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Every autumn, as the first chill settles and the vibrant leaves signal the season's change, I—Blain Harasymiw—feel a sense of excitement that never fades: it is time for my annual Essence of Autumn group photo workshop—a cross-country photography journey. Our route starts in Tokyo, and we journey mainly along pilgrimage routes through 10 prefectures. This journey begins in late October and stretches into November, and after a short break, I lead several private workshops through mid-December. Even after nearly three decades of exploring these landscapes, each preparation feels like embarking on a brand-new adventure. Currently, my pre-workshop scouting has brought me back to Yamagata—a region whose gentle hills, winding roads, and hidden valleys have become my creative home this week. No matter how well I know these places, the promise of discovery and connection always calls me back.

Yamagata weaves together quiet beauty and subtle drama—its rural hamlets and mist-veiled valleys offering inspiration that never runs dry. No matter my experience, each year brings new challenges, new surprises, and new stories waiting to be captured. The summer just past was especially harsh: torrential rains battered the region, causing landslides and closing many of the narrow roads that thread through the countryside. This July, I spent two weeks leading private camping and birding workshops in the region, and we had to pack up a day early as a typhoon changed direction and approached us fast. By checking daily weather charts, I had the insight to get my clients on a flight a day early. I got myself and my assistant home, and the very next day thousands of travellers were stranded, sleeping on airport furniture and floors; Haneda and Narita airports handed out food, sleeping bags, and mats, with cancelled planes and trains that took a few days to clear. Knock on wood for weather maps and scouting. 

As I mapped out this year’s journey, I knew that safety had to come first, so I set out to double-check every road and hillside—not just for my own peace of mind, but to ensure that my group’s adventure would be as rewarding as it is safe. These past days, I have wandered through the countryside, discovering anew the tiny hamlets that have lingered in my imagination for years. Some of these villages are the ones I always enjoy sharing with my workshop participants—hidden gems where tradition endures, and life moves with a steady, patient rhythm. After all this careful scouting, I am relieved and thrilled to say the route is open—our photographic journey can continue, and Yamagata is ready to reveal its wonders once more. Even knowing we only spend a day or two in Yamagata. 

One of the most moving moments in my scouting this year was visiting a village where it feels as if time itself has paused. Here, rice is still harvested traditionally: for about a month, the community gathers to cut the rice and stand it on single wooden stakes, each bundle arranged with patient hands. The fields become a tapestry of golden sculptures—each stalk a testament to generations of skill and care. This technique, known as the “single vertical pole” or conical bundle stacking, sheds rain well and has an extremely low footprint in wet fields, but it is labour-intensive and limited to small-scale yields. Witnessing and photographing this living tradition was a rare privilege—one that filled me with gratitude and awe.

Yet, autumn in Japan is about so much more than golden rice fields. By the time our group sets out—late October into November—most of Japan will have finished harvesting rice, leaving a transformed landscape. The fields may no longer glow gold, but new growth will likely reveal new beauty. If rain graces the region, the paddies become shimmering mirrors, reflecting pools of sky and fiery mountainsides—an invitation for golden hour photography, especially in the undulating hills filled with colours: mostly Japanese maples dressed in reds, yellows, and yellow-oranges, all dressed in their best autumn colours. I always remind my group that the real magic of autumn here isn’t just the mild weather, but the wondrous blend of Japanese culture and shinrin-yoku, the hamlet's inner rhythm, and the pilgrimage we have made. In the golden hour, the elements by the rice terraces conspire to set the mountains ablaze in crimson and gold, the sky a lovely blue, and a cloud or two are always welcome, especially for the landscape photographer. 

This year, Summer has lingered, and autumn is running about 5 days behind. But there is a quiet reassurance in knowing that Japan’s legendary autumn leaves are shaped by far more than the weather. The changing colours respond to a symphony of environmental cues—shortening days, cooler nights, and the ancient cycles of the trees. As I stand on the threshold of another workshop, I am filled with anticipation: not only for the landscapes, but for the chance to share the untold stories, traditions, and timeless spirit of authentic Japan with my group. Photography workshops, after all, are a journey of the senses—a way to immerse yourself in a place so deeply that its beauty, its spirit, and its memories travel home with you, vivid as autumn’s colours.

Autumn 2027 and 2028 waitlist only; or contact us about private photo workshops.
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