Here, Then Gone

The Soft Voices of Nature

Hello Beautiful People,

This month has been a whirlwind of travel and serving our wonderful clients. We made four trips to Yosemite already this month. With the grand towering walls and the sound of flowing water echoing through the valley; it is always a place that I love coming back to.

At the beginning of March, I did a huge update on my fine art website. I haven’t updated it in a while so I wanted to give it a refresh while updating the galleries. This inspired me to go through my archives of the time I was working in Yosemite. I really wanted to find some intimate scenes that were all about shape, texture, and lines. I was not disappointed.

When I worked in the park, I had little time for myself, but somehow I managed to squeeze in as much photography I could, sometimes exhausting myself in the process. I knew that I wasn’t going to be working in the park forever and that I needed to take advantage of my time while I could.

Years later, I am so grateful I went hard on photography even though I was sleep deprived and struggling with health issues at the time. I threw all of my struggles into my art, giving me an outlet to show the world the beauty that surrounds us daily.

One particular day I remember forcing myself to wake up at the early hours of the morning before work to photograph the ice along the Merced River. It was cold and I was exhausted, but my desire to create art that morning drove me to capture these scenes.

Photographers do not talk enough about the conditions that we endure while out creating our art. We tend to tell the exciting stories that come along with the photograph, but not the experiences that make it miserable while we are out in freezing temperatures or dry, cold wind. Almost every photograph I have made, comes as a sacrifice. Whether it’s sleep or comfort I give up, photography challenges me to grow stronger and understand my limits.

Some of my best work was created in the early hours of the mornings. This photograph (above) would never existed if I didn’t motivate myself to get out of my warm, cozy bed. This hoarfrost, a rarity in Yosemite, revealed itself to me only once—an opportunity I was grateful to preserve through its intricate textures and shapes.

That same morning I found this quiet scene. The frost had melted off of the yellow leaf, giving me the vibrancy of my subject. This was the beginning of teaching myself focus stacking. I realized while going through the archives, that the focus stack wasn’t perfect so I decided on editing this one image. I love the soft fall off that my lens gave me. Sometimes having everything in focus can create distractions from the main subject. In this image, what first felt like a mistake revealed itself as an unexpected gift. The moral of the story is not every photograph needs to be focus stacked. Some are just meant to be viewed how the camera “sees.”

There is so many intimate scenes in Yosemite that can be found if one knew where to look. I have had great success just by walking along the Merced River. Finding not only intimate scenes, but watching eagles fly to and fro to their nest, witnessing a blue heron dine on breakfast, or getting to watch the river otters play gleefully. This is why I love waking up in the early hours of the mornings when the collective conscious in quiet and the animals are more comfortable in their environment.

It is in these hushed hours that Yosemite reveals its softer voice, where the fleeting and the intimate become the most profound, and where simply being present feels like enough. In that stillness, the landscape is no longer something to chase, but something to listen to—subtle movements, quiet light, and small, unfolding moments guiding the experience rather than spectacle. These are the instances that cannot be planned or repeated, only received. Reminding me that photography is not just about capturing what is seen, but about honoring what is briefly given before it slips away.

As always, thanks for reading.

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