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On a quiet August morning, Scott stood at the edge of Pyramid Lake, the air crisp with the first hints of dawn. Just over a year had passed since the catastrophic wildfire of July 2024 had swept through Jasper National Park, leaving devastation in its wake. The flames had come dangerously close to the lake's shores, but miraculously, Pyramid Lake had been spared. The land and town around it had been scorched, with the nearby forests now standing in haunting, blackened silence. Yet, in contrast, the lake remained a picture of tranquility. Its surface, smooth as glass, reflected the surrounding peaks, their jagged outlines softened by the early light. Scott had returned to this place, not only as a photographer but as a witness to nature's resilience—a landscape both ravaged and spared.

With the rising sun beginning to warm the cool air, Scott set up his camera and special equipment, determined to capture every inch of the stillness around him in an extraordinary ultrahigh-resolution photograph. The ambitious project would allow him to immortalize the smallest details—the delicate ripples on the water, the faint color gradients in the sky, and the fine textures of the surrounding terrain. He had spent years perfecting his craft, and today he felt more prepared than ever to document this rare moment of peace.

As the morning unfolded, Scott worked methodically, taking shot after shot, each one a small piece of the larger puzzle. It was a slow and deliberate process, but Scott was patient. He understood that this image would be more than just a photograph; it would be a tribute to survival, to the fact that while the flames had ravaged much of the land, the lake itself had remained untouched, a symbol of perseverance in the face of destruction. By the time he had taken the final shot, the sun had fully risen, its golden light now flooding the scene. Scott stood back, taking a deep breath, knowing that this ultrahigh-resolution photograph would forever preserve a moment when beauty and resilience converged at Pyramid Lake.

This sunset shot was done at Point Sublime on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Extremely isolated, only a relatively few people get to experience Point Sublime, largely due to the rugged and narrow 17 mile (27.3 km) 4X4 road that needs to be traversed to reach this epic viewpoint.

As a kid growing up in Wyoming, I used to love to go out in the prairie around sunset and watch and listen as God wound down the day. The wind would usually stop, and the sounds of the prairie would turn to silence. The Nighthawks would do their silent flights dodging and turning in the near darkness gathering their nightly dinner of insects. Crickets would begin to chirp as the cool of the evening settled in after the daytime heat.

The evening I shoot this photo on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon reminded me of those evenings on the prairies of Wyoming. Bats silently flew around out heads and we would hear the cry of a hawk or eagle in the distance. A very subtle warm breeze rose up and over the canyon rim making for a comfortable evening. But otherwise silence… silence so hushed that you can almost hear that “Still small voice of God”.

Scott’s journey to Namibia had been years in the making, fueled by a passion for capturing the world’s most striking landscapes in jaw-dropping detail. With his ultra-high-resolution camera equipment in tow, he made his way across the vast desert terrain toward Deadvlei, a place that had long been on his photographic bucket list. As he stood at the edge of the white clay pan, the late afternoon sun painted the dunes in hues of gold and orange, casting long shadows on the bleached earth below. The ancient, blackened trees—twisted and skeletal—reached toward the sky in a defiant embrace of time, creating a stark contrast against the surreal landscape. Scott could feel the weight of the silence here, the kind that swallowed all sound and made the desert feel like a sacred space frozen in time.

With every click of the shutter, Scott marveled at the precision required to capture the immense beauty around him. His camera and special panoramic gear allowed him to weave together the landscape in ultra-high resolution, each shot meticulously planned to capture just a small segment of the scene with all the shots to be later reassembled to show the vastness of Deadvlei’s unique terrain. The smooth, wind-carved curves of the dunes stretched endlessly into the horizon, their imposing forms flanked by the gnarled silhouettes of dead trees, remnants of an ancient, dried-up riverbed. The challenge was more than just technical; it was about finding harmony in the contrast between the harsh desert light and the intricate textures of the earth, trees, and sky. Scott felt deeply connected to the place as he worked, as if he were not just photographing it, but breathing it in.

By the time Scott had completed his panoramic shots, the sun had set lower in the sky, and the landscape had shifted once again, growing darker by the minute. Packing up his gear, he took one last look at Deadvlei, knowing that the images he had captured would do more than simply document the scene—they would preserve the raw, timeless beauty of this extraordinary place. The desert, with its impossible stillness, had given him more than just photographs. It had gifted him a connection to something ancient and unyielding, a place where nature’s resilience and quiet power stood in sharp contrast to the harshness of its surroundings. With a sense of fulfillment, Scott made his way back, already looking forward to the images that would forever carry the spirit of Deadvlei.

Scott’s journey to Namibia had been years in the making, fueled by a passion for capturing the world’s most striking landscapes in jaw-dropping detail. With his ultra-high-resolution camera equipment in tow, he made his way across the vast desert terrain toward Deadvlei, a place that had long been on his photographic bucket list. As he stood at the edge of the white clay pan, the late afternoon sun painted the dunes in hues of gold and orange, casting long shadows on the bleached earth below. The ancient, blackened trees—twisted and skeletal—reached toward the sky in a defiant embrace of time, creating a stark contrast against the surreal landscape. Scott could feel the weight of the silence here, the kind that swallowed all sound and made the desert feel like a sacred space frozen in time.

With every click of the shutter, Scott marveled at the precision required to capture the immense beauty around him. His camera and special panoramic gear allowed him to weave together the landscape in ultra-high resolution, each shot meticulously planned to capture just a small segment of the scene with all the shots to be later reassembled to show the vastness of Deadvlei’s unique terrain. The smooth, wind-carved curves of the dunes stretched endlessly into the horizon, their imposing forms flanked by the gnarled silhouettes of dead trees, remnants of an ancient, dried-up riverbed. The challenge was more than just technical; it was about finding harmony in the contrast between the harsh desert light and the intricate textures of the earth, trees, and sky. Scott felt deeply connected to the place as he worked, as if he were not just photographing it, but breathing it in.

By the time Scott had completed his panoramic shots, the sun had set lower in the sky, and the landscape had shifted once again, growing darker by the minute. Packing up his gear, he took one last look at Deadvlei, knowing that the images he had captured would do more than simply document the scene—they would preserve the raw, timeless beauty of this extraordinary place. The desert, with its impossible stillness, had given him more than just photographs. It had gifted him a connection to something ancient and unyielding, a place where nature’s resilience and quiet power stood in sharp contrast to the harshness of its surroundings. With a sense of fulfillment, Scott made his way back, already looking forward to the images that would forever carry the spirit of Deadvlei.

Each spring, the slopes of the East Kootenays are carpeted with a stunning display of flowering sunflowers. The East Kootenays region is located in south-eastern British Columbia, Canada, which includes the valleys of the Columbia and Kootenay Rivers south of Golden to the USA border. These valleys are bordered to the east by the Rocky Mountains and to the west by the Purcell Mountains. The sunflowers are the Arrowleaf Balsamroot, which has a wide range across western North America. They can be found from Arizona north to B.C.’s Cariboo region and California east to Colorado, and also in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

The stunning vistas can be short-lived as just a few days of unseasonably warm weather are enough to wilt the flowers. On the other hand, the plant is unique in that it has a long taproot that allows it to survive low-intensity fires, which can be common in grasslands. After such events, the plant can be seen rapidly sprouting from the charred surface of otherwise undamaged soil as the vast majority of balsamroot is underground.

I often visit the area between the towns of Cranbrook and Kimberley in the East Kootenays and have seen large open fields blanketed with these sunflowers. But I have always been on the lookout for a large quantity of blooming flowers within an open ponderosa pine forest. That search was rewarded this past spring when I discovered this wonderful slope within a wooded area that was completely covered with blooming sunflowers.

Some places have become classic for good reason. Mossbrae Falls is an incredible wonder of nature, certainly one of the most beautiful waterfalls in California. I hiked here early in the morning and was elated to have the place to myself for an hour. I spotted some interesting mushrooms, sat by the water, and made two VAST photos to capture the serenity and bring it to you. Here is one of them!

Some places have become classic for good reason. Mossbrae Falls is an incredible wonder of nature, certainly one of the most beautiful waterfalls in California. I hiked here early in the morning and was elated to have the place to myself for an hour. I spotted some interesting mushrooms, sat by the water, and made two VAST photos to capture the serenity and bring it to you. Here is one of them!

Scott’s journey to Namibia had been years in the making, fueled by a passion for capturing the world’s most striking landscapes in jaw-dropping detail. With his ultra-high-resolution camera equipment in tow, he made his way across the vast desert terrain toward Deadvlei, a place that had long been on his photographic bucket list. As he stood at the edge of the white clay pan, the late afternoon sun painted the dunes in hues of gold and orange, casting long shadows on the bleached earth below. The ancient, blackened trees—twisted and skeletal—reached toward the sky in a defiant embrace of time, creating a stark contrast against the surreal landscape. Scott could feel the weight of the silence here, the kind that swallowed all sound and made the desert feel like a sacred space frozen in time.

With every click of the shutter, Scott marveled at the precision required to capture the immense beauty around him. His camera and special panoramic gear allowed him to weave together the landscape in ultra-high resolution, each shot meticulously planned to capture just a small segment of the scene with all the shots to be later reassembled to show the vastness of Deadvlei’s unique terrain. The smooth, wind-carved curves of the dunes stretched endlessly into the horizon, their imposing forms flanked by the gnarled silhouettes of dead trees, remnants of an ancient, dried-up riverbed. The challenge was more than just technical; it was about finding harmony in the contrast between the harsh desert light and the intricate textures of the earth, trees, and sky. Scott felt deeply connected to the place as he worked, as if he were not just photographing it, but breathing it in.

By the time Scott had completed his panoramic shots, the sun had set lower in the sky, and the landscape had shifted once again, growing darker by the minute. Packing up his gear, he took one last look at Deadvlei, knowing that the images he had captured would do more than simply document the scene—they would preserve the raw, timeless beauty of this extraordinary place. The desert, with its impossible stillness, had given him more than just photographs. It had gifted him a connection to something ancient and unyielding, a place where nature’s resilience and quiet power stood in sharp contrast to the harshness of its surroundings. With a sense of fulfillment, Scott made his way back, already looking forward to the images that would forever carry the spirit of Deadvlei.

I had arrived at Sprague Lake before sunrise to shoot some panoramas. There wasn't a breath of a breeze this particular morning. I shot a couple previous to this one but I liked this one because the sun was illuminating the pine trees that are on the western side of the lake. 12,720-foot Hallett Peak is the prominent mountain in the center of the photo.

Sprague Lake is a popular destination within Rocky Mountain National Park because over the past 10 years the moose population on eastern side of the park has grown significantly. Moose love this lake because it is only about 3 feet deep and the lake bottom has lots of mosses and water plants that the moose love to eat. The morning I was there 3 moose crossed the lake while I was shooting my photos.

I spend the bulk of my time pursuing views that are unique and rarely if ever seen elsewhere. This is not one of those views. In those cases, I have a motto: if you're gonna do a classic, do it well!

This location was recommended to me by none other than Dan Piech, founder of VAST! If Dan tells you that you gotta see this view, well, you gotta go see it!

I only had four days in the city, and I am NOT a morning person, so how would I know which day to wake up? Well... I'm a meteorologist, so I have the cheat codes! I was able to forecast an incredible sunrise on this morning, so I knew this would be the day to set an early alarm. When I woke up in pitch black and verified that everything was on track, I hopped on the subway and, after running all around the terminal trying to find the correct gate for the bus to the Jersey side (it was my first time, ok?!) I found it just in time and made it over here just as the sky was starting to light up. It took my breath away! Because I had a full day of urban adventure ahead (read: eating bagels, pastrami, and cheesecake), I opted to not bring my tripod at all, even for taking sunrise photos. Thankfully there was a nice railing for me to balance my camera on while I carefully took the frames to put together this VAST photo!

Here comes that day again, another year, another number added to the calendar of our lives, but the memories of September 11 will never fade.

The Tribute in Light art installation, created in remembrance of the September 11 attacks, consists of 88 powerful vertical searchlights arranged in two majestic columns of light to represent the Twin Towers. It rises six blocks south of the World Trade Center, on top of the Battery Parking Garage in Lower Manhattan.

As a New York City photographer, I make it a ritual to capture this scene every year, not only for the breathtaking beauty of the twin beams of light merging with the NYC skyline, but also as a reminder of how quickly the world can change in the blink of an eye. Since that day, life has never been the same. We lost more than buildings; we lost our innocence.

All I can do is share this moment with the world through my photography, showing the awe-inspiring beauty of this tribute as both art and memory. Over the years, I’ve scouted many of my favorite vantage points across Brooklyn and New Jersey, but this photograph—taken from Jersey City—remains my favorite. It perfectly frames One World Trade Center on one side and the ghostly presence of the Twin Towers of light on the other.

When people think of the Manhattan skyline, they usually picture the iconic view of Lower Manhattan, One World Trade Center standing tall with the towers clustered around it, or the Midtown Manhattan skyline from right across the Hudson. But I’ve always been fascinated by showing New York from less conventional perspectives, where the familiar suddenly feels new.

This photograph captures Midtown Manhattan in all its vertical glory, a part of the skyline that often plays a supporting role in the city’s story. Here, the towers rise like a forest of steel and glass, each one a character in a play of ambition and design. The impossibly thin Steinway Tower (111 W 57th St) reaches toward the clouds, while Central Park Tower and 432 Park Avenue dominate the Billionaires’ Row cluster. To the right, the elegant crown of the Chrysler Building peers over its neighbors, and the timeless spire of the Empire State Building reminds us of the city’s enduring soul.

What I love about this scene is its layered energy, the golden glow of older brick high-rises at the base, the sheer vertical rush of the new supertalls, and the way light bounces between mirrored facades like a kaleidoscope. Taken from across the Hudson River, this perspective gives you a cinematic sweep of Manhattan that’s rarely the postcard view, but perhaps even more striking.

For me, photography is about making people pause and see the world differently. And sometimes, the best way to honor a skyline as famous as New York’s is to step aside from the expected and reveal its beauty from a new angle.

The side steps of Bethesda Terrace hold a quiet power. Unlike the grand arches or the iconic fountain, these steps often go unnoticed, yet they’ve carried the weight of millions of footsteps since the terrace was first built in the mid-19th century. Generations of New Yorkers, wanderers, and dreamers have passed here, their presence slowly etching itself into the stone.

By capturing the steps without people, I strip away the constant motion of the “city that never sleeps.” What remains is a still, haunting view of what humanity leaves behind. The steps themselves become a second skin of memory, layered, worn, and enduring. They remind us that while lives come and go, what we build continues to stand in silence, carrying the echoes of everyone who walked before us.

The side steps of Bethesda Terrace hold a quiet power. Unlike the grand arches or the iconic fountain, these steps often go unnoticed, yet they’ve carried the weight of millions of footsteps since the terrace was first built in the mid-19th century. Generations of New Yorkers, wanderers, and dreamers have passed here, their presence slowly etching itself into the stone.

By capturing the steps without people, I strip away the constant motion of the “city that never sleeps.” What remains is a still, haunting view of what humanity leaves behind. The steps themselves become a second skin of memory, layered, worn, and enduring. They remind us that while lives come and go, what we build continues to stand in silence, carrying the echoes of everyone who walked before us.

Bethesda Terrace has always been one of Central Park’s crown jewels, designed in the mid-19th century by Calvert Vaux and Frederick Law Olmsted as a place where nature and architecture would meet in harmony. The fountain at its heart, Angel of the Waters, sculpted by Emma Stebbins, was unveiled in 1873 and remains one of New York’s most beloved landmarks.

What makes this photograph different is not just the grandeur of the terrace itself, but the silence it carries. Taken in the heart of the **world’s densest city, the city that never sleeps** the frame is empty of people. That emptiness is deliberate. I love capturing moments where humanity steps aside, where the noise of daily life is absent, leaving behind only the architecture, the craft, the creation itself.

To me, this image is a meditation on what endures. If we all vanished tomorrow, these carved balustrades, arches, and stone steps would remain, weathered but standing, a reminder of what we built and what the earth would slowly reclaim. Removing the human factor doesn’t strip away the life of the terrace; instead, it reveals the deeper story of permanence and fragility woven together in stone.