Some photographers plan their trips meticulously. Getting up before sunrise, scouting every vantage point, and switching between multiple lenses for that perfect shot. I admire that dedication, but it’s not always (or really ever) a realistic approach for me. For this trip, I wanted to capture moments as they naturally unfolded, showing what a place feels like instead of an idealized version of it.

Some of my favorite shots came together during a simple hike. No big plans, no perfect lighting. It felt like the skies might open up any second, so we picked up the pace, hoping to find shelter and warm up with a cup of tea. It was just the six of us, walking through pines, surrounded by mountains older than we could fathom. I had my faithful film camera with me, not knowing what the results would be until weeks later when I developed the rolls back in New York.

That’s what I love about film photography. It transforms memories into something lasting. It lets me be in the moment without worrying about getting everything perfect. When I look at those photos now, I don’t just see mountains or lakes. I remember the cold plunges in the unimaginably blue water, the sound of laughter, and the deep gratitude I felt, sharing these moments with old friends.

Banff’s beauty is undeniable, but it was the simplicity of it all—the crisp air, the quiet lap of the lake against the shore—that made it unforgettable. These photos let me hold onto those memories.