Jagged peaks and sweeping view. Photography in the mountains makes for many a bold image. And while Australia may be lacking in this subject, I’m eager to expand my portfolio and capture more moments of solitude from on high.
Some glorious evening light in the unforgiving High Country.
A serene evening overlooking Lake Carezza. All was calm across the water as the mighty spires of the Dolomites caught the fading light.
A glorious moment over the rugged and remote Western Arthurs, deep in Tasmania’s South West Wilderness.
I ventured out to the Grampians, chasing the lure of a cold front set to roll through on dusk. I arrived an hour before sunset with strong winds sending the clouds streaming overhead. After scoping the scene for a composition, I set my camera and tripod in position ready to go. Time to watch and wait.
As the light fell, the front passed through on time—bringing with it the rain and the cold. Exposed on the cliff top, I flung a jacket over my gear and then used myself as a shield to guard against the rain blowing in from the west. After a healthy drenching, the clouds began to lift. The camera survived—to my great relief—and I fired off a few frames before the setting sun dipped below the horizon.
A magical moment within one of Australia’s great National Parks
After a week of thick cloud and snowfall, a break in the weather saw us take to the skies. Venturing west we soared over Lake Manapouri, gaining altitude until our heads—and cameras—were up in the clouds over Doubtful Sound. As the sun set over the Tasman Sea it bathed these mighty peaks in light.
With clear skies forecasted over Tasmania’s remote southwest region, I chartered a scenic flight over the Western Arthurs. Taking off before dawn, we were greeted by golden light illuminating sights like Lake Oberon and Federation Peak—crowned “Australia’s only real mountain” by Sir Edmund Hillary.
During my Tassie trip, I picked up a second-hand copy of Pedder Dreaming. It chronicles Olegas Truchanas—photographer and adventurer—and the efforts of a passionate few to save Lake Pedder from needless damming in the 1970s.
Progress marched on and so did the rising waters. The reservoir drowned ecosystems and the pink quartzite beach that would appear like sweeping piano keys each summer.
Yet the campaign sparked a spirited conservation movement that would save the Franklin River a decade later.
This scene shows a tiny fragment of the reservoir that’s still known as Lake Pedder. On the surface, it’s decidedly beautiful. But it’s a shallow substitute for the wilderness that once was.
The mountains of Fiordland come alive with fleeting falls during heavy downpours.