Going Vertical: My Story and Approach to Becoming a Photographer in Alpine Environments
Butt shots …
If you've ever trailed behind a strong climbing partner on a multipitch rock climb or alpine route, only to return with a camera roll full of photos of your partner's rear end, you understand my pain.
When my climbing journey began in 2022, I hadn't rock climbed indoors or outdoors since I was an elementary school boy in Cub Scouts, climbing on top ropes at a few troop outings with the adults responsible for safety measures. In June of that year, a fateful interaction with my hostel dormmate in Huaraz, Peru, changed the trajectory of my life and career when I was invited on a guided climb of my first glaciated mountain. We summited Nevado Vallunaraju, and I remember how in the days following, I saw myself for the first time ever, not just travelling in the valleys below those giant walls of ice and rock, but scaling them and standing on top after a hard-fought battle of technical obstacles.
The world of steep snow, ice, and rock was completely unknown to me, but I felt a fire inside of me urging me to learn more about it.
In July of 2022, I returned to the States, invigorated by my experiences in Peru. I knew I wanted to become some kind of climber, but I didn't know where to start. Coincidentally, I began dating a strong climber who reintroduced me to indoor climbing at her local climbing gym, where she'd become a confident lead climber. Starting with V1 boulder problems, I strong-armed my way up routes with very little technique. As I watched my partner and her friends climb with inspiring strength and fluidity, I knew that if I practiced enough, I could eventually climb at their level. Soon after that experience, I joined a climbing gym in Salt Lake City, where I progressed in my technique and climbing strength and learned how to belay a partner on top rope.
Learning how to belay led to me climbing in some incredibly beautiful places with friends who already knew how to lead climb, like on the white granite walls of Little Cottonwood Canyon.
But something was missing for me. Occasionally I brought my camera along; other times just my cell phone in hand. I was unable to wholly tell the stories of those adventures because the only perspective I had was looking up a wall and taking photos of my partners as they led, without capturing any intriguing context that top-down provides. It didn't take me long to realize that if I ever wanted to capture the kind of epic climbing imagery that inspires awe and tells a full story of the vertical environments I was starting to explore, I had to gain the technical skills of being a lead climber too.
I was motivated to focus on my technical skills out of the desire to shoot like my favorite climber-photographers and filmmakers, to be a true team member rather than a dead weight or liability, and I naturally became passionate for climbing itself. What started as a way to improve my photographic storytelling turned into something I can see myself doing for the rest of my life regardless of whether I have a camera in hand. So I applied an approach to my work that I knew would work; I spent two years honing my technical craft without bringing my camera along on my adventures in order to focus on my technical skills. I knew this approach of becoming technically proficient would work because I'd done it once before for another sport I quickly fell in love with.
How Splitboarding Served as a Blueprint to Mountaineering and Alpinism Photography
Before developing myself as a climber, I learned how to splitboard (this is backcountry skiing/touring with a snowboard for those who are unfamiliar). I approached splitboarding and photography by taking a 101 course, accruing nearly 70 days of backcountry experience, and learning how to be safe while moving in complex mountain terrain before ever seriously bringing my camera out with me. I took this approach to minimize risk and maximize safety. I didn't want my work as a photographer to endanger the lives of my partners, nor did I want my inexperience travelling on a splitboard to detract from my photography. In the early stages of learning, my camera was a distraction in the grand scheme of what I wanted to achieve, which was shooting epic adventure-style photos in the backcountry.
There were days I wished I had my camera with me, when the snow shimmered in the dawn light and my friends carved through waist-deep powder, their faces grinning with pure joy. I longed to capture those moments, but I knew leaving my camera behind was necessary to reach my long-term goals. In those first couple of years, I focused on learning the nuances of backcountry travel, developing the judgment to make safe decisions, and recognizing when it was appropriate to bring my camera into play.
As my partners and I spent more time in the mountains, we built trust, an essential ingredient in such unforgiving environments. They knew I would never compromise the team's safety for a photograph, and we trusted each other to communicate openly and honestly. With that foundation of confidence, communication, and technical aptitude, I finally earned the freedom to concentrate on creating the kinds of images I had dreamed of.
Through patience and intention in my splitboarding photography, I was able to plan and execute one of my favorite images I've ever captured, which was later published in the Backcountry Magazine Photo Annual. It was during the winter of 2023–24, my fourth season as a splitboarder, when over 600 inches of snow fell in Utah. By early March, the snowpack had solidified, and I was restless for a big mountain adventure.
I set my sights on a 6,000-foot ascent to the summit of Lone Peak, high above the Utah Valley, where I would capture my friends riding the south face of the Question Mark Wall. To raise the stakes even further, I envisioned it at sunrise. I knew that between six and seven in the morning, the glowing light would transform the scene into something otherworldly. With my friends CJ and Mitch on board to make my vision come to life, we left our homes in Salt Lake at 10pm and started our approach to Lone Peak in the dark of night at 11pm. By dawn, we stood on the summit. As Mitch and CJ assembled their boards just a couple hundred feet away, I scurried around to frame the shot. The results were unlike anything I had ever captured before—a series of images that felt like a dream come true.
Final Thoughts on my Journey Shooting Photos in Technical Environments
My success in splitboarding adventure photography guided my approach to mountaineering and alpine climbing photography. All I had to do was repeat the process, dedicating at least a couple of years to gaining safety and confidence in the sport. Then, I could start bringing my camera out to capture my epic alpine adventures.
What worked for me in this process was taking courses to learn directly from experienced professionals and getting acquainted with gear and systems well before attempting to seriously shoot adventures in objectively hazardous environments. Another major factor was finding friends and mentors. For example, my splitboarding mentors were friends who were learning at the same time; although they didn’t have more experience, they brought unique perspectives, and together we collaborated and mentored each other. In climbing, I sought people I could trust who had more experience than me to lead climbs and provide both technical and non-technical advice. Patience and trust in the process were essential, as was having a strong foundation as a trekker, hiker, and photographer in non-technical environments. Without that background, the learning curve would have been much slower and the quality of my work less developed. Finally, dreaming and goal setting played an important role. I see dreams as goals we haven’t set yet; by imagining and believing we can achieve incredible things, we create the path to turn those dreams into tangible goals.
Looking back, the only thing I would've done differently is carry a simple, lightweight point-and-shoot camera. It would have enabled me to capture spontaneous moments without being a distraction.
All in all, climbing has become much more than a means to capture better photographs. It has grown into a lifelong passion that fuels my creativity and sense of purpose. What started as a way to avoid butt shots and tell fuller stories of adventure has evolved into a process of discipline, trust, and growth that continually pushes me forward. I know there will always be more to learn, more skills to refine, and more moments to capture, but the path I have chosen gives me both confidence and direction into the future. My camera is the tool that helps me share these stories, but it's the climbing and splitboarding themselves, the friendships, the challenges, and the commitment to the craft that make the stories truly worth telling.
