📸 Behind the Lens: The Dance of Light

There are moments in the ocean when everything aligns—not because of action or drama, but because of light.

You’re floating there, waiting, watching. And then it happens. A break in the clouds. The sun tilts just right. And suddenly, beams of light—”God rays”—cascade down through the water, shimmering and alive.

Manta Ray off Isla Mujeres, MX. 1/400, f9, ISO 1000

It’s like the ocean begins to breathe in light.

This series of images is about that moment.

These images aren’t the product of strobes or perfect gear. They come from natural light—pure, shifting, fleeting. You can’t plan for it. You can only be there, camera ready, when the ocean decides to perform.

When the light hits just right, it creates a visual dance—rays flowing around the animals, wrapping them in something more than just water. It adds emotion. Story. Magic.

In these photos, the animals aren’t just subjects.

They’re participants in the light show—swimming through beams like dancers on a stage they didn’t build, but somehow understand.

Striped marlin hunting sardine baitball off Magdalena Island, Baja. 1/500, f9 ISO 1250

Technical Insight

For moments like these, I shoot with:

  • Natural light only

  • A wide-angle lens (Canon 8–15mm fisheye)

  • Shutter speeds between 1/320–1/500 to preserve movement without losing softness

  • Aperture around f/8 to f/10 to keep rays sharp but natural

  • ISO is dependent on how deep the light penetrates that day

With these images, I let the light do the work.

Great White off Guadalupe Island, MX. 1/320, f8, ISO 800

Why It Matters

These aren’t action shots. They’re mood shots.
Moments that remind us why we fell in love with the ocean in the first place.
Not for what happens... but for how it feels.

The dance of light is brief.
It doesn’t last long.
But when you catch it and freeze it in a photo… It stays with you.

Spotted Dolphin off Bimini Island, Bahamas 1/500, f8, ISO 800

Orca mom and calf, Baja, MX. 1/400, f9, ISO 1000

Pilot Whale off Dominica Island, Caribbean. 1/320, f8, ISO 400

Sleeping Sperm whale and diver off Dominica Island, Caribbean. 1/320, f8, ISO 400

American crocodile off Banco Chinchorro, Mexico. 1/400, f5, ISO 250

📸 Behind the Lens: Waiting on a Tiger

A tiger emerging from the shadows of Jim Corbett National Park, India—framed by forest, light, and adrenaline.

We had spent three days exploring Jim Corbett National Park, hoping to photograph tigers in the wild. While we saw a few cats, sightings were limited.

But one moment stood out… one of those rare, hold-your-breath encounters.

We had just watched a tiger disappear into the forest. Our guide, reading the land like a book, believed the cat would cross the field and emerge on the far side. He took us to a small road and parked. Engine off. Total silence.

We sat there, scanning—in front of the vehicle, behind us, left, right—wondering where the cat would appear.

I admit, I was not happy that the guide turned the vehicle off, what if the cat emerged far away.

We needed to be ready to go.

The air was hot. The sun was high. Time stretched.

It felt like forever.

I checked my settings. Rechecked them. Then checked again. This was going to be my first wild tiger, and I didn’t want to blow it.

I was shooting fast—1/2000 shutter speed—because in a forest like this, with such diverse wildlife, I wanted to be ready for anything: a tiger, a chase, a bird of prey bursting through the canopy.

But I worried my ISO might be too low, especially with the shadows shifting in the trees.

Then, finally—movement. Less than 50 yards out, I saw it. A rustle in the undergrowth. A flash of orange and black.

I whispered: “He’s here… HE IS RIGHT HERE!”

I was almost in shock at how spot on the guide was. We were so close.

We all raised our cameras.
And fired.

I snapped frame after frame, hoping—praying—that my focus would lock, that the light would hold, that something would come out.

Camera Settings:

  • Camera: Canon R5

  • Lens: RF100-400mm

  • Shutter Speed: 1/2000

  • Aperture: f/5.6 (or your actual setting)

  • ISO: 800

  • Notes: Natural light, with some forest shadows in the mid-morning heat

The Challenge:
The waiting. The guessing. The light. The uncertainty of where the cat would emerge—and whether I’d be ready when it did.

Why It Matters:
It wasn’t a dramatic charge. It wasn’t a perfect composition. But it was my first tiger in the wild, and it taught me what this kind of photography is really about: presence, patience, and preparation.

Lessons I Learned:

  1. Trust the local knowledge.
    Our guide called the tiger’s movement like he was reading a script. His understanding of the terrain and animal behavior put us exactly where we needed to be. Local knowledge is gold.

  2. Don’t wait for perfect conditions—be ready for imperfect ones.
    I was worried about my settings not being right, but the moment wasn’t going to wait. Sometimes you just have to shoot through the shadows and make peace with the grain.

  3. Repetition breeds readiness.
    I had checked my settings three, maybe four times before the tiger appeared. It felt obsessive—but when the moment came, I wasn’t fumbling. That habit saved the shot.

📸 Behind the Lens: Dancing with Mobulas

The Shot:
Mobula rays glide beneath my daughter, Sophia, as golden light streaks through the water—god rays dancing across their backs in perfect harmony.

The Story:
During the May season, mobula rays are usually the sure thing. When nothing else shows up, we can almost always count on the mobulas to deliver something epic for our guests. But this season? They’ve been harder to find than ever. Nature doing its thing—reminding us who's in charge.

Yesterday, that changed.

After days of tough conditions and quiet ocean, we finally had our best mobula encounter—friendly animals, great visibility, and perfect light. This image was taken on Sophia’s third day out here. She dropped into the water, floated above the school, and the light hit just right. As she hovered, the rays formed below her, and everything aligned.

I fired the shot, took a quick look at my monitor and histogram and hoped I had something special. I wouldn’t really know until I got it home on my computer.

Camera Settings:

  • Camera: Canon 5D Mark IV (“Gloria”)

  • Housing: Aquatica

  • Lens: 8–15mm fisheye

  • Shutter Speed: 1/320

  • Aperture: f/9

  • ISO: 800

  • Light: Natural sunlight, early morning, (9AM), decently clear water, the best we have had this season.

The Challenge:
This season, finding mobulas has been far from guaranteed. Water clarity was hit or miss, and the animals have been scattered. Capturing the moment took timing, patience, and luck with some sun.

Why It Matters:
Mobulas are often our backup plan, but this photo reminds me that even the "reliable" species can surprise us. And sometimes, when you least expect it, the ocean gives you a gift. I got to photograph my daughter sharing space with these beautiful animals under nice light. That’s a moment I’ll never forget.

Behind the Lens: When an Orca Came to Say Hello

One of the most unforgettable moments of my life

1/320, f9, ISO 1000

We were wrapping up what had already been an amazing week in Baja. Sharks, sea lions, just epic iconic Baja wildlife had shown up for us day after day. But the one thing we hadn’t seen? Orcas.

It was the last day. We were just about to head in. We were joking around, relaxing on the boat, grateful for all we had experienced, when we got a call.

“Orcas.”

We didn’t even ask questions—we just gunned it.

When we arrived, there they were. A pod. Moving with power and purpose through the blue.

The energy on the boat shifted immediately—excitement, nerves, awe. Our guests geared up fast and slid into the water. I stayed back on the boat, giving them space to soak in the moment, enjoying watching them from the surface.

On the second jump, I couldn’t resist. I grabbed my gear and joined in.

Not long after, she appeared.

1/320, f9, ISO 1000

A massive matriarch female broke away from the group and came straight toward me, with the pod following closely behind her.

She was slow. Intentional. Calm.

She was so big. I shot photo after photo. Her head alone filled the frame of my wide angle lens. She was so close I could have reached out and touched her. As she swam by me, I stopped shooting and just looked at her.

1/320, f9, ISO 1000

Eye to Eye

I’ve been in the water with a lots of orcas before.
But never like this… Never this close.

In that moment, time fell away. It was just her and me.

I was looking at her. She was looking at me.
And when I say that, I mean it—truly looking.
There was awareness in her eye. Curiosity.

It was thrilling.
It was humbling.
It was terrifying in the best possible way.

And it was, without a doubt, one of the greatest moments of my life.

That encounter reminded me why I’m drawn to wildlife.

Just me and a wild animal choosing to let me into it’s world, if only for a second.

Moments like this are why I do what I do.

Looking into her eye that day will forever live in my dreams.

1/320, f9, ISO 1000

📸 Photography Takeaways from the Encounter

  1. Be Ready—Even When You're Done for the Day
    I had put my gear away. Mentally, I was shifting into end-of-day mode. But wildlife doesn’t care what time it is. Keep your camera ready until the boat hits the dock.

  2. Fill the Frame Without Cropping
    That orca came so close, there was no blue between us. There’s no substitute for proximity. Let the animal dictate the composition. Get wide, stay calm, and don’t chase.

  3. Natural Light Can Elevate the Emotional Impact
    With just sunlight and clear water, you capture the real mood of the ocean—how it looked, felt, and moved in that moment. No strobes, no drama—just honest light and a powerful presence.

  4. Eye Contact Changes Everything
    When you capture an image where the animal is looking directly at you, the photo hits different. That moment of connection turns a picture into a story. Always watch for the eye—and be ready to press the shutter.

  5. When It All Comes Together—Recognize the Gift
    My camera was dialed in. My settings were on point. The sun was behind me. The animal was curious. It was everything you hope for when photographing an orca. These are the moments you dream about as a photographer—and they don’t happen often.

    When they do, be present. Be grateful.

Spring Songbirds of South Padre Island

Painted Bunting image captured in 2023. 1/800, f/6.3, ISO 6400

Chasing Color in the Coastal Wind

April is one of my favorite times to be on South Padre Island, Texas. Although not for the beach crowds or warm breezes, but for the tiny flashes of color darting through the trees and brush.

This is spring migration season, and South Padre becomes a rest stop for some of the most vibrant songbirds you'll see all year.

I try to make it out at least a few times every April. Each visit feels like a treasure hunt—never quite knowing what I’ll find, but always hoping for something wild and unexpected.

Summer Tanager, 1/1000, f/7.1, ISO 1000

While I consider myself more of an amateur birder than a pro, I’ve developed a deep appreciation for these seasonal visitors. I may not always remember the names of every species I see, but I absolutely love the challenge of capturing them on camera.

What I love is being out in nature, camera in hand, seeking out birds to photograph—it’s my church; it’s peaceful, unpredictable, and always rewarding in its own way.

And yes, I’m even willing to deal with the mosquitoes that seem to find me no matter where I stand.

On this trip, I was specifically hoping to photograph a painted bunting—a bird so colorful it looks like someone cranked the saturation slider too far. The varied bunting was also on my list, a rare beauty for this area that sometimes makes an appearance this time of year.

Neither showed up for me today.

But that’s part of what keeps this kind of photography exciting—you never really know what the island will offer.

Indigo Bunting, 1/1250, f/7.1, ISO 1250

I may not have crossed off my buntings, but I did manage to photograph an indigo bunting—that rich blue plumage never gets old—and a few summer tanagers, with their brilliant red and yellow flashes cutting through the greenery like sparks.

These birds are small, and they move so fast.

Photographing song birds is all about patience, timing, and luck.

Summer tanager, 1/1000, f/7.1, ISO 1250

A Few Takeaways

  • Mornings are best. The light is soft and the birds are more active.

  • Bring a long lens—300mm minimum, but 500mm+ is even better.

  • Keep your shutter fast (1/1000 or faster) to freeze motion.

  • Expect more misses than hits. These birds are quick.

  • And bring your determination—it helps more than any setting.

Summer Tanager, 1/1000, f/7.1, ISO 1000

I am hoping to return to SPI one more time this month, before I head out to Baja for orcas. Because you never know—maybe that painted bunting will be waiting for me and my camera, perched in the open, on that perfect branch, bathed in perfect light.

And if not, well… I’ll be the one out there again, talking to myself, chasing shadows, and hoping the mosquitoes go easy on me this time.

Orchard Oriole, 1/1250, f/7.1, ISO 1250

Into the Blue Cathedral: Photographing White Sharks at Guadalupe Island

Guadalupe Island, Mexico

There are places in the world where nature sets the stage so perfectly, it feels unreal…

Guadalupe Island is one of them.

With some of the clearest visibility on the planet, the waters surrounding this volcanic island off the coast of Mexico offer more than just shark encounters. It offer light, drama, and dimension.

Here, the sun doesn’t just shine—it pierces the ocean, sending down beams of light that dance through the water.

Seeing the light dance is like something out of a dream.

I call them god rays (I didn’t coin the phrase, but I believe it.). When that light break through the surface, it feels less like diving and more like stepping into an underwater cathedral.

But what truly makes this place special isn’t just the light… it’s the subject.

The great white shark, arguably the most iconic predator on the planet, moves through the frame with power, grace, and mystery. And when that movement is wrapped in perfect light?

That’s when photographs stop being documentation and start becoming something else entirely.

1/320, f/8, ISO 400

Great white shark photography isn’t just about being in the water with them—it’s about knowing how to work with the conditions you're given. And at Guadalupe, the conditions are something special.

Because of the incredible water clarity and the quality of light, you’re able to shoot with more flexibility than in most shark diving locations. On this trip, settings made all the difference.

I shot the majority of my images at 1/250 to 1/320 shutter speed, f/9, and ISO 400.

1/320, f/8, ISO 400

Normally, when I’m shooting over deep water, I have to crank the ISO up to 800 or even 1000 just to compensate for light loss. But at Guadalupe, the visibility and natural light are so clean that I was able to drop the ISO down to 400—reducing noise and letting the clarity of the water and the detail of the shark speak for themselves.

The f/9 aperture gave me just the right depth of field to keep the shark tack sharp while letting the background light beams fall off softly—keeping that surreal, glowing atmosphere intact.

It’s a reminder that the ocean gives you moments—but it’s your settings that preserve them.

1/320, f/8, ISO 400

Photographing white sharks at Guadalupe isn’t without its obstacles—and one of the biggest is also the most visible: the cage.

I’ll be honest—I’m not a fan of shooting from cages. But I also understand why they’re necessary. Not to protect divers from the sharks, but to protect the sharks from the divers.

If everyone were allowed to swim freely with great whites, the potential for accidents would skyrocket. Not just from people ignoring safety protocols around an apex predator—but from inexperienced divers with poor buoyancy control, chasing sharks too deep or drifting away from the vessel entirely. It would be chaos. And eventually, something would happen that would ruin it for everyone—and for the sharks most of all.

So the cages stay.

But they do make photography challenging. The surface cages are attached to the dive vessel, and as swells pass through, they rock—sometimes violently. Trying to frame a moving subject while you’re being tossed around isn’t easy. Add in bubbles from other divers, bars in the way, and the fact that you’re sharing the space, and you’ve got to work hard for each shot.

1/250, f/9, ISO 400

But when it all lines up—the light, the shark, the split second of stillness—it’s magic.

Lessons Learned Beneath the Surface

After all these years, white sharks still teach me something every time I’m in the water with them. Here are a few takeaways from this particular trip to Guadalupe:

1. Be Ready, But Be Still

The action can come out of nowhere, and you have to be ready to shoot—but being calm and still in the water makes you part of the environment. Sharks respond to that. So do the photos.

1/250, f/9, ISO 400

2. Light Is Your Storyteller

The sharks are always majestic—but it’s the light that tells the story. Waiting for the right moment, when the rays hit just right, can turn a good photo into one that feels holy.

3. Gear Is Only Half the Game

Knowing your camera is important—but so is knowing your environment. Respect the cage. Anticipate the swell. Time your shots between the bounce. The ocean has its rhythm—your job is to learn how to move with it.

1/320, f/8, ISO 400

Sadly, Guadalupe Island is now closed to tourism indefinitely.

The Mexican government’s decision has left many of us—photographers, divers, conservationists—without access to one of the most important great white shark sanctuaries in the world.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have had the opportunity to photograph these animals here over the years. Every trip gave me something: a deeper appreciation, a better image, a new story to tell. But more than that, it gave me connection—to the ocean, to the sharks, and to the people who came to witness something wild and rare.

My hope is that one day, Guadalupe will open again. Because I truly believe that ecotourism is one of the few things that can protect sharks—especially these sharks.

When the boats stop coming, the oversight stops too. And without that constant presence, this island becomes a target.

A quiet, unguarded place where poachers can slip in, and the very animals we came to celebrate may begin to disappear.

So yes, I hope we do go back.
Not just for the photos.
Not just for the thrill.
But for the sharks, and for our shared future with them.

Until then, I carry these images with me as reminders of what’s possible when wild places are protected… and what’s at stake when they’re not.

The Last Light at Banco Chinchorro

1/320, f/10, ISO 200

A farewell to a crocodile sanctuary unlike any other…

For over seven years, I’ve been leading trips to the remote, wild waters of Banco Chinchorro, Mexico—a place where ancient reptiles glide beneath crystalline shallows and where time seems to pause. I’ve seen a lot out here. Murky days, clear days, quiet crocs, bold crocs. But during our 2020 season, something changed.

This trip… this one was different.

It was, without question, the best crocodile diving expedition we've ever had in Banco Chinchorro. Everything aligned. The light. The action. The water. The energy.

My best split shot. 1/250, f/11, ISO 200

Visibility Like I’ve Never Seen Before

The water clarity was unreal—like diving in a swimming pool.

On most trips, we expect to work around pockets of silt or lose clarity when the tides shift. But this time, even when the tide was low and the typical “crappy water” rolled in… it didn’t matter. We still had insane visibility. We could see every ripple, every movement, every scale.

It felt like the ocean had opened up just for us.

1/250, f/10, ISO 200

We spent two full days diving with the crocs, and the action was non-stop. There were quiet moments, sure—but they were the kind that build tension in the best way.

You knew something was coming. You could feel it.

And then Gambit would appear.

Our star croc. The dream model. The absolute legend.

1/250, f/11, ISO 200

Gambit has always been the star of this sanctuary, but on this trip, he was pure magic. Calm, curious, photogenic. He gave us photo opportunities I couldn’t have scripted. \

Every photo felt like a gift.

1/320, f/10, ISO 200

A Photographer’s Dream

It’s rare to have such a wild subject in such perfect conditions. Every element lined up—light piercing the shallows, the patterns of sunlight danced across Gambit’s back, the stillness of the mangroves above. We shot wide, we shot tight, we played with reflections and motion.

The ocean gave us everything.

And sadly a storm was brewing....

We had been hearing rumors that licenses might get pulled. Every year it seemed was a struggle for the operator to get the croc diving permits released.

We had no idea this would be one of the final season’s that croc diving in Banco Chinchorro was allowed.

The End of an Era

Sadly, not long after this trip, the permits that allowed us to dive with crocodiles in this sanctuary were revoked. The sanctuary closed to all in-water activity. The era of swimming with crocs at Banco Chinchorro—at least for now—is over.

No more mornings with coffee and crocs. No more floating eye to eye with ancient reptiles in perfect water.

No more moments like this.

But this trip stays with me. It’s burned into my memory. Not just because of how good it was technically—but because it was the final chapter of something rare and special.

This was the send-off we didn’t know we needed.

And I’m so grateful we were there for it.

1/320, f/9, ISO 200

Lessons from this trip…

Every expedition teaches you something. But when the location is this special—and it turns out to be the one of the last trips here ever… you hold onto those lessons a little tighter.

Here are a few that stayed with me:

1. Never Take a Wild Place for Granted

We always say it, but this trip drove it home: nothing is guaranteed. Permits can change. Ecosystems can close. Species can vanish. If a place is calling to you… go now.

Document it. Experience it. Respect it.

1/250, f/10, ISO 200

2. Water Clarity Can Change Everything

Great wildlife photography isn’t just about the subject, it’s about the conditions. And on this trip, the visibility was a reminder that even one variable, like clearer water can elevate every image.

Sometimes you just have to keep showing up until all the elements click.

3. The Best Animal Encounters Happen When You’re Present, Not Just Shooting

With Gambit, it wasn’t just the images, it was the interaction. Being still, being open, watching his behavior… that’s when the best moments happened.

Sometimes the best shot comes after you lower the camera for a moment… and just soak it all in.

1/320, f/10, ISO 200