Looking Up: Photographing Landscapes in 2026

January shifted something in me.

With many of my bird friends gone on migration, the skies felt quieter. The wetlands felt still. And without realizing it at first, that absence gently nudged my gaze upward — away from feathers and flight, and toward the vastness around me.

What I found was a reminder of just how stunning a province I live in.

Here on Vancouver Island, landscapes don’t ask for attention — they simply exist in all their quiet power. And this January, they showed up in ways that felt almost generous.

Sunsets have always been my favourite time of day. That moment just before the sun slips below the horizon, when the world softens and everything feels possible. In January 2026, we were treated to some truly unforgettable ones — skies brushed in deep pinks and glowing oranges, the kind that stop you mid-step.

For a few minutes at a time, it almost felt like summer… except it was freezing.

Cold fingers, numbed toes, and breath hanging in the air — yet above it all, colour exploded. The contrast made it even more magical. Winter reminding me that beauty doesn’t wait for comfort.

And that’s the thing about this island: the weather can change on a dime, but it doesn’t stop us from going outside. Islanders know that if you wait for “perfect” conditions, you’ll miss everything.

A friend once said to me, “It’s never the wrong weather — only the wrong gear.”

How true is that.

Some days brought bold, fiery skies. Other days offered softer gifts — pale pinks fading into silver, or reflective greys in the water that made the ocean sparkle in a quieter way. Different moods. Different textures. All equally worthy of being noticed.

Winter doesn’t shout the way summer does. It whispers. And when you slow down enough to listen, there’s so much there.

January was a hard month for my mind. Feeling stuck happens — especially in winter, when the days are short and we spend more time indoors, wrapped in routines and walls.

Stepping outside, camera in hand, gave my thoughts somewhere else to go. Focusing on the curve of a shoreline, the way clouds moved, the subtle shifts in light — it grounded me.

Nature does that. Quietly. Without asking anything in return.

I truly believe it’s important to get outside in winter no matter the weather. You don’t always come back with epic photos, but you almost always come back feeling a little lighter. A little steadier. And sometimes, unexpectedly inspired.

(If you want to read more about that stuck feeling and how January helped loosen it, my January 2026: Learning to Wander Again blog dives deeper into that experience.)

Winter has never been my favourite season. I’ve always waited it out — counting down to spring migrations and longer days.

But after photographing landscapes this January, I feel something shifting. Winter may still be cold, quiet, and challenging — but it’s also reflective, moody, and surprisingly generous if you give it a chance.

2026 is the year I stop waiting for the “right” season. It’s the year I keep looking up.