As the bush plane flew low over the marshes and swamps adjoining the Kobuk river, I was left to wonder when this terrain would take on a desert appearance to support sand dunes. It never did - the marshes, interspersed with boreal spruce forests that was cut by meandering waters of the wide Kobuk river, continued endlessly until suddenly it just became sand. 4x4 and snowmobile tracks in the marsh suddenly disappeared. After that, it was just miles of endless sand.
That abrupt transition between forests and waterbodies and sand-dunes were features I experienced at multiple places in the park, and that juxtaposition was just shocking how many ever times I looked at it. And the transition zone was a timeless battle between the advancing forests and the advancing dunes, and who lost or won was just decided by precipitation and prevailing winds. The one constant was the mosquitoes, they were relentless in these transition zones.
One spot on the transition zone features these beautiful lime-green reindeer lichen that carpeted the forest floor. In the late evening (11pm) light, they had a light fluorescent glow unlike anything else I had seen.
Kobuk Valley National Park
AK USA
Amidst the Granite Walls
Park # 61 - Gates of the Arctic National Park
The Gates is a massive park situated entirely within the Arctic circle in Alaska, characterized by a long (but not very tall) ranges running east to west along the Continental Divide, and forming the border between the boreal and tundra climactic zones. Its wilderness experience is unparalleled, next to only the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. There are valleys in this where one could spend days without meeting another soul or witnessing any signs of civilization.
I chose to skip all that and visit the Arrigetch region of the Gates - known for its towering granite peaks with dramatic names such as Caliban, Xanadu, Elephant's tooth (given by climbers, of course). It is one of the most heavily visited areas of the park, so much so that there is even a very walkable climbers trail going up the valley. Despite that, it was challenging, and amazingly beautiful, especially when the weather cooperated.
Having explored this, it is certainly one of the parks I want to come back to explore some of it's more remote corners, of which there are so many.
Gates of the Arctic National Park
AK USA
Wild Alaska
The Alaskan arctic is probably one of the last unexplored frontiers for me. The rugged terrain, unpredictable weather, and a short season, coupled with mosquitoes swarming during the prime hiking season means that it is not on the top of my bucket list. The cost and difficulty in getting there compounds the inertia to visit it. But the last two National Parks on my list lie in the arctic, and that was needed incentive to overcome the inertia.
I expect the landscape to look a lot like the above, with rugged mountains rising above vast glaciated valleys that are filled with marsh, tussock and alder making it a challenge to walk through. Add in a few freezing river crossings too. It is going to be an interesting experience, and hopefully a rewarding one.
Wrangell St. Elias National Park
AK USA
Superior Hues
My National Park #60 - Isle Royale in Michigan.
Even though I had spent a couple of years in Michigan more than a decade ago, I never got around to this Island over Lake Superior. Stuck in the extreme northwest corner of the state, getting here involved a 9hr drive and a 3hr ferry to get the largest island in the middle of the largest freshwater lake in the world. And that wasn't a luxury I could afford during my time in Michigan a decade ago.
Fast forward to 2026, and I finally got around to visiting this gem of a park. The difficulty in getting there made the journey and beauty even more memorable. Sublime sunrises and serene sunsets met me every day. These were accompanied by the haunting sirens of the common loon that echoed over the vast surface of the still lake. The crystal clear waters of the lake beckoned me to its freezing embrace on the warm summer afternoons as a respite from the swarms of mosquitoes and blackflies.
Nearly a month after the trip, and I still hear the siren of the loon, feel the cold lake lapping on my feet and smell the watery undertones of Lake Superior.
Isle Royale National Park
MI USA
Falling to Winter
Time is the one true constant—an invisible current that carries us forward, whether we’re ready or not. It’s the most honest measure of what we value: the hours we devote to work, the moments we share with loved ones, the days we steal away to travel and explore. Yet once spent, time is irretrievable. And as we age, its pace seems to quicken, propelling us ever faster toward the inevitable horizon.
In this digital age, one of the greatest thieves of time is doom-scrolling. I’ve succumbed to it more often than I’d like to admit—a habit I wrestle with, especially as the world around me slips by in fleeting seasons. The spring wildflowers I wandered among feel like they bloomed just yesterday, their colors still vivid in my memory. Summer hikes and backpacking adventures seem only moments ago. The joy of autumn’s fiery foliage still lingers. And tomorrow, surely, will be winter. The cycle spins faster now, each turn of the wheel a blur.
Sometimes I long to return—to the wide-eyed wonder of my teens, the boundless optimism of my twenties, the memory-rich tapestry of my thirties. But time doesn’t rewind. All I can do is move forward, carried by its current, hoping to make each moment count before it too becomes a memory.
Oregon
USA
A Sky Set in Motion
10,000 snow geese erupted into flight, their honking a wild symphony echoing across the Skagit Valley. The air pulsed with movement, the scent of damp earth and feathers grounding the spectacle. It was chaotic, yes—but utterly mesmerizing.
These Arctic travelers spend their summers nesting in Siberia before journeying thousands of miles to overwinter in the fertile fields of coastal Washington and British Columbia. Some continue south to California, while others linger here—unwelcome guests to farmers, but pure magic to photographers.
I hadn’t expected such a massive flock this early in the season. But witnessing their synchronized dance—rising, settling, rising again—was a gift I’ll never forget.
Bonus: Trumpeter swans competing for attention from the snow geese gathering in the valley.
Skagit County
WA USA
The last of Fall
In the blink of an eye, autumn’s brilliance has faded into the mist of early winter. The Pacific Northwest, once draped in vibrant foliage and crisp air, now braces under atmospheric rivers and dwindling daylight.
As nature slows, so do we—retreating indoors to rest, reflect, and recalibrate. This seasonal shift invites a deeper pause: to acknowledge the personal transformations we've weathered, and the seismic shifts felt across our communities and country.
In these uncertain times, I’m leaning into the beauty that remains. The fiery hues of fall, like those captured here in the North Cascades, remind me that even fleeting moments can offer lasting comfort.
Here’s to finding light in memory, and strength in stillness.
Mt Baker Wilderness
WA USA
Smoking Fuego
High above the heart of Guatemala, sunrise from Mt. Acatenango unfolds like a celestial symphony. Plains stretch endlessly, dissolving into a deep indigo haze beneath a sky brushed with twilight pink. Volcanic peaks pierce the morning clouds—smooth, conical silhouettes rising in quiet defiance against the rolling sea of valleys below. As the sun climbs, the palette shifts: blues and pinks melt into molten gold, igniting the horizon with warmth and wonder.
Sunset mirrors the magic in reverse. Sometimes, remnants of afternoon storms catch the last light and blaze like fire across the sky. Other times, the rain lingers, veiling the stars until late into the night. And on rare occasions, a sudden eruption breaks through the clouds—a violet burst, a shower of glowing embers, a plume of smoke curling into the dusk.
Though I only witnessed a few sunrises and sunsets, each one etched the sublime beauty of this volcanic realm into memory. A place where light dances with shadow, and the Earth breathes in color.
Guatemala
A Show to Remember
2024 will be remembered as a banner year for aurora chasers. With two colossal geomagnetic storms and countless smaller shows, the skies danced with light from pole to prairie. I was lucky enough to witness one of the most electrifying displays during the G4 storm in October, standing beneath the heavens in Iceland.
That night felt like a pilgrimage. I spent the afternoon layering up, packing food, water, blankets, and enough coffee to fuel a vigil. By 11pm, as we drove toward our chosen spot, the sky erupted. A crimson wall rose in the south—so intense it looked like the Earth itself was bleeding light. Above us, emerald ribbons twisted and shimmered, pulsing with energy. Sub-storms rolled in like waves, each one igniting the sky in a fresh blaze of green and red. Between bursts, the aurora softened, flowing like silk across the stars.
By 2am, the storm’s crescendo had passed, but the lights lingered—quiet, ethereal, and hauntingly beautiful. I stayed out until the colors faded into dawn.
The next morning was a blur. My body was exhausted, my mind foggy, but my spirit was wide awake. That night etched itself into memory—not just for the spectacle, but for the feeling of standing small beneath something so vast, so alive.
Iceland
Silver Linings
Expectations: A crisp autumn weekend hiking through the Cascade Mountains, chasing golden larches and postcard-perfect vistas.
Reality: A fierce and unannounced winter storm barreled through the region, plunging temperatures into the low 20s and unleashing winds strong enough to flatten tents. The landscape was blanketed in a fresh inch of snow—beautiful, but brutal.
None of the forecasts hinted at the severity we encountered in the high country. The mild conditions at the trailhead gave no warning of what lay ahead. As we climbed, thick banks of clouds rolled in swiftly, unloading icy rain and snow across the peaks. We knew then: the night would be unforgiving.
By morning, the storm had passed. In its wake, it left behind a breathtaking scene—crisp air, golden larches dusted in snow, and light that danced across the ridges. A photographer’s dream, even if our fingers were numb.
North Cascades National Park
Washington, USA