After a hike, our top care as photographers often is: Did we get the shot?
Yet the more interesting question is: What meaning flows from this experience?
The meaning might be forged from our effort and achievement. It might spring from solitude or a sudden spark of clarity. It might stem from collective awe, shared alongside our nearest and dearest.
These moments of meaning are personal, subjective and often ineffable. But they matter.
They shape us and sustain us. And the one I experienced last weekend resonated with me far more than the frame I returned with.
The hike to Cape Raoul
I’d seen the Tasman Peninsula twice before. In 2016, I went on a boat tour around Cape Huay with my family. And in 2021, I took my dad on an aerial flight over Tasman Island at daybreak.
But I’d never seen it from the ground. So with a balmy 16-degree forecast, it was time to dust off the shorts and head out to hike Cape Raoul.
The five-hour return track took us through fragrant gum forests and around sweeping clifftop lookouts. And we were soon joined by plenty of locals: paddymelons, possums, fairy wrens, kookaburras and even a shy echidna.
It was mid-afternoon and we passed a steady stream of hikers on their way back. A few of them questioned, with equal measures of curiosity and care: You’re heading out, now?
Yeah, I replied. We’re chasing sunset down by the cliffs.
As scenic as that plan was, it did mean walking back for two hours after dark. Luckily, we packed our headlamps and sense of adventure.
That’s the pain and the pleasure of photographers following the light. (And those who join us on our wild adventures. Thanks, Ryan.)
On reverie
Those close to me know I like to plan – in life and in photography.
I do my research. I track the weather a week out to give myself every chance of getting the best shot.
The wind on Saturday looked mild. The cloud cover was predicted to be light. And the sun would set to the south and light the open cliff face.
The conditions seemed ideal. I was ready.
Yet as we walked down the trail, the wispy clouds began to close in. And when we reached the viewpoint, the clouds had blocked the sun completely.
The view was fantastic. Dolerite columns soared 300m straight out of the Southern Ocean. But the light was forgettable. It was nice, but it wasn’t noteworthy – and not every photography session is.
So I ventured back to capture intimate scenes of the exposed scrub. Windblasted shrubs twisted and turned, looking for purchase in the stony soil. Branches lay leeward against the howling winds.
Of late, I’ve enjoyed photographing these smaller scenes secluded in the wider landscape. Slowing down to notice details you might otherwise overlook nourishes a contemplative stillness.
And then I was jolted from that solitude to enter a state of pure reverie.
The clouds to the west began to lighten and glow a butter yellow. Here we go. So I packed up my tripod and bolted back to the cliff-edge viewpoint. (I mean: I walked responsibly, Mum.)
For a few fleeting moments, the sun broke through and painted the cliffs crimson. Ryan and I looked at each other in disbelief as we both fired off some frames.
The contrast was silly stunning. The cool clouds overhead intensified the ice-blue waves below. While the towering cliffs and columns glowed red.
I was lost in the moment, overcome by the dazzling display before day’s end.
A few minutes later, the sun had set and plunged the scene back into shadow. It was time for headlamps and the return trek. I was buzzing the whole way back.
On reward
For someone who plans and predicts my days, photography and writing are how I reach beyond the logic that rules my life. Art shatters the rigid walls of reason – and I find that power equally terrifying and terrific.
Artistic expression is how many of us share the more sensitive, reflective parts of ourselves. It’s central to how we make meaning from our experiences.
The scene that evening remains frozen in my frame. (A worthy reward in itself.)
But what’s not shown in the frame is that the moment was shared with a top mate – both of us losing our minds at the light show for two atop the cliff. What’s not shown is that it was even more noteworthy as it was his first half-day hike in Tassie.
Ascribing meaning to our experiences is an ever-evolving journey of presence and reflection.
Sometimes the resonance is immediate. Other times, it comes into focus long after the person or event has faded.
After a long Tassie winter and too few outdoor adventures, the hike to Cape Raoul was a pivot point.
It sparked me to write my first article here in four months. It gave me a deeper appreciation for shared moments of serendipity. It became a chapter marker in this craft that remains a throughline through my life.
The reward of photography is far more than the frames we return with. The richer reward is the meaning we make from our experiences.