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That one time...

It happened… I got bogged on the way to a wedding.

Wedding photographer’s worst nightmare?

A cruel joke from the universe?

A resilience-building exercise?

Or just a hilarious detour on the way to love and vows?

I’ll let you be the judge.

It was the epic start to the epic wedding of Mr & Mrs Baker.

I had been warned - very clearly warned - that there was around 40kms of wet, slippery dirt road standing between me and the property. To give you an idea of how serious this was, they had three tractors stationed at strategic points between town and the venue.

Unfortunately... I was coming from the opposite direction.

No tractors. No backup. Just me - Captain Confidence - with the music blasting, coffee in hand, and absolutely zero clue that the safety feature called "traction control" only keeps you safe (and straight) on sealed roads.

At one point, I was casually sideways through a T-intersection at about 5km/h, locking eyes with a local farmer who looked at me like I was a goat in a wedding dress riding a unicycle through his crop.
His expression? Pure shock.

My response? An embarrassed smile and a few quickly raised fingers off the tight grip of my steering wheel. (The country wave kind of fingers—not the type you’re thinking.)

According to the GPS, I was just 10kms from the property. I’ve got this, I told myself.
Four-wheel drive? Engaged. Common sense? Disconnected.

Still blissfully unaware that my traction control was sabotaging my grip on the road, I gracefully (and very anticlimactically) slid right off the road.
Naturally, I wasn’t giving up. I revved my Prado within an inch of its life, determined to free myself... only managing to sink deeper and drift further into No Photographer’s Land.

Time for the most dreaded move in wedding photography history: texting the bride to say, “I’m bogged.”
Abby’s reply?
“Haha! I’ll send the boys.”
WHHAAAAATTTT?!
That was not the dramatic, tear-filled panic I had braced for.

Five minutes later, two absolute legends - smiles on, dressed to impress and completely unbothered by mud or mayhem, pulled up with the calm confidence of two blokes who’ve towed more useless drivers out of bogs than they’ve had baked dinners. 

Meanwhile, there I was: fancy dress on, hair and makeup done, ankle-deep in what can only be described as a mix between wet cement and questionable life choices.

They towed me out like seasoned pros. Not a single beer was spilled. Not a speck of mud on their suits. Honestly? Iconic.

Fuelled by caffeine and sheer determination (and a solid groomsmen rescue) I still arrived early and ready to shoot, like nothing had happened.
Unless you count the mud on my soul and the image of that farmer’s face now permanently etched into my ego.

The twist? I ended up photographing one of those groomsmen’s weddings two years later. Apparently, I made a lasting impression—though it’s hard to forget someone dragging a mountain of camera gear through two feet of Coonabarabran’s finest black soil after 100ml of rain.

Pure elegance.

And speaking of caffeine, I’m not just a coffee enthusiast - I’m biologically dependent.
Four kids, solo mum life, business owner... caffeine isn’t optional. It’s a survival strategy.
My blood type? Double Latte Positive.

So yes, I got bogged.

But I also nailed the wedding!
And that, my friends, is the real win.