There's no driving in Zermatt. And while you can book an electric taxi, at 6:30 a.m., it's a gamble. The only way to catch the first mountain train — the one the workers take before dawn — is to hoof it.
That morning, we were already behind.
The kids were slow to rally. I was hustling us all through the cold dark streets when my service dog stopped to pee — right on a trash can at the train station. Of course I had nothing to clean it with. The conductor was waving us in, the doors already closing. My son darted to a coffee stand, grabbed a napkin, and did a quick cleanup. We made it on, barely, out of breath and slightly mortified.
We reached the summit just before sunrise. The light hadn't broken yet, and honestly, I wasn't sure if all the chaos had been worth it.
Then the sun crested. The Alps lit up like fire. The Matterhorn stood like a cathedral above it all.
I got this shot on the way back down, when the light kissed the last snow lines just right. I had seconds. I handed off the dog, wrapped my jacket over my head to block the glare, and fired.
The result? Photographer of the Year, Noir 2024. And one of my most hard-won, unforgettable frames.
Because sometimes, the chaos is the process.
— Sherry (jacket over the head, shutter down)