Mountains are calling & I must go! Let’s wander where the Wi-Fi is weak & the trails are steep.
Adventure awaits!
Jason Roberts is a photographer who threw himself back into the art like a man escaping a burning building. No plan, no roadmap, just a camera and a hunger for something real. Oregon is his stomping ground: mountains that bleed into the sky, rivers that rage like drunk gods, and ghost towns crumbling under the weight of time. That’s where his lens points, not at the polished, the staged, or the safe, but at the raw nerve of the world.
Roberts walked away from photography once, swallowed by the static of daily life, but he came back swinging. The camera became his weapon and salvation, a way to wrestle order from chaos and bring back proof that the wild is still out there kicking. Every shot is a field report: lightning storms stitched over the Three Sisters, deer skulls strung up in hunting camps, forests whispering secrets in the dark.
Through Nerdy Viking Photography, Roberts keeps driving down back roads, chasing storms, and crawling into the forgotten corners of the Pacific Northwest. His work is part survival note, part love letter, part battle cry. A reminder that beauty isn’t gentle, it’s feral, and you have to step off the map to find it.
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Fear, Loathing, and Painted Dust: A Mad Run Through Oregon’s Forgotten Towns and Wounded Hills
New YouTube video drop! Shaniko—the ghost town that time abandoned but the desert wind still worships.Antelope—where cults and cowboys left scars that still itch in the dry air.Sisters—three volcanic giants staring down humanity like they know our endgame.The Pacific Crest Trail—an artery for lunatics and pilgrims dragging their bones north to nowhere.Painted Hills—like God spilled… Read more
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Fear and Loathing in Sisters: The Thistle
We were somewhere around Sisters, Oregon, on the edge of the goddamn desert, a thistle was holding his ground. Purple spikes shimmering like radioactive fireworks, vibrating in the dry heat, and then the bee. Christ, the size of it. Black and yellow like a tiny outlaw in a fur coat, wings rattling like broken helicopter… Read more
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Guilty. Always guilty.
Astoria, Oregon…. A town that smells like old beer, river fog, and the burnt-out dreams of longshoremen. The pigeons know this better than anyone. You can see it in their beady little eyes, hunkered down on the power lines like some kind of feathery jury waiting to deliver the verdict. Guilty. Always guilty. Three of… Read more
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Volcanic Violence Frozen in Time
Cannon Beach at sunset, the edge of Oregon’s madness. Haystack Rock loomed in front of us like a monolithic god, a chunk of volcanic violence frozen in time and thrown into the sea just to remind us how small we really are. My wife and I stood on the sand, battered by salt air and… Read more
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The Cannon
Christ, Cannon Beach wasn’t ready for this kind of invasion. Tourists stumbling around with saltwater taffy in their teeth, kids screaming about sandcastles, dogs dragging their owners into the surf like half-mad lifeboats and then this. The locals of the forest, the real kings of the Northwest, standing in the middle of town like they… Read more
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Part 8: Santiam Pass & the Pacific Crest Trail The Long Road Out
Every trip has an ending, but some don’t let you go clean. Ours ended at Santiam Pass, high in the Cascades, where the mountains crowd together like conspirators and the clouds roll low with menace. By then, we were running on fumes road dust in our teeth, cameras heavy with ghosts, and minds stretched thin… Read more
Nerdy Viking Photography 