Sorry, I know it’s been a while since my last update. I’ve been working on some other things, off on different adventures, and dealing with a whole mess behind the scenees. If you’d like to watch a video of my trip, please do so here!

I’d also really appreciate it if you subscribed! Otherwise, feel free to keep reading!

Mongolia is an astounding place. It’s a land so vast, a culture so rich, and an experience unlike any other.

To the east, there are endless pristine, untouched grasslands, one of the last of its kind on Earth. In the south, the world famous Gobi Desert, the largest cold winter desert in the world. Over by the west, the stunning Altai Mountains, reaching over 4000m (13,123ft) tall and over 2500km (1500 miles) in length. And finally up in the north, alpine forests interconnected by extensive networks of lakes and wetlands.

Despite being the coldest capital city in the world, Ulaanbaatar (shortened to Ubi by locals) is home to over 1.7 million people - just about half of Mongolia’s entire population of 3.6 million. The other half are scattered across the land, an area three times the size of Spain.

This makes Mongolia the least densely populated country on earth, and each time we’d step outside the city, that fact made itself very apparent. Outside the city, it’s just us, a couple Land Cruisers, and the land. No concrete, no asphalt, no infrastructure, nothing. Not even a dirt road. Out here it was just…magical.

After taking what would be my last proper shower for the next month, we fly west to the Khovd aimag, starting our search for cats across the expansive Altai Mountain range.

Irves, Uulin Ezen, the Ghost of the Mountain.

In this part of the world, the snow leopard holds many titles. She lives up to them all, and its not hard to see why.

Mystical, invisible, and domineering. A presence commanding, yet fleeting. At altitudes of over 5000 metres, the snow leopard is the only apex predator in the world that finds itself comfortable at these heights, where oxygen levels are half that of sea level.

It’s in these jagged cliff edges, rocky outcrops, and deep ravines that the cats call home. With the elevation granting them watch over their territory, the terrain offers them shelter from unexpected guests, like myself.

With a coat that perfectly matches their surroundings, every sighting of this elusive creature feels like a gift. Day after day, we drove, climbed, hiked, and sat for hours on end, hoping for just a glimpse of this beautiful animal.

Granting us anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours of their time, these moments, as distant and fleeting as they were, felt like nothing short of magic.

The respect these cats command is well deserved. Mongolian winters are harsh and unforgiving, often dropping well below -50 celsius. The Altai is steep, and its surface entirely loose. The air is thin, and so is the availability of prey. After all, these conditions tend to be quite incompatible with life.

As such, snow leopards tend to be opportunistic hunters, happy to eat anything they can get their massive paws on.

Largely solitary, not super territorial, and a fan of treks - up to 30km (19 miles) a day. If it wasn’t already hard enough to find these cats, they really don’t care to stay in one spot. Being the only apex predator around comes with many benefits, and with such a large home, they disguise themselves well in the terrain.

There are less than 5,000 snow leopards left in the wild. With about 1,000 individuals, Mongolia has the second largest population of snow leopards in the world, behind China. And in this specific 50km (31 miles) radius of the Altai, there are at best, no more than 5.

Over here in western Mongolia, it’s been an incredibly warm winter, adding to the challenge. With the thickets fur coats of all the big cats, snow leopards linger at high altitudes to prevent themselves from overheating.

Unfortunately for us, “warm” in Mongolia is still -20c (-4f).

It doesn’t get too cold for these cats until it’s about -30c (-22f) or -40c (-40f), where they’ll then descend to lower altitudes, making them ever so slightly easier to spot.

Classed as a big cat, snow leopards grow to about 1.5m (4ft 11in) in length, and weigh about 55kg (120lbs). Despite sounding quite small, it’s easy to forget that they’re pure muscle and have a bite strength of up to 600 PSI. Our domestic cats at home are only good for up to 70 PSI.

Snow leopards are the best jumpers of all the cats. With extremely powerful hind legs, they’re capable of leaping distances of over 15m, a ridiculous 10 times their height.

Snow leopards have some of the longest tails of any cats, growing easily as long as their bodies. In a landscape as slippery, steep, and uneven as this, they need every bit of purchase they can get, swinging their tails around to counter their body weight for maximum balance.

In these valleys, cliff edges, and peaks, the main prey of the snow leopard is the Siberian ibex. They occasionally enjoy some pikas, marmots, and birds, but they’re more akin to snacks than a full meal.

With the climate changing so rapidly, so must the behaviors of the cats. Less prey means casting a wider net, often one that includes livestock from local herders. One problem compounding into the other, the snow leopard finds itself waging a war on two fronts - all by itself. Thankfully, our work here means that in exchange for covering the loss of a goat, we’re given information and assistance on locating the leopards, allowing us to cover more ground in our search.

Life in Mongolia is…unique. Its roads unpaved, trails forged new. If you can get there, it’s your right to go. Despite being surrounded by Russia and China, Mongolia has found a way to remain distinctly, uniquely, and unquestionably themselves.

After several days of not-so-great sightings and a couple more days of no sightings at all, we learned that the son of one of our rangers was participating in the annual camel race. Not knowing what to expect, we invited ourselves in and partook in the chaos that ensued.

A hundred camels, a hundred Toyota Prius’ and a hundred Mongolians all decked out in traditional wear, gathering at this seemingly undisclosed location, out at the edges of the Gobi. With no grandstands, stadiums, or race track, spectators joined in the melee and rode alongside with their cars.

Sometimes when I’m out on these trips, I find myself wondering what the hell I’m doing. Stood here, watching the dust fly, the camels run, and the cars race forward towards us, I was definitely wondering that. Luckily, camels run a LOT slower than expected.

Despite the races concluded, the day was not yet over. This parade of camels and priuses marched into town, continuing the festivities with a fashion show.

Pairs of riders wearing heritage outfits from their ancestors, different regions, or different times in history showed off their dress - with their camels matching, of course.

On an average of 260 days out of the year, skies in Mongolia are exceptionally clear. Locals attribute this to Tengri, a sky diety known as the Eternal Blue Sky

Batteries recharged, morale restored, we make a final push in our search for the snow leopard.

Having spotted one running off the side of a cliff, we climbed up to nearly 4000m (13k ft) on our final, and coldest day of the trip thus far. While it was merely a warm -30c (-22f), the relentless winds at this altitude plummeted temperatures to -47c (-52f).

Again, our efforts yielded little result. After hours of bordering on the edge of frostbite, the cat retreated to a cave and showed no signs of leaving. It seems that this time, the lord of the mountain didn’t choose us.

It’s what I love about the outdoors. You can never really know what’s going to happen. Everything can simultaneously go wrong, and right, all at the same time. To be allowed into their home and wander about their backyards, it’s a very special privilege the snow leopards awarded us.

With our time in the Altai mountains at an end, our search for cats brings us to the Eastern Steppe, an area a 12 hours drive away from Ubi.

Gentle, rolling hills, wetlands, and treeless plains, the Eastern Steppe is home to the largest intact temperate grassland on earth. Here, pristine grasslands, the last of its kind, form a massive expanse on which chinggis khan and his army once battled.

It’s out here that we’re looking for the Manul, or Pallas Cat.

The Manul is a little cat - underneath all their fur, they’re not much larger than the average domestic house cat.

Once described by sir David Attenborough as the grumpiest cat in the world, these little guys weigh up to 5kg (11lbs), grow to 65cm (25in) in length, with famously short and stocky legs.

Despite their hilariously cute appearance, to me, the pallas cat’s claim to fame is their fur. It’s the densest of all the cats, more than capable of keeping them warm, even as temperatures plummet beyond any hospitable limit. And that would come into handy, as over in the east, winter had finally arrived, with temps diving down to -50c (-58f) and even colder for the rest of the journey.

It’s cold. Colder than I ever imagined possible. But to the locals, and the cats, it’s just another day.

Out here in the middle of nowhere, the manul hunts on voles, while attempting to keep the golden eagle at bay.

Despite seeming completely flat, the terrain is actually full of valleys and scattered stacks of boulders - a symptom of Mongolia’s extreme temperature fluctuations.

As the seasonal permafrost forms in the winter, and melts in the summer, it quickens the erosion of the land, unearthing these massive boulders and rock deposits that the wildlife here call home.

To get here, we turned off the main road and drove for three hours out into the Sukhbaatar aimag. Again, without so much as a trace of life.

Unlike the snow leopard, reigning the mountains, pallas cats are extremely

skittish, owing to their size.

Catching a glimpse of them outside their burrows is a tricky endeavor, one requiring extreme patience and resilience.

Like the common house cat, the manul are crepuscular, meaning they’re active at dawn and dusk. However, because of the harsh winters, they also tend to hunt during the day, when it’s a little warmer

With slightly more success than out west, the clear skies and good fortune kept rolling in. Far from the auroral oval, the skies still put on a show.

I don’t know why I always find myself drawn to these kinds of environments. Where the air is so cold, every breath bites your lungs, every exhale freezes onto your face and ruins your hair.

But there’s just something about being out here, in the elements, with these animals, getting to live with them in their environments and studying their behaviors

It’s a kind of intimacy, and connection with the world that’s just not present anywhere else.

Being invited into the homes of these cats is truly nothing short of special. On one end, the irves commands respect, and reverence upon entry. On the other, visiting the manul’s home requires an immense amount of time and trust.

Letting your guard down is never really easy. It’s an uncomfortable thing to do, even for us humans with all our knowledge and technology. I think maybe pet owners might relate - when that new cat or dog finally opens up to you after bringing them home for the first time. Earning their trust and getting to see their personalities shine is always a great feeling. And it’s much the same out here, with these cats.

Reusing abandoned marmot burrows, these cats are smart and like to have others do the work for them. Their short stubby legs don’t lend themselves well to digging, after all. Deep snow like what we have here also proves a bit of a challenge.

Instead of chasing after their prey, the manul hides itself near vole burrows, pouncing upon their entry or exit. However, voles are fast, and the air is cold, so the cats can only wait for so long, even despite their immense fur.

Much like our attempt in the west, our expedition out east had an excellent start, a lull in the middle, and an unexpected, but very strong finish. The cats proved elusive, with temps dropping so low that they refused to leave their dens, understandably so.

But you know, getting this insane place all to ourselves, cat or not, well it ain’t too bad.

It’s how it always goes, with things like this right? The more you want to see something, the harder they are to find.

But if there’s one thing that I’ve learned across my life, it’s to just pay attention.

Because, at least for me, the more you focus on something, the less likely you are to see the world around you. And you know, it’s a damn beautiful world out here.

While cats were the main attraction, it’s hard not to fall in love with this astounding landscape and the variety of creatures that inhabit it.

I’ve had the extreme fortune throughout my life, to have visited over 60 countries. I’ve sailed across all the oceans, to all the continents, and nearly all the seas. I’ve seen, done, and felt a lot.

Across all my experiences, Antarctica is the only place that’s truly left me speechless. At an utter loss for words. But after a month of traversing the land, living with these trackers, herders, researchers, and cats, that familiar overwhelming feeling of awe that I experienced down south made a return.

I didn’t know what to expect before coming here. Central Asia had been on my mind for quite a while, but I’d planned to start doing more climbing and mountaineering this year and didn’t really have it on my radar. Instead, I get a call from my friend Karthik, asking if I wanted to come check this place out. and just two months later, here I am, in the middle of nowhere, freezing my butt off, having the time of my life.

It’s fair to say that this has been one of the toughest trips of my life. The weather was brutally and relentlessly cold. I sprained my ankle midway through the first week, making the climbing extremely tough. I learned of the passing of a very dear friend midway through the trip. And to top it all off, I don’t have a single decent photo of a snow leopard.

But on the other hand, it was a month full of laughter, jokes, and a reminder that despite being a team assembled from different ends of the globe, we could all still come together and break bread, have some tea, and spend some time with these amazing animals, in this absolutely astounding slice of Earth.

I’m Ryan. I’m an environmentalist, adventurer, and photographer. Thank you so much for reading and supporting my work. Special thanks to all that made this trip such a great one.

• https://www.steppewildlifetour.com/

• https://wildlensnature.tours/

Dedicated to my dear friend, Gia. Love you, miss you, and I’ll see you soon.

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Day 1:

- Fly from ATL-Winnipeg

Day 2:

- Board the train

- Single track, shared with freight, built on permafrost; delays are very common

- 6pm. Delayed due to a broken down freighter in front. Will need about 5-7hrs for an engine from the town ahead to come pull this broken freighter

Day 2.5:

- 12am, midnight. Someone has taken it upon themselves to crash their car into the train ahead. Yes. The broken down, STATIONARY train that was sitting at an intersection with barriers and lights.

- Police involved, union laws for railway workers kicked in, so estimated time till we get moving again is now “morning”

Day 3:

- We finally start moving again at 9am - a total delay of 18 hours. Explore more of the train, chat with more passengers, back to bed.

Day 4:

- Planned stop at Tompson was reduced from 5hrs to 5mins, so we made back some time from the delay.

- Arrived at Churchill no issue.

- Picked up by my buddy Drew from Discover Churchill

- Sleep

Part 2: The Bears

Day 5:

- Absolutely ridiculous day. Had over 20 close encounters with bears, probably saw about 30-40 total bears that day.

- Mostly moms and cubs, many with two cubs.

- Few single males here and there

- Tourist season ends at the end of Nov, so most restaurants have closed for the winter or it’s the last week that they’re open.

Day 6:

- White out conditions today, lots of sea ice forming so many bears have already left for sea

- Mostly single males, few moms with cubs

- Saw a male try to mess with a silver fox

Day 7:

- Pure insanity. We followed three young males who were sparring for about 4 straight hours.

- They’d wrestle, walk somewhere else, have a nap, repeat. Unbelievable!

Day 8:

- Found a sleepy cross fox

- Momma bear brought her two cubs for us to see!

- Found a momma bear and her cub nursing

Day 9:

- Snowshoe hares! Found two of them, one in town and one outside by some rocks

- Saw an extremely rare event, a collared mom with two cubs, one of them is adopted!!

- Researchers have tracked over 4600 bears across 40 years in this area, only 13 confirmed cases of bear adoption!!

Day 10:

- Blizzard like conditions again today

- Attacked by the Ptarmie army!

- Lots and lots of bears out on ice, very far away

- Saw a Rock Ptarmigan!

Day 11:

- Arctic fox sighting! Dude was zooming across the ice!

- Lots of bears on rocks today

Day 12:

- Hardly any bears today! Saw a couple, but they were just sleeping and resting so not much going on

Day 13:

- Last day of hanging with the bears. Blizzard-like conditions again, hardly saw anything

- Another arctic fox sleeping

- Saw the polar bear jail program - only program of its kind in the world. Naughty bears get put in jail for 30 days, and flown out north when they get released. If the sea ice has formed, they get released directly onto the ice!

- Boarded the train later in the evening!

Episode 3: The Return

Day 14:

- Back on board. In the private sleeper cabin this time!

- The radiator in our cabin broke overnight and was starting to smoke, apparently the fire alarm triggered and everyone had to evacuate, but I was dead asleep in my cabin and no one work me LOL

- Delayed for 5 hours

Day 15:

- It’s kinda lonely in the sleeper train. Spending most of my time outside with the other passengers.

- Editing photos and videos!

Day 17:

- Back in Winnipeg

Day 18:

- Back in ATL

Bye bears!

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Currently, I’m on the northernmost sleeper train in North America. I’m returning to Winnipeg from nearly two weeks of non-stop polar bear viewing with my friends over at Discover Churchill. It’s my last trip of the year, with the itinerary so far having been: Norway, Antarctica, Argentina, Namibia, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, Singapore, Canada.

Reading back that last paragraph, I’m wondering “What’s going on, how the hell did that happen?”

It wasn’t too long ago that I was thinking that I wouldn’t even make it past 25; that some major misfortune would befallen me, or that I’d have taken the express route to the finish line by then.

Just about everything that could have happened, happened, most of which before I even turned 20. Depressing childhood, terrible family relations, many friends mourned, toxic breakups, trapped in the army, all the vices, you name the lot - it all happened.

I was always told what not to do, which just so happened to basically be everything but a doctor, engineer, or businessman. (Many Asians will be familiar with this sentiment). Because of that, I had a habit of just coasting, halfheartedly floundering my way through life to appease people and ideals that didn’t matter to me.

So, maybe, they’ve got a point.

Over a decade into my career as an outdoor photographer, and yeah.

• I make hardly any money, barely enough to feed myself

• I never get to sleep or take breaks; I’m always traveling, editing images, writing this newsletter, scouting for locations, photographing those locations, camping, hiking, tracking animals, emailing clients, editing videos, studying wildlife behavior, printing images, delivering prints, maintaining camera equipment, or doing my taxes

• I’m always so tired I never know what day, month, or year it is

• My body is constantly sore, everything aching from all the physical activity

• I’m in a different bed, drifting off to sleep to unfamiliar ceilings every other night

• I often don’t get a bed at all, having to settle for a sleeping bag or simply, the ground

Thankfully, my stubbornness and my refusal to listen won in the end. Because I did it all anyways, and I couldn’t be happier.

Here’s why:

I’ve watched polar bear cubs nurse from their moms, seen Andromeda rise in the sky. I’ve been honked at by penguins, chased by seals, and scuba dived with sharks. I’ve kayaked next to icebergs, swam with alligators, backpacked across continents, walked with rhinos, and watched the Milky Way set in the darkest skies in the world. I’ve seen the views from mountain peaks, atop dunes, between valleys, beneath caves, and under glaciers.

In my darkest hours, it was never friends or family that saved me. It was always my connection with this planet that inspired me, gave me hope, and kept me going. It was never how much money I made, how big a sale I achieved, how well I performed on an assignment, because I’d found what truly matters - Earth.

No matter what I have to put up with, there simply isn’t a single thing in this world that I’d trade for these experiences.

Because to me, I simply can’t understand what could be more important than the planet that gives us, and all the other creatures on it, life. This is the only known planet in the entire observable universe, across billions of lightyears, that is known to house organic life. We’re a water-based planet, held together by a spinning ball of lava, capable of supporting millions of different species of animals and plants, spinning around one of trillions of suns across billions of galaxies.

What could possibly be more special than being able to bear witness to that?

Well, as far as I’m concerned:

Nothing.

On top of the awe and gratitude I have for this planet, I’m doing this for my friends. Specifically, the ones I’ve lost. What I lacked in blood, I found in friendship. But as life would have it, many of those friends have been lost to time.

As a result, I go on road trips for my friend B, go ice climbing for my friend C, attend concerts for my friend J, go paddling for my friend R. Maybe it’s silly, but I feel a slight obligation to see the world, on their behalf. It’s how I preserve their memory, and commemorate my time with them.

To the me of the past, I have this to say: I’m sorry it took so long to listen to myself and send it. To the me, now - you’re doing alright, I guess. To the future me; keep at it, champ.

To anyone reading - if you’re thinking about quitting your job to go live in a van, about moving to another country, of going on that hike, about buying that camera, of learning how to sew, going back to school, backpacking across Asia, or taking improv classes - just do it.

There’s no need to rush; things all happen in time. But on the other hand, life doesn’t wait for anyone, so go do that thing before you grow to regret it. It’ll figure itself out, and if not, that’s all part of the game; try again another time.

Within reason, of course. Don’t be a menace to society, and don’t do something irresponsible.

Thank you all for reading, as always!

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A quick history lesson:

The panorama is an art style that’s gone extinct and been resurrected several times over, with its origins stemming from over 2,000 years ago. First employed as frescoes in the villa walls of Pompeii and hand scrolls in ancient China, these paintings stretched across their various mediums to depict large, expansive landscapes. At around the same time frame, indigenous Mesoamericans also made use of pictorial writings, known as Mixtec codices, to write long, horizontal messages in a panoramic fashion.

The style eventually lost popularity, before being revived again in the 16th century by the Ottomans, Persians, and Mughals, who painted history in the form of battlefields and scenes of daily life in the cities. Its next reappearance was in the 18th century, when Robert Barker coined the term “panorama” as a portmanteau of the Greek words ‘Pano,’ meaning ‘all,’ and ‘Horama,’ meaning ‘view.’ The art form then took a life of its own, serving as a massive stepping stone to the modern world of projection, photography, and cinema as we know it today.

The art form did, once again, lose popularity after the transition away from the “moving picture” to the more traditional 4x5 or 8x10 camera, and subsequently the 35mm film camera. Though, yet again, the art form has prevailed and come back as our TV’s, cinemas, and phones stretched their displays, lending its format for the broadcast of ultra wide aspect ratios.

Why The Panorama?

Despite the influence of cinema, my upbringing as a Singaporean millennial meant that my first exposure to the panorama was the hand scroll. After all, ultra-wide aspect ratios in film didn’t really come about until the last decade or so, while my childhood was a much longer time ago (oh god). In school, we learned of the hand scroll through art and history classes. At home, hand scrolls were commonplace items that appeared on screen through the various Asian period dramas and anime. Outside, well - Singapore is in Asia, so obviously the overall cultural influences were region-wide.

It’s incredibly difficult to convey the experience of our world - what its really like when you’re standing atop a mountain, dune, or cliff’s edge. When it’s just you, the elements, the ground under your feet, wind in your hair, dirt under your nails. Our eyes are capable of viewing things with a near 180 degree field of view at incredible resolution, yet the images coming out of our phones and cameras lack the ability to come anywhere close to that. In many aspects, cameras still fall far behind our eyes, but its why camera trickery like stitching images comes into handy. More than any kind of photo, painting, or other visual art, the panorama transports you into that slice of world - as the creator experienced it.

This past summer, I was fortunate enough to pay a visit to Singapore’s National Gallery - a combination of the nation’s former Supreme Court and City Hall, converted to an unbelievable neoclassical museum. The incredible structure houses 5 floors of stunning exhibits on display, and as luck would have it, a seemingly unofficial theme of panoramas. The three main ones we visited discussed the works of Fernando Zobel, South East Asian art from the 19th century and earlier, and hand scroll paintings from various centuries, countries, and artists.

So - hand scroll paintings and panoramas, and China’s influence over South East Asia is one that spans thousands of years, so hand scrolls and wide formats were not too foreign a concept to South East Asian artists. But Fernando Zobel? Well, he’s not as far removed from the conversation as one might imagine.

He’s an interesting character - son of the last generation of Spanish colonizers sent to the Philippines, but born in Manila. Initially trained to be a doctor, but upon being bedridden in an injury, took up drawing and painting, pursuing education in that instead. The exhibit was detailed - showing many excerpts from his notebooks that revealed thousands of sketches, paintings, and writings, prying deep into Zobel’s mind.

Wide, Yes.

OK - back to the panorama. I know I’ve been talking a lot about art and history, but it kind of comes back down to this: a broad, global perspective.

Fernando Zobel was born from Spanish-German parents, raised in the Philippines, studied in the US, and traveled all over Europe and Asia in his pursuit of the arts. As he studied under each different mentor, culture, and part of the world, he adopted and blended the art styles of each region with his own, creating an extremely varied body of work.

So what I’m really saying is, do whatever you want (within legal and ethical reason, obviously). A hundred or more years later, people might be looking at a gallery of your work. After all, I didn’t start making panoramas because I had any sort of in depth theory or knowledge of art history.

I simply wanted to take a picture that really needed an ultra wide lens, but only had a 50mm lens on me at the time. So I took a bunch of pictures and slapped them together to “fake” having a wide angle lens. Still working on getting people to look at a gallery of my work, however. Maybe we’ll get there some day haha.

Each move starts with the metallic clink of our steel points breaking the surface, quickly followed by the unmistakable crunch of our weight bearing down upon the ice. Winds howl, causing the ropes linking us to buffet as we slowly ascend the massive vertical sheet of ice that lay ahead of us. Now, I love bouldering, rock climbing and all that - but ice climbing isn’t exactly my thing.

It’s a whole other discipline, extremely technical, with even less margin for error than most other forms of climbing. Not to mention, for a good bit of the year, I live in a place that doesn’t really have mountains; let alone snow or massive sheets of ice. However, on the anniversary of my friend’s passing, I try to make the effort. Ice climbing was their favorite thing in the whole world, and fittingly, it’s how they left this world. I’m not sure if they’d enjoy seeing me follow in their footsteps given the final outcome, but at least for my friends and I, it’s our way of keeping them alive.

We reach our first summit and set up camp on the glacier, we laugh and cry, eat and drink, reliving old memories while making new ones.

While my friends were on vacation with their backpacks full of snacks and such, I was on assignment with my pack full of cameras, lenses, and tripods alongside all the other gear we each had to carry. Though, not a single photo was taken that day. Despite being in one of the most beautiful places on earth, surrounded by some of my best friends in the world, doing one of the coolest activities possible, and despite this being my entire job and the second biggest reason I’m in the middle of nowhere throwing myself at a wall of ice, I couldn’t find it in me to bring out my cameras. I could only play hostage and sit there, immersing myself in the unbelievable beauty that surrounded us.

Standing on the glacier, my own breath condensing on my hair, freezing it in place, the realization that I’d fallen completely out of love with photography had finally hit me. In all honesty, I’m not sure if that love was ever there. At some point, I abandoned any thought process behind my images. I’d just snap a picture, pack up the camera and carry on with my expedition. Except that’s the thing, it’s never once been about the pictures. For me, it’s only ever been about getting to experience this world, to observe the wildlife around us, and to connect with the planet. The pictures are just there to spread the message - that it’s beautiful out there.

A year passes and I find myself in Namibia, sitting around the hotel lobby, Savannah Dry in hand. I’m not much of a drinker these days, but after an intense three weeks of non-stop hiking, camping, and work, I definitely earned myself a couple brews. With plenty of time before my flight home, I, like any other photographer, did some window shopping online only to find…

The elusive Fuji X100VI was in stock from a reputable online retailer.

For those out of the loop:

Ever since its release, the Fuji X100 VI has been out of stock. Every few weeks, whatever stock Fuji is able to conjure up is shipped to retailers, where their entire stock sells out within hours. Within minutes of them selling out, the same cameras can be found on eBay for twice the MSRP. In fact, this entire process has kind of been norm since the release of the X100F. These cameras are incredibly hard to purchase - at this point, many who had preordered their cameras were still waiting on it to ship.

(The X100F is the Fourth iteration of the X100 series camera, before Fuji realized that the number five also started with “F” and they had to abandon the lettered naming system for Roman numerals)

So obviously, I bought it.

That said, I don’t really know why I bought this camera. It’s not like I needed it; I have three cameras, two drones, an action cam, and a phone. So I’m clearly not lacking on that department. It’s not like I wanted it either, because beyond the GFX series, I literally know nothing about Fuji’s modern lineup. I didn’t even know the sixth edition of this camera had come out, I thought we were still on the V. Nevertheless, a box is waiting at my door as I return from the airport two days later.

The second I held the camera in my hands, I understood.

You see, my daily drivers are the Sony A1 and A1 ii. Two unbelievably good cameras. They’re just about the best all round cameras you can buy today. But when I look at them, I just see a camera. A thing that cost me a ton of money, and a thing I use for work. To me, they’re no different than a hammer. But the X100VI, it’s definitely something else.

The pressed and machined aluminum, anodized to for a smooth surface. The dials rotate, click, and snap into place with a weight behind each action. The knobs spin like velvet, buttons click into place, the subtle indents on the front and rear for grip, and the inherent charm of an optical rangefinder, coupled with this ingenious hybrid EVF solution.

This is no hammer. This is no tool.

Through and through, the Fuji X100VI is a work of art.

Most importantly, on top of its build quality, its elegance, its ridiculous spec sheet, and its rarity - it’s convenient, inviting, and easy. Sure, there’s a million settings to get your head wrapped around. But you can also just leave everything on auto, slap on a Film Simulation, and still get incredible results. There’s no carrying a heavy backpack that’s so padded it doesn’t have space for anything else, there’s no big sling and several thousand dollar object hanging off your neck, there’s no changing lenses, diving in the menus, having to get a card reader to transfer files to my laptop, editing the images, then exporting them as a JPEG, then transferring it back to my phone.

You just take it out of your jacket pocket, take a photo, put it back in your pocket, and take your phone out. Within seconds, I can take a photo with my camera, have it automatically transfer to my phone, already “edited” with the Film Simulation, in a small JPEG ready to be uploaded anywhere I wish. It’s easy, stupidly so. It’s the kind of camera you instinctively reach for. The one that you can take everywhere, any time, to any event, or to any occasion without looking out of place. It’ll fit comfortably in most slings, purses, or even large jacket pocket.

The Fuji X100VI picks up where work stops. When I’m tired of swinging the hammers around, the X100VI still finds its way into every bag, pocket, or pouch I own. It’s the camera I want to bring around, the one I want to use, the one that makes me want to take photos - and not just for work. Which is definitely something I can’t say for any of my other cameras. With those, it’s all work - I get the shot, pack up, touch grass. With the Fuji, I begin to think a little more about my images, to constantly search for compositions, to let my eyes take the lead.

It’s an inspiring camera.

As always, thank you all for reading!

Has a camera changed your outlook on photography? Which one was it, and what changed for you?

We didn’t have streaming back then. We had to connect a 4-ft long antenna to our TV and wiggle it around until the picture was clear enough - then flip through channels until something we liked was on. In Singapore, watching programs of people climbing Denali, cars racing through the salt flats, or the wolves of Yellowstone - it was just unfathomable. I was whisked away by the magic of a world that lay far beyond the concrete horizons of Singapore. It gave me escape from a burdened childhood and filled me with hope; knowing the world was such a big place. Before I’d even encountered them, these places, animals, and experiences had already become dear to me.

I’ll admit - coming from South East Asia where we have wetlands galore, the wetlands of southeastern USA, though incredibly beautiful in their own right, have never really been at the core of my adoration. The mountains in Colorado, glaciers in Alaska, or massive expanses of desert out west are where my heart lies. Since moving here for high school, it became tradition for me to save up all my earnings from part-time jobs throughout the year and blow it all on one giant summer trip; I’d go backpacking, exploring these lands while giving myself a break from life.

Turns out, life didn’t get any less stressful, but the importance of the outdoors as a vehicle to sanity grew with each year.

As one of the regions I believe to be most in danger from climate change and most in need of support, I’ve spent the last few years working in the polar regions - the Arctic and Antarctic. However, due to the misinformation, illegal practices, and ecological genocide that the 2025 U.S. administration is inflicting upon the country, I felt it more important than ever to spend time in these lands that captivated my heart so many years ago.

It’s August 25, 2025, and I’ve just come back from spending nearly a month in the American Southwest. I was joined by two friends from Hong Kong and a friend from Atlanta who just so happened to also be out west on a road trip, following roughly the same route. As we made our way from Denver, Colorado, to Las Vegas, Nevada, we passed many sites I’d been to many times before; though with different people, during different eras of my life.

As my friends and I sat on High Dune, I was reminded of 2017, when I cowboy-camped at the base of a dune deep in the dune fields of Great Sand Dunes National Park. We’d severely underestimated the weight of our packs, the steepness of the dunes, how long it would take us to scale them, how cold it would get at night, and how warm it’d get during the day.

Driving down the Colorado River, I remembered the time I train-hopped with some vagabonds and hid out in the 14ers of the Chicago Basin (but that’s probably a story for another time - one I don’t think I’ll be ready to tell for another 10 years).

Sitting at Delicate Arch, I was transported to 2019, when the COVID lockdowns went into effect while I was out west camping with my sister. Getting to enjoy Arches National Park all by ourselves was such a special moment - something I’ll hopefully never get to experience again, as much as I want to. I’d never seen Arches like this - devoid of any humans, leaving the scale entirely up to us to absorb.

We’re hiking the infamous Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park. It’s my fourth time here, but I’m remembering the first. I was helping my friend move cross-country on a giant road trip from Atlanta to San Francisco - and we decided to stop and hit up random places along the way. Zion happened to be one of them. At the time, we literally didn’t know anything. Had no idea what Zion was, didn’t know what Angel’s Landing was - there wasn’t even a permit or lottery system required to hike it. The two of us idiots rocked up in flip-flops with a single bottle of water between us. Through all the scrapes and blisters, we made it to the top and back, laughing at our idiocy the whole time.

Friendships were made and forged on these lands. Relationships were established, broken, or reconciled here. Countless hours of tears shed - from both laughter and sorrow. Blood spilled, through both stupidity and as proof of accomplishment. It’s on these lands that I pushed my mind and body past limits I never thought possible as I scaled mountains and hiked trails. It’s on these lands that I’ve healed and regained the humanity I’d lost in the city.

It’s in these lands that we’re able to escape from the horrors of modern civilization. It’s out in nature that I feel most at home. It’s when I’m listening to water run, leaves rustle, birds sing, bears growl, thunder roar, watching sunrises, marveling at the pink glow of the Belt of Venus. It’s where I feel the most connected and welcomed, despite being just a small part of something much larger. Perhaps that’s the joy of it all

The National Park Service has, and always will be, America’s best idea. Increasingly, it’s looking like it really will just be an idea, and not a reality. As the Trump administration moves to dismantle everything that makes America truly great and unleashes the hell that drilling, mining, and oil companies are about to impose upon us, I hope more people will stand against this assault on the environment. With 2024 setting record visitation numbers, more people than ever are showing interest in the outdoors and our National Parks. Hopefully, this means there will be more pressure placed on those in charge - so they can truly represent the wishes of the people, not billionaires.

There is hope. Not all is lost. The environment is in a horrible state globally, but it is not too late.

Since 2024, the Georgia Conservancy has been leading efforts to pass legislation for more protections in the Okefenokee region - with a middling degree of success. Just two months ago in June, The Conservation Fund purchased land that was under threat of exploitation by the heavy mineral mining company Twin Pines. The property, all 8,000 acres of it, borders the Okefenokee Swamp: one of the rare dark sky sites in the southeastern U.S., and home to over 15,000 alligators. Sewage from the mine would have polluted the Okefenokee, surely destroying everything in it. While my donations were ultimately insignificant compared to the $60 million purchase price, I’d like to think my very vocal and public advocacy played a part - however small.

Never, ever neglect the power of our voice. Never underestimate the power of an individual—because it’s never just us. We are never the only person out there feeling a certain way about something.

Before I get too off-topic, I’d like to end with this:

Happy 109th Birthday to the National Park Service.

Thank you to the park rangers, volunteer staff, & SAR that make recreating in the outdoors safe for everyone, including the animals. Your efforts do not go unrecognised. It feels wrong to celebrate something so under heavily under threat, but it also feels more important than ever to do so.

As always, thank you all for reading. What’s your favourite National Park? I’m undecided, but Arches and Kenai Fjords NP are some of my favourites!

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~4000km/2500 miles

7x National Parks, 4x State Parks, 3x National Forests, countless BLM lands, 5x Wildfires.

Day 1 - Land in Denver

AM - Denver

• Picked up my friends, A&A!

PM - Rock Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge

• Saw some bison way out in the distance. Tons of prarie dogs!

Day 2 - Drive to Alamosa

AM - Garden of the Gods National Natural Landmark

• Hiked several trails!

PM - Great Sand Dunes National Park

• Met up with more friends, K&C, short hike & star gazing!

Day 3 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - San Isabel National Forest

• Waterfall hike that involved wading through the coldest water in the world

• Blanca Wetlands

PM - Great Sand Dunes National Park

• Climbed High Dune for panos & astro !

Day 4 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - Great Sand Dunes National Park

• Bunch of short hikes

PM - San Isabel National Forest

• More short hikes for sunset!

Day 5 - Drive to Moab

AM - Rio Grande National Forest

• Waterfall hikes, scenic overlooks!

Lunch @ Riff Raff Brewing! Fantastic beer.

PM - Arches National Park

• Met up with K&C for more star gazing!

Day 6 - Exploring Public Lands

Full Day - Arches National Park

• Arches, arches, and more arches! All the arches!

Day 7 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - Island in the Sky District, Canyonlands National Park

• More arches, massive canyons, strange rocks.

PM - Moab

• Explored some BLM lands nearby the city for sunset

Day 8 - Exploring Public Lands

Full Day - Island in the Sky District, Canyonlands National Park!-

• Some light bouldering, scrambling, exploring the canyons, and caught the sunset + some astro at night!

Day 9 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - The Needles District, Canyonlands National Park

• Been very smokey and hazy the whole trip due to wildfires, but today was by far the smokiest and haziest.

PM - Arches National Park

• Saw more arches that we missed earlier, then more stargazing and astro at night

Day 10 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - Dead Horse Point State Park

PM - Colorado River, Sand Flats Recreation Area

• More exploring BLM lands, then a 4x4 off-roading adventure in UTV’s!

Day 11 - Drive to Escalante

AM - Exploring Public Lands

• Goblin Valley State Park

  

• Factory Butte

PM - Capitol Reef National Park

• Sunset hikes

Day 12 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - Slot Canyons on BLM land!

PM - Sunset drive down Hole in the Rock Road (BLM 200)

Day 13 - Drive to Kanab

AM - Scenic Byway 12

• Stopped randomly

  

• Bryce Canyon National Park

• Kodachrome Basin State Park

PM - Kanab

• Explored Sand Caves on BLM land. Eroded by wind over millions of years - now vandalised, disrespected, and disregarded by humans.

Day 14 - Exploring Public Lands

AM - Zion National Park

• Angel’s Landing permits secured!

PM - Bryce Canyon City

• K&C’s friend, G, was participating in the Bryce Canyon Rodeo, so we had to stop by!

Day 15 - Moab

AM - Exploring Public Lands around Moab!

PM - Zion National Park

• Sunset hike with K&C&G

Day 16 - Drive to Grand Canyon National Park

AM - Glen Canyon National Recreation Area

• Horseshoe bend! Insanely hot. Seriously way too hot. We nearly got heat exhaustion on the 15 minute walk.

PM - Grand Canyon National Park

• Dragon Bravo fire still burning strongly…could see the actual flames actively burning

Day 17 - Drive to Las Vegas

AM - Grand Canyon National Park

• Sunrise hike!

Went back to hotel to sleep, late check out

PM - Kaibab National Forest, Glen Canyon National Recreation Area

• Lake Powell, Hoover Dam!

Day 18 - Exploring Vegas

AM - explore Vegas

PM - Get food poisoning and rot in the hotel haha

Day 19 - Home

I get to go on a plane with food poisoning. Luckily, I had a whole row to myself and was near the bathroom.

Made it back in time to snuggle with kitty!

I learned like how I learn most things - through brute force. I would sit there, turning every dial, pushing every button, and moving every slider one by one on all my cameras and editing programs, and just seeing what happens. The main reason for this is simple; I just really don’t care about photography at all, if I’m being honest. Despite it being something I’m somewhat interested in, I still never got over my hatred for academia and can’t get myself to sit down to watch a video or read a manual without significant struggle.

But therein lies the issue - my goals are to promote the beauty of this planet, to inspire others in caring about conservation and all that good stuff, and the best way I know how to do that is through sharing my images. To maintain my overarching goals while paying my bills and further funding my work, I’m going to need to get over myself a little.

Because to me, when I started to really think about what purpose a photograph serves, and where I (the photographer) stand in the equation, I came to this conclusion:

It’s about the stories, the emotions, the feelings, the beauty of the subject in front of me that I’m attempting to convey - not my level of proficiency as a photographer. But obviously, in order to have people connect with my images, I still, on some level, need to be good at taking them. And to do that, a base level of knowledge of some kind is required, so it would just be silly of me to ignore the advantages.

It would be like continuing to use a screwdriver when you’re surrounded by power drills and you’re got a thousand more screws to go - it just makes no sense in any stretch of the imagination.

When I used to simply just fling shit at the wall, I’d conflate “staying true to my artistic sense” with “producing good work.” In reality, none of the above were remotely mutually exclusive to begin with and I was just creating false walls to make excuses for my own lack of progress. So - if the photograph serves to tell the story of a subject, the job of a photographer is to bring that vision to life. Meaning I’d need to start actually caring about photography.

At some point, I determined how that vision is brought to life is inconsequential - provided I wasn’t infringing on any laws or ethical quandaries, what did it matter how the photo was made? So all pride was abandoned and I started popping open some manuals and really learning what was going on behind all the buttons and dials. I did do a semester at the University of YouTube for a bit, but just found myself more in my element when reading through the physical manuals.

I think it’s a leftover trait from the yesterdays of video games. Like when I got stuck at the Water Temple in Ocarina of Time. I didn’t have some video I could turn to, I’d lost the box that contained the manual, no stores nearby sold the gaming magazines that may have contained the manuals. We had internet, yes, but I wasn’t allowed to use it and even when I did sneak onto it, I had no idea where to go to find this information. I just had to try a different button press, different direction, different and see what happened. Probably why I didn’t mind the brute force methods much at all. I’d sat through much worse playing random old bootleg video games on those ancient consoles.

I’m not really sure what triggered the change, I think. I feel like it was out of an honest attempt to evaluate my work. I’d gotten to a point of frustration where I had to accept that alright, “I’m not getting any sales, any engagement, or traction with my work. Clearly I’m doing something wrong - what is it?” It’s the cold hard truths that none of us want to accept, when you’ve hit that first peak in the Dunning-Kruger graph and realise just how far you’ve got left to go.

How did you use to approach photography? Has this approach changed? What triggered that change?

Thanks for reading, hope you all have a great weekend!

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Day 1: 12c/5c, 19km/h winds

Arrival - Windhoek

- After 7hrs of delays at the airport, I finally land in Namibia!

- Headed straight to dinner for a game steak, a pint, then straight to bed.

Day 2: 25c/9c, 7km/h winds

AM - On The Road

- 5hr drive from Windhoek to Mushara Lodge

- Rest, explored the property

Day 3: 30c/12c, 11km/h winds

AM - Etosha National Park

- Self drive through Etosha NP.

- Elephants, lions, zebras, giraffes, jackals, and hyena pups!

PM - Etosha National Park

- Guided game drive

- Zebras, jackals, giraffes, wildebeests, oryx, steinbocks

Otjiwarongo

Day 4: 29c/15c, 14km/h winds

AM - On The Road

- 3hr Drive to Okonjima Nature Reserve

PM - Okonjima Nature Reserve

- Lots of leopards!

- Saw Vamos (collared) and her son (un-collared)

- Bat Eared foxes!

- Stargazing!

Day 5: 30c/12c, 11km/h winds

AM - Okonjima Nature Reserve

- Rhino tracking on foot!

- Two white rhinos!

PM - Okonjima Nature Reserve

- Pangolin tracking on foot!

- Three separate pangolin encounters!!

- More stargazing

Damaraland

Day 6: 30c/10c, 14km/h winds

AM - On The Road

- Towards Etendeka base camp

- Unbelievable Landscapes!

PM - Etendeka Mountain Camp

- Scenic guided drive from base camp to mountain camp!

- Incredible golden hour sunset hike

- Stargazing!

Day 7: 28c/5c, 15km/h winds

AM - Etendeka Mountain Camp

- 4 mile hike through the mountains!

- Desert adapted zebras and giraffes, and bats!

- Met and shared a vehicle with the co-author of Trees & Shrubs of Namibia!

PM - Etendeka Mountain Camp

- Scenic guided drives

- More stargazing!

Day 8: 30c/11c, 16km/h winds

AM - On The Road

- 6hr drive to Ai Aiba Lodge

- More crazy landscapes!

PM - Ai Aiba Lodge

- Sunset hike up a nearby mountain, incredible views!

Day 9: 28c/12c, 17km/h winds

AM - Ai Aiba Lodge

- Mountain biking through the landscape!

- Had a hard fall after slipping on some rocks, had to quit early

PM - Ai Aiba Lodge

- Rest

- More stargazing!

Day 10: 35c/13c, 20km/h winds

AM - On The Road

- 2hr drive to Spitzkoppe!

PM - Spitzkoppe

- Summited Sugarloaf Mountain

- Stargazing!

The Namib Desert

Day 11: 29c/10c, 21km/h winds

AM - Spitzkoppe

- Sunrise hike through Spitzkoppe

- 3hr Drive to Walvis Bay

PM - Walvis Bay

- Incredible seafood lunch!

- Explored nearby dunes

Day 12: 25c/8c, 11km/h winds

AM - Walvis Bay

- Sailed out to Pelican Point

- 100,000 cape fur seals!

- Jackals

- Braai on the beach!

PM - Walvis Bay/Namib-Naukluft National Park

- Trashing a Land Rover Defender around in the dunes

Day 13: 19c/7c, 11km/h winds

AM - Walvis Bay

- Looking for flamingoes!

- 5hr Drive to Sossusvlei

PM - Sossusvlei

- Climbed all the dunes!

Day 14: 24c/4c, 10km/h winds

AM - Sossusvlei

- Explored Deadvlei

PM - Sossusvlei

- Climbed more dunes!

Karas

Day 15: 20c/3c, 15km/h winds

AM - On The Road

- 30min drive to Namib Sky

- Hot air balloon rides!

- Oryx, Jackals from the sky!

PM - On The Road

- 3hr drive to Nooishof Guest Farm

- Scenic game drive.

Day 16: 20c/12c, 8km/h winds

AM - Nooishof

- Guided game drive

- Bat eared foxes!!

- Explored property

- Dogs, chickens, and a tortoise!

PM - Nooishof

- Mountain biking

Hardap

Day 17: 15c/0c, 10km/h

AM - On The Road

- 4hr Drive to Mariental

- Camp site we found along the way

PM - Mariental

- Had our own braai

- Steak, game sausage, corn, toast

- Ridiculously cold, sleeping in rooftop tents

Windhoek

Day 18: 16c/3c, 19km/h

AM - On The Road

- 3hr drive to Windhoek

PM - Windhoek

- Nice dinner at Butcher Block, Windhoek

Day 19: 15c/0c, 10km/h

AM - Windhoek

- Souvenir shopping

- We almost got our shoes stolen haha

PM - WDH

- Departure

- Only a slight 10-minute delay, thankfully.

Overall, it was an incredible, unbelievable trip. I can’t wait to get more in depth and share even more about this stunning place! In the meantime, thank you all for reading and for the support!

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I wanted to write about it, as nothing could be more relevant to my work than the environmental devastation and humanitarian crisis the US is about to go under, but it’s currently more important for me to stay sane.

So forgive me. I’ll revisit my anger another time, but I figure we could all use this short distraction anyways.

Self evaluation has always been one of the tougher actions to perform - I find especially as an artist, it’s hard to get a good grasp of yourself and where you’re at but sometimes, it just reveals itself to you.

As ever, I was editing a photo. It’s a panorama I made earlier this year consisting of 200 individual images. To process them, I need to edit each image, stitch them together into one big ol image, then do some finishing touches on the final image.

Seems simple enough, but reality is often a trickier bastard than that. At each step of the way, my computer was crashing, the images wouldn’t stitch correctly, I’d be unhappy at the way the edit turned out, and then have to start the whole process over, waiting hours between each step as my computer cries in agony.

After waiting another few hours for the images to process for the fourth time that day, I finally successfully exported the final image only to read “This file type is not supported.” As I went to export the image in a different format, I had some flashbacks to my past.

I’m in a tiny bedroom, small enough that my door wouldn’t open fully because it’d hit my bed, hunched in front of a scratched up monitor editing some image. I’d work on the image for a bit, only to be unhappy with the results. Soon, I’d yell out in frustration, close Photoshop, and just never touch that image again.

I laughed at my younger self - ignorant to the trials and further frustration I would cause my current self by giving up and not sticking with the image till the end.

The me from all those years ago would have given up when the first stitch attempt failed - I wouldn’t even have known to try export the image in a different format, nor would I have known how to even come to that solution.

Diving deeper into this self-evaluation, I’ve found that my overall focus (pardon the pun) has shifted. I don’t care what camera or lens I’m using, I don’t care what programs I have available, I don’t care what the weather is like, I don’t care whether or not the way I edit my images is going to meet societal approval, I don’t even care if I like the image anymore.

My only remaining concern is the subject - an image could follow all the rules and still be utter garbage. See exhibit A below for a prime example.

Everything in the image above is “technically” correct. Everything’s exposed well and in focus, there are multiple strong leading lines, it’s edited with a popular “film style preset,” follows the rule of 3rds, captured with a high end (at the time) camera and top of the line glass - yet it sucks. It’s uninspired, it’s uninspiring, and it evokes no emotion.

Photography used to feel like being thrown into a bullpen with nothing but my bare hands and a starved T-Rex. Too many variables, too many decisions, and not enough time to weigh them all before I had to do something.

Once I freed myself from the burdens of what a “proper photo” should be like and fostered connections with my subjects, I’ve found everything just comes a lot easier. Making a good image, as it turns out, is more about showcasing your subject and telling a story than it is getting everything perfect.

That said, like with everything, obviously there’s a healthy balance to be had and it’s not like I completely ignore my camera settings - my fingers just move on their own now.

Have you felt stuck as an artist, or unhappy with the progress you’re making? What steps are you or have you taken to settle those uneasy thoughts? I’d love to hear about your journey as an artist.

As always, thank you all for reading and hope everyone has a great weekend.

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Chapter 1 - Arrival & The Drake

Mar 19:

I begin the grueling journey to Ushuaia, Argentina. Known as ‘Fin del Mondo,’ or ‘End of the World,’ a fitting name as Ushuaia is considered to be the southernmost city on Earth - the closest city and main port of entry to Antarctica.

It was grueling, as I had 3 layovers ahead of me, each one several hours long. To top it off, I’d spent the last week in customer service hell as three different airlines tried to sort out my return flight, which was still unconfirmed. While I didn’t know what the return journey looked like, departure went like this:

ATL > SCL > AEP > USH

Mar 20:

2300hrs - I escape from airport hell with my feet in Ushuaia. Just enough time for me to stop by a bar for a quick pint before getting some much-needed rest before embarkation.

Mar 21:

• Ushuaia, Embarkation day. Low of 2c, low winds.

1000hrs - I dragged my check-in luggage to downtown Ushuaia, at a designated bag drop off point. The Port of Ushuaia restricts passengers from lugging their own check-in luggage to the ship. They get tossed onto a truck, brought to our ship, then placed in our cabins for us.

Embarkation wasn’t until noon, so I walked around Ushuaia, chatting with fellow eager passengers on my way to grabbing a quick pre-departure meal.

1200hrs - I walked over to the ship, docked near the end of the port. Apparently, it costs about $20,000/day to dock at the Port of Ushuaia.

The ship crosses the Drake Passage, sails through the Beagle Channel, docks in Ushuaia, disembarks all passengers, resupplies its food/water/fuel/waste, and takes on a new group of passengers before sailing back across the Drake within a span of 24hrs, to avoid paying for an extra day at dock. Insane stuff.

Speaking of the ship, let’s talk a little about it.

Built in 1989 in Gdynia, Poland, m/v Ortelius was originally named the Marina Svetaeva - a specially built research vessel for the Russian Academy of Science. It was purchased, renovated, and renamed Ortelius, after the Dutch/Flemish cartographer, Abraham Ortelius (1527-1598), by Oceanwide Expeditions.

Its 91m long, with a beam of 17m , a draft of 5.4m, and 7 decks. It also comes equipped with a large helideck, big enough for two helicopters (we didn’t have helicopters with us on this expedition).

It holds 108 passengers across 50 cabins, with room for 40 crew and 10 expedition guides. This expedition, we had about 106 passengers, 9 expedition guides, 1 ship doctor, and 41 crew members assisting in the engine room, hospitality, dining and of course, the bridge.

Ortelius is a class UL1/A1 ice breaker, capable of withstanding just about any iceberg that would come our way, so there’d be no repeats of the Titanic here.

As I head up the gangway, we’re handed key cards which we’ll use to check ourselves in and out of the ship between landings, as well as open the doors to our rooms. I was then shown to my room where I’d meet my roommate, a hilarious Swedish man who was traveling with three other friends who turned out to be Singaporeans! Luckily, it was just the two of us in that one room.

(For those who don’t know, I was born and raised in Singapore)

We get a quick tour of the ship, as well as a safety briefing before having our first dinner onboard. After dinner, I stayed out on deck to enjoy a view of the Beagle Channel, where we had some quick sightings of harbour porpoises.

2230hrs - we exited the Beagle and entered the infamous Drake Passage.

Mar 22:

• The Drake Passage, Day 1. Low of -1c, swell @ 4m, 5kt winds.

After breakfast, which happens in the form of a typical hotel-style continental breakfast, we were accompanied by multiple seabirds who were leveraging the ship’s draft to aid in their flight.

Two of the birds that joined us were the Wandering and Royal Albatrosses, two birds that regularly fight it out for the largest wingspan of any living bird species. They regularly have wingspans of up to 4 meters, or 13 ft. Though I’m not a very tall person, that’s still over two times my height.

In the afternoon, we had a few presentations from the expedition staff, who had prepared talks about Antarctica’s history, wildlife, and geology.

Throughout the day, the weather got worse, though not by much. Without the safety of the Beagle Channel, we were now experiencing an “average” day on the Drake. Luckily, I seem to be unfazed by motion sickness out in the real world. As the ship was thrown about by the relentless waves, we sailed on.

Mar 23:

• The Drake Passage, Day 2. Low of -5c, swell @ 3m, 10kt winds.

0715 - wake up. Breakfast, presentation, lunch.

After lunch, we were briefed on biosecurity measures we had to take prior to our arrival on the continent. We’re not just visiting any old place. This is Antarctica - the one place on Earth that has yet to see any major interference from humans, Earth’s last true pristine wilderness. Plus, with avian flu running rampant across bird colonies worldwide, but most significantly in Antarctica and the sub-Antarctic islands, extra precautions must be taken.

All items we’d wear and bring onto land needed to be picked entirely clean - not a single speck of dust, lint, or any foreign material was allowed to remain on items we’d bring ashore. This prevents us from accidentally introducing foreign seeds, bugs, or microbes into Antarctica, which we want to remain pristine and untouched.

1600hrs, @ -62S, -64W - our first iceberg. Easily larger than our ship, we steered clear of it, allowing us a great view of this behemoth. As it’s often the case with me, I was too awe-struck to even think about picking up my camera for a photo.

Dinner followed, and after that, the documentary “Endurance” played in the lounge.

CHAPTER 2 - The Frozen Continent, Southbound.

Mar 24:

• Fish Islands & Prospect Point. Low of -1c, calm seas, 5kt winds.

Unlike most other expeditions to Antarctica, we skipped most of the Northern half of the peninsula in search of uncharted waters and to test our luck, seeing just how far south we could go. As we sailed south, we eventually came across the Fish Islands, discovered and named by the 1934 British Graham Land Expedition.

After breakfast, we would have to suit up for our first outing on the continent in the form of a Zodiac cruise through the Fish Islands.

Zodiacs are smaller, ~12 passenger single-engine inflatable boats that ferry us around, through sea ice and ice bergs too cumbersome for the larger Ortelius to navigate through. “Suiting up” involves wearing every layer you packed with you - conditions can and do change rapidly in Antarctica, so preparing to stay warm in -40c weather is always a must.

Additionally, the possibility of getting stranded is extremely high as winter starts. If the sea ice forms or icebergs move too quickly, not even the Zodiacs would be able to get us back to the ship, meaning we’d have to reenact the stories of explorers past and prepare to spend a night, or thirty, on land. Luckily, this never happened as weather was unbelievably good the whole trip.

Our first outing was a “cruise-only.” With the Zodiacs, we sailed through the Fish Islands, coming across multiple humpback whales, Weddell seals, Antarctic shags, and massive Adélie penguin colonies.

(Each outing is about 4hrs long regardless of the type of outing)

We returned and had lunch while the ship sailed further south, towards Prospect Point, where we’d do a split landing (half of us do a Zodiac cruise first, the other half land on the continent first). I was on the half that would cruise around first, then make land.

Prospect Point was the site of the British research station, creatively named “Station J.” The station was abandoned in 1959, and finally removed in 2004. Now, it’s a small landing site and home to thousands of Adelie penguins and to some smaller, remotely controlled research instrumentation. On the cruise, we encountered several crab eater seals, as well as one of the largest leopard seals I’ve ever seen.

Return. Dinner. Presentations.

We crossed the Antarctic Circle, -66,33S at about 2330hrs.

Mar 25:

• The Gullet, Pourquoi-Pas Island, Marguerite Bay. High of 5c, low of -7c, slightly rough seas, 15kt winds.

We spent the morning sailing through The Gullet, a narrow channel between Adelaide Island and Graham Land, dodging massive icebergs along the way. From the ship, many fur seals, Adelie penguins, and whales could be spotted, though they were all quite a distance away.

Presentation, Lunch.

After lunch, we’d successfully navigated to Pourquoi-Pas Island. It was named during the British Graham Land Expedition, after Jean-Baptiste Charcot’s ship, the Pourquoi-Pas. We would step foot on the continent for a second time here, where we encountered tens of dozens of fur seals, Adélie penguin colonies, as well as more Antarctic shags, which usually don’t appear this far south.

Upon returning to the ship, I checked my forecast to discover that we’d have clear skies, and a Kp index of 6.

This could only mean one thing - Aurora Australis.

To put the significance of this into perspective, in the Northern Hemisphere, Aurora Borealis faces north towards the pole. The Milky Way, however, points south. In the southern hemisphere, where all of Antarctica lies, Aurora Australis points south towards the pole in conjunction with the Milky Way. The auroral oval (regions of the earth that are likely to see auroras) in the North is densely occupied by many countries like Norway, Iceland, Greenland etc, but in the South, pretty much only Antarctica, and some remote sub-Antarctic islands are within that region.

This means that, barring an unbelievably large geomagnetic storm, seeing the Milky Way AND Aurora together in the same direction is something that’s possible only in Antarctica. (You can see both along the coasts of Tasmania/New Zealand, but it still takes a decently large storm for it to happen).

Nevertheless, with how fast conditions change and how meaningless weather predictions are in Antarctica, we could only hope.

Dinner.

2030hrs. As the sun sets, the overcast skies of Antarctica finally reveals itself, showing off the magic of a dark sky, untouched by light pollution for thousands of miles. More stars than I’d ever, and will ever see, in my entire life. Despite having been to some very remote places, I’ve never been this far from civilization and thus light pollution.

Along with the stars came a faint glow of green - a sign that we needed to drop anchor as soon as possible. As we sailed, the green only grew in intensity, finally dropping anchor at 2130, in Marguerite Bay.

2230 - the aurora peaked with the most spectacular scene of my lifetime. I don’t think anything in the world can top this.

Mar 26:

• Marguerite Bay, Stonington Island, Red Rock Ridge. High of 1c, low of -10c, rough seas, 20+kt winds.

After an unbelievable night, came an unbelievable morning. As the sun rose, the clouds came back in and lit up the skies with such intensity, I simply couldn’t comprehend.

Breakfast, then a landing on Stonington Island, home to two research bases - Base E (UK) and East Base (US).

East base, the oldest American research station in Antarctica, was the site of the US Antarctic Service Expedition (1939) and the Ronne Antarctic Research Expedition (1947). The Ronne Antarctic Research Expedition is particularly notable in that Edith Jackie Ronne and Jennie Darlington became the first two women to overwinter in Antarctica, with Edith Ronne being the first American woman to step foot on the continent. The Ronne Ice Shelf is named after Edith. Edith worked as the expedition’s historian, writing news releases and recording the daily history of the expedition’s accomplishments.

The UK Base/Station E served much the same purpose as the American East Base, acting as a research hub as well as an access point to the interior of the continent. Nearby the base was a runway, from which planes would deposit supplies held at the various bases.

On Stonington Island, we encountered tons of Antarctic shags, skuas, Adelies, fur seals, and crab eater seals.

Lunch, then we sailed south to Hadley Upland for our second landing of the day, on Red Rock Ridge.

Weather really picked up, but despite the relentless wind, snow, and waves, the island was filled with thousands molting Adelie penguins and fur seals amongst the rocks. With snow drifts blasting across the site, the unbothered Antarctic wildlife showed us just how out of element humans are in conditions like these.

The Zodiac ride back to the ship was a very bumpy and wet one, with me sitting at the front taking the brunt of the splashing on behalf of the other passengers. Luckily, my Paramo rain shell held up just fine.

Mar 27:

• Sea day - Lazarev Bay. High of 1c, low of -5c. Calm seas and winds.

After getting a small taste of the “real” Antarctica, we pushed on south, attempting to reach the Wilkins Ice Shelf.

Breakfast, presentations, lunch, presentations, dinner. I spent the entire time out on deck, though there wasn’t much to see as the fog had rolled in thick and was here to stay. Not much happened today, but as always, there were a few intermittent sightings of whales, seals, and penguins between the clouds and fog.

0100hrs - we spotted our first emperor penguin, resting on an ice floe with a crab eater seal resting nearby. The two were unfazed by our ship.

CHAPTER 3: Returning North

Mar 28:

• Wilkins Ice Shelf, Wilkins Sound. High of -1c, low of -10c.

Visibility was a little better today, but still quire obscured. Nevertheless, as we departed the ice field in Lazarev Bay, we finally made it to our southernmost point, -70.5S, -72.5W.

At this point, we were by far and away the southernmost passenger ship in the entire world. We were over 700km away from the closest ship, another Oceanwide vessel that was exploring the northern tip of the peninsula, nearly 2,000km away from Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world.

It would take a minimum of 6 days of nonstop sailing to get back to land (and the closest hospital) from this point.

We had already been the southernmost passenger ship in the entire world since starting our expedition. In late March, nearly all companies stop operations in Antarctica as the incoming winter brings with it sea ice and ice bergs, making safe passage a huge concern for less experienced captains and crews. Luckily, a lack of skill and experience was never a concern aboard Ortelius, so south we went.

The Wilkins Ice Shelf was unbelievably large, about 150km long, 110km wide, and around 200m tall. The Wilkins Ice Shelf, along with most other ice shelves on the Antarctic peninsula, are facing rapid disintegration due to global warming. In part, it’s the reason why there are so many icebergs in Lazarev Bay. While the endless number of bergs were unbelievably beautiful, it’s a constant reminder that they should really be a part of the ice shelf rather than broken apart and floating around at sea.

At the ice shelf, we spotted many crab eater seals swimming playing, and resting on ice floes along the shelf.

Lunch.

After our encounter with the Wilkins Ice Shelf and hitting our southernmost point, we turned back to head north, navigating through Wilkins Sound for an incredible Zodiac cruise through the bergs. Wildlife was abundant, with several Minke whale encounters, as well as leopard, Weddell, crab eater seals, an Emperor penguins.

Dinner.

The ship momentarily lost power at 2330hrs. I was having a drink and chatting with some passengers in the lounge when it happened. Shortly after, the power came back on.

Mar 29:

• Lazarev Bay. High of -5c, low of -10c. Calm seas, low winds.

I didn’t think this trip could get any better, but a close second to the Aurora experience was sailing through Lazarev Bay. With the fog slightly lifted, we enjoyed incredible views of the bay that were obscured on our way in. Weather was so good, we abandoned our initial plan to sail north and hung around the area for the day.

We spent the morning sailing towards the heart of Lazarev Bay, encountering many humpbacks and seals on ice along the way.

Lunch.

After lunch, we hopped back onto the Zodiacs to explore this icy wonderland, where we again met with more humpbacks, minke whales, leopard seals, crab eater seals, and emperor penguins.

Dinner, and an early night for me.

Mar 30:

• Lazarev Bay. High of -2c, low of -15c. Calm seas, no winds.

Breakfast.

We spent another day in Lazarev Bay. This morning, the fog rolled back in which created some incredible atmosphere as massive, towering icebergs would appear and disappear through the scene. We had an extremely close encounter with a leopard seal and a humpback while out on the zodiacs, and as the sun rose higher in the sky, the fog disappeared and yet again, we were treated to an insane view of Lazarev Bay while heading back to the ship.

Lunch, sailing back north.

We got some insane light throughout the day, perfect for the incredible amount of icebergs we encountered. While out at open sea, we came across a MASSIVE group of humpback whales feeding on what must have been an even more massive school of krill. They were lunge feeding, with even a few breaching! In every direction, surrounding the ship, was at least 3-5 whales feeding. Standing on top deck, you could see them bubble net feeding, creating massive air bubbles and scaring the krill into a nice big ball for them to chomp on.

Mar 31:

• At sea, Wilhelm Archipelago. High of -1c, low of -5c. Slightly rough seas, mild winds.

Breakfast, presentations, lunch, presentations, dinner. As usual, I spent all day out on deck. We saw what was most likely a blue whale way out in the distance, and encountered even more humpbacks feeding, though not the insane show it was yesterday. Checking the forecast, we had a Kp of 2 and clear skies, so the possibility of a second aurora was decent.

The whales were at quite a distance, so it was a little tougher to grab any decent images of them.

Unfortunately, the aurora never came, but the night sky sure did.

Apr 1:

• Petermann Island. High of 3c, low of -2c. Calm seas, calm winds.

We had breakfast, then landed on Petermann Island. I still think it’s insane to say, but Petermann Island is a place I’ve been to in the past. Though, not so distant. As we were well into the northern half of the peninsula, many of the sites in the area are ones that most expeditions would target. Petermann is one of such sites, one I’d visited on my first expedition less than 6 months ago.

The island was home to several smaller huts used in past expeditions, but has since been abandoned. Now, it’s home to a single Argentinian emergency shelter, a few graves for past explorers, and thousands of Gentoo penguins. To have visited a place in Antarctica twice is already unique enough, but what made this more special was getting to experience it in a different season. Now, firmly the start of winter, the landscape looked remarkably different to how it did in the summer, 6 months ago.

Here, I saw my first chinstrap penguin! There were two of them, one was shy and hiding between the Gentoos, while the other ran around, causing havoc through the Gentoo colonies. It’s suspected that they’re the last of their colony to complete their molt before heading back to sea and back north for the winter.

Lunch, presentation, sailing back north.

Unfortunately, this time, we didn’t sail through the Lemaire Channel. Ice charts showed that it was obstructed with ice, making passage unsafe, so we had to sail on the other side of it. The Lemaire was one of the major highlights of my previous trip, so I was a little bummed. Thankfully for me, the other side of the Lemaire was just as insane.

Tonight’s dinner was a little different - we had a BBQ out on the helideck, surrounded by mountains, glaciers, icebergs, the setting sun, and a clear sky. Somewhere along the lines, free drinks and speaker appeared, so the whole ship got dancing as the sun set in Antarctica. Unbelievable.

Before I got too drunk, I grabbed my camera, tripod, and ran to the bow of the ship, leaving my camera to do a timelapse while I downed more free alcohol.

Apr 2:

• Danco Island, Melchior Islands. High of 5c, low of -3c. Slightly rough seas, mild winds

Charted by Gerlache during the Belgian Antarctic Expedition (1897), Danco Island was home to the British research station, Station O, which has since been removed.

We encountered a massive Gentoo colony, after completing their molt, heading back out to sea in the hundreds. We also had our first elephant seal encounter, a young male resting by the beach. It was here that we would do the polar plunge, as is customary when visiting Earth’s polar regions.

After lunch, we had a short sail to the Melchior Islands, home to the Argentine run Melchior base - the world’s first and oldest permanent settlement in Antarctica. It’s an active research base, though it operates only for a few weeks in the summer.

Here, we dropped Zodiacs and sailed through the nearby islands, getting up close to more humpbacks as they fed in the nearby bay. Several of them breached, and as we turned our engines off, some would even come right up to our Zodiacs or even swim directly under it.

CHAPTER 4: The Drake Shake

Apr 3:

• The Drake, day 1. High of 5c, low of -3c, 6-7m swell, and strong winds.

From the Melchior Islands, we said goodbye to Antarctica and sailed back north, crossing the Drake once again on our way back to Ushuaia. The next few days were much of the same: breakfast, presentations, lunch, presentations, dinner, hang out at the bar, and of course, hanging out on deck every second possible. By now, all passengers were friends, trading and sharing photos, as well as contact information.

While we enjoyed a relatively “calm” Drake passage on our way in, at *just* 4m tall swells, the swells this time were closer to 6-7m, really throwing the ship and everything aboard back and forth. It was rough enough that all our portholes had to be closed, just in case the waves broke the glass.

Apr 4:

• The Drake, day 2. High of 4c, low of -1c. 3-4m swells, mild winds

Much of the same as yesterday, but the swells calmed down to 3-4m, a lot more appreciated than yesterday’s conditions. While I was still unaffected, it was still a struggle walking and keeping things from falling aboard the ship.

We arrived in the safety of the Beagle channel near midnight, putting an end to the unrelenting rocking.

Apr 5:

• Ushuaia, Disembarkation day.

0800hrs.

We wake up for our last breakfast on board. In between packing, exchanging contact info, and inhaling breakfast, it was time to disembark. We scanned our keycards for the last time, and finally stood back on solid ground for the first time in what felt like years.

I spent the day recounting the experience with other fellow passengers, figuring out my return flight, before finally securing it and running off to the airport later that same evening.

CHAPTER 5: HOME

I can’t describe what it’s like to visit Antarctica. Visitation itself is a whole other issue, one I’ll probably save for another post as this one is already long enough.

All I can say is that any notion, expectation, thought, picture, video, or any information you’ve gathered on it - none of it can possibly, even come close to, adequately conveying the experience of the frozen continent.

It’s harsh, relentless, brutal, unforgiving. Yet, it’s by far and away the most beautiful, life-changing, eye-opening experience I’ll ever have. I’m unbelievably thankful to…I guess life, for letting me experience, explore, and document the landscapes and wildlife of Antarctica. I’m thankful to all my friends, old and new ones made on board, for supporting my dreams. I’m thankful for you all, my readers, for giving me a platform to share my love for this world.

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You’re all excited to go out and take some photographs, only for the weather to suck. You decide to push on, but you drop and crack a filter, bash and dent a lens on a rock while picking up that filter, turn around to recollect yourself, and accidentally knock your tripod off a cliff and into a puddle of mud instead. To top it all off, once everything has been recovered and all the remaining working parts are reassembled, you try to take a photo only to realize you’ve left all your batteries and memory cards at home.

Well, unfortunately, the “you” in the above situation was once me.

It was 2017, the penultimate round of the MotoGP calendar, where six teams and 24 riders were battling it out at the Sepang International Circuit in Malaysia. I was on vacation, an especially rewarding one since I was serving in the army at the time. I’d saved up all my earnings and purchased a new lens, a 70-200, perfect for someone wanting to try motorsports photography. As you’d guess, the second I rolled up to the very wet and muddy track with my friends, we all took out our cameras. I broke a filter, dinged my lens, and shoved my tripod into mud at Turn 4 in one fell swoop. My friends, already dying of laughter, burst into hysterics when they saw my face after I collected everything, as I then realized I’d left all my batteries and SD cards at home.

I don’t blame them—the only thing you can do when something screws up that badly is just laugh. When it rains, it pours, and boy, do I know that. The filter was cheap, the lens was “fixed” with a pair of pliers, and the tripod had a bent leg but still worked—so, you know, not the end of the world. I still had a fantastic time watching Marc Márquez, at his absolute prime, fighting to hold onto the championship lead as the season reached its end.

But this isn’t about 2017. Back then, I was still faffing about with my photography journey, unsure of what to focus my attention on. A career in motorsports, while still appealing to me today, ended up not happening—mainly because I rekindled my love for the outdoors not long after, bringing me to the present day.

As someone who plans some of their images a bit too seriously, there’s not going to be a Milky Way timelapse or golden hour sunset when the skies are completely overcast and washed out. There’s not going to be wildlife to photograph if they decide to take a rest day, and no chance to get the drone up in the air when the winds are too strong. I can plan all I want, and I do, but sometimes it’s just not happening.

We’ve maybe even been there twice.

(Or many, many more, in my case)

In my most recent trip to Norway, I hinted at how things hadn’t gone well during the second half of the trip.

Well, it didn’t get any better.

In fact, it just got worse and worse.

For the first half of the month, I enjoyed some absolutely splendid weather. The skies were clear (or mostly clear) nearly every night, allowing for some great aurora viewing, and the sunsets and sunrises were either pleasantly overcast or nice and bright. The second half, however, was an entirely different story. It was so densely overcast, a uniform grey, the entire time. The winds were blowing, and the rain was constant, coming down sideways.

I’d dedicated the first half of the trip to landscapes along Norway’s Arctic coast, with the second half reserved for wildlife. On my last day in the Lofoten Islands, the weather had already started to come down. Despite escaping north to Tromsø, the bad weather seemed to follow me and only get worse.

Each day seemed to get windier, colder, and rainier than the last. Save for the random days when the temperatures shot above freezing, causing the ice-and-snow-covered landscape to turn into the coldest, slipperiest sludge. Ninety percent of my planned outings—and subsequently planned images—ended up being cancelled. The unpredictable warming temps meant avalanche risks, limiting me to ground level in mountainous Norway. The high winds made the seas too rough for the smaller boats more suited for exploration to sail or for my drone to fly.

In this case, I decided to spend my second day in Tromsø just exploring the city, where I stumbled upon this incredible museum and exhibit, which I discuss in this previous post below.

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So, I was landlocked—dreams of capturing an image of an orca breaching or an Arctic fox running through the snow were foiled yet again by the weather. But just because a plan falls through and I can’t make the image I want, it doesn’t mean that there are no images to be made.

There’s a whole world of incredible nature out there to explore, even when it’s gross outside. My clothes are waterproof, my camera is water-resistant—there’s not much that can stop me from doing some exploring.

Still, there are some days when it’s truly horrid outside, and there’s nothing else I can do. One such day was when Hurricane Idalia hit. I’d been indoors all week and wasn’t paying attention to the weather forecast. It was dreadfully overcast, but I was still out there photographing. Suddenly, the heavens opened, and within seconds, I couldn’t see anything but rain. I persisted and kept photographing while there was still a sliver of light left until I realized I’d left my rain cover in the car, and my bag was starting to soak through.

Feeling like the weather was only getting worse, I decided to turn around and go home when the winds picked up. Thankfully I did, as it turns out it was one of the strongest hurricanes in years—a Category 4—tearing through the southeastern USA. A couple of trees were knocked down in my neighborhood, and at the park I was at! Sometimes, knowing when to quit is also a good thing. Usually, unnecessary life endangerment is a good reason.

Still, I’m happy with the image I got that day. To me, there’s always a reason to be out there. Well, unless the conditions are so bad that your existence is at risk.

Here are some things I’ve learned over the years of photographing in crappy weather—maybe they’ll help.

- It’s a Game of Patience

As we move closer towards the poles and the Arctic/Antarctic circles, the weather generally gets a lot more windy, rainy, and icy, meaning overcast days are more the norm than bright sunny ones. When we head to the deserts, it’s the opposite. The skies are completely clear with not a cloud to be seen. Over in the tropics, you’ll never know what to expect. It could be raining sideways, incredibly sunny, or both at the same time!

Bottom line is, if it’s not looking good, just wait.

With the high winds comes the chance for a cloud to break apart, allowing for pockets of light to shine through.

This can create really unique lighting opportunities, like this image I made earlier this year in Norway. Despite the water looking still (partly because the surface was mostly frozen), the winds above were extremely high, and the clouds were moving fast. The sun was just over the fjords directly behind the camera, but the heavily overcast sky prevented any sunlight—and thus, the golden hour light we yearn for—from shining through.

After half an hour of waiting, the winds finally blew open a portion of the clouds behind, effectively putting a solar-sized spotlight on just this town.

In this image, it was so extremely overcast and foggy, but the equally extreme winds tore a hole in the cloud, revealing a massive mountain hidden behind it.

- It’s About Understanding the Local Environment

Having grown up in Singapore, I’m very used to the weather along the equator. It’s hot, humid, and undeniably sweaty. It’s one of the rainiest countries around, getting an average of 171 days of rain a year. That’s almost half the year with rain! But the thing is—and it’s the same for most countries along the same latitude—rain in a place like Singapore doesn’t really mean much. It’s practically guaranteed but is far from disruptive. Rain in Singapore and similar countries doesn’t last long. It pours heavily, but only for about an hour at a time. Those familiar with the Singapore Formula 1 GP know this very well. When you know what the weather is going to do, you know when to go out and what to look for.

The best clouds often come after rain—they’re still dense and saturated with deep colors but are starting to break apart and let all that light back through, like in this image here in Iceland, where I’m standing in a flooded field after a full day of rain.

Rain also means puddles, and puddles always mean reflections—an easy composition to look out for.

When I have a better understanding of the local environment, I understand how the light falls on subjects at different times of day, when the fog will roll in, or when it’ll disappear. Knowing—or at least having a grasp on—these things enables me to work more easily with the cards I’m dealt. Better the enemy you know than the one you don’t, right? Luckily with weather, all the research is already out there and pretty easily accessible!

- It Challenges Your Creativity

I’ve always disliked referring to myself as a photographer. It’s my profession and job description, sure, but it’s not what I identify as, nor is it where my primary interests lie. This means I can be very lackluster in my approach to educating myself about photography. I need to make it fun for me; otherwise, I’ll start to view it like I did school. I hated school, so I’ve always got to keep it fresh and try out new photographic techniques—or at least use some I haven’t tried in a while. Something new I’ve been doing in the last few years is ICM (Intentional Camera Movement).

Overcast days tend to help with ICM, as attempting them during midday usually means having to put a filter on. I’m all for being lazy and carrying less gear, so not having to bring or use a filter is a dream for me. Some of my favorite images have been the ones where I go, “Not sure what else to photograph. I haven’t made a panorama/ICM/macro/focus stack/HDR/whatever else in a while. Guess I’ll try turning this scene into one?”

And it turns out, that image I didn’t care too much for and made just to do something different often ends up being my favorite image from the trip.

From an extremely overcast day in Alaska

And always try randomly throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks. You never know what combination of techniques, genres, and styles will work, like with this ICM of a razorbill in flight.

- There’s No Such Thing as Bad Weather, Just Bad Gear

I’m not talking about camera gear, but instead the clothes. I could spend a long time discussing outdoor clothing, but I’m saving that for a future post. I’m also not here to critique your fashion sense—I don’t have much of one myself. All my stuff is either purchased from the bargain bin or eBay, which is why I end up wearing lots of obnoxiously bright or incredibly dull colors, haha.

Through my very non-empirical and un-scientific research, I’ve found most reasons people dislike inclement weather is simply - not wanting to be wet, cold, or both. Understandable, I’m no fan either, but that’s where good outdoor gear comes into play.

Now I don’t want to discourage people from going outdoors, because good outdoor gear can often be unbelievably expensive. You own what you own, and that’s fine, but be aware of the limitations of your clothing! Don’t wear a cotton t-shirt when you’re going on a multi-day backpacking trip through the Canadian high arctic, and don’t wear a parka to the desert. Fairly easy stuff to keep on top of.

- Be Interested in Your Subject

I think in order to make a good photograph, you need to be interested in the things you’re photographing to begin with. I struggled a lot early in my career, and it was due to the fact that I was just doing the types of things that were easy to get paid work for—mainly portraits, sports, and wedding photography. I was getting gigs and getting booked, but I was never improving as a photographer, and it was all because I couldn’t care less about photographing people. It’s just not my thing, man. People don’t interest me anywhere near as much as the natural world does, but it took me a while to understand that and come to terms with it.

Interest is just the first step. The real magic comes when you start diving deeper into it. Nature has always been my number one thing—but I have LOTS of “things,” so it sometimes took a backseat as I explored other interests. But as I’ve come to learn about the wildlife I spend time with, the local ecosystems they reside in, the cultural impact and interaction with native populations, and deepen my relationship with our one and only planet, the easier it is for the photos to come. I’m not thinking about my camera settings, what lens to use, or how to edit an image. I just let the earth speak to me, and the compositions reveal themselves.

Here’s one of the last images I took at my last game as a sports photographer before transitioning full-time into the outdoors. The image isn’t really anything special. It’s in focus, and the subject is visible, but that’s about where the good things end. There’s not much storytelling or artistry going on here, the editing sucks, and is uninspired. You can just tell my heart wasn’t in it.

Compared to what I’m doing now:

- Keep an Open Mind!

I think the most important tip for success in bad weather—whether for art, photography, or just life in general—is to keep an open mind, be curious, be skeptical, and be excited. I think as artists—and also in general—we’re all too strict on ourselves with arbitrarily self-imposed rules.

Using presets/auto mode on cameras makes you a bad photographer. If you don’t have a full-frame camera, you’re just an amateur. Using sample packs makes you a subpar producer. Using CDJs instead of vinyl makes you a bad DJ. Playing a game on easy mode makes you a bad gamer. Driving an automatic makes you less of a “car person” than a manual car driver.

That’s all rubbish. Just complete balderdash. I know I’m going against what I said about having an open mind, but anyone who would discourage people like that is the most miserable person on earth, so there’s no reason to listen to a word they have to say anyways.

Try all the new things. Do something you never normally would, have never done, or have never even thought about attempting. Don’t be afraid to composite a sky or object or two. Don’t be afraid to try pixel sorting, HDRs, focus stacking, or dodging and burning, or editing in Photoshop instead of Lightroom, or another program entirely. Don’t be afraid to take your camera and point it at something you’ve never pointed it at before. Try exploring new subjects or other genres of photography. Hell, try something else altogether. Ditch the camera, get outside, then come back to it and see what happens.

Most of the time, it’s going to be something fun.

Some “non-traditional” photographers whose work I really enjoy. They may be “digital art” or “illustrations” as many love to say, but both Cath and Angel take all elements of their images themselves, with cameras, to create their own composite images. If you need an introduction to this whole new world of photography and digital image creation and manipulation, they’re a great place to start.

Angel Fux

Cath Simard

And you know, sometimes even after all that, nothing works out. And that’s alright. Part of having an open mind is being open to that possibility. Knowing the local environment, and thus local area, helps with that too. It’s how I decided to wander into the museum instead of going back and sitting in my room in Norway.

Thank you all for reading. I’ll catch you all in the next one. I’ll try to do a better job of posting more “live” updates on Substack like I do on the other platforms, but it’s pretty difficult keeping up with this many accounts.

Hopefully, there are some helpful tips in here for photographing in horrid weather.

Do you have any horrid-weather photography tips? How do you stay motivated when it’s not looking good out there?

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RESOURCES

While I’m planning on saving these for a future post, I thought I’d briefly list out what gear I use when exploring the outdoors in horrid weather.

Rain jacket/outer shell

• Kuhl One Shell

• Paramo Velez

Baselayers

• Anything wool or made from nylon/polyester

• I prefer long sleeves for all seasons for UV protection from the sun, but short sleeves are fine as well

Midlayers

• Breathable fleece or down jackets

• Mammut Eigerjoch Advanced IN Hooded Down Jacket

• Patagonia Nano Puff

• Stio Wilcox Fleece

Pants

• Outdoor Research Skytour Ascentshell Overalls

• Outdoor Research Helium rain pants

• Kuhl Renegade

Shoes

• Xtratuff Legacy 15” Boot

• Danner Arctic Zip 600*** (this is NOT PFAS-free, nor is it made from recycled materials. I received this pair as a gift and they’re good, so it would be more wasteful to toss them)

• Rainbow Sandals

All clothing listed above are PFAS-free, most of them are also made from recycled materials or are from companies that engage in ethical practices!

“The most unsociable empath”

For those that know me well, that descriptor is usually a fairly apt one. While I have no issues with fleeting social encounters, the increased intimacy of interacting with my friends is fairly laborious for me. A single outing or conversation is enough to overload my social battery for weeks, forcing a retreat to the comforts of the outdoors or my home, wherever “home” happens to be.

Currently, home is 69 degrees north, 350km above the Arctic Circle in the stunning city of Tromsø, Norway. It’s -16c, the winds are howling and I’ve retreated from the nearby park to the Nordnorsk Kunstmuseum, or Northern Norwegian Art Museum, where an incredible exhibit is on display.

It’s titled “Layers of Time - Everyday Life in Svalbard.” It’s a collection of art, mostly photography, created across three generations of the Grøndal family. It features mostly images created by Herta and Leif Grøndal, their daughter Eva Grøndal, with an accompanying soundtrack made by Eva’s daughter, Aggie Grøndal.

While this museum trip wasn’t on my radar, I find many of the best things in life occur when room is left for spontaneity. In the environments and situations I often find myself in, no amount of planning or weather radars can account for the actual conditions you’ll experience on site. I dragged myself out of bed at 4am, walked for an hour to the pier and boarded a boat to embark on a voyage through the fjords searching for humpbacks, orcas, and whatever other critters come my way.

I struggled to keep my eyes open while on top deck, my favourite part of any ship. As the engines started, stopped, started again, then stopped again - even my half woken brain could tell that I was soon to be back on land. The captain emerges from the bridge and says, “Man, I’m really sorry. We’re having some issues with the onboard systems and it’s just not safe for us to even think about setting sail right now. We’re going to have to try again another day.”

Except, I’m only here for a few more days and I’ve already got a full schedule ahead of me. There isn’t going to be “another day,” barring any further interruptions. I look at the captain and the crew; they realise my situation and seem even more upset about it than I am. I laugh, tell them it’s what it is and that I’ve not had breakfast anyways, inviting them to join me back on land. My offer is rejected, citing the more obvious, pressing issue of ship repair at hand.

After heeding their recommendations, I’m back on solid ground and eventually arrive at the Nordnorsk Kunstmuseum or Northern Norwegian Art Museum (I’ll be referring to it as “The Museum” for the remainder of this post).

Downtown Tromsø is a fairly touristy place. It’s tougher to find locals than it is to find foreigners; as indicated by the sheer number of souvenir shops in the area. I wasn’t expecting much, especially since the Troll museum I’d just emerged from was somewhat of a bust.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. What I’d stumbled upon was quite possibly one of the most powerful photography exhibits I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing. To set the scene, the Museum has begun dedicating a large portion of its exhibition area to female and non-binary artists, acknowledging that they’ve been historically and globally underrepresented.

Currently, all exhibits on display are made by women (with the exception of some images made by Leif Grøndal).

On the walls are images of the people of Svalbard, mostly coal miners. To be clear, Svalbard is one of the few places on earth where there are no indigenous populations of any kind. Not even eskimos, or the regional Sami people bothered to settle there. Members of nearby countries began to temporarily settle on Svalbard as early as the 1600’s, but industrial mining operations didn’t truly take place until the Norwegians and Russians built permanent mining infrastructure in the early 1900’s.

From 1952-1974, Herta Grøndal worked as a photographer on the archipelago. Despite the strict “boys club” nature and political restrictions of the various mining towns, Herta was granted access to both Norwegian and Russian settlements; an achievement on top of being one of the few women who were allowed to come to the archipelago, and one of even fewer women who enjoyed the freedom to roam within all areas of the various settlements. Herta continued visiting Svalbard as recently as 2008.

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Herta was initially trained as a musician, not as a photographer. Much of her images are snapshots, interspersed with scenic panoramas. Despite this, she clearly knew her craft with the camera, and her work certainly has a distinct style to it no matter what she’s photographing.

We see images of coal miners contorted in the mines wielding drills and axes. We see tiny structures, dominated by the towering peaks and fjords across the archipelago. We see primitive shelters, snowmobiles, and the stark contrast of ash-covered miners against the omnipresent white snow.

As I sat listening to Aggie’s music, flipping through these “everyday” scenes, I’m teleported to the town of Longyearbyn. The sounds of drills running, frantic shower houses, and polar winds dominate the atmospheres of Aggie’s soundtrack.

My Fjallraven jacket starts to feel like the fur coats the miners wore outside the caves. The LED headlamp in my pocket feels more intrusive, like the bulb based headlamps the miners used. I start picking up scents of coal from the freshly cleaned floors of the Museum. I feel the isolation of the miners, waiting on the permafrost runways for a resupply plane - one of the few indicators of the passage of time in the archipelago.

Moving onto the next half of the exhibit, Eva’s images are placed next to some of Herta’s. Eva followed Herta and Leif to Svalbard on several occasions, inspiring her series of “re photographs,” where she travels to the same locations depicted in Herta’s images and recreates them with their modern equivalents.

Herta’s images are mostly black and white, while Eva’s are in colour. The peaks, buildings, and equipment in the background are identical across both images, but the machinery and clothing worn by those in the foreground have been noticeably updated in Eva’s images.

I flipped page after page, reading the accompanying paper written by Elin Haugdal titled “Mediating Everyday Life In Svalbard: Herta Grøndal’s Photograohs, 1950s-70s.” It’s an incredible write up on Herta’s life, the lives of the early Svalbard miners, and the impact of Herta’s work. I soon found myself overwhelmed with emotion, having to stand aside and wipe tears from my eyes.

What an experience, what a story. For Aggie to listen to these recollections and memories from her mom and grandmother, for Eva to have accompanied Herta and then revisiting them in the future, for Herta to have been the pioneer of it all, for the miners, the wives, and children that found a life in one of the most remote areas on earth.

Inevitably, the conversation in my head turns back to me. I’m wondering if my work will ever have this kind of impact on someone else. Herta had to endure all sorts of social and political strife to work on her images, not to mention the danger and logistics of travel and outdoor exploration before our modern luxuries of hot water, rechargeable batteries, and synthetic down coats. I don’t mean to downplay the struggles I or others in my position face (an Asian male that has failed all of his parents expectations and chosen the path of an artist), but comparatively, I think I have it easy.

Which doesn’t really help the self-guilt I feel at not being able to work on my polar project today. Hours after the Museum visit, I’m back in the warmth of my host’s house and writing this in the detached room feeling like Emerson or Thoreau writing in their lakeside offices, though missing all of the finesse and lingual ability. It feels undeserved.

After all, everyday I’m not photographing despite being out in nature is, well, essentially just a vacation. And given how the first month of 2025 has been so far, it feels very wrong to be on vacation while my compatriots, the wildlife, and ecosystems are struggling so terribly with the backwards changes made by the facists and oligarchs that have installed themselves in the US government.

My heart breaks, aches, and cries for the marginalised people, exploited lands, and soon to be homeless or even extinct wildlife populations in the US. I feel so powerless in the face of these times.

Will my work reach people like the Grøndal’s reached me? Will my work have the same impact on others like Herta’s family did to me? Will people be moved to the same extent as I’ve been? Enough for them to want to write about, discuss, share, appreciate, and act on it?

I can only keep working away and hope that the answer is yes.

On another note, it’s also Chinese New Year’s Eve today, as well as the birth week of me and my cat, Bongo. I really should be at home, relaxing and celebrating with my friends (many of whom also had/are having their birthdays this month) but instead, I’m here in Tromsø by myself. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just that not being there for my friends and my cat is adding a little to that self-guilt.

Oh well. The search for wildlife hopefully continues tomorrow, pending further interruptions. Anyways, thank you all for reading as always, and Happy Chinese New Year from 69 degrees north!

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RESOURCES:

• https://munin.uit.no/handle/10037/30688?show=full

• https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-031-43841-7_4

• https://www.nnkm.no/en/exhibitions/layers-time-everyday-life-svalbard

• https://nordicwomeninfilm.com/person/herta-grondal/

• https://grondalfoto.com/

• https://www.youtube.com/@aggiepeterson

• https://aggiefrost.com/

• https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Svalbard

Now, you may be wondering, why is a photographer doing sysadmin work?

It’s for a variety of reasons, but the main one being: I produce thousands of RAW images and videos every month. Using a 51mp camera, capturing 4k60fps, audio, and all that means I’m adding on average about 2TB worth of photos and images every year. That’s a LOT of stuff.

Why don’t you delete everything? Surely it’s not necessary to hold onto everything?

I mean, I do delete things - stuff that’s unintentionally out-of-focus, the accidental pictures taken when the shutter gets knocked around, you know all the obvious ones. Except, while many photographers I know go beyond this with a stricter culling process - I like to keep all my images, even the ones that are poorly lit, horribly composed, and missing a subject.

At its very simplest, those photographs are a reminder of the experience; where in the world I was and what I was seeing. At best, I learn something new editing-wise and can come back to it in the future to bring them to the potential I’d envisioned when I made the image. And between the two, it serves as good material for one of my projects, sans.focus, where I showcase all of these “leftover” images that didn’t make the cut in my “professional” portfolio.

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So how do I store it?

Well, redundantly and very securely, of course. Data loss is my personal nightmare. Too many times I’ve had an SD card, flash drive, external drive, computer, phone, laptop, or iPad just crash and fail or be physically destroyed for numerous reasons and lost all my hard-earned media. While “redundancy” usually means getting fired by your company, it means a significantly different thing in data security.

Redundancy is what we want, and the more of it we have, the more secure our data is. Here’s my “simple” recipe for data security:

INGREDIENTS -

1. Camera with dual card slots

2. 2x portable SSD’s

3. DAS (Direct Attached Storage)

4. NAS (Network Attached Storage)

5. Backblaze (Cloud Backup)

Let’s start at the top

I chose a camera with dual card slots so that I can have my media recorded to both cards simultaneously. This creates my first layer of redundancy, as it’s extremely unlikely that both my SD cards fail at the same exact time.

Once I’m back at camp or the room I’m staying in, I’ll immediately make a copy of each card onto its own external SSD.

If I have internet and my computer with me, media will get uploaded to my NAS. If not, this step is skipped. If I have my laptop with me, I’ll start editing using one SSD, keeping the other untouched and in a safe location.

Once I’m back home, I’ll transfer all media to my DAS which then syncs up with my NAS. If I’d already uploaded the media to my NAS in the previous step, the newly copied data on the NAS will be synced with the DAS. The DAS is plugged into my desktop throughout all this, so I can easily transition from working on my laptop to the desktop.

My DAS is also constantly backed up with Backblaze, one of the only subscription services I pay for. While this goes against my ethos of not allowing companies to handle my data, Backblaze does make reasonably believable effort into maintaining user privacy, and they also do so for a very competitive price.

I also don’t delete things from external drives and instead just label them by date and toss them in a secure container once they’ve filled up.

With this method, I’ll always have 4 exact copies of my data. The externals, my DAS, my NAS, and Backblaze. It should be noted that all 4 of these things are stored in entirely different locations. My DAS is at home, my NAS is in my office, Backblaze is in the cloud, and my externals are stored in a secure case at a friend’s house. Barring some sort of cataclysmic global event, there’s extremely little chance that all 4-5 of these solutions fail at the same time and I’m stuck without a method of retrieving my data.

This is my “evolution” of the 3-2-1 backup system, which you should read more about here. It’s a great system and critical place to start for any digital creative, but in time I’ve found that it still leaves a ton of vulnerabilities open which are solved with the addition of the 4th and temporary 5th layer of redundancy via the external drives and SD cards.

It’s important to note that I haven’t mentioned RAID a single time thus far. It’s for a simple reason.

RAID IS NOT A BACKUP.

While they are often used in DAS and NAS, RAID is in every definition of the word, not a backup. It stands for “redundant array of independent drives,” but despite having redundant in the name, a backup MUST be stored in a separate location. Two copies of data stored on the same NAS or DAS then, is you guessed it, not a backup.

So what is RAID? It’s a method of grouping hard drives within a NAS or DAS for a few benefits, the three main ones being speed, protection against drive failure, and short recovery time. There are several different levels of RAID, main ones being 0, 1, 5, 6, 10, and 01. Each one brings a different set of pros and cons, usually a tradeoff between speed, storage capacity, and level of redundancy.

It’s one of those classic pick 2/3 situations.

I won’t bore you further here, so just refer to this website here for an explanation of the different RAID levels

I use RAID 6 on both NAS and DAS due to its emphasis on drive failure tolerance while having decent speed and storage capacity.

And…I think that’s it.

I guess I should say that underneath all of this, I have another home server that backs all of this up for yet another layer of redundancy (and also has its own backup), but that’s another story entirely that we definitely don’t have the time for. To sum it up quickly, it’s basically having my own versions of Netflix, Apple Music, Google Drive, and advanced home automation all in one - without the subscription services, of course. But again, more on that another time, when I talk about how I ditched and left every single subscription service.

Now if you haven’t already lost your mind, because I surely have, here are some resources you can use to start building your own backup system.

Here’s what I specifically use as reference

DAS: OWC 4M2

Drives for DAS: 4x 8TB Western Digital Black M.2 drives

NAS: Synology DS923+

Drives for NAS: 4x Seagate EXOS 12tb

Cloud: Backblaze Personal PC Plan

Portable: Sharge SSD Enclosure, Crucial X9, Samsung T7

• Also, the SanDisk Extreme Pro Portable are a very popular solution for external SSD’s - AVOID THEM AT ALL COSTS.

  • Since about 2022, these drives have had a manufacturing defect that results in the sudden and immediate loss of data with little to no chance of success with data recovery software. It’s a known issue that SanDisk has repeatedly denied and refused to address. More on that here and here

• https://nascompares.com/ is a great place to learn about NAS and other NAS related things.

  • Do note that the creator of the site, while providing extensive in-depth reviews and is a great resource for all things NAS, does take sponsorships and receive free products for review.

• Reddit is a goldmine for weird niche stuff like this. The Wiki page on the r/DataHoarder subreddit is an amazing resource for building your own NAS https://www.reddit.com/r/DataHoarder/wiki/index/

• https://shucks.top/

  • A great place to buy hard drives

  • Though, it should be warned, drives listed on this site require “shucking,” which is buying a regular external drive and ripping the internal drive out of the enclosure. These go on sale more than internal drives do, and usually at larger discounts, so the effort can be worth hundreds of dollars in savings.

• https://serverpartdeals.com/

  • If you’d like to purchase drives normally, this is a fantastic website. They sell both new and refurbished drives.

  • Don’t shy away from buying used hard drives, they are all certified and work great (I use refurbished drives in ALL of my servers/NAS/HDD based DAS).

• When buying hard drives, make sure that they are CMR and not SMR drives. Basically, CMR drives are better. For a more in-depth explanation, read here

• Some reputable companies for purchasing NAS or DAS related products:

  • OWC

  • Synology

  • Qnap

  • Terramaster

  • Unifi

  • Asustor

• The Unify Drive UT2 is a VERY interesting product from a new company, but this is their first product and it was released via Kickstarter and relies on a phone app to function, so we’re going to have to see how it holds up in the long term. I still have PTSD recalling my stupid Gnarbox, which was basically this product minus the NAS functionality. Gnarbox has gone bankrupt and their app no longer works, reducing the product to just a glorified paperweight.

• I’d like to purchase one, but it’s not a cheap device so I’ll definitely be waiting a few years to see what happens to the company before buying in.

Lastly, a reminder that it’s not so much a matter of IF a drive will fail, but WHEN it will fail. SSD’s are less reliable than regular spinning hard drives in the sense that when they fail, they tend to do so instantly and immediately. With regular spinning drives, there are usually signs such as weird sounds or weird behaviors when accessing files that prompt an inspection, followed by replacement of a drive.

Actually, this sort of brings me onto the point about short recovery times being one of the pros of RAID that I forgot to talk about earlier. With most RAID levels, when one drive in the NAS fails you can simply turn it off, replace the faulty drive, turn it back on and the NAS will automatically copy the files back over and go back to normal. Some NAS will even allow you do this without needing to be shut down.

This ability to quickly repair and maintain your NAS/DAS is one of the largest benefits to RAID. It significantly reduces your downtime when a data loss event occurs, and allows you to get back to work faster. Once you have a ton of storage, it’s also important to consider just how much time it will actually take to copy all those files.

Hint: it’s a VERY long time. I’m currently on day 3 of transferring files while creating a backup of my entire storage system and I’m only about 25% done.

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Thank you all for reading, I know this one was a bit dense but I do strongly believe anyone working with digital files should take data storage a little more seriously. Once data is gone, it’s gone, so it’s important to treat it like an important legal document. At least to me.

Hope this helped and hope your year has been going great so far!

Well, we did it! We made it to the end of the year and the start of a new one. It’s been a wild one for me, as I’m sure it’s been for many of us.

How’d we all do?

It was a pretty busy year for me - I made two trips to the Arctic circle, one trip to the Antarctic circle, attended a wedding in Vietnam, saw Justice live, explored the Georgia swamps, and participated in 3 gallery events, one of which I won third place

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While I don’t place too much importance on the online side of things (I’m not a fan of using social media), I’ve somehow amassed over two thousand followers and subscribers across all my platforms. Perhaps it’s to my detriment, as I’m sure my numbers could be higher. I just can’t bring myself to “game” the algorithm, because I wouldn’t be attracting the type of viewers I want; which are amazing people like you, who truly care about my work and what I’m trying to do for the environment. That said, I do have some plans and methods I’ve come up with that I’m excited to bring to life.

Again, thank you all for subscribing, reading, and following along with my endeavors.

Oh also, scattered throughout this page are some of my favorite images from the year. Hope you all like them as much as I did.

Overall, I’m glad to say that I did pretty well on my goals, which were:

To only wear PFAS-free clothing while exploring the outdoors

Cancelling all subscription services (with some key exceptions)

Improving my photography

Learning videography

Understanding printing

Streamline my workflow (from photographing to editing to data storage)

Meeting and interacting with more of my creative peers

Recover from injuries and get back to climbing

Spend less time online

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The ones I didn’t quite reach were:

Learning video editing

Learning to properly sew/operate a sewing machine

Be fluent in Spanish

Getting a WFR certification

Learning underwater photography

Improving my astrophotography

Exploring the local outdoors more

Place 1st in a notable photo competition

Improve on 2023’s finances

It’s quite a long list, but I don’t actually really subscribe to the whole “new year’s resolution” thing. I spend so much time alone in remote places for weeks, even months at a time. I hardly ever know what time, what day of the week, or what month of the year it is. I just know when the sun rises, when the sun sets, and what I’m attempting to photograph that day - my approach to time is pretty rudimentary to say the least.

Most of my goals are life-long, and don’t really have a timeframe other than “do as much as I can today.” Besides, new goals pop up all the time, and I’m too impatient of a person to wait until next year to start on them. That said, I do tend to overload my plate and often have misplaced priorities; something I’m working on.

What I’m most bummed about not learning this year is learning to sew or stitch, basically just working with textiles. Ever since I bought my first “camera bag” in 2017, I slowly became obsessed with finding the perfect camera bag for the outdoors, only to realize that I disliked every single one of them. I’ve tested, trialed, borrowed at least 2 models of bags from all the notable (and many unheard of before) companies to find something that would work for me.

Unfortunately, my conclusion was to make my own. But - more on that, as well as my rant about camera bags, in the future.

Improving my Spanish would have really helped in Argentina haha. My very broken Spanish usually resulted in many games of charades. But it’s not too bad, it’ll be at least a year before I can get myself back to South America, so I have plenty of time to learn. I can’t wait to be back in the area though, it’s simply too beautiful and boy do I love the food.

As for the rest, I’m not too fussed about. I’ve got plenty of time, and most of them aren’t super relevant at this specific point of time. Though I like to be prepared!

Other than working on the goals I didn’t quite reach this year, I’ll be adding a few more onto my plate, such as developing and scanning more film, and some others I can’t quite say just yet haha. You’ll have to stick around to see the results.

Thank you all for hanging out on here with me through 2024, I really appreciate it. Hope everyone has a happy new year and a great 2025!

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Enter: the camera sling.

The camera sling market has always been relatively healthy - We’ve always had the giants like Lowepro, Billingham, and Domke, and numerous more options today. Not to mention, traditional fashion/bag manufacturers like Crumpler or Filson often make camera-oriented variants of their slings or messenger bags, whereas the same can’t be said as often as the camera backpack. That still hasn’t been adopted by mainstream clothing companies, but at least there are plenty of options on that front now.

This is the Ranger DSLR Sling V2 in Arctic Camo, by Hex.

I purchased it on sale in 2022. It retailed for $99 USD, and the price has stayed the same since. This sling has seen the Arctic circle, been underneath glaciers, deep in lava caves, and into swamps around the world, and has been the occasional side companion to my camera backpack for the last two years.

Physical specifications as listed by Hex:

• Dimensions: 14.5"L x 7.25"W x 4.75"H / 36.8 x 18.4 x 12 cm

• Weight: 1.3lbs/590g

• Capacity: 8L

• Materials: Cordura, YKK Metal Zips

My Measurements (weighed on a non-scientific food scale):

• Weight: 1.31lbs/594g (Without dividers)

• Weight: 1.42lbs/643g (With dividers)

• The Length is 14.5in/36.8cm near the opening, but tapers slightly inwards to 14in/35.6cm at the base.

• The height listed by Hex is actually the BASE of the bag, and not its actual height, which is about 6-7in/15.2-17.8cm

• The main panel access panel is 6in/15.2cm wide

Let’s go right into the pros and cons.

Pros:

• Rainfly included

  • And there’s a stash pouch with a Velcro tab specifically for it

    

• 8L, but holds a staggering amount.

  • It can comfortably fit my Sony 200-600mm lens with tons of room to spare in the front for all my other camera accessories. I have done full days with a camera + lens around my neck and the 200-600 in the bag.

  • It can also fit a 70-200 and another lens vertically, or a smaller lens horizontally.

  

• Comes with a shoulder strap pad

• Has plenty of accessory straps and grab handles on all sides, including bottom carry straps for a tripod.

• All of its included features are extremely well thought-out and extremely usable, especially the nifty hidden side pockets along the strap.

  

• Fantastic interior organization

  • Large faux-fur pockets for a tablet and phone each.

  • Large mesh pocket on inner lid of access panel

  • 2x Large inner pockets, 3x medium mesh pockets, space for stuff in front of those pockets.

  • Key clip that is the appropriate length for the size of the pocket

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Cons:

• Overall low quality

  • While this does indeed come with Cordura, not all Cordura is waterproof or even water resistant. Hex does not list exactly what kind of Cordura is on this bag, but having dragged this bag around the world and through all sorts of climates, I can guarantee that it is not water resistant.

  • In rain, this bag performs no better than any other old bag - meaning things inside WILL get wet.

  • The buckle on the shoulder strap, while extremely appreciated, does not speak “quality” to me. It feels extremely cheap and I avoid using it as I fear that may cause it to lose its effectiveness faster.

  • The straps all around the bag, again while extremely appreciated, lack buckles for easy attachment and are also extremely flimsy.

  • The stitching on the bag is also not great, with many parts of it fraying and loosening after years of use

• Dismal Structural Design

  • Most camera bags are built with a solid internal membrane sandwiched between foam, that is then sandwiched by cloth to hold it together. The cloth is then used to construct the camera cube or even the backpack itself.

  • This bag has a single thing layer of foam, with no internal membrane. While yes, there technically is padding throughout the bag, the amount is so small that the entire bag can be easily balled up with one hand.

  • It is no more protection than putting your camera in any other regular sling bag.

  • Issues with dividers due to flimsy nature of the bag

  

• Dismal Dividers

  • While these dividers do contain a solid inner membrane between the foam, the two halves of the dividers are extremely floppy.

  • This is further amplified by the bag’s inherent lack of structural integrity.

  • As the bag is unable to hold its shape, the internal compartment is constantly changing shape, causing the velcro on the dividers to constantly come loose

Conclusion:

I want to love this bag. I really do. Its internal organization is so well thought out, the size, position, and arrangement of the compartments is great. It looks slim and compact while being able to hold a ton of stuff. Unfortunately, light weight is not a selling point when it comes at the expense of my camera’s protection.

Too many times I’ve been navigating a narrow slot canyon, a tight cave passage, turned my back to a tree, or even just set my bag down on a table and heard the thunk of my camera/lens against the object. Carrying my gear in this bag always meant being extremely careful and aware of how I was moving and setting my bag down - adding to the long list of things to be alert for when photographing the outdoors. While the list of pros are significantly longer than the cons with this bag, for me, the cons just weigh too heavily.

That said, even though I was taking extra precaution, I’m still a clumsy guy and it DID safely carry all my camera gear in it around the world, so take that for what you will.

I’ll sadly be taking this bag to a new owner.

If there were to be a V3 of this bag, it desperately needs aqua guard zips, a stiffer internal membrane, and overall better, more water resistant materials.

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I began writing this in an attempt to express my thoughts, feelings, and experiences on my trip to Antarctica. Except - I don’t even know how to begin processing what just happened, the past few weeks of my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to, or if I even want to.

I’m sitting in the lounge at EZE, free entry courtesy of my credit card. My post-trip routine usually involves a beer or two in preparation for my re-assimilation to the online world. A thousand notifications, text messages, and emails flood my phone as I unwillingly join the free airport WiFi after a month of my phone on airplane mode.

While I reconnect with much trepidation, I do enjoy catching up with my friends who are usually left wondering “where has Ryan run off to this time?” Admittedly, I do a pretty poor job of telling people where I am until I’m asked, so no one but the emergency contacts in my satellite communicator ever really know.

I’ve survived the flight and I’m back home, melting into the couch. My cat, ever eager to show her displeasure at my absence, is busy clawing away at my hair while I’m editing more images and catching up on the F1 races I’ve missed since.

I still don’t believe it. As I browse and edit these images, replay all the footage I captured. How did I end up here?

I was just a kid from Singapore, with zero prospects or relevant education. I’m just like one of many millions of people worldwide - I’m passionate about nature and happened to own a camera.

Yet, I found myself standing on top of the M/S Expedition, cameras in both hands, sailing across the infamous Drake Passage southbound towards the Antarctic peninsula, working on my ongoing project, Gelum.

With the bergy bits (yes, that is the actual scientific term for teeny icebergs) getting more frequent and larger in size, it became more and more apparent that this was real, that I was there, and it was happening.

On top deck, it’s just me and the open sea, immense icebergs, towering peaks, endless glaciers, and unparalleled beauty in every direction possible. I was simply speechless.

At some point, the icy-cold spray of sea water had stopped, yet the salty water on my face remained. However, when faced with the most beautiful scene I’ve ever viewed, and will probably ever view for the rest of my entire life, it’s kind of impossible not to be overwhelmed at the sight.