I was close to giving up and walking back to the car for a lukewarm cup of coffee. The Hoh Rainforest had already tested my patience. It’s a beautiful place, but it doesn’t make photography simple. Moss hangs from every branch, the air feels thick, and the ground looks like a thousand years of plants all growing on top of each other. Everything around you feels alive, but that doesn’t mean it always makes a good picture.
I had spent most of the morning trying to set up shots that fell apart as soon as I lifted the camera. One area was too busy, another had barely any light, and nothing seemed to come together. It reminded me of trying to take pictures of my kids when they were small. The second they noticed the camera, the calm moment vanished.
So I kept walking, not expecting anything special. Then I saw a narrow path I’m sure I hadn’t noticed before. Two fallen trees leaned over the opening like a crooked doorway. I ducked under them and stepped onto the trail, half wondering if I would find a nice photo or trip and twist an ankle instead. The path curved uphill, soft and quiet under my boots. For some reason I don’t fully understand, I stopped halfway up and turned around.
That’s when the sky opened.
The morning sun broke through for only a few seconds, but it was enough to change everything. The greens around me glowed bright and fresh. The moss looked like it had been waiting all year for that single flash of light. I rushed to set up my tripod, hoping the sun would hold on just a little longer.
I caught the shot just in time.
Moments like this don’t show up on command. They tend to arrive right when you’ve stopped hoping for anything at all. Maybe that’s the forest’s quiet test, to see if you’ll stick around long enough for the magic to happen.
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