Focus In: How Photography Deepens Our Park Experience

Message From The Director

Many moons ago—when I was a fresh-faced college freshman with more enthusiasm than direction—I briefly entertained the notion of majoring in photography. My grandparents subscribed to National Geographic, and I loved slipping into their cool basement to browse the bookcases lined with those iconic yellow spines. I don’t recall reading many of the articles. Still, I could spend entire afternoons lost in the photographs: crystalblue green waters off Malaysia, the sinewy stretch of the Great Wall of China, daily life unfolding in places like the Netherlands or Ghana. Those images transported me to places I didn’t yet know existed, places I longed to see long before I understood how vast the world truly was.

After my first photography class, I quickly discovered I lacked both the patience and the instinct to become a National Geographic photographer. Yet the curiosity those photos sparked—the fascination with people, places, and cultures—never left. It eventually carried me straight into the Anthropology department, where I learned to explore the world through a different lens.

And how does any of this relate to parks? Because I never let go of my love for the camera—of the way a single photograph can freeze a moment and let it transcend time. Photography teaches us to pay attention. To pause. To narrow our focus. To look beyond the obvious and search for meaning in the shadows and quiet corners.

As park stewards and visitors, we are surrounded by moments worth capturing: the smallest creatures hiding beneath fallen leaves, the vast panoramas that greet us when the trail crests the ridge, the fleeting play of light on a quiet lake at dusk. Our parks are, quite literally, full of scenes that invite us to look closer.

And here’s the best part: nearly all of us carry a camera in our pockets now. If you’re a professional photographer, I give you enormous credit—you wield a skill I deeply admire. But if you’re an amateur snapping photos for your own joy or your social feed, your cell phone is a passport to exploration. I once worked with a Park Interpreter who spent a year photographing the same tree each season. She captured it in spring, summer, and fall—but a winter storm brought it down before she could complete the cycle. Heartbreaking, yes, but also an unforgettable reminder of the power of paying attention—of witnessing time as it unfolds.

So this year, I challenge you: step into a program or hike you’ve never tried. Listen deeply. Let your curiosity lead. Then challenge yourself to capture what you learn—both in your mind’s eye and through your camera lens. If you have young children with you, turn the experience into a game of I spy or a scavenger hunt. When you find each item, take a photo. Give them the joy of discovery and the satisfaction of turning observation into art.

In my (decidedly amateur) opinion, the equipment doesn’t matter. The subject doesn’t matter. What matters is the connection—your connection—to the parks and the stories they hold. You might even find, as I did long ago among those yellowbound magazines, that photography becomes a gateway: a way into a world you never fully noticed before you learned to look closer.

Check out some of the photos taken by our very own park ranger photographers and even a former park director! And if all of this still hasn’t convinced you to pick up your camera, perhaps the promise of “fortune and fame” will. (Okay, maybe just a little exposure—photography pun fully intended.) Check out some of the incredible photos taken in South Carolina State Parks and submitted to last year’s America’s State Parks photo contest. Keep an eye on social media and the America’s State Parks website for this year’s contest announcement. Who knows? Your next snapshot might just be a winner.

Photographs capture a moment, a feeling, a once-in-history sliver of time that will never be repeated. Lose yourself in that moment. Lose yourself in your parks. We welcome you—and whatever camera you carry—with open arms.

Photo by John Wells