Italian Dolomites Part 2 is my latest YouTube vlog detailing some of my exploits as I travel to various parts of the world.
On Sunday, 29th October 2017, my wife and I said goodbye to the first part of our recce trip to the Italian Dolomites and drove to the next part.
Our base for part two was in the small town of Dobbiaco, which is ideal if you want to nip over into Austria for cheaper petrol/ diesel, but also convenient for some of the iconic locations such as Lago di Braies.
The first evening’s weather led to a lot to desire as we had high winds that were coming down from Austria, which made any of the local lakes a non-starter. We’d also had difficulty finding somewhere to eat lunch, too, as it was a Sunday, and Italy is a staunch observer of the day of rest, nearly all restaurants were closed.
Over the following five days and four nights, we set about mapping out the possible locations for the Italian Dolomites photography workshop in autumn 2018. Finding small waterfalls for wet weather days, as well as simple walks to some of the iconic scenes, such as the Tre Cime/ Drei Zimmen. In addition, it was extremely useful having my wife with me as it meant trying a number of different restaurants in the area so that they too could be added to the mix of things.
In early October 2016, I’d already visited the area, and there was early snowfall. This year, though, what there was of the white stuff was very minimal, and so it made some of the walking and driving a lot easier. One of the things that I am all too aware of is taking people to the Tre Cime and its solid ice on the path, thus making it a no-go for any photography workshop participants. The safety of clients of the future workshop will be paramount due to some of the walking involved.
So enjoy this second part of our recce in the Dolomites and do get in touch if you want to join me this time next year in the Italian Dolomites for my annual photography tour.
The morning began in the Italian Dolomites at what was, by all signs, Lago di Braies. It wasn’t a disaster, but it never quite became the image I wanted. The sky was too clear for my taste, and there was enough wind on the lake to break the reflection. That mattered more than anything else, because reflection is such a big part of what makes that location sing.
I did get something, but once the sun had climbed, I found myself leaning towards a long exposure to smooth the water. For me, that felt like pushing the scene into something it wasn’t. I know long exposure has its place, but in that moment, it felt like a substitute for the conditions I had hoped for, not the photograph I had come to make.
In the Italian Dolomites, one small ripple can ruin the whole balance of a reflection shot.
That sort of start can knock your confidence if you let it. Still, that’s part of photographing the mountains. A famous location doesn’t owe you a perfect frame, and the Italian Dolomites are full of scenes that look simple until the weather strips away the one thing that made them work.
Rather than force more from the lake, I headed back, picked up my wife, and we drove into a small valley in the northern Italian Dolomites. That change of scene lifted the day straight away. In front of us sat a beautiful old water mill, surrounded by quiet mountain scenery that felt almost too neat to be real.
It had that picture-postcard quality so many alpine valleys aim for, yet this one didn’t feel staged. The setting was calm, the structure had real character, and the whole place had the sort of stillness that makes you slow down. After the missed reflection earlier, that mattered.
I liked it because the subject was obvious, but the mood still needed care. A place like that can easily become a simple record shot if I don’t pay attention to line, balance and the way the water moves through the frame. The charm is there from the start, yet the photograph still needs shaping.
Scenes like this are one reason I spend so much time scouting. The iconic spots matter, but quieter places often give a trip its depth.
By the end of the first day in the Italian Dolomites, I was standing on top of Passo Giau with the sun already dropping behind the range to my left. Sunset itself still had a little time left in it, but the light had already slipped out of direct view. Even so, the place showed its value straight away.
What struck me most was how much there was to shoot from one position. A long lens worked. A short lens worked. A wide view worked as well. That variety matters when I scout, because a strong photography workshop location needs more than one obvious composition. People shoot differently, and the place has to reward that.
I would have liked to stay until dark and photograph the car lights winding down the road, because the pass has all the ingredients for good light trails. But it was already around 0°C, my wife was waiting in the car, and the cold was biting hard enough that my voice was starting to go. That was enough of a sign to call it.
Even so, Passo Giau stayed with me. It confirmed that this part of the trip was doing exactly what I hoped. It was showing me which locations had real depth, and which ones might suit future Dolomites photography tours.
The second day in the Italian Dolomites began in freezing air on the shore of Lago di Misurina. The thermometer was around minus 5°C, there was no real wind to speak of, and yet the cold still found its way into everything. At roughly 1,500 metres above sea level, even holding the camera steady felt harder than it should.
The view behind me was gorgeous. The trouble, again, was the sky. There was hardly any cloud, just a small patch that wasn’t enough to build the kind of dawn colour I wanted. So I kept the composition tighter and worked with what I had.
For that morning’s image, I set up my Canon 6D and centred the hotel across the lake. It was a straightforward composition, symmetrical and clean, and it suited the stillness of the place. The 6D is a camera I still enjoy using in low light because the dynamic range gives me room to work with the file later.
Timing made a big difference. By the time I was talking about the scene, a slight breeze had started to roughen the water and break the reflection near the edge. The good news was that I had already taken the shot before those ripples appeared. That was a relief, because there wasn’t much else to rescue once the surface went.
From another corner of the lake, the view turns back towards Tre Cime di Lavaredo, or Drei Zinnen in German. Place names shift in this part of the world, and so does the language around them. The mountains, however, speak for themselves.
Later that day, after plenty of driving and wondering whether we’d bring anything worthwhile home, the sky finally delivered. It was one of those evenings that resets your mood in seconds. After several days of blue skies and awkward conditions, the sunset felt like pure reward.
The light in the Italian Dolomites was extraordinary, full of colour and movement. I had wondered whether the location would work at sunset; in that moment, there was no doubt at all. It did. More than that, it gave me one of my favourite moments of the whole Dolomites trip.
That matters because a trip isn’t judged only by the number of good frames. It’s judged by whether the best moments feel earned. This one did. I had spent days working through weather that was pleasant for a holiday and awkward for photography. Then, finally, the sky gave me the kind of drama that turns a good recce into a memorable one.
Another early alarm in the Italian Dolomites followed. I was up around 5am, then on the road for about 45 minutes to reach the base of Tre Cime before dawn. Sunrise was still roughly 15 minutes away when I arrived, and the panorama in front of me was enough to stop me in my tracks.
This was our last full day, so I wanted to see how dawn worked up there. If I was going to bring photographers back, I needed to know what the place gave me before the sun came up, not only after it had already lit the peaks.
One of the easiest mistakes in a place like this is to think the answer is always “go as wide as possible”. I don’t work that way. On that morning, I was around 17mm, but I wasn’t trying to swallow the entire scene. I was looking for shape, separation and a clear structure inside the bigger view.
I focused on a mountain range in front of me and used the lake below, which I believed was Lago di Misurina, as a smaller point of interest within the frame. I also paid attention to where one ridge dropped behind another. Those overlaps matter. If the layers merge into each other, the image loses clarity.
I often carry a small viewing frame, around 17 x 16 cm, to help judge panoramas and tighter crops. It sounds simple because it is simple. I hold it up, move it around, and decide where the scene starts to make sense. From a mountain viewpoint, that little tool helps me avoid photographing too much.
The GoPro never quite picked up what I could see with my eyes, but the rock faces were taking on a delicate pink tone. That is one of the signatures of the Italian Dolomites. When the light hits well, the mountains flush red and pink, both at sunrise and at sunset, and the effect can be beautiful.
My camera for that session was again the 6D, paired with a 28-70mm lens. I didn’t feel any need for a huge telephoto. There was enough flexibility in that focal range to work on tighter details or broader sections of the panorama without changing the feel of the morning.
It was cold enough to make even basic handling clumsy. The air was around minus 5°C and the wind made it feel colder. Yet that discomfort was easy to forget once the light began to build over the peaks.
Later in the day, I planned to look at a few wet-weather options, including waterfalls, before heading back up for the Tre Cime walk in the afternoon.
For the final evening, there was only one place I wanted to be, Tre Cime. It is one of the defining views of the Italian Dolomites, and if you’re in this part of northern Italy, it deserves your time.
What I wanted to test was not only the light, but the practicality. I walked it with my wife because I needed to know whether it was manageable for a group.
Depending on where you begin, it is about a 45-minute walk to reach the kind of view I had in mind. The route isn’t especially hard, and much of it is fairly flat. For photography workshop planning, that matters almost as much as the scenery. A brilliant location loses value if the access is too punishing for most people.
There had been a little snowfall around, but not enough to make it a problem. Of course, that can change, and mountain conditions always need respect. Still, on this visit, the path felt reasonable, and the reward at the end was as strong as I had hoped.
Tre Cime has presence. The shape is unmistakable, the setting is dramatic, and the walk gives you time to watch the scene open up. Some mountain locations reveal themselves all at once. This one builds, which is part of why it works so well.
On the last morning of the trip in the Italian Dolomites, I drove to a viewpoint above Cortina d’Ampezzo. Dawn had already moved through by the time I was talking about it, but I had caught a lovely pink, rose-coloured sky and came away pleased with what I had.
The view over the town, backed by autumn colour and mountains, seemed made for panoramas. Some places ask for a single frame. This one asked for width.
The same framing tool came out again. I held it up and moved it across the scene, looking for where the panorama began and ended with purpose. That simple process helps me decide whether I want a broad sweep, a tighter section, or something between the two.
It also stops me from assuming every grand viewpoint needs the same treatment. A panorama should feel intentional. It should not be wide simply because the scene is big.
Cortina gave me a fitting final image for the trip. The town sat neatly below, the autumn tones softened the lower part of the frame, and the mountain backdrop tied it all together. After the cold starts, the long drives, and the search for workable workshop locations, it felt like a calm and satisfying way to finish.
This second part of my Italian Dolomites recce reminded me that mountain photography is often a test of patience more than gear. Some mornings gave me very little. Others gave me exactly the sort of light that keeps me coming back.
What stayed with me most was the mix of challenge and possibility. The Italian Dolomites offered reflections that vanished in the wind, passes that worked at several focal lengths, and peaks that glowed when the light finally arrived. That balance is what makes the place so special, and it’s why I left with a much clearer idea of what future trips here could become.
