Sometimes a photograph begins because I wonder what’s over there.
In the spring of 2022, I found myself near Vantage, Washington, with no particular photograph in mind. After spending some time along the Columbia River, I was driving Old Highway 10 when Rocky Coulee caught my attention.
I had driven past it many times before.
Four years earlier, the Ryegrass Coulee Fire had burned through the area around Vantage. By 2022, grasses had returned across the slopes, while scattered blackened trees still marked the landscape.
This time, I stopped.
I put on my hiking boots, shouldered my camera pack, and started walking into the coulee. What began as curiosity about a place beside the road eventually became my Blackened Trees photography project.
I hadn’t scouted those trees. I didn’t have compositions planned. I hadn’t even planned to stop at Rocky Coulee.
I was exploring.
That’s much closer to how I usually approach landscape photography.
What I Mean by Exploring
When I say I explore rather than scout, I don’t mean I always leave home without knowing where I’m going.
I may choose a river valley, a forest road, a trail, or an area I’ve never photographed before. Sometimes I have a specific destination. Other times, I only have a general area in mind.
What I usually don’t have is a photograph already planned.
I’m rarely heading toward a particular viewpoint to make a composition I’ve already imagined. I’m more interested in moving through a place and seeing what catches my attention.
There’s nothing wrong with scouting. Many landscape photographers use it successfully, especially when they want to return for particular light, weather, or seasonal conditions.
It’s simply not how I usually work.
For me, much of the enjoyment comes from not knowing exactly what I’ll find.
I’ve Been Exploring Longer Than I’ve Been a Photographer
My interest in exploring didn’t begin with photography.
Growing up, my dad shared my curiosity about the outdoors. We would drive remote forest roads without much of a destination in mind. Part of the experience was simply seeing where the road went and what we might discover along the way.
That stayed with me.
Years later, photography became another part of being outdoors. Camping, fishing, hiking, driving forest roads, and making photographs began to overlap rather than exist as separate activities.
Sometimes photography gives me a reason to explore somewhere new. Other times, exploring gives me a reason to reach for the camera.
An early spring trip into the Hamma Hamma River country on the Olympic Peninsula was a good example.
Rather than taking the most direct route, I mapped my way through the forest. I explored side roads along the way, sometimes turning around when snow or fallen trees stopped me. I found the Jefferson Creek drainage before eventually reaching the Hamma Hamma River.
The route and what I encountered along it were as much a part of the day as any photograph I made.
That’s still how I like to experience the landscape.
Curiosity Can Be Enough of a Reason
Sometimes I don’t even need to see a potential photograph before deciding to explore.
A map can be enough.
While exploring Forest Road 73 near Greenwater, Washington, I noticed a road on my map that appeared to cross Skookum Creek. I hadn’t been there before, so I decided to see where it went.
Eventually, the road became impassable. I parked and continued on foot along the old roadbed.
It was late summer, and I wasn’t expecting much water.
When I reached the site of an old bridge, I found Skookum Creek cascading over moss-covered rocks.
That unexpected scene became Summer Cascade.
I couldn’t have planned that photograph before going there because I didn’t know what was there.
I only knew I was curious enough to find out.
I Don’t Always Know What Will Make Me Stop
Exploring leaves room for smaller things to attract my attention.
I’m not necessarily looking for a grand view or recognizable landmark.
It might be fog moving through trees. A pattern in flowing water. Light across a hillside. The texture of rock or bark. An old fence crossing open country. A burned tree standing above spring grasses.
Often, what makes me stop is something I hadn’t considered until I saw it.
That’s one reason I enjoy working in black and white.
Without color, I tend to concentrate on shape, tone, texture, light, atmosphere, and the relationships within the landscape.
I’ve come to think of black-and-white photography as a kind of abstracted reality.
The landscape remains recognizable. But removing color changes how we experience it. It can bring attention to things that might otherwise be overlooked.
Sometimes I Come Home Without a Photograph
Exploration doesn’t guarantee a photograph.
I’ve spent plenty of days driving forest roads or walking through landscapes without making an image that became part of my finished work.
Sometimes the conditions don’t interest me. Sometimes I don’t find a composition that feels right. Other times, I’m simply enjoying being outside.
I don’t consider those days failures.
The experience doesn’t depend on coming home with a photograph. I don’t want every trip outdoors to become a demand to produce something.
Not every trip needs to result in a photograph.
I’m Usually Drawn Somewhere New
I revisit broad areas of the Pacific Northwest. There are forests, rivers, mountains, and parts of Washington I’ve photographed many times.
What I don’t often do is repeatedly return to the exact same location trying to remake a photograph under different conditions.
Usually, I’m more interested in seeing somewhere I haven’t photographed before.
There are more forest roads, rivers, trails, coulees, shorelines, and mountain landscapes than I’ll ever have time to explore.
That’s what keeps me interested in exploring somewhere new.
There are exceptions, of course. Sometimes a place gives me a reason to return. But returning to perfect a predetermined composition isn’t the foundation of how I photograph.
The Photograph Is Part of the Experience
Photography has changed the way I move through the landscape.
It gives me a reason to slow down and pay attention.
To notice what’s around me.
To wonder what might be around a corner or beyond the trees.
Sometimes that curiosity produces one photograph. Sometimes it produces several. Occasionally, as it did at Rocky Coulee, an unexpected stop becomes a small photography project.
Other times, I come home without adding anything to my portfolio.
I’m fine with that.
I don’t need to know what photograph I’m going to make before I leave home.
I’d rather leave some room for surprise.
There might be a forest road I’ve never driven, a river I’ve never walked, or a coulee I’ve passed a dozen times without stopping.
I’ll know what interests me when I see it.
And sometimes, that’s where the photograph begins.
