Polish landscape photography from the saddle. Seasonal changes across quiet lakes, Tatra mountains, frost-covered forests, and countryside roads. From winter’s last snow to spring’s first light — seen from two wheels.
The view from Kasprowy Wierch towards Beskid, where a winding trail crosses one of the most scenic ridges in the Polish Tatras.
The view from Kasprowy Wierch towards Beskid was one of the highlights of our trip to the Polish Tatras. On the second day, my son and I climbed to the summit before continuing along the ridge, while my wife, whose heart belongs to the sea rather than the mountains, waited for us at the Murowaniec mountain shelter. Although the uphill trail was only about three kilometres long, it was demanding, with large uneven stones and several steep sections that required careful footing.
A cable car climbs towards Kasprowy Wierch, seen from the peaceful meadow at Kalatówki in the Polish Tatras.
For the past few months, my camera focused almost entirely on wildlife around my local lakes and rivers. This time, I traded my telephoto lens for hiking boots and returned to the Polish Tatra Mountains. I began my trip with an easy hike to the beautiful meadow at Kalatówki, where magnificent views of Kasprowy Wierch welcomed me.
A fleeting moment captured in an evening lake photo — the sun hits the rider and horse, lifting dust into the golden light.
I recently wandered into a narrow strip of forest near my favorite lake, camera in hand. At first, I was hoping for a late-evening wildlife shot. The light was fading fast. I soon spotted a wild hare, unfortunately, he noticed me just as quickly as I noticed him and vanished into the undergrowth. You need patience and careful steps to catch a fleeting evening lake photo.
Fresh signs of beavers along the river — more activity than expected
I went for a short walk along the river the other day, just to see how the area is changing with early spring. It’s still pretty quiet out there, not much happening at first glance, but once you slow down a bit, small details start to stand out. And this time, I noticed clear signs of beavers along the river — more activity than I expected.
Blue hour at a flooded lake in early spring, where last year’s reeds and distant birds shape a quiet, in-between moment
You don’t notice the light first here — you notice how the lake begins to breathe. Wind moves through the trees behind you. Water shifts quietly at the edges of the flooded ground. Somewhere out there, across a surface that’s hard to read in the fading light, come the scattered calls of birds — ducks, coots, grebes, swans. Beneath it all, a low, steady murmur: frogs waking after winter.
The last snow of the season — one of my favorite spots to photograph trees, just before spring starts to take over
It seems like winter is beginning to loosen its grip and make way for spring. It’s still February, but this weekend’s forecast promises full sun and temperatures reaching 15°C. These are the days I live for as a cyclist — when I can leave my long-sleeved bibs and jersey at home and simply enjoy the warmth on my skin.
That moment when the highest peaks reveal themselves through winter fog — the Polish Tatras showing off their alpine soul
There’s a moment, just before mist swallows a mountain, when you feel very small. I felt that way standing beneath Poland’s highest peaks — the Tatras rising layer by layer into heavy winter clouds.
A peaceful chapel nestled in the Tatras, where faith, perseverance, and community endure.
While my son was skiing in Małe Ciche, near Zakopane, I found the perfect excuse to leave behind the ski slopes and take a snowy hike with my camera. As I walked through the quiet hills, the world seemed to slow down, and then I came across something unexpected — a small chapel hidden within the folds of the Tatra Mountains.
Frost-covered birches during a quiet winter walk — a short return of winter near the frozen lake
Winter returned for a few days — just enough to quietly reshape the landscape once again. When the frost settled overnight and the trees turned pale and white, I picked up the camera and headed out to a few of my favorite nearby locations. Places I return to often, in different seasons, knowing that even a small change in weather can completely alter their mood.
A foggy winter evening by a small lake near my home — thin ice at the edges, quiet water, and reeds holding through the cold as the last light fades
There’s a lake near my home — close enough for an unplanned visit, yet distant enough to feel like a small escape. I come here often, especially in the evening, when the light begins to soften and the day slows down. Sunset has a way of doing that — turning a familiar lakeside view into something briefly new.
A quiet winter path traced by hoar frost, where frozen trees and pale grass slow the morning to a standstill
It doesn’t happen often here. Once, maybe twice a year, the conditions align just right and the air fills with something almost invisible — hoar frost, sometimes called diamond dust. Tiny ice crystals linger in place, transforming the countryside overnight.
