CHASING THE FOG: My Journey Up Mount Timpanogos

Climbing Mount Timpanogos in the Fog: A Photographer’s Journey Through Risk and Reward

Discover how I pushed past fear and fog to photograph Mount Timpanogos at sunrise. A raw story of risk, resilience, and capturing nature’s mood at 9,000 feet.

The Promise to ReturnA year earlier, I suffered an injury and promised myself I’d return—stronger. Climbing Mount Timpanogos became a goal, not just for my body, but for my spirit. As a photographer this mountain stood as a personal challenge—and the canvas for my lens.No Sleep, Just DriveThe night before, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake until 3 AM, then finally got up, packed my gear—camera, flashlight, food, water—and drove into the dark. I arrived at the trailhead around 4 AM. Surprisingly, the sky was clear. The forecast had predicted clouds, but there wasn’t a single one in sight.

I took that as a sign. I was going up.The Ascent and the MeltEarly spring hiking in Utah means melting snow, slush, and tricky footing. Around 9,000 feet, the trail became a crawl. I was exhausted, doubting myself, praying I’d make it to Emerald Lake.

That’s when it happened: the fog rolled in.Photographing the Fog on Mount TimpanogosIt moved like a shadow—fast, eerie, almost sentient. One moment I could see the trail; the next, it was gone. The fog wrapped the mountain in silence and white.

But as a landscape photographer, I couldn’t look away. I started shooting.

The contrast of snow, fog, and rock was haunting and beautiful. I reached the shelf and kept pressing forward with the weight of fear and awe in equal measure.Emerald Lake DisappearsWhen I finally reached Emerald Lake, it was no longer a lake—it was a frozen field of snow. The fog had turned into a whiteout. I could barely see a few feet ahead. The trail vanished. My only guide was my phone’s offline map.

That’s when the thought hit me hard: Your kids want you home. Get down.Why This Climb Changed MeWe often romanticize the suffering behind the shot—the belief that greatness comes through pain. But there's a fine line between brave and reckless.

That day on Mount Timpanogos, I walked that line.

Yet, the images I captured—the mood, the texture of the fog, the raw silence—are some of my best. Not because they’re perfect, but because they represent exactly what I felt: vulnerable, alive, and present.Final ThoughtsThis was more than just a photography trip. It was a turning point. A reminder that sometimes the most powerful photos aren’t the ones you plan, but the ones that find you when you’re uncertain, afraid, and fully alive.