Sail away with me honey
I put my heart in your hands
Sail away with me honey, now, now…
Now

- from the song Sail Away by David Gray

Throwback to warmer days, sunshine and sailboats.

The Ghorepani Poon Hill trek along the Annapurna circuit is a gorgeous 4-5 day climb in the Himalayas. Reaching a maximum elevation of about 3200 meters and covering a distance of roughly 50 kilometers, the highlight of this trek is without a doubt the unobstructed views of the Annapurna mountain range. Accommodation along the way is basic at best with hole-in-the-wall rooms, shared toilets and no guaranteed running water but the delicious home-cooked meals at tea houses along the trail and views of the towering Himalayas more than make up for the lack of comfort. The trek is of moderate difficulty and is especially recommended for families who want to expose kids to multi-day hikes in the mountains. We did this trek with three kids aged 12, 10 and 5 all of whom had a blast waking up early each morning to climb 2000+ feet to get to our next rest stop, surviving on maggi, momos and daal bhat during the climb. The image above is a view of the Annapurna mountain range as seen from Poon Hill, the highest point on the trek, during sunrise.

The alarm rings at 3:45am. Cursing under my breath, I hit the snooze button, wondering for the umpteenth time if it’s worth waking up this early on the weekend, when it’s still cold outside, and dark - pitch dark. A 40 minute drive gets me to a dusty pull out beside the lake, and a quick 10 minute scramble down a steep incline and over mis-shapen boulders brings me to the edge. The water is dead calm and there is barely enough light to make out color or form. Slowly it begins. First, a chill wind, gentle enough to not disturb the surface of the lake, yet firm enough to nudge the clouds across the sky. And then, the horizon to the east lights up, brushing blue-gold streaks above and around me, painting in a scene that will be as fleeting as it is beautiful. That’s when I remind myself. It is worth it. Always worth it.

This image was born of a repeat visit. I’d first visited this location one evening when staying overnight at Milford Sound. The journey here is an adventure in itself, being two hours away from the closest town and having to cross a mountain pass along the way. The first evening there, the sky decided to play spoil sport and the scene was quite flat. That meant waking up early the next morning and braving the bitter cold to try again. And oh man did the sky deliver this time! Insane clouds and magnificent colours! I'm glad I didn't sleep in.

The whole of Banff National Park and surrounding areas is dotted with splendid little lakes that pair with the Canadian Rockies to offer picture-postcard vistas. This is Mt. Rundle reflected in Vermillion Lake as viewed from an easily accessible spot just a few minutes drive from the center of Banff town. I had done quite a bit of research online about the access to and views from this lake, but seeing it all in person took my breath away. I spent a good hour or more here as the sun slowly set one autumn day and the wind chill made me pull on layer after layer of warm wear.

This was actually quite a plain scene that we happened across when we visited Glenorchy Wharf in New Zealand one rainy afternoon. I took some creative liberty and used a long shutter duration to smooth out the choppy water and blur out the rustling leaves when creating this image. The scene itself lends itself to a painterly feeling and I was hoping to capture that in-camera.

Fall is my favourite season. Hands down. The leaves do this magical colour turning dance right before they drop off the branches. Like at this gorgeous spot along Johnston Canyon in Banff National Park. The water flowed a lovely emerald green as I chanced on this scene that stopped me dead in my tracks.

A touch of light⁠, a splash of gold⁠,
Captive, my gaze it holds⁠,
In the stillness of that quiet hour⁠,
My thoughts, my soul⁠ Reflected.⁠ ⁠

Just after sunset along a quiet riverbank in the Bhadra Wildlife Sanctuary. The edge of the riverbank leads the viewer through the image while the boulder in the water provides an anchor to the frame. The rising moon is just icing on the cake.

There are four dawns to a day. The first is barely noticeable, giving itself away only as it lightens a black night sky. The second solidifies structure and form, as darkness is peeled away to reveal horizons and shapes. The third breathes color, not the vibrant kind, but shy, quiet hues; playful, like a tease. The fourth is bold, decisive, and sudden; it paints with broad strokes, of light and heat.

And a new day is born.

Very few things compare to that feeling of letting your cares slip away as you stare down a setting sun on a quiet beach. After a day spent snorkeling among jellyfish and manta rays, and kayaking over colorful corals beneath an aquamarine veil. A day spent lazing on white sand beaches, and scuba diving at the edge of island reefs that drop a 100 feet and more into the ocean depths. Very few.

One of the best experiences while on safari in Kenya is an early morning hot air balloon ride over the Masai Mara. You wake up early, well before the sun rises with the wind still cold enough to freeze your ears, and drive out an hour or more to the middle of an open grassland. And then you see them. Magnificent, towering envelopes of nylon being blast filled with hot air. You load into the sturdy basket attached to one of these colorful balloons and it starts climbing. Higher and higher you soar as the sun starts rising over the landscape, lighting everything its rays touch. Quieter and quieter it gets, till it’s just you and the mara.

The sun sets and casts its brilliant soft glow on Mt Shasta and Castle Lake as seen from Heart Lake.

Her legs ached with the effort, her parched throat felt like coarse sandstone, and her brow beaded with sweat at that afternoon hour as she ascended the rocky incline. She could not turn back, not now, not after two days on the path, so close to the end. "Follow the river, the river will lead you there", was what they had told her, but she could vividly recall their muffled laughter as she had turned around, and her face flushed with emotion. But she heard something else now, and it sounded like a gushing song of promise. Half running, half stumbling, she flew over the uneven, loose rocks towards her goal. 

Kneeling beside the shimmering cascade, she wept, and her tears became one with the flow. As the glen quieted down, heralding evening's arrival, she dipped the tip of her finger into the sacred water and anointed herself with the cool liquid. Now she could return, now there was peace. The wolves would come out to hunt in the twilight, but she did not care. The water had given her peace, she could feel that peace.

Standing at the edge of a cliff just a few miles outside a little town in Arizona, you are treated to this magnificent view. The stillness of the emerald water belies the ferocity of nature as the Colorado River, meandering a thousand feet below, cuts deep into the rock to create this unique horseshoe bend. As the final rays of a setting sun bathe the rock face in its warm glow, a chill wind picks up to herald the arrival of another day's end.

When that season rolls around, as the sunlight falls just right, and the crowds are thinning - they leave you alone, where the crevices begin to get tight. That is a sight that must be seen, to understand what it's like. Like seeing your world dipped in melted golden caramel.

What was written in ages past
On shifting sands of time
Has neither ground nor anchor
No permanence, 'tis no wonder
That learned sages and sciences
Talk of rock, to approach forever
For the wind, it changes all
And sand is constant never.

This land has seen untold ages pass. This land has consumed the fore-fathers of our ancestors, embracing the shell that once was, rejuvenating decay to life that will, one day, be. This land - solid, unyielding, stoic; a calm facade that belies roiling chaos churning beneath the surface. A violent anger eager to tear through rock like delicate lace, bringing forth fertility, virility, and newness. We are, but wanderers on scar tissue.

This land has seen untold ages pass. This land has consumed the fore-fathers of our ancestors, embracing the shell that once was, rejuvenating decay to life that will, one day, be. This land - solid, unyielding, stoic; a calm facade that belies roiling chaos churning beneath the surface. A violent anger eager to tear through rock like delicate lace, bringing forth fertility, virility, and newness. We are, but wanderers on scar tissue.

There is something humbling in welcoming a new day amidst majestic creatures that roamed this Earth millions of years before our feeble bipedal species climbed down from the tress to walk upright on the grasslands. A shared experience of oneness with our evolutionary cousins that whispers to us of our place under the sun, and our insignificance in time. A gentle reminder of the simple truth that we are but one tiny branch, a twig, on the tree of life. The passage of time may well be the hand that wipes the slate clean. Till one day, we too are numbered in the thousands, as another claims dominance over this planet.

In silence, in solitude
Shall lie your strength
A world cursed with storm
May your calm help still
To all who seek comfort
And safe harbor this night
Let your guiding light
Bring warmth, and hope
At first sight

Many ancient cultures embrace the practice of embarking on a journey of self-discovery, seeking out meaning and purpose in life to attain a state of enlightenment. A journey that brings with it the ravages of loneliness and hardship - crucibles that forge and temper the traveler's will and self-awareness. A journey that, like any other, begins with a first step.

Taughannock Falls after a light summer rain. Probably one of the most photogenic falls in the Finger Lakes region in upstate New York.

Dreams on plastic layers,
Smiles on hollow bone,
West, where vice is sacred,
Brittle and alone,
A melting pot of flavors,
Wild eyed stirred with rich,
Welcome to the city,
Beneath the bridge.

The alarm rings at 3:45am. Cursing under my breath, I hit the snooze button, wondering for the umpteenth time if it’s worth waking up this early on the weekend, when it’s still cold outside, and dark - pitch dark. A 40 minute drive gets me to a dusty pull out beside the lake, and a quick 10 minute scramble down a steep incline and over mis-shapen boulders brings me to the edge. The water is dead calm and there is barely enough light to make out color or form. Slowly it begins. First, a chill wind, gentle enough to not disturb the surface of the lake, yet firm enough to nudge the clouds across the sky. And then, the horizon to the east lights up, brushing blue-gold streaks above and around me, painting in a scene that will be as fleeting as it is beautiful. That’s when I remind myself. It is worth it. Always worth it.

A fleeting slice of twilight
Aqua tempered hues
A hushed, quiet celebration
With mesmerizing views
Like sand through cupped fingers
A silence some can hear
Time and tide and light
Travel onward too soon

On a hill, far away...

A gorgeous spring vista somewhere in the Bay Area. There is a fleeting weeks-long period, after the first rains and before the onslaught of summer, during which the entire country-side is carpeted in green. Couple that with an approaching hailstorm during sunset and you can almost imagine, dragons.

Photography is the art of chasing light. Usually, the light is dull, flat and boring. Equally often, it is harsh and uninviting. Occasionally though, the skies burst with shades of angry reds, regal purples and deep, deep blues. But sometimes, just sometimes, we get these soft pastel hues that whisper of cool evenings and hot chocolate. And the regret of words left unspoken.

The Antelope Canyons in the American southwest is a fascinating area to visit. Intricate caverns carved out by flash floods roaring through sandstone facades allow sunlight to filter in and paint the grainy walls in hues of purples, yellows, and reds. It is easy to see why the Navajo people consider this place sacred.

This was the view from our homestay in Mudh Village, a tiny settlement in Pin Valley National Park in Spiti Valley.⁠ The village consists of less than 50 families who live surrounded by some of the most gorgeous landscapes crafted by mountains, rivers, and big open skies. Getting here was a two-hour drive over "barely-there" roads from Kaza, the closest town located in the heart of Spiti Valley. Cell signal coverage is non-existent. The summers here are pleasant and everyone in the village was out and about, preparing for the long, harsh, winters. And everyone we encountered during our stay had a smile that was as infectious as the scenery was epic.⁠ We did not want to come away. This was travel at its best.⁠

The best thing about sunrise landscape photography is the waiting. Waiting for the sun to rise and cast its soft glow on the scene. Waiting in the bitter cold, nursing a travel mug with hot cocoa. Waiting and hoping that the fog will linger on for a few more minutes. The second best thing, is the breakfast that follows.

There's something magical about blue hour, that span straddling the cusp between daytime and nighttime, as twilight's fingers brush away the harshness of day, and the city lets down its hair in a thousand sparkling pinpoints of light. The sun may have set, but we have the night!

A rainy day at the Kōtoku-in temple in Kamakura, Japan.

A voice like honey, like fire inside,
Like water and whiskey burn,
Grab me with those piercing eyes,
My soul screams at every turn.
Over and over and over I seek,
A thrill, and a rush, and a high,
Fire and ice, you’re sugar and spice,
Tonight I burn, I burn inside.

Blood, sweat, tears, steel, paint, light. The makings of magic.

A lone bench overlooking an expanse of water as the sun slowly sets, just whispers of loss, and loneliness.

Red sky in the morning
Red sky at night
The first, a dire warning
The last, pure delight
Change is never easy
And weak out-voice the wise
A word of warning, read the signs
For a storm brews tonight 

The light was fading fast that day. To the west, a rapidly setting sun painted the sky yellow-orange, a fiery hue that faded to a deep purple tone as the eye tracked east. The firmament above lent its brilliant gradation to the surface of the lake as the water below reflected this gorgeous coloring. 

Sometimes, it is the simplicity of a scene that captivates.