Zermatt runs on foot, rail, and tiny electric vehicles. But at 6:30 a.m., counting on an electric taxi is a gamble. The only reliable 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)