varied landscape.

Sign up now if you’d like to join us. Soon it will be too late!

Learn More and Sign Up

That’s it for now, a short and sweet newsletter. I’m about to announce more workshops for 2027, so stay tuned! I also owe subscribers the next installment in the Guide to Photographing the Coast of Maine, where we’re going to cover the Camden area, with a shorter entry after last month’s massive behemoth volume on the Owl’s Head and St. George Peninsulas.

And… I’m putting together a quick guide to the business of landscape photography, which has been requested by several of you who want to know more about how you can do more with this amazing hobby. Beware, it’s not as easy as it looks!

This year I was blessed with the opportunity of working with not just two, but four other instructors on two separate trips, along with an additional day leading my own one-day workshop around Lubec, Cutler, and Campobello Island.

I must first give a huge amount of praise and thanks to John Putnam. If not for his inspiration and extensive legwork (which I discovered when I organized a trip myself this year), these trips would not have been possible. I asked John several years ago if he would have me as a co-leader on this trip, and he graciously agreed. I’ve really learned to love this area through John.

I also get to work with Nathaniel Child, another gifted photographer from Maine. Nathaniel’s kind guidance and understated competence are an essential component of the trips out here with John.

A huge development this year was a new collaboration with someone I’ve watched from afar with great admiration. Jay Fleming, an extraordinary photographer from Maryland, brought his flair for providing a first-class workshop experience, along with his boundless energy and charisma. Jack Sullivan, another extremely talented photographer, and fun companion, helped us greatly on this second trip. I feel so blessed to work with these amazing folks, along with the crew at Bold Coast Charter Co.! Y’all rock.

None of this would be possible without the true essential ingredient of these experiences, the workshop participants themselves. Hailing from locations around the country, each bringing their own unique perspective, and personalities, each approaching these trips with eager curiosity and a great attitude for learning and collaborating, they are of course what makes it all possible. We take endless inspiration, and great pleasure, in their photographic vision, as well as their spirit of camaraderie. Thank you, folks!

I won’t explain too much more about the images. As much as I love writing, I hope that you can enjoy them mostly for themselves this time. Try not to scroll too fast.

I have to give another shout-out here, to my friend Dominic Trapani and the American Lighthouse Foundation. Visiting Little River Lighthouse was so much fun! Running and maintaining these historic beacons is not just a labor of love for many, it also requires financial support. The American Lighthouse Foundation provides vital funding for a number of endangered lighthouses around the the country. Consider making a donation through the link above if you love these lights like I do.

Alright, back to the photos.

As you can see, a few close up photos of people working (and posing at work) snuck in here. You can thank Jay, and these wonderful subjects, for that. Of course I love people, but I’ve always been shy of taking their photos, especially of asking them to do something or pose. Jay is not shy! I hope to grow into this new experience and make some more portraits.

I’m a bit more comfortable with these kind of portraits.

Thank you so much for looking through these images. I love sharing them with you.

I have a few more upcoming workshops with open spaces.

A one-day workshop in Stonington Maine will feature similar opportunities for capturing the lobstering lifestyle, wildlife, and some beautiful scenic landscapes. We’ll go out on the Good Tide, a local charter boat that will take us in search of eagles, seals, loons, and of course, lobster boats and lighthouses. I’m really excited for this new trip.

This will be my second year running a trip on Cape Cod with Tony Baldasaro. We had a blast last year with a great group. I look forward to joining folks again this year and photographing around the Cape. There’s a lot to see down here!

And finally, we have just a few more spaces on our annual Autumn in Acadia workshop with Kurt Budliger. Kurt has been running this trip for over a decade, and I’m honored to work with him in one of the world’s most beautiful places.

We’re nearing the end of the midcoast right now. This is still what I consider my backyard and some of the richest and most culturally interesting territory in Maine. Now we’re at Owl’s Head and the St. George peninsula, before we get back on to Route 1 and head up the west side of Penobscot Bay to the Camden/Rockland area.

Owls Head Harbor

I love this little harbor, chock full of working lobster boats. Standing at the lobster wharf, home of Ship to Shore Lobster and a public right of way, you’re looking east towards the tips of Dodge Point and Monroe Island, which frame the entrance (or exit) of the harbor, as seen in the image above. When it’s clear, the big island of Vinalhaven sits on the horizon.

This is a great spot to catch the sunrise, especially in the late summer, fall, and early spring when it lines up with the entrance to the harbor.

Looking further south, Monroe Island forms more of a block on the horizon. Some arctic sea smoke helped soften that hard dark line on the morning I took the image below. Remember that sea smoke only forms on the coldest mornings, usually when it’s below zero. Owl’s Head is one of the best places in Maine to see it.

Like many of the spots in my guide, I think winter is a spectacular time to visit, avoiding the crowds and getting some beautiful conditions, like the heavy snow in the image below.

Fog is a frequent occurrence here in the summer, and I think that is also a great time to make images.

There are plenty of detail images to be made here, too. Just like in all lobster harbors, I’ve found interesting textures and colors on buoys to be a great photographic subject. There are lots of these around here!

I liked the shapes, shadows, and storytelling aspect of the stenciling on this truck sitting in the parking lot one morning. What other interesting details can you find when you visit here?

Best Times of Day: Facing east, this location fills with the most golden-hour light in the morning. You’ll be dealing with strong backlight, which may or may not be to your liking. Visit in the afternoon for more easily manageable front light. Foggy days are great here, too.

Best Times of Year: Any

Tides: Any

Access: There’s a sizable parking in the lot at the wharf at the end of Main Street. If you come in the afternoon and this lot is full, there’s now a brand new parking lot and dock that’s accessible to the public a little further down on the right as you’re heading towards the lighthouse, at Richard Carver Harbor Park.

Owls Head Lighthouse

Known for its diminutive size, Owl’s Head Lighthouse doesn’t need to be tall. It sits atop a giant rock headland that has one of the best views of Penobscot Bay.

The classic views are looking up the stairs with the railings forming leading lines to the lighthouse.

There are other ways to ‘see’ it, though, such as this view looking straight up.

Read more

This episode was titled “One Hundred Compositions”, and the argument he made was that in order to make truly personal expressions, truly original work, you need to first exhaust all of the ‘obvious’ or ‘easy’ compositions first. It won’t be until you’ve made many different compositions, working the scene vigorously and being creative as possible over a period of time, that you will begin to make original work.

My initial reaction was to this idea was annoyance and disbelief. This simply isn’t true, at least in the way I practice photography. I know that I have been inspired immediately upon recognizing a powerful moment or scene. Some of my favorite images have come with little or no effort, within the first few frames that I’ve captured after pulling out my camera. They also look and feel plenty original to me.

Take this example. I was walking back to my car after photographing the night sky at Popham Beach when I noticed the moon rising out of the water. I raced to grab my long lens, ran back down the beach, and made the image below with very little thought or effort. Its simple a very simple, striking composition and it remains one of my favorite images.

It’s true that practice with the camera helped me quickly respond to inspiration and make a resulting image that communicated what I intended to, but I certainly wasn’t ‘working the scene’, or even avoiding what came easily. I was responding to what initially inspired me to want to make a photograph, and I made it.

Now, I think what Jensen is arguing for is a creative exercise, not a literal argument that you have to make 100 different compositions every time you go out with a camera. Where it rubs me is the idea that being unique is of the utmost importance in creating artwork. It’s possible that wasn’t his argument, but I’d like to push back vigorously nonetheless.

What I want to argue for is art that is deeply felt vs. art that is proud of its being different. This is where I argue we should be putting our energies. Let the uniqueness arise naturally out of being truly in the moment, deeply moved and connected with what is in front of us.

Perhaps Brooks can only lose himself in the moment when he’s working hard on a scene and exhausting as many creative possibilities as possible. Perhaps only then can he enter that flow state I’m describing above.

To me, however, this approach just feels forced, grasping. For me, I feel like the resulting images, while perhaps being unique or original, would be vastly inferior because they would probably be so far removed from my initial reaction of what attracted me to the scene in the first place. To me, the initial reaction and impression is absolutely vital.

I think for folks who have spent their lives immersed in a subject, like Brooks, simply being different has become extremely important. When you’ve seen it all, you place higher value on novelty. That’s perfectly natural.

Diving further into this idea, I think there is a leading edge of familiarity and novelty, a sweet spot where everyone responds positively to things that are different, but not too different. That’s why we love hearing a new song from our favorite artist, but tire of it after it’s been played a thousand times. Some people love finding new music, while others are content to listen to their favorites from high school over and over. I have a little bit of both in me.

Thinking of this idea in terms of music also leads me to what I think of as a hipster mentality, a form of arrogance that seems to say, “I’m cooler than you because I like more obscure stuff.” Sometimes I get that feeling listening to Jensen. I feel like he really thinks he’s better than me when he derides was he calls ‘calendar’ or ‘postcard’ photography. “That’s my bread and butter!”, I say.

(But really, some of my favorite images have little popular appeal, and also really, he’s speaking for himself, not telling me what to do. My reaction has more to do with my own insecurities than it does him.)

He also says he once spent many days photographing a dead cat and was extremely pleased with the resulting prints, and recalls showing them to a friend who remarked, “Yeah, technically these are good prints, but it’s a fucking dead cat”. Admittedly, he gets a chuckle out of this recollection and can poke fun at himself for it! And this just goes to show that his tastes are different than mine, and many others.

I think the quest for originality is an ego thing, a pride in the fact that only you have recognized or noticed something. I also recognize that ego is a large part of what makes art, art. We value this. We love seeing the world through the eyes of great artists, who seem to have powerful insights, who make meaningful expressions from their own original, and unique, points of view. These are the types of works that I love viewing, too. Works like Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks.

Only Edward Hopper could have come up with this, I think. He’s exploring his feelings of isolation and loneliness in the urban environment. He has an incredible skill with showing light and geometry. He has a deep appreciate for these types of scenes and spaces after many years of studying and painting them.

Ansel Adams’s The Tetons and the Snake River looks at another side of this argument, more in line with my way of thinking. The differences in painterly vs. photographic concepts of originality come to the forefront here, too. Could only Ansel have made the photograph below? Yes, I would argue that is true. But anyone with half a heart would be stopped in their tracks at this view and would try to capture it some way, today, of course, with their cell phones.

But, let’s give credit where credit is due. Adams’s skills and talents were groundbreaking at the time. His mastery of black and white, a form of abstraction, is undeniable, and no one at the time could make prints, an extremely difficult endeavor that Ansel mastered and turned into an art form, as powerful as this. But, is this a scene that almost any of us would be deeply struck by? Absolutely. Even without color, the feeling that we could be standing here is immediate and the scenery is attractive in a very classical landscape sense. It’s effective for all of these reasons.

I have presentation on photography in which I argue that truly great photographs “Challenge us to see the world differently” and “Shed new light on familiar subjects”. I still think that is true. And I think that really great art not only tells us about the artist making it, but also ourselves. Someone else can tell you that a work of art is great, that it’s important, but if we don’t feel connected to it, why should we even care?

This is where I get hung up. I am drawn to the places and spaces, the themes and ideas, that live in our collective consciousness. I am drawn to culture, to landmarks, to locations in nature, and also moments that others recognize and that most of us agree are interesting. I’m not drawn to all of them, but a lot of them. That’s part of the whole attraction of them to me. I love being part of a story that isn’t just my own, but part of the bigger story, the human story. I love the human connection that results from sharing the resulting images, too. I’m not extremely interested in dead cats.

Work that isn’t great is obvious. Work that feels boring, dumb, and cheap. Think marketing. Think careless snapshots. Think most AI “art”.

It’s clear that intention matters. Feeling matters. Time spent matters. Work that is inspired comes from a deeply felt response and connection, a resonance that is both deeply personal and universal at the same time.

The best artists actually often describe inspiration as sometimes coming from an unknown source, and feeling surprised by it themselves. Paul McCartney says the melody for Yesterday came to him in a dream.

Bob Dylan used to say he didn’t know where his songs came from. Now he says they came from emulating the greats that came before, from learning the songs he loved by heart, and from the thousands of hours of practice and obsession with songwriting. That rings true to me. It comes from being sensitively tuned, to being practiced in noticing, and more than anything, being practiced in creating, of taking your influences and combining them in your own unique way. This usually always lead to good art, and sometimes, if we’re lucky, it leads to great art.

And here’s where I’m going to start coming in line with what Jensen is arguing: Even great artists and photographers can get sidetracked when they take the easy way out and stick with what they already know are successful formulas for making strong images. Images that can be good, but not great.

I think weather is both my photographic superpower, and my crutch or Achille’s Heel. It’s when I feel most engaged behind the camera, but I also rely on it. I know that when I’m photographing in mundane weather, be it clear blue skies or flat grey overcast, I often feel uninspired to make photographs. But, when I look at the times when I’ve made photographs that aren’t reliant on dramatic weather, and come up with something special, I feel a great sense of satisfaction.

One image that I know is great is the image below. I captured it on a cloudy day while leading a photo workshop group in Tenants Harbor, Maine. There’s nothing really iconic about Tenants Harbor, and the weather certainly wasn’t doing the scene any favors, so I was forced to look for other options. The reflection of the boat registration ME (which stands for Maine and should have been followed by numbers) on a weathered dinghy caught my eye. I didn’t notice that the reflection spelled WE until I brought it home on the computer, and then my mind was filled with metaphor and storytelling ideas, like how, upon some reflection, there’s more to life that just ME.

The image below was captured just the other morning. I was with a friend photographing around South Portland and wanted to take her to Bug Light, even though it was long past sunrise. A previous visit during mundane weather had helped me to notice that the details of the Greek Revival styling on this lighthouse were beautiful and fascinating. So I returned with that in mind and made the image below, one of about 30 different compositions or attempts to showcase it.

Is it a great image, like the previous one? Well, no, but I still enjoy it. I also feel like I am getting closer to what Jensen was arguing for here, an exercise. I had exhausted all of the ‘easy’ options, and my crutch of relying on dramatic weather was gone. Getting out of my comfort zone leads to growth. Hopefully, I’ll take these lessons that I’ve learned and apply them the next time I feel inspired. I’ll learn how to look a little deeper and appreciate scenes and subjects that are a little more unique or *gasp* different.

I felt like I was doing more of this over the past week while leading workshops, just trying out new ideas and trying to make new compositions in familiar places.

Are these groundbreaking works of art? Probably not. But I did enjoy making them, and it was fun to try and see familiar scenes from new angles, in new lights. As a creative exercise, I see the value. This makes me think that Jensen’s exercise, forcing myself to make 100 compositions, would in fact, be good for me. Just from time to time, that is. Hah!

I guess this is what it boils down to for me. I’m not huge on being clever, on being different. I’m huge on experiencing, on being in moments where I’m not thinking about myself. My best art, or at least what satisfies me the most, are the moments when I feel like there is no boundary between me and whatever is in front of me, when I’m most deeply enraptured, most deeply connected.

And in truth, Jensen would never try to argue with me, or you, saying his approach is better. It’s simply what works for him, just as my approach works for me. It’s what brings him satisfaction and leads him to make work that he considers engaging. I’m trying to do the same thing here, just share what works for me, and in the process hopefully not making you feel like he does me at times, like I’m not doing this whole art-making thing correctly. Hopefully I’m simply challenging you to look at your practice and work a little harder, to get out there and be engaged and connected, and maybe make stronger work as a result. We all have to find our own way of doing this.

Even if we have different tastes and approaches, I’m very grateful that he’s out there, sharing his thoughts, and I will continue listening to his wonderful podcast and arguing with him in my head over this practice that we both love so dearly. Hopefully you feel the same after reading this.

Thank you for reading this essay after a long hiatus. I’m in the middle of leading a bunch of workshops and am heading out here shortly for three days of backpacking the Pemi Wilderness in New Hampshire.

If you’d like to join me in MidCoast Maine for a one-day workshop this Saturday, you can sign up HERE. If that doesn’t work, check out my other workshop listings HERE.

Then I thought of Adrian Klein. I had the pleasure of working with Adrian at the Out of Olympic Conference a few years ago. He’s a great guy, a member of the highly respected Photo Cascadia group, and this is basically his backyard, just like the Coast of Maine is mine.

I asked him if he would like to do a workshop swap. I’d show a group of his followers the wonders of the Maine Coast, and he could bring me and my group along to explore the beauty of the Oregon Coast and Northern California’s redwood forests. He enthusiastically agreed.

June 1-5, 2027, join Adrian and me on one of the most visually stunning stretches of the Pacific Coast. We start immersed in the presence of Northern California’s iconic redwood forests, where towering ancient trees, fern-filled understories, and rugged coastal views provide endless photographic inspiration.

Learn More and Register

Conditions in this region often bring atmospheric fog and blooming rhododendrons in early June, both of which we hope to experience during this workshop. Regardless of what the weather delivers, the redwood ecosystem offers an incredible range of photographic opportunities and a chance to experience the quiet power of these remarkable old growth forests.

As the workshop progresses northward, we transition to the dramatic shoreline of the Southern Oregon Coast. Here our focus shifts from forest to ocean as we photograph everything from sweeping seascapes to intimate coastal details while exploring the shoreline through changing tides.

From the well known sea stacks of Bandon Beach to less visited stretches of coastline that are equally photogenic, participants will have the opportunity to work with a wide variety of coastal scenes and conditions. We’ll include multiple outings with very low tides, allowing us to explore areas that are typically underwater.

One thing I’m particularly excited about: Chances to visit lighthouses!

Together these locations create a diverse photographic journey through ancient forests and dynamic ocean landscapes along the Pacific Northwest coast.

I hope you can join us!

Learn More and Register

For this post, we’re taking the ferry off the coast to Monhegan Island, a mecca for artists for more than 150 years. When I started coming out here in 2015, I knew Monhegan from paintings by the Wyeth’s and Edward Hopper, Rockwell Kent and Robert Henri. What I hadn’t seen were many photos that I thought captured the grandeur that these paintings evinced.

The reason for that quickly became evident after my first trip out here: Most photographers visit during the day, missing the golden hour light that helps elevate otherwise pretty scenes into something spectacular. So, I ponied up and booked a room at the Island Inn. I wanted to discover what made Monhegan such a special place through my own lens. In the process, I fell head-over-heels for the beauty of this unique destination, and started returning every year.

Lighthouse Hill

Let’s start with what is probably the most spectacular place to stand on the island, at the top.

The view looking down from this vantage point is pretty special. The most striking and exotic feature has to be the hulking mass of Manana Island, devoid of trees after being used as a pasture for sheep for hundreds of years (you can still spot them if you zoom in real close). The distinctive mansard roof and turret atop the Island Inn dominates the village. It’s a classic turn-of-the-century hotel, surrounded by homes covered in cedar shingles, designed to withstand the harsh maritime environment. Manana and the village frame the small harbor, and a few boats can be seen at their moorings most of the time.

When you are standing here looking down, just behind you sits the lighthouse, now home of the Monhegan Museum. Architecturally, it’s squarely in the New England vernacular, with the keeper’s house connected to sheds, covered walkways, and of course, a lighthouse.

While all of this looks nice for those of you who are visiting the island for the day and not staying overnight, I’m going to show you exactly how powerful golden hour can be.

I had the idea of creating the panorama above on my first visit. The rangy layout of the building seemed perfect for it. Pleased with my results, I sat on this image until my second overnight here, two years later. That evening, the sky was a little different, and I re-visited the idea of making a panorama. The result:

Standing closer to the lighthouse made it more prominent in the frame, and I placed the sun behind the mounted bell so it wouldn’t be so bright. I was pretty excited with how it came out!

I also developed another idea during this sunset. Standing behind the Fitzgerald Dory, which is parked next to the lighthouse and creates a beautiful part of the scene, I lined it up pointing into the explosive sky.

While pleased with the result, I was able to re-visit this idea subsequently during another spectacular sunset, this time as a hurricane was passing by.

As you can see, the dory was restored and I changed my perspective a little bit, eliminating the back of the boat so that the eye would keep moving and not rest at the bottom of the frame. The glow from that sky did amazing things in the reflections on the gunwales and on the shed.

This all goes to show that repeat visits can help you execute and improve on ideas you might come up with when you are visiting for the first time, or walking around during the day, scouting locations while keeping in mind what they might look like under different conditions.

Moving a few steps forward from the views of the dory above, you get back to the view of the village below. We can see that this improves quite a bit with sunset light, too.

You likely won’t be alone, which is fine. There’s a wonderful sense of camaraderie, especially when the sky does something spectacular.

Let’s turn back around, and see what the golden hour looks like looking back at the lighthouse from this angle. Finding interesting arrangements of the elements here, the bell, the boat, and the lighthouse, can be a lot of fun!

Looking in this direction, your subjects will be front lit, which isn’t too much of a problem, especially if you get a dark and dramatic sky to create contrast.

I also like staying past sunset as the lights come on in the village below, creating a beautiful mood and making the iconic red house stand out even more. That’s usually where I’m pointing my camera when I zoom in to 100mm and more.

If you’re lucky enough to be here during a summer thunderstorm, this can be a great place to watch them in the distance. Just be sure you aren’t up here when it gets close! In the image below, I’m pointing my camera more to the north, to the right of the Island Inn, and including some of the cemetery in the frame to add to the spooky mood.

If it’s clear, the stars are pretty amazing at night in this very dark place. I loved lining up the big dipper next to the keeper’s house in the image below.

Can you believe all of the images above are from an area no more than 10 yards apart? While it seems like I’ve exhausted all possibilities, I’m still finding more details and other ways of ‘seeing’ up here. I’m sure you can come up with something unique!

Best Times of Day: Sunset and evening twilight are my favorite times to be up here. I’ve been up several times for sunrise, but the way the light falls on the scene this time of day isn’t nearly as flattering.

Best Times of Year: Spring/Summer/Fall. That’s going to be a recurring theme. Unless there are spring flowers to take advantage of, these scenes all look great any time of year. I don’t add winter because the ferry only runs twice a week in the winter and everything is closed, since there are just 40 or so winter residents.

Tides: N/A

Access: The walk up the hill from the ferry landing is surprisingly steep. Take your time getting up here!

Read more

Are you ready for sunshine and spring greens? I know I am! It’s been a surprisingly fierce and now long winter here in New England, and this is the time of year when almost all of us are longing for a change in the weather.

I just got back from a trip to California, and honestly, feeling the sun on my skin and watching the earth wake back up was exactly the medicine I needed. Now I'm counting down to May, when I'll be heading out west again — this time to Olympic National Park in Washington State. We still have a few spots open, and I would love to have you along.

Learn More and Register Here

I know I’ve shared posts about this trip before. I am just so in love with this place. The sheer amount of beauty on display in this area is breathtaking. It really needs to be seen to be believed.

These workshops are, to me, life-affirming experiences. You don't just witness extraordinary scenery, you engage with it deeply from behind the lens. You sharpen your powers of observation, lean into creativity, and practice a rare kind of presence and mindfulness. And all of this unfolds alongside fellow photographers, each seeing the same scene in their own unique way, an exchange that is as inspiring as it is enlightening.

I always end the workshops in a state of happy bliss, exhausted physically, but completely recharged and fulfilled mentally and spiritually.

My co-instructor Kurt and I have decades of combined guiding and teaching experience. We’ve taught thousands of participants how to slow down and make sense of the world within the four corners of the frame, making images that communicate not just how something looks, but how it makes us feel.

There is nothing more satisfying than seeing someone bring their own vision to life. We have ample time for image reviews and personal instruction. Our goal is to be available to you and teach at whatever level you may be.

Newer students get lots of hands-on help in the field, while more experienced and independent photographers have the time and space to explore on their own, meeting back with the group after long, relaxed outings designed to help you get in the groove of image making.

With just 10 students total, you'll receive real, individual attention from instructors who are genuinely invested in your growth.

Over five days, you’ll learn to:

• Read and anticipate light — understanding weather, timing, and the quality of light that transforms a good image into an unforgettable one

• Scout locations with intention — knowing where to be, and when, is half the battle

• Build dynamic, powerful compositions — techniques that give your images energy and draw the viewer in

• Master post-processing — hands-on classroom sessions help you bring your field captures to life

Olympic National Park is, quite simply, one of the most extraordinary places on Earth. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is effectively three parks in one: a wild and dramatic coastline of pebble and sand beaches, towering cliffs, and iconic sea stacks; lush old-growth temperate rainforests that rival anything in the world for sheer visual magic; and towering, glacier-draped summits.

May is one of the best times of year to visit. Waterfalls and streams run full and powerful after winter rains and snowmelt from higher elevations. The rainforest erupts in the vivid, saturated greens of new growth. And unlike the busy summer season, we’ll have the landscape largely to ourselves. That means more space, more stillness, and more connection with the wild.

If you've been waiting for the right moment to invest in your photography, and in an experience you'll never forget, this is it.

Register Now

May 14–18 | Olympic National Park, Washington State | 10 Students Maximum

This could be you!

I hope that you’ve made the best of the heart of winter, wherever you are and whatever your proclivities and views towards the season! If that means curling up and reading books by the fire, so be it. You know me, I love it, and I’ve been out in it almost every minute I can! What follows are a whole bunch of images I’ve been sitting on over the last month, including many from the Winter in Acadia workshops I just wrapped with John Putnam.

A journey to Camden on New Year’s Day brought this image of the f/v Becca and Megan with the Camden waterfront in the background, obscured by heavy snow.

As much as I liked the red painted boat in all of the white snow, this more plain boat allowed for a slightly stronger composition with a vertical frame without the dock in front of it. I built both images around the interplay between the boats and church steeple, and the closer relationship in this image is why I think it’s a bit stronger.

Onwards to a totally different kind of Maine working boat. Clammers use these canoes in the warmer months, but here they are drawn up on the snowy shoreline of Maquoit Bay in Brunswick. I got out and x-c skied across the frozen ocean to a small island from Simpson’s Point, nearby, on another day this winter. It was wild!

A winter hike with some friends brought me up Mount Moriah in New Hampshire. The views through rime-coated trees and mist of Carter Dome were really nice. These environments are some of my favorite in winter, especially when it’s boring down below. This winter, I haven’t been hiking as much because we have plenty of ice and snow in lower elevations!

Arctic Sea Smoke rose from the water around these small islands at the head of New Harbor on December 26th. Although it has been very cold, and was this morning, we haven’t had the extreme cold necessary for a truly epic display of sea smoke, usually seen at -15F and colder.

One of the most awe-inspiring sights this winter were the northern lights on January 20th. I witnessed them just after photographing this sunset with a tiny sliver of the new moon at one of my favorite locations, Pemaquid Point. I will never tire of seeing the aurora borealis.

They were surprisingly bright enough to be seen even in twilight. But once it got dark, the show really commenced!

Another favorite place brought a beautiful sunrise and some sea smoke a few days later. This is Five Islands in Georgetown. It was awesome to run into several other photographers here on this morning. The camaraderie in our community is very real, especially in challenging conditions like this!

The end of the month of January saw me returning to Acadia for a double-header of Winter in Acadia workshops with JK Putnam. It was awesome being here with wonderful groups of students, 10 each session, experiencing the cold and snow that we hoped to show them! It’s never a guarantee, but this year mother nature thankfully provided.

I turned my attention to more natural details for these trips, as I’ve been more inspired to explore these subjects with a camera.

I’ve always loved stuff like this, but haven’t made many such images since they don’t excite me the way weather and atmosphere and cultural stories normally do. That seems to be changing, though. I am really feeling the power of these scenes.

All three above images are details of ice, which there was a lot of thanks to all the cold.

Perhaps the most fascinating ice formations we saw were these faucet-like icicles on Jordan Stream.

These were my 8-year-old daughter’s favorite photos from the trip.

My personal favorite was this capture above of a few strands of beach grass sticking out of a snowdrift on the southern side of a dune at Sand Beach. Pastel colors in the sunset sky really made this image sing.

This distinctive tree on Ocean Drive caught my attention when walking past it to meet up with a different group of students at sunrise.

On another morning, I spied these small shrubs peeking out of a snowdrift after the ‘best light’ had passed. I loved the sparkles in the snow and shadows cast in the strong backlight.

This image required a lot of patience to time the perfect wave coming in. I used an ND filter to get a slow shutter and smooth out the water. The power of this composition is undeniable, even if it is a bit cliché.

A less cliché composition was found on a clear morning looking at Otter Cliffs from a vantage point other than Boulder Beach! This is a little bit further down the coast, where the rocks are a lot more jumbled and chaotic. Thankfully a heavy coat of ice provided a little relief from the fact that this foreground lacked the strong shapes that I usually look for.

A rocking, vivid sunset was witnessed on the first night of the first workshop. We took the students all the way over to the Schoodic Penisula and were treated to this incredible foreground in a part of the park that I had never photographed before.

There was some great snow on the last day of the last workshop, and I made this image looking across Eagle Lake at the layers of land where it starts rising into Pemetic Mountain.

Here’s another snowscape of the treetops around the lake. My daughter thought this looked like a painting. I agree!

I was kind of obsessed with these view of the forest zoomed in through the heavy snow. There’s definitely a painterly quality to them, and know that there was no heavy digital manipulation required to achieve these results, just taking advantage of the conditions!

Speaking of good conditions, the wind sculpted the snow into these amazing ridges and provided the perfect foreground for this well-known view of the Bubbles from Jordan Pond. We were all pretty cold, but very happy, after standing out in the wind for this shoot.

I’ll leave you with another view of the ice we found at one of the rocky beaches on Mount Desert Island. These patterns reminded me of the rice terraces of southeast Asia. I’d love to see those someday.

I’m very blessed to run these workshops with John and all of the wonderful students that join us. I’m so inspired by them!

If you’d like to join us next year, we’ve just announced dates for February 2027. You can learn more and sign up HERE. We sold out two workshops this year and had a waiting list, so don’t miss your chance to beat the winter blues and come out for some awesome photography and winter adventure with us.

You won’t regret it! I promise.

This truly is a golden age of photography.

Despite this constant inundation, and the apathy that sometimes sets in because of its ubiquity, I think photography has never been more relevant, or powerful.

It’s connection, however tenuous, to real moments in real life, is an antidote to the artificiality of our increasingly disconnected and disorienting digital world.

Photography, and being a photographer, invites us to actively engage the world around us.

Making a photograph is an opportunity to participate in the moment, whatever it may be.

Making a photograph gives us a chance to stop time and hold on.

It can be a chance to study and understand. We can try to make sense of chaos, cutting through or embracing the noise to create meaning.

It’s also an invitation to do more of whatever we love doing, with camera in hand, documenting the things and moments we encounter on the journey.

If we love the outdoors, we can be landscape photographers. If we love getting to know people, we can be portrait photographers.

Whatever we enjoy, photography gives us a chance to enjoy it more deeply.

It also gives a chance to know ourselves, and others, more deeply. I’ve found that the more personal we make it, the more rewarding it is.

When I think about my favorite photographs and my favorite photographers, I’m often impressed by a sense of a unique vision. I get the feeling that only that person could have captured that. After a while, I begin to understand what the photographer likes and what they look for. Their images become instantly recognizable.

Turning the lens back on myself, I can see this is what makes my images sing. Passion and enthusiasm for certain subjects, certain moods, and certain moments lead to the formation of personal vision or style. My likes and dislikes are fully on display.

Embrace this. This is the expressive side of photography. What we choose to capture matters. This is your chance to say, “This is important to me.” The more intention we bring to our photography, the more rewards await us.

I know this all seems a little intense for the majority of photographers and consumers of photography.

A lot of us don’t mind making simple snapshots and documenting the sights we see. We don’t mind being casual with our photography.

We visit places that other photographers have visited before us and make the same photos they did.

We take photos of loved ones looking into the camera and smiling.

That’s fine. I do this, too.

These photos make me very happy.

I also take photography very seriously.

I’m not going to lie, it’s an amazing feeling to get halfway good at it. The rewards of pursuing any hobby or craft are substantial. Practicing and getting better at something is very satisfying.

If you are just starting or feel like you have a long way to go with your photography, embrace the challenge! Once you feel like you have mastered something, it’s not as fun! Repetition can lead to boredom.

Thankfully, for me, making sense of the world is always a challenge. That’s what keeps it fun for me, long after I’ve mastered most of the technical aspects.

I also love sharing my photography.

I love it when someone reaches out to tell me a story about their history with the place I’ve captured, or how the photograph makes them feel, how it has impacted them. We bond over the shared appreciation of the place, or the moment, that I’ve shared.

Oftentimes, I can be walking around with a camera, and someone will come up to me and say, hey, have you seen this? Then they’ll proceed to invite me into their world, to share something they care about, and a connection is formed. I love this.

I’ve found a lot of my favorite photo spots from word of mouth. A guy putting together a sandwich at the local market told me about a place I’d never been before, Lookout Point in Harpswell, when I told him I was getting into photography.

I was grateful.

I’ve also made some of my best friends through photography.

It’s such a powerful way to connect.

This is the absolute best part of photography, the antidote I mentioned above: Connecting with the world, and the people, around you.

So remember, when you pick up a camera, or pull out your phone to make a photo, what you put inside those four corners matters.

You get to capture something unique. Nothing is ever the same.

Think of the famous quote: “No person ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and they aren’t the same person.”

Although we may sometimes feel that our photographs are nothing special, that they don’t communicate the intention we had when we tripped the shutter, we have the chance to make them special.

Now, how do we do that?

That’s a topic for another post.

I’ll actually be going over just that in the the presentation I’m putting together right now. It’s what prompted these thoughts. You can sign up and tune in online this Thursday Night at 7 PM ET. Find the link HERE. I hope to see you there!

Thank you for being here. I can’t believe I now have almost 6500 subscribers to this newsletter! This is despite my best efforts at being sporadic, erratic, and generally unreliable as far as getting these out in any kind of regular manner. I guess the upside of this is that I don’t spam you all with content that I’m not extremely passionate about. When I have something I want to share, I share it. When I don’t, I don’t make up stuff simply because I feel like I need to. I have gotten a ton of gratification and energy from your support and encouragement here. I hope we can continue to build out the community aspect of this newsletter a bit going forward.

On that note, I’m going to be giving a presentation titled “Guide to Landscape Photography” for the Lehigh Valley Photography Club on January 15 at 7 PM ET. This talk is online and open to the public. If you’d like to learn more and sign up to attend, for small fee, you can do so HERE.

Now, on to the year in review!

2025 was pretty momentous for me. I ended 2024 on a high note after feeling burnt out during the summer months, and that energy seemed to carry through all of this year.

I believe this burst of creative success can be attributed to many factors. The first is simply time in the field. I co-led many workshops and traveled quite a bit. I was inspired by the scenery and also by the people I was with. Leading workshops gives me a ton of spiritual and creative energy, and the more I commit to them the more I get out of them.

Another major factor was the support at home. My wife Kimberly is working on launching a new career, and having her support, both while I work from home and while I’m on the road, is massive. Our kids are 8, 5, and 5, so they are at a really fun stage right now and we’ve been having a blast with them, which makes me really happy, too!

Finally, I made a lot of trips to new locations or one’s that I hadn’t visited often before. This showed the power of exploration and novelty to generate excitement and awe. You’ll see these newer vistas extensively in the following images.

While many of these photos have been seen before, there are a few new ones. I had a heck of a time narrowing them down, and erred on the side of plenty.

January found me co-leading our annual “Winter in Acadia” workshops with John Putnam. I love being here with John and students this time year, in the heart of winter. Getting people to embrace being outside in challenging conditions and just sharing the beauty of winter in one of the prettiest places in North America is extremely satisfying!

The two previous images are from those trips. The first one of the snow-covered boughs was taken while I was xc skiing around Jordan Pond and the second one was taken during a workshop on the famous birch path in Sieur De Monts. To me they both reflect a deeply felt connection to the bright and joyous feeling I get by being in snow.

I’m fast forwarding a bit quickly here because I have a ton of images to share from summer and especially fall. The image below was captured in April at La Verna Preserve in Bristol, just down the road from our new home in Newcastle, Maine.

Part of the joy of living in a new place is exploring it photographically. Stick season is the perfect time to photograph the rocky coastline since bare trees and even snow aren’t too much of distraction. It’s all about the geology on display here, in a location that’s just up the coast from the similar, but much more famous, Pemaquid Point. Who needs a lighthouse when you have rocks like this?

Moving on to a totally different environment, I spent part of May in Olympic National Park. You can read the full newsletter post I put together about this trip HERE.

The image below features my favorite scene of the trip, an encounter with the maple trees covered in moss and epiphytic ferns in gorgeous light in the Quinault Rainforest.

I loved the glossy wet sheen on the foliage seen in the image below, which is a bit darker and more sombre than the image above.

That dappled sunlight in the Quinault Rainforest helped me to focus on tiny details, something I don’t do often. These unfurling tendrils on a fern were highlighted nicely in filtered sunlight, and I moved around until the background was dark to showcase them.

Another detail I found in Olympic was this pattern in some driftwood on one of the beaches. I spied a heart-shape among the otherwise abstract swirling lines in the trunk and excitedly composed around it.

I just read a post from Bryan Hansel about how reviewing images made over the past year and choosing your personal favorites can help you find direction with your creative work leading into the future. I think he’s spot on. Seeing these detail images remind me that I want to keep looking for the smaller scenes going forward.

Moving on to summer, the following are a couple of images I made doing one of my favorite activities, hiking. I captured the image below of the sun rising above the clouds from Mount Washington during our Presidential Traverse in June. The rest of that hike, which I detailed extensively in another newsletter post, was a rollercoaster of highs and lows. Surprisingly, other images that I enjoyed making on this trip and thought would be worthy of inclusion in a collection such as this one, just haven’t held up.

Another hiking image that captures a completely different mood and moment was made during a family trip to Acadia National Park in July. Thanks to the generosity of my friend Andrew, we were able to stay a few days in Southwest Harbor and do fun stuff around the island. I got away one evening by myself while the kids were watching a movie and hiked all over the quiet western side of Acadia around Mansell and Bernard Mountains. It was extremely misty and foggy and I didn’t even bring a camera, much less planned on making photos. Once I started hiking, however, I was completely entranced by the mood and beauty of the trail and forest, and made many images with just my cell phone, the image below being my favorite one of them.

Just a few weeks later, I was co-leading another workshop in Lubec with John Putnam. Our first full evening with the group featured this incredible pink sunset with the wildly beautiful Cobscook Bay reflecting the sky in an almost mirror-calm. I built the image around the f/v Family Tradition, a red fishing boat moored just offshore, in my mind the perfect subject!

While this trip was mostly about puffins, we were extremely lucky to encounter two Northern Gannets on the rocks near the blind that I happened to be in. The below image captures what I found to be a very comical gaze of this strange bird as it turned its head.

Of course the puffins were magnificent, as always.

My favorite gannet images revolved around interactions that must have been some form of communication (mating display?). As one gannet kept waving its wings and bowing down, a fish boat passed. It was mesmerizing!

And just the night after the previous pink sunset, we were treated to a totally different, but equally compelling, sky above the harbor. I found another red boat, this one moored right in front of the picturesque island just offshore. How lucky were we?!

This next image is a good reminder that clear skies at sunrise or sunset aren’t always a bad thing. The blank expanse of sky helped simplify the scene around this little artist’s shack near the entrance to the stunning Western Head Preserve in Cutler. On the opposite shore, behind the shack, sits another land trust plot, Eastern Knubble. Capturing the sun as a starburst shining through the trees gave the image the ‘spark’ that it needed!

This trip was also detailed in a post that was probably my favorite of the year titled Bold Coast Reflections. I combined images from my Bold Coast trips with writing about my own nature and struggles with anxiety and depression in a deeply personal photo essay.

Moving on to a trip that I teased out through some individual images shared on SubStack notes and social media. This was an exploration of Deer Isle and Stonington with my friend Don Seymour. This is Don’s backyard and I got to explore this area with him and stay at his home right in the center of this picturesque village.

The image below is the view from a few yards down the road from his house, overlooking the harbor and Two Bush Island (with the flag), with Isle Au Haut looming in the background. Some late day light hit the tops of the buildings and boats, and I focused on this lovely house with a mansard roof as my main subject here.

I loved seeing Don in the place he loves so much and captures so well, and made him the subject of two of my favorite photos from here.

The image above was captured at an inlet on Green Island, where we got out and explored. Don built this kayak himself at the Wooden Boat School in Brooklin. How cool is that?! The image below features Don photographing a stunning sunset at Sand Beach, one of the best locations in Maine.

I came back that night after dropping Don off at home and captured the image below as the last bit of twilight departed and the stars came out. It was a wild panoramic capture of Sand Beach looked otherworldly with the sweeping clouds and milky water from the long exposures required in such low light.

In September, I got to go back to Cape Cod, somewhere I had been before and even led workshops with Michael Blanchette almost a decade ago. That space of time has turned me into a different person and certainly a different photographer. I felt excited and energized to come back here to co-lead a workshop with Tony Baldasaro.

Again, I owe a full newsletter to this adventure. The first evening there I went with Tony and my friend Kevin Armstrong out across a treacherous breakwater in Provincetown to the Wood End Lighthouse. It was absolutely stunning!

The following morning, we had the group at one of our favorite locations, Salt Pond. I captured this image of a dinghy with an American Flag long after the sun had come up and the light was a bit harsh. That light worked fine, however in backlighting the flag and grasses and helping make this image work. It was only in hindsight that I realized this image was taken on 9/11, a haunted anniversary for the country and one in which our flag featured prominently. I must have been feeling that somewhere in my psyche. That day certainly had a profound effect on me.

We had a chance to do some night photography, and thankfully were just a few miles down the road from Nauset Lighthouse, one of the prettiest sights on the Cape. I loved capturing the rotating beacon under the stars!

Our last morning, we were treated to an incredible sunrise at Salt Pond. The sky was filled with birds on the move, and this flock of cormorants fit the scene perfectly, even reflecting in the calm waters of high tide.

After this, we said bye to the group but had some time to wander around. We went back to Nauset and were happy to find that the doors were open and some volunteers were giving tours! Lucky for us, because I made two of my favorite-ever lighthouse images inside.

One looking up from the bottom of these distinctive red stairs.

And another looking down form the top.

We’ll be co-leading this workshop again in September, and I’ve already talked to the folks at the Nauset Preservation Society and arranged for our group to have a private tour inside the lighthouse on our visit! You can learn more about this workshop and sign up HERE.

Maybe take some time to go grab a snack or beverage, but I promise I’m over halfway through my favorite images of 2025.

The image below was captured on a cloudy day at Thurston’s in Bernard on MDI during our Best of Maine workshop. I usually stay away from photographing water when it’s cloudy, since it can look so dull, but on this occasion I proved myself wrong by complimenting the gray weathered wood of the boat with the gray skies reflected in the water. I’m really happy that I saw this composition and it feels like an honest exploration of a more somber mood.

One of the usual moods that I love capturing that I’m sure you are familiar with are pink sunrises and sunsets. This one was made on the northern end of Jordan Pond and required me squeezing myself as far back into a bush as possible with a ultra-wide 12mm lens to capture this tree. It was worth it!

Going back to the cool, quiet mood, I found this scene on the way back from the Adirondacks in October. I’m surprised that I don’t have an image from New York that fits in here, but I greatly enjoyed exploring that new area for a couple of days. To be honest, I visited mostly iconic vistas and didn’t come away with anything that eclipses what I had already seen made from those locations. Next time I’ll be traveling with a seasoned veteran of the area, Zone3Photo, and will surely come away with some better images.

Anyways, this is from a small pond in Vermont.

The same day, I dashed all the way from Vermont to Maine to capture what I thought would be a nice sunset. I climbed Tumbledown Mountain and got to the top just in time to witness this blaze of fall color with a magnificent sky!

During our Fall in New Hampshire workshop, we set up at a popular lake to photograph a little white church through the mist. Instead of the church, I found these colorful maples darting in and out of evergreens to be even more interesting with the fog.

My favorite wide angle scene from the fall was this one on the Ammonoosuc River in New Hampshire. It wasn’t hard to make. I was standing on a bridge, photographing the sun through the trees, but it was oh-so-satisfying.

Even though I’m sharing a lot of images here, I’m leaving a ton on the table. If you haven’t seen them already, check out my two newsletter posts from this fall titled A Taste of Fall and Awesome Autumn.

Here’s one from The Tarn in Acadia.

Back at home, on a break between workshops, I enjoyed a misty sunrise right down the road where the Sheepscot River passes over a reversing falls. This old boathouse and the scene around it look great in all kinds of weather, but really shone with the fog and golden light on the golden fall foliage.

Below, I’m going to share my favorite images from my huge trip to the southwest. You have to read my posts Unlocking a Love for the Desert and Road to Zion if you haven’t already. These are just a few highlights.

Totally bananas, right?

The biggest takeaways from this trip were that I discovered a love for the desert that wasn’t there before. I was filled with awe and the sense that I was doing exactly what I should be doing, exploring the wonders of nature and the world with my camera and like-minded companions.

With that determination, I’ve just booked a trip to explore Yosemite in late February and early March! This will be the first of hopefully many trips around the world to satiate my wanderlust that was really ignited this November in the desert.

But in the meantime, I will remain grounded at home, with my family, and in the places I know and love deeply close to me. The image below was captured just across the river from our house, looking at our neighbor’s beautiful colonial home in the heavy wet snow we received on Christmas Eve.

That snow lingered into Christmas and I captured another scene from the neighborhood with our 8-year-old daughter Charlotte in tow, this tenderly decorated spruce tree (thanks to our neighbor Catherine) during a heavy snow squall with the sun setting behind some majestic pines.

And that wraps it up! Whew! Thanks for following along throughout the year and through this very long post. I know we’re supposed to keep it around 10-15 images, but this year was just too massive for me to hold back.

I’m leading and co-leading many photography workshops in 2026. I’ll also be appearing again at art shows in Maine and giving talks in various locations. I’ll try and update those as they become available HERE.

I’m also excited to announce that I’m now an official affiliate of B&H Photo, where I buy most of my photography equipment, as well as ThinkTank, which carries my favorite camera bags. Any time you shop through B&H or ThinkTank, use can use the links here and I’ll get a special referral bonus. It’s no extra cost to you and it helps me out. Thank you!

We’re moving through the midcoast right now. Before, we looked at Boothbay. Now we’re exploring the next two peninsulas down, Bristol and Friendship. This area is also transforms quite a bit in the summers, but has many attractions to photograph year-round. I now live close to these areas, so have a lot more insights to share.

South Bristol

South Bristol is one of those places that seems to retain a strong character thanks to its relative isolation and a traditional fishing and boatbuilding economy. Of course, like many places along the Maine Coast, there’s also a long-standing tradition of this being a summer vacation community, as well.

I like documenting the mix of the two. The main hive of activity here centers around the South Bristol Bridge, a drawbridge that spans “The Gut” that connects the Damariscotta River to Johns Bay. Here you have several spots to poke around for images. The first place I usually start is the South Bristol Fisherman’s Co-op, located off of Thompson Inn Road on the north side of the gut.

I find the fishing culture fascinating, and know I’m not alone in thinking that this stuff is pretty photogenic. From wider views of the operation, down to details such as the numerous piles of rope you’ll likely encounter here, there’s a lot to capture.

This stuff looks great when it’s cloudy or you catch these more intimate scenes in shade. If you get lucky and have a nice sunset when you are visiting, you can more easily go down to the docks and capture the boats and reflective waters with an interesting sky.

This spot is oriented in such a way that sunrise would work here, too, looking in the other direction.

On the other side of the bridge is the Gamage Shipyard, a major operation that features a marina packed with boats jutting out into the harbor. I took advantage of some fog here to obscure an otherwise distracting background and focus on the boats at the docks. I liked that it was all working vessels.

The village itself is an interesting mix of businesses and apartments. I photographed this during the blue hour in the late winter, one of my favorite times for capturing villages due to the contrast between the warm, orange man-made light and cool blue light of twilight.

Further down the peninsula is Christmas Cove, a completely different vibe from the working fishing village. This spot is a classic yacht harbor. I haven’t spent too much time here except for the photo below, taking advantage of a nice spring sunset. Be sure to check out Coveside Restaurant if it’s open when you are down here. It’s one of the few public places to photograph the cove from!

Best Times of Day: Sunset

Best Times of Year: Summer

Tides: All

Access: Mixed. While it’s easy to wander around the public boat launch next to the South Bristol Fisherman’s Co-op, you’ll want to be mindful of the folks working there if you venture onto the Co-op docks themselves. A friendly smile and “Is it alright if I make a photo here?” usually works. There is ample parking on the north side of the Gut to explore that area. Christmas Cove is best seen from Coveside Restaurant and along the road.

Pemaquid Point Lighthouse

Pemaquid is one of the “Big Ones” for Maine photography. It’s easy to see why. The setting is spectacular. Interesting geology, exposure to the the extremes of wind, waves, and light, and fascinating maritime history combine to make a perfect setting for creative exploration.

Read more

After staying up until midnight chasing aurora, we woke at 3:30 AM to meet our Navajo guide Carl Phillips for 2 hour off-road journey up Hunt’s Mesa for sunrise. As amazing as the scenery was up there, Carl and the harrowing ride up the mesa in the dark were just as interesting and awesome. I can still hear his calm voice in my head, describing Navajo concepts of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ energies while his SUV lurched in every direction up cliffs that I was sure we couldn’t climb. Our faith in Carl was strong!

We arrived long before sunrise, with stars still overhead and the first hints of daylight on the horizon. Deep in what photographer’s call the ‘blue hour’, we made our first exposures, revealing the astonishing landscape below.

We exclaimed with joy when we saw what appeared on the cameras. This is one of the great things about photography. Sometimes the camera “sees in the dark”, revealing even more wonder than we can behold without this aid. I think there’s nothing wrong with this. In fact, I celebrate it!

The light kept getting better, and as the stars faded, the landscape took on the ethereal glow that of desert twilight. The fact that we were in lands that are sacred to the Navajo wasn’t lost on us. We were very grateful to be there with Carl.

This is a small portion of the view, and what I believe was the strongest composition.

To take in more of the scene, I made this panorama.

This was just an astonishing view, one of the best I’ve ever seen.

From there we drove to Page, Arizona, rented our own Jeep for some sunset explorations of the famous White Pocket area. After a week of alien landscapes, this one might have been the strangest and most unique. It’s a small area, but looked like it could be worth days of exploring. Again, I am eager to return and figure out how to better photograph it.

This really was a photographer’s paradise, especially because of the endless ‘foregrounds’ we had to pair with the moody sunset sky we had during our visit.

The blue hour light was even more interesting. This had just enough dimensionality to show the shapes and contours of the land really well. Although the composition below is a bit busy, it might give you these best sense of what it actually felt like to be there, with the delineations of the strange white rock in the pocket with the more classic red sandstone surrounding. A few sparse trees and patches of vegetation can also be found. I’d love to return after a rain and photograph some of the puddles that form in this crazy landscape.

I mean, come on… What the heck is going on here?

We were totally exhausted by this point, after driving for hours and sleeping very little. Thankfully, we didn’t have to get up early for sunrise in Page the next morning, because we were going in the famous Antelope Canyon for a tour with another Navajo guide, Jonas.

We had heard a lot of negative things about this beforehand, with folks warning us that the tours were crowded and that we would be rushed through and not be able to make good photos.

That was not our experience. In fact, we had a blast! It was mind-boggling to witness and we felt comfortable and often couldn’t see anyone else around us in the tight, winding passages through this beautifully carved sandstone.

The times when we could see other people, I felt like they added to the sense of scale and power of this amazing place. This was a quick snap with the cell phone as we walked in.

When I got out the big camera, the colors and details became much more clear.

I loved looking up into this amazing swirl.

This well-known feature was pretty awesome to behold.

While I like the images I came away with from here, I look forward to finding new perspectives the next time I visit here. I feel like this is another one of those places with pretty endless possibilities.

From there the journey continued on to Zion National Park. I had heard good things about Zion, and had a feeling, even beforehand, that this was somewhere I wanted to really spend some time, so this was the longest portion of our trip, at 3 days.

On our way over, we passed what from a distance looked like a herd of cows on the move. Upon closer inspection, we could see that these weren’t cows. Cool!

Getting into the park, I decided to walk instead of take the bus to our sunset location. I’m so glad I did! Walking the Pa’rus Trail from the Visitor Center, I spotted these trees in front of the Towers of the Virgin right from the path. I had never seen a photo from here, and it might be my favorite from my whole time in Zion. My first one in the park! The sweeping side/back light played a huge role and I’m very lucky to have seen this.

The view from the pedestrian bridge looking back at the Watchman was a little more cliche, but no less beautiful. It was great standing here as the last light turned the sandstone red. The autumn colors of the foliage around the Virgin River were still going strong, too. What an amazing place!

From here we had a decision to make. It looked like clouds were coming in overhead by morning, with a window of clear skies to the east. Y’all know what that means, right? Potential for a great sunrise.

The thing is, I didn’t know of any sunrise spots in Zion. I looked at the map and noticed another location I was very curious about, Bryce Canyon, was a two hour drive away. That meant less sleep, waking up at 4 AM, but I really liked the potential to see something special here.

Thankfully, I was right about the light. It was awesome. I was also blown away by the scenery here! What a cool place!

Most of my time here focused on the well-known rock formation known as Thor’s Hammer. As you can see, it’s a pretty cool feature!

This was one of those situations where I wasn’t sure that the sky was adding to the scene or distracting, photographically.

After photographing the hammer extensively, I scanned the scene and came up with many other photo opportunities. Here, the sky was no longer a distraction and the light on the landscape created an incredible glow as it reflected off of the red sandstone pillars.

A few other folks finally came down the trail after having sunrise completely to ourselves. I liked including them in the scene for scale and storytelling purposes.

This place was a long-lens dream, with so many scenes like this to be picked out at 200mm.

It was just too much fun, and though I wanted to stay and hike around down around the hoodoos, we decided to head back to Zion.

On our way back, we passed an abandoned homestead. There weren’t any no trespassing signs, so we got out and looked around. I don’t know what the story is here, but there was a ton of discarded metal and the remains of what looked like a cattle farm. It was overgrown and fascinating. This stuff holds almost as much appeal to me as the natural wonders of the area. I love seeing how people live and fit into nature.

I’m glad we got to see this, but I really wish I knew the story behind who lived here, how long ago, and what happened to the place.

We returned to Zion National Park again through the East entrance, which I feel is the more dramatic side. I’m so glad that this was my introduction to the park. My jaw dropped in amazement at this insane landscape. It felt like some of the rock formations we had seen at White Pocket, only on a much grander scale.

With that in mind, we decided to take in sunrise over here on our last morning together, and were treated to… yet more amazing skies. Seriously, how lucky were we on this whole trip with all of the amazing skies?

After photographing this little tree perched on a cool rock from every angle, I thought I had come away with something unique. That is, until I saw this same formation on a t-shirt in the Visitor Center later. Oh, well.

That same morning, I climbed up one of the sandstone hills to get this view looking west, with Bridge Mountain being hit by the first rays of morning sunlight.

Then, sadly, it was time to say goodbye to Bill and Ed, and continue my journey by myself for the next 36 hours. I decided to make the journey up the Narrows, a well-known hike in Zion, something I knew beforehand that I would be doing on my own since the hike was almost 10 miles through sometimes waist deep water.

I rented boots and wading gear from Zion Outfitters, but ended up getting soaked anyways. Despite that, I had a great time.

I hiked from the start of the trail all the way up to Big Spring and back. One of the big surprises I encountered was the wildlife. I saw this deer making his way up the Narrows.

And a sweet flycatcher nearby.

Focusing on smaller scenes with interesting compositions was very satisfying.

But the medium-scene is where I like to live, for the most part. This most mimics my experience and my way of seeing, I find.

The next day, I cancelled my permit to hike into the Subway, a well-known and what looks like an amazing location, because of the forecast for rain. We were expected to get over an inch, and there was no way I was going to risk being washed away in a flash flood. It’s a good thing I did, because the water I saw moving through the park later that day was pretty darn impressive.

I decided to head to East Zion, again, and enjoyed capturing scenes in the moody mist as rain showers passed through.

I checked out this popular trail known as the Canyon Overlook. I liked the perspective from further back even more than the view from the overlook itself. I chose to use the place where everyone stands as a foreground and zoom in on the distant peaks. This made a much more interesting image, in my opinion. The weather coming through helped with the mood quite a bit.

Driving back to the main canyon from the historic tunnel, I saw more awesome mountain views through the swirling mists. So, I turned around and pulled over, walked up the road, and made this image. It’s another one of my favorites from the trip. I loved the peaks wreathed in clouds and the trees leaning into them.

It rained off and on throughout the day, and at one point we even had a strong storm with thunder, hail, and winds move through. All of that water had to go somewhere, and these ephemeral waterfalls appeared between two of the most majestic peaks in Zion, The Sentinel and Abraham Peak, which is one of the Three Patriarchs.

The hike over here on the Sand Bench Trail was one of my favorites of the trip.

Knowing there were more waterfalls to check out, I also hiked up the Emerald Pools Trail. The water was absolutely ripping here, and walking behind the waterfalls resulted in a very wet, but very fun, experience.

Check out the folks in the blue raincoats. We were all soaked!

Standing behind the waterfall was fun, but also, standing on top of it, which was easily done because there’s a fence up here that keeps everyone from going over the edge. How nice!

You can see that more rain was incoming right as I made this photo. I loved how the stream led the eye into the canyon below and then rose again with the terrain on the opposite side. I’m not used to all of this elevation.

After this, it was time for a good night’s rest, and to head home the next morning. I missed my family pretty bad, so I was looking forward to getting back.

I passed through the Valley of Fire outside of Las Vegas on my way back. One last look at these otherworldly landscapes on the Colorado Plateau.

That’s it for my desert trip this year. I’ve already made plans to come back next November, and sold out the two back-to-back weeklong workshops I put together that follows this itinerary. If you’d like to read more about this trip and join the waitlist, click HERE. I’ll likely be adding 2027 dates soon!

I’ve just returned from a huge, life-changing two-week photography trip to the desert southwest.

This trip came about because of my friend Bill. Bill wanted to come out to this part of the world with me to see slot canyons. Because I’d never been to the well-known slot canyons, I didn’t feel confident enough to take him myself. Plus, I wanted him to see some of the places my good friend Kurt had shown me out here on workshops that we co-led in previous years. With that in mind, I directed him towards our Best of Utah workshop.

Only, Kurt had no interest in going to any of the well-known canyons. He’d seen them before and heard that the experience of visiting was no longer a good one. Rumors of massive crowds of tourists being pushed through the canyons each day with no time to stop and make photos, along with the fact that they weren’t allowing tripods, convinced him that this was something he wanted no part of. I had to admit, it sounded like a zoo. Only, I still wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

With that in mind, I split the trip into two sections. The first section would be Kurt’s traditional workshop, focusing around the Moab and Hanksville areas. Kurt knows and loves this area, and it is always wonderful seeing locations through his eyes. He took me here for the first time just a few years ago.

The second part of the trip would be a more freestyle exploration by myself, Bill, and two other companions. On this leg, we would visit the slot canyons, but also a range of other places. These are places I’ve always wanted to see, but have been warned off by my photography peers because they are so popular. I understand their point of view, the desert southwest is a massive place and there are many locations that are more intimate and open to personal exploration. That said, I wanted to see what makes these icons so special.

I wanted to learn to learn how to love an area that I had struggled to absorb.

I must admit that, at first, I didn’t quite get it. The desert was strange. It looked hostile and even ugly in places. There were a lot of rocks, and dirt. Of course, I saw the beauty, too, the staggering rock formations, the lone trees, the spectrum of colors in the land reflecting those in the sky.

I just didn’t know how I really felt about it. It was too different, too foreign from what I knew and loved, the lush forests and rocky coast of New England.

This trip has completely changed my mind.

It has changed me, honestly.

I can’t recall a more productive and stimulating stretch of time behind the camera.

I finally get it.

It’s mostly been about moving past the bewilderment and into that state that drives so much of my work, the state of being in awe of what’s in front of me.

It also helped to see locations not just through the eye’s of my good friend Kurt, or from photos I’d seen online, but through my own eyes. I had to find out what about these places I really liked and wanted to capture based on my own experiences, which were few and far between.

We kicked off with Kurt and the larger workshop group around Moab with explorations of Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, along with many lesser-known spots in the area.

Here’s a well-known view from Arches National Park in deep twilight, with some stars streaking over the mountains under cotton candy skies. This is one of our favorite times in the desert, when the red sandstone positively glows!

Later on, we found a perch high on a canyon wall looking out at a beautiful sunset view. I found a lone juniper, not hard to spot around here, and used it as my subject and captured the sun shining through the tree on this cool wavy sandstone in my foreground.

Lone trees on cliff edges kinda became a thing on this trip. I found another one at a different location a bit later on, this time at sunrise.

We then made our way over to Hanksville. This area is becoming very popular with photographers, but we still manage to find places that no one else has ventured.

The dirt out here is honestly the consistency of kitty litter, and walking around in it is pretty strange. As it erodes, it makes some fantastic patterns, which were fun to capture at sunset with a zoom lens.

As the sun started hitting the land, I turned to photograph Bill against this crazy backdrop.

Although the desert is barren in most places, where there is water, an explosion of growth can be found, especially the majestic cottonwood trees, as well as rabbit brush and tamarisk, whose wispy fronds and branches create amazing textures. Our favorite way to capture them is with some backlight shining through.

There are also a number of fascinating canyons in the area. This little slot section of a one canyon is only about 12 feet tall and maybe 20 yards in length, but at the final section there’s a great photo opportunity. This glow is totally real! What you are seeing is light reflecting off the red sandstone in the back and off of blue sky in the front. It’s mesmerizing!

The other section of the canyon is much larger, but still has an excellent section where the walls nearly meet overhead, creating deep darkness that allows some really incredible things to happen with the light that manages to find its way in. In the frame below, a beam of light turns a corner as it reflects off the walls.

We were very surprised to find a sunbeam when we came through, and one of the students stopped to stare in wonder.

Later we visited a much more famous canyon, but this place is still a favorite thanks to the lack of crowds and diversity of terrain. This is more what Kurt loves, and as you can see, Kurt’s a smart guy.

We then went to Mars.

Well, not really. But that small building you see in the upper right actually is the home of the Mars Desert Research Station, a NASA facility. This landscape is like no other.

The light was pretty spectacular again, thanks to high clouds catching the colors of sunset.

These are known as bentonite hills, and the colorful striations are one of the wonders of nature and geology.

Our last morning was spent at a popular overlook above these bentonite hills.

This photographer was perched a little too precariously for my comfort, but he was very nice and made it back safely. I enjoyed including him in the image.

Looking back at where we started this leg of the trip, we saw some beautiful cloud formations above the iconic butte.

The sun progressed, and started hitting the top of the butte itself.

From there, I set off with my friends Bill and Ed on an excellent adventure, exploring a range of new locations, many of them icons of the photography world. These are places I’ve always wanted to see, but have been warned off by my photography peers because they are so popular. I understand their point of view, the desert southwest is a massive place and there are many locations that are more intimate and open to personal exploration. That said, I just needed to see what makes these icons so special.

The first night on this side trip brought us down to Monument Valley. We were exhausted and the clouds had moved in, so we actually gave up on sunset, had a nice dinner, and planned on going to bed early.

Nature had other plans.

Can you believe it? It was even more incredible standing there.

Check out this image below, where you can easily make out the Andromeda Galaxy, what looks like a fuzzy star at the top of the photograph, the Pleiadies, an open star cluster that some people mistake for the little dipper, on the right, along with the northern Milky Way stretching up over the famous ‘mitten’. Some high clouds and contrails threatened, but never did obscure the powerful and bright aurora.

What a night!

I’ll wrap up the first half of my account here, because it just kept going.

We visited White Pocket, Antelope Canyon, Zion, and Bryce after this. I’ll share more about that part of the trip soon.

Because I had such a great time, I’m considering putting together a small group tour here in November 2026. This would be limited to myself and five students. Right now, I’m thinking of a ten day trip. Two days each in Moab, Hanksville, Page, Monument Valley, and Zion.

If you are interested, let me know and I’ll put you on the early notification list once I have everything arranged. I want to share the experience I just had with others.

I can’t guarantee northern lights, though ;-)

When we look up in a dark sky and see the Milky Way, we’re staring into our own barred spiral galaxy. We’re looking from one of it’s arms, known as the Orion Arm, somewhere around halfway between the galactic core and the outer edge, into a drama of dust lanes and embedded nebulae, the building blocks of future stars, against billions of older stars, which give the appearance of the ‘milk’ in the Milky Way. It’s really hard to put in perspective how crazy this is!

These were taken in July during a family getaway to Mount Desert Island. After we got the kids to bed, I ventured over to Eagle Lake and took in the incredibly clear sky over the very calm lake. I had a blast walking around and setting up different compositions. The appearance of the night sky doesn’t change much. If it did, we should be very worried. The constancy can feel limiting, but it also appeals to me. The challenge is building frames to creatively showcase it.

I have learned a lot about night photography from my friend, the wizard Adam Woodworth. If you are interested in this type of photography, I highly recommend purchasing his book, Night Sky Photography.

We left off looking at the Chittenden Reservoir in Vermont, and now we’re going to turn back around like I did that morning and re-visit Lefferts Pond with some light on the hillsides and shoreline of the pond. It greatly improved the scene, and since the sky was no longer the most interesting part of the scene or even necessary, I excluded it from the image.

One of my favorite parts of being here was running into Joe Rossbach! Joe and Kurt go way back, and it was great catching up with him and his son Phoenix. Joe is one of my absolute favorite photographers, and has been from the very beginning of my photography journey. His work is amazing and he’s a pretty dang nice guy, too!

The afternoon saw some rain finally come in, so we headed up to Smuggler’s Notch in Stowe, Vermont with our group to take advantage of the wet conditions. This is one of our favorite places to visit, but the challenge of putting together interesting compositions in the wild scramble of rocks and trees in here can be pretty intense.

To make it easy for myself, I used the road and returned to a place that I love standing every time I’m in the notch. I think this spot really encapsulates the feeling of driving through the notch. It’s a wondrous ride!

The wet weather helped recharge the streams and we took further advantage by visiting a nearby cascade with the group the next morning. I found a perch with some more moss, ferns, and fallen leaves that reached out over one of the falls.

As we were leaving, the sun came out and seemingly ‘ruined’ the soft light. Normally, I would stop photographing and head back to the car, but while waiting on students to wrap things up, I noticed the stream looked great with the glittering light on the surface, with backlit leaves in the trees and rim-lighting on the rocks in the background. It proved that there is no such thing as bad light, you just have to work with what you’ve got!

With strong winds in the forecast and the possibility of some nice sunset light, our next shoot brought us up to this popular spot, the AM Foster Covered Bridge near Cabot. Michael Blanchette first showed me this way back in 2015.

Kurt and I like to joke that it’s a ‘bridge to nowhere’, but it’s undeniably interesting. To me, it’s a museum piece/sculpture/diorama in a beautiful Vermont setting. I walked down the hill to look straight through the bridge, and used a circular polarizing filter to cut through the glare in the sky and on the foliage, which enhanced the color in both.

From here we moseyed on over to New Hampshire for yet another workshop. We kicked things off at Crystal Cascade, on the way up the Tuckerman’s Ravine trail in Pinkham Notch. These cool blues of the waterfall in the shade were really striking. My daughters asked me to print this image for their room when we were looking through photos when I got home. That’s a ringing endorsement in my world!

The cascades below the more famous Crystal Cascade brought me my personal favorite image from here, as I explored the winding course of the Ellis River and found this neat composition of water spilling between several rocks. The color was actually pretty good here in the understory.

The next morning, we visited the famous Crystal Lake in Eaton, New Hampshire, and I resisted photographing the little white church, which I’ve seen looking a lot better in other photos, in favor of this nice simple scene of colorful trees among the evergreens through the mist at the edge of the lake.

I enjoy both photographing iconic scenes, and more personal takes such as this one. In my mind, there’s nothing wrong with doing both. That said, the joy and excitement of finding something new, something special that you feel like you are the first to really ‘see’, is pretty special. I’ll take that feeling any day.

The waterfall love resumed that afternoon as we walked around Upper Falls on the Ammonusuc River on the other side of Mount Washington. The sculpted rocks in this gorge are fantastic! Thanks go to Tony Sweet for telling me about this spot.

Focusing on a smaller part of the cascade, I noticed these three fans of water spraying down from the rocks and made this composition around the triangular rock in the foreground. This scene was much more intimate and required some looking around, unlike of the obvious shot from the bridge above.

The mountain scenery, one of the things that makes New Hampshire so spectacular, was sadly pretty dull during our time in the state because of the drought. I thought we could get a better chance at seeing more color down to the south, so one morning we headed down to the little hill overlooking Chocorua and the famous bridge at “The Grove” along the southern shore of the Lake Chocorua.

This spot was famously on New Hampshire’s first state quarter and I’ve always loved standing here. I envisioned the mist from the lake on a cold morning clearing the summit of Chocorua, really the most interesting part of the mountain, and that’s exactly what it did.

When I posted this photo on social media right after making it, most people were disappointed that most of the mountain was hiding in the mist. I thought this made it much more interesting. To each their own, so they say.

Are you tired of cascade images yet? I hope not. Because now we’re on to yet another falling water feature, this time in Acadia National Park, the final leg of my autumn adventures. This is Duck Brook, a great spot to see fall colors on Mount Desert Island. I set up this little composition while helping another student with his camera, and liked it so much that I came back myself to photograph it later.

The next morning we set our sights on Ocean Drive, where large waves from a nor’easter and a stunning sunrise awaited us. I actually have never seen a photo from this particular cove, a rarity in this extremely popular area!

On a visit to another brook just below the Tarn, I managed to avoid coming away with yet another image of tumbling water. This time I captured a view looking up into the tree canopy above me while walking down the path. I loved the yellow aspen trees against the blue sky and the darker trees framing them.

Those yellow aspen leaves were the feature of another image, this one a rare (for me) macro image of fallen leaves with water droplets.

Our favorite morning shoot of the workshop was probably on Eagle Lake, with fairly calm waters, mist rising over the distant hills and some nice color and light. This composition was inspired by a student on the workshop, the very creative and talented Sam Gray. It’s no joke that we sometimes learn just as much from the students as they do from us.

I kept returning to this maple tree in between helping students, and loved framing the Bubbles and Pemetic with its branches.

The show of light continued that evening. This time of year in New England can be great for dynamic weather and we can usually count on some interesting skies, but we were really spoiled on this trip.

We took the group down to Hunter’s Beach, a short hike through a beautiful spruce forest down to this rocky beach. While most everyone kept their distance, I was able to convince a couple of other students to come down to the ‘splash zone’ with me and photograph the waves as they came in. We got soaking wet, but came away with some really fun photos of the waves leading up to this beautiful sky, the lines and shapes of the waves, rocks, and clouds mirroring each other somewhat.

Another favorite spot in Acadia is Sieur De Monts, which we’ve seen become much more popular over the years of visiting. The birch path on Hemlock Road, always beautiful, has seen recent improvements with a boardwalk installed over the old dirt path. While I think it’s going to look better with some wear and patina, the curving path looks pretty awesome already.

Even though it’s a billed as a fall foliage workshop, we can never resist going over and poking around the lobster harbor in Bernard. The culture and scenery here is beautiful and fascinating. You know I’m fond of buoys, and surprisingly have passed up photographing this wall before. Perhaps because it’s so obvious. Well, here it is.

On another visit to Ocean Drive, we found our way down on the rocks to the south of Monument Cove for what looked like was going to be another wild sunrise. The light never really materialized, but this soft glow actually might have worked better for this composition showcasing some interesting rocks and the sweep of the shoreline here. The promontories of Gorham Mountain and the Beehive can be seen poking up above the horizon here. I loved the curves!

Finally, our last stop was the Tarn, an absolutely iconic autumn location on Mount Desert Island, and one that either totally stumps photographers, or they love it.

I have to admit I was in the former camp when I first starting photographing here, but over the years I’ve come to understand how to ‘see’ and process these type of images much better. This year, because the water levels were so low, there was a striking red tint at the base of the reeds that made the scene really special.

I think this is my favorite image from here ever, even though there aren’t really the golden foliage reflections that are usually found.

That’s it! Whew! I think we started a little more subtle and quiet with the first few images and then really got rolling with covered bridge onwards. I considered going back and taking everything before that out, but I realize that subtle and quiet can be good, too.

I was recently listening to the Lenswork podcast, and the host mentioned how when we look at a collection of images, it’s natural that we make comparisons, judging each image to be ‘better’ or ‘worse’ than the other images.

Hopefully, instead of doing this, we can see each image as its own impression, not to be compared or judged, but simply appreciated and taken in, along with the other images in the collection, as a whole.

What do you think?

If you liked what you see here, considering supporting my work by becoming a paid subscriber to this newsletter, joining us on a workshop, or purchasing a print.

Subscribe now

I’ve gotten through fall, but wait, I totally skipped images from our Best of Maine workshop and Cape Cod in September! Dang. Well, I guess we’ll just have to return to those at some point in the future. ;-)

We also have another installment of the Guide to Photographing the Coast of Maine coming soon, finally arriving at my new home’s ‘backyard’, the Bristol Peninsula and Friendship areas! Yahoo! I’ve gotten lots of great feedback from photographers who are using the guide to help with their explorations. I’m very grateful it’s being put to good use!

It’s no secret that this was not a normal year for foliage. We are in the midst of a serious drought that had very real consequences for colorful leaves. That said, the season is always beautiful and interesting, drought or not, and expectations of vivid colors can obscure the opportunity to appreciate many of the beautiful scenes, and experiences, that this region has to offer.

I kicked off my adventures at the Height of Land near Rangeley, Maine, capturing this familiar scene looking out over Mooselookmeguntic Lake. The clouds were fantastic and the late day light on the foreground made this my favorite capture at this iconic spot thus far. The muted wash of color was actually perfect for the mood here. I also ran into my friend Keelyn Wu, a total surprise!

My travels then brought me over to the Adirondacks, an entirely new area for me, and one that I was very excited to see for the first time. My first afternoon there I made the 10 mile hike out and back to Indian Head for this iconic view over Lower Ausible Lake. I knew that there was going to be a good sunset, but the color and intensity of this burn was still astonishing. Who needs colorful leaves when you have a sky like this? You can probably see that the foliage was just starting to turn on the hillsides here.

I made a couple of other hikes, taking in other well-known views in the region. The above image is looking out over the Giant Washbowl from Giant’s Nubble. Here I ran into Brad Couture, an online acquaintance who it was great to finally meet in person. After taking this in, I felt so good that I summited Giant Mountain itself, a pretty intense 3,350 ft of elevation gain and over 7 miles.

Another iconic Adirondack view, perhaps the most iconic, is the view of Heart Lake and the core of the High Peaks Wilderness from Mount Jo, just above the Adirondacks Loj and Information Center. The light wasn’t great for this particular view, but it was good to check out, anyways. I made a panorama of the scene and enjoyed talking to Bob Ruggio. I’ll be back!

The next morning I visited a slightly more obscure location, a small pond looking at Whiteface Mountain, a recommendation from Manuel Palacios, one of my favorite photographers and someone who knows the area well.

My favorite image from here was a more zoomed in frame of the peak of Whiteface, with the tower and summit facilities visible beneath a curling plume of mist catching the first rays of morning sunlight.

I then drove over to Vermont to see my buddy Kurt and do some shooting and scouting for our upcoming workshop. We visited a favorite location, Ricker Pond, and found the frequently encountered fog and perfect reflections of trees on this funky causeway left over from a former mill site.

From there it was over to New Hampshire, stopping at Jefferson Meadows, a new location to me, during the hay harvest! I felt very lucky to catch the tractor doing its work on the meadow, even though it was fairly harsh midday light. My friend Chris Whiton is super lucky to call this area his backyard. I always think of him when I’m over here.

The reason I was rushing from Vermont through New Hampshire so quickly, was to get over to Maine in time to catch the only clouds in New England for what I hoped was to be another interesting sunset. My target was Tumbledown Mountain, near the little village of Weld, Maine. I rushed up the Loop Trail, working up quite a sweat, to get here in time. The following hour was a stunning display of light, texture, and color.

The pond the sits nestled in a saddle near the peak looks resplendent surrounded by colorful trees among the evergreens. The reflection of Little Jackson Mountain above with the last light of day hitting it wasn’t too shabby, either.

To take it all in, I resorted to a ridiculous, nearly 300 degree panorama that showed the wild sky, terrain, and colors all around me. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

This vertical frame, highlighting the alpine ‘garden’ in the foreground above the pond, with sweeping clouds in the sky mirroring the sweeping diagonal of the ledge, might be the strongest.

After a very brief return home, I was back on the road to Vermont, this time to co-lead an annual fall foliage photography workshop with Kurt. Our first afternoon we took in this beautiful view from Peacham, and I incorporated a tree framing the scene I had photographed a couple of years ago of this iconic hillside with our workshop group.

Just a little while later, we were treated to beautiful moonrise over the even more iconic Peacham church. The foliage here was some of the best we encountered, and it was awesome running into a bunch of talented photographers, including Jennifer Egan and Adam Silverman, among others.

The next night we encountered the moon yet again, this time in a somewhat surprise appearance over the Hunger Mountain Range above the Waterbury Reservoir. It was stunning!

Sunrise the next morning brought us down to Lefferts Pond, near Killington, Vermont. The reflections here were stunning, though the colorful hillside and shoreline were in deep shadow and tough to photograph with the bright sky.

On the other side of Lefferts sits the Chittenden Reservoir, a well-known view and one that we love taking our groups to. The reflection game was strong here, too, which can be pretty rare once the morning progresses and the air gets stirred up.

That brings us halfway through my fall images thus far, and I think this is a good stopping point before we get through with a bunch more images in the next post. Until then, please check out our listings for our 2026 fall foliage photography workshops. We’d love to have you join us on our adventures next year!

Next I co-led a Best of Maine workshop with my friend J.K. Putnam Photography. The photos below are from the last leg of that trip. I found that my camera was turning to different subject matter and somewhat “quieter” light during the couple of days we were in Acadia. We had a great group of students, and, as always, they inspired me with their images seen during our image reviews.

I also have of course been inspired by John, whose visions of Acadia, his home base, have mesmerized me for almost a decade now. I’m grateful to him for partnering with me on this workshop and for our time together.

That’s it for now. I can’t wait to share more images from the past month with you! I have so many!

There really are no secrets here. Photographing foliage is much like photographing any other subject. The number of creative and expressive possibilities are seemingly endless. That said, there are some tried and true paths I’ve found, and a couple of pointers that I think can help you get some ideas of where to stand on your foliage photography journey.

Read more

I don’t really like qualifiers like better or worse, but I think it’s fair to say that when it comes to fall colors, there are areas where truly vibrant and awe-inspiring displays can be found with regularity. My first few trips away from the coast of New England in the fall were a revelation on this account. Inland locations have more of the hardwoods that produce brilliant colors in the fall, especially maples, and much fewer fir trees and oaks. This makes a massive difference in the amount of color that can be realized during peak foliage.

While you can make great images of fall color outside of the popular areas, let’s go ahead and get it out of the way, the hot spots are hot for a reason. If you want to see some of the best fall colors in New England, here’s where to look.

Read more

With that in mind, I set out to discover what makes autumn in New England a world-class event, and found, to my delight, that the hype was well deserved.

I made my first dedicated fall foliage trip to Grafton Notch State Park in October 2012.

I loved it.

The next year, one of New England’s fall foliage gurus, Jeff ‘Foliage’ Folger, invited me to go with him to New Hampshire.

I was floored.

The year after that, my good friend Michael Blanchette introduced me to Vermont in the fall.

I freaked out.

I’ve been grateful to these folks, and completely hooked on fall foliage, ever since.

These days, I run three to four consecutive photography workshops in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine the first three weeks of October. These workshops and my travels between and around them bring me into the most beautiful environments across all three states and have introduced me to an incredibly variety of scenes at all stages of the fall season.

Thanks to these opportunities, I’ve accumulated a ton of knowledge over the years, enough to fill a guide.

Introduction to the Guide

I wanted to share everything you need to know before heading out to photograph fall foliage, no matter where you are. But once I got going, the guide turned into quite the monster! So, I’m splitting it into three posts to make it easier (and more fun) to follow along.

This first post focuses on when to go. Because when and where are closely intertwined, I have tips on where to look for peak, early, and late colors. I think this is useful for everyone.

The second post focuses heavily on where to go in Northern New England. This is mostly a location guide. Those of you in other regions who don’t intend on visiting might want to skip that part, but be warned, there are a lot of nice photos to accompany it, along with some photography pointers that apply to every region.

The final post shares practical tips and techniques for photographing fall foliage, many of which are just as useful for everyday photography. We’ll focus on a few key pointers to inspire you and help you make the most of your time in the field.

1. When to Go

   a. When to Go

   b. Peak Color

   c. Early Color

   d. Late Color

2. Where to Go

   a. Green Mountains, Vermont

   b. White Mountains, New Hampshire

   c. Maine Mountains

   d. Acadia National Park

3. How to Photograph Fall Foliage

   a. Tell a Story About Nature

   b. Tell a Story About Culture

   c. Embrace the Grand Scene

   d. Capture the Medium Scenes

   e. Pick Out Little Details

   f. Follow the Light

   g. Golden Hour Light

   h. Bad Weather

   i. Reflections

   j. Look Up and Down

   k. Gear for Foliage Photography

Part 1: When to Go

The biggest tip I can share after over a decade of photographing fall foliage in New England, is that the questions “When should I go?” and “Where should I go?” are closely intertwined. Fall color builds, peaks, and then fades in different regions at different times.

I’ll lay it all out below.

Peak Color

The big question in everyone’s mind seems to be, “When is peak foliage?”

What most consider to be “peak” changes from year to year depending on many factors. That’s why it helps to stay flexible with your plans, and to think outside the box.

Honestly, I think the whole idea of “peak foliage” is a bit overhyped. It’s a loaded term that can make you overlook just how stunning the colors are both before and after the so-called peak. I’ll share some of those opportunities below.

As with all photography, having a plan is helpful, but once you’re in the field, it’s just as important to respond to what’s in front of you. Fall foliage can carry big expectations, so finding that balance between planning and spontaneity is key.

“Fine, fine, but, when is peak?” you are still wondering.

Alright…

This map gets it generally right. Peak color in New England travels from higher elevations and northern latitudes towards lower elevations and southern latitudes from late September to early November.

That said, it doesn’t tell the whole story. Not even close.

Factors like topography and microclimates around mountains, lakes, and rivers offer drastically different timelines for peak foliage within each shaded region. Some maps attempt to take these factors into consideration and break the regional variance down further.

This can help with timing, but regional variations aren’t the only factor that can significantly influence the progression of color from year to year. Past and current weather plays a major role, too.

Warm, sunny days and cool, but not freezing, nights play a crucial role in developing fall foliage. These conditions help trap sugars in leaves, which are used to produce anthocyanins, enhancing their vibrant colors.

Wet weather is great for growth, but too much precipitation can lead to fungus and pests that degrade and even wipe out leaves. Prolonged dry weather, a drought, causes leaves to shrivel and fall from the trees earlier and with less color change. Wind storms can blow leaves from the trees and bring a quick end to peak foliage.

The thing to know about all of this nit-picking is that every single fall season brings amazing colors to New England. You simply cannot go wrong if you set some reasonable expectations and learn where to look.

Resources

For in-depth fall foliage forecasts, with frequent updates as we get into the season, look no further than the excellent blog posts from my friend Jim Salge, longtime foliage expert and reporter for Yankee. Like me, Jim can get pretty nerdy with this stuff, but the reads are well worth the time.

In the days leading up to, and during your trip, you can keep up with foliage conditions in real time with maps from Jim and Yankee, webcams, and of course, recent photos posted on social media.

Where to Find Early Color

Trees change color earlier in areas that receive less light, such as higher latitudes, or are at higher, colder elevations. That’s why I like to start my foliage trips around the northern mountains and travel south, following the progression of the fall colors. If you are on your foliage trip, and not seeing color where you are, consider going further north, and to areas with taller mountains.

Leaves start changing first in the upper canopies, so if you want to see sweeping views of vibrant color from above, earlier in the season is your best bet.

Leaves also turn quicker in areas with poor growing conditions, such as the edges of bogs, lakes and streams, as well as rocky ledges and any areas with sandy soils.

The edges of bogs and wetlands are always the first place I see colorful leaves in the fall. Sometimes, these come as early as the the first weeks of September. These environments are really cool to capture, too.

Dry ledges are another area to look, including at the edges of streams and waterfalls. The fact that the leaves change early here can mean that there might be decent contrast with areas around that are still deep green.

In years with drought stress, such as this year, color comes early to all areas, and sadly, is often more muted. Leaves also wither and drop earlier in a drought.

That said, there can still be great color in areas that haven’t experienced severe drought, such as along the edges of bodies of water, and also in dense forests that hold moisture more readily, which includes some of the prime areas in New England.

Where to Find Late Color

As the season moves along, there are still plenty of chances to find great color, both in places that have already passed their “peak” and in areas that turn later in the season.

The understory in general changes later than the forest canopy. This can be great for photographing streams and waterfalls with both colorful trees on the banks and fallen leaves all around.

Sadly, beech trees, which used to be a wonderful tree species for understory color in all regions of New England, are dying out quickly because of two plagues, beech bark and leaf rust disease.

Even later in the fall cycle, I find bare trees very attractive. They start showing the beautiful branches and structure that have been hiding all summer. Trees with a few leaves hanging on, such as the one above, along with some green grass, show the change in seasons nicely.

And, who says leaves need to be on a tree to make a good photograph? I love the look of fallen leaves on the ground or in the water. To me, they create a wistful, quiet mood that reflects the ephemeral nature of the seasons.

Because fir trees and oaks dominate the coastal plains, and colorful species like maple, birch, ash, and aspen are less common, the regions outside the northern and mountainous areas usually show a softer, more muted palette with patches of color rather than sweeping displays. That said, you can still find pockets of color and beautiful scenes if you know where to look.

Oaks, the dominant trees in much of Central and Southern New England, turn a rich, rusty orange after the maples and birches have shed their leaves. They hold their color well into late fall, and when paired with the golden tones of late-season grasses, they create a subtle but beautiful display through late October and even into November.

Blueberry barrens turn crimson red in late fall along the coast of Downeast Maine, where cultivated fields are the most extensive.

That does it for “when” to look for fall foliage. I hope everyone got some useful information that helps them plan for the upcoming season, which is rapidly approaching! I’m already seeing colorful leaves here in Southern Maine.

Tomorrow, we’ll dive into the “where”, sharing an extensive location guide with some of the best spots to experience stunning fall colors in Northern New England. As I said before, even if you don’t intend to visit these areas, there still might be good information in this section for you.

Prints of the images in this article can be found on my website. Although all of our autumn photography workshops are full this year, you can browse other workshops and look for next year’s here.