I stumbled into photography entirely by chance at fifteen. None of the academic subjects at school particularly resonated with me, but photography caught my attention among the options available. I'd never picked up a camera before, but something about capturing moments and expressing a personal view of the world appealed to me.

I bought a pretty standard DSLR with money saved from my paper round and spent the entire summer in nature behind the lens and in front of a computer, learning everything I could. When I returned to school six weeks later, my teacher, Miss Bass, couldn't believe how much I'd progressed. Something about it felt like a vessel for everything I already was, someone who always felt there was more beneath the surface of things, who was drawn to the road less travelled before knowing what that actually meant. Photography gave all of that somewhere to go. School didn't last much longer after that.

Things moved quickly. Within a year I was shooting for one of the most prestigious downhill mountain bike race teams in the world. They took a chance on a kid who was pretty much just starting out, and I took that opportunity like my life depended on it. It was a baptism of fire. Steep learning curve, relentless travel, and a lot of pressure, but it built the foundations for everything that followed.

After five seasons, Covid forced a pause that turned out to be exactly what I needed. I never went back to the World Cups. For the first time I had space to look up and start steering. Rather than taking the work as it came, I began actively building the career I wanted, pitching ideas, choosing direction, going after the projects that genuinely excited me.

The years since have brought expedition work, editorial commissions, long-term creative partnerships, and the kind of projects that are hard to put in a box. A lot of it has come from being willing to back myself on opportunities that felt way bigger than me, and committing to them completely before feeling ready. That drive has never really faded. In a lot of ways, it feels like the career is only just getting started.

Every project starts with a conversation. Sometimes that's a detailed brief, sometimes it's a rough idea and a phone call - but either way, I want to get as deep into it as early as possible. The more I understand what a client is trying to say and why it matters to them, the better placed I am to bring it to life.

I genuinely enjoy executing a client's vision. There's a real satisfaction in taking something they've imagined and realising it in a way that exceeds what they pictured. Some clients arrive with a precise idea of what they want. Others have the instinct but not the roadmap. Both are interesting problems, just different ones.

Regardless of how defined the brief is, I'll always push to make it better. Suggesting locations, angles, narrative threads, ways to go deeper. Not to take over, but because that's where the best work usually lives. By the time we arrive on the day, I want us both to be completely aligned, fully prepared, and ready to get the most out of every moment.

Whether my role is purely photographic or extends into broader creative direction, I treat the project as my own. I get inside the world of the client, the athlete, the story, and use everything I have to amplify it. That investment shows in the work.

The thing people seem to value most is the investment. I treat every project as though it were my own, not in a way that overrides the brief, but in terms of the energy, care, and enthusiasm I bring to it. This has never felt like a job to me. It is a passion, a creative expression, and I approach it that way regardless of the scale or the circumstances.

There is very little friction working with me. I take the heavy lifting off the client, show up prepared, and get it done. I am fast, reliable, and easy to be around on set. I can work as part of a team or entirely independently, and I develop a natural rapport with athletes and talent that tends to show in the work.

I come with ideas, not just a camera. The sweet spot is a client who has a vision and the trust to let me help shape it. Someone who cares about what they are putting into the world, has their own instincts, but also gives me the creative room to make decisions. That is when the best work happens.

I am genuinely grateful for the work and the life it has given me, and I think that shows.

Honestly, most of the projects I work on are genuinely aligned with who I am and what I care about. I'm not sure if that's because people have come to associate me with a certain kind of work, or because I actively push towards it. Probably both.

What excites me most is a client who is genuinely invested in what they are doing. Someone making a bold statement, going against the grain, building something that matters to them. That energy is contagious and it shows in the work.

The projects that mean the most are the ones that never really feel finished. They grow, evolve, and build momentum as the team gets deeper into them. When I can get involved in the concept, the story, the creative direction from early on, and really treat it as a chapter in my own career rather than just a job, those are the ones I care about most.

Some of the work I'm proudest of has come from projects that started as one thing and became something else entirely. Where following the deeper human story led somewhere nobody originally planned for. Those are the moments that remind me why I do this.

A single photograph can say a lot. But that doesn't mean it's always the only format a story needs, especially now, when the ways people consume and connect with content have changed so much.

Stills, motion, and written word are all completely different creative processes. They call to different audiences and land in different ways. Each one does something the others can't. Used together, they bring the whole picture.

Most projects benefit from more than one format. The decision comes down to what the story actually demands. Some moments need to move. Some need to be written as well as shot. Some need a social-first eye alongside a more considered one. I try not to lead with format but with what serves the story best.

There are also practical reasons it matters. On expeditions or high-access shoots, big production crews are not always possible. And sometimes it's about access in a different sense, there are shoots where a full crew would change the dynamic entirely, where the athlete or subject needs to feel comfortable rather than surrounded. One person they trust, who can cover everything the project needs, gets you closer to the truth of it than ten people with the best equipment in the world.

A few things stand out.

Four years on the World Cup circuit was probably the most formative in terms of raw experience. Shooting events across the world, figuring out the business and the craft simultaneously with no safety net. Flat out, learning as I went, making mistakes and moving forward. It built a foundation that everything else has been built on top of.

Early in my career, still very much establishing myself, I identified what looked like an opportunity with Velosolutions at the first Pump Track World Championships in Arkansas. I knew there was no chance they'd fly me out, so I told them I was already going to be in the US and booked my own flight. I showed up, did the work, and made the right impression. They've flown me out to cover every Pump Track World Championships since, along with a string of other projects we've built together over the years. Eight years later that relationship is one of the strongest I have. A lot of what's happened in my career comes back to moments like that, backing yourself when it doesn't quite make sense on paper, and trusting yourself to figure it out when you get there.

Covid came after four years of just going. It forced a period of genuine reflection that I hadn't really allowed myself before. Personally and professionally, it was one of the more valuable stretches of my career, even if it didn't feel that way at the time. I stepped back from the full World Cup seasons after that and the direction shifted completely.

The editorial chapter that followed changed how I think about the work. Pitching a behind the scenes story to Red Bull around an idea I thought had real potential was a small decision that opened a lot of doors. Ten commissions with Red Bull in two years, and plenty more beyond that as the confidence to pitch ideas and tell stories on my own terms grew. It was the clearest signal that there was a different, bigger version of what I could be doing.

The Ridgeline series has been the most complete expression of everything I've developed. Coming in as photographer on the first film, recognising the deeper human story, expanding the role across narrative, editorial, and creative direction, and eventually pitching and delivering the Red Bulletin cover. It's a project that's kept growing, and it's taken me with it.

A lot of it starts long before the shoot.

I meditate daily, exercise, spend time in nature. It keeps me grounded and in the best frame of mind, and that carries into the work. The more settled I am internally, the more energy I have for raw creativity when it actually matters.

Preparation matters too. I try to immerse myself as fully as possible in the world of the project beforehand, the story, the client, the subject, the environment. The more I understand it, the faster I can get into a flow state on the day and start seeing what's actually there rather than what I expected to find.

That said, a lot of my work doesn't follow a neat plan. Expeditions, run and gun shoots, documentary work, those move fast and the story reveals itself as it unfolds. You prepare for those differently, by having what you can control locked in and leaving everything else open. Going with what's in front of you, reading the environment, adapting in real time - that's its own creative process. It's something I honed through years of event work, where very little is predictable and the ability to respond is everything.

The deeper truth is that inspiration draws from lived experience. The more worlds I've immersed myself in, the more I have to draw on. Silence helps too. Being able to quiet the noise and tune into what's actually in front of me is where the best work tends to come from.

It's a hard question to answer because the list keeps growing.

Norway stopped me in my tracks the first time I visited. The landscapes are unlike anything else in Europe, the history runs deep, and the people are some of the warmest I've encountered anywhere. I shot a project in Northern Norway in 2022 and I've been trying to find a reason to go back ever since. It's the first place I recommend to anyone asking where to travel.

New Zealand is the other one I keep returning to. I've spent a lot of time there over the years and it's never lost its appeal. The landscapes are extraordinary, the culture is laid back in the best possible way, and it feels purpose built for anyone who'd rather be outside than anywhere else. A road trip from Queenstown to Auckland in 2020 is still one of my favourite trips to date.

Kazakhstan was a different kind of revelation. A blank spot on the map that turned out to be one of the most vast, visually striking and genuinely remote places I've worked. Four hours into the desert with nothing around us, a satellite phone as the only lifeline, and terrain that looked like it had been designed for Ridgeline but with absolutely no margin for error. The isolation had a way of sharpening everything.

Nepal sits at the top of the list right now. Kathmandu hit like pure chaos on arrival, then gave way to something completely different the further we pushed into the mountains. Upper Mustang, the ancient villages, the altitude, the terrain, the people, all of it felt earned. Eighteen days that packed in more than most years. I came back with a different understanding of what it means to operate in genuinely demanding environments, and a quiet certainty that we'll be going back.

Outside of client work I try to stay as active and curious as I can. Personal development matters a lot to me, physically, mentally, creatively. Staying healthy, staying inspired, setting challenges that push me to grow in ways that have nothing to do with a brief or a deadline.

I got my skydiving licence in 2025 and have been pushing hard to progress at it ever since. It's good to have something that's purely personal, a pursuit I can throw the same energy into as the work but that exists entirely for me.

Mountaineering has become a bigger part of that too. Mont Blanc is on the horizon this year, a purely personal challenge. The mountains have a way of demanding everything you have, and that's exactly why I keep going back to them.

I'm always working on things creatively as well, projects that help me grow as a photographer and a person, even if they don't always have a commercial endpoint. The curiosity never really switches off.

The best collaborations never feel forced. There's a natural understanding from the start, a sense that everyone involved genuinely cares about what they're making and why. That energy is contagious. When a client or a team is truly invested in what they're doing, it raises everything.

Trust is a big part of it. When everyone can focus on their own role and trust that the people around them are doing the same, the work gets better. Nobody is second guessing, nobody is holding back. Everyone is pulling toward the same end goal and taking each other's input seriously.

The creative freedom that comes from that kind of trust is where the best work tends to happen. The clients I work best with are the ones who want me genuinely inside the project, not just delivering at the end of it. Shaping the concept, finding the strongest angle, thinking about where the project could go beyond the obvious brief. That kind of involvement changes what the work becomes.