Some places tug at your heart the moment you see them, and for me, the Dolomites are exactly that. From the very first visit, those jagged peaks and ever-changing skies left me speechless, and I knew I had to return. This article is not just about mountains and light, but about the little adventures, the missteps, and the unforgettable moments that shaped a four-day photography journey with friends. Come along as I share how the Dolomits revealed their magic through my lens, one sunrise and one surprise at a time.
Why I Keep Returning to the Dolomites
If you are a photographer, you know the pull of mountains. They call you back again and again, no matter how many times you visit. That is exactly what happened to me. My first encounter with the Dolomites was last year, and honestly, I was hooked right away. Those rocky peaks had a way of whispering: “Come back.” So, I did. More than once.
This year’s trip was a bit different. No big workshop with a guide, no crowd of photographers snapping away in the same direction. Just three of us, planning everything ourselves. It felt a little like stepping into unknown territory, but in the best way possible. The kind where you’re excited, nervous, and ready for a bit of adventure all at once. We left at six in the evening on a Sunday, fueled by anticipation and far too much coffee, aiming to capture our first sunrise at Passo Giau.
Now, if you’ve ever tried to plan mountain photography around weather forecasts, you know how unreliable they can be. Rainy, sunny, cloudy, foggy—they promised us a bit of everything. I’d be lying if I said my nerves didn’t kick in. Yet luck was with us. Each day, at each spot, we got the kind of light photographers dream about.
Our preparation was thorough. We scouted locations using apps like Photohound, Google Maps, and PhotoPills, while also keeping a few places in mind from earlier visits. With only four days to pack everything in, planning was essential. Accommodation was another balancing act. Cortina d’Ampezzo was out of our budget, so we settled for San Vito di Cadore, conveniently nestled between most of our chosen locations.
Chasing the First Light at Passo Giau
There is something magical about a mountain sunrise. The first day greeted us at Passo Giau, where a cloudless sky opened to a soft, misty dawn. As the sun rose, the fog lifted and the mountain faces glowed in a deep, reddish-orange light. Honestly, it felt as if the peaks themselves had come alive for those few moments.
We picked a spot with a clear view of the rising sun touching the rocky slopes. Watching the colors shift from pale gold to fiery red, I couldn’t stop clicking the shutter. I even set up a time-lapse to capture how the fog retreated as the morning grew stronger. It was one of those mornings when you know the lack of sleep and the long drive were worth it.
If you are ever there, linger a bit. The area is dotted with countless vantage points, each offering a different perspective. For me, that morning was a gift.
Enrosadira - pink and red glow on the rocks
When the first light of dawn or the last glow of sunset touches the Dolomites, the mountains seem to catch fire. This breathtaking spectacle, known as the Enrosadira phenomenon, paints the jagged peaks in shades of pink, orange, and deep red, almost as if the stone itself were alive. It is not just a trick of the atmosphere but a harmony between sunlight and the unique composition of these rocks, a moment when geology and light embrace in pure poetry.
The Dolomites are not ordinary mountains. Their backbone is made of dolomite rock, a carbonate stone rich in calcium and magnesium that reflects light differently than common limestone. As the sun lowers, its angle softens, and this mineral surface transforms the cold gray of daylight into warm, glowing colors. Even the smallest trace minerals, like iron oxides hidden deep in the rock, rise to the surface of the spectacle, weaving in golden and reddish hues that give the mountains their dramatic glow.
What unfolds before your eyes is nature’s theater at its finest. The Enrosadira is a fleeting performance, never the same twice, shaped by shifting clouds, the purity of the air, and the mineral secrets locked within the stone. It is a reminder of how science and beauty walk hand in hand: sunlight filtered by the atmosphere, rocks formed millions of years ago, and the perfect timing of dawn or dusk all converge. In those moments, standing before the glowing peaks, you feel both small and infinite, as if the mountains were whispering the timeless story of earth and sky.
The Serpentine Beauty of Snake Road
After our sunrise triumph, the lure of a hot Italian breakfast pulled us to Berghotel Passo Giau. Nothing beats strong coffee and warm pastries when you’ve been standing in the cold with a tripod since dawn. As we sat there, talking through our plans, I couldn’t help but feel grateful that the Dolomits were already giving us so much.
Not far from the hotel lies a gem you might miss unless you plan. The serpentine road leading to the pass is a photographer’s dream—seen from above, it slithers like a living snake across the landscape. With the drone buzzing above, we framed shot after shot of those twisting curves.
We hoped for a red or yellow car to drive into our scene, giving the perfect contrast. Did we get one? Of course not. Apparently, no one wanted to be helpful that morning. After waiting far longer than we’d like to admit, we gave up and accepted the road as it was. Even without that splash of color, the aerial photos were stunning. Sometimes you have to laugh at the details you can’t control.
Unexpected Encounters at Passo Falzarego
Next on our list was Cinque Torri, but fear of heights sabotaged our plan. One of our group simply refused to take the cable car up. I get it, not everyone finds dangling above the earth with nothing but a steel cable reassuring. So instead, we stayed below near Passo Falzarego.
And you know what? It turned out to be wonderful. The meadow near the parking lot was dotted with autumn crocuses, a stream trickled by, and a tiny cottage leaned comfortably against the hillside. We set up tripods and even made a time-lapse of the clouds drifting like smoke around the peaks.
Then came the real surprise. Out of nowhere, a marmot popped its head out of a burrow and stared right at us. Imagine a chubby, curious little creature checking on these strange humans with all their gear. I had to laugh, and of course, we grabbed the opportunity for a few quick shots. It was a reminder that sometimes the best photographs come when your original plan falls apart.
Sunset Dreams Back at Passo Giau in the Dolomites
We returned to Passo Giau for sunset, hoping to capture that famous glow on Ra Gusela. But nature had other ideas. The peak was completely hidden in fog, refusing to show us even a hint of its dramatic face. I sighed, remembering my last visit when it had rained too.
But then, behind us, magic happened. The valley lit up with a dramatic display of light as the sun set. We spun our cameras around, and suddenly the fog didn’t matter anymore. The sky turned fiery, and the landscape became a living painting. Sleep-deprived, hungry, and exhausted as we were, none of us felt tired in that moment. That’s what photographers call flow-experience.
Battling Storms and Finding Magic at Tre Cime in the Dolomites
Tre Cime is iconic, and photographing it is like a rite of passage. But it comes with rules. You have to book your parking online in advance, as tickets aren’t sold at the barrier near Lake Antorno. We bought two tickets so we could stay overnight, shooting the sunset, Milky Way, and sunrise.
The hike from Auronzo refuge to the Dreizinnen hut usually takes about an hour and a half, but for us, it stretched to four hours. Why? Because every five minutes, we stopped to photograph something. Wildflowers, dramatic skies, random rocks that seemed too beautiful to pass by—it all begged for attention.
Then came the storm when we reached the Dreizinnen hut. Hail, heavy rain, the whole dramatic package. Some of us wanted to head back, but I insisted we wait. Mountains are moody, and the weather here changes fast. My gamble paid off. Just as the sun set, the clouds broke, revealing an orange glow across the peaks. For three glorious minutes, the world turned golden. Three minutes, but unforgettable.
A Journey Interrupted at Sorapis Lake in the Dolomites
Lake Sorapis had been on our wish list. Google Maps said it was an hour’s walk. The local signs disagreed, and oh, they were right. After two hours of climbing steep, muddy paths with backpacks weighing 15 to 20 kilograms, we were still far from the lake. Exhaustion won. Some in our group turned back, and honestly, I wasn’t far behind.
By the time we trudged back, we were drained. Lying on the meadow grass near the parking lot felt like paradise. Sometimes you have to accept defeat, laugh at the bad info, and move on. We decided to cut our losses and head for San Giovanni church in time for sunset.
Sunset at the Church of San Giovanni in the Dolomites
Few places combine architecture and nature so harmoniously as San Giovanni church. Nestled beneath towering peaks, it feels like a scene straight from a fairytale. We arrived just in time for golden light. The mountains glowed behind the church, the kind of glow that makes you forget about tractors. Yes, there was a tractor parked right in front of the church. Annoying? Absolutely. Photoshop helped later, but standing there in the moment, it hardly mattered.
Golden Farewell at Lago di Braies in the Dolomites
Our last stop was Lago di Braies, a lake famous for its mirror-like reflections. On my last visit, it had been rainy and gray, but this time the weather blessed us with a flawless sunrise. The peaks around the lake lit up, their colors mirrored perfectly on the calm water.
The scene was lively too. Brides in white gowns posed on boats, photographers darted around, and drones buzzed overhead. I joined in, of course, capturing stills, flying the drone, and shooting a time-lapse of boats drifting lazily from one side to the other.
Before leaving, I discovered the drone rules here are not as strict as they seem. While part of the shore is private, much of the lake is not. With respect and care, flying is still possible. After breakfast, we packed up and drove back to Budapest, tired but incredibly fulfilled.
Closing Thoughts on the Dolomites
Traveling through these peaks is more than just taking photos. It is about chasing light, embracing the unexpected, and laughing at the little setbacks. Every day brings surprises, from marmots to surprise storms, from endless climbs to magical sunsets.
The Dolomits taught me once again that the best pictures are not always the ones you plan. They are the ones that arrive when you are open, patient, and willing to let the mountains set the rules. And as I drove home, I already knew: I will be back.
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