Many children dream of traveling to the farthest reaches of our world, and I was no exception. I imagined the southernmost points of our planet to be the pinnacle of exploration—a destination as remote and mythical as it gets.
Having traveled to many unique, hard-to-reach places around the world to create my work, I can confidently say that there is tremendous magic and beauty found in Earth's extremes. My lifelong quest to photograph these places and their inhabitants, which are among the most inspiring out there, has taken me to locations I once dreamt of visiting, most recently the Antarctic Peninsula, the Falkland Islands, and South Georgia Island.
The Falkland Islands
Going on a journey as I was about to embark on was an endless stream of reminders about how small and powerless humans are against Mother Nature’s whims. Before setting off into the Southern Ocean, she stepped in to remind me of her will as winds whipped as strong as 40 knots for several days with no signs of stopping. In and around the Falklands, South Georgia, and the Antarctic Peninsula, unexpected weather is practically promised.
Within these exceptional conditions, I saw an aesthetic opportunity I might not receive again and photographed small groups of King Penguins against minimal backdrops created by the blustery, white out weather conditions. I knew that once we reached South Georgia, the scenes would become more about capturing both background and animals, and not give me as intimate of opportunities as I had here in the Falklands.
South Georgia
If I were to ask you to imagine what this part of the world looked like, your mind would probably conjure an image of South Georgia. During winter, it is easily the platonic ideal of frozen landscapes, with towering mountains breaking up dramatic formations of ice and snow with hundreds of thousands of penguins, whales, and seals abound. It has been the subject of many documentaries and has captured countless imaginations. For these reasons, it is the epitome of life and landscape in the Southernmost points of our Earth.
Whaling was once a big draw of this distant territory, luring those willing to withstand the brutal conditions and remote location. Visiting the now defunct Whaling Station in Grytviken, South Georgia, which has since been taken over by nature, was a striking display of the natural and unnatural, with rusted hulls of old whaling ships surrounded by the rugged peaks of Cumberland Bay. Elephant and fur seals dotted the shores, adding to the surreal atmosphere as they rested at the water’s edge. Ernest Shackleton is buried at the graveyard here in Grytviken. While visiting his burial site, I found my mind wandering back to the early explorers who bravely faced nature’s wildest unknowns to travel here in the 1920s.
If I were to choose one goal for my series, it would be to demonstrate the dramatic scale and grandeur of this region. South Georgia’s penguin colonies and icebergs were two of the ultimate challenges in this intention I’d set for my work.
St. Andrew’s Bay, where many of these images were taken, is home to an unbelievable 200,000 King penguins and over 6,000 Elephant seals. It is arguably the most famous location in South Georgia because of the colony’s size and the dramatic mountains surrounding the Bay. I wanted my images to wholly represent the grandness of this location, and I chose to visit this time of year because of the snow on the peaks in the background, adding to the intrigue and contrast of black and white elements in the scene.
In Fortuna Bay, I also photographed a large colony of King Penguins, 7000 breeding pairs to be exact. Thousands of fluffy chicks stretched around the bay, with a few white-chested adults breaking up the sea of grey. I loved photographing this scene, as it formed a textured pattern sweeping through the frame.
In both of these locations, it was incredible to witness the density of life and how order and what feels like disorder coexist in the same space. Penguins stand alone as one of Mother Nature’s most curious creations. I loved watching them dive and play in the water or walk around in their signature waddle, following one another between the colony and sea, sometimes in great numbers.
The Weddell Sea
To capture scale, I knew that tabular icebergs, formed when large chunks of ice break off from ice shelves, would play a large role in my work. These icebergs are dramatic and sleek, identified by their steep sides and flat tops. In my mind, they are the most beautiful and aesthetic icebergs.
Beyond the ice’s sculptural elements, I knew I could measure scale using the animals most associated with this region: penguins. Photographing the two together captured the interconnectedness of life and landscape in this part of the world and the importance of ice to their existence.
When thinking of the ice in this region, nothing left more of a mark on me than A23a, the largest iceberg in the world.
It takes six hours to travel from one end of A23a to the other. This massive iceberg, which initially broke free from the Filchner Ice Shelf in Antarctica in 1986, weighs one trillion tons and spans over 1,400 square miles. A few months after my visit, in March of 2025, A23a landed in South Georgia. This means the nutrients frozen inside this iceberg will be released to the region's animals, who will be so grateful.
Antarctica
My days arund the Antarctic Peninsula were spent amongst whales and Gentoo penguin colonies, ice floes, fur seals, and towering glaciers that render me speechless. Everything feels otherworldly, and the animals are unaware of how their homeland moves me. Silence is a physical part of Antarctica, something we have become entirely unaccustomed to in other parts of our lives. As I watch the comings and goings of the animals here, I wonder if this silence is something a human could ever get used to.
While putting together this journal entry, I couldn’t help but think of the bastion of life that has made these territories their own. From nature’s overtaking of the whaling station- which once did irreparable harm to the whale population- to A23a’s landfall, this swath of Earth, ice, and sea does not need us or belong to us. As a photographer who uses the camera as a tool for conservation, I can’t think of a better example of a place we can and should only ever try to observe and respect.