I love nature. I love observing it and I try to convey it in my own photographical ways. But I do quite a bit of editorial photography, too. Mostly as part of my job as a bicycle journalist on behalf of pressedienst-fahrrad and fahrstil magazine.
If you’re interested in my editorial photography, look no further.
Beautiful Vassfaret.
Vassfaret, southern Valdres, Norway. Fall 2021. If you want to know how I got there, maybe read my Dovrefjell disappointment first. It turned out to be luck, though.
This region is a gem. Vassfaret sits between Hallingdal and Hedalen in the Valdres region. The region boasts low alpine coniferous forests, heather and bog. The fjell around rises to over 1,000 metres, which is well above treeline. You find rivers and lakes in plenty down in the valleys. What makes Vassfaret so special is that it’s wild, but had centuries of cautious human activity, especially logging and timber floating. This results in a number of old an ancient footpaths - quite rare in the Scandinavian fjell, where paths are usually scarce and scattered.
It’s no wonder that Vassfaret was a hotspot of Norwegian resistance against German occupation in World War II and operational base for a guerrilla group codenamed “ELG”. The region offers plenty of cover and resources while still pretty centrally located and quite close to the Norwegian capital Oslo.
My friend Linn and I walked into Vassfaret via Hedalen and we could not have wished for a more beautiful fall hike. Striking autumnal colors, warm days, cold(ish) nights in the tent and no one else around. A pleasant change to the over-crowded Dovrefjell, I had experienced only days before. We hiked only three days, but it felt exactly how it should feel for me. Out, remote, wild. I stayed in a little hut in the region for another ten days and it’s safe to say, I will come back. Actually, by the time of writing, I already have been back. But this is yet another story.
Snøhetta (2.286 m ASL) in all its snow-covered glory. The commanding summit of the area and one of the most beautiful.
It’s now one year ago that I fulfilled myself a dream I harbored for some years. I went to Dovrefjell to hike and photograph the only muskoxen (Ovibos moschatus) this side of the Atlantic or Arctic Ocean - in beautiful autumnal colours. Or so I thpught. Other than the year before, Covid did not interfere (read the 2020 story “No Muskoxen in Gränslandet” here) and off I went north.
You may have read here before that I am into trekking and long-distance hiking. This time I wanted to check the area close to the E6, the primary street between Oslo and Trondheim, first with only small gear, find or not find the muskoxen and then decide whether to stay in one place or make a hike through the area. My basecamp for the first few days that I planned to roam both sides of the street would be my car until I knew where to stay longer.
A part of “my herd” resting.
All went to plan - or nothing. I found a herd with eleven animals after only six hours of hiking. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring, pure happiness. I cried. I called my love at home to share my joy. It has been a rough year, but now I felt so fortunate. I was so fortunate. Me in my happy place.
The herd was about a kilometre away. I decided not to go much closer than 600 metres. Then I watched those stunning animals. I just sat and watched and waited for them to come closer. I did not want to disturb them. Only watch the herd and its behaviour in its natural environment. I did get a few half decent pictures. The autumnal colours were nothing short of phenomenal. But photography was not my focus. Watching, observing, absorbing the moment. I had plenty of time. I would come back tomorrow and stay longer. But first, I had to go back to the car. I did not dear to dream to find the herd so soon, so I had no sleeping gear with me.
Back I went. Only a few hours later, I stumbled into another herd. Well, not really. I saw it from a vantage point around 60 vertical metres above and around a kilometre away. It was still a little light. Plenty light for the binoculars. I could resume my path in the dark. I just wanted to watch the herd eat and then go to sleep. And then, I saw them. Two photographers quickly approaching the herd. Carrying their big white lenses like guns pointing straight at the poor animals.
One of the largest animals in the herd. My favourite image of the trip.
The two photographers went closer and closer. 200 metres, 100, 50, 30, maybe even closer. Then, standing upright, pointing their tools down, they started photographing. Moving into the herd. I was concerned for their safety, but I felt so sorry for the animals, too. The herds behaviour clearly changed in the process. First, it stopped feeding. Then, it withdrew a bit. The animals moved closer together. Then, they formed its defensive formation. Nothing stopped the photographers.
When you enter the region, every few hundred metres you stumble over a signpost. Musk oxen. Be aware. Don’t get too close. Leave them space. Don’t get closer than 200 or 300 metres. Let the animals come to you. Common sense, you should guess. Not for those two. I was wondering if they were plain ignorant or compelled to the prospect of five minutes glory - back on Instagram. Everyone wants to show off stunning muskoxen imagery on Instagram. Me, too. I could not dismiss this thought.
Would I really want to be part of this?
I had no clue that muskoxen where such skilled climbers. But they are goats, aren’t they!
Next day, a storm rolled in. It was already freezing when I came, now it was raining cats and dogs, lightning and thunder. I decided to wait this storm out. It should only be a day and I found a nice campsite (Magalupe camping. Highly recommended!). I called my love again and we shared our thoughts. I really did not want to be part of this. But the very moment I would post my images, I would be. We settled on a reassuring wait and see. At least I wanted to visit “my herd” again. It was much more remote and far down into the area. Maybe this was a singular experience.
The weather forecast was fine. So I visited “my herd” again. I took the same approach. I positioned myself so that when the herd would come down the valley, it would have the chance to approach me or avoid me at own will. It did not approach me. I took some environmental shots, made lunch and waited.
Two hours later, a guide lead a group of four to the spot. They did alright, left the muskoxen be, pitched there tents, talking audibly, buzzing for excitement. A Friday. Weekend with the finest of fall weather to come. I decided to leave. I did not want to stay here with ten or 20 other photographers like in a zoo. A friend of mine has a mountain hut some hours drive away. Her and her family were there for the weekend. We wanted to do a hike together anyways. We could as well do it over there.
On my way back to the car, I saw seven tents already pitched. Maybe they weren’t photographers at all, just regular locals or tourists like myself looking after some friluftsliv. Perfectly fine, but not for me. Not this time. I had all this preconceptions. Out alone in the wild. Like it has been so often in Norway or Sweden. But the muskoxen are superstars. They attract visitors from near and far. This part of the Dovrefjell national park is definitely not your typical bit of Scandinavian escapism.
I met the guide I had seen earlier. A very friendly, heart-warming, responsible guy. We had a good chat over a cup of coffee from our thermos. He would bring another group in later this evening, he said, and another three groups tomorrow. The autumnal season peak. Everyone wanted to see or photograph the stunning animals from primeval times now. I do not begrudge him his job. He has to make a living there. In another place and another time, I might have even dreamed of this job myself. At least he would instruct all other visitors to be responsible. All good. But I could not help, but feel like I was in a zoo.
A symphony in blue, red and cream. Bog blueberries (Vaccinium uliginosum) and lichen. Fall - the raddest of all!
I did not share the story of this trip or its images publicly prior to today. It did not feel right. It did not feel in line with my nature photography ethos. Maybe I am self-righteous. I am part of the problem, too. Travelling thousands of kilometres for my dream images. Sharing it all over the world. Encouraging others to do the same. Well, I am not a world famous photographer. The number of people, who read my blog or follow me on social media is small. But still. On the other hand, I did well. I did not approach or disturb the animals. No image is worth that. I let the animals decide whether to accept me or not. They did not. I took some images I hold dear. Today I share it. But I learned a lesson, too. To value each image more. And not to visit hotspots at rush hour. Be content with the roe deer in my backyard rather than chasing a dream that thousands of others chase, too. And maybe come back in winter. With a pulk. When it’s cold and harsh. When you have to earn your images.
All turned out well. I got to know a part of this beautiful land that I did not know before. But this is another story.
Thankyou N for all your support not only during this trip and being with me.
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2021 marked a significant creative slouch. More often than not, I only grabbed my binoculars and went birdwatching - leaving the camera alone. So I set myself a new photographic challenge. I bought myself an used macro lens and started to practice. Ever since, it has been a combination of utter joy and frustration and rage. Macro lenses open a whole new world of smallest details and patterns to you. But on the other hand, your typical rules of composition and imagery might not apply. It is incredibly difficult to focus. Your keeper rate is low, even compared to wildlife standards. But every once in a while, you are being rewarded with an image that stays.
One memorable evening I visited a beloved little sanctuary in Northern Germany that I know very well. Every night, hundreds of cranes, geese, ducks and other waterfowl come here to sleep. In such moments, the soundstage is just out of this world.
I watched the scene from a hidden place, to make sure, I did not disturb the animals and spent the better part of an hour there until all the beautiful blue light was gone - and so did I.
The area with its swamps and one of the last remaining stretches of carr in Northern Germany is a nature reserve and one of my favourite places in the world. It is home and breading ground to Common cranes, White-tailed eagles, Ospreys, Beaver, Eurasian otter, Eurasian bittern, Eurasian woodcock, Woodlark, European nightjar, the last Black grouse in Northern Germany and of course the famous Grey wolf.
Summer 2021 has been really turbulent for me and not an easy time. My passion for photography suffered from this. Even looking back to this period of time does not come lightly. On the other hand, there are quite a lot of moments and images I hold dear. I worked on a few assignments that I really enjoyed and I went to places and saw animals that I never encountered before. So let me share it with you without the usual explanations and let the images speak for itself.
Read my full Birdrace story in the 2022 spring issue of German Walden magazine (by Geo).
Read my full Bikejøring story in fahrstil #32 °kraft.
When I am thinking about the 2021 summer, I don’t feel it has been a productive season photographically. But sometimes, feelings do not do the truth any justice and memory is a deceiving thing. So scrolling through my hard drive, there are quite some images that seem worth sharing.
After a very cold February, the spring and early summer offered sun, warmth and a surprisingly active wildlife that jumped the gun here in the southernmost parts of Northern Germany.
The year started with a bang. A friend found a fox den, quite openly located within a corn field. And the den turned out a treasure. I watched no less than five very cute and very little fox cubs at one of their first days out and about. They were so little, they did not even have its distinctive red fur. Now it was a question what would grow faster, the corn or the cubs. I knew, once the vegetation period would start, there would be know way to observe the lot any longer. Luckily, I spent three wonderful mornings with the gang. Mom showed up from time to time but never stayed long. Then my job kept me busy and when I came back, the little family had already abandoned its shelter. They were reported all fine some weeks later and had grown up significantly in size.
One very agreeable quality of my hometown is the large number of birds that live within the city or very close to it. In my immediate neighborhood you find Kestrels and Peregrine falcons, Greenfinches, Redstarts, Robins, Blackbirds and other thrush, House sparrows, Blue and Coal tits, Crows and jackdaws, to only name a few. Especially the greenfinch paid my Covid-enforced home office a lot of beautiful visits with its monotonous yet beautiful voice. A little later in the year, the offspring of the local kestrel were unmistakable in the surrounding of “its” church. And as if this wasn’t enough beauty, the evening sun had something to add, too.
One of my most favourite places in the region are the wildflower strips of the NSR partridge conservation project. Whenever you come, there is something flowering and its always full of life. Insects, birds, Red foxes, Hare and Roe deer thrive in and around those little sanctuaries within the surrounding wastelands of industrial farming that provide both food and shelter.
There is a little river and a small lake in my hometown. The latter even made it to the national news later this summer, when a Wels catfish tried to eat a Snapping turtle. This quite smallish body of water has seen a lot of recovery in recent years. The European beaver is back here and the area is home to a lot of birds, including local legend “Candy” the Cackling goose.
Stay tuned for part II of my summer recap with a little glimpse into my editorial photography.
A Tawny-owl branchling on the fence of a local kindergarten.
Urban areas offer a pretty good habitat for some species - especially birds. Most notably in Germany the Peregrine Falcon, the Common Kestrel or the Common Swift. The pressure from predation is usually smaller and there is food in abundance. The episode “Cities” of BBC - Planet Earth II is a monumental showcase of this development. It’s not all good though. A lot of woodland or mountain species flee from the loss of its natural habitat. Intense forestry for example makes young and monocultural forests without woodpecker caves or hollow trunk. And a lot of woodland Owls use such holes for breeding.
A careful parent Tawny-owl watching.
Such a woodland Owl bred in one of the many parks in my hometown: A Tawny owl. It was incredibly early in the year. A friend showed me the parent owl and its four branchlings as early as March 23. It was so cool to watch those branchlings grow. Within a few days they increased its reach around its breeding holes about ten times. When I first met the fluffy four, they could hardly fly. A few days later, they roamed the whole park. Its begging calls sounded all over the park.
At least one parent always watched its offspring, while the other was probably hunting (night-time) or sleeping (daytime). Unfortunately I never discovered the breeding-hole.
Now, four weeks later, the family is still around, but increased its radius a lot. All four owlets are roaming the ancient lattice-courtyards of the area. And whenever the young are out and about, somewhere aloft sits a parent carefully watching.
But this isn’t even the end of the story. Local ornithologists agree that those are the same adults that bred in a different park two years out of the latest three. It changed spots because of the presence of another large owl: A pair of Eurasian eagle-owls are roaming the city. One memorable night, I watched the male Eagle-owl calling from the highest pediment of the local theatre - beautifully moonlit. Unfortunately, I had no camera with me to document this spectacle.
But why should an owl as large as a Tawny owl flee a brother owl? Well, Eagle owls kill and eat Tawny owls - not only the owlets, but the adults.
Same parent, different branchlings - back in 2019.
