Field Note — Summer’s End
Waterfalls, wildflowers, and the rhythm of the West as the season turns.
Labor Day always feels like a marker out here in the high country. The days start to shorten, the air cools off just a little, and you can sense the season shifting under your boots. It’s a reminder that the West runs on its own clock — and if you’re paying attention, photography shifts with it.
This summer was full of miles and moments. Some of them are loud, like standing beneath the falls in Telluride and feeling the spray kick back in your face. Some of them are quiet, like watching the light stretch across a high alpine lake with nothing but the sound of wind in the basin.
Some nights carried sparks and laughter — headlamps painting ribbons in the dark, a reminder that not every adventure needs a plan. There were afternoons in wildflower fields, the kind that remind you just how alive the Western Slope gets when the sun and rain decide to cooperate.
And as always, Annette was there with me. She’s an integral part of this story, just as much as the places we visit. You’ll see her in the photos, but what you won’t see are the conversations, the unwavering presence, and the shared determination of navigating these trails together. This shared experience is what makes this journey special — it’s never just about the photographs, but about the connections we make along the way.
The West, with its grit and grace, is a sight to behold. You can find it in the lines of a weathered face against a fenceline, in the trail dust that stubbornly clings to your boots, and in the resolute beauty of these mountains. And it has grace, too — in the way light delicately caresses a ridgeline at day’s end, or how the clouds leisurely traverse the San Juans.
As summer folds into fall, I’m reminded of why I do this. The work, the travel, the long days and short nights — they all add up to a bigger story—a story about the grit and authenticity that makes living out here rewarding and intriguing.
So here’s to summer’s end. To Labor Day in the high country. And to the stories that are yet to unfold in the next season, waiting to be captured and shared.
— Markus
