Before the trucks. Before the campaigns. Before the stories that drive industry and impact; there was silence, wind, and a camera pointed toward something wild.

Photography didn’t start with branding for me. It started with the land, and critters that live in it.

Wide colorful Oregon skies. Mist-covered timber lines. Elk in motion. A Eagle dropping low against a golden backdrop. These were the moments that taught me what a photograph could mean. Not just what it could show, but what it could say.

Those early days spent chasing light across mountain ridges and trying to catch the frame of a bull elk through brush weren’t just exercises in exposure, they were lessons in storytelling. Nature doesn’t pose. Animals don’t perform. If you want a shot, you earn it. Quietly. Patiently. Respectfully.

And that’s where I first learned the value of a frame. Not the technical value… though that came later. I’m talking about emotional weight. The ability to freeze a moment that carries feeling, intention, and context. A photo that whispers something true even if you weren’t there to see it unfold.

The landscapes taught me perspective. The critters taught me timing. And all of it taught me heart.

That foundation still drives everything I shoot today… whether it’s a logging rig in motion, a helicopter cutting across sunrise, or my own son pushing toward his D1 dream. Every frame has a story. Every story has a shape. And photography is just the tool that gives it weight.

It started with the land. And that’s why every project I touch still feels like a way home.