IN AWE
I arrived in the Dolomites, Italy, in late October. As an Australian, I was amazed to see a landscape so alive with orange, red, and yellow hues. Back home, our native flora doesn’t adhere to the seasonal changes of the northern hemisphere—our gums and wattles remain steadfastly green all year round. This vibrant explosion of color was a sight so unfamiliar that it made my mind bend, but in the best possible way.
After settling into my Airbnb, I wasted no time diving into adventure. First on the list was Seceda, the nearest mountain to my stay.
The journey up to Seceda begins with a two-step cable car ride. I still remember stepping onto that swaying car, my legs trembling slightly—heights and I have never been the best of friends. But as the car climbed higher, the sheer beauty of the view began to outweigh my unease. By the time I stepped off at the summit, I was speechless.
In daily life, it’s easy to get caught up in the weight of modern pressures. Our minds are crammed with endless information, our bodies tethered to routines. But in that moment, standing on the edge of a 250-million-year-old mountain range, all of that melted away. Nature has a way of stripping us of unnecessary noise, reconnecting us with what truly matters.
The view was a masterpiece of rugged peaks, dramatic contrasts, and raw, untamed beauty. It wasn’t just something I saw; it was something I felt in my chest and deep in my bones. You know those viral videos where someone’s jaw drops as they take in a stunning view? That was me—jaw slack, eyes wide, utterly in awe of what lay before me.
I spent the rest of the day exploring Seceda, soaking in its energy and letting it work its magic. As a photographer, I find these moments especially rewarding. It’s not just about capturing the beauty of a place; it’s about immersing myself in it, feeling its essence, and preserving that in an image.
The Dolomites reminded me of how small I am in the grand scheme of things, and how wonderful that can feel. For a brief time, I was just a speck among these ancient mountains—a humbling, grounding experience I’ll carry with me forever.
A NEW LIGHT
One of the most fascinating parts of traveling is discovering how light behaves in foreign landscapes. It’s not something I’d ever really thought about until I started to notice how different the world looks depending on the nature around it.
Back home in Australia, light tends to come in two extremes. On one hand, we have this harsh, almost blinding white light—a product of our intense UV levels. On the other, there’s a golden, rounded glow that softens the landscape of an evening, bringing out the deep reds of our soil and the rich greens of eucalyptus trees. It’s familiar and predictable, but stepping into the Dolomites, I found myself in a completely new world of light.
On a day off, I stumbled upon Lago de Cerezza. It wasn’t planned—just one of those happy accidents that seem to happen when you’re open to exploring. The greens and blues of the lake shimmered in a way I had never seen before, their vibrancy amplified by the surrounding autumn leaves. The interplay of colors was mesmerizing—the cool tones of the water against the yellow of the changing trees created a palette that felt almost otherworldly.
It was here I began to appreciate how much variety nature offers us as photographers. Light doesn’t just exist; it interacts, reflects, absorbs, and transforms depending on its surroundings. The way the light hit the lake, casting delicate reflections and subtle ripples, was an invitation to experiment.
Using my Sigma ART 35mm F1.4, I focused on capturing these reflections—the way the lake mirrored the landscape, but with its own personality. The lens allowed me to play with depth, sharpness, and contrast, highlighting the intricate details of this beautiful scene. It reminded me why I love contrasting colors so much—they have this ability to pull your focus and make you notice the small, beautiful moments you might otherwise miss.
Finding new light sources and seeing how they interact with the environment has become one of my favorite parts of traveling. It’s a reminder that no matter how familiar we think we are with our craft, there’s always more to learn, more to see, and more to capture.
THOSE BEFORE US
The Dolomites are a place of history—layers of stories etched into their peaks and valleys, quite literally (lot's of tunnels). Visiting Tre Cime di Lavaredo, or the "Three Sisters," was an opportunity not just to witness more of this amazing palce but to reflect on those who came before us.
The journey began before dawn. Waking up at sunrise, I loaded my gear into an electric car—an ambitious choice given its less-than-stellar range, but one I felt good about for its environmental benefits. Navigating through the dark roads of the Dolomites while hunting for elusive charging stations was an adventure in itself. By 5:30 a.m., I had parked and begun the 15km hike.
As I climbed, the first light of day began to spread across the peaks. Looking back, I caught sight of the purple hues of sunrise painting Cadini di Misurina. It was one of those moments that makes you stop in your tracks, overwhelmed by the sheer artistry of the rugged mountain range.
Crossing over the first peak adjacent to the Three Sisters, the valley opened up before me—a vast expanse of jagged rock faces and rolling terrain, a masterpiece sculpted over millions of years.
This wasn’t just a hike; it was a trek through history. The via ferratas, fixed climbing routes now popular with adventurers, were first used by soldiers during World War I to navigate these mountains. As I carefully moved through old tunnels carved into the rock, my mind kept drifting back to the Alpini, the Italian mountain troops who fought here. These soldiers braved unimaginable conditions—freezing winters, treacherous terrain, and constant danger.
At several points, I had to steady myself, grappling with my own fear of heights (once again). The exposed sections of the trail were exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. But even as my legs wobbled and my heart raced, I was keenly aware that my challenges paled in comparison to those of the men who once fought and died on these paths.
The Alpini weren’t just soldiers; they were mountaineers, deeply connected to this land. Established in the late 1800s, the Alpini became a symbol of resilience, navigating these peaks with strength and skill during some of history’s darkest moments. As I hiked through the valley, I could almost imagine their footsteps echoing alongside mine—the weight of their packs, the exhaustion, the courage.
Standing in a place like this, it’s impossible not to feel humbled. The mountains, with their raw and unyielding presence, seem to hold the memory of those who endured so much. The beauty of the Dolomites is undeniable, but so too is the sense of reverence for the lives that were lived and lost here.
As I made my way back down, the sun was higher in the sky, casting the valleys in the bold midday light. It reminded me that while we enjoy the privilege of exploring these places today, it’s important to honor those who paved the way—whether through war, hardship, or simply the desire to preserve the beauty of the world around us. These mountains are a testament to human resilience, a reminder to appreciate both the past and the present.
Exploring the Dolomites was a journey of contrasts—between the vibrant hues of nature and the muted tones of history, between personal challenge and quiet reflection. From the breathtaking light of Lago de Cerezza to the rugged trails of Tre Cime, each step has been a reminder of the beauty and complexity of the ancient mountain range.
Despite the stark difference from the familiar Australian landscape, I felt grounded and connected here, just as I do in the Victorian High Country back home. These mountains may have been new to me, but they brought out a timeless sense of awe and joy that the little kid inside me will never outgrow. Seeing big mountains, like really big ones is still bloody awesome, no matter how old you are.
The Dolomites are more than just landscapes; they are storytellers, holding the memories of those who came before us. Whether capturing the perfect reflection in a still lake or hiking through the echoes of history, these mountains offered me a humbling connection to the world around.
In the end, the Dolomites remind me of the importance of staying present—of embracing embodying moments, honoring those who walked paths before us, and celebrating the endless variety of light and color that makes adventuring just the best thing ever.
