There is something faintly ridiculous about standing in the wind at odd hours, pointing a camera at mountains that have been perfectly capable of existing without my help for several million years. Yet landscapes have a quiet way of rewarding such foolishness.
Landscape photography is essentially the noble art of waking up far too early, climbing to inconvenient places, and hoping the weather shows the slightest bit of cooperation. Most of the time it does not.
But every now and then the light softens, the clouds behave, and the world briefly looks as though it has been arranged by someone with better taste than us. These photographs are the modest results of those rare and agreeable moments.
