It was early July 2024, and I was on my way to Homer, Alaska, with my daughter Emily and her husband's family to do some deep-sea fishing. On the way there, I noticed a sign for the upcoming Ninilchik Rodeo, a small-town event about 40 miles north of Homer. A couple of days later, I suggested we check it out, and while the rest of the group passed, Emily came along.

Ninilchik's rodeo was the kind of small-town gathering where families show up, kids climb into the chutes for mutton busting, and everyone knows everyone. It wasn't big or polished, but I pulled out my camera and started shooting. Rodeo was new territory for me, but something about it hooked me. I left with a card full of images and a curiosity I couldn't shake.

A month later, I went to the Yamhill County Fair & Rodeo in McMinnville, Oregon. This was a different world: bigger bulls, stronger broncs, professional riders. The energy in the arena was alive, and I felt it every time I raised the camera.

One moment sealed it for me. A bull rider was thrown hard to the dirt. The bull spun, charged at the bullfighters, and caught one of them. I captured the entire sequence — the throw, the chase, the gore. It was raw, intense, and real. That was the moment I knew I didn't want to stay behind the fence anymore.

The rest of the 2024 season became about learning and refining. I traveled to more rodeos, chasing that same feeling, working on timing, angles, and awareness. By the end of the year, I was ready to make it official. I got my NPRA photographer's card for the 2025 season — a ticket into the arena itself.

But the learning never stops. I'm still figuring out when to be in the arena and when to be out. A moment's intensity can sometimes distract me from capturing that same intensity. As I'm headed to the nearest fence to climb, I realize I might be missing out on even better shots. That is something I'll have to refine in 2026.

Rodeo photography hasn't only put me in the dirt with the action. It's reignited the creative spark that first got me into photography some forty years ago. It reminds me why I pick up the camera: to catch the kind of moments you can't stage or repeat, the ones that tell a story in a single frame.