Forest Fire – 2025

On our way up to Floe Lake, we passed through a particularly interesting stretch of burnt forest. Charred trunks rose like blackened matchsticks, but beneath them the forest floor was alive with colour: reds, oranges, and yellows spread out like a quiet act of defiance. It felt like walking through the memory of a fire that hadn’t quite finished telling its story.

However, the rain was steady and we were focused on making camp, so the camera stayed buried deep in my pack. I remember thinking for a moment, doing the mental math of wet gear, cold weather, with the hardest miles yet to go. I decided to let this one go, but not really. I fixed the scene in my mind and promised myself I’d look for it again on the way out if the light cooperated.

A couple of days later, on the hike back, the rain was gone. The weather was turning and soft, diffused light settled over the Canadian Rockies, exactly the kind that lets scenes like this come to life. When we reached that same patch of burnt forest, it was as if the place had been waiting. The underbrush lit up against the black trunks like flames.

I dropped my pack, pulled out the camera, and began working the composition I had imagined. There was only one problem: the exact spot I needed to stand – the precise angle that aligned the colours and the vertical lines with the story – was occupied by a monumental, eye-watering pile of dog poop. So there I was, carefully placing my feet around this landmine, trying not to breathe too deeply, framing a scene about beauty and rebirth while standing inches away from something… less poetic. I took the shot anyway.

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