Very few images I take are portfolio-worthy. Most are like this one. Simple, flat, and unlikely to earn any praise. I still hold them dear.
Where you see a cloud, a rocky peak, and a deep blue sky, I see what it took to get there. Heat. Broken terrain. Knees ready to quit. A backpack with too little water and zero food. I stripped weight wherever I could so I could drag ten kilos of camera gear up this marble giant. Four hours up. Three hours down. No time for sunrise, or sunset — just harsh summer light and zero drama.
Still, it ended up being one of my most productive and memorable shooting days of the year. The landscape kept delivering: minimal frames, wild goats, cascading light spilling through ridges, tourists wandering into the frame for scale, hidden nameless lakes, rock walls in every shape.
Bruised feet, dry like a desert throat, mild sunburn — was it worth it? Depends who you ask. For me, yes. I was properly wrecked by the end, but I’d do it again even if I didn’t come back with a single award-worthy frame. Because I’d still have the memories.
There’s something oddly satisfying in the struggle itself. Maybe that’s the whole point.
