It had been a long time coming. Iceland had lived rent-free in my dreams for what felt like an eternity, and when I finally set foot on its breathtaking, frozen landscapes in the winter of 2015, it did not disappoint. But as any photographer will tell you, no great shot comes without its fair share of suffering. And oh boy, did I suffer.
On the last night of my trip, I stood at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the Northern Lights to grace me with their presence. Romantic, right? Well, not when you're dressed like a fool who grossly underestimated the Icelandic cold. I thought I could tough it out, but as the minutes dragged on, I began to feel like a human popsicle.
Just as I was about to surrender to my shivering bones, I had a genius—or perhaps delirious—idea. Since the auroras were playing hard to get, why not attempt a two-hour-long star trail exposure? It was the one shot missing from my portfolio, and what better way to immortalize my suffering than with a beautiful image?
My car was parked 20 minutes away, and my body was already staging a full-blown mutiny. But I was determined. The first 30 minutes were tolerable—I mean, I could still sort of feel my fingers. But as time dragged on, my hands became lifeless claws, my toes ceased to exist, and my face—well, let’s just say I was no longer sure where my nose ended and my forehead began.
At one point, I wasn’t just waiting for the shot anymore—I was waiting for enlightenment. Surely, somewhere in this frostbitten agony, I would unlock the meaning of life. I started counting seconds, questioning every choice that led me to this moment. Was photography really worth it? Would my obituary read: Died doing what he loved, but also, very stupidly?
Then, at long last—click.
That sound. That beautiful, life-affirming sound. I didn’t even check the image. I couldn’t. My hands were about as functional as frozen fish sticks. Instead, I grabbed the entire tripod with my arms and somehow—by the grace of sheer will or divine intervention—stumbled back to my car. How I made it, I still have no idea.
The aftermath? A stunning photo…and the delightful gift of permanent sensitivity in my knuckles and nose. To this day, even mild winter weather reminds me of that night in ways I never asked for.
Was it worth it? Well, I got the shot. And if, years later, it lands me an Fstoppers tutorial, then yes—my frostbite and I will consider it a victory.