2021

connecting with 2021...
Everything in Alaska highlights how wild this place is. Even here in Seward, the mountains shrouded in blue midday mist look massive and mighty despite their relatively low height.
There is something absolutely magical about this place a few miles south of Seward. After winding through the thick forest, the hiking trail descends to a big opening at the shore. A creek flows into the fjord. In September, thousands of salmon live their last hours in the shallow water, and seagulls feast on the easy prey. Despite the somewhat disturbing scenes, the whole place has an absolutely peaceful aura. Allegedly, grizzly bears love the spot for its atmosphere too. I was (un)lucky to encounter none.
The Old Rag hike being one of the most popular in the Mid-Atlantic and attracting more than a thousand hikers on a good day can easily get lines longer than Georgetown Cupcake due to some narrow and relatively technical passages in its rock-scramble section and people not quite prepared for that. The best way to beat the crowd would be to hike the mountain at night. About an hour of romantic forest trail with steady incline, another hour for rock scrambling and one could be rewarded with a gorgeous sunrise over Virginia’s Piedmont. You might even make it to the summit faster if you are lucky enough to spot a black bear in the pitch-darkness.
Dramatic light conditions in this ever-changing landscape of Oregon coast.
There are moments you want to scream about to the entire world, and there are quite the opposite ones. The ones you fear to share because they would inevitably lose something after that. And you do hope nobody will ever find those places—your special places—whether they are physical locations on Earth or hidden deeply inside you.
When people see a guy with a tripod pointing his camera at something, they occasionally approach me with questions like “Is there anything particular going on here?” or “What do you see there?”. I typically come up with stupid responses sort of “Erm… I guess life is going on here” or “Um, I see the trees there”. I doubt I ever satisfy those passerby with my replies. After all, people do tend to get upset when they face something simple while expecting complicated things.
After having a pint of pilsner in a bar in Pacific City, Oregon, I set out to wander the sandy hills of Cape Kiwanda, although I could have just stayed and had another pint of pilsner. Never did I achieve anything more heroic in my life. And I'm still wondering to this day whether the consistent leaning of the trees in the photo was caused by the wind or the pilsner.
“Termination dust” seems to be exclusively Alaskan colloquial term and means the first dusting of snow in the mountains at the end of the summer season. Historically, it gave the seasonal workers an indication that snow was imminent and it was time to start preparing their camp and work for winter. For many, it in fact meant “termination” of their employment status. Despite some negative connotation of the term (some Alaskan even asked reporters and the weather people to stop using it) few things in nature can compare to the beauty of glowing aspens highlighted by white snow in the mountains.
I adore the feeling of absolute calmness in nature a few hours before a snowstorm reaches the area. The sounds get quieter, the light gets softer. The anxiety about getting into trouble on untreated roads gets worse.
Early fall colors in Glacier National Park.
One of those photos where I didn't initially expect anything to play out. Only after looking at it on a big screen and applying some post-processing magic did it reveal its complexity and beauty.
Sunset at Yellowstone Lake. Consistent smoke from the Western wildfires dominated the sky those days. Which in turn resulted in interesting light effects.
Winter in Virginia and nearby states typically means no foliage and no snow either. Which makes landscape photography not that fruitful. Well, it also makes rare snowfalls and foggy mornings even more precious. And sunsets… Sunsets are the best this time of the year.
Sunrise over Yellowstone lake.
Everything is much bigger on the West Coast, even the dead trees.
Underexposing the shot and applying some simple post-processing techniques remove everything non-essential from the photo and allows to focus on the main subjects.
After almost discarding this photo initially, over time I developed a sort of acquired taste for it. The strong leading lines, minimalism, and silky water texture make this picture different from many other waterfalls I've shot.
Taking long-exposure photos of foam patterns on a pond surface is predictably unpredictable process. It’s impossible to know beforehand what the result of those 30 seconds would be. You can only take multiple shots and then torture yourself trying to determine the most aesthetically pleasing. I took a few dozen pictures of this cascade in Ricketts Glen Park and eventually ended up with just two options to pick out from. The foam patterns on the other shot clearly resembled X-rays of the male reproductive system. Gosh, it was a tough choice to make! And I’m still puzzled why I ultimately ended up with this one.
Possibly one of the most photogenic waterfalls in Pennsylvania, especially if you appreciate simplicity.
Incredibly blue glacier water on a popular hike in Glacier National Park.
When I was a kid, Alaska was a quintessence of something remote and wild those days. Glorified and mystified in Jack London’s novels, located far away from everything on a colorful map in my room… Very few places seemed more unreachable. It has changed. The world becomes painfully small with traveling when The Last Frontier is merely a few hours away from home. The world becomes even smaller when one of the best jazz musicians who you listened to while commuting to college back in Ukraine, now shakes your hand in a small local club and humbly thanks for coming to his concert. The world, however, immediately becomes incomprehensibly immense when you think of people you love and have no clue about where they presently are on this tiny planet.
Columbia River Gorge is a gorgeous gorge (is it just me who finds that phrase a bit odd?). But so many times, when I come across something truly spectacular among other photographers' works, the caption includes “unfortunately, this area was completely destroyed by a fire”.
Other years:
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2026
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2025
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2024
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2023
2022 gallery
2022
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2020