To change how women are seen in action sports, you have to actually understand how they move.

For photographer and filmmaker Brynne Mower, that means putting in the work on both sides of the lens. She’s the living embodiment of the Renaissance Athlete as she refuses to be boxed into single disciplines, and she captures that exact same versatile excellence in the women she shoots.

Whether she’s jumping into a gravel race to understand the athlete’s perspective or hauling a heavy camera pack up to 12,000 feet in the San Juans, she knows that true growth comes from embracing versatility. That multi-passionate approach entirely shifts the energy of her work, especially when she's shooting other women. She knows firsthand that capturing female athletes isn't about asking them to mimic the men; it's about recognizing their distinct edge where softness blends with power.

So, we caught up with the Portland-based creative for our latest Through Their Lens. We talked about shifting the paradigm for women in the outdoors, finding masterpieces in stubbornly gray weather, and the grounded reality of building a career in the mountains.

Who's Brynne? Give us the quick autobiography.

I'm a photographer and filmmaker originally from Durango, CO, now based in Portland, OR. I grew up as a pretty artistic kid, so my life mostly revolved around art and trying to understand the world around me in my own way.

My professional life consists of chasing professional athletes around races, telling lesser-known stories of the athlete life, wandering up into the mountains to shoot for brands, and really just trying to make some type of impact with my work.

My personal life has somewhat inevitably blended with my professional life, as much as I try not to let it. If I go on a mountain bike ride with friends, my camera is most likely with me! I fill my life biking, skiing, spending as much time in the sun as I can, reading and knitting to slow my busy mind down, and spending time with friends. My mind works busy and fast, so I try to find a balance.

You grew up in the Southwest, tried every sport, picked up half a dozen instruments.  When did the camera come into the picture (excuse the pun)?

I love the pun! I played primarily violin, but also tried the electric guitar, the drums, the flute, kind of a smorgasbord of things. Despite growing up in the mountains, I never really tried the classic mountain town things, i.e. biking, climbing, kayaking, etc. That found me later in life.

I feel like I was always noticing small details around me, whether it was textures, vignettes of moments, interactions between people, whatever. The camera naturally came in when I wanted to start remembering those moments, and it just kind of snowballed from there. I started with landscapes, rolled into portraiture, started taking my portraiture into sports, and the rest is history.

At Courier, we exist to champion the "Renaissance Athlete", or the people who refuse to just pick one lane. You came up as an artist before you were an athlete. Can you share a specific story where being a photographer actively set you up as an athlete, or vice versa?

A large part of my athletic drive is to set me up to be physically capable of capturing what I want to capture. When I was just doing portraiture, I didn't have to rely as much on my body to be able to get the shot. Now that I'm having to follow professional athletes or get high up enough into the mountains to shoot skiing, my fitness has to be there. Now, the two things kind of bounce off of each other.

I've been doing some gravel races to show me the other side of the camera, to know how the athletes feel and to help me logistically. On the other hand, I'll have an idea of something I want to photograph that requires getting out there on a bike, so the fitness I've built lets me do that. It all works together!

It's hard to balance being in the moment with capturing it. Tell us about a time you made the conscious choice to put the camera down and just be in your body, or a time you deeply regret not putting it down.

Being a photographer in this field, when you see a beautiful moment, your immediate instinct is to want to capture it; it's really hard not to. The most recent instance I can think of is a bikepacking trip I went on with my boyfriend: we were on this gorgeous loop around some lakes up by Mount Hood, and I brought two of my cameras to photograph and film some things for brands. I focused a lot the first day on setting up my camera and shooting, but it did wear into the time we actually spent on the bike.

We ended the day watching the sunset on the lake, and I actively told myself that "It's okay, I've gotten enough, now I just need to sit in the moment with my best friend." What was great is when I looked back on what I captured, I didn't for a moment regret that I didn't film anymore, I just let those memories live in my head and between us, which goes against every natural instinct I have as a photographer.

Most people scroll past a great action shot and totally forget someone had to actually get there to take it. What is the most physically wrecked you've ever been on a shoot just to get one specific shot?

I was shooting a ski film up in the San Juans past Silverton, CO. I had come from sea level at Portland, OR, and immediately got up around 12,000 feet. We were skinning up into a basin, and I had a lot of heavy camera gear in my pack. I legitimately had to stop every 200 feet and take a long break, which at points eventually led to a few tears. 

I remember asking myself "how stupid I am, why the hell did I voluntarily choose to do this?". Comical to look back on after everything was successfully filmed, but in the moment I was absolutely demolished. I really view doing these kinds of tough things as setting the standard for the next tough thing you do. It gives you perspective of what you can push through and what you're capable of, and it's really quite beautiful.

Movement seems to be the thread running through everything you do. Can you give us an example of a shot you never would have found if you weren't completely redlined, out of breath, or deep in the pain cave yourself?

I have this one shot I took at this big freeride event in the desert where we had to climb up pretty vertical trails to get to the point of being able to spectate. I hadn't gone out with any intention to get any shots, but thought I'd bring my camera along just in case. After climbing for what felt like forever on this pretty narrow and steep spine, I finally got to a spot where I was at eye level with the height the riders reached in the air off the jump. From that came one of my most well-known images, and it was honestly pretty accidental.

You've mentioned before that Portland's famous lack of sunlight forced you to get creative. Tell us about a time that the PNW's stubbornly difficult, grey weather actually handed you a masterpiece.

I feel like a lot of times we as photographers rely on the light or the sun to act as the main performer in the image. Who doesn't love a golden hour shot? In Portland, for much of the year, golden hour doesn't exist. It's a lot like black-and-white photography: when you can't depend on some gorgeous coloring to make an okay shot great, you have to rely on the composition that you put into the moment of getting the shot.

The lack of light makes me look at what I'm physically shooting more: how is the model posed, how do they interact with the environment around them, how can I utilize the texture around them. The list goes on. It's cool! It's made me really look at the world around me a little differently.

You shoot for brands like Wild Rye and Skida that are building specifically for women in the outdoors. Can you share a specific story of a time where being a woman behind the lens, shooting other women, entirely shifted the energy and outcome of a shoot?

I could talk forever on this. I LOVE shooting with women! Any answer I give to this feels like I'm not doing what it feels like to shoot with other women justice. We've all been through the misogyny that exists in the industry, we've all worked with difficult people, we all know what it's like.

When you're shooting with other women, there's just an understanding of what we've had to do to get to where we are. There's no ego, no competitive nature. I've also found women just approach shoots differently: we see the same beautiful moments that someone else might not have seen. It really becomes this beautiful nonverbal conversation and dance that always seems to happen so naturally when it's a room full of creative women.

There is a massive difference between a woman being photographed and a woman being truly seen in action sports. How do you actively capture that distinction? Is there a specific photo you've taken that you feel perfectly nails what it means to be "seen"?

I think oftentimes we as women feel like we need to physically carve out a small space for ourselves in sport just to have a chance. Support for female athletes feels like it comes second to male athletes, often an afterthought, "if the men's race isn't on, we'll watch the women's race", that kind of mentality.

With my portraits of female athletes, I try to blend being both strong and beautiful. We don't have to exist in the world the same way a male athlete does in the hopes of being seen in the same way. Women have such a cool edge to the sport; there's a certain camaraderie and lightness that comes with female athletes. 

I like capturing the in between, the moments in between the raw power and dedication. I can't think of a single image that directly shows what it means to be "seen", but I think it's just an overarching approach to trying to capture every facet these women possess, all of which are beautiful and important in their own way.

What else do you want the world to know?

It’s easy to look at your idols and strive to reach that point of having it 'made.' But I’ve realized very few photographers actually have it made. We're constantly striving for the next thing, and the second you think you've arrived, your career starts to slip away.

People assume that if you work really hard, eventually it’ll get easier. Truthfully, it never does. It actually gets harder. The higher you climb, the more imposter syndrome creeps in. You start thinking, 'Why me instead of this other talented photographer?' We all have those thoughts. It’s just important to remember where you came from, what you’ve done to get here, and what lies ahead. We’re so lucky to capture the things we do, but there needs to be a lot more personal grace for the difficulties in between."

Follow along with Brynne Mower here.