Letting Go to See More

Why carrying less — and caring less about algorithms — helped me fall back in love with photography………..

I used to head out with what felt like half a camera shop on my back — two camera bodies, three lenses, a big bag full of filters, a tripod strapped to the side, and all the bits and pieces “just in case.” It made me feel prepared, like I could handle any scene that came my way. But looking back, I think I was carrying too much — not just in weight, but in distraction.

These days, things look very different. One camera. A few filters. Most of the time, no tripod. And honestly, I don’t miss it. In fact, I’ve never enjoyed my photography more. I don’t spend ages swapping lenses or thinking about settings — I just get on with it. I walk, I notice, I take what I see.

I used to be all about the big vistas — those wide, sweeping landscapes that everyone expects from a “proper” landscape photographer. The kind of shot you chase for hours, hoping the light will do exactly what you want. But somewhere along the way, that stopped exciting me.

Now I look for the smaller things — the details you’d probably walk past. Patterns in sand, the way light hits wet rock, a bit of grass moving in the breeze. Tiny moments that most people might not even see. They feel more honest somehow, more me.

It’s strange how much has changed just by carrying less. My bag’s lighter, my head’s clearer, and I don’t feel pressured to come home with the “big” shot anymore. Some days, I barely take a photo at all, but I always come back feeling like I’ve seen something worth noticing.

The same thing has happened with Instagram. I used to post every three days without fail — constantly planning, editing, writing captions, and worrying about engagement. Now, I post maybe once a week, sometimes longer. And the best part? I don’t feel guilty about it. I’m no longer posting to please an algorithm or to stay “relevant.” I post for myself, when I want to.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve taken back control of my photography. I’ve got no one to please — only myself. And it feels really, really good.

If you’ve gone through a similar shift with your photography, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

When the camera stays in the bag.

And why all the likes in the world can't replace creative freedom

This summer has been a strange one for me. A good one, don’t get me wrong, but strange all the same. The kind of summer we don’t often get in the UK—warm days, blue skies, and light that seemed to last forever. By all accounts, it was the sort of season where I should have been out constantly with my camera, chasing the golden hours and watching the landscapes shift with the weather. But the truth is, I haven’t.

My camera has spent more time in its bag than in my hands, and I’ve felt oddly at peace with that. Usually, when I step back from photography, I feel guilty, as though I’m wasting time or losing momentum. But this time has been different. I simply haven’t felt it. The spark wasn’t there, and forcing it felt wrong.

Finding Joy Elsewhere

That doesn’t mean the summer has been wasted. Quite the opposite. I’ve enjoyed it in ways that don’t necessarily translate into images—long walks without the weight of gear on my back, quiet evenings where the sun dipped below the horizon and I just sat and watched without reaching for a lens. Sometimes you need to experience life with your own eyes, not always through glass.

Of course, there’s always that whisper of doubt in the background—shouldn’t I be documenting this? Will I regret not capturing these moments? But the truth is, I don’t. Not every memory has to be framed. Some are meant to be lived.

The Changing Face of Instagram

While I’ve been quieter with my camera, I’ve still been busy running WPUK, the Instagram feature page I started over a year ago. When I launched it, it felt exciting. I was discovering female photographers I’d never come across before—talented, creative, inspiring people who deserved to be seen. It gave me energy.

But over the months, something shifted. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s Instagram itself (probably both). Feature pages don’t feel the same anymore. When I started, they felt like little communities, ways to lift each other up, places where you could stumble across someone’s work and feel blown away. Now, with the way Instagram has changed, they feel tired. Like they’ve run their course.

The platform has become a frustrating place. The algorithms push content in ways that don’t make sense, reels are shoved in front of us whether we want them or not, and genuine connection feels harder and harder to find. I log on and it feels less like a space for creativity and more like a machine demanding constant output. It’s exhausting.

What WPUK Has Taught Me

Running WPUK has been both rewarding and draining. Rewarding, because I’ve met photographers I never would have found otherwise—women whose work makes me stop scrolling and just take it in. Draining, because the effort it takes to keep people engaged feels never-ending. You can pour hours into curating and featuring, but the return often feels like a drop in the ocean.

It’s taught me a lot about the way social media works—and about myself. I’ve realised I don’t want to spend all my energy chasing algorithms or running features just for the sake of keeping up appearances. I want to pour my time into things that feel more meaningful. Into spaces where people actually connect, not just double-tap and move on.

Do Features Even Matter Anymore?

This is the question I keep circling back to: what’s the point of a feature page now?

When WPUK began, features felt like a spotlight—like they gave photographers a real chance to be seen, to connect, and to grow. But now? With Instagram’s algorithm burying posts, I find myself wondering whether anyone even sees them.

Do features give photographers anything tangible? Do they bring lasting visibility, or are they just another fleeting post swallowed by the feed? For the amount of time and energy they take, what’s actually achieved?

I don’t say this to dismiss the photographers I’ve featured—far from it. Their work deserves every ounce of recognition. But I’m questioning whether Instagram is still the right place for that recognition to happen. The platform doesn’t reward effort or artistry in the way it once did. And if no one’s really seeing the features, then who are they serving?

These questions sit heavily with me, because I started WPUK out of passion, not obligation. But now, I’m not sure if features are helping anyone—or if they’ve become just another cog in a machine that’s already grinding us down.

Stepping Back to Move Forward

So where does that leave me? In a bit of a limbo, I suppose. I’m not ready to walk away from photography, and I doubt I ever truly could. It’s part of me. But I am giving myself permission to step back. To not force myself into shooting just because the weather is good or because Instagram might “reward” me for posting more.

Sometimes, creativity needs space to breathe. Maybe this summer was about that—about pausing, resetting, and letting go of the pressure to always be producing.

Looking Ahead

I don’t know what’s next for me, for WPUK, or for the way I share my photography online. But I do know this: I’m craving spaces that feel real. Platforms where connection matters more than reach, where art isn’t reduced to a statistic. That’s why writing on Substack and sharing on the fotoapp feels like the right step. It gives me room to share my thoughts, my process, and my journey in a way Instagram simply doesn’t allow anymore.

Photography will always be my way of seeing the world. But maybe the real growth comes not from constantly creating, but from knowing when to pause. This summer reminded me that silence can be just as powerful as action. That not every season is about producing work—some are about living, reflecting, and figuring out what matters most.

So now when I head out with the camera —it will be with a clearer head, a lighter heart, and hopefully, a renewed sense of why I fell in love with photography in the first place.

Joy.

The Image that chaged Everything

I’ve been asked a few times: What got you into photography?
Was there a moment it really began? A turning point?

Sunrise at Glencoyne Bay, Ullswater, Lake District.

I took it on April 22, 2021, at 5:52 AM. It was a Thursday morning, a lovely spring morning. This was my secong morning in a row standing on the edge of Glencoyne Bay, looking out across Ullswater, waiting for the sun to rise as the previous days never appeared.

And in that moment, I knew I’d found something that mattered.

But this post isn’t about chasing likes or attention. This is just my story—so far. A bit of where I’ve been, and how I got here.

Backtrack a few years.

In 2018, I lost my dad.
In 2019, I lost my mum.

It’s strange how quickly life shifts when the people you’ve been caring for are no longer here. From 1994 onwards, my world revolved around raising our three kids. Then, as they got older, I stepped into the role of carer again—this time for my parents.

When my mum moved into a care home, I visited her two or three times a week. She had dementia and Parkinson’s, which meant those visits were often hard. They were important, but not easy. Still, I kept showing up, because that’s what you do for the people you love.

Then one day, there was no one left to visit. No one left to look after.

Except my husband 😊.

And there I was, standing in this big, strange space called time. For the first time in decades, I had to ask myself:
What now?

That’s when I remembered photography—an old love I’d put aside when the kids came along. I dusted off my camera. At first it was something to fill the space. But very quickly, it became something else entirely.

The Lake District has always had a pull on me. There’s something about it—the light, the water, the stillness between the hills. It's not just beautiful, it's grounding.

I went out more often, camera in hand. The days I used to spend visiting Mum became the days I went out walking, waiting for the light, watching the landscape shift. Not to escape, but to find peace. To think. To heal.

Photography gave me that space. Nature gave me that quiet.

There’s something deeply therapeutic about standing alone with your camera, listening to birdsong, hearing nothing but the ripple of water at your feet or the breeze through trees. It doesn't fix everything, but it gives you room to breathe. Room to feel something other than grief.

And then came that morning at Glencoyne Bay.

I’d set the alarm early, packed the camera, and headed out in the dark. By the time I reached the water, the sky was starting to shift. Soft pinks. A wash of orange over the fells. That moment when the sun starts to lift and everything feels like it’s holding its breath.

I stood there, watching it unfold. Just me, the lake, the silence. And something in me clicked. I realised I was okay. Maybe not all the way healed, but definitely healing. I felt calm. I felt present. And I cried.

Not from sadness. From relief.

Because I knew, standing there, that this—being outside, chasing light, creating something—this was my new chapter. This was my therapy. My space. My way forward.

That photo might not be technically perfect.
But it’s mine. I took it.
I was there to see that sunrise.
And it felt damn good.

So no, this isn’t some polished post to show off a pretty picture. It’s just a story. A quiet thank you to the places that held me when I didn’t know how to hold myself.

Photography didn’t save me. But it gave me something to reach for—and that made all the difference.

Joy.

A Week on Tiree: The Hawaii of the North

A Week on Tiree: The Hawaii of the North

I just spent a week on Tiree, and it’s still clinging to me—the salt air, the endless light, the hush of the sea.

Tiree is the most westerly island in the Inner Hebrides, a low-lying stretch of land adrift in the Atlantic, southwest of Coll. It covers just over 30 square miles and is home to around 650 people, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in soul. The island runs on crofting, fishing, and tourism. Life here feels stripped back, slowed down, and honest.

What surprised me most was the light. Tiree gets more sunshine than almost anywhere else in the UK during late spring and early summer. When the sky’s clear, it’s blinding—the kind of clarity you feel more than see. The water turns shades of electric blue, the beaches shimmer white, and the whole island seems lit from within. No surprise that surfers and windsurfers call it the “Hawaii of the North.” In most years, the Tiree Wave Classic brings pros from all over the world to ride its Atlantic swell.

Everywhere you turn, there’s sand. Real sand. Bone-white, fine-grained, and stretching out endlessly. Balevullin Beach is where the surfers go, drawn by strong swells and a raw, open ocean feel. At the other end of the spectrum is Scarinish Harbour, where the water sits calm and still—perfect for watching boats drift in and out as the sky turns peach at sunset. And when the mist rolls in, which it often does, visibility might drop to a few yards, but the place doesn’t lose its magic. If anything, it gains a kind of quiet mystery.

There’s plenty to see, if you’re up for exploring. The old lighthouse keepers’ cottages at Hynish are beautiful and weathered by time. Skerryvore Lighthouse itself, designed by Alan Stevenson and set out on a reef miles offshore, is a monument to endurance and engineering. Scattered across the island, you’ll also spot an old Scottish thatched cottage—low, thick-walled homes that feel like they’ve grown out of the ground.

And let’s talk food. The seafood is just incredible—caught fresh, cooked simply, and full of flavor. Add in locally baked cakes, and hearty fare served in small cafes, you certainly won’t go hungry. You eat well here, and you eat with a view.

Getting to Tiree is an adventure in itself. You can fly from Glasgow, which takes about an hour, or take the ferry from Oban—a longer but more scenic route, especially if the sea’s calm. Either way, the moment you arrive, you know you’re somewhere different. The horizon stretches forever, the air tastes cleaner, and there's an immediate sense of space.

I came to Tiree for photography. I left with sunburn, got drenched more than once, but loved every minute. The weather flips fast—blue skies one hour, sideways rain the next. But that’s part of the charm. You chase the light, you duck into a cottage when it gets wild, and you keep going. And unlike many spots in the Highlands and islands, one thing you won’tfind here in summer is midges. It’s windy enough to keep them away, which is a blessing no one takes for granted.

Tiree is a place that gets under your skin—not because it’s flashy or dramatic, but because it’s quietly itself. The people, the landscape, the pace—it all works together in a way that feels rare now. You come here thinking you’re just getting away for a bit. But it stays with you. Long after you’ve left, you’ll still feel the sun on your face, hear the wind in your ears, and see that wide blue sky behind your eyes.

Scarinish, Tiree

Where Waters Flow

Gott Bay

taighean - tugha / Thatched House

Balephuil Bay

Slowing Down, Shifting Focus

Just a quick note to say I will also be posting my blog to Substack as well now so if your over there please come and join me.

I will also remain here on Squarespace, so feel free to browse the archives. But if you’d like to read new things as they go live, you can find me here:

👉 joyrigg.substack.com

I’d love to see you there.

Joy x

Wild Garlic Season on the River Caldew in Dalston, Cumbria This Spring

Wild Garlic in Bloom on the Banks of the River Caldew, Dalston: A Spring Sensation Along the Cumbria Way

Every spring, something subtle but powerful transforms the banks of the River Caldew in Dalston. You won’t hear it coming. There’s no fanfare, no sudden announcement. Just a slow shift in the air—and then, almost overnight, the green carpet appears. Wild garlic.

Locals know it well. Walkers on the Cumbria Way will catch the scent before they see it: a bold, unmistakable tang of garlic on the breeze. For a few short weeks, this quiet stretch of Cumbria erupts in white star-shaped flowers, held above lush green leaves, spreading across the woodland floor like a living quilt. It’s an annual event, but it never gets old.

Wild Garlic in Dalston

A Native Treasure

Wild garlic—Allium ursinum—is a native plant to the UK. It thrives in damp, shady woodland, especially near rivers where the soil is rich and moist. The River Caldew, winding through Dalston village, offers the perfect habitat. Here, in this quiet part of northern Cumbria, wild garlic flourishes.

You don’t need to be a botanist to recognize it. The leaves are broad and bright green, forming thick clusters that blanket the undergrowth. Come April and May, the plant bursts into bloom, sending up delicate white flowers in star-shaped clusters. The scent, a pungent garlicky aroma, fills the air and clings to clothes, even if you’re just passing through.

More Than Just Scenery

Wild garlic isn’t just a pretty face. It’s a plant with presence. The smell hits you before you see it. The leaves are tender underfoot. The flowers sway with just a hint of wind off the water. You can feel it—not just see or smell it—and it draws you in.

This time of year, the river is full but calm. Trout sometimes flick beneath the surface. Dippers and wagtails dart between stones. The trees—mostly alder and ash—are only just leafing out, so there’s still enough light reaching the forest floor for the garlic to flourish. Later in the season, once the canopy thickens, it fades. That’s part of its charm. You only get a few weeks.

Garlic and Ferns

Tied to Place

There’s something grounding about walking through a place that’s in bloom. The Caldew isn’t a famous river, and Dalston isn’t a tourist hotspot. But that’s part of the appeal. This is a stretch of the Cumbrian Way that still feels like a lived-in landscape rather than a backdrop.

The wild garlic plays a quiet role in that. It doesn’t demand attention, but it changes the mood. It marks the turn of the year, the rise of warmth, the shift toward longer days. When the flowers start to open, you know you’ve made it through the dark months. There’s something deeply reassuring about that.

You might pass a dog walker with a bunch in hand, or a child squatting to inspect a ladybird on a leaf. It’s not just about the plant—it’s about what it draws out in people. Curiosity, slowness, connection.

Wild Garlic Covers the Woodland Floor

Visiting Tips

If you want to catch the wild garlic in bloom along the River Caldew, aim for mid to late April or early May, depending on the weather. Early mornings are best for a peaceful experience—and for photos, when the light is soft and the dew still clings to the leaves.

While you're here, you might explore Dalston itself—stop for a coffee, visit the church, or sit by the river and watch the water move. But the star of the show, if only for a short while, is the garlic.

The Power of the Small

In a world obsessed with the big and the dramatic, wild garlic reminds us that some of the most powerful experiences are small. A flower in bloom. A scent in the air. A walk through quiet woods by a Cumbrian river.

Don’t Blink

Garlic & Moss Covered Paths

The wild garlic doesn’t last. By June, it’s gone. The flowers set seed, the leaves fade, and the undergrowth changes guard. Ferns take over. Brambles start their slow climb. The river keeps moving, but the scene changes. You have to catch it while you can.

That’s the magic of it, really. It’s a reminder that nothing sticks around forever—not seasons, not plants, not even moods. You walk, you witness, and you move on.You could miss it if you’re not looking. But if you are, you’ll find something quietly spectacular on the banks of the River Caldew.

Wild Garlic Clinging to the Banks of the River Caldew

"Lost in Winter, Found in One Shot: Reigniting My Passion for Photography"

Losing My Mojo for Photography—Until Derwent Water Brought It Back

Winter in the Lake District is supposed to be a dream for photographers. Frost-dusted landscapes, golden light breaking through misty fells, and lakes so still they turn into perfect mirrors. I used to thrive in it—chasing sunrises, braving the cold, coming home with frozen fingers and memory cards full of magic.

But this year, something was off.

The passion, the excitement—the urge to get out there and create—was gone.

Falling Out of Love with the Camera

At first, I blamed the weather.

It had been weeks of relentless grey, days where the rain fell sideways and the light never really arrived. The kind of winter that drains the soul, where even the most breathtaking locations feel uninspiring. I told myself I was just waiting for better conditions.

But the truth was, even on the rare clear mornings, I still didn’t go out. I’d half-heartedly pick up my camera, scroll through old photos, and feel... nothing. No excitement. No inspiration. Just the heavy weight of creative burnout.

Had I seen it all before? Had the Lakes—this place that had always filled me with wonder—become predictable?

It scared me. Photography had always been the thing that got me out of bed, that made me feel alive. And now? It felt like a chore.

A Short-Lived Morning at Wastwater

The forecast looked promising—clear skies, calm conditions, and a good chance of some nice light. After weeks of dull weather, I was hopeful that Wastwater would deliver something special.

The drive over only built my excitement. Patches of blue sky, soft morning light—it had all the makings of a great outing. But as soon as I arrived, things took a turn.

A Change in Plans

Almost instantly, a thick mist rolled in from nowhere, swallowing the landscape. The mountains disappeared, the reflections faded, and that crisp winter light I’d been chasing was gone. Still, I was here, so I made the most of it.

I took one shot—a simple, moody composition with the mist giving the lake an eerie calm. And then, just as quickly, the fine rain started. Not heavy, but that persistent drizzle that clings to everything. Within minutes, my lens was covered in droplets, my gear was damp, and the conditions weren’t improving.

That was that—no more photography for the day.

A Very Dull Wast Water

Not Every Trip Works Out

I sat in the car for a while, watching the mist thicken, hoping for a break in the weather. It never came. Some days, things just don’t go to plan.

But as I looked at that one image on my camera, I reminded myself—sometimes, all you need is one. Even if it wasn’t the shot I’d hoped for, it still captured the mood of the morning.

Would I have liked more? Of course. But there’s always next time little did i know id have to wait another fortnight for things to change.

A Reluctant Sunrise

One morning in mid-January, after another restless night of questioning whether I even wanted to do this anymore, I forced myself out of bed.

No grand plan, no expectations. Just go.

I drove to Derwent Water, half-hoping for a sudden wave of inspiration, half-expecting to feel nothing at all. The car park was empty. It was that eerie, pre-dawn silence where the world feels like it’s holding its breath.

I made my way down to Ashness Jetty.

The cold hit me first. That deep, biting cold that seeps into your bones, the kind that makes you regret every decision that led you to this moment. My breath curled in the air as I stepped onto the frost-covered planks, my boots crunching softly against the ice.

And then—everything changed.

The Shot That Brought It All Back

The lake was flawless. Not a ripple. Just an endless, perfect reflection of the sky, as if the world had been folded in half.

The colors were unreal—soft purples melting into fiery pinks and oranges as the first rays of sunlight kissed the summit of Skiddaw. The jetty, dusted in frost, glowed in the golden light, leading straight into a scene so perfect it felt like a painting.

My pulse raced.

Without thinking, I raised my camera. Muscle memory kicked in, my fingers adjusting settings before I even had time to process what I was doing. Click. Click. Click. Every shot better than the last.

I checked the screen, and there it was.

The shot I had been waiting for.

That one image that makes you feel something deep in your gut—the kind that reminds you why you fell in love with photography in the first place.

And just like that, I was back.

View from Ashness Jetty

Rediscovering the Spark

That one sunrise changed everything.

It wasn’t just about getting a great shot. It was about feeling something again. The excitement. The connection. The sheer joy of seeing something incredible unfold in front of me and knowing I had the power to capture it.

Sometimes, we lose our creative spark not because the world is uninspiring, but because we stop looking properly. We get caught up in the idea that every outing has to result in something extraordinary, and when it doesn’t, we let disappointment settle in.

But the magic is always there, waiting. You just have to show up.

Now? I’m setting alarms again. The hunger is back. Because if Derwent Water can do that on a freezing January morning, who knows what’s waiting out there tomorrow?

So Here’s What I’ve Learnt And Why You Should Always Go Out.

Losing your mojo for photography can be frustrating. When every outing feels uninspired and the weather never seems to cooperate, it’s easy to stay home and wait for better conditions. But the truth is, creativity isn’t just about getting the perfect shot—it’s about showing up.

Even when the mist rolls in, the rain starts falling, or the light never appears, there’s always something to gain. Sometimes, it’s just the fresh air, the quiet moments, or the way a scene makes you feel—even if it doesn’t translate into an image. Other times, you might take just one shot, and that’s enough to reignite the spark.

Photography isn’t just about results—it’s about the process, the experience, and the unexpected moments that remind you why you love it in the first place. So even when the forecast is uncertain and motivation is low, go out anyway. You never know when that moment will come—the one that brings your passion back to life.

Mojo: Restored.

From Frozen Fingers to Full Control: Why I Swear by Vallerret Gloves

Why Vallerret Photography Gloves Deserve a Spot in Every Camera Bag

As a landscape photographer based in the Lake District, I know firsthand how brutal the cold can be when you're out on a shoot. There’s nothing worse than fumbling with camera settings because your fingers are frozen. So when Vallerret approached me last year to collaborate, I was both thrilled and honored. As a brand that specializes in photography gloves, their reputation for quality and innovation made this an exciting opportunity to test their gear and share my experience with fellow photographers. They sent me a pair of their Djukes photography gloves, and I was eager to put them to the test.

After using them through some of the coldest mornings and windiest walks, I can confidently say they’re a game-changer for anyone who shoots outdoors in winter. But what really sets them apart? Let’s dive in.

Gloves Designed for Photographers

One of the biggest frustrations with standard winter gloves is that they’re just not made for handling a camera. Either they’re too bulky, making it impossible to adjust settings, or they’re too thin, leaving your fingers exposed to the cold.

Vallerret has tackled this problem head-on. The flip-tech finger caps on the thumb and index fingers mean I can quickly access my camera controls without fully exposing my hands. The non-slip grip on the palms is another thoughtful detail—it ensures my camera stays secure, even in damp or icy conditions.

From adjusting my focus ring to tweaking shutter speed, I never felt like I was sacrificing control for warmth.

Warmth Without Compromise

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that warmth and dexterity don’t always go hand in hand when it comes to gloves. Too much insulation, and you lose the ability to fine-tune camera settings. Too little, and you might as well not be wearing gloves at all.

What I love about the Djukes gloves is how they strike the perfect balance. The merino wool lining keeps my hands warm while wicking away moisture, so even during long walks, my hands never felt clammy. The insulated design provides serious warmth without making the gloves feel bulky, and the windproof, water-resistant outer shell protects against the elements.

More Than Just Great Gloves: A Commitment to Sustainability

Something that really impressed me about Vallerret is their commitment to sustainability—something that matters deeply to me as a photographer who spends so much time in nature.

• For every pair of gloves sold, Vallerret plants a tree. Knowing that each purchase helps contribute to reforestation makes supporting them even more worthwhile.

• They’re moving away from single-use packaging. Instead of plastic packaging, each pair of gloves comes with a reusable organic linen storage bag. I love that this isn’t just an afterthought—it’s a practical, eco-friendly alternative that I now use for keeping my gloves safe when not in use. You can even repurpose the bag for storing food like bread or fruit!

• Black Friday profits go to conservation. Every year, Vallerret donates its Black Friday profits to The Norwegian Society for Conservation of Nature (Naturvernforbundet). This organization works to protect Norway’s stunning landscapes, including the breathtaking national parks in Lofoten and Svalbard—places high on my bucket list for future shoots.

I admire brands that align with my own values of protecting the environment, and Vallerret is one of them.

My Experience with the Djukes Gloves

So, how did the Djukes gloves actually perform in the field? In short, they exceeded my expectations.

✔ Warmth: I wore them on several freezing mornings, and my fingers never went numb. The insulation kept my hands comfortable, even when standing still for long periods waiting for the perfect light.

✔ Dexterity: Despite being warm, they never felt cumbersome. The pre-curved design meant I could operate my camera naturally, and flipping the finger caps open and closed was easy—even with slightly stiff fingers in the cold.

✔ Weather Protection: The DWR (Durable Water Repellent) coating kept moisture at bay. Even when shooting in misty conditions, the gloves stayed dry and comfortable.

I’ve used a lot of different gloves over the years, but these quickly became my go-to for winter photography. They allow me to focus on my shots without worrying about my hands, which is exactly what I need when I’m out in the elements.

The Djuke Photography Glove by Vallerret

Final Thoughts: Are They Worth It?

If you’re serious about outdoor photography, investing in a solid pair of gloves is just as important as choosing the right camera gear. Vallerret gloves aren’t just warm—they’re designed for photographers, and that makes all the difference.

Plus, knowing that they’re an eco-conscious brand that gives back to conservation efforts makes me feel even better about using their products.

So, if you’re tired of cold fingers ruining your shoots, I highly recommend checking out Vallerret’s range of photography gloves on their website below.

Have you tried Vallerret gloves before? I’d love to hear your thoughts—drop a comment below or let’s chat on Instagram!

Kasefilters & Why i Use Them for Landscape Photography and Long Exposures

"I've been using Kase magnetic circular filters since 2021, starting with the Wolverine Pro set. Last year, I upgraded to the Kase Revolution Magnetic Circular Filters Pro Kit, and they’ve become an essential part of my photography bag. These filters go everywhere with me, and for good reason—they're incredibly easy to set up, and I absolutely love the image quality they deliver. The glass toughness exudes quality, and their water-repellent properties are a game-changer.

One of the best things about these filters is how compact they are; they fit effortlessly into my bag without taking up much space. As a female landscape photographer, carrying loads of gear isn't ideal, so having lightweight, space-saving equipment is a huge advantage.

What truly sets these filters apart for me is the ease and speed of swapping them out. In landscape photography, timing is everything—missing beautiful light that disappears in a split second is not an option. With Kase filters, I can quickly adapt to changing conditions without hassle, ensuring I never miss the perfect shot."

• Color-coded filters for easy organization.

• New inlaid ring design reduces vignetting on wide-angle lenses.

• Magnetic stackable mounting for quick and secure setup.

• Made with toughened Pro HD optical glass for durability.

• No noticeable color cast for true-to-life results.

• Scratch-resistant for long-lasting performance.

• Features metallic nano coatings for extra protection.

• Water, dust, and dirt repellent, keeping your gear cleaner for longer.

• Super easy to clean!

The Kase Revolution Magnetic Circular Filters Pro Kit is the ultimate solution for photographers and videographers seeking exceptional image quality combined with convenience and durability. Designed with precision and crafted from tough, color-neutral pro glass, these filters ensure stunning optical performance and reliable construction for all your creative needs.

This kit includes a range of essential magnetic filters, including

ND8,

ND64,

ND1000,

Polariser,

Magnetic Adapter,

Inlaid Ring,

Carry Pouch,

FREE Magnetic Lens Cap.

The innovative magnetic system allows for quick and effortless filter swapping, making it ideal for capturing fleeting moments in challenging lighting conditions.

Perfect for those who prefer a lighter, more compact setup over a full square system, the stackable neutral density filtersand CPL provide excellent control over light and reflections. Whether you're shooting long exposures, managing bright conditions, or enhancing color contrast, the Kase Revolution Magnetic Circular Filters Pro Kit offers versatility and performance in a portable package.

note that the Magnetic Lens Cap is specifically designed for use with the Magnetic Adapters only and is not intended as a filter cap

NO Filter

Kase Revolution Magnetic ND64

Coloured rings to identify each filter

So my final thoughts on the Kase Revolution Magnetic Filter system : to simplify your workflow and deliver professional-grade performance. These filters are all about practicality and reliability, with a color-coded system for quick identification and full compatibility with your existing adapters, hoods, and step rings.

A newly designed inlaid ring reduces vignetting on wide-angle lenses, while the magnetic stackable mounting ensures effortless setup and flexibility. Crafted from toughened Pro HD optical glass, these filters offer stunning clarity with no noticeable color cast, making them ideal for any shooting scenario.

Durability is at the core – they’re scratch-resistant, feature advanced metallic nano coatings, and repel water, dust, and dirt for optimal performance in any environment. Plus, they’re easy to clean, keeping maintenance simple and stress-free.

Whether you’re capturing sweeping landscapes or detailed portraits, these filters are built to deliver consistently great results while making your gear work seamlessly.

So easy even a woman can use them !

Also in my bag i have the Black Mist Magnetic 1/4 – perfect for reducing highlights, softening contrasts, and adding a cinematic glow around bright light sources. They create an ethereal, atmospheric vibe that’s ideal for portraiture, landscapes, and videography. Whether you’re looking to soften the edges of harsh digital footage or bring a dreamy, organic feel to your still photography, these filters deliver. Favored by filmmakers for their ability to craft a more cinematic look, they’re a versatile must-have for anyone wanting to elevate their visuals.

Finally the Kase Revolution Mag Circular Combined ND64 & CPL