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.
Like many mountain dwellers here in the Canadian Rockies, I had my share of “seasons” working summer or winter jobs in various locations in Banff National Park before I finally put down some roots. My first, more permanent, move to Banff was in 2008. The town has provided the ultimate base for exploring for 10 years now.
For nearly a decade, Paul Zizka has dedicated himself to exploring the seldom-visited corners of the Canadian Rockies and producing the most original and innovative photographs he can muster. As a photographer and adventurer, he is drawn to the extraordinary. His body of work is the result of both countless nights spent outdoors and demanding ascents of the Rockies’ highest peaks.
I’ll admit it: the northern lights are intoxicating. For many years I’ve been drawn to cold, northerly destinations, both as a photographer and an adventurer. And beyond the desolate beauty and landscapes of these locations, whether it’s Greenland or Canada’s northern territories, it’s icing on the cake that they also provide us with the best opportunities to shoot the aurora borealis.
During the darkest hours of the night, while the rest of the world is sleeping, outdoor photographer Paul Zizka ventures out into the wilderness in search of the world’s starriest skies. His journey to photograph the celestial wonders takes him from his home amongst the peaks of the Canadian Rockies to the wild, desert dunes of Namibia and remote ice caps of Greenland. Ever the adventurer, he must balance his work and passion for photography with his equal devotion as a family man. In the Starlight is an intimate portrayal of Paul’s quest to capture the night skies, and what his time spent under the stars has taught him about life, love, adventure, and our place in the universe.
I took this black-and-white on a shooting marathon at Mount Assiniboine a few years ago. I only had two nights in the area and the conditions were so good I went without sleep to make the most of the opportunity. I went everything over those 48 hours: in thunderstorms, fresh snow, aurora borealis, inversions, fogbows, you name it. And it was late September, that time of year when the larches are glowing gold – arguably the best time of year for photography in Mount Assiniboine Provincial Park.
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.
