Greg & John

Greg and John pulled off something most weddings spend a fortune chasing and never quite land — a day that felt completely like them. Ten Peaks lives mid-mountain at Crested Butte, accessible only by the Silver Queen Express, and that ten-minute chairlift ride sets the rhythm for everything after. By the time we unloaded at the lodge, the wedding had already started — guests in green and forest tones blending into the aspens, Mt. Crested Butte sitting right behind the deck, no parking lot in any frame. Greg and John knew exactly what they wanted up there and they let the mountain do the rest of the work.

The thing I'll always remember about photographing these two is how easy they made it look. Their dog showed up to the ceremony in a green bowtie, vows happened on a deck pitched straight into the Elks, dinner moved into a tent with branches woven across the ceiling, and a bluegrass band played on a wood stage outside while the light went purple. Nothing forced, nothing over-staged. Greg and John were just present with each other and with everyone they brought along — and on a wedding day, that's the rarest and best version of the photograph there is.

The Elk Mountains don't look like the rest of Colorado. They're volcanic — sharper, darker, more angular than the granite ranges to the east. Gothic Mountain rises just north of the resort with a near-vertical blade of a north face, and the Paradise Divide ridgeline runs behind it, stacked peak after peak. It's a backdrop that does a lot of work on its own.

Crested Butte earned the "Wildflower Capital of Colorado" designation honestly. Mid-July through early August, the meadows around the valley go technicolor — lupine, paintbrush, columbine, mules ears — and the official Wildflower Festival runs right through that window. The town itself is a preserved 19th-century mining settlement, population under 1,500, colorful Victorian storefronts down Elk Avenue, no chain signage cluttering up the skyline.

The wedding season here is narrow and worth the narrowness. Late July through late September is the sweet spot — wildflowers into the aspens turning gold. At roughly 9,500 feet, the light is different. Thinner atmosphere, less haze, cleaner shadows. Colors hold longer into the evening. You feel it on camera before you can explain why.

Ten Peaks Lodge sits mid-mountain on Crested Butte Mountain Resort, and getting there is already part of the day. Guests load the Silver Queen Express at the base area and ride up — about ten minutes, roughly 1,800 vertical feet, with the Elk Mountains opening up behind them the higher the chairlift climbs. By the time they unload at the lodge, they've already seen more of the range than most people see in a week.

The space itself is heavy timber and stone — big beams overhead, a working fireplace, long windows that pull the mountains into the room whether you want them there or not. The wraparound deck faces directly into the Elks, no parking lots or rooftops in the frame, just ridgeline. Ceremonies happen out there. Dinner and dancing move inside when the temperature drops after sunset, which it always does at this elevation.

It handles larger weddings — around 150 guests — without feeling like a ballroom pretending to be a mountain. As a photographer, the pull is the late light. Sun drops behind the ridge and the whole deck goes soft and directional for a solid forty minutes before blue hour.