A version of this article appeared in the November 2020 issue of Australian Photography Magazine.

9 May 2020. I silence the 6am alarm and stumble out of bed to check the eastern sky. It’s almost clear. Almost. There’s a small cloud cluster over the ocean to the south. Nothing to the north, nothing out to sea, nothing above. Oh well, I think. I’m already up, let’s take a look. 

Soon I’m on the highway down to Kiama on the south coast of NSW. Looking out the car window, the cluster hasn’t moved. There’s no wind this morning and it seems to remain in place, suspended in the sky. This could be on.   

I drive a little faster, using all of the available speed limit. Although the clouds remain small, a rough mental PhotoPills calculation confirms that the sunrise alignment could be just right for Cathedral Rocks. As I pull up to the beach car park, the underside of the clouds begins to lighten. This is on. 

Moving not-so-gracefully with my camera and tripod across the beach, I navigate the tidal channels, waiting for each wave to rush up and then recede. The clouds begin to glow. I move faster, arriving at the base of the sea stacks—the clouds are aligned perfectly. The cluster is too low for a vertical shot, but it might just work for a horizontal frame. 18mm should work, with the top 30% of the frame above the horizon—any more and there’d be open sky above. 

I settle in close to the boulders at the base of the rock shelf, letting the waves rush over me. I couldn’t care less about the cold. The sky (well, this patch of sky) is exploding and I’m here, in the thick of it. This is why I return to landscape photography time and time again. This is what makes all the fizzled out skies, the jagged rocks, the rogue waves all worth it. Glorious moments like this on the Australian coast.  

A Land Girt by Sea and Sun 

I, like most Australians, grew up on the coast. The local beach was my second home. Weekends and school holidays were spent exploring the coastline, this strip of in-between where land meets sea. 

This time in nature offered opportunities to dabble in landscape photography, starting with an iPhone before adopting a dedicated DSLR. I’d venture down to the beach before dawn in the hunt for a sky exploding across the horizon. In those early days I’d often place a flat horizon in the centre and focus attention on the bold sky—the forms, light and colour in the clouds were the main attraction. 

Through these innumerable hours exploring the coast, I’d reflect on the natural phenomena captured in each photo. The tides became something to be researched. The clouds were to be cause for excitement (look at that gap forming on the horizon!). The changing angle of the rising sun was to be calculated and noted for photo opportunities months later. The sun, surf and sand were no longer just pretty sights— they were key elements to be predicted and leveraged in my photography. 

Broadening Horizons: Imitation Before Innovation 

As I became more interested in furthering my landscape photography I turned to online tutorials and tips. I devoured hours of vlogs from brilliant international photographers. What was the secret to their stunning images? What processing technique made their image look like that? 

My eyes were overwhelmed with stunning photos from across the globe. The ethereal misty woodlands of the UK. The ancient rocks and dunes of the Midwest US. The snow-capped peaks and glacier-carved valleys across the Tasman. Captivated by these stunning landscapes, I, like most beginners, adopted imitation before innovation.  

On YouTube British photographers would pull out their pitch-black 10-stop ND filter and smooth out the reflections in a tranquil lake or a calm coastal seascape. So that’s what I tried down by the rugged Bombo Quarry. However, when applied on the rough Australian coast, all the energy of our coast was lost and so too was the emotional impact. It turned our dynamic coast into a milky bath.  

I’d see the vibrant forests of the Pacific Northwest be disappointed that our bush and waterfall scenes weren’t as lush, I’d pump up the saturation to make the Australian bush look unnaturally green. Likewise, I became reliant on including bold, colourful sunrises in my landscape compositions, in the misguided hope of capturing attention through a kaleidoscope of colour. 

After trying to shoehorn these approaches into local scenes, I began to critically evaluate these choices. Were they right for my creative vision? Where they right for the landscape?  

Growing to Embrace our Geography 

Yes, Australia has regions of diverse climate and geography that reflect the lush forests and alpine regions across the globe, but I soon stopped trying to force these foreign concepts of landscape photography into my own images. 

On the coast I’d still include bold, colourful sunrises, but the sky alone wasn’t the star. I embraced the interaction of water and rock, leaning into those elements in my seascape photography. Where once I’d reach for an ND filter to slow down the shutter, I’ve since embraced ‘fast’ long exposures of 1/4 to 1/10 second. I’ve found that these speeds still retain detail in the moving water, highlighting that sense of motion and energy in the incoming waves. 

Having grown up by the ocean, many of us are comfortable getting our feet (and often more) wet in the pursuit of a great image. When there’s no bold seastack to break through the flat horizon, we must work with and in the scene. Take time to consider all angles, crouching down low to emphasise the incoming waves interacting with boulders and rock shelves. Just be careful to swiftly raise that camera when a rogue wave rolls in. Distilling seascape photography down to its essence, our geography has produced an abundance of talented wave photographers who return to wave after crashing wave in the search for the perfect break. 

Turning inland, the Australian bush is unique in its rugged wildness—and there’s value in that. It doesn’t have to be perfect with every stray branch cloned out in Photoshop. It doesn’t need to be vibrant green like the forests of Europe and the PNW. It’s raw, and that’s where its character comes from. From the peeling bark of eucalypts, to the ancient tree ferns that look more at home on the set of Jurassic Park, to the goldens bursts of wattle in spring, there's untold beauty in the Australian bush. 

Final Reflections 

While there’s immense value in learning and drawing inspiration from international photographers, we ought to critically consider whether their approach and techniques are suited locally. Instead of pining for exotic landscapes across the globe, there’s value in embracing our own imperfect, untamed geography.  

Since moving to Melbourne, I’ve had fewer opportunities to capture glorious seascape sunrises. Yet in its place, I’ve developed a richer appreciation for the Australian bush. I’ve come to feel at home in the ancient forest of the Yarra Ranges and on the high granite outcrops of the Grampians. 

While we’re not limited by our geography, it undoubtedly influences our development as photographers. It shapes how we see the natural world and what we highlight in our images. Our geography is the reason I wake in the early hours in the pursuit of glorious morning light, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.