Celine & Carl in Canada.

Living in this transient mountain town, we are no longer strangers to saying goodbye to friends. In the short time we have been here, nearly every new friend we have made, we have also farewelled. However, having to drop my sister and brother off at the airport a month ago today opened up a well of homesickness that, up until then, I had been good at avoiding. Their departure coincided with the transition between fall and winter; the start of a slower season, of strange grey weather days, of cold and snow. I had the summer to keep busy; hours of daylight to spend outdoors. Sitting here now, as the festive season approaches and people get ready to spend time with their families, I can't help but feel glum at the thought of our first orphan's Christmas, despite the more exciting prospect of our first white Christmas, our first real tree, and perhaps making our first successful gingerbread house where the butter in the dough won't melt from the heat before we even get a chance to put it together.

Let me give you a little background to my siblings' visit. I had always known my sister was coming to see me. She forwarded me her flight details, and I began imagining all the places I'd take her and all that we'd see together. “It's a shame Carl won't get to be here too”, I'd said to my family at the time. The time came and, as planned, I flew to Vancouver to meet my sister as her flight arrived, expecting to wait for her plane to land ten minutes after mine. Checking my messages I saw she arrived early, so I called my aunt, who sent my uncle to find me. We chatted on the way to the international terminal and then I saw my aunt and my sister waving at me at a distance. I tried not to walk too fast. I hugged them, and after a pause, my sister said, “I have another present for you”. Confused, I stared at her hands and down at her suitcase. That's when my brother appeared from the pillar he was hiding behind. I had no words, really—only exclamations of disbelief and the involuntary & unexplained tears that came spilling from my eyes (and perhaps no explanation was required). Everyone had been in on the secret for months, even Martin and his family. I was complete, and happy, but already dreading the goodbye I knew was coming. “This means the goodbye will be twice as hard”, I said.

My brother, 21.

21 years ago I sat with my 3-year-old sister in the waiting room of a hospital in Auckland, New Zealand. I would be late going to school if this was going to take a long time, I thought. I fell asleep. Upon waking I panicked, first checking that my sister was still with me. Not knowing how much time had passed, I thought our father had forgotten about us, abandoned us in the hospital while he and my mother had taken our new baby brother home. I proceeded to knock desperately on every door in the maternity ward looking for my parents (I was 6).

Whatever happened next is no longer clear in my memory, but I do know the next few years involved nappy-changing, being mesmerised by how small you were and how you fell asleep in my lap, learning to tell you off effectively, trying to discourage you from throwing things (the side of my forehead will never unlearn the lesson brought about from flying scissors), laughing hysterically at your wit, bewildered at how such a young boy could already be so intelligent and funny. You’ve grown up to be somehow so exceedingly talented at many random things, from ice skating backwards to learning a song on the piano merely by listening to the sound, to skipping stones and being obsessed with wanting to unicycle (unsure how this project is going).

Growing up with a sister with depression, you would sometimes come into my room on a day you somehow knew was a bad one, lie down and just talk to me even if you didn’t understand. You were only 8. It was often the memory of leaving you behind that would prevent me from doing anything incredibly stupid. Your sweet nature remains, and I am lucky you are still unafraid to kiss and hug your sisters goodnight and tell us that you love us.

Your hilarity never fails to send me into belly laughs so deep, I’m surprised I don’t have an 8 pack of abs. Whenever we are all together everything falls into place; I am three parts made whole; and that is how I know for sure, you were always meant to be the final member of our family—the missing piece to complete us. I wish I was there to celebrate all that you are and all that you will be. Happy birthday, mon frère. Until we are reunited again.

A summer & fall in the mountains.

It's going to be hard for me to put into words the depth of my love for the mountains. The unexplained affinity I have for these tall piles of ancient rock and how it is that I'm drawn to them in the first place, as a woman born in an archipelago of 7,000 islands who spent her entire life in countries surrounded by the ocean (amongst zero mountains). During this first summer in Canada I chased after them like they were going to disappear tomorrow, and so, this is what most weekends looked like.

Tent Ridge, Kananaskis.

Every week in summer had me asking the same question: “which trail should I try this weekend?”. Cue messaging all my friends to see who was free to join, and behold, a plan would emerge. Tent Ridge in Kananaskis Country will forever remain one of the best hikes I've ever done. At first, you're taken through the forest before the trail opens up into a lush valley, where the green contrasts with stone and stubborn patches of remaining snow. Look up and ahead and you're surrounded by what's to come: a wall of rock that is the ridge you'll be traversing.

I love trails that have a variety of scenery, some scrambling, and just enough ascending to make you work for it, but not so much that you are simply miserable. On this hike, there are three “peaks” to ascend and descend, providing you worthy points at which you can stop to enjoy the view, admiring the valley below you before you work to make it to the next peak. It was truly rewarding, and I look forward to doing this again next season.

Annie in Canada.

Summer brought us a string of visitors from Australia; one of whom was my dear friend Annie. An incredibly talented photographer, I'd been quietly following Annie's work since she was 16, and even then she was blowing my mind. We were lucky enough to have her stop by and stay with us during her travels around the U.S. & Canada. Having just returned from my trip to the Maldives, Mauritius & Reunion, I was hungry to get back into Canadian life and make the most of the summer—so we packed in as many adventures as we could, camping for a few nights in Banff National Park with our friends, showing her some of my favourite spots and visiting places I also hadn't been before.

It's hard to believe we only met in person in May last year, but our friendship feels as if it's existed all my life. I cherish deep soul connections, meaningful conversations and the ability to be both whimsical and sincere, heartfelt and boisterous, quiet and loud; to be able to look into another just as you look into yourself and know that they too are seeing you as you are. Annie is truly a light that many of us adore, even those that have only met her briefly, and my life is all the better for knowing her. I hope this is only the start of many years of adventures together.

Photos of me by Anwyn Howarth.

Ha Ling Summer Solstice Summit.

The 21st of June marked the summer solstice—the longest day of the year. We decided to summit Ha Ling Peak for sunset. Myself, Martin, three of our friends and two dogs set off at 6:30pm, knowing the sun wouldn't set until close to 11pm. Despite having already summited Ha Ling in March—in harsher conditions—I was still nervous to start so late, knowing that with a group our size we would likely travel slower, not to mention it would get dark below the tree-line well before 11pm.

The weather was grey and foreboding. Despite it being the start of summer, I prepared for every weather condition, making sure I brought layers for the wind gusts when we reached the alpine zone and became more exposed to the elements. The wind and lower temperature at elevation is what makes the summit of any mountain unforgiving, and not something you're likely to sit and enjoy for more than a few minutes unless you're really layered up. It must have been 4ºC at the top of Ha Ling despite it being around 20ºC-25ºC in the valley, but the incoming hail clouds made it feel far more bitter. We found ourselves wishing we had packed gloves after all, shivering from the exposure.

June is still considered shoulder season around these parts—where many trails are still littered with snowy, icy patches and avalanche risks are high as the snowpacks become unstable and come crashing down. The trails on Ha Ling may have been well clear of snow, but the weather certainly tested our preparedness—we got hailed and rained on for the last 1.5 hours of our descent, performing the remainder of our hike in the dark with only the light of our headlamps and lightning. I was thankful we weren't scrambling down in those conditions, and wondered how the people at the top were faring. We made it back to the carpark at around 10:30pm, starving, cold and wet, but elated and somehow ready to do it again—hopefully in better conditions next time.

See below for highlights from the day.

Four lakes in a day.

The week before I left for my trip to the Indian Ocean for LUX* Resorts (more on that soon) was an...interesting one. We moved from our house, our first home in Canmore where we made many a great friend, to a condo deeper into the forests and mountains, further from town, but closer to the wild and the wildlife. A day later, Martin's sister and her boyfriend Andy came to visit, and so, as all good tourists do in the Canadian summer, we took them to Banff & Lake Louise.

First, we visited Moraine Lake—early—to avoid the seas of people that would inevitably arrive. Then we headed over to Lake Louise to do the Lake Agnes Teahouse Trail. Including passing by Mirror Lake, we managed to see four beautiful Canadian lakes in a day. Lake Agnes was still in the process of thawing completely, but that's not so surprising for the start of the season...

6 months into a new life.

This month marks half a year living in Canada. Life is fuller than I could have ever imagined. Full not in the sense that it is chaos, but in the sense that each day feels more whole. Every day feels more and more like coming home to myself. As I adjust to the rhythm of a new life, everything falls into place. The love I have for this country and the people I've met will never leave me.

Our story started in Vancouver, touching down on the 15th January. We drove from Vancouver to Jasper to Canmore in February, encountering many a closed highway (read the full story here) and getting a very quick lesson on driving in the Canadian winter. We moved into a house of 8, with views of the mountain ranges out our kitchen window, and have since become friends & family with the people who have come in and out of our home. Our house of travellers has been inhabited by Germans, Czechs, Australians, Canadians, Kiwis, an American and two dogs.

A moody mountain day at Lake Louise & the Fairview Lookout Trail.

Long weekends always call for extra adventures. Our Easter Saturday was spent amongst the misty mountains in Lake Louise, where the snow is still falling and the powder on the trails is still knee-deep. April is certainly a month of mood swings for the Rockies—we can get sun, rain, and snow in the same day. To say April is “springtime” in Canada is probably a little premature.

Joining us for our moody mountain adventures were Morgan and her fur-babies, Boone & Mala. We took them up the Fairview Lookout—a relatively easy 2km out and back trail, but the descent was certainly difficult without microspikes. The dogs loved playing in the snow, not to mention the rabbit and the squirrel they spotted along the way...

Ha Ling Peak at sunrise, and rising to the self.

I wasn't always an outdoorswoman. It honestly wasn't until I started yoga that my relationship to that which I used to avoid changed—rather than judging myself harshly for not being able to break a “bad” habit, I began to observe the discord at an arm's length, and approach it with a process of enquiry. Why did I seem to be blocked around something I kept telling myself I wanted to do? What excuses was I making? What is it about this person, place, or thing that makes me uncomfortable? What is it telling me about myself? Is it only difficult because I am telling myself it is (I believe it was in Hamlet that Shakespeare wrote, “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”)?

Usually the things we avoid are the things we need the most.

Spring snowfall in Canmore.

This is spring in Canmore. The temperature still hovers anywhere between a low of -25ºC and a high of -11ºC on some days, or a high of 3ºC and a low of -7ºC on other days. I'm more an admirer of weather in the Rockies than I am of weather in Vancouver: give me cold, snow and sun vs. warm, rainy and grey any day. It's been mostly sunny nearly every day we've been here up until this weekend's snowfall: we got about 20cm in one day on Saturday, and it snowed consistently for the whole day.

That morning Martin and I went for a slow walk despite the flurries, on a trail not too far from home. Not more than a few minutes into our walk we found ourselves high enough to get great view of our whole valley town, sitting quietly at the foot of the mountains. We walked by house upon house with huge windows and I imagined what it would be like to live there, seeing the entire town from above, living almost as if one were in the woods. They were definitely causing an ache in my heart that felt as if it could only be soothed if I lived in these dream homes.

I watched as the clouds moved swiftly across the mountains; bright blue sky and sunlight on one side, and dark, thick grey clouds on the other, a sign of the snow about to hit the town in full swing. We walked carefully, slipping as our shoes moved fresh snow off ice. We made it home and sat down with some hot chocolates just in time before the snow started really coming down.

Gastown with Megan (A Hint Of Vanilla).

I count myself extremely lucky to have come across people in my short life that I've instantly connected with. Megan is one of those people. We connected through Porsha, who is one of my long-time uni friends, and Megan's cousin. Creative talent clearly runs in the family, and I could not believe how quickly Megan and I bonded over food, photography, hiking, dogs, and other random topics. We ended up hanging out twice in the same week before I left for Canmore. In the summer, I'm hoping Megan can join me over in the Rockies for some beautiful backcountry adventures.

Megan, much like me, is at a bit of a crossroads in life, having just left her job as a professional pastry chef. She's just started experimenting with her photography, deviating from food and entering the realm of portraiture & adventure photography. I think you'll agree upon looking at her work that she's certainly one to keep an eye on! Head over to Megan's blog & Instagram to check out her work and most likely drool over her beautifully styled food photography & recipes.

Here are some photos from one of our days together, hanging around Gastown despite the forecast for flurries and “freezing rain”. Photos of me were taken by Megan.

Vancouver Snow.

The sound of white. A quick (lest we lose our extremities) adventure down the park to enjoy our Vancouver neighbourhood blanketed in snow—we got 6 days in a row of snowfall, which is unheard of in Vancouver. The locals said they hadn't seen snow in Vancouver (much less in February) in maybe 30 years. I think we were pretty lucky, although I will say that transport/commute becomes a bit of an issue especially in more suburban areas where snowplows aren't regularly cleaning up the streets.

Don't forget to keep an eye on my Instagram/Instagram-story for more regular, real-time updates.

Moments from: Vancouver, British Columbia.

Some highlights from the first two-and-a-half weeks in our new home city of Vancouver. For the first 10 days, we stayed at a lovely Airbnb in Strathcona. It helped us ease into Canadian life and really sink into the rhythm of the city. We took our first week “off”, exploring the neighbourhood together, ignoring our phones, avoiding turning on our laptops, and reclaiming a lot of lost time. The last 8 months leading up to this move felt like were definitely absolute turmoil, with many an unexpected change and challenge, and it took its toll on our relationship. We were not in the best place when we left, and it made us both really question whether we were making the “right” choice.

Upon arriving, we left that stress behind us and took some time to soak in the reality of what we'd done. Together, we had made a conscious choice to leave our life as we knew it behind, and leap into a couple of years of adventure. To live with a bit more intention, observing all the while what works for us and what doesn't; what aligns with us and what doesn't. It's liberating to have been able to do this, but as you can imagine, difficult, and I'm sure this road is paved with more challenges (what would life be without them?).

Next Friday, life changes once again, as we embark on a small road-trip to our new home in the Canadian Rockies. We're excited about the stories we have yet to tell, and the stories we'll walk away with. Keep an eye on my Instagram/Instagram story for updates along the way.

Oh, Canada.

Oh, Canada. The land of “sorry”, Justin Trudeau, maple syrup, ice hockey and fresh alpine air. Home to some of the world's cleanest and greenest cities, and soon, home to us, because next year, Martin & I are waving goodbye to the Land Down Under and saying hello to the Great White North.

We’ll be in Australia until January, but the next few months will fly! Come November, I will be strictly limiting my intake of new freelance work to maximise time with family & friends. Workshops will still be running through December, but I have very few weekend shooting spots left between now and then, so if you wanted to shoot together, now is the time—message me asap to organise. You can write to me at: hello@camillenathania.com.au.

Winter in Byron Bay, July 2016.

When my brother was enjoying spring on the other side of the world in Montréal, I promised him I'd take him to my favourite spots in Byron Bay when he returned to Australia. The advantage of being my own boss is that I don't have to wait for the right weekend to do this—so last Tuesday, in his last week of uni holidays, we ventured down the coast and past the border into beloved Byron Bay. It was an unseasonably warm week even for us in south-east Queensland/northern New South Wales, reaching anywhere between 25ºC-30ºC on most days. Don't let my turtleneck in these photos fool you—I had put it on in the morning thinking it might be quite windy by the water, but I was way too warm in it.

It's often the case that the people we spend the most time with are the people we photograph the least. Not because we don't appreciate or care for their presence, but more because we know we will see them again. With January and my move to Canada with Martin fast-approaching, I can see myself spending more days like this. Leaving more room for spontaneity and the people I love, knowing that it will be a while before I see them again, and taking as many photos as possible of all these everyday moments.

Photos of me below taken by my dear little brother, Carl.

Milk Beach.

During my solo weekend in Sydney I spent an afternoon with my cousin and his friends, bidding farewell to Jon, who was returning to America the next day. We had a little picnic, played guitar, did some yoga, danced and laughed as the sun went down and winter's evening chill set in. I formed a bond instantly with this affectionate, warm and welcoming group of people. It was as if I'd known them all my life. Group situations can be hard for me due to anxiety, so being totally comfortable around a group of people I've never met before means so much to me. I'm happy to say we've continued to stay in touch since, and I'll be seeing them again very soon.

Surry Hills.

Last month I was back in Sydney, but through a series of unfortunate—but actually, fortunate—events I found myself in this big city all on my own. I've been visiting Sydney a few times yearly ever since my sister moved down there, but she ended up having to go to Melbourne during the last weekend I was down, leaving me to explore all on my own.

The Friday I arrived I took myself on a date around Surry Hills. At St. Jude's I enjoyed an omelette, my soy latté and a book I started at the beginning of the year but still haven't finished; after a while, I wandered down to Bourke St. Bakery and got myself a seeded sourdough loaf—yes, the hype over their bread is real, and worth the wait; then I explored Crown St. for hours, letting my curious eyes take everything in. This is how my journey in photography began: shooting whatever piqued my interest, for no reason other than it was interesting. There doesn't always have to be a point, and if shooting anything and everything is still as enjoyable to me as it was a decade ago, well...I guess this is what I'm meant to do. Photography has allowed me to see magic in the most everyday of things, and it's the gift that keeps on giving.

I set myself a challenge that weekend to bring my least used lens—so everything in this post was shot with my 85mm f/1.8. I forgot how enjoyable it was to shoot with a prime (a fixed-length lens, meaning there's no zooming in or out). You're forced to move to adjust your composition and in most cases it asks you to see things in a totally different way. I can't remember the last time I was able to shoot for myself, by myself, but I can't wait to do it all again.

Minyon Falls, New South Wales.

As we drove back to Brisbane, I took Jason and I on a little detour through the Byron hinterland to Minyon Falls. The countryside was incredible at golden hour; it was almost painful to be in the driver's seat instead of window shooting from the passenger's seat, but to be honest, we'd been shooting so much that we were happy to simply enjoy the view. We bopped along to an eclectic mix of songs from The Beach Boys, The Beatles, Maroon 5, Angus & Julia Stone, and at one point I'm pretty sure even the Spice Girls made their way onto the speakers.

I'd never been to Minyon Falls before, so I was also seeing all this with new eyes. I loved looking out across the hinterland and seeing the way the mid-afternoon light fell over the trees. As we craned our bodies over the fencing we could see tiny people at the foot of the falls below us, having picnics and what I'm sure was an all 'round great time. My heart did a little flutter as I imagined accidentally tripping and falling to the rocks below. The 100m drop to the ground was unbelievable (and impossible to do justice through the camera), and I can only imagine the volume of water that would rush over the cliff during the stormy season.

Folk Byron Bay.

On our way out from Byron, Jason and I enjoyed—like, truly enjoyed—lunch at Folk Byron Bay. Owned and run by fellow photographer Maggie Dylan, Folk ticks all my boxes: tasty, nutritious vegetarian food that is consistently well-made; incredible coffee; the great playlist (“old” music, think Beatles and the like); the laid-back vibe; the way the sunlight streams into the space; the thoughtful fit-out, the plants and the carefully chosen decor that helps you feel completely at home.

I never find myself in places that are screaming for attention, but rather I find I am drawn to places that have this softness, this reservedness and this warm, inviting nature that keeps me coming back—quite similar to the very people I seem to gravitate towards as well.