The Day We Went Looking for Narnia (and Found Way More Than We Bargained For)

Let me preface this by saying:
Yes, this is a real story.
Yes, this happened in broad daylight.
Yes, we had our cameras rolling.

You already know what’s coming.
If you are new around here — hi, welcome — I regret to inform you that this story is 100% true.
I really wish it wasn’t. I deeply wish it wasn’t.

Let’s rewind.

This past week, Matthew and I took the day off from emails, editing, and the black hole that is our shared photos folder, and went locating scouting for our future engagement and bridal sessions.

Because here’s the thing — if you’ve ever tried finding a not-overdone, not-basic, not-on-every-other-wedding-photographer’s-blog spot in downtown Denver… you know it’s like trying to find a Trader Joe’s parking spot at 5pm on a Sunday. (If you’ve been around here long, you know we’re allergic to cliché.)

So we went on a mission: Build our own location list. Handpicked. Secret-sauce style. A mix of romance, edge, character, and not already the backdrop of someone’s senior photos from 2013. We wanted corners that whispered instead of shouted. Light that told stories. Textures that felt like silk and stone—pun very much intended.

Naturally, I had my camera. Matthew brought his gimbal for video.
We looked like full-on YouTubers trying to start a couples channel but with more camera gear and less manufactured drama.
At every spot, we’d take turns photographing and filming each other — testing lighting, angles, composition — dialing it all in for the real sessions coming up this season. (Side note: if anyone saw two adults dramatically backlit in parks all over town while the other rolled backwards filming like we were directing a Marvel movie… yes, that was us but also no it wasn’t.)

And then… we found it.

Tucked in the middle of the city — a small staircase in a downtown park, completely unassuming at first glance, but from the right angle?
It looked like Narnia.
I’m talking stone steps, vines curling around iron railings, golden hour streaming through the trees. I was already planning how I’d caption the Instagram reel.

So I sit down on the staircase. Matthew takes video. The light? Chef’s kiss.
Then it’s my turn to shoot. We switch places, and I back up to frame him… just trying to find the shot.

And that’s when I see it.

To my right.
The man on the bench.

Let me set the stage for you.. Middle-aged guy, leaning up against the bench facing the wall of the steps seemingly admiring the trees that lined the wall of the staircase. Totally chill. Matthew and I had clocked him earlier as we walked up—just a dude vibing in the park. We had the unspoken “you do your thing, we’ll do ours” pact that city park goers all silently agree to. We weren’t in his space. He wasn’t in ours. Mutual peace.  We weren’t bothering him. He wasn’t bothering us. It was a peaceful coexistence.

Until it wasn’t.

Somewhere between “Wow, this lighting is insane” and “Move a little to the right,” things escalated on his end. Adult things.

Because now…
His pants are pulled down.
His hands are… full of himself.
And he is very much in the middle of what we’ll delicately call “an adult solo activity.”

I freeze.

There are families nearby. Children. Elderly folks on their lunch break.
And me, holding my camera, just trying to get a dreamy bridal light test shot of my husband.

I do what I can only describe as the most panicked and oddly calm set of whispered stage directions I’ve ever given.

“Okay babe, step forward.”
“Keep coming… yep, one more… okay, just keep coming.”

At this point, he’s fully out of the frame, the light is trash, and I’m sacrificing all my artistic integrity just to get him away from the crime scene.

He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my touch. I can feel his internal monologue going, Does she even know what she’s doing anymore?

He reaches me, safely away from the man, and I lean in and tell him what I saw.
He looks down, sighs, and goes, “Ah. Got it.”
Like it’s just another Tuesday.

(And honestly, in downtown Denver? It is.)

But then — and here’s the kicker — we realize we left our tripod.

ON. THE. STAIRS.

Naturally, Matthew — being 6’3″, broad-shouldered, and less likely to be traumatized for life — volunteers to go get it.
He walks over, cool as a cucumber. The man doesn’t stop. In fact, he starts shouting about the size of his manhood. Loudly. Proudly. Poetically? I don’t know. I had willed my hearing into the void and had stopped listening.

Matthew returns victorious, holding the tripod like Excalibur, and we leave.

Now, at this point, any normal person might call it a day.
But we’re not normal.
We’re photographers.
And photographers, as a species, are trained to ignore discomfort if it means the light is good and the background is clean.

So we explore a different part of the park.
We find a few more spots.
We laugh.
I, personally, keep one eye on the bench man for the next 45 minutes like I’m the world’s worst park ranger.

And now, dear reader, this story has been passed on to you — partly as a warning, partly as a bonding moment, mostly as proof that even in the weirdest, most unexpected moments, there’s still magic to be found (just… maybe a few yards away).

If nothing else, you now know:

1. We are thorough location scouts.

2. We are willing to risk our mental wellbeing for the perfect shot.

3. If your engagement photos end up in a park near downtown, just know we’ve vetted the area thoroughly (and are keeping one eye open at all times).

We are releasing a reel of our adventures, there will be no rated-R content included but if you want to get the vibe of the day and the park where I almost suffered a heart attack, you can watch it later this week.

As always, we do it for the plot.
And for the lighting.
And for you.

With love,
Alexandra (and Matthew, the Tripod Hero)