Chasing Horizons — From Rainforest Trails to Rugged Shores 📷
Before I had a camera, before I even knew what a “trip” really was, I had a habit: I’d stare out the window, eyes locked on the horizon, and wonder what was beyond the world I knew. It didn’t matter where I was. Whether I was in my 3rd grade social studies class or a 5th grade study hall, I was a day dreamer. My imagination was where everything unfolded. I visited it often and I knew it well.
I didn’t just picture faraway places — I built them. In my mind, entire landscapes unfolded, places that didn’t exist on any map. My imagination was my safe space, the place I could go when I wanted the world to be bigger, more colorful, more alive. Over time, that creative escape turned into something else: a deep desire to explore the real world with the same curiosity and wonder I gave my imagined one.
This season, I continued that promise with two wildly different journeys — one to the tropical heart of Costa Rica, the other to the rugged shores of Newfoundland.
Costa Rica — A Journey in Motion
Costa Rica is not a place you just visit — it’s a place you move through. It’s a patchwork of winding roads, mountains that appear like they’ve been painted overnight, and skies that can change mood three times before lunch.
From the moment I arrived in La Fortuna, the air felt different — thick, warm, humming with life. The town sat in the shadow of the Arenal Volcano, which seemed to follow me wherever I went, its slopes disappearing into a swirl of clouds. In the mornings, mist curled around the treetops like something alive. At night, the air grew cooler, and the chorus of insects and frogs rose up like a living soundtrack. I wandered through local venues, camera in hand, capturing colors so vivid they almost hummed — bright red chilies, baskets of mangoes, the deep green of freshly cut herbs.
From there, I traveled into Monteverde, trading the humid lowlands for the cloud forest high above. The roads narrowed and twisted, the air cooled, and suddenly the world felt softer, quieter — like someone had turned the volume down except for the rustle of leaves. The clouds drifted so close you could reach out and touch them. The journey was its own adventure — a day carved into chapters: a small metal dock, a lone pontoon boat, and the slow, cinematic crossing of Lake Arenal. The volcano stood perfectly framed against the horizon, its peak wrapped in drifting clouds. The boat cut through still waters as wind cooled my face, birds wheeled overhead, and shadows from the clouds danced across the hills. It was the kind of moment that felt like stepping into one of the worlds I used to imagine as a child.
From the far shore, the climb into Monteverde wound along narrow roads that twisted around cliffs and dipped into valleys. The air cooled, the landscape softened, and the rainforest here was unlike anywhere I’d been — clouds so close you could almost cup them in your hands, trails dappled with shifting light, and an almost meditative quiet that made every footstep feel important.
Finally, Manuel Antonio — where the rainforest met the Pacific in a riot of color and sound. Scarlet macaws screamed overhead, monkeys leapt from branch to branch, and the waves crashed with the persistence of something ancient. My days there blurred into walks along jungle paths, quiet moments along the beach, and long, golden sunsets over the water.
Every transfer between these towns carried its own story — cows roaming distant farmlands, markets flashing by in a blur of color, steep hills opening to sudden views of endless valleys. Costa Rica didn’t just give me photographs; it gave me movement, connection, and a reminder that the world I once imagined is real in ways I never could have predicted.
Newfoundland — At the Edge of the Map
Where Costa Rica pulsed with heat and sound, Newfoundland greeted me with a slower rhythm and the salt of the North Atlantic in the air.
This time, I wasn’t alone. I joined a small group of three other photographers, led by another photographer who was running the workshop we had all come for. His role was to chart our course — selecting the locations, setting the schedule, and making sure we reached the right places at the right times — leaving us free to focus entirely on capturing the moments that unfolded.
We traveled like a small expedition crew, chasing light along the island’s rugged coastline. Mornings came early — sometimes before the first hint of dawn — when we’d pile into the vehicle, coffee in hand, and set off toward some remote point on the map. At times, the fog was so thick it felt like we were driving through a dream. Other times, the clouds would part in an instant, revealing the coastline in all its jagged, wind-swept glory.
At one cliffside stop, the wind roared so loud we could barely hear each other speak. Below us, the sea hurled itself against the rock with relentless force, sending bursts of spray high into the air. We stood there for a long time, shutters clicking in unison, each of us silently trying to trap the power of that moment inside a frame.
In between those adrenaline-filled stops were the quiet drives through small fishing villages — rows of brightly painted houses standing defiant against the gray, laundry lines snapping in the wind, and harbors dotted with boats rocking gently in the swell. Sometimes, we’d pull over without a word when something caught the eye — a rusted anchor, a row of crab traps, a shaft of light breaking through the clouds.
Evenings were a welcome slowdown. We’d gather in small local restaurants, the air warm and smelling faintly of salt and fried fish, trading stories over hearty meals. Later, back at our lodging, we’d scroll through the day’s shots, the glow of laptop screens lighting tired but satisfied faces.
The workshop wasn’t about instruction — it was about shared pursuit, the unspoken understanding between photographers chasing the same fleeting light in a place that felt, at times, like the very edge of the world. It was about connection! A common bond and purpose!
Two places, worlds apart. One pulsing with simplicity, the other standing along the edge of another universe.
And yet, both reminded me of the same truth: the horizon I dreamed of as a child is real. Sometimes it’s a lake crossing under the gaze of a volcano. Sometimes it’s five photographers standing on a cliff, waiting for the fog to lift.
Either way, the adventure is always there — and it’s worth chasing.
Until the next journey
