The Photographs I Stopped Making
This was a photo I remember capturing. The sun was directly overhead sending the stands into a shadow. No else was in the frame and the moment felt right as Jack Mc Durmont (Olympia High School) walked towards the grandstands at the Mt Tahoma Track Festival at Mt Tahoma High School.
I realized I had stopped making photographs I was proud of.
That's not a comfortable sentence to write. But it's the truth I ran into scrolling through my own archives.
Downtime bugs me. I have a hard time processing time that hasn't been allocated to something. When I'm bored, my mind doesn't so much wander as bounce around inside my head like a pinball.
To fill the gap between track and cross country, I've been laying the groundwork for fall — building new systems now so I have time to break and fix them before anything launches publicly. Part of that meant digging through my galleries for assets I'd need for landing pages and social media.
That's where I found it.
Capturing athletes as they head onto the track for their heat produces some great photos. They are not focused on the camera or even worried about, they are preoccupied by the distance between them and the finish line that is about to start. This Gig Harbor athlete cracked a smile as I locked on - you can see me in her glasses)
The shift.
In 2023, I was just a guy with a camera, shooting free-range. In 2024, I got more serious — connecting with WestcoastXC and other outlets — but the way I shot didn't change. I was still chasing the same things: atmosphere, anticipation, the moments everyone else walked past.
In 2025, that changed. I started writing and contributing to DyeStat and other outlets. My mindset shifted with the work. I stopped asking how do I capture this moment and started asking how do I capture everyone. Volume became the job. I'd show up to a meet and try to photograph as many athletes as I could, because that's what people were asking for.
Somewhere in there, I lost the thread.
A moment like this is one I live for. This photo shouldn’t have happened. 13.1 miles can leave you feeling a bit out of it, this woman finished her race and stopped as soon as she could, not realizing it was directly in front of me. I caught her just as she was about to say sorry and move. I remember saying “don’t be”. I don’t usually take vertical photos, but I am glad my camera was turned for this one.
What I actually chase.
I've never cared much about finish-line photos — not because they're bad, but because every photographer at the meet is shooting the exact same frame at the exact same second. What I care about is what's around it: the anticipation before the gun, the exhaustion after, the small relationships between teammates, the details nobody else is looking for.
Somewhere between shooting free-range and shooting for volume, I stopped making room for that.
The decision.
I was getting ready for bed recently and it hit me — I needed to make a call before fall. Not a policy. A decision about what kind of photographer I want to be.
I'm going back to fewer, more intentional photographs. If I walk away from a premier race with 25 images instead of 250, that's not a step back. That's the point.
What I'm chasing instead.
Not coverage. Judgment. The question isn't how many people can I photograph anymore — it's which moments are actually worth photographing.
That's atmosphere. That's anticipation. That's the relationships between people that only show up when you're not rushing to the next frame. That's the stuff everyone else walks past because they're too busy shooting the finish.
I was so exhausted towards the end of the track season that I opted to sit in the stands so that I could enjoy the races from a different vantage. Reducing volume allows me mental energy that I need to get the intricate moments that most photographers miss.
Where this leaves things.
If you're an athlete, parent, coach, or race director and you want guaranteed coverage of someone specific, I'm happy to talk about priority coverage. Beyond that, I'm shooting the way I see it, and trusting that the people who want that will come find me.
This isn't about logistics. It's about making photographs I'm proud of again.
