Ebb and Flow: Amazing Photography of Mountain Biking in Squamish, BC
Capturing action sports can be a large-scale concept that takes planning and patience. Sometimes it can be as simple as capturing a frame that a rider or photographer has conjured up in their imagination and is hell-bent on making into a reality. This is the dangerous space that consumes a photographer’s attention, mind, body and soul. My obsession with my latest project was no exception.
Hailing from the Isle of Wight, England, I’m a newcomer to the Sea to Sky corridor in British Columbia, but I’m no stranger to the mountain lifestyle. Communities that revolve around outdoor pursuits seem to share a similar attitude to life. In my two years exploring and learning about the people here, it’s become clear to me that those values are taken to the extreme. There is an obsessed-with-adventure, pushing limits and a respect for the environment outlook. Bikes are king. And the rainy coastal weather does little to dampen truly adventurous spirits.
In November 2024, I set about scouting locations that would combine all the above to showcase these stand-out features in dramatic light via a rideable spine branching off a ridgeline encompassing 360-degree views of the corridor. I wanted that ‘hero’ image.
After pouring over maps, reading articles, asking locals and failed recce attempts, I found the perfect location. My next goal was to bring together riders with the right personalities. I’ve found that, too often, photographers are drawn to ‘big names’ and sometimes forget that our job is to inspire others by documenting relatable stories. My formula for this is carefully curating who to use for these kinds of projects based on group dynamics, riding style and attitude.
Harry Turner, Jordan Temple and Al Martin are all mountain bikers to the very core. Drawn to the area in the pursuit of riding bikes, they bleed mineral oil, sweat chain lube and, like many other two-wheeled folk, they didn’t need much persuading to go on a fall adventure.
Harry, the Englishman, is a creative rider. The tougher something is, the bigger his smile.
Al, proud Welshman, his bike is an extension of his body, a loose and ballsy riding style.
Jordy, Australian racer, is calm, calculated and fearless on two wheels.
Riders chosen, the final piece in the planning jigsaw puzzle is predicting the weather. More often than not, it’s akin to that rogue puzzle piece that has snuck in from another box. It doesn’t always fit, but you find a way of making it work for you… with a lot of frustration and cursing. In other words: “when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.”
Our project was anchored around a perfect clear sky, with a blazing sunset and a rider silhouette in the foreground, so we needed Mother Nature to be on our side.
Bags packed and truck loaded, we set off at 6 a.m. on the long drive up one of the many forest service roads (FSR) that can be found across British Columbia. The team rounds the first corner after unloading the truck. I listen to the sunrise chorus of bike tires crunching along the frozen track and whoops of joy at seeing the impressive Mount Garibaldi lit up with morning glow. Unfortunately, that would be the last we’d see of that stunning mountain. Our hero image was in jeopardy due to some unpredicted clouds that had snuck over the horizon.
The team knew what we wanted to achieve along the ridgeline; however, they had total creative freedom to stop along the way should they see something rideable that inspired them. As we progressed up the trail, the coastal mountains enveloped us in a blanket of greyness, causing me to throw all toys out of the pram as it dawned on me the project was in jeopardy, and with that stunning mountain view now hidden, was there any point in continuing?
Adaptability is the name of the game in the mountains and with the attitude of the team still riding high, a new concept was born. Seeing the boys’ undiluted enthusiasm for being in the mountains on their bikes, I realized that it wasn’t about the hero image and never should have been. It’s about the people and their desire to ride in inhospitable places, interpreting the blank terrain into something rideable. Creative bikers have an artistic streak in them, they see what might be an unassuming ridge and, to them, it becomes the beginnings of a jump. That small pocket of snow next to a trail could be a prime target for getting their back wheel out and spraying a rooster tail purely for the feeling it gives them. This is a story about resilience and spirit and where a bike can take us.
Painstakingly, we crept along the ridgeline, still determined to reach the end but accepting a more relaxed attitude that felt true to the freeride aspects of the sport and the new concept of the day.
The team was surprised to find hero dirt spattered amongst the patches of snow resulting in rooster tails of contrasting elements being thrown into the air as they put their bikes to good use. The moist and sticky soil is what all mountain bikers long for but wasn’t expected at such high alpine. With that perfect blend of grip and flow, it didn’t take long before a jump was being built in part of the mountain that resembled the surface of the moon.
Once compacted, it was a thing of beauty and a stark contrast against the dramatic scenery. The team’s enthusiasm stepped up another notch as their confidence grew in what they had just built. Al being the first to step up, launching high off the kicker only encouraged the others to get involved. Who’d have thought we’d be shooting a jump session in the high alpine of British Columbia during a snowstorm?
Having a turnaround time is key on these types of missions and we still had a long way to go, so with that in mind we continued up the ridge whilst we still had daylight and the energy to do so.
Upon reaching what felt like the end of the world, the clouds parted enough to reveal a peak high up to the left. This rock face was sheer vertical volcanic rock, and I’d have to question if Frodo himself would have continued—and he was only carrying a ring, not a heavy chunk of metal and rubber. But again, the attitude of the people around often dictates a shoot like this, so with the boys’ excitedly shouting, “Let’s get up there,” we cracked on.
With bikes heaved onto backs, we started along a narrow path followed by a steep and loose scree slope bringing us to the top. By some change of fortune, the clouds started to part, revealing a blue tint in the sky that we hadn’t seen for a while. We had to act fast as this wasn’t going to hang around.
The riders continued up to where a stunning trail started. This was the culmination of weeks of planning, hours of pushing bikes through snow and being tormented by ever changing weather, so we weren’t going to let this shot slip away.
Jordi, being the racer he is, casually said he wanted to ride the rather exposed looking slab of loose, chunky rock a metre to his right that had a 60-metre drop, the slightest gust of wind probably resulting in a phone call to his family.
I was wary of the danger, but often, mindsets like his inspire confidence in others, and this was a chance to get a shot similar to the original plan.
Jordi rode up onto the slab and hammered down it with calculated ease to the ‘yewwws’ of the team around him. A moment to calm his nerves and ease the shakes and it was time to set off due to an impending snow flurry and a desire to not be stood around this kind of exposure in bad weather.
The irony of this day was that, after the long ride back to get off the ridge, the sunset peaked through the clouds, creating a fiery landscape. I fired off a far-from-perfect shot that, by technical standards, is not good, and yet, is one of my favourites—maybe due to the sweat and toil that went into the day resulting in one of those “right place right time” moments, or possibly from desperation of still wanting that sunset image.
In total, we had nine hours on the move, 17 kilometres of pushing and riding bikes and 1,200 metres elevation gain/loss. In the end, we were six physically broken but stoked humans after one satisfying adventure.
Like a camera, a bike is a tool for expression. It’s an outlet that allows a group of like-minded people to see the terrain as a canvas for creating art and action. These chunks of metal became untamed personalities of their own, resolute and determined on making the journey into one hell of a trip. We were just along for the ride.
We ended up capturing what our initial key points were, but with a different perspective. One: showcase the environment and the people playing in it. Two: bikes are king. Three: the erratic and fickle force that is the Coastal Mountain weather.
