A version of this article was published on DPReview.
Landscape photography is a continuous pursuit of refinement and growth. And we’re each on our own journey to develop our craft.
We might learn new processing techniques. Study how to track weather systems. Or step outside our comfort zone to experiment with new genres.
Yet going from day to day and month to month, it can be difficult to discern any noticeable changes in our capabilities.
But if you step back to reflect on your growth over longer periods, you’ll notice areas where you’ve improved—and where you’d like to grow even further.
So I thought I’d reflect on my growth as a landscape photographer these past five years. And share some tips and insights with you to consider (or disregard, I’m not precious) in your own photography journey.
Lesson 1: With dynamic range, you can have too much of a good thing
For this first lesson, I’m not talking about ghostly HDR images generated at the click of a button by combining nine bracketed exposures.
I’m talking about setting Lightroom sliders to -100 highlights and +100 shadows.
Because when we extend an image’s dynamic range as far as possible, we lose contrast and lessen the dynamism in the scene.
Viewers have certain, if subconscious, expectations when they see your image. Like the fact that patches of light are going to be bright. While the shadows behind a boulder should remain dark.
So when you even out those extremes too much, your image will become flat—losing the sense of depth and realism that natural contrast would have otherwise created.
To highlight the importance of natural contrast that viewers will expect, consider these two scenarios:
You’re at a scenic mountain lookout. The ridges in the background are hazy. While the trees and rocks in front of you have more contrast. This dynamic is the natural way of things, where more distant objects gain haze and lose contrast. But if you boost your shadows to their very extreme, you’ll lose that feeling of depth through your two-dimensional image.
You’re shooting a sunrise seascape. So don’t forget that the sun is a giant ball of incredibly hot plasma. And it’s bright—but if you underexpose and crush the highlights, they’ll appear muddy and unnatural. Likewise, use an overexposed frame—either through luminosity masks or HDR blending—for the darkest shadows sparingly. (A little bit will help to retain subtle textures. While too much will introduce light where there shouldn't be any.)
So extend the dynamic range in your images to preserve details in the brightest whites and the darkest blacks. But do so in moderation.
Lesson 2: Stop focusing on sunrises and sunsets
Like many, I was drawn to landscape photography by bold explosions of colour across the sky. Whether on a vacation or gazing out the window on a commute home, a spectacular sunset simply beckons to be captured.
So my early forays into landscape photography would send me down to the beach before dawn. I’d set my camera behind a sea stack and wait for the sky to do its thing.
But this approach harmed my development on two levels.
Firstly: Expectations soon morphed into frustrations when the sky fizzled out. Even if the sky partially caught fire, my mind would drift to ‘what could have been’. If only those horizon clouds didn’t block the rising sun.
And faced with that potential frustration, I simply chose to avoid disappointment altogether. If there wasn't a solid chance of a brilliant sunrise, I wouldn’t go out at all. I deprived myself of valuable learning opportunities to work with the light that was available.
Secondly: This mindset created severe tunnel vision. All my efforts became focused on the sky. I directed my attention on that one element—and missed other frames later in the day or even that same morning.
All too often, after the sunrise clouds had turned red and orange I’d pack up and head home.
But as I’ve experienced more scenes and become more open to a wider range of potential frames, I’ve embraced shooting throughout the day.
The sky won’t be as ‘epic’ as it can be at dawn and dusk. But broadening my shooting window from 30 minutes to several hours throughout the day has enabled me to capture and create a much more diverse range of frames.
Look for patches of light rolling across the hillsides. Dappled light drifting through the forest. Or light reflecting off a glowing rock face.
Spectacular skies are great. But that doesn’t mean your images have to revolve around them. (See Lesson 5.)
Lesson 3: Your long exposures are too long
I’m not one to dole out rigid rules that you need to adhere to, or else. But this third lesson is the closest I’ll come to telling you what to do.
Odds are, your default shutter speed for long exposures is too long. And for many years, I was guilty of this offence too.
For waterfall and river scenes, I’d stick on a 6-stop ND filter and slow my shutter speed down to over a second. For seascapes, I’d hover around 1/2 second to create silky smooth water as waves rushed around boulders and down channels.
The problem? The water would turn to mush.
The longer the water movement is averaged out, the more texture you’ll lose. Until all you’re left with is a muddy milky bath.
If you’re looking to create some ethereal Middle Earth waterfall scene or a glass-like reflection, stick on your ND filter and call it a day.
But if you want to capture that feeling of motion in your image, leave your ND filter at home.
The actual shutter speed will vary depending on your distance to the water and how fast it’s flowing. I’ve found that starting at 1/4 second and speeding that up to about 1/10 second (particularly for crashing waves) is a good starting point.
The takeaway here is to not anchor yourself to 1/2 second and stay there throughout the session.
Instead, experiment with faster speeds and review what looks best. And capture that feeling of energy you experienced on location in your static image.
Lesson 4: Persevere and persist—the photos will follow
Landscape photographers—and photographers more broadly—are at the mercy of the conditions we find ourselves in.
Light can be achingly fleeting. Tides can be treacherous. Rain can dampen our spirits. While the seasons can come too slow and go too fast.
Often (too often), the conditions we encounter don’t always materialise as we had planned.
When they don’t, that can be incredibly disheartening. Particularly if we had high hopes of an epic sunrise. Or we’ve travelled far. Or we woke before dawn to embark on a strenuous hike.
It’s understandable for beginners to feel defeated and that their effort was wasted. I should have just slept in. I came halfway across the world for this?
But the harsh reality is this: Rarely will you arrive at a location and experience the best conditions.
You might see an epic midnight aurora over Skógafoss on Instagram. Or a brilliant autumnal explosion of colour.
But what you don’t see are the days and seasons the artist invested in the pursuit. To catch the first snowfall of the season. Or to wait for a soft glow to fall across the landscape.
The one constant in landscape photography is the variability you’ll encounter.
But don’t let that dishearten you. In fact, the inverse—when the elements align—can be ecstatic.
Side note: This is the same psychological trait that corporations exploit with poker machines. The variable rewards are few and far between. But when we strike gold, there’s no better feeling.
But unlike gambling, these ‘losses’ out in the field aren’t really losses at all. Not really. They’re memories with our friends and family. And they’re learning experiences to help us predict the weather and track the seasons for next time.
So when you get a fizzer of a day out in the field?
Simply show up again tomorrow. The odds could be in your favour while the rest of us hit snooze on the alarm.
Lesson 5: Wide angles are great, but telephotos are grand
As I developed as a photographer, I went through a series of stages.
Early on, I would focus and rely on the sky—see Lesson 2. Then I became more mindful of foregrounds to add context to and depth throughout a scene. Then I paid closer attention to subtle compositional choices, like balance and framing.
And now? Now I’m drifting towards more intimate scenes. And while this isn't a distinct stage, it is a consolidation of everything that came before.
Like waiting for light to filter through the clouds. Focusing on the essence of an area. And fine-tuning my framing to ensure it’s harmonious.
Now I've found that a telephoto lens allows me to best distil the essence of a place.
At longer focal lengths we have precise control over what makes it into the scene—and what doesn’t.
And we can be incredibly creative too. Rising a couple of steps in elevation could eliminate distracting patches of white sky behind a forest scene. While zooming in a few extra millimetres might exclude distractions just outside of the frame.
The creative decisions at our disposal are endless.
With a wide angle, we can simply point our camera at a scenic view and be guaranteed a pretty picture. (But so too can the next photographer.)
With a telephoto, we can hone in on essential elements. Eliminate distractions. And create a truly unique frame that can’t easily be replicated.
This doesn’t mean you need to go out and bolt on a 2x teleconverter to your 100-400mm lens. In fact, even experimenting at 35mm on your 16-35mm lens will open up new opportunities.
The lesson here is to unshackle yourself from 16mm.
Even if (and particularly when) there’s an epic sky exploding overhead. Look for the interplay of light and colour reflecting on the water’s surface. Or explore the forest to capture golden light filtering through.
And when there’s no epic light, your telephoto lens can eliminate a lacklustre sky altogether.
So go on a midday hike. Look for textures in the rocks and patterns in the bark. And try to distil your experiences in a series of single frames.
Final thoughts
Photography, like all art, is a highly subjective pursuit. And your preference for long exposures and focal lengths will be different to mine.
(That’s a good thing. It’s why two mates can go to the same location, under the same light—and still walk away with entirely unique images.)
But I hope these lessons and tips help you to reexamine some of your own creative decisions. Perhaps you might tweak a comfortable habit. Or explore an entirely new technique.
And that’s the thing about our journey as photographers and artists—and the overarching lesson of this article. To be continually trying, learning and refining our craft.
Want to sharpen your skills and take stunning landscape shots? Check out my 8 essential guides and lessons, packed with insightful theory and practical tips.