Some places pull you back over and over again. For me, this summit in the Mt. Rose Wilderness was one of those places.
For nearly five years, I rode my snowmobile four days a week up to this ridge, chasing a sunset that felt just out of reach. The trek wasn't easy without a sled, it would have been hours of hiking each way in mostly deep snow with a lot of vert. But with the right timing and conditions, this location had the potential to deliver one of the most breathtaking views over Lake Tahoe. At least I believed it could.
The problem? It never quite happened.
Winter sunsets are tricky. Most of the time, you either have clear skies or itās dumping snowāneither of which creates the dramatic colors I was looking for. The rare cocktail it takes when storms were either rolling in or clearing out, were the golden windows of opportunity. Pair that with timing, snow-pack, snow safety, and sunset really made this challenging for me. And every time I stayed home and saw a stunning sunset from the lake, I regretted not making the trip up. That fear of missing out (FOMO) kept pulling me back up the mountain.
This location was something like 30-45 minutes of sledding, assuming everything went smoothly. Some days, the weather shut me down completely before I even left the driveway. Other times, I made the trip, only to be met with flat light, whiteouts, or skies that just wouldnāt deliver. The ride itself wasnāt always easy either. Iām now a confident snowmobiler, but at the time, I was still getting my bearings. Sledding out in the full dark after sunset always carried some level of risk. If my machine had broken down, Iād be stuck with two options: hike out in the dark through whatever snow conditions existed, or bivvy in the forest and wait for daylight. Most of the time, I went alone. But on the night everything finally came together, my buddy Abe Blair happened to be there tooālucky guy.
When the sky exploded with color, I couldnāt believe what I was seeing. After years of chasing this shot, it was finally happening. Abe and I were jumping for joy, totally blown away as the sky lit up in pinks, and fiery oranges, painting the entire landscape in surreal light. It was one of those moments where all the effort, all the frustration, all the failed attemptsāsuddenly made sense. Photography is often a solo pursuit, but Iāve always believed that lifeās biggest moments are better when shared. Having Abe there that night made it all the more meaningful.
This image, āWindswept Reverie,ā wasnāt just a single frame. To do justice to the scale and beauty of the moment, and to maximize the resolution of the image, I shot it as a 16-image panoramic, using my Canon 5D Mark III and a 24-70mm lensāa combo I still stand by today. If I had to pick just one lens to carry for the rest of my life that Iāve owned, itād be the Canon 24-70mm. Itās a workhorse, and I donāt baby my gearāsnow, rain, dust, I donāt mind.
Five years. Probably hundreds of trips. One perfect night.
This photo isnāt just about capturing a landscapeāitās about the dedication, persistence, and obsession that go into creating something meaningful. Now, this moment lives on as a fine art print, a reminder that the best things in life arenāt handed to usātheyāre chased, over and over again, until we finally get them.
