A Minnesota native deeply moved by nature, I must have been in high school when I had the unforgettable opportunity to work with renowned National Geographic photographer Jim Brandenburg.
On a frigid winter night, we ventured into the untouched wilderness near Ely, Minnesota. The cold was biting and the silence — vast and consuming.
An audio technician placed microphones on the frozen lake, and we listened in awe as the ice spoke its own language — moaning, shifting, cracking — alive beneath our feet. It was nature’s raw symphony, both eerie and mesmerizing.
When the ice no longer spoke, Jim did. His howls — raw and resonant — rolled through the forest. The wolves returned his call — low, strong and bone-deep. Eyes began to appear — glinting, alert and drawn toward the source of the call.
Jim didn’t move. Camera in hand, he stood steady, capturing their presence — lit only by the silver glow of the moon.
His Sprinter van sat quietly at our backs, tricked out and stoic beneath a blanket of snow. A quiet sentinel. A second home. A chapter of his journey — long before van life became a badge for wanderlust.
Later, we gathered in his house — a place that breathed. Wide open, still, anchored in the honest weight of wood and stone. We circled a low Japanese table sipping hot tea. Stories unfolding — his voice a thread winding through years and landscapes, the world etched through his lens. The space, like the man himself, was quiet but powerful — full of intention and reverence for the earth.
Thank you, Jim, for opening a door into wildness that night and years beyond. For showing us that stillness speaks. And for reminding me that some of the most profound moments are found far from the noise — under the stars, on frozen lakes, in the company of the wild.
Frakes shared this message with the Star Herald: “I had the blessed opportunity to meet Jim through my Luverne family — my grandmother, Marie Frakes, a longtime resident, as well as my father, aunt, and uncle. Jim was so gracious to take me under his wing at the time thanks to the small-town connection. … [this is] a community-based tribute to the quiet grace and presence Jim carried into the wild. An opportunity for Luverne, a town he loved so dearly to get a glimpse of the quiet magic of being on a shoot with him — of witnessing the way he moved through nature with reverence, patience, and purpose.”
