The expec­ta­tions for this evening were rather subdued, as accor­ding to the weather reports, an evening loca­tion was not to be expected. But it was the right decision not to be discou­raged and to go out and take photos, no matter what the weather was like. When the sky suddenly began to turn the most beau­tiful colors, our persis­tence was rewarded with one of the most beau­tiful evening reds I had seen in recent years. 

Es ist die bekann­teste und wohl am meisten foto­gra­fierte Land­schafts­szene der Färöer. Ein Grund dürfte die einfache Zugäng­lich­keit sein. Aber auch der impo­sante Talkessel und der hohe Wasser­fall, der hinab ins Meer stürzt, dürfte einen Teil zur Popu­la­rität beitragen. Meiner Inter­pre­ta­tion dieses wolken­ver­han­genen Abends bei Gása­dalur gab ich über eine Lang­zeit­be­lich­tung einen beson­deren Touch. Dadurch wirkt die Szene noch ruhiger und verträumter. 

A quiet moment in the storm on the coast of Mølin in the Faroe Islands. In the back­ground, Risin peeks out from behind the steep coastal cliffs that actually rise from the sea to the summit of Eiðis­kollur. The rough sea and the cold wind from the north were actually blowing the sea and rain water relent­lessly into our faces, but for a few minutes it held within. Nevert­heless, the stones were as smooth as glass and even on this flat surface, walking around was an adven­ture. Nevert­heless, we dared to look over the edge of the coast into the distance. 

Tief­hän­gende Wolken, wenig Weit­sicht, entge­gen­sprit­zendes Regen- und Meer­wasser, eisig kalter Wind wehte ins Gesicht — es gibt schö­nere Bedin­gungen, um zu foto­gra­fieren, aber für diesen beson­deren, rauen Küsten­ab­schnitt fand ich die diese Stim­mung perfekt. Zwar konnte ich die Augen immer nur kurz öffnen, um durch den Sucher zu schauen, ehe mir die Tränen die Backen runter­rannen und ich war auch perma­nent am Trocken­wi­schen der Linsen, aber irgendwie habe ich es dennoch geschafft ein tolle Kompo­si­tion zu finden und aufzuehmen. Sollte ich je wieder auf die Färöer kommen, werde ich defi­nitiv wieder an diesen Ort zurückkommen. 

Dieses Bild zeigte einen Anblick, der so typisch für die Färöer ist. Auf der Insel­gruppe fährt man ständig zwischen den Hängen der Fjord­land­schaft und den Fjorden selbst auf den Straßen umher, wenn man von einer Insel zu anderen möchte. Das heißt, solche Szenen können sich immer wieder ergeben. Was an diesem Bild so schön ist, ist die kleine Wolken­lücke die sich an diesem sonst sehr wolken­ver­han­genen Tag ergeben hatte und für einen kurzen Moment die Fjord­wände anstrahlte. Dadurch ergibt sich eine wunder­bare Tiefe im Bild. Das kleine Häuss­chen im Licht­schein gibt zu dem noch eine wunder­bare Skalie­rung und man erkennt wie groß diese Land­schaft ist. 

A picture that already shows a lot of what the Faroe Islands have to offer. It shows boat and fishermen’s houses on Leitis­vatn, one of the largest inland lakes, toge­ther with two small sheep. In the back­ground, you can get an idea of what the fjord walls of the Faroe Islands might look like. The steeply sloping hill in the back­ground is the so-called slave rock Trælanípa. Another element in this picture is the some­times unpre­dic­table weather. Here, dense clouds were just passing over our heads and even released a little sunlight that we would other­wise have hardly seen at all on this other­wise comple­tely gray day. 

The luck of the brave. That morning I wanted to go up to a peak in the Esterel moun­tains, but unfort­u­na­tely a barrier blocked my way. The access road was closed. It was not possible to look for other routes in the dark. So I decided in favour of another spot. This turned out to be the perfect spot. After a short walk through the dark­ness, I stood above this rock forma­tion. An hour before sunrise, I was already expe­ri­men­ting with the compo­si­tion. Here is a wonderfully successful shot a few minutes before the sun rose above the horizon. 

Probably my most successful picture in 2023. Ever­y­thing was set up perfectly that evening. The weather fore­cast promised a great sunset. My persis­tence in scou­ting the loca­tion in the hour before sunset paid off when my eyes caught sight of this pine tree on a steep rock. Luckily I was able to find a way up and nail the compo­si­tion when the light was perfect. 

Probably my most successful picture in 2023. Ever­y­thing was set up perfectly that evening. The weather fore­cast promised a great sunset. My persis­tence in scou­ting the loca­tion in the hour before sunset paid off when my eyes caught sight of this pine tree on a steep rock. Luckily I was able to find a way up and nail the compo­si­tion when the light was perfect. 

I was out and about taking land­scape shots on a cliff with inte­res­ting rocks. My focus was on the wide-angle lens and the plants and rocks in front of the sea at sunrise. Suddenly I noticed this pine tree growing out of an almost vertical rock just a few metres above the sea. I imme­dia­tely got out the tele­photo lens and tried to take a nice photo of it. A great picture, unagi­tated without a cry for atten­tion, but with a lot of expressiveness. 

Before the sun rises high enough above the moun­tains to warm the water of Braies Lake in Italy, the water lies calm, crea­ting almost perfect reflec­tions that mirror the moun­tain massif of the nature park and the old cottage of the boat rental in the water 

To be able to shoot the Braies Lake with a beau­tiful reflec­tion, you have to stand on the shore early in the morning. Even before the sun is fully above the moun­tains, the lake lies there so wonderfully quiet. You should not only photo­graph, but also enjoy and take a deep breath when you are there. 

Der Abend an dem ich auf der Halb­insel San Giovanni di Sinis foto­gra­fierte war wirk­lich ein großer Spaß. Unzäh­lige versuche bis ich zufrieden war. Bei jeder herein­bre­chenden Welle, drückte ich den Auslöser bis mir das Spiel vom Wasser am Strand gefiel. Die Füße vom warmen Wasser des Mittel­meeres umspült. In diesem Foto gefällt mir die Dynamik des Wassers ganz besonders. 

Der Blick in den Himmel verriet, das wird eine wunder­schöne Abend­stim­mung. Da mir aber genau in diesem Moment die Möglich­keit fehlte wegzu­fahren, um wunder­schöne Land­schafts­auf­nahmen zu machen, musste Plan B herhalten. Und es hat sich gelohnt. Ich ließ die Drohne steigen und flog so weit die Verbin­dung gehalten hatte zum langen Sand­s­tran von San Teodoro. Dort konnte ich diese wunder­schöne Farben des Sonnen­un­ter­gangs einfangen. Herrlich. 

It was the first morning in Sardinia and since I had studied the weather maps the night before, I set the alarm clock for 5 o’clock. Not half an hour later I stood with my feet in the water on the beach of Stin­tino and took this beau­tiful morning mood at the sea. Already after this first photo I knew that getting up early was worth it once again. 

Finding a perfect compo­si­tion for the Torre della Pelosa turned out to be extre­mely diffi­cult. The centered image place­ment lent itself in this case. The rocks in the fore­ground create a nice frame and keep the image in balance with the tower on the island. 

On a small flat island off the coast of Stin­tino lies the small Isola della Pelosa, where a small histo­rical tower stands. Of course, I wanted to take a nice picture of the tower. The idea was to use the waves of the Medi­ter­ra­nean Sea and the right expo­sure time to photo­graph a kind of coast­line leading towards the tower. The morning light of the just risen sun was perfect for this. 

On a small flat island off the coast of Stin­tino lies the small Isola della Pelosa, where a small histo­rical tower stands. Of course, I wanted to take a nice picture of the tower. The idea was to use the waves of the Medi­ter­ra­nean Sea and the right expo­sure time to photo­graph a kind of coast­line leading towards the tower. The morning light of the just risen sun was perfect for this. 

When I reached this place on the penin­sula of San Giovanni di Sinis in Sardinia, I took the first oppor­tu­nity to take a nice shot of the tower in the evening light. I used the beaten path as a leading line to the tower itself. The light of the low sun illu­mi­nates the tower wonderfully, so that it pres­ents itself in the picture wonderfully as a motive. I was still in doubt and wanted to take the main shot some time later. However, it did not come to it any more. A cloud band on the horizon took me so to speak the light. Nevert­heless, a beau­tiful shot. 

When I reached this place on the penin­sula of San Giovanni di Sinis in Sardinia, I took the first oppor­tu­nity to take a nice shot of the tower in the evening light. I used the beaten path as a leading line to the tower itself. The light of the low sun illu­mi­nates the tower wonderfully, so that it pres­ents itself in the picture wonderfully as a motive. I was still in doubt and wanted to take the main shot some time later. However, it did not come to it any more. A cloud band on the horizon took me so to speak the light. Nevert­heless, a beau­tiful shot. 

At the cliffs of Stin­tino I disco­vered these inte­res­ting patterns in the massive rock. I suppose that here the salty splash water of the sea provided for the fact that over many years these hollowed out holes in the rock deve­loped. I took these patterns in the evening shortly before sunset. 

Schon fast wie aus einer anderen Welt, wirkt diese schroffe, frag­men­tierte Steil­klippe im Norden Sardi­niens. Der Zeit­punkt der Aufnahme dieses Felsens war perfekt Die Sonne stand bei Sonnen­un­ter­gang in idealer Linie zur markanten Ober­fläche des Steins, weshalb die Struktur, vom warmen Sonnen­un­ter­gangs­licht ange­strahlt, beson­ders schön zur Geltung kommt. 

A wonderful view of Varenna’s harbor bay can be had from a some­what hidden spot, further up the many stairs that this village has to offer. From there you can watch the streams of tourists along the paths on the water­front and enjoy a little more tranquility. 

Busy day in and day out in summer along the small harbor bay in Varenna on Lake Como. Here a beau­tiful view over a sea of flowers out onto the water. 

An der italie­ni­schen Rivierea in Ligu­rien liegen 5 kleine Dörfer, die welt­be­rühmt geworden sind in einzig­ar­tiger Lage am Mittel­meer. Mana­rola ist eins dieser Dörfer, das bild­hübsch anzu­schauen ist. Vor allem während oder nach dem Sonnen­un­ter­gang verzau­bert es die Besu­cher mit einem ganz beson­derem Charme. 

On the Italian Rivierea in Liguria there are 5 small villages that have become world famous in a unique posi­tion on the Medi­ter­ra­nean Sea. Mana­rola is one of these villages that is picture perfect. 

Lively shows the small village of Varenna on Lago di Como until the evening hours. Sunlit shortly before sunset, the moon reve­aled itself over the village at the blue hour. Two expo­sure times were neces­sary to expose the scenery and the moon correctly. 

With this romantic view of the bay of Vernazza, a village of the Cinque Terre in Italy, who can’t fall in love with these little towns? 

Arctic sunsets are very long, so I had plenty of time for this photo, which shows an island (Eyja in Icelandic) in the Arctic sea during the blue hour with beau­tiful colo­rings in the sky. 

The Sun Voyager in Reykjvik might be one of the most photo­gra­phed works of art in Iceland. I photo­gra­phed it with a long expo­sure with ND filter in the blue hour to make people walking by disap­pear and to keep the rough water quite smooth so that the focus is on the artwork itself. I deli­bera­tely placed the artwork slightly off centre so that you can follow the subject’s gaze into the distance, but not too much so that the image is out of balance. 

On the south coast of Iceland, a glacier flows directly into the sea at Jökuls­arlon. Man- and house-sized blocks of ice are washed back onto the black sand beach there, at Diamond Beach. Like this “lovers” made of ice. 

Along the south coast you can always take pictures of huge lava rocks that were carried into the sea during volcanic erup­tions. Since the weather in Iceland can change from cloud­less to comple­tely over­cast within a few minutes, there is always the chance to capture pheno­menal light moods like this. 

When we were at Goda­foss on our Iceland trip, I didn’t miss the chance to look for other, less known perspec­tives. Like this one photo­gra­phed from the foot of Godafoss. 

The water­fall of the gods. At this place, accor­ding to legend, the last idols of the Icelanders were thrown into the water and destroyed, after the country and the inha­bi­tants were Chris­tia­nized. A beau­tiful water­fall in the northeast of Iceland. 

This rock, which more or less reminds me of an elephant, is, accor­ding to Icelandic legend, a petri­fied troll that was petri­fied by the sun when it pelted the monas­tery of Thin­geyrar. Photo­gra­phed on the east coast of the Vatnsnes penin­sula, after miles of driving over gravel roads and mud. 

Öxará refers to a river in southwes­tern Iceland. This picture shows him after the water­fall Öxarár­foss in the National Park Thing­vellir. Many photo­graphers take pictures of the water­fall, where the course of the river through the land­scape has a special charm, as if on another planet. 

Far away in the east of Iceland, far away from the tourist streams lie the dreamy East Fjords. Anyone who wants to enjoy peace and quiet and seeks the remote silence is exactly right here. The idyll was captured in this picture by a long exposure. 

Another picture of the jetty in the middle of the fjord idyll. The dense high fog and the snow on the steep slopes of the fjord contri­buted to the silence of the evening, which you could then end in the warm room. 

The pros­pect of a pheno­menal evening red was unfort­u­na­tely not given on this day, yet there was a gap in the clouds over the horizon, which could provide a great mood in the blue hour, so I went out again to the marina in Lachen on Lake Zurich and took this beau­tiful evening mood. 

At a secluded spot on Lake Zurich, you can enjoy this view when the sun sinks behind the hills in summer. 

The shot was taken while waiting for the evening glow. But the light colored the lake and the sky in a beau­tiful analog color spec­trum and created this wonderful romantic mood. 

Another cloudy evening led me to this old boat­house on Lake Zurich. The light was already almost perfect when I arrived. So I worked quickly to find a great compo­si­tion, which I managed to do in time before the light of day disap­peared completely. 

Es war ein seltener Anblick bei unserm Aufent­halt auf Sylt im Winter 23/24. Die Sonne zeigt sich über der Dünen­land­schaft bei Wenning­stedt. Für mich war es natür­lich ein Foto wert, um diesen wunder­schönen “Ausnah­me­zu­stand” fest­zu­halten. Entgegen das Licht ist es nie einfach ein gelun­genes Foto zu bekommen, aber die Stim­mung die sich fest­halten lässt ist wunderschön. 

Endlich mal wieder ein Zielfot, dass auch eini­ger­maßen nach meinen Vorstel­lungen geklappt hat. Ich wusste dieser ehema­lige Leucht­turm auf Sylt, das Quer­mar­ken­feuer, könnte an einem Sonnen­un­ter­gang oder einem Abendrot sensa­tio­nell aussehen. Das Abendrot wollte sich in den Tagen meiner Anwe­sen­heit auf der Insel einfach nicht einstellen, dafür aber wunder­schöne Wellen sanfter Wolken beim Sonnen­un­ter­gang. Schöner hätte ich es nicht malen können. 

It was a lucky coin­ci­dence that this picture was taken. I had hoped for great light, as thun­der­storms kept passing by and the cloud cover opened up a little in between. My plan was to go to a view­point called Bunker Hill and take photos there. However, it was a closed mili­tary bunker. My eye then caught this drift­wood on the beach. I spotted the motif and took a photo. I took a total of 100 pictures until I had one in which the clouds, sea, waves and light worked harmo­niously together. 

For a few seconds, this closed rainbow opened up in front of me over the North Sea. I was out and about on the dunes near Wenning­stedt on Sylt to take some pictures of the rain cells flying in. The winter storm repea­tedly brought short, heavy down­pours, but it also repea­tedly tore open the cloud cover so that the sun could shine through. Just as I was taking this photo, the rain hit me with full force. Only a short time later, I was comple­tely soaked. But it was worth it. 

Actually, we were just passing through, but the chance for a beau­tiful morning atmo­sphere was given. So we drove into Cons­tance and posi­tioned ourselves in time at the Imperia to photo­graph the light­house in the morning light. 

After the rain at the Rappensee. I myself could hardly believe it when I unpa­cked my camera in this great light mood at Rappensee in the Alps, and there was not a single other photo­grapher to be seen around me. What would they miss, I thought, when I took this shot after a few hours of rain. 

I have recorded the story behind this picture in a blog/vlog, from its crea­tion to the final image proces­sing. The path and the search for this pond was a bit scary and adven­turous. There was no infor­ma­tion anywhere and hardly any pictures online. So I set off on my own through unknown terri­tory, walking in the dark through a dark, misty forest, over slip­pery wooden planks and through damp moor­land. The effort was worth it, because not only did I take some exci­ting pictures of the pond and its natural surroun­dings, but also of the imme­diate surroun­dings. And this crooked foot­bridge by the pond is worth a picture in itself. 

Nur ein kleiner Rest ist übrig geblieben vom eins­tigen Schiff Namens Mariann. Zweimal täglich kommen sie zum Vorschein. Immer dann, wenn die Ebbe der Nordsee die Über­bleibsel frei­gibt. An einem beson­ders gespens­ti­schen Wetter, wolken­be­hangen und voller Nebel, stat­tete ich dem Mahnmal einen Besuch ab, um es zu foto­gra­fieren. Welche Mythen sich wohl um das Schiff und das Wrack erzählt werden? 

Eine wahr­lich simple Kompo­si­tion, die ich hier gewählt habe. Die Ruhe und das stim­mungs­volle, neblige Wetter wirkten so wunderbar entspan­nend und erholsam auf mich, dass ich mich für diese Zentral­kom­po­si­tion entschied, die alles Elemente im Gleichgwicht anordnet. Ich hoffe ich konnte diese Ruhe und innere Gleich­ge­wicht einfangen. Gerade in einer für mich turbu­lenten Zeit, sind solche Foto­gra­fien für meine Stim­mung Heilsbringer. 

On the last really wintry day in February I went once again to a frozen lake nearby to take pictures of the ice and snow while the sun was setting on the other shore. The idea came during a short walk. After I had checked the sun’s course, the plan­ning for the evening inclu­ding the loca­tion was then perfect. A wonderful, atmo­spheric picture. 

It is quite rare that lakes freeze in this region. But this winter they did. And they were frozen so deeply that the ice surfaces became a play­ground for children during the day. So these chunks of ice must have found their way onto the lake as well.