In this story
The question I am asked more than any other is some version of: what camera do you use? It is a reasonable question, and I understand the curiosity behind it. But I always feel slightly guilty answering, because the honest answer is less interesting than people hope, and because the things that make the biggest difference to my photographs aren't cameras at all.
Still, people keep asking. So here, for once, is everything I take on a long day of walking and photographing — and why.
The camera question
On most landscape days, I take two cameras. One is a medium-format digital body, which I use for most finished work. The other is a 6×7 film camera, which I take when I know I want black-and-white prints for the darkroom. They are heavy, and I sometimes regret carrying both. But they see differently, and I've learned to value that difference.
If I could only take one camera, I would take whichever one I was most likely to actually use. That sounds obvious, but it is the single most important piece of advice I can give anyone. The best camera for a long walk is the one you'll still want to take out of your bag after six hours.
Lenses
I carry three lenses at most, and often only two: a standard focal length, a moderate wide-angle and, occasionally, a short telephoto. I gave up on ultra-wide lenses years ago. They make landscapes feel vast but empty, and I prefer pictures that feel like standing somewhere rather than looking at everything at once.
Fewer lenses also mean fewer decisions. When I only have two, I spend more time looking and less time changing.
Most of photography is walking. The camera is just how you prove you were paying attention.
Tripod
A sturdy tripod is non-negotiable for the kind of work I do — blue hour, fog, long exposures. I use a carbon-fibre model that is light enough to carry all day and solid enough to stay still in a breeze. I also carry a small remote release so I never have to touch the camera during an exposure.
The things that aren't cameras
Now the important part. These are the things that genuinely change the quality of my days, and therefore my photographs:
- Good boots. If your feet are miserable, you will stop looking at the landscape and start looking for the car.
- Layers. A thin base layer, a warm mid-layer and a proper waterproof shell. Landscape photography involves a great deal of standing still in cold places.
- A flask. Hot tea at the top of a hill after a cold dawn is the single best thing in photography. I'm not joking.
- A head torch. Most of my best work happens just before sunrise or after sunset, which means walking in the dark.
- A notebook. I write down where I was, what the light was doing and what I was thinking. It helps enormously when editing weeks later.
- A paper map. Phones run out of battery. Signal disappears. Maps don't.
- Spare batteries and film. Always more than you think you'll need. Cold drains batteries fast.
How I pack
I pack the night before, always in the same order, using a short checklist taped inside the bag's lid. Camera bodies and lenses go in first, padded and separated. Then filters, batteries and film in a small waterproof pouch. Then the tripod, strapped to the outside. Layers and food go on top, where they're easiest to reach.
The checklist sounds fussy, but it exists for a reason. Early in my career, I drove three hours in the dark to a coastline at dawn and discovered I'd left every battery charging on the kitchen table. I sat in the car and watched the most beautiful sunrise of that year without taking a single frame. I have not forgotten a battery since.
What I've stopped carrying
Over the years, I've removed far more from my bag than I've added. Filters I never used. A second tripod head. Lens cloths in every pocket. A laptop, for reasons I can no longer remember. A drone, which I tried for one season and found that I hated — the noise, the distance, the feeling of looking at the world from nowhere.
Every item I removed made the bag lighter and the days better. Every walk became a little longer.
One small luxury
I allow myself exactly one small luxury in the bag: a lightweight folding stool. It sounds absurd, and I was teased about it for years. But much of landscape photography is waiting, and waiting is far easier sitting down. Some of my best photographs were made from that stool, after an hour of watching the light, when everyone else would have packed up and left.
A note on safety
Long walking days in remote places carry real risks, especially in poor weather or darkness. I always tell someone where I'm going and when I expect to be back, check the forecast carefully and turn around if conditions change. No photograph is worth an accident.
The real answer
So, what camera do I use? Whichever one is in my bag. What really matters is being there — early, warm, patient and paying attention. Everything else is equipment.