A Familiar Foggy Morning Among the Twisted Trees
There are places you visit that stay with you long after you’ve left, and then there are those that continue to challenge you, no matter how many times you return. This wild woodland, with its twisted, low-hanging trees, is a favorite place of mine to visit whenever I get the chance. This morning, the conditions were the best I had ever seen—thick fog draped over the landscape, muting distractions and adding a sense of depth that I had never experienced here before. Despite this, finding a composition that wasn’t too chaotic was still a struggle.
The fog was both a gift and an obstacle. It softened the tangled forms of the gnarled trees, creating an incredible atmosphere, but it also swallowed key details, making it difficult to balance structure and mystery. I moved carefully, aware of the fragility of the forest floor, where moss-covered stones and delicate undergrowth could be easily disturbed. Every step had to be deliberate.
I set up in one spot, framing a tree whose contorted limbs stretched eerily into the mist. The composition wasn’t quite right. I adjusted my angle, lowered my stance—still not there. The mist was unpredictable, shifting and closing in, obscuring details I wanted to highlight. I had to keep moving, searching for a way to capture both the depth of the forest and the haunting presence of the trees without losing the scene to the fog.
After multiple attempts—adjusting my position, recomposing, waiting for the right break in the mist—I found something close to what I’d envisioned. A twisted tree in the foreground and tangled, with layers of faint silhouettes disappearing into the haze behind it. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt right.
As I left, the fog began to lift, revealing more of the woodland. I knew I’d be back. This place never gave up its best compositions easily, and maybe that was part of the draw. Every visit was a battle between the elements, the landscape, and my own vision.
But that fight was exactly what made it worth returning to.
