My camera lives clipped to my backpack, pressed against my left shoulder. With the lens attached it weighs about five pounds, but it’s never felt like extra weight. It belongs there.
The trail doesn’t wait. Most hikers want to move forward, not pause for perfect light or an ideal composition. On a section hike, there’s no returning later to try again. The landscape offers what it offers, and then you continue on.
So I turn my attention to the people.
On the Appalachian Trail, trail magic is best defined as unexpected acts of kindness. Trail portraits is one way I offer trail magic.
This thru hiker’s trail name is JimandI. She carried her husband's ashes (Jim And I) for 2,200 miles. Colon Cancer sucks.
At shelters and campsites, a conversation sometimes becomes a portrait. In those quiet moments, I learn far more than names or miles walked. I learn where someone is in their life, what they’ve carried, and what they’re leaving behind with each step forward.
Once a year, I spend a week as a caretaker in the Berkshires. There are chores to do and talks to give, but the mornings are sacred. As hikers finish breakfast, I offer a portrait and a few unhurried minutes together. Those moments—brief, honest, and human—are what I love most about hiking.