Behind every photograph is the part no one sees: the story, the struggle it came from. The miles, the muttered curses, the sky throwing tantrums at you like an offended god. Great images rarely appear when the trail is gentle and the light obedient; they arrive after the wind has tried to peel you from the ridge, after the cold has numbed the logic out of your hands, and the instinctive prickle on the back of your neck reminding you you’re not the apex here. Yet that’s where the good work happens. When the weather turns theatrical and the landscape shakes off its polite veneer, and reveals the brief, untamed moments worth capturing. That is what I chase, and that is the story I strive to capture.