About the Artist - Life - Philosophy
David Winegar | Founder, Park City Photography
Thank you for stopping by. My name is David Winegar, and I’m grateful you’re here. What follows is a brief history of my photographic journey.
My father was a powerful influence in my early life—and he loved photography. We spent countless days in the outdoors—hiking, fishing, hunting, and camping. Through him, I learned a deep reverence for nature and how wilderness nourished one’s soul. It was there I felt—and still feel—most alive.
When I was twelve, my father passed away, leaving my mother to raise five children alone. To help out, I went to live with my uncle and aunt on a cattle ranch in Kalispell, Montana. My uncle’s hired hand had recently passed, and he needed help. My mother, a full-time nurse, was already stretched thin raising four kids between the ages of one and eleven.
It was in that vast Montana country beneath the big sky that I learned the ropes of life—hard work, riding horses, and self-reliance. It’s also where I found some peace and reconciliation with my father’s death.
Long days were often spent alone, doing ranch work: setting fence posts, cutting and splitting logs in the woods to heat the house during winter, checking fence lines, and riding a quarter horse named Tinker Bell with a Winchester .30-30 in my scabbard. I drove tractors to mow hay, till the land, bail hay, and spent entire weeks clearing ditches with a shovel and a file to keep its blade sharp. My aunt would send me off with a lunch pail in my hand, and I wouldn’t see her until dinner. On other days, I worked alongside my uncle moving irrigation pipe, cutting and baling hay, bucking bales all summer with hired men, and feeding the livestock.
There was a lot of time alone to think about life. But mostly, it was work—work, and more work. And honestly, that work kept my mind off things, kept me off the streets, and probably kept me out of trouble. I was young and all of this between the age of 12 and 18.
When I finished high school, I discovered there was no avenue to take over the ranch or become a future owner. Sad for me—-A new chapter in life began.
I boarded a plane from Kalispell to Salt Lake City for the last time, already missing ranch life and the rhythm of being a cowboy. Somewhere over the mountains, a memory surfaced—me at age 12, watching the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds roar across the sky at the Salt Lake Airport, heart pounding with adrenaline. I never forgot that feeling.
After landing in Salt Lake City, I arranged an interview with Colonel Heiser, the Commandant of Cadets at the University of Utah. A silver-haired, highly decorated pilot who had flown fighters and the legendary SR-71 Blackbird, he was leading the ROTC program on a two-year assignment. I was in awe of him and the images on his wall. When I walked out of his office, I knew I had found my path.
Five years later—an extra year tacked on while working construction half-days to pay for school—I was honored to be selected as the Student Commandant of Cadets. By the end of my senior year, I graduated from the University of Utah, earned my commission as a U.S. Air Force officer, and was selected for jet pilot training.
I spent the next chapter of my life in Air Force cockpits—flying missions across the globe. For three years, I flew KC-135s and pulled nuclear alert duty at Robins Air Force Base in Georgia.
The next chapter of my life was spent in Air Force cockpits, flying missions around the world. I began with three years flying KC-135s and pulling nuclear alert duty at Robins AFB in Georgia. Later, I was honored to serve as the personal pilot for General George B. Crist, the four-star Marine Commander of U.S. Central Command. With two fellow instructor pilots, we flew the general and his battle staff throughout the Middle East aboard a specially equipped EC-135Y.
After my military service, I joined Delta Air Lines and began a 30-year journey in a different uniform.
While at Delta, when cockpit duties allowed, I often sat back and watched the earth unfold below—from the best seat in the house. I witnessed the changing seasons from above: golden autumn sweeping across New England, rivaled only by the vibrant reds and oranges of Utah’s Wasatch Mountains. I watched winter arrive in the Rockies, and the light of dawn and dusk stretch across cities all over the world.And the clouds—endless, shifting, mesmerizing. I never tired of watching them.
I remember dark nights when massive thunderstorms lit up the sky—momentary illumination of towering black shafts of danger, so powerful their turbulence could shake the aircraft from over 150 miles away. Too many memories to count. Some of my favorite scenes were flights through Canada to Alaska, watching glaciers flow like massive arteries through the landscape. On the East Coast, rippling ridgelines breached blankets of thick, white fog. In the Caribbean, the ocean glowed with various colors of aquamarine—especially beautiful near Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Panama, and the Dominican Republic.
I loved flying among the big mountain ranges—into Kalispell, Butte, Bozeman, Helena, Missoula, and Jackson Hole. I passed Mount Rainier hundreds of times—a solitary giant rising above the clouds—and Denali’s summit piercing the sky on countless flights between Anchorage and Fairbanks. On all-night Alaskan flights to the Lower 48, I often witnessed the Northern Lights—charged particles dancing between sun and atmosphere, just outside my cockpit window. Each time, I was humbled and amazed.
One night, not long after 9/11, I was flying from Atlanta to Buffalo. As we neared Niagara Falls, which had been lit in red, white, and blue spotlights, I received permission from Air Traffic Control to circle twice so passengers on both sides could see it. A small act of remembrance and defiance. The flight attendants later told me the cabin fell silent. There were tears. It was worth the extra fuel—and we still arrived on time.
I was blessed with decades of sunrises and sunsets from 30,000 feet—colors and hues beyond words. Many of those moments left me in awe, deepening my belief in something greater. Some were so surreal, so breathtaking, that tears quietly rolled down my face.
The hum of the engines, the occasional crackle of radio chatter during cruise, and the silence of night—punctuated by shooting stars and galaxies above—are memories I’ll never forget. Photography wasn’t allowed in the cockpit, but I carry those images in my mind’s eye, like a “retina recording”. They became the driving force behind my desire to capture life’s most extraordinary moments once my feet were back on the ground.
During layovers, if the schedule allowed, I often walked city streets with a camera in hand—capturing life unscripted. People in motion. Light and shadow. Beauty in the everyday. Sometimes I’d rent a car and set out to explore—visiting the Bighorn Battlefield out of Billings, Glacier National Park from Kalispell, or Yellowstone from Bozeman. I would invite the Copilot and Flight Attendants for these adventures. A dream life. I’ve been so blessed.
My aviation career came to a sudden ending with Flight Operations at a near standstill during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020—early retirement at age 60. That said, it opened up a new door as I’ve gone full throttle with my photography business, Park City Photography LLC, which I founded in 2005. For the past 25 years, I’ve had the privilege of capturing the beauty of Park City and the surrounding mountains—from sweeping landscapes to elusive wildlife.
Just up the road from Park City lies Mirror Lake Highway and Bald Mountain, which I’ve summited many times. I enjoy photographing mountain goats—difficult to find, but after many attempts (and a few lucky days), I’ve captured some of my favorite images. My goat photos appear in the latest issue of Falcon Guides: Hiking the High Uintas (see back cover and introduction facing page). I receive no compensation from the publication, but I’m deeply honored to have my work included.
Some of my favorite places to work outside of Park City are Moab, Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, Dead Horse Point, the La Sal Mountains, the Tetons, and Yellowstone. I return to Jackson Hole a few times each year—rising before dawn, camera in hand, quietly moving through the woods in search of moose, elk, and bears and beautiful light on the Tetons. On one unforgettable morning, the legendary photographer Thomas D. Mangelsen pulled up beside me, and we photographed Bear 399 with her three cubs—perhaps the most famous grizzly in the world. She recently passed away after being struck by a vehicle. Rest in peace, 399.
I love nightcap photography—astrophotography with a compelling foreground. One of my favorite places is the overlook at Dead Horse Point State Park, a certified dark sky area where the heavens remain untouched by artificial light. On its cliff face I have I’ve stood alone beneath a blanket of stars, framing the Milky Way as it arcs over a gnarled, ancient Bristlecone Pine. The cold bites deep in February at 6000 elevation and 18 degrees. The silence is eerie, broken only by strange sounds echoing off canyon walls, carried by the wind. An owl hooking or coyote in the distance. It's haunting, humbling—and unforgettable.
And above me, two trillion galaxies. More stars visible than you can imagine, or ever see anywhere else.
One is compelled to not only look skyward—but inward—asking the timeless questions:
Why? Why me? Why here? Am I alone? Is anyone out there?
I am listening.
These are the places that ignite my passion to create—through the magic of photography, the one medium I know that can stop time. These scenes connect me to something far beyond myself. They fire the synapses in my brain, where inspiration floods in faster than I can process. These are the images I want to live with—to display on walls, ponder, and share—not just for a moment, but for a lifetime.
Get outside and find yourself in the wilderness or a special place that connects with your soul…take time to turn off the noise of life.
Breath deeply—
And just listen—-
—-I hope the silence is deafening.
My story—and the images in my galleries—reflect more than two decades behind the lens. They come from moments that touched me deeply and remind me why I continue this work and the miracle of life on this earth.
If something here speaks to you, I’d be honored—humbly—to create an art piece for your home or business.
Thank you for visiting.
David James Winegar
Credentials & Recognition
Winner of numerous national and international photography awards
Exhibitor at the Springville Museum of Art and other curated venues 2024 and 2025
Graduate of the New York Institute of Photography (2015)
Member of the Professional Photographers of America for over 20 years
Board member, Intermountain Professional Photographers Association
Offering classes and photo safaris on the “Art of Photography”
Let’s Connect
Whether you’re a collector, designer, curator, or simply someone who connects with a piece you’ve seen—thank you for your interest in my work.
Warm regards,
David Winegar
Photographic Artist | Park City, Utah