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'Nature's architecture at its finest Tower Bridge, see from the Fairyland Loop Trail in Bryce Canyon National Park where every step feels like walking through another world. Utah's red rock beauty never fails to amaze!"
A Photohike on the Bergheidenweg in the Eifel – I started with doubts: too many clouds, fading heather. But then the sky opened, and a perfect sunstar appeared above the path. A moment of light and silence. 🌄✨
More Photohikes & stories: www.photohikers.de
Ein Photohike auf dem Bergheidenweg in der Eifel – gestartet mit Zweifeln: zu viele Wolken, verblühende Heide. Doch dann riss der Himmel auf, und ein perfekter Sonnenstern stand über dem Pfad. Ein Moment aus Licht und Stille. 🌄✨
Mehr Photohikes & Geschichten: www.photohikers.de
Remember early last year when Storm Freya paid an energetic visit to our shores one feisty weekend at the beginning of March? Possibly not; after all the storms seem to roll in one after another towards the end of the winter around here. This year it was the same, with Ciara, Dennis and Jorge arriving from the west to enliven February. Apparently the last one was due to be named Ellen in keeping with the alphabetical sequencing theme, but our friends in Spain saw it first and gave it a more continental flavour. We do get a lot of storms along the west coast of the British Isles. At least they had the decency to arrive at the weekends to bring a bit of drama to our photographic adventures.
Freya was also a weekend visitor, and it seemed rude not to head five miles down the road to Portreath to watch the action, elbow to elbow with a generous number of fellow camera wielding visitors as is always the case when the weather gets a bit exciting here. Eventually I managed to entrench myself in my favorite corner of the few square yards that provide this vantage point. In this chosen spot you can watch incoming rollers that race towards the inner harbour drench the unsuspecting viewers on the edge of the quay below as you wonder whether you should have warned them (although I suspect they're aware and they do it for fun). Occasionally one of the bigger waves will carry enough force to even reach our lofty position so you have to be ready to spin through one hundred and eighty degrees and crouch down rapidly to protect your precious camera equipment. It doesn't matter how weatherproof the camera is. Sea waterproof it is not.
On this visit I didn't bother with a tripod - a rare thing - and I set the camera in burst mode. This resulted in sifting through almost 700 RAW files later in the day, from which I picked a few. Sometimes I feel that the more fun I have actually taking the shots, the less pleasure it brings when I have to decide which of the fruits of my labour I'm going to work with. Until recently I'd left the folder full of images untouched, but just a few days ago I decided I needed to clear some space on the laptop. 700 files became a still confusing 28, which made this morning's happy little spell of absent minded pottering about in Lightroom slightly easier than it otherwise would have been. It's still challenging, because every image I've kept has a different aspect that catches my eye. What I liked about this one was the curtain of water cascading from the harbour wall.
The are probably still one or two more I might share from this session. Once I've furrowed my brow at the remaining 27 shots in confusion that is.
Happy Sunday Flickr friends.
The morning had barely begun when the sky decided to put on a show.
Dramatic clouds rose above the still waters of Lake Krickenbeck, and for a moment, the world stood still. The silence was broken only by birdsong and the distant ripple of reeds in the wind.
This is one of those scenes where light, form, and feeling align. A quiet moment from a recent photohike in western Germany – captured with care and a sense of presence.
️ If you’re curious about the full story behind this image – and the route that led to it – I’ve shared the background in this blog post:
“That looks like him.” Lee summoned up a piercing whistle in the direction of the figure by the shore that reduced my left ear to a bout of whining tinnitus, scattering a nearby group of oystercatchers into the air as he did so. It was helpful that Lloyd was in photographer mode, because it instantly gave him away when all we could really remember from our previous meeting was that he was quite tall, and he didn’t have the trademark beard that we had been expecting to identify him with. We all do photographer mode, and it’s what separates us from everyone else; edging back and forward, from side to side and peering intently at something that nobody else can see as we weigh up our compositions. “Should I stand here, or three inches to the left? Should I go forward a bit, or back ten feet? Should I have the tripod fully extended or belly down on the sand?” You don’t often see the selfie stick brigade taking quite so much care over where they’ve put that rock or whether they’ve lined up their repeating diagonals before they hit the shutter button.
I wasn’t sure I was going to be around for Lloyd’s visit, but the big plans to go far north to the Highlands and Islands had been parked for the time being, meaning a get together at Godrevy was now on the agenda. I’m always ready for a reason to go to Godrevy after all. Lloyd had already been here for some time, and you’ve probably seen the image he took before we arrived. We saw it first on the back of his camera so there. Just saying. It’s definitely his in case you were wondering.
Initially we headed for a spot that not many people make it to, on the rocks below a small cliff near the lighthouse, where it seemed we’d gatecrashed a party of one solitary seal, basking in the sunshine and watching us interestedly. I messaged my friend Katie, who in her spare time is a member of a sea life rescue group. Somehow in her busy life she manages to squeeze rescuing stranded dolphins, whales and seals among other aquatic mammals in distress, as well as photographing the underwater world and finding all sorts of fascinating things I never even knew existed. Who knew there was so much to see below the dark waters off the coast of Penzance? “Yes we’re monitoring it,” came the reply. “We think it’s just enjoying living there at the moment.” I looked again at the seal, which gazed back at me in return, almost smiling. I decided she was probably right. What wasn’t right was the light; we were here too early and retreated back up to the cliff path, watched as we went by a pair of black eyes that still seemed to smile. I never tire of watching the seals here – they usually come and watch me with interest as I pitch my tripod on the rocks just above the water here, no doubt wondering what on earth I’m up to. It always feels like a shared moment.
Back at the clifftop near the bench, Lloyd had a plan for sunset and made himself ready for the killer shot, while Lee eventually wandered away to the west, presumably in search of distant lone figures on the beach to stalk at two hundred millimetres. Meanwhile, I headed back down to the water’s edge where our new friend regarded me once more with those smiling black eyes, and giving it as wide a berth as it could I found my spot on the rocks, just in time for the sun to drop below the bank of cloud and illuminate the receding tide. Sometimes you just know you’ve got a shot that’s going to make you happy. After a while I decided I’d had the best of it, and returned to the top of the cliff, exchanging one last grin with those ever watching eyes as I went.
Lloyd was already at work behind the camera, and I joined him on a wide rocky shelf where we discussed the joys of photography and his plans for the rest of his visit. He was on a family holiday, and we all know that you can only get away with so much roaming around on lonely clifftops with your camera bag when your loved ones are with you. We stayed until dusk, neither of us sure when to give up and put the cameras away. It’s always like that when I’m alone here, and when you’re with someone who works in a similar way, that certainty in when to finish is often further fogged. But it had been a successful visit and we both left that clifftop feeling we’d got a shot or two worth sharing. We said our farewells and looked forward to Lloyd’s next visit when photography would be the central focus for him here. He’s rather good at it too.
I headed back down to those rocks a week later. The seal was gone. Maybe a pair of black smiling eyes were watching me from the water, but I didn’t see them.
How many have you got?
When I started this caper, a few months after Dave and Lee had started going out and about with their cameras before inviting me to the party, there was Flickr. I joined Flickr as instructed so that we could see each other's images, and began to post, sometimes producing a glut of output from one outing and entering it into hundreds of groups at will. There was something called 500px, but from what I could see, unless you were Joe Cornish you might as well not bother - it looked like a place for the bigger boys and girls in the playground. You know, the ones who knew what focus stacking and bracketing meant and had learned that the funny graph on the back of their camera actually had a purpose.
So, I stayed on Flickr alone as far as the photography community was concerned, gradually building a small following as I began to learn about the mysterious things that my two colleagues kept jabbering on about endlessly. I also posted on Facebook, because none of your non clacking friends are ever going to start setting up accounts on Flickr or 500px are they? Of course, the reaction from my personal friends was rather more rapturous than that of you more discerning types, but then again, I'll bet many of us have been through that experience, haven't we? "What's Flickr?" I'd be asked if I ever mentioned it. "Well it's a bit like Facebook, but for photographers," I'd reply as I tried to explain our community to outsiders.
And then there was Instagram, which I was urged to get involved in by friends who were also photographers. I found many of you were also Instagrammers, but by no means all. Add to that the plethora of excellent photographers I found there who had never bothered with Flickr, and the personal friends who refused to do Facebook, but liked the fact that Instagram was a bit less rowdy, and there was another community that I suddenly felt engaged in. I like the instant accessibility, and it's a place where I'm slightly less discerning about what I post there - almost daily in fact. My Flickr stories need a lot more effort and I do like to try and present an image that passes muster here with you. The trouble was, that on that platform, we were forever competing with an endless wave of garbage. It's no surprise of course to learn that a phone snap of a pretty young lady in front of Kirkjufell or Skogafoss garnered a huge amount more interest than the compositions that you and I agonised over. Of course, that's not why we do this, and of course I'm not bitter. No, scratch that, I'm definitely bitter - why wasn't I endowed with chisel like features to capture a thousand faves by looking enigmatic in front of a camera?
And there you have the issue that many Instagrammers began to complain about. No longer was it a place where serious photographers could display their work - especially those who were trying to earn some money from photography, which thank goodness I'm not. Suddenly the platform was awash with endless videos, and accusations were levelled that it had turned into another TikTok. I didn't know whether it had turned into another TikTok, because I'm too old to know what that is. And then there are the restrictions on format. If you really want a picture to stand out, you need to be thinking 5 by 4 in portrait mode, so you end up having to take shots twice, or you need to see a crop within your frame to make things work. But still, I persevered with Instagram because of the virtual friendships I'd made there. Two platforms were enough, quite frankly.
But then Vero came along, swinging its fists like the new kid on the block who wanted to get some attention quickly. For I while, one or two of you were kind enough to message me relentlessly, telling me how good the new platform was, almost rejoicing the fact there were no adverts and the only thing that appeared in their feed were posts from the people they chose to follow. A number of togs had moved lock stock and barrel from Instagram, citing their irritations at the TikTok thing. I didn't want to lose contact with them, and none of them were active over on Flickr, so it seemed I'd have to join the new platform, but not the exodus. After all, how would my personal friends, many of whom are so supportive (including financially on occasion), see my work? After a good deal of faffing, all of which surrounded the fact that Vero don't trust the manufacturer of my mobile phone and therefore won't let me have the mobile app, I joined the throng - just a few days before heading for Iceland. I quite like Vero - it's full of work by very good photographers, including some of you of course - but I am struggling to maintain a presence on all three platforms. It's like being a circus juggler, especially frustrating at a time when I have an enormous backlog of photos to work on.
And there's the thing - three platforms on the go because of all of these virtual relationships. Goodness knows how people who have extra marital affairs manage. But Flickr remains the number one for me personally at any rate. This is where I will always post and share stories, for as long as I'm able to, and that's mostly because of the interaction and feedback I receive here. So sorry about that - you'll have to put up with me. But if you are on Vero (or Instagram) and we've somehow missed one another, do look me up.
As for this image - well I'd already told the story in my previous post, but I'd come away from the lakeside with three or four shots throughout the sunset period that I really liked. You can always read that one again if this tale sent you to sleep. This one has grown on me rather a lot since I edited it.
Wishing you all a fantastic weekend, whatever you have planned. I'm going to see my new-born granddaughter for the first time. How did I get old enough for my children to have their own offspring? She entered the world on Sunday night - my first grandchild. She's beautiful - but of course I would think that wouldn't I? Needless to say, I'm very excited. I'm taking her a present from Iceland, even though I'm not sure she's ready to say thank you just yet.
This photo was taken from Baisse du Basto, a high mountain pass in the Mercantour National Park in the French Alps. The foreground is filled with large, jagged rocks, showing the rough and wild terrain typical of this altitude. In the distance, steep mountain slopes rise dramatically, partially covered by mist and clouds. A small patch of blue sky breaks through, adding contrast to the grey tones of the rocks and peaks. The scene feels remote and powerful—a raw glimpse into the alpine wilderness.
High above the coast of Northern Norway, the evening sun breaks through a veil of clouds — a final golden salute before sinking into the sea.
Captured near Horn, just north of Brønnøysund, the view stretches all the way to the horizon where the silhouette of Torghatten gently pierces the light.
A landscape shaped by time, softened by water, and illuminated by moments like this — fleeting, yet eternal.
This aerial photograph captures the sculptural beauty of Namibia's vast desert dunes. Shaped by centuries of wind, the golden formations stretch endlessly across the horizon, creating a mesmerizing interplay of light, shadow, and texture in one of the oldest deserts on Earth.
I arrived at Goblin Valley before the sun. As the sun's glow started to grow, I felt someone staring at me; the Dawn Goblin.
D810 ISO400 1/13sec 70mm ƒ/8
My friend Tobias and I have been on a two-day hike in the Palatinate Forest in begin of August, 2025. We climbed up this sandstone formation in the dark and with our headlamps on. The weather was windy and partly wet. But we really enjoyed the view and the mood up there. We would stay out for hiking and shooting for the whole day and would have a warm dinner and campfire in the evening and a good night sleep in our tents.
October 2025 | Palatinate Forest
© Maximilian Engelsberger
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Taken with a DJI Air 2S. Captured a train stopped along the Missouri River at Weston Bend State Park.
Escape to the breathtaking beauty of the Lake District! 🚶♀️✨ There's nothing quite like a peaceful walk amidst stunning mountains and serene waters.
Everyone shoots the barn at Capitol Reef. I wanted to do something different. I wanted to get the ruggedness of the barn, but still get the beauty of Capitol Reef. More: wp.me/P7JpRt-4g
D810 ISO64 1/30sec 15mm ƒ/18