Photographing the colorful mixed herd of The Prairie, Terschelling
53.391636 , 5.3081789
Terschelling, 2 — 7 March 2026
It was a Monday afternoon, May 2nd 2026, when I stepped off the ferry in West-Terschelling and picked up my bicycle at Zeelen. They took my luggage on ahead. I rode the dyke road south with only a camera bag, the sea wind cold against my face, the island to my left and the sea on the right. After 20 minutes I arrived and I said hello to Marleen and Anne. Marleen drew me a small map , showing where the herd was wintering in the dunes this year. I went to find them as soon as I could.
There were a lot of new horses. Some horse came over to say hello first. New Faces I had to learn. And then the ones I already knew came drifting in too, the way they do when they decide you are okay. It was a sunny day. The light was clear and low and the air was bright with cold, and I made detail frames of ears and eyes and manes and moss and noses until it got to dark to photograph I rode back through the.
The week settled into its own rhythm after that. Sun on Tuesday, the kind of sun that makes the horses lazy. Three geldings were asleep in a small dune hollow, white Ásti, silver dapple Drengur, a dun Baldur, Prins came up curious to meet me. The summer-black with the bleached mane gave a long, theatrical yawn show. Tákn who had wanted nothing to do with me the day before, came over to check me out. I love how the colours of the herd match with the colours of the landscape.
Wednesday I was up early, to be there before sunrise. Crocuses along the path, frost on the heather, the dawn chorus loud in the woods. When I walked into their winter grazing area from my bicycle, the herd was standing on top of a dune with the sun behind them and a line of geese crossing the sky above. I am so lucky to get to witness moments like that.
I worked through the session trying different things, never sure which would work, just playing with different ideas. By the end of the morning, most of the group had folded themselves into a dune hollow to sleep, and the black Gypsy horse stood apart from them on the highest point.
Thursday morning was misty and cold. I had ideas about which horses I wanted to photograph, but the horses had other ideas. The ones who do not feel like it move away. The ones who come, come. Víkur came to say hello. So did Drengur, Goði, Ásti, Baldur, Friður, Eska, Prins and Mímir. Friða arrived, intrigued by my camera bag. I stopped when the light got harsher, and walked back to my bicycle.
Friday I decided to photograph in the morning and evening. I forgot to make notes. Some days don't need to be written down to be remembered.
Saturday the beautiful sunny days were over, as if the island knew it was time for me to go home. It was dreary and foggy. I packed and cleaned and put my bag at the road for Zeelen to collect, I rode back along the sea dyke towards West, enjoying the birds, the view, the sounds of the island, photographing geese in the polder and oystercatchers along the dyke.
What stays with me is not the list of horses or the route on the map. It is the way the herd and the island calm me down again after time away, slow me down and clear my head. The light did what it did. The weather changed. The horses decided the tempo each time, and who would come close.
Back at the house Marleen and Anne were there with tea, and we talked about books, nature, birds, photography, the herd and ideas slowly turning into things. They have been letting me into their world and their horses' world for years now, and I never take that for granted. Their trust is the reason any of these images exist.Thank you!
