Mountain Watch

There are places that ask you to be quiet. Not because they’re delicate, but because they’re vast — older, heavier, and slower than the world we’re used to. The mountains don’t move for us. They’ve been here long before we arrived, and they’ll remain long after we’ve gone.

These images were made in such places. High passes. Glacial valleys. Still waters tucked beneath the cliffs of Snowdonia. The land here doesn’t compete for attention. It just is.

In these frames, the mountains aren’t just backdrops — they’re part of the conversation. They shape the light, hold the weather, and carry a silence that says more than any words. They remind you how small you are. But also how rooted — how held — if you let yourself be still long enough.

Some shots were taken in snow, others in soft rain, and a few in the last glow of evening. The conditions changed, but the feeling didn’t: a quiet sense of being in the company of something vast and patient. Even alone, I never felt on my own.

This isn’t a record of conquest — though I’ve climbed many of the peaks shown here. It’s a record of presence. Of time spent watching, listening, and letting the mountains speak for themselves.