The First Photos

The first photos. The selection process has begun. There isn’t much writing involved, but I’ll post about my other book work here because, well, it’s a book. Twelve Months at Hurricane Ridge is finally in process. It will take a few months, but I’ve started selecting which photos will be considered to be included in the book, the online gallery, and maybe a physical gallery. Here’s a bit of the process.

Without any great intent, I’ve been creating and producing Twelve Month studies. Hurricane Ridge will be the 14th. It started by accident.

I enjoy nature. Hiking expanded to include snowshoeing and cross-country skiing. The skiing was elegant or lift-assisted. It was backpacking on waxless skis and walking on effectively long, skinny snowshoes. Lots of grunting and sweating was involved. 

Every weekend, I’d try to find a new place to hike to, but life became stressful. (Details withheld for privacy concerns. Sorry.) Finding a new place every week after decades of trips became frustrating at the time and comical now. They’re not making more land; it’s going to get tougher, dude.

Frustration turned into what I felt was a retreat from accomplishing the Pacific Northwest ideal. I decided to go back to a place I’d been weeks before. Boring, right? Yes. No. But I did it to get out of the house, into nature, and moving. Another week, another capitulation. Life was tough enough to manage without trying to invent new ventures. A few more weeks, and the trailhead was closed for the season. Fine. Park and walk. Several more weeks, and the road was progressively closed as the snows arrived. 

Before I even got out the skis, I recognized something unexpected. I was walking the road I’d driven on several times, and was finally noticing the countryside. Forest Service roads can require concentration, so I’d focused on the road, not on the approach valley. It was a nice valley. I’d been grinding gravel, dodging potholes and traffic, and not noticing the forest, the streams along and across the road. If the trailhead started here, miles from the regular trailhead, it would still be worth the trip.

I was visiting the same place, week after week, and seeing something different. Months of snowshoeing and skiing inevitably led to Spring, when a mountain bike made more sense for getting past drifts and washouts. Summer put things back to ‘normal’. 

Cool. Nice.

Fast forward a few years. 

I realized that there were very few books about an entire year in the Washington Cascades. The beauty was there, as was the ecological story. The talent lived in the area. The adventurers lived in the area. But, from what my casual experiences in bookstores told me was that there were no ‘Twelve Month’ studies. The talent had a tendency to take on such projects in places like the Himalayas. The adventurers went there too. Those who stayed in the area tended to focus on a season of a region. Good. 

Well, if someone isn’t doing it, and I thought it should be done, then I had no reason not to do it. I write. I am a photographer. Get to it. 

Lakes are obvious photo targets. They provide gaps in the forest canopy for the Sun to shine through. Lakes are also good hiking destinations. Humans gotta have water. One lake wouldn’t do, not in Washington’s Cascades. The west side is the wet side, and includes temperate rainforests. The dry side gets forest fires and is more open. The crest of the Cascades is borderline alpine, where white ground is the norm. Find three lakes along one mountain highway, and get to work.

And so the trilogy,
Twelve Months at Barclay Lake,
Twelve Months at Lake Valhalla, and
Twelve Months at Merritt Lake
was born.

Twelve months of nature’s story as translated by me, a fairly pedestrian hiker. 

The books were mostly narratives, but one response was a request for prints of the photos. I’d included one per month, one per chapter. Really? Okay. And my photo ‘career’ had begun.

Skip ahead to my move to Whidbey, where I was asked to write about how I’d retired at 38. Uh, sure. Okay. Oh. A best-selling author in the genre encouraged me to write it, thanks, and to publish it as they republished their phenomenal work. Okay, but I’d planned on doing Twelve Month studies from various parts of Whidbey Island’s natural waterfronts. Hmm. Type words for finance, and simply take photos for the Twelve Month studies. 

Eventually, I’d produce and publish both: Dream. Invest. Live., and Twelve Months at ten sites on the island.

Skipping lots of details, but this post is already long, and there’s more to come.

Because Whidbey became too unaffordable, I sold my house, fortunately after finishing the tenth Twelve Month series, and moved to Port Townsend. Hello, Olympic National Park, one of the most varied National Parks that I’ve visited. Hurricane Ridge is at 5,000 feet. Kalaloch is on the beach. The Hoh River is a protected temperate rainforest. Lake Crescent is a long mountain lake with a lodge. Staircase is an entry into deep wilderness. And there’s more.

For 2025, I did what I usually do, try to visit the place a few times each month, take photos of nature without agenda, – and that’s it. But it’s not just that.

By personal desire, I tend to be a minimalist in my photography. Each photo is defined by the frame of the camera, i.e., minimal cropping. – Pardon a pause as I try to think if it’s fancier than that. Nope. Do that for twelve months. 

Then, again by personal choice, pick four photos per month: two verticals, two horizontals. Review all of the photos to see what themes revealed themselves through what my eyes saw and the camera caught.

Start with hundreds or thousands of photos. Set aside the blurred and the mistakes. Review all of them to limit repetition, unless it can be made into a time-lapse. Downselect to 48. Polish off dust and such. Straighten horizons. Adjust brightness, contrast, white balance, etc., hopefully minimally. Declare it done after producing the book that may include some narratives. Plan for and possibly produce online and in-real-world exhibits. Celebrate if I get to give presentations.

It is January 2026. I started reviewing the January 2025 photos. I am also writing the third book in my scifi trilogy (The First Words), so there’s a lot of book work going on. And, soon, I should be collecting photos for the next photo book, Twelve Months at Kalaloch Beach. 

Twelve Months at Hurricane Ridge will be built from 48 images out of a thousand or two. I haven’t counted. Selecting the photos becomes a mix of Christmas and Halloween. There are some surprises. ‘I took that?!’ And there are some disappointments. ‘Surely there’s four good photos in that month. Surely, but which ones?’ At least I was fortunate enough to get to Hurricane Ridge every month. Winter storms and spring washouts are natural reasons to change expectations and plans.

I’d intended to describe more of the process, but I also realized that it has been a while since I described what prompted the publications. There will be other posts.

One day, I witnessed a reason for me to not judge my work or the process. Sure, I’ll use my judgment, but I’ll also trust the world. It was my month to have a wall in the gallery. My latest edition was up, and I was sitting on the side, keeping the gallery owner company. We chatted as someone walked in the door. Most people visit for a distraction. Some treat it as a museum. Of course, the gallery is there to sell art. We chatted as this person browsed the walls, then stopped at mine. And they paused. And we shut up. And they stared at a photo. It was a photo that I wasn’t proud of, but there weren’t many that month, so I printed it. They bought it, to my surprise. I asked them why. Their paraphrased response was “It makes me feel so peaceful.” We thanked them. They left.

I don’t always know why I do what I do, but moments like that encourage me to keep doing it. We can’t know the extent of the impact we can make. But somehow, my process produced peace for one person. I guess I’ll keep doing what I do.