There are days when photography feels like a dance—graceful, instinctive, fluid. And then there are days like this one. A mid-July cattle sort under a sun that felt closer than usual, with sweat pooling behind my knees before I even lifted my camera. This was not a dance. It was a wrestling match—with light, with timing, with the heat, and with the sheer unpredictable power of livestock.
From the moment I arrived, I knew this shoot was going to be a challenge. The sort was taking place in a pen with the action clustered at the far end or in the gate between pens. And just beyond that? An open gate bleeding in light so bright it turned everything else to shadow. It was the kind of contrast that no setting or lens could completely tame—blinding highlights at the gate, swallowed blacks in the pen, and somewhere in between, the riders and cattle I was supposed to capture.
The cattle weren’t docile. Not that you expect them to be during a sort, but these were fierce—twitchy, fast, explosive. One second they'd be standing still, and the next they'd launch into a full-on sprint or spin, kicking up a storm of dust. Riders, too, were working hard. Sweat-streaked faces, laser focus, horses pivoting so tightly you could see the strain in every muscle. No one was coasting. Everyone was fighting the same battle I was: light, heat, and unpredictability.
Shooting toward that gate meant wrestling with blown-out skies and silhouettes. But shooting away from it meant losing the action. There was no perfect angle—just moments to steal, frames to snatch before they disappeared in the blur of dust and hooves.
And the heat. Good lord, the heat. Cameras don’t sweat, but I do—and by midday, I was soaked. My clothes clung, my hands were slick on the grip, and even the camera was tired. But you don’t stop. Not when the work is unfolding in front of you. Not when there are stories in every hoofbeat and lean and shout.
Because despite the struggle, or maybe because of it, these are the days I remember most. The imperfect ones. The raw ones. The ones where the photos aren’t just pretty—they’re earned.
I left the pen that day covered in dust and carrying a memory card full of chaos: flared highlights, deep shadows, motion blur, grit. Imperfect, but honest. And sometimes, that’s all a story needs.
