The moose was in the ditch.
The bird was still bothering him.
The Tetons were sitting back there like they had been waiting for this too.

And the angle I wanted was in the water.

So I took off my shoes.

Not because it was smart. Because the picture was there.

I stepped into that ditch knowing it stayed warm year-round, one of those spring-fed cuts that never fully freezes. But warm does not mean comfortable when the air is biting. The water cut through the cold just enough to make it deceptive, and within seconds my feet started going numb anyway. The kind of numb that creeps in slow and then takes over. My body knew it wasn’t right. My mind didn’t care. The bull was still there. The light was still holding. So I stayed in it and snapped as many pictures as I could.

That is the part people do not see when they look at a finished wildlife photograph. They see the animal. They see the mountains. They see the mist and the mood and the clean frame. They do not see boots left on the bank. They do not feel the sting in your feet. They do not hear your brain telling you to get out while the rest of you says, not yet.

That evening gave me one of the most important images of my life.

It also gave me my first award ever.

I recently received word from 35AWARDS, one of the largest photography competitions in the world, and I am still trying to let it sink in. One of my images was selected as one of the 100 Best Photos of 2020. I was also recognized among the Top 35 Photographers in the United States across all categories, not just wildlife, along with a Top 50 Wildlife Nomination. On top of that, one of my images was selected to be part of the annual Catalogue.

Seeing my name there felt unreal.

What makes it even harder to believe is the size of the competition. That year, more than 123,000 professional and amateur photographers from 173 countries entered the annual 35AWARDS competition and submitted a total of 444,000 photographs. The work went through three rounds of judging, drew 119 million votes, and in the end 50 professional photographers from 50 different countries selected the winners from the photographs that rose to the top.

And somehow, one of mine was in that conversation.

That means a lot to me.

Not because awards are the reason I go out. They are not. I go out because the land keeps calling. Because the animals keep teaching. Because there is something about standing in the fading light, waiting for a shape to lift out of the willows, that still feels bigger than photography.

But this one matters.

It matters because it was the first.
It matters because it came from a real evening, a hard evening, not from luck or convenience.
It matters because that image carries the exact thing I have been trying to say with this work all along.

Show up.
Pay attention.
Respect the animal.
Do what the moment asks of you.
And when the land gives you four good minutes, be ready.

That bull moose gave me that.

He stood there in that warm ribbon of water while a bird needled him and the light held just long enough. I stepped into the ditch, made the frame, and came out shaking. At the time, I only knew it felt like one of those evenings that stays with you. I did not know it would become my first real recognition on that scale.

Maybe that is part of why it means so much.

You do the work not knowing where any of it will lead. Most evenings give you nothing. Some give you a decent frame. Once in a while, if you are lucky and stubborn enough to keep going, an evening gives you something that changes the course a little.

This one did.

I am grateful to 35AWARDS for the recognition. I am grateful that one of my images will live in the annual Catalogue. And I am grateful for every freezing evening, every missed shot, every empty drive, and every lesson that led up to that bull standing in that ditch.

That is the photograph people see.

What I see is the whole evening behind it.

And that is the part I will never forget.