About

I did not grow up in Greece, but I spent my summers there, and those summers stayed with me. They taught me early that the natural world was never background. It was alive. It deserved attention.

Years later, the Tetons and Yellowstone gave that feeling a place to land.

I did not come here to collect pretty pictures. I came here to keep showing up. Before sunrise. In the cold. In the quiet. On the mornings when the valley gives you everything and the mornings when it gives you nothing. The camera became my reason to pay closer attention, but the real work has always been learning how animals move when nobody is asking them to perform.

Most days I go out looking for moose. They have taught me more about patience than any teacher I have ever had. In summer they move through the willows with velvet on their antlers, calm and heavy and almost impossible to photograph badly if the light is honest. In fall they sharpen. In winter they become myth again. Grizzlies taught me another lesson. So did wolves. So did the smaller lives people often miss entirely. Beavers. Coyotes. Porcupines. Owls. The West does not speak in one voice. That is part of why I keep going back.

The name Greek Mountain Man stuck because it fit the way I move through this place. The long way. The cold way. The patient way.

This work matters to me because the more closely you watch wild things, the harder it becomes to treat them like scenery. Distance matters. Restraint matters. The picture is never more important than the animal. I have learned that in marshes, on river bends, in sagebrush fields, and in those brief moments when a whole valley seems to hold still around one living thing.

Through the photographs, the stories, the book, and the workshops, what I want most is simple. I want people to feel a little more of what is really here. Not the postcard. Not the easy version. The living one.