by Christopher Harrison
Landscape Photographer
There is a moment, just as the sun breaks the horizon, when woodlands feel suspended in time. Mist clings to the landscape, light squeezes through the canopy, and everything is calm.
These are the moments I yearn for. Woodlands are deeply personal, not just a subject, but a wild space I connect with on a deeper level. Almost everyone has walked through trees at some point in their life. Whether it is to escape a busy day, to find stillness, or to feel something quiet and real. Woodlands are familiar. They are grounding. They speak to something deep inside of us. And for me, they have become a place of endless inspiration.
There’s something very special about the early hours in the woods. When the sun is low and the world hasn’t quite woken up, the forest holds a softness that’s impossible to recreate later in the day. It’s also when you’re most likely to be alone. Just you, your thoughts, and your camera. No distractions.
Before I think about compositions or camera settings, I focus on being present: breathing in the cool morning air, listening to birdsong, feeling the crunch of leaves underfoot, and watching how the light flows through the trees. The technical side follows: knowing my camera & lenses, being ready, but not letting it get in the way. The goal is to respond, and not force; to capture what my eye sees, and the feeling of the moment.
Sunrise is also when mist and fog are most likely to appear, and for woodland photography, these conditions are a gift. It softens the scene, simplifies the chaos, and adds a dreamlike quality that transforms even the most familiar woods. But mist is elusive. It can’t be scheduled or guaranteed. You have to be agile, willing to go at short notice, and ready to adapt. During the bluebell season, there may only be a couple of mornings in the brief two or three-week bloom with misty conditions, which leaves little room for scouting or second-guessing.
That’s when local knowledge becomes everything. It’s easy to get caught up in the endless possibilities. I’ve pinned hundreds of locations on Google Maps over the years, but when time and conditions are right, it’s instinct and familiarity that guide you. The more you return to the same places, the more you begin to understand them, and that’s when the magic happens.
As Ansel Adams puts it, far more concisely: “A good photograph is knowing where to stand.”
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned in woodland photography is to arrive with an open mind. No matter how well I know a location, it almost always finds a way to surprise. My photograph Above the Mist is a perfect example. I’d headed to a woodland beside the River Thames hoping to capture early morning mist beneath the trees, but what I saw in the distance caught my eye.
A gentle veil of mist had settled around a Bronze Age burial mound, or barrow, a scene I hadn’t anticipated, but one I couldn’t ignore. I used my SIGMA 70-200mm f2.8 Sport lens to isolate the clump of trees and compress the perspective. The mist lifted just seconds later as the sun rose, the scene gone almost as quickly as it appeared. But that’s the beauty of letting go of expectations. Sometimes, that openness leads to something unexpected. Something better than I could have planned. It’s a balance between patience and instinct, familiarity and spontaneity.
In truth, while awards and recognition are very welcome, they’re not the reason I set my alarm for 5am to stand alone in a cold woodland, patiently waiting for the light to shift. They motivate me, sure, as does sharing my work online and seeing it resonate with others. But the main reason is that I always feel richer for having been out in nature. Just being there is enough, camera in hand, eyes open, surrounded by stillness. It’s energising.
Yes, having the right gear helps. I rely on a camera and lenses that allow me to translate what I feel into something that achieves my vision. But the true foundation is something far more meaningful; time spent learning a place, the patience to return again and again, and the mindset to stay open to whatever the morning brings. That quiet drive to witness, to feel, and to connect has nothing to do with recognition. It is rooted in something simpler. It is about being there, immersed in the stillness and beauty of the natural world.
In the end, it is not about photography. It is about connection.
ABOUT
CHRISTOPER HARRISON
Photographer
Chris is a photographer based near Henley-on-Thames in South East England. He works in the technology industry by day and spends his free time capturing landscape and nature photographs, often during sunrise, sunset, or harsh weather conditions. Chris enjoys transforming simple scenes into extraordinary images through careful planning and scouting.
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