Taking My Time in the Lowcountry

September 30th, 2026

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They say life moves slower in South Carolina’s Lowcountry. Turns out, there’s a lot worth slowing down for.

Most mornings on this trip started before sunrise. Climbing down from the rooftop tent, lighting the stove, waiting for water to boil. Coffee on the tailgate while the world was still mostly dark. Then the GPS telling me to proceed to the route, the radio turned up, and another morning ahead.

Those little routines became the opening of this film. They were part of the experience, and I wanted to remember them alongside everything I went out to photograph.

Our trip took me through misty forests, tidal marshes, and beaches lined with weathered trees. I went out hoping to find wildlife and good light, but some of the moments I enjoyed most happened between those plans.

Watching fog move across the water. Walking a boardwalk without knowing what might be around the next bend. Taking a little longer on the way to the beach because something along the path caught my attention.

I still had plenty of mornings when I wanted to get somewhere quickly. A promising sunrise will do that. But once I arrived, there was usually a reason to stay a little longer.

That’s what I wanted this film to to capture what it felt like: spending some time here, looking around, and letting a few small discoveries unfold.

Photography was a big part of the trip, but so was being there with my family.

The afternoons had a different pace: time in the water, exploring, and enjoying the coast together. I wanted some of that in the film because it belongs in my memory of this place just as much as the early mornings alone with a camera.

The film ends with me walking toward the ocean after sunset and stopping to take it in. After days of driving, walking, watching, and filming, that felt like the right place to leave it.

I kept this film horizontal to give the landscapes, and the life moving through them. Watch in 4K with the sound on, and give yourself a couple of minutes to settle in.

Where should I take the next field journal? I’d love to hear about a place you think deserves a closer look.

Find wonder.

Sometimes You Have to Choose

September 9th, 2026

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One of the things I rarely think about until I’m actually out there is how much of an adventure comes down to choosing.

Not just where to go.

What to look for.

On almost every morning I spend outside, there are several versions of the day waiting for me.

I can stay near the water and hope something moves along the shoreline.

I can disappear into the woods and listen for birds waking somewhere above me.

I can find an opening in the trees and wait for the first good light.

Or I can climb.

That was the decision waiting for me on this particular morning at Brasstown Bald.

Part of me wanted to stay down low.

Early morning is one of my favorite times to look for wildlife. The world is quieter. Animals are moving. The light slowly begins reaching places that only minutes earlier were hidden in darkness.

There was every reason to stay.

But there was another possibility waiting higher up the mountain.

Sunrise.

So I started climbing.

Before that came the drive, a winding mountain road almost completely swallowed by darkness.

Then the trail.

For a while, there wasn't much to see beyond the small piece of the world immediately around me. Brush crowded either side of the path as I made my way toward the top.

And then the trail opened.

The observation building appeared ahead of me as a silhouette against a sky that had already begun changing color.

Beyond it were the mountains.

Layer after layer disappearing toward the horizon.

Below them, fog rested in the valleys and slowly moved between the ridges like water.

The sky brightened.

Colors deepened.

And for a while, nothing dramatic happened.

The world simply became more visible.

Then the first edge of the sun appeared.

It’s strange how much uncertainty can disappear in a moment like that.

A few minutes earlier, I had still been wondering about the morning I hadn't chosen.

What wildlife might have been moving below me.

What photograph I might have found somewhere else.

But watching the sun rise above those mountains, I wasn't thinking about any of it.

I was just there.

I think that’s something I’m slowly learning through all of this.

There probably isn’t a perfect adventure.

There will always be another trail you could have followed.

Another animal you might have found.

Another patch of light happening somewhere you couldn't see.

Choosing one thing means missing another.

Maybe the goal isn't to make the perfect choice.

Maybe it’s to choose, and then be completely present for whatever you find on the other side of it.

That morning, I chose the climb.

Watching fog move through the valleys beneath Brasstown Bald while the sun appeared over the horizon…

I think I made the right decision.

Find wonder.

Stay Long Enough

August 23rd, 2026

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Yesterday morning didn't exactly go as planned.

I got up early, gathered all my gear, drove out before sunrise, and then realized I'd forgotten my memory cards.

Not exactly the best way to start a morning of photography.

There wasn't much I could do about it at that point, so I stayed and watched the sunrise. And honestly, it was beautiful. I enjoyed being out there, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bummed that I couldn't photograph any of it.

So when I headed back out the next morning, I was definitely eager to try again.

I got there before sunrise, while the trees were still mostly silhouettes and there was just a little bit of pink starting to show along the horizon. The crickets were still going, and a thick layer of fog had settled over the fields.

I didn't really have much of a plan.

I just started walking.

The farther I went, the more the morning started to change. The sky went from pink to purple and blue, the fog hung over the fields, and eventually the sun started breaking through the trees.

It was just a really nice morning to be outside.

I found a couple of woodpeckers high in the trees. I stopped for a spider web covered in moisture and found a spider sitting right in the middle of it. I walked the paths, crossed the bridge, watched the fog, and just took my time.

And honestly, I would have been perfectly happy if that had been the morning.

But just about the time I was getting ready to wrap things up, I started noticing American goldfinches.

Goldfinches aren't exactly rare around here, but for whatever reason they've been pretty good at avoiding me when I have my camera. I've seen them plenty of times, but getting photographs of them that I've actually been happy with has been a different story.

So, of course, I stayed a little longer.

I watched them move around the tops of the trees and finally had a few opportunities to make some photographs.

Then, while I was still hanging around, I noticed a hummingbird moving through some nearby flowers.

At that point, I definitely wasn't leaving.

I watched it make its way from flower to flower and tried to keep up with it through the camera. Eventually it flew over to a branch and sat there for a little while, giving me another chance to photograph it.

Standing there after everything that had happened over the previous two mornings, I couldn't help but laugh a little.

The day before, I'd gone out hoping to make photographs and forgotten the one thing I needed to actually do it.

This morning, I really didn't go out looking for anything in particular. I was mostly just grateful to be back outside with a camera that actually had memory cards in it.

And somehow, just as I was getting ready to leave, the goldfinches showed up.

Then the hummingbird.

It almost felt like nature had saved the best for last.

Maybe that's part of what I enjoy so much about mornings like this.

You really don't know what you're going to find.

Sometimes it's a great sunrise. Sometimes it's fog hanging over a field. Sometimes it's a spider web you probably would have walked right past if you weren't paying attention.

And every once in a while, just when you think you're done for the morning, a goldfinch or a hummingbird gives you a reason to stick around a little longer.

I don't think yesterday was a wasted morning because I forgot my memory cards. I still got to watch a beautiful sunrise, and maybe having to simply stand there and enjoy it wasn't such a bad thing.

But I was definitely grateful to have another morning to come back out.

And I'm really glad I stayed as long as I did.

Just Beyond

August 17th, 2026

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I've been to San Francisco plenty of times for work, but until this trip, that was really all of California I knew.

Airport. City. Hotel. Work. Home.

I'd been that close to all of these places for years. I'd just never gone any farther.

This time, I had the opportunity to change that.

And I felt like a kid in a candy store.

It seemed like everywhere I went there was something I'd never seen before.

Tule elk moving through the fog. California quail sitting on fence posts and rocks. Coyotes working their way across the hillsides. Seals piled onto rocks along the coast. Owls tucked away in trees. Raptors seemingly everywhere.

I finally saw an American kestrel, which was a total fan girl moment for me. The picture I got is terrible. I don't even care. I was just excited to finally see one.

There were bigger moments too.

I watched a coyote work its way down a hillside, suddenly pounce on something in the grass, eat it, and keep moving.

I watched an egret hunt until it caught a fish.

One foggy morning I watched elk slowly appear and disappear into the mist.

And one evening, after the sun had already gone down, I found two bull elk on top of a ridge sparring against this deep blue sky. There wasn't much light left, so eventually all I could really see were their silhouettes and their antlers coming together.

That ended up being one of my favorite moments of the entire trip.

But I think what has stayed with me most is the thought that all of this had been here the entire time.

I'd flown into San Francisco over and over again. I'd gotten off the plane, done what I came there to do, and flown home.

And just beyond the little piece of California I'd gotten used to were redwood forests, fog-covered hillsides, rocky coastlines, and more wildlife than I knew where to point my camera.

This time, I had an opportunity to go a little farther.

So I took it.

And it makes me wonder how often we stop at the edge of what's familiar simply because that's where we've always stopped.

Maybe the next possibility isn't always somewhere completely different.

Maybe sometimes it's just beyond where we've gone before.

I came home with way more photos and video than I knew what to do with, but I put some of my favorite moments together so I could share a little bit of what I got to experience out there.

A Weekend in the Wild

August 3rd, 2026

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There wasn't a destination this weekend.

No rare species I was hoping to find.

No big plan.

Just a few mornings and evenings outside with my camera.

I spent some time on the lake, explored a creek, wandered through green meadows, and came home with photographs I enjoyed.

But looking back, I don't think that's what I'll remember most.

What stays with me is the feeling of being outside without needing anything extraordinary to happen.

The fog over the water.

A quiet trail.

The sound of insects settling in as evening arrived.

Lately, I'm beginning to think those are the moments I carry home with me.