Mountain Vistas, stormy skies, colourful fields of flowers; purple, pink and white cosmos, waves of yellow delosperma blanketing the edges of gorges, cloud formations like fleets of long masted ships sailing through the skies, stoic faced herdsmen wrapped in colourful blankets, waving yellow grasses catching the cold air whipping through the mountain valleys, curls of smoke drifting lazily from stone chimneys and through the thick thatch of grass woven roofs. This is Lesotho, this is the Mountain Kingdom. 

There’s a stillness to the air, a faint feeling of crisp cold nipping at the skin and fingertips, like a tingling electricity. Silence reigns apart from the whisper of wind as it entices the grass to swish and sway with its breath. The yellow and pale green stalks rustling and leaning out over a vertical and disappearing drop to the waterfalls and rivers far, far, far below. Clouds form and dissipate, curling round the lower hills and their valleys, stretching out and exploring the canyons and forests of the lower mountains. This is the stillness and quiet before the sun peaks it’s burning orange face over the distant horizon in the east. There’s light enough that everything is awash in the magenta and pink glow of pre-dawn. The shadows may be a cool blue, but the sky is starting to ember. Then it appears. A burnt red glows at the top of the taller peaks and ever so gradually washes down the side of the mountains’ tallest heights. Alpine glow paints an extraordinary palette of saturated colour down the flanks of the escarpment. Dawn has come.

Going on a photographic workshop can be exhausting. You’re up early, you’re out late, you’re constantly exercising the creative muscles in your head in crafting compositions and thinking about exposure. It’s no wonder that at the end of any such trip it’s really easy to put the camera down and not think about photography for a bit. Unfortunately the mindset often sets in before you’ve even left the photography location.