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Limited Edition Print - 150
Landscape photography is usually a game of chasing light — those brief windows just before sunrise or after sunset when the world softens and the landscape begins to glow with a kind of quiet magic. This image however was captured so far before sunrise that there was barely enough light to distinguish lake from land, let alone mountains from sky. At that hour the world felt suspended somewhere between sleeping and waking, where shapes became suggestion rather than certainty.
The friction layer had settled across the landscape, holding the wind high above the contours of the land and creating an eerie stillness across the lake below, while clouds continued racing silently through the darkness far above the mountains. It was one of those strange alpine moments where everything close felt perfectly calm, yet the sky hinted that nature was still very much moving at full pace overhead.
With almost no available light, an unusually long exposure was required to slowly gather detail from the darkness. The extended exposure softened the surrounding bush into something almost painterly, while the lake transformed into a sheet of polished glass reflecting the faintest traces of pre-dawn light. Beyond the stillness rose the snow-covered peaks, sharp and immovable against the soft blur of the foreground — the contrast between motion and silence, darkness and detail, creating a landscape that felt less photographed and more imagined
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What does one do when staying at Maruia Hot Springs in the middle of winter and waking up ridiculously early with absolutely no reason to be conscious? Well, the sensible option would’ve been to stay wrapped up in bed until the hot pools opened.
But apparently common sense and landscape photography maintain a very strained relationship.
Instead, I found myself staring at my camera gear and convincing myself this somehow counted as a good idea. Lewis Pass was only ten minutes up the road and the Saint James Track had been lurking in the back of my mind ever since arriving. So on went thefull winter survival costume, puffer jacket, woolly hat, gloves, thermals, over-trousers, because outside it was sitting at a crisp minus one degree, which is scientifically known as “too cold for unnecessary adventures.”
My grand plan was simple enough. Drive over Lewis Pass, reach the Saint James walkway just before dawn, stroll to aviewpoint and photograph the first light spilling across themountains like some sort of rugged alpine genius.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten one rather important detail.
It was the end of June.
The sun in winter apparently had absolutely no intention of making an appearance anytime soon.
I pulled into the Saint James car park. It was so dark you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your face, which is always comforting when wandering into the wilderness alone carrying several thousand dollars worth of camera gear and the survival instincts of a confused house cat.
I switched my touch and stumbled along the track for a few minutes when I found myself standing in the middle of a viewing platform. Now logic suggested that if DOC had gone to the effort of building a viewing platform, there was probably something impressive out there worth seeing.
Problem was… I couldn’t see a thing. Nothing. Just darkness. Pitch-black, soul-swallowing darkness.
Now most reasonable people would probably wait an hour or so for daylight. But standing still in sub-zero temperatures loses its charm fairly quickly. So instead I decided to let the camera figure out what my eyes couldn’t.
Tripod out. Lens pointed vaguely into the abyss. Aperture wide open. And then I left the shutter open for over seven minutes.
Seven minutes is a surprisingly long time when standing alone in freezing darkness wondering whether you’re photographing a spectacular alpine landscape or simply a very expensive image of absolutely nothing.
Then the exposure finished. And there it was.
A small lake or should I say a large pond sat perfectly still beneath the surrounding mountains, framed by dense native bush that wrapped quietly around the shoreline. The lake surface had transformed into polished glass, reflecting the detail of the bush and mountains with near-perfect symmetry. Somehow the composition had been sitting directly in front of me the entire time, hidden in plain sight while I stood there blindly freezing myself for no particularly sensible reason.
Honestly, I could hardly believe it. No need to move the tripod. No need to reframe. The image was simply there waiting for the camera to reveal it.
So naturally the next hour became a frenzy of long exposures, different shutter times and endless experimentation as the first hints of morning slowly crept across the landscape. But strangely, as more light arrived, the magic started to disappear. The mystery softened. The atmosphere faded. The scene became beautiful… but ordinary.
Sometimes the best photographs happen before you can even properly see what you’re photographing.
And sometimes, against all logic and common sense, the very first shutter release ends up being the keeper.
Location
Located just east of Lewis Pass on New Zealand’s South Island, the beginning of the Saint James Walkway sits at approximately 907 metres above sea level amongst dense native beech forest and rugged alpine terrain. Positioned beside State Highway 7, the area marks the transition between the sheltered valleys of Lewis Pass and the more exposed backcountry landscapes beyond.
Surrounded by mountains, wetlands and thick forest, the environment is defined by rapidly changing weather, heavy winter frosts and deep alpine stillness. In the colder months low cloud, mist and snow frequently settle across the pass, transforming the beginning of the track into a remoteand atmospheric gateway into one of the South Island’s most isolated wilderness regions.
Printed on Hahnemühle Photo Rag®
Each limited edition print is produced on Hahnemühle Photo Rag® 308gsm, one of the world's most renowned fine art papers. Made from 100% cotton with a softly textured surface, it delivers rich depth, exceptional colour, deep blacks, and striking contrast. This museum-grade paper is acid- and lignin-free, ISO 9706 certified, and crafted for true archival quality — ensuring your print will last for generations.
Pigment-based inks provide exceptional longevity, delivering archival quality for up to 100 years when paired with UV70 glass framing.
read moreHandcrafted in Nelson by Nelson City Framers, each frame is made from kiln-dried pine for strength and longevity. Finished in timeless grained black, with dimensions of 26mm wide × 40mm deep, offering a refined balance of depth and elegance.
Your print is mounted on acid-free, neutral pH foam board to ensure archival quality and long-term preservation.
read moreYour limited addition print is protected with UV70 non-reflective glass, each photograph is shielded from 70% of UV light to prevent fading. The anti-reflective finish allows for clear, uninterrupted viewing even in bright or high-glare environments.