I Didn't Know Anything And That's Why It Worked.
as always, the full gallery is at the bottom, so skip there if you don’t care about the words
The first time I pointed a camera at a surfer, I didn't know his name.
I didn't know if he was good or bad. I didn't know what the wave was called, whether it was a point break or a beach break, or what the difference even meant. I couldn't have named a single professional surfer if you'd asked me. I didn't know the WSL existed.
What I knew was this: I wanted to be at the beach and I enjoyed taking photos.
The ocean has a way of making you feel like you belong there before you've earned it. The light does something in the late afternoon — it turns everything amber and slow, and even on a mediocre day with average surf and no one watching, it looks like a photograph. I showed up with a camera and no idea what I was doing, and the place just absorbed me.
I was too shy to ask anyone for anything. I didn't introduce myself to surfers, didn't explain what I was shooting or why, didn't pitch anything to anyone. I just showed up, walked to the water, and made pictures.
Every single day.
Not because I was disciplined or because I had a plan. I showed up every day because it made me happy in a way I didn't have language for yet. The beach didn't matter — I would have been just as content at a crummy stretch of shore with knee-high waves as a day at Mavericks in Half Moon Bay. The surfer didn't matter. The wave, famous or not, didn't matter.
What mattered was the feeling of paying attention to something beautiful and trying to hold onto it.
That's what the camera gave me in those early months. Not a career, nor a skill set, nor a brand on my client list.
Just a reason to show up and enjoy the beauty.
Here’s What Lives In My Gear Bag:
Sony a7r4; my work horse
Sony a7s3; mostly for video work like solo-filmmaking documentary
Tamron 16-30; probably my favorite lens right now
Tamron 28-75; I think this is the best all around focal length
Tamron 70-180; I don’t use this a ton, but it’s a great lens
Looking back at the frames from that first year, what strikes me most is how editorial they are — not in a deliberate way, but in the way that happens when you're too inexperienced to think commercially. I wasn't thinking about what a client would want. I wasn't thinking about licensing or usage rights or whether the image was "on brand." I was just trying to make something that felt true to what I was seeing.
It turns out that instinct — shooting like a storyteller before you know you're a storyteller — becomes the foundation of everything else.
My career as a commercial lifestyle and photographer came later. The clients, the assignments, visiting all seven continents for work. All of it came later. But, the approach to most of my work was built in Santa Cruz, in the water or standing on the cliff, on days when nobody was watching and nothing was at stake.
I didn't know anything starting out. Not in a tongue-in-cheek way — I mean I genuinely knew nothing about photography, filmmaking, writing, making money, or even who I was supposed to be talking to.
But I knew what brought me joy.
And that, it turns out, was enough to start.
Keep scratching the creative itch. You never know where it leads.
PS thank you for reading this. If you have enjoyed this journal entry and have something to say, send me an email to say hey: dj@dalton-johnson.com
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Photo Gallery
About Dalton:
Dalton Johnson is a photographer, direcot, and writer (award-winning at all three) based in South Lake Tahoe, CA.
Over the last 10 years, Dalton’s creative work has taken him to every continent, above the arctic circle, and below the antarctic circle.
