One Last Mountain in Georgia

I was meant to leave Georgia a day earlier, but the driver for my minibus cancelled last minute. Part of me was relatively happy about this. It meant that I had another day to run around and hopefully capture more of the environment. Most of my time there was spent socialising, interacting with various locals and eating way too much food. The weather was supposed to get colder around the day I left, more snow on the way that teased the idea of missing it all, missing the ability to photograph the trees and the village under that fresh blanket of ice and snow. With that extra day, it did in fact snow, and with the start of a cold, I decided to grab my cameras and walk up the side of the mountain nearby. It didn't feel that cold, wrapped up in a hoodie and a coat, feet falling into the depths of snow with each step. Feeling exhausted within a few minutes of walking because almost every step I took resulted in almost falling and having to get back up again.  As the mountain started to grow more steep, I noticed a few friends on their way to join me: the village farm dogs. 

These things are a little scatty. Small, but with stupid amounts of energy. They ran circles around me together, playing and barking at each other as they enjoyed the environment. It was as if my presence with them in this area sparked something within them, a newfound joy for the space. They run around and walked with me up the mountain, and I did my best to photograph them along the way. Trying to capture their intense speed, their crazy behaviour. Incredibly cute dogs, but at one point I noticed they seemed a bit more cautious of going forward into the wooded areas of the mountain. Stopping and taking a glance into its depths. I would stop with them, looking into the trees which held a coating of dense snow at the top. A fog-like appearance rolling on in with quite high speeds as it seemed more like a blizzard than regular snow. I hadn't seen anything like this before, and I loved it.

My heart was racing with the constant struggles to stay still in the snow. I'd find places by the iced-over stream to stop and sit for a while. Watching the dogs as they'd cautiously run around. I'd stop and look into the treeline again, hearing slight sounds from the nature within: birds, and who knows what else. Before I went in, and in the other days, I was warned that this area may contain wolves. Which were said to come and go mostly during the night. I hadn't seen them at all during my stay there, but I had heard the occasional sound that sounded like whines and howls. Snow grew stronger and more harsh, holding the camera out in the environment seemed to kill off the battery relatively quickly, and I couldn't tell whether there was something inside the lens or on the sensor, as little specs would appear in images that wouldn't go away. I tried to clean it all by hiding it all away in the backpack, trying to stop the strong snow from entering any of the gear. I ended up having to return, only to go back up into the mountain after checking everything.

I wanted to go deeper into the snow, deeper into the trees. A part of the mountain held roads that went higher up, and I so desperately wanted to climb to the top and overlook this environment, but it reached the point where I could no longer even seen those little pathways and roads. The fog masked the treeline more and more. The dogs eventually decided to leave the area, finding it either unsafe or just boring as they came to a halt. I walked with them a little longer, before watching their little legs disappear into the distance. I would stand at this spot and just watch the woods. Feeling unsafe myself, but with that adventurer's need to continue on. I'd attempt to climb higher, the rocky landscape grew harsher. Snow deeper. Now each step would take me into a depth that would reach my knees. It just wasn't going to happen. I regret not being able to reach the top, but I do intend on returning to the area another time. Perhaps either in summer, when it's more possible. Or during winter before the real snow kicks in. 

I would stand and watch the trees for about an hour. Photographing them endlessly as the snow got too much to continue. The light would start to disappear, and the snow was thick, visible even in the lens. Barely capable of capturing the trees from this point on. I pulled out my 35mm film camera to get a few shots of this beautiful environment on film, using up about half a roll of Kodak Vision 250D. I had no idea how these images would turn out, unsure as to what film stock I even had in the camera at that point. Though I was fairly certain that this environment would look utterly beautiful, and that I had always wanted to capture something like this. The silence of the trees and snow. The light that would turn into darkness. The stillness of it all. Only really seeing snow and a passing fog. I felt a bit unequipped to really capture its beauty. But again, that's more reason to just return another time.

This was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. To be in such a harsh environment and witness nature. To feel so alone at this space, like an outsider that was given a front-row seat into this display. I'm hoping to get a new camera soon, and with that some new lenses. Because I feel like these mountain trips need to continue, whether it's in Georgia or elsewhere. I feel made for these spaces. To get out and away from the modern world, to capture the authenticity of it instead.

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