North of Tirana

Just north of Tirana, tucked into the mountains, is a small mining town called Bulqizë. It is a place Jess and I found ourselves drawn to after seeing it on TikTok, of all places.

Only about an hour from the capital, Bulqizë felt like another world entirely. The shift from Tirana’s noise and movement to the quiet mountain air was immediate. Our driver wound skillfully through the narrow roads, climbing higher and higher until the city seemed to fall away behind us.

The moment we stepped out of the car, we were surrounded by local children, fascinated by our camera equipment and, presumably, by our very obvious American appearance. That curiosity followed us almost everywhere. We checked into our hotel, which appeared to be nearly empty except for us, giving the whole place a strange but charming feeling, like we had stumbled into a story that had been waiting for us.

After dropping our bags in the room, we headed back out during golden hour to explore the village and find something to eat.

We could hardly walk more than a few steps without someone stopping to greet us. People asked where we were from, what brought us to Bulqizë, and offered recommendations for food, places to see, and things to do. There was a warmth to it that felt immediate and genuine.

That evening, we ate one of the best pizzas we have had since arriving in Europe. Yes, including Italy. After dinner, we wandered through the village as the light faded. We passed street dogs, cats, farm animals, quiet homes, and snowcapped mountains rising in the distance. It was simple, beautiful, and completely different from the Albania we had come to know in Tirana.

After a long walk and a quick stop at the local grocery store for snacks and sodas, we settled into our cozy little hotel room for the night.

The next morning, we had breakfast in the hotel restaurant while looking out over the mountain terrain. Over coffee and food, we decided to book a local 4×4 driver to take us deeper into the mountains in search of Balkan wildlife.

I will be honest: I was hoping for the impossible.

I wanted to see a Balkan lynx.

With only a tiny population remaining in the wild, seeing one would be like winning the lottery. Photographing one would be something beyond that. They are elusive, wide-ranging cats, and most people will never see one in their lifetime. But with local reports from the area, trail cameras in the mountains, and spring beginning to stir the landscape, we had just enough hope to make the search feel real.

Unfortunately, the only wildlife we encountered on that trip was a handful of birds. But the search itself was more than worth it.

Our guide, Denis, picked us up early the next morning in an older Land Rover and drove it through the mountain trails like he had been born behind the wheel. The roads were narrow, muddy, rocky, and, in some places, barely roads at all. While Denis did not speak much English, the combination of our Albanian lessons, hand gestures, context, and a lot of laughing proved to be enough.

That morning, the mountains had received a fresh dusting of snow. It was spectacular.

The peaks were brushed white, fog drifted lazily through the valleys, and the whole landscape seemed to shift and breathe as we moved through it.

Denis took us to places we never would have found on our own. Frankly, he took us to places I would not have been brave enough to drive even if I had known they existed. We crossed rivers, pushed through mud, climbed over loose rock, and stopped often so he could show us his favorite places on foot.

At one point, Denis and I walked a little farther ahead while Jess stayed behind in the 4×4. Her hands were freezing, and the mountain air was not messing around. I was busy taking photos when I turned around and saw Denis holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. He handed them to me and gestured for me to give them to Jess.

She loved them.

I did eventually give Denis full credit, though. As sweet as the gesture was, I never would have had the courage to pick wildflowers in a country that is not my own. Partly because I do not know the rules, and partly because I would absolutely be the guy who accidentally handed my wife a bouquet of something itchy.

At the end of the trip, Denis took us for coffee. I tried hard to pay, but he refused. He insisted on treating us.

We had come to Bulqizë hoping to find wildlife. We left having seen some of the most beautiful mountain country we have ever witnessed, and having made a new friend.

Since that trip, Denis and I have continued to message a few times a week. He has invited Jess and me to come back any time for what he calls a “free friend tour” with him and his wife, who speaks English. He wants to take us back into the mountains for a cookout and show us an area where both he and his father have personally encountered a lynx.

For us, that is the strongest lead yet.

The dream of photographing a Balkan lynx still feels almost impossible. But it is the kind of impossible that keeps pulling us forward. Most existing images of this animal come from trail cameras, and the chance to make meaningful photographs of a lynx in its natural habitat would be a defining moment for us. Not just as photographers, but as storytellers trying to bring attention to the fragile wild places of the Balkans.

High-quality images of this incredibly endangered cat could help people see what is at stake. They could help bring awareness to the importance of protecting not only the lynx itself, but the mountains, forests, and ecosystems that allow it to survive.

And if we never find one?

Then we will still have the mountains. We will still have the search. We will still have coffee with Denis, a friendship we never expected, and the kind of adventure that reminds us why we came here in the first place.

Sometimes the animal you set out to find is not the only thing worth discovering.