A photo portrait from a family trip through Romania and Bulgaria. Each country was distinctly different from the other due to different influences in their histories and modern-day trajectories. In Romania, we largely spent our time in the gorgeous Transylvania region with its Saxon-influenced architecture, folklore (you might be familiar with Dracula), and the mountainous countryside that linked our journey from town to town. In Bulgaria, we journeyed cross-country to visit more diverse parts of the country, including the mind-boggling rock formations of Belogradchick, the Medieval city of Veliko Tarnovo, the seaside resort town of Sozopol and the Madara national historical-archeological reserve.
Here in our mountain landscapes, there exist individuals whose passion is as big as the peaks that cradle them. These intrepid souls are artisans of altitude; their canvas is the very terrain that challenges them. Here are just a few of my favourite images from over the years.
I’ve been photographing ice since the very early stages of my career. Whether glaciers, ice caves, frozen lakes, or mountaintops, I would continuously find myself drawn to cold landscapes in search of ice in its many forms, textures, and hues. Icescapes are among the most dynamic, visually exciting, and rewarding places a photographer can document. But as I spent more time shooting ice, it became apparent that I was capturing something that is vanishing.
Rust-red roofs and sand-coloured buildings set again the azure blue of the Adriatic Seas. Quaint and historic towns that feel like a storybook in real life. Wild skies and crashing waves that keep a photographer on his toes. This, in a nutshell, was our family trip through the Western Balkans.
On a mission to document vanishing ice across the globe, I found myself in Ecuador back in February — a South American nation named for its position on the Equator. You may wonder why I’m chasing ice on the Equator, but Ecuador is home to Andean peaks towering up to 6,310 metres. It turns out that the country’s stratovolcanoes are home to a number of receding glaciers.
Iceland has long captivated me with its dramatic landscapes shaped by volcanic activity. Even before I became a photographer, I was enthralled by this island. At the conclusion of my undergrad in Earth and Ocean Sciences, I walked across Iceland and became familiar with its rugged terrain. Since then, I have returned several times, including this month when the Sundhnúkagígar eruption occurred.
It seems impossible to take a bad photo in Mongolia. With towering sand dunes that glow during magic hour, vast landscapes that seem to stretch on for eternity, and welcoming people who share their traditional way of life and—a photographer will find endless possibilities. It’s no wonder that OFFBEAT returned to the “Land of the Eternal Blue Sky” this June to host two photography workshops: The Gobi Desert and The Wild West.
Earlier this year, I was fortunate to spend an entire month in Greenland, a place that feels like my second home. This trip, which marked my 6th visit to the island country known as Kalaallit Nunaat in Greenlandic and Grønland in Danish, involved leading two OFFBEAT photography workshops in familiar locations and working on a tourism photography project at a destination that was new to me. Despite revisiting several places, natural wonders such as ice, water, and northern lights made each experience unique.
On a mission to document vanishing ice across the globe, I found myself in Ecuador back in February — a South American nation named for its position on the Equator. You may wonder why I’m chasing ice on the Equator, but Ecuador is home to Andean peaks towering up to 6,310 metres. It turns out that the country’s stratovolcanoes are home to a number of receding glaciers.
This time around, play time meant finding ourselves camping on the Greenland ice sheet for three nights, about 50 kilometres away from the closest settlement, Kangerlussuaq. Our main purpose over those few days was to document supraglacial lakes, these surreal, turquoise bodies of water that have proliferated along the edge of the ice cap recently.
It always seemed so unattainable to me. But after two days at sea, and a year of anticipation, I was mesmerized when we first caught sight of a few rocks off Elephant Island through the thick fog – harbingers of our imminent arrival on the fabled White Continent. There is no wilder place on Earth, nowhere more remote, more inhospitable.
