The evolution of my photographic trials and tribulations

Christof Teuscher

Early Life

Sometime in the fabulous eighties, I won a ball pen for two photos that I had submitted to a Yashica photo contest. I remember that I was very proud, even though it was probably just a consolidation prize. The photos were taken with an incredible Kodak Instamatic 100. I can still hear the sounds this little magic box made when you hit the shutter. For many years, I then sat on my ball pen laurels and neglected my creative side.

Drawing in public school, not art school. I am not holding the ball pen that I won.

At age 10, I was mostly interested in making fires and climbing trees, not in making art. Also, notice that I had hair and that it was pretty blond. Not anymore.

Early Formation

My dad used to teach photography classes, and, as a result, we had a nice darkroom at home. We kids often spent long evenings there, watching photographs being developed while slowly and persistently moving the baths with the oh-so-special-smelling chemicals. There was an incredible magic to see these chemicals do the job as we moved the prints from the developer to the stop and the fixer baths. We learned to pay attention to the details and to work with precision.

That was the age of the rotary phone, well before the age of the Internet, cellphones, and personal computers. Few were the distractions and patience was a virtue. I guess it still would be. Realizing how much work and dedication went into the process from snapping a photo with a camera (analog at that time, of course, and often by using external light meters) until it hangs framed on the wall was an eye-opener for me. As with most activities where you strive to reach perfection, you have to be able and willing to accept failure as part of the process. In fact, more often than not, getting things terribly wrong is the rule rather than the exception. That certainly applied to developing prints in the darkroom. It was a time-consuming, tricky, and expensive process that required a high level of mastery.  Yet, once you understood the nitty-gritty details, the parameters, and the constraints, there were incredible opportunities for artistic expression.

Much later, with the appearance of the first personal computers, when image processing was still not a thing, I began to develop a passion for creating and designing what I considered good-looking electronic documents. I still remember the first steps with the Commodore C64 GEOS (Graphic Environment Operating System), which offered rudimentary tools for typesetting, charting, and drawing. That was the early eighties. Later, it was PageMaker for Apple Macintosh.

I think I always had a good feeling for composition design and knew, without being able to explain it, when something looked “right.” When you get things right, there’s a tension like in a string that is tuned to perfection. Over the years, that feeling has changed and evolved into something more reliable.

Working on one of the first Apple Macintosh personal computers. It had no hard drive yet, only a floppy disk drive. Also, I still had hair. Instead of making art, I started listening to the Art of Noise.

Post-film, Pre-Instagram Days

The next stage in my random photography journey was dominated by documenting trips, vacations, and adventures with several cheap digital cameras that I purchased over the years. Cell phones were not quite a thing at that point yet, let alone cell phone cameras. I lacked any artistic understanding or ambition whatsoever. Yet, I have archives of literally thousands of more or less random shots, a few of which are reproduced below. None received any post processing. I had no clue what that even meant at that point.

Somewhere in Finland.Probably around 2000.

Somewhere in the White Sands National Monument, NM.Probably around 2005.

Somewhere in Utah. Probably around 2006.

“Cheap photography isn’t good, my dear, and good photography isn’t cheap” – Unkown

First DSLR Steps

For a 2011 backpacking trip to Patagonia, I finally got my first digital single-lens reflex camera (DSLR) kit, a DX-format Nikon D3100 with a 35 and 200mm lens. Not sure why really. Perhaps I just felt like I needed something new. I had great fun with this camera, but rather sooner than later realized its limitations.

As many beginners, I got sucked into the HDR-craze at that time. I took thousands of bracketed exposures and post-processed my shots in a way that leaves me rather speechless today. What was I thinking? I guess not much. Below is my very first HDR shot. I remember that I was incredibly proud that I was able to take three exposures with a tripod and managed to use some random HDR software to process them into a final image.

My first HDR shot. Urgs (2012).

More urgs (2012).

“The silent pond” (2012). What was I thinking?

Good grief! (2012)

“The grass is always greener when you crank up the saturation in Photoshop.” – Unknown

On the other hand, my HDR days taught me two things: the importance of post-processing and the importance of using tripods. The importance of post-processing became even more clear as I started shooting in RAW format with my next camera. Never before had I post-processed a photo. I simply downloaded them from the camera and that was it. Now I suddenly had to learn how to use Apple’s Aperture software, and later Adobe’s Lightroom, plus plenty of other tools that I had never even heard of before. I bought books and read, and read, and read. And more importantly, I played and failed, and played and failed again, then some more.

At work with the D3100 and my very first tripod.

Another HDR sin. Or perhaps just good click bait. Thanksgiving trip in the Steens mountains. The shot won the Base Camp Brewing Company’s photo contest (landscape category) in 2013.

Mt. Jefferson from Jefferson Park (2012).

Photography Genres: Living in the Street or in the Country?

Although I briefly experimented with other genres over the years, I’ve always been drawn to landscapes and street photography, with a preference for black and white shots. To me, these two genres are somehow opposites. Composing a landscape shot may take a long time, you may take many exposures, deal with the elements, and perhaps wait for hours for the light to change. It’s a slow and peaceful process that unites you with the environment. Street photography, on the other hand, is all about catching a scene that may never happen again in the right split second. You have to anticipate things, observe very carefully, blend in, and always be ready. I guess I’m mostly a street photographer by opportunity. If I travel to interesting cities, I’ll pack my gear, but I won’t specifically go to places just for the sake of street photography. It’s different for landscape photography, for which I often take trips specifically to visit places I think will result in epic shots.

“Sweet Ride.” Early (2012) street photo attempt. One of these moments where you have to be ready.

“Tlachichuca #5” (2014).

For both landscape and street photography, I developed a love for minimalism over the years. Clear lines that guide the eye, symmetries, and empty space are perhaps some of characteristics that describe my style. Over the last years, the Oregon deserts were a sheer-endless source for precisely that kind of theme.

“256 Shades of Grey” (2016).

“Iceland #33” (2016).

Going Full Monty

In 2012, a year after purchasing the entry-level Nikon D3100 kit, I decided to purchase a professional full frame (FX) Nikon D800E camera for my 40th birthday. At that time, the D800 was considered an ideal landscape camera and offered one of the highest resolutions (36.3-megapixel) on the market. The E-version came without a optical low-pass filter (OLPF). That leads to higher sharpness, but one has to be more careful about moiré and false colors. I added two of my all-time favorite lenses: an AF-S NIKKOR 70-200mm f/2.8G ED VR II and an AF-S NIKKOR 24-70mm f/2.8G ED. The entire purchase turned out to be one of the few (and positive) key decisions I made in my life. Although a materialistic object in itself, the camera quickly became an adventure-enabler that led to a seemingly endless stream of experiences that people always say you can’t buy with money.

A camera, in many ways, learns you to see. While I quickly felt the limitations of the D3100, the D800E made me realize my very own limitations instead. There was a lot I needed to learn. So I did, and I still do.

After going through a few light and rather cheap tripods, I finally got a massive carbon-fiber Really Right Stuff tripod that keeps my gear stable like a rock. It is not exactly a cheap purchase—no doubt—yet, for doing long exposure photography, it is pretty much a must-have.

“Iceland #28” (2016).

Looking back at my photo history and at all the shots I published online turns out to be a rather ambivalent experience. On one hand I am shocked by the overall quality of many of the shots, on the other hand, I feel I can see progress. If you want to progress artistically, you have to increase your standards. So it is perfectly natural that what you once considered “good” is suddenly not anymore.

“The difference between a good photographer and a great photographer is that a good photographer sees his work and is satisfied.” – Unknown

“Soaked in sorrow” (2014).

“The silence of the lands” (2016).

“Life is like a camera. Focus on what’s important. Capture the good times. And if things don’t work out, just take another shot.” – Unknown

No Pressure

The creative process is—well—a process. I try to learn new things, new techniques, new styles, new ways of expression as often as possible. The cost of that is generally failure. But again, that is part of the process. Perhaps it is easier for me to freely explore and experiment with my visual expression because I have no need to become a professional. I can fail miserably and it has pretty much no consequences, well, except perhaps people unfriending me. Luckily, there is also no need for me to make money with photography. In fact, I deliberately stayed away from selling my photos so that I can keep smelling the freedom and do what I like, without the need to please customers. Instead, I simply share my trails and tribulations online under a Creative Commons license (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0) that allows everybody to use my photos. I also find it comforting to know that I could stop any day, without people even noticing.

Nevertheless, producing art and “shipping” it requires courage, whether you are a pro or not, whether you feel pressure or not. As Seth Godin writes on his blog:

The fear of shipping. Source: Seth Godin.

Another risk of online sharing is to fall into the please-the-crowd-trap. What people like may be far away from your artistic core values. For example, it is easy to see that my (oversaturated) color shots get a lot more likes than the minimal black and white one. Yet, that is where my passion lies. It requires effort, courage, and frustration-tolerance to produce and ship what you believe in, independent of what the crowds seem to tell you.

“How long is forever?” (2015).

West Oval Lake, 2013.

“Photographers deal with a lot of crop.” – Unknown

What’s Next?

So, what’s next? And how does one continue to grow? I feel I have a lot more to learn. For example, I’m currently watching Zack Schnepf’s tonality control videos to learn new post-processing techniques.

As a complete amateur without any formal training in photography, I will continue to strive for perfection, increase my standards, and take great pride and pleasure to create beautiful photos that hopefully inspire others in one way or another.

While the photogs are currently salivating over the new Nikon D850, I doubt a new camera is what I need at this point. I’m interested to improve my techniques and to evolve my artistic explorations, not my gear. It’s good enough for what I’m doing.

Juniper trees in the Steens (2013).

“Tonight, nothing is long enough” (2015).

More?

Portfolio: https://www.christofteuscher.com/visuals

Besides the posts on this blog, I generally share all my photos on the following sites:

The Other Double: UTMB and Tor des Geants

Christof Teuscher
UPDATE: in 2023, I did another “double:” REPORT: The Ice and Glacier Double – Iceland Traverse FKT and Tor des Glaciers

Lotteries (Mis)Fortunes?

After trying for 3 years to get into the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB, 100 miles, 30,000ft of elevation gain) and the Tor des Geants (TdG, 205 miles, 80,000ft of elevation gain), two epic bucket-list races, Murphy’ Law struck: I got into both. Unable to decide which of the two races I should drop, I figured I’d simply attempt both. The only problem: UTMB is one week before Tor. Yet, every problem can be turned into a challenge.

They’ve got mountains.

The challenge by the numbers.

To tackle the challenge, I came up with a modest “Madsterplan” that I was hoping would get me ready for the heavy back-to-back mileage and elevation gain without proper recovery in-between. Without a coach and any idea what I’m doing, I made this up based on my own experience. So don’t follow my example and don’t try this at home.

The peak of my training consisted in completing three tough races all one week apart: Ochoco 100k, Tushars 100k John Cappis 50k, and Ouray 100. Before that final cycle, I went through similar cycles, but with less intensity. The goal was to gradually build up the strength I needed, especially for the elevation gain, and to get better at back-to-back efforts. My biggest worry were injuries because that would have crushed the entire plan, and probably have led to lots of race cancellations. Luckily, I was able to stay clear of any major issues.

The 2017 Madsterplan.

The Countdown

The real countdown started with the Ochoco 100k. That was 50 days before the start of the Tor. The two video clips below document the Ochoco 100k, the John Cappis 50k, and Ouray 100.

Direct URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7Hm9T0Tga0

Direct URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMErmq2zMmU

I left Portland with 5 pairs of shoes and came home with 3 in exchange for many unforgettable memories.

Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB)

I arrived in Courmayeur (Italy) one day before the UTMB start. There was no time for any course exploration, acclimatization, or time zone adjustment. But with a 6pm start on Friday, I figured being on US time zone may not be so bad.

Unfortunately, I ended up almost missing the start. We literally slept 24h after arriving. At 3pm we were supposed to leave for Chamonix. At 3:10pm, we woke up. Thankfully I had packed everything during the night, at a moment I wasn’t able to sleep. After a stressful drive through the Mt. Blanc tunnel with lots of traffic and waiting, we made it to the start, where I devoured two donuts and an espresso. I hadn’t have time to eat anything yet. After that, I discovered that one of my gels had a leak and was making me sticky all over. Oh well. I decided to sit down and to focus on the next 30+ hours instead of cleaning and worrying.

The start ended up being pushed back by 30min and some course modification were announced because of bad weather and snow. We were all warned that the temperatures would be below freezing higher up. After a lot of circus and tohuwabohu, we were finally sent off into the evening. The crowds went nuts along the course until far into the night. I found the loud cow bell noises and the screaming rather distracting. Equally distracting were runners taking calls on the trail. What the heck. Clearly, a drawback of a 2,400-runner race is that you are essentially never on your own.

Since I was quite far behind at the start, I tried to gradually work my way up to where I felt I had had a place in the field. In doing so, I probably went out too fast and paid for it later. It didn’t take too long until my stomach felt queasy. Nothing new in itself. I tried my usual things.

I felt pretty strong on the uphills and typically passed a lot of runners, on the downhills it was the exact opposite. You can see that nicely on the tracking. Once again I realized how much I suck on technical downhills.

UTMB: Course map

UTMB: Course profile

Sometime after 6am I reached Courmayeur with my one and only dropbag. I tried to eat and took a 15min nap that I was hoping would calm my stomach. After changing into new shoes, I was off again. The shoe change was probably not a good idea. I should have kept the La Sportiva Mutant because they would have worked much better than the Hoka ATR3 in the mud that was yet to come.

As we worked our way up to the Grand Col Ferret, the highest pass on the course, the weather started to turn really sour. It rained cats and dogs and snowed near the top of the pass. Everything was iced-over, slippery, and muddy. I had all my layers on and still struggled to stay warm.

UTMB: Heading down to the Arnouvaz aid station. I felt very sick at that point.

UTMB: On the way up to Grand Col Ferret, the highest pass on the course. It started to snow on the way up.

Besides a never-ending climb in thick fog up to the last peak, I only vividly remember a 10km (or so) road section after La Fouly. I had no clue about this section because I did not study the course. It was terrible by all means and even beyond.

Overall, I never felt like I was getting into any kind of race vibe or zone. The weather conditions were rather challenging and the going was slower than I wanted it to be. That was perhaps partly due to my thinking that I didn’t want to get injured and that I didn’t want to go out full throttle because I had Tor scheduled in a week. Perhaps it was also because I knew there was no way I could be competitive in a race that was so incredibly stacked with elite runners.

UTMB: Race analysis (Strava)

I reached the finish in a rather disappointing 32:03:59 hours, which was good for 214th place (65th in my age category). There wasn’t a single reason why I was slow, except perhaps old age. In any case, I had no time and energy to brood over my time, so I filed UTMB under “completed” and tried to focus on the next big thing, although that looked like mission impossible at that point.

Dead Week

In the week between UTMB and Tor, I ate, slept, and worked a lot. I also did some short runs and hiked some of the Tor course (see photos below). By the end of the week, I felt like I had recovered as good as humanly possible. My legs were not fresh, but nothing hurt and overall I felt pretty confident that I could possibly finish Tor. At least it didn’t look like mission impossible anymore.

Tor des Geants (TdG)

This time I didn’t oversleep and was at the start on time. Getting the bib had taken more then two hours the previous day, so I was ready for some more delays. The “race commissioners” hadn’t accepted my ultralight crampons because they were apparently not pointed enough. Luckily I had another pair in the car with me that satisfied their criteria. As at UTMB (and opposed to what I’ve seen at Lavaredo 120k), it was obvious that the race organization was dead serious about the mandatory gear list. For good reasons.

The circus at the Tor start was similar to the UTMB circus. We started late because people arrived late for the GPS tracker check. I wore a bigger (and much heavier) UD pack than at UTMB because we had more gear to carry. Luckily, the weather forecast was good for at least the next 3 days. Then things were supposed to turn sour. And they did. We got a bit of everything, from hours of Tor-rential rain to fresh snow. But no matter what, the scenery remained epic.

Contrary to UTMB, I had actually established a pace table for Tor. Based on previous results and some spreadsheet simulations, I figured that 100 hours could be a somewhat realistic finish time for me. Yet, a lot would depend on how much sleep I was going to need. While I didn’t have a solid sleeping plan, my thinking was that I’d try to do 25min power naps as long as I could, then sleep longer if needed. Power naps have worked well for me in the past, but you can’t do that forever.

So off we went into the day. Soon the first climb helped to spread out he field. Nevertheless, people were frantically trying to pass each other on the uphill, saving a few seconds. Surely, that would make a difference on a 330km race.

I was glad that my legs seemed to somehow work. My focus was on relentless forward motion. With 850ish runners in the field, many of which were elite, it was clear from the beginning that I was unlikely going to be finishing in the top 100. So I tried to leave my competitive side behind and tried instead to enjoy the journey because this was going to be a long week no matter what.

Tor des Geants 2017 course map

The Tor course has 6 “Life Bases” where you get access to your moving drop bag. So that roughly makes 50km between the major aid stations. I had no crew and pacers were not allowed in any case. Besides the “Life Bases,” there were many smaller aid stations.

On the first 50km leg I broke a pole. Not a good start, I was thinking. Luckily, I had packed a spare pole in my drop bag. The spare pole later also started to fall apart, but I was able to use it until the end of the race. Very few people were pole-less. With the massive amount of climbing, the course literally screamed for poles.

The approach to the Col de Malatra. It was even colder than it looks.

Crampons at work. Finally.

Col de Malatra, 2,925m/9,596ft.

Sunset on Col de Malatra. Mt. Blanc in the background.

I’ll save you all the details of the race because I don’t feel I can accurately account for things. On the last big climb I cracked and got out my phone for the first time to take some pics. The scenery was just too epic. The other epic moment was sometime deep into one of the nights when I reached an aid station after an endless pass-crossing. My eyes started glowing with the sight of a bowl of baked potatoes with a huge bottle of mayonnaise next to it. That totally made my night. I pretty much devoured the entire potato and mayo stock, finished with an espresso, and left into the dark and cold night again.

Until the very end, high up on the Col de Malatra, finishing the race seemed mission impossible. Similar to the Tor elevation profile, my mental and physical states were a roller coaster. There were challenges, struggles, and pain that I don’t even know how to put into words. Ditto for epic moments of joy and gratitude.

To my own surprise, I suddenly was confronted with the finish line after spending 109:57:04 hours on the course. That was good for a 70th place. My total sleep time was about 2.5h. Clearly, I was not well rested by then, but I was still able to run. Of the 867 runners at the start, 461 finished the race, 406 gave up. The Tor tracking indicated a total completed distance of 339km/211mi with 30,908m/101,404ft of elevation gain. Quite a lot more than advertised.

The Tor course was by far the most epic and beautiful of all the races I’ve ever done. It was without any doubt one of the finest and most challenging journeys.

Within 2 weeks, I had moved 331mi/500km and climbed 132,000ft/40,234m. The only time I’ve done more weekly miles was during the 750-mi Oregon Desert Trail (ODT) completion, which lasted 17 days and 15 hours. But that journey did also involve more than 2.5h of sleep. Which challenge was harder? Well, they were different.

People were watching, it seems…

The finish chute. Captured the morning after my finish.

After 109:57:04, I was finally done.

Tor: Race analysis (Strava). Strava called the run a “Morning Run.”

Evidence of struggles.

Two races, minus one pair of ATR3. And that wasn’t the only shoe I was wearing.

Recovery

The physical and mental recovery has been slow, mainly due to more travel and the inability to get enough sleep. I’ll probably take a week off from running and take it from there. That would be my first week off since I started running in 2013. We’ll see how that goes. In the meantime, I’ll focus on food and beer…

Feeding post-Tor cravings: homemade mango, grape, and chestnut salad.

Feeding post-Tor cravings: Wild bor.

What’s Next?

People often ask me what’s next. Often I don’t even have an answer. Although there might be other things between now and January 2018, the next big thing I’m currently signed up for is the The Spine Race: “The MONTANE® Spine® Race is widely regarded as one of the world’s toughest endurance races. A truly epic challenge that will test your physical resilience and mental fortitude. Racing non-stop along the most iconic trail in the UK, you will experience the full intensity and ferocity of the British Winter. Prepare yourself for the biggest challenge of your life.”

The route is 268mi long and follows the entire Pennine Way. The Spine Race is part of the 5 Legends Series. After Spine, I’m tackling Transpyrenae in August 2018. The rest is unknown…stay tuned for updates on this blog.

The 5 Legends races