Free · iPhone · offline · no account
Point your phone at the horizon and your geotagged photos and videos come back onto the landscape, each one pinned to the spot it was shot from, with its distance and its altitude. The ridge across the valley, or the landmark at the end of the street.
No searching, no scrolling. You are already standing in the place. Turn around and your photos and videos come to you, each pinned to its own direction and distance.
Dozens of places piled up in one direction? Slice that direction by distance and isolate a single band. Far quicker than zooming.
A 3D map shows the exact spot each photo was taken from, and an orange cone for which way the camera was pointing at the time. One tap more and the map flies behind the lens: satellite terrain, centred on where you stood, looking the way you were looking.
A place you photographed forty times is one pin, not forty. Open it and browse its whole history, with altitude and elevation for every shot.
Geotagged videos hang on the landscape next to your photos and play right on their card. The waterfall you filmed moves again, exactly where it is.
That beautiful corner you photographed on your last trip? Raise your phone and it appears down the street, with the metres left to reach it. Open it in Maps and walk straight there.
GPS guesses your altitude, and it guesses badly: tens of metres off is normal, and on a ridge that is the difference between a pin above the skyline and one buried in it. On iPhone 12 and later Ubimage also reads the barometric altimeter and keeps whichever reading declares the smaller error, so pins sit at the height you are actually standing at. No barometer, or permission denied? It falls back to GPS altitude and everything keeps working.
A compass rose in the bar opens the instruments: coordinates, your altitude
with its margin of error and whether it came from the barometer or from GPS,
GPS accuracy, heading with compass accuracy. Tap any row to copy it. A value
the phone cannot vouch for reads n/a instead of being
invented.
Open a spot you have shot many times and a flat compass filters its photos by the way the camera was pointing. Scroll only the ones shot looking a chosen way, S 174°, or the ones shot back toward where you are standing now.
Open water has no landmarks. The photo with the forty-pound grouper does: it carries the coordinates of the boat. Point your phone around and the pin hangs over that exact patch of sea, with the distance left to reach it.
That summit across the valley looks familiar. Point the camera at it: if you ever photographed it, the pin is already there, with the place name, the distance and how high it stands above you.
Orienteering comes down to one thing: matching the map to the ground in front of you. Photograph a feature once and it comes back as a pin at its true bearing and distance, so you can practise spotting a control on the terrain before your feet get there.
The fog rolled in and swallowed the whole ridge. The pins stay put: point the phone and read what the clouds are hiding, each photo still hanging exactly where its mountain is.
Stand where you stood, open the photo and check the orange cone showing where the camera was aimed that day. Line it up and take the same frame ten years later, one season against another.
You photographed the plate, never the sign. Months later you are back in the same city: raise the phone and that dinner hangs over the side street it was on, with the metres left to the door. Open it in Maps and go.
Some spots you keep for what happened there, not for how they look: the stairs where you first kissed someone, the door of the first flat you rented. Point the phone and the photo sits on the exact spot, down to the step. The map holds the place better than memory does.
Ubimage is free, with no advertising and nothing to buy inside it. There is no account, no cloud and no analytics: it reads your photo library and writes nothing back to it, and your location never leaves the device. Nothing runs on a server, so there is nothing to bill you for. The privacy policy is short, because there is very little to say.