My photography journey started with an old Nikon F50 I got from my dad when I was 16: something stirred inside me, as though there had been a sleeping photographer in there all along. Inspired by the action sports magazines I used to read at the time, I organized a shoot with friends a few days later. The lab messed up those pictures and I never got to see them.

I fell in love with freezing motion: the arc of a turn, the spray of snow, the split-second grin mid-air. After four summers of shooting with friends, I was faced with a choice: go all-in—invest in gear, try to build a career—or stay rooted in the mountains, teaching, riding, shaping parks. Being a photographer would’ve meant traveling a lot, and at the time, it didn’t feel right.

Years passed. I focused on improving my snowboarding skills, and I kept photographing, but just for fun. Then I got my first drone, and suddenly, the perspective changed. The urge to take photos came back—not as a job, but as a way to frame moments that matter: friends laughing on a ridge, clients carving their first powder line, the quiet glow of a sunset over the Matterhorn.

Nowadays, I bring this same mindset to my photography service—I shoot for the memories. I don’t carry heavy gear or chase perfect lighting, and I don’t stage shots or ask you to pose—unless you want to. What you’ll get is real. I capture the moments you might have not even noticed—the ones that, later, you’ll look back on and say, “That’s exactly how it felt.”