Imagine you took the world’s 50 most famous mountains — Everest, K2, Denali, Fuji — and put their image on a flash card. Now imagine that you’ve flipped through the entire deck and quizzed yourself. Could you name most of these mountains based on their profile alone? The unique silhouette they cut into the sky? Odds are, only two of those mountains would be gimmes. Kilimanjaro and the Matterhorn. Even Kilimanjaro might be a maybe, but the Matterhorn? Their ain’t another mountain on earth that rivals its facade.

On the train ride into Zermatt last summer, I had my back to the town as we rolled up the tracks. What I saw in reverse was the sight of every passenger leaning out the train windows seeking their first glance of the Matterhorn. At one point, I turned around, looked up the hillside, and bam: there it was. The sight of it made my heart skip a beat. I’m not kidding.

Photographing the Matterhorn is easy. Creating a unique image that hasn’t been done before … now that’s hard. Here are some things I learned on how to photograph the Matterhorn during my all-too-brief stay in Zermatt last June.

1. Get the Postcard Shot Out of the Way

Frankly, Zermatt would be a lot lower on the Must-See in Switzerland list if it weren’t for the Matterhorn. It’s not close to any other big tourist draws, and the town itself — while beautiful and full of nice restaurants and interesting hotels — is nothing to scream about. In fact, without the Matterhorn, Zermatt would probably be a ghost town of decayed old wooden cabins. You’ve come this far for one reason: to see this mountain. And while it is not even the tallest peak in the Mattertal Valley — four other peaks are taller — it is the only one you’ll notice from the valley floor. Because the peak is so isolated and domineering, it has become the icon of Switzerland. It’s lonely profile graces everything from the Swiss website home page to postcards to chocolate wrappers to lewd boxer shorts.

There are two places to get the iconic postcard shot. Postcard Spot #1 is just outside Zermatt on the hiking trail to Zmutt. Just after the trail leaves the road, it climbs up through grassy meadows dotted with old cabins (above). I recommend hitting this spot around 9 to 10am when the sun has illuminated the meadows. The snow-covered Matterhorn is usually 2 stops brighter than the foreground, so bracket and be ready to due some exposure balancing in post-production to capture how it looks to the naked eye.

Postcard Spot #2 is three-fourths of the way up the Gornergrat Bahn along the trail to the Riffelsee (above). This is the most photographed alpine lake in the valley, and for good reason. From this angle, the Matterhorn is more like a shark’s tooth than the usual profile. Had we not been traveling with an over-tired toddler (an entire blog post in its own right), we probably would have basked in the view for hours. The peak is perhaps at its most impressive — from anywhere in the valley, really — from this vantage point in late afternoon. The backlight, the seemingly vertical East Face, the bright blue sky, and the shimmering water of the Riffelsee create a unique magic that you’ll be hard-pressed to discover anywhere else on earth.

2. Capture the Banner Clouds

While the Matterhorn is not the tallest peak in Europe (let alone its home valley), it sure likes to act like it is. Because of its isolation, its location on the Alpine watershed, and its extremely steep slopes, the mountain creates a unique weather phenomenon known as banner clouds. In essence (and I’m trying to sound smart here, but I’m just regurging Wikipedia), wind moving around the summit creates condensation on the lee side of the peak. These vortices crop up in the afternoon, and are an indication of how inhospitable it is up on the summit (anyone up for a climb?).

From a photography perspective, the banner clouds are like a snowflake: no two are alike, meaning you can capture something truly unique at any moment. Its best to keep an eye on the peak when they form. What might look like a soupy cloud-bank can quickly evolve into a majestic flag of mist. I’ve already published my favorite banner-cloud photograph in an earlier blog post.

My advise is to just keep your camera handy at all time: banner clouds form quickly, and dissolve just as fast.

3. Pursue Non-Traditional Angles

Because we’re talking about arguably the most photographed mountain in the world, you’ll quickly discover how hard it is to shoot an original image of the Matterhorn. Interesting banner clouds and miraculous light at dawn and dusk can help your cause, but for other times of the day, it can be frustrating shooting this peak.

Compounding the frustration — especially if you are unable to hike far on the trails due to fitness, time or the presence of toddlers — is the foreground from many popular vantage points. To be brutally honest, I was disappointed a lot while visiting the Zermatt area, particularly when we traveled up to the Klein Matterhorn lift and visited the Sunnegga Paradise areas. I’m sure they are gorgeous in winter when the snow covers up all the cables, pipelines, roads, wires and development, but in summer, I found the heavy hand of Swiss craftiness to be a detractor from the scenery.

To combat this, I tried to find alternate ways to frame the Matterhorn. Ways that were unique and showed a new perspective on the peak. I’m not sure I succeeded a great deal, but two images that I’m still proud of are above. One is the Matterhorn at day’s end with one wispy cloud. This was taken from the heart of Zermatt, and it reveals just enough of the summit to make it unmistakable. As a black and white, it takes on a new life.

The other angle was with my Canon 200mm f/2.8 as we rode down from Klein Matterhorn. It was midday, and getting cloudy, but a beam of light burst forth and landed right on the famous Hörnli Hut. Situated at 3,260 meters on the northeast ridge of the Matterhorn, this improbably large “hotel” for mountain climbers is the main staging area for making an ascent via the traditional route to the mountain’s summit. Even in the above image, with a sunbeam cast right on the building, the hut is completely dwarfed by the mass of the Matterhorn.

4. Make a Memorable Portrait

This one is a bit more personal for me. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we had an exhausting time visiting Switzerland because, well, we chose to go with our 15-month-old daughter. We don’t regret this trip in any way, but we’d be lying if we said it was easy. And poor Varenna, she was put through a lot during our two-week trip. Long train rides, odd nap times, hotels that thought a mattress on the floor counted as a “baby bed …”

Zermatt and the Matterhorn was at the end of our trip, and we finally — finally — found our groove with nap times and comfortable accommodations (sidenote: the Hotel Post is worth every Euro). On our last day, we traveled up the funicular to Sunnegga Paradise, and Varenna found her favorite place in Switzerland. A playground. An awesome playground. And while I bemoaned the dirt roads, cables, pipes and obstructions in the foreground, Varenna was ecstatic. In a field of dandelions, I snapped one of my favorite pictures of her (above left). I put it on the cover of our annual photo book of her that we give to her grandparents. It’s like: (1) oh, what a beautiful smile, and then (2) and what a beautiful field of flowers, and then (3) wait … is that the Matterhorn back there?

Sunnegga Paradise may not be the most photogenic spot for Matterhorn images, but if you are traveling with kids, they’ll love the playground, and those smiles just might last long enough for a memorable portrait.

Here’s a map of the places mentioned above.

The most gorgeous green-side view I've ever had.

While on the Dominican Republic, my wife and I were fortunate enough to get a day away together so we could play a round of golf. Earlier in the week, we’d visited Playa Grande as a family. Adjacent to this beach, high up on the bluffs, is a magnificent set of 18 holes called (drumroll) … Playa Grande Golf Club. It is the last course of Robert Trent Jones Sr.’s career, and with the exception of some pocky greenskeeping here and there, it is stellar.

Of this course’s 18 holes, 11 hug the ocean. In fact, our caddy noted that the day before, whales could be seen a quarter mile off the 13th tee box.

This stretch of coastline is rugged and elevated, a bit of an outlier from the fairly tame sand-and-palm beaches we’d seen between Puerto Plata and Rio San Juan. Robert Trent Jones Sr. made good use of this landscape, threading fairways along precipitous cliffs, and wrapping each hole back and forth over this elevated perch to open up new views and new surprises. My favorite hole was No. 12. This was the tee shot below, a long drive over a ravine with pounding surf below…

And then this was the “hazard” behind the green (below), a 50-meter wide sinkhole with a sea arch. From the next tee box, you could see a blowhole in the rocks, where the waves would enter into a seam and jet backwards and skyward in an Old Faithful-like spout.

The 13th hole then doglegged to the right and revealed a gorgeous view of Playa Grande itself (top photo of this post), stretching out like a lazy golden sunbather for a mile to the east. The course was unusual, but unabashedly fun to play.

There were a handful of firsts for me here. The first time I’ve played an ocean course. The first time I’ve golfed in a foreign country. The first time I’ve had to golf with a caddy (by the way: I’m far to inconsistent for a caddy to be of any good to me). And the first time I’ve logged 18 holes with my wife.

Hailey has the ideal temperament for golf. I’ve never seen her throw an object in disgust. Never seen her bludgeon the turf with a metal club. Never seen her slap the side of her temple repeatedly, saying “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” In other words, she’s a delight to play with, but don’t exhibit this kind of behavior in front of her, because she has a crafty way of making you feel like an idiot for overreacting. Believe me.

Usually, when you tee up with someone this patient and laid-back, it can have either two effects on you: it can make you relax, or it can aggravate you even more. Ever since I threw a little fit on the 7th hole of That-Mini-Golf-Course-Beside-I-25 in Colorado Springs in the summer of 2000 (I slammed my putter into the ground, then when I went to retrieve it, I tripped over a cement curb and fell into a bush) I’ve known to keep myself in check in front of Hailey. She doesn’t let idiotic behavior slide very easily.

And so in the end, playing with Hailey is what made this round of golf so enjoyable. Bad shot? Eh. Slice into the sea? So what. To have a few hours in the tropics with my wife, riding around in a golf cart and whacking a little white ball … I’ll take that for a vacation any day of the year.

In Colorado, where I live, you can see forever. Drive in from our airport (whose code should be BFE, not DEN), and you can easily see Pikes Peak some 80 miles south, and Longs Peak, some 55 miles to the north. Compass points of comfort — I grew up always knowing my place in this big, wide landscape.

I bring this up because the Dominican Republic couldn’t be any more different in this regard. Driving along the North Coast Highway, from Puerto Plata to Playa Grande, you hardly ever see the ocean even though its within spitting distance to the left. Trees and development obscure the view most of the way, with only a few tantalizing glimpses of cerulean blue here and there.

What this does for a traveler, in effect, is increase the potential for massive surprises. I wouldn’t have thought much of Sosua based on my first impression. Another town, crowded sidewalks, wires crossing the airspace over the road, motorcyclists dodging in and out of traffic, and then poof — you’re back in the countryside. Why would we go back?

Well, as it turns out, Sosua has an amazing beach nestled on a big bay, and its from here that many of the area’s scuba trips and booze cruises launch from. On our second day at the Ocean Manor Resort in Cabarete, we were alerted to a snorkeling trip done out of Sosua, and so we decided to check the town out. Unfortunately, the first time, the waves were up and the weather was awful for snorkeling, but as serendipity goes sometimes, we found ourselves strolling the sandy-bottomed commercial strip adjacent to Sosua’s beach.

When you travel with a toddler, you can’t help but see through their eyes. Varenna’s curiosity made Sosua an even richer experience. “C’mon, Daddy…” she kept saying, beckoning me onto the beach, under a tree, to a storefront, to a comfy looking chair.

And the hawkers did their best to woe her as a means to melt our hearts—I mean open our wallets. “You want a toy?” they’d ask her. “Look, she loves this inflatable alligator. I sell it to you as a good deal.” Not knowing any better, Varenna would wrap her hands on the toy, and Hailey and I would have to unravel the sale. It was harmless, and all part of the scene, but it made for some entertaining moments.

One purchase we couldn’t deny her was when she plopped herself at a cafe table and exclaimed “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

We ordered a hot dog for her and a beer for daddy, and then she charmed the guys who were hanging out nearby with her elementary Spanish: “HOLA! HOLA? HolacomoSTASS!”

She left with a seashell, and we returned a couple of days later to try the snorkeling. It was an experience not worth repeating. The promise of a trip to explore a protected cove where we could snorkel from the boat or from the beach (where I planned to hang out with Varenna while Hailey and her mom dove in) proved to be a bumpy boat ride to a random reef with little variety of fish and no way to be placed on the beach. So I clutched Varenna in my lap for an hour while we bobbed at sea. Big let down.

But in the end, Sosua was a delightful little spot. Don’t let the main strip fool you.

Playa Grande. Big Beach. Not the most imaginative name, but its a name I won’t forget. That’s because this is the beach you dream about on a winter’s day as you are stowed away in a cubicle in some northern city. Sugary golden sand, ever-changing surf and palm trees that burst open like fireworks. It’s as though it were designed for a Corona commercial.

Problem is, we visited Playa Grande on probably the wettest day of our six-day trip to the Dominican Republic. We drove along the coastal highway for an hour in bright sun, only to pass through the town of Rio San Juan and encounter building cloud cover. We guessed right on the beach’s turn-off, and found ourselves driving over tree-root speed bumps to reach the parking lot. We slathered on sunscreen, bought a cheap turtle sculpture from a nice Dominican man who seemed more concerned about alerting us to the dangerous undertow than selling us stuff, and — that’s when the sky opened up. We had 15 minutes of spotty sun, and then an epic deluge which we waited out in the car.

After the rain, we couldn’t resist a nice walk along Playa Grande’s eastern end, where a wild stand of palm trees swayed over the pounding surf. The light was flat, and had the beach been minutes away from us, rather than a guaranteed 2 hours in the car, we would have returned for sunrise or sunset light photos. It’s a jewel of a beach.

Instead, Hailey and I planned to return on our last day of the trip, but not to the beach. To the golf course that hugs the cliffs above the beach’s western edge. After a few family portraits before the next band of showers, we stuffed ourselves back into our tiny rental car and headed back to Cabarete. We were hungry.

Hailey, Varenna and I just returned last weekend from a six-day vacation in Cabarete, a beach town on the north shore of the Dominican Republic. We traveled with Hailey’s mom, Diana, who instigated the trip last April. The logic was like many vacations hatched for this time of the year: some place warm, with sand and surf. No other requirements.

Why Cabarete? Well, we had access to a timeshare there, and it afforded all the things we needed: a two-room suite with views of the Caribbean Sea. Food? Included. Drink? Yep, that too. We were determined to rediscover loafing.

And it was because of this that I had low expectations for photography. It seemed that we wouldn’t stray too far from the resort, and while we had a rental car, we didn’t plan to use it much (on account we had read in Lonely Planet that the roads were treacherous and that the rules of the road were non-existent).

While I had recently bought a new lens — and I was eager to try out (a Canon 24mm-105mm f4) — I was remarkably less-than-obsessed with my usual vacation routine: waking at dawn, shoulder-slung lens bag for quick access, “can I take a photo of you?” memorized in the local language…

We were going for the main purpose of relaxing on a beach. We had few ambitions. Sigh.

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What we did discover was that driving in the D.R. really isn’t that bad. It’s just different.

After the 30-minute drive from Puerto Plata Airport to the Ocean Manor in Cabarete, I was brimming with confidence. String of mopeds going 15mph? Just skirt right by them. Massive dump truck riding your bumper? Just ease to the side and wave him around on the next straightaway. Donkey on the road? Keep an eye on him but keep going. Cattle drive covering the highway? Yield to the ones with horns (if you want your damage deposit back from Avis, that is).

We arrived on Sunday, and by Tuesday we had abandoned the loafing game plan and hit the road — our curiosity piqued by the drive in, the desire to see Playa Grande, and a renewed sense of road-worthiness. It was a sign of things to come, for throughout our six-night stay, we drove to Rio San Juan and Playa Grande (twice), hung out in Sosua (twice) and checked out the beach scene in downtown Cabarete. Without a rental car, we probably would have loafed a lot more, and — I believe — we would have had a lot less fun.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say that driving the highway along the Dominican Republic’s North Shore was my favorite part of the trip. The only tough part of driving was staying alert in the urban areas. The roads are maybe a lane and a half wide, so we encountered plenty of tight squeezes paired with sudden motorbike merges.

But without a rental car, I don’t think I would have had any assessment of the country — its rugged landscape, it’s people, everyday life. All of that would have been based on what I’d read while loafing. That just doesn’t feel right to me.

And so, it turns out we’re not very good at loafing.

This was the fourth vacation we’ve gone on with our daughter, Varenna. I guess its not surprising, but I have to make note of the fact that each time we go somewhere with her it just gets better. She is an incredible observer, picking up on the smallest details, the distant sounds, and even nuances you’d expect a 2-year-old to miss, such as the fact that locals use a different language than us. She quickly learned to say “¿Hola, como estas?” as a form of greeting. This delighted every Dominican she came across.

And she learned to overcome some anxieties around water, especially the ocean. Its very rewarding as a father to watch your daughter evolve in a matter of days, from timidity to just-the-right-amount-of-confidence. Of course, this conquering of Wave Terror also happened the day we were leaving, which meant a lot of her clothes were wetter than we wanted in the suitcase — and let me tell you, nothing’s smellier than a toddler’s seawater-addler clothes after 16 hours in a suitcase.

But so what? That’s what a true vacation is about, right?

Roxborough State Park — located about 45 minutes southwest of Denver — has long been a favorite stomping ground for me, especially in the last 11 years, since my parents moved out that way. It’s quiet, filled with wildlife, and defined by a series of sandstone fins rising upwards of 175 feet over the valley. This is the same geological formation as Red Rocks Amphitheater and Colorado Springs’ Garden of the Gods, only it rises up from the hogbacks in a more hidden, lesser traveled part of the Front Range, making it more intimate and — in my mind — more spectacular.

I had very close friends from Tennessee visiting for New Years, and since we didn’t have time for a run up to Steamboat Springs — or any of the mountains for that matter — I opted to take them out to my parent’s house and walk into the park. As soon as we set off from the house, we were greeted by this scene, of the half moon positioned right in the midst of a formation we’ve always called The Molar. It wasn’t quite as dramatic as the Matterhorn eclipsing the moon, but it was cool nonetheless.

Here is a sneak peak of my latest project — Italy, Remasted. In 2005 and 2008, my wife and I traveled The Sexy Boot of Europe and discovered that Italy is indeed better than the hype.

For a combined five weeks we toured Northern, Central and Southern Italy, shooting and eating our way through such magnificent icons as Rome, Florence, Siena and Venice, and such lesser-known gems as Bolzano, Varenna, Val d’Itrea, Matera and Sestri Levante. Italy has a firm hold on our heart, and the images I have from there are some of my most cherished possessions.

Italy Remastered (working title) will be a self-published book via Blurb.com. Whether I sell it or not, we’ll see, but Blurb does such an amazing job of providing photographers innovative, clean layouts and quality printing, I can’t pass it up. So, for the last four weeks I’ve been chipping away at the images I have from Italy. It’s like a rock band going back into their catalogue and remastering a great album to enhance each song’s various elements. Since I’ve improved so much at post-production in Lightroom over the last two years, I’ve been pleased to see my images — both old favorites and rediscovered shots — come alive in a new way.

More to come soon.

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It has been a good two years since I did a family portrait shoot, so when I was asked to photograph the Wagner, Lineberry and Lamberton families out at the Wagner family farm near Hudson, Colorado, I was a bit nervous. “How do I do this again?”

Fortunately, the Lambertons are dear friends, and that quickly vanquished any trepidations I had about venturing back into the family portrait fold.

Furthermore, I was kind of excited about the prospect of shooting out on the Eastern Plains of Colorado. Most everybody forgets that half of this state is flat and covered in brittle grass and farmland. Much of it is private, and none of it is on the way to anywhere for me. It’s not like I just stop on by the Pawnee National Grasslands here and there on my way back from Lincoln, Nebraska. I just don’t head out that way … literally ever.

The Wagner farm is snug against an enormous grass field that faces to the West. My friend Tim (you may remember him from such asinine stunts as Hay Bale Handstand and Great Balls of Fire) was kind enough to get me on the farm for a good 30 minutes before everyone showed up … always good to scout a place and form a loose shot agenda.

The field had an amazing quality to it. It was late September, and the grass still had a little life left in it. None of the winter gray, but none of the springtime green. Just pure golden straw layered for miles. From a low angle shooting into the sun with my 200mm prime lens, it created an incredibly textured effect.

The Lamberton’s took the stage first: Tim and daughter Cora (pictured above), and Lexi and their son Quinn (three photos above).

Next up, I photographed the Lineberry family (above), Jay, Nikki, Turner and their 3-month-old daughter Peyton.

Next, we moved closer in to the residence. The home belongs to Marge Wagner, the matriarch of the family, and her sons Leon and John brought out the tractor for a photo of the whole gang. That’s Grandma Marge above, who was celebrating her 80th birthday.

By now it was around 4pm and the autumn light was getting very rich. The kiddos lasted just long enough to get a handful of everyone-is-smiling-and-no-one-is-blinking shots before the natural meltdowns happened. It was a fun shoot.

Who cares about Capri? That’s what I was thinking when we were planning our 3-week trip to Italy back in 2008. What I knew of it was that it was a Mediterranean hoity-toity haunt for the rich. Maseratis, casinos and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, right?

“Mariah Carey has a house there,” my wife added. Thanks … all the more reason to keep my distance. We had other priorities: Positano, Sorrento, Matera, Puglia, Rome, Umbria, Tuscany…it was already a long list.

So when we rolled into Sorrento at the start of the trip — at the end of what my wife and I will forever refer to as The Longest Day in Human History: an 8am departure from Denver, an overnight flight from Philly, a rental car debacle in Rome, a two-hour train ride to Naples, a transfer to Sorrento on the stop-every-50-feet Circumvesuviana, a two-mile hike uphill to the hotel — Capri was not on the agenda. It wasn’t even close to creeping onto the agenda.

And yet within an hour at the Hotel Minervetta in Sorrento, we were decompressed. The boats in the Bay of Naples bobbed like sleeping ducks. Mt. Vesuvius crowned the horizon, looking like it had been in a good mood for a few decades. Authentic Campagna-style pizza and red wine filled our bellies. This corner of Italy was pretty damn special. Maybe we should see as much of it as we could.

A few days later, we left Positano and the Amalfi Coast so that we could take the afternoon ferry ride to the mystical island that gave us caprese salad and short pants. We had three hours — not much time — but upon pulling into the harbor, we knew this excursion would be worth it. Chalky cliffs rose in all directions, and a pastel village with a humble expression on its face hugged a low, green saddle that separated the island’s two peaks.

We beat feet to the depot and took the second hair-raising bus ride of the day: the precipitous journey from Capri to Anacapri, a landlocked town located high on the island’s rocky shoulder. The bus was standing room only, filled with — surprisingly — a lot of locals. Below us lay a sea whose color can only be described as cerulean. Between us? Air and vertical rock. Not much else.

Anacapri was pleasantly sleepy and clearly removed from the outside world. It’s town alleys ensconced us in white wash, and our feet tripped here and there on uneven pavers. With the exception of the school kids who skipped and sprinted around the piazza, the town was largely silent. We giggled at yet another Amalfi Coast restaurant named “Il Saraceno,” had ourselves some gelato, took fashionable pics of each other leaning stylistically against white walls (ahh, the days before kids), and then boarded the Dare Devil Bus to catch our ferry.

We missed a lot on Capri: the Blue Grotto, the Faraglioni sea stacks, P. Diddy and his yacht… But that was perfectly fine with me. For an island that has such a larger-than-life reputation, it’s quite small, and yet we still found a corner where local life felt like … well, local life as you see it elsewhere around Italy. For a blitzkrieg three-hours of observation, we got a pretty good sense for the place.

What prompted this post? Steve Jobs.

“Oh c’mon!” you must be saying. “If I read another tribute to that guy, I’m gonna——”

I should say that one of Jobs’ most unsuccessful products, one of his “biggest failures” — Apple TV — is prompting this post. We bought one of these devices back in July so that we could run slideshows of our travel photography on our TV. For under $100, its been worth it, and so I’m going back through the archives, and retouching photo sets for the upstairs boob tube.

Is this blog timely? No, not always. So what. The whole reason to take pictures is to capture a story so that you can retell it forever.

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OK. So it’s been three months since we went to Switzerland, but I’m not done posting images. I’m just catastrophically slow at updating my blog now that I have my own business (by the way, check out our killer website, designed by HeyDay Creative).

On top of that, our little family has decided to move to a bigger house. Where this house will be, we don’t know yet, but getting our current place ready has been pretty consuming. The plus? Eventually, there will be new wall space in a new home to decorate with enlargements of Switzerland.

Switzerland still sneaks up on me and blows me away with what we saw. Will I ever see a landscape more beautiful than the Berner Oberland? Will I ever experience a better network of trains? Will I ever attempt to eat a three-foot-long coiled sausage bathed in brown onion sauce?

The answers are: No. No. And hell no.

For the last three major trips we’ve gone on — Mexico, Kauai and Switzerland — we’ve rented a couple of lenses from BorrowedLenses.com. Each time, we’ve made sure to rent a tilt-shift lens.

Now I have never pretended to be the most technically aware photographer. I couldn’t begin to accurately tell you how the optics inside these lenses work. All I know is that a tilt-shift warps the field of focus so that you can manipulate the scene in all sorts of wacky ways. With a normal lens, the field of focus is always parallel to the front of the lens. With a tilt-shift, you pivot that plane in all sorts of weird angles.

There, that’s the best I can do to explain it. Wikipedia is more eloquent.

On Lake Lucerne, we took a day-long boat tour, and that’s where the Canon 45mm TS-E really came most in handy. As paddle-wheelers and charming villages passed by, I set the aperture to a narrower depth, pivoted the lens down (or sometimes on a diagonal) and fired away.

While tilt-shifts can often miniaturize a scene, I find that they can actually show a place in a way that is more true to how the eye sees it and how memory imprints it. Take for instance, the image above. In my memory, the hills, the water, the trees — they are all splashes of color, nothing more. But the structures, the boats and mostly, the feeling — that’s what resonated and stuck with me most. A tilt-shift can capture just those memory burners. They’re fun images to share: “this is how it looked, but this is how I remember it.”

The same goes for this image of Wengen. No other shot I took of this town showed just how nestled in the valley it really was. A standard 45mm wouldn’t have done it as well.

To that, I say “yay, tilt-shifts.”