Through the Lens of the Trail

In high school, while most of my classmates flipped past the black-and-white pages of their history books,  suddenly I paused, captivated by a photo. It wasn’t just any photo. It was Ansel Adams’ iconic shot of Half Dome, a granite monolith that stood like a sentinel in Yosemite. The light, the shadow, the stillness—it said everything words couldn't. That moment, with a textbook cracked open to a random page, was when my story truly began.

I whispered to myself, “One day, I’ll stand there. I’ll see that with my own eyes.”

Years later, boots laced and heart racing. The climb to Half Dome was brutal. Miles of switchbacks, sheer drop-offs, and the final push up slick cables. But when I reached the top, MY breath caught, not from the thin air, but from the view. Camera in hand, I framed MY  shot, the same angle I once dreamed of. Click. A promise kept.

That was just the beginning.

Hiking became more than just a hobby; it was MY way of connecting—with nature, with MYSELF, with something deeper. I chased waterfalls through the desert canyons of Havasupai, turquoise water flowing like a dream beneath towering red rock walls. I conquered the infamous 6 Peak Challenge in California with friends, always with MY camera swinging gently from MY shoulder. I stood on the summit of three of California’s tallest mountains, where the world dropped away below ME and clouds moved like whispers across the sky.

MY photos evolved as I did—from sweeping aerial shots taken by drone, to intimate portraits of strangers met along the trail, to landscapes that looked almost too perfect to be real. Each image told a story. Each step I took reminded ME  of that school project, that spark.

I wasn’t just chasing views anymore.

I was capturing proof that dreams whispered to yourself as a teenager can still echo into OUR adult life—and lead you to the very top.