When a Chimp Outsmarted Us!

We were following a chimpanzee through the forest, moving quietly as it walked with purpose. 

For a while, it felt like it was letting us tag along, stopping, listening, glancing back every so often. 

But at some point, everything changed.

The chimp took a turn downhill, leading us onto a trail that grew narrower and narrower until it finally disappeared altogether. 

Before we knew it, we were surrounded by thick and deep mud.

It was thick, sticky, elephant-made sludge that sucked at our boots and made every step an effort.

I swear that chimp did it on purpose. 

There were easier trails all around, but it chose this one, the kind that only a clever ape with a sense of humor would pick. 

I could almost picture it now, perched in a nearby tree, watching the clumsy humans struggle in the muck, probably shaking its head.

The mud, we learned, was created by forest elephants trudging through after heavy rains. 

It reminded me of those old TV shows from childhood where quicksand was always waiting to swallow the hero, except this was real, smelled awful, and didn’t let go easily.

One of our group, Kimberly sank in up to her thighs. When the guides finally managed to pull her free, her boot stayed behind. 

Her daughters howled with laughter as we all tried to help, slipping and sliding in the muddy trail.

By the time we made it out, the chimp was long gone. 

It took a while to track them down again, but we eventually did, a little muddier, a little wiser, and a lot more respectful of just how clever they are.

Sometimes, the wild reminds you who’s really in charge, and every now and then, it even has a sense of humor about it.

The One Rule I Always Break in Wildlife Photography

Brown pelicans off Magdalena Bay, MX.

Every photographer has a list of rules they were taught to follow… the golden ratios, the perfect exposures, the “never shoot into the light” kind of advice.

But here’s the thing…

I break that last one all the time.

Some of my favorite wildlife photos were taken against the light, silhouettes of bears in the sunset, bobcats glowing in golden dust, orca breaking the surface as the last of Norway’s light descends behind the mountains. 

Orcas off Norway. 1/1600, f5.6, ISO 800

Shooting into the light isn’t easy. 

It’s messy. It blows out highlights, hides details, and breaks every clean rule of composition. 

But it also makes the wild feel alive.

And honestly, I struggle most of the time to get it right. 

When you’re shooting backlit subjects, figuring out the best ISO and shutter speed is always a challenge. 

You rarely have much time to adjust. 

Maned Wolf off the Northern Pantanal. 1/640, f14, ISO 800

With wildlife, you don’t plan for backlit images, you get lucky with them.

Maybe you’re sitting in an area where you know elephants will be passing along a well-worn trail, and you get that perfect chance to prepare. 

But most of the time, you don’t get that choice. 

You’re gifted the moment when the animal suddenly turns left instead of right, or when the whale passes on the “wrong” side, and suddenly, the sun is behind them.

That’s when it happens.

Bobcat off Florida. 1/1000, f5.6, ISO 400

The light burns through the edges of their body, wrapping them in fire, color, and shadow. 

It’s beautiful chaos, the kind that tests your instincts and rewards your patience.

Most animals prefer to keep the sun behind them as they move past people, it helps them see us better. 

And when they can see us better, they relax. 

That small bit of awareness gives us something real: a moment of trust, framed in gold.

Polar Bear off Churchill. 1/1000, f5.6 ISO 640

Photography is supposed to make you feel something, and light, real light, isn’t always neat and controlled. 

Sometimes it’s harsh, unpredictable, wild… like the animals themselves.

If you only ever follow the rules, you’ll get good photos, sharp, balanced, technically correct.

But if you’re willing to bend them, that’s where the magic starts. 

Brown Bear family off Katmai, Alaska. 1/1250 f32, ISO 1250

The image might not be perfect, but it will have a heartbeat.

Every time I press the shutter into the light, I’m reminded that photography isn’t about perfection. 

It’s about emotion, the quiet honesty of what it felt like to be there.

So yes, I shoot into the light. I chase it, even. 

Because the wild isn’t meant to be tamed… and neither is the way we capture it.

---

Morelet’s crocodile in the Mangroves, Tulum, MX. 1/250, f9, ISO 1600.
No golden light here, underwater backlit photos are different. Instead of warm tones, you get God rays. Streaks of light firing through the water.

A Few Tips for Shooting Into the Light

Shooting backlit wildlife is one of the hardest things to get right, but when it works, it’s magic. 

Here are a few things I’ve learned
(mostly the hard way):

• Watch your exposure, not your instincts.
  Backlight fools your camera’s meter into underexposing. Don’t trust the screen, watch your histogram and move it slightly to the right to preserve shadow detail.

• Use spot metering when you can.
  Expose for the light on the animal’s face or body, not the sky. That’s where the story is.

• Embrace imperfection.
  Backlit shots rarely look clean, and that’s the point. Let the light spill, let the edges glow, let the wild be wild.

Imperfect Words

I’ll be honest… I’m not a great writer. 

But I’m working on becoming a better one.

Because the animals I photograph deserve better stories than the ones I manage to tell.

Sometimes I stare at the screen trying to find the right words, words that can move people, protect an animal, or make someone care about a place they’ll probably never see.

Most days, I fall short.

I’m not a poet or a scientist.

I’m not a polished writer with perfect grammar or flow. 

I’m just someone who’s trying.

Trying to build bridges between people and the wild through stories and photographs. 

The goal is simple… create empathy. 

Because if people can feel something, they might start to care. And if they care, maybe they’ll help protect what’s left.

But that’s the hard part, finding words that can make someone care about an animal most of the world ignores… A snake. A wolf. A shark. 

The animals that don’t fit easily into fairy tales or film scripts.

They are always the villains in the story.

Sometimes I reread what I’ve written and think, They deserve better.

Better words.

Better storytellers.

Better photographers… Ouch.

But then I remind myself: this is what I have. This is who I am.

And if I don’t try, who will?

So I write what I can. I share what I can.

And I’ll keep doing it, imperfectly, honestly, relentlessly, for as long as I’m here.

Because the wild doesn’t need perfect writers.

It just needs people who care enough to keep trying.

Are Orcas Dangerous? What I Learned in the Water

So many people fear orcas.

It’s understandable.

Most of what the public knows comes from two extremes: the tragedy of Blackfish, where captive orcas turned violent in unnatural tanks, and, more recently, headlines of wild pods sinking yachts. 

These are the stories that reach the masses, stories of danger.

But that’s not the story I know.

I’ve had the privilege of swimming with orcas in Baja, Norway, and New Zealand, spending hours in the water with them, watching, listening, and learning.

 I’ve seen them hunt with precision, communicate in ways we barely grasp, and yes, even play.

In New Zealand, I spun underwater like a dolphin, curious how they might react. 

The orcas swam around me, studying me, as much as I studied them.

In that moment, I was overwhelmed with emotions, but it wasn’t fear. 

It was awe, respect, and reverence for the intelligence of these beings.

Never once have I felt fear in their presence, only humility.

There is just something about orcas that pulls at people.

They embody mystery and majesty in equal measure. They’re emotional, intelligent, and connected to their families in ways that remind us of what we’ve lost as humans.

They are the ocean’s storytellers, and we’re only beginning to understand the language.

If there’s one truth we all seem to agree on, it’s this: Orcas do not belong in aquariums.

They do not belong in concrete tanks, performing tricks for crowds. 

They belong in the ocean, where their songs can travel for miles and their pods can live as they were meant to… FREE!

There are still around 70 orcas in captivity today, and every one of them deserves freedom.

Meanwhile, wild orca populations are slowly recovering, thanks to stronger protections and the decline of destructive fishing practices. 

With time and continued effort, their numbers will rise again.

And that gives me hope.

Because if there’s any species that deserves to continue its reign as the true master of the ocean, it’s the orca.

I was once asked, “If you could spend your life with only one animal, which would it be?”
Without hesitation, my answer was orcas. 

Well, maybe with a little hesitation.

Orcas are addictive in the best way, the kind of presence that changes you. Once you’ve shared the water with them, once you’ve looked into their eyes, you’re never quite the same again.

The reality is, people fear what they don’t understand.

And for generations, we’ve misunderstood orcas, labeling them “killers” while locking them behind glass.

Image by Brad Roaman

That glass made them crazy… as it would any of us.

But when you meet them where they truly belong, in the open ocean, you realize just how wrong we’ve been about orcas.

We have nothing to fear from them. 

The only thing we should fear is living in a world without them.

The Sound of Letting Go... My Last Season with Gloria.

This one’s a tough one to write.

For ten years, my camera, Gloria, has been with me through everything.

Rain, salt, sand, freezing winds, murky waters, she’s been there for it all. 

Dependable. Solid. The kind of companion you trust when everything else around you is chaos.

Every image I’ve shared over the past decade, every whale, shark, snake, and orca, came through her eyes. 

We’ve been everywhere together, and back again.

So even saying this out loud feels strange… but lately, I’ve been thinking about finally making the switch.

From my faithful DSLR to a mirrorless system.

And not for the reasons people might assume.

Sure, mirrorless cameras are sharper, faster, lighter. 

They handle low light beautifully and focus like magic. It’s a better system in almost every measurable way. 

But that’s not what’s drawing me in.

For me, it’s about silence.

When I step into the ocean, in rivers, in the Arctic, I’m stepping into another world. 

A world that existed long before me and doesn’t need my noise in it. 

My presence already changed behavior. Fish move differently. Dolphins will sometimes swim away.

I can’t control that.

But the one thing I can control… is the sound I bring.

Every click of Gloria’s shutter feels like a small echo through their world. 

A reminder that I’m still an intruder. 

I don’t belong.

Over time, I’ve started to feel that echo more deeply, like the wild is asking me to listen, not interrupt.

That’s where mirrorless calls to me.

Not because it’s the future of photography, but because it’s the future of how I want to photograph. 

Silently. 

It’s strange how your relationship with your craft evolves. 

When you’re young in it, you chase the moments, you want the perfect shot, the perfect composition, the proof that you were there.

But as time passes. You stop chasing, and start protecting.

You realize the most powerful images come when the wild forgets you’re even there.

Switching to mirrorless isn’t about upgrading my gear. 

It’s about lowering my impact.

It’s about aligning the technology with the respect I’ve learned to carry for the wildlife I photograph.

Still… this isn’t easy. 

Gloria has been more than just a tool. She’s been my voice when I had no words, my constant when everything else changed. 

She’s been the silent witness to so much beauty, heartbreak, and wonder.

But maybe this is how every great partnership ends, not with replacement, but with gratitude.

The wild deserves our silence.

And maybe this will be my way of giving it that.

For now, I’ll finish the 2025 season with Gloria by my side.

I have four more trips this year.

That is four more chances to tell our story together before the next chapter begins.

And when 2026 comes, maybe, just maybe, I’ll take that silent leap…If I can let her go.

When Not to Share: Protecting the Wild From Our Own Lenses

View fullsize

There’s a part of our job as photographers and guides that doesn’t get talked about enough… when not to share.

We live in an age where every image or video can go viral in seconds. 

A post, a tag, a location pin, they spread faster than we can imagine. And with that comes a strange consequence… the more we share, the less wild some places become.

I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes.

Places that once felt like magic, where we were the only boat for miles, now fill with crowds, cameras, and drones. 

Pantanal, Brazil.

The quiet that once defined those places is replaced by engines, by pressure, by human presence.

Years ago, off Baja, I remember being completely alone. Just our boat, the ocean, and the animals. 

Now, the same waters are crowded with boats chasing the same story. 

And I get it, it’s part of what we do. It’s our job to tell the stories of these places, to show the world that they still exist, that they matter, that they deserve to stay wild for generations to come.

But I’ll be the first to admit, I am guilty of over sharing.

I’ve drawn too much attention to places that once felt sacred. 

My work has helped put them on the map, sometimes literally. And while I know my intention was good, that doesn’t erase the impact.

It’s a difficult truth to admit, but an important one.

Because when too many of us tell the same story, the story changes.

We mean well, but sometimes our love becomes pressure. Our storytelling becomes intrusion. 

Our presence, multiplied, can slowly erode the very thing that drew us there in the first place.

So I’ve learned:
Sometimes it’s okay to keep a secret.
You don’t have to tag the location.
You don’t have to explain how you found it.

Florida bobcat… exact location undisclosed

You don’t have to post everything.

Some encounters should stay just between you, your friends, and the wild.

It’s not about hoarding or gatekeeping. It’s about protection. 

Because no matter how much we care, human attention changes things, especially fragile, sacred places that weren’t built to hold it.

Giant Mako off California… exact location undisclosed.

I know no secret lasts forever. 

But for the few that do, do your part to keep them quiet, keep them safe, for as long as you can.

The world doesn’t need every detail… Sometimes it just needs your silence.

---

Thank you for reading our Blog.

*New Blogs posted 3–4 times a week. (sometimes more.)
Follow along for more stories, trip updates, and raw moments from the wild.

Chasing Sunrises and Sunsets... A Goal Worth Living For

There are some things in life you can never have too much of… and at the top of that list are sunrises and sunsets.

Every dawn feels like a beginning.  Every dusk feels like a closing chapter. 

And no matter how many I’ve seen, from the Arctic to the jungles of Brazil, each one leaves me quiet, grateful, and searching for words to describe it.

The truth is, you can never watch too many. 

Each one is its own story, the way the colors scatter differently across oceans, the way a mountain range swallows the last light, the way silence seems to hold its breath just before the sun tips away.

And it isn’t only when I’m traveling. 

Even when I’m at home, in the middle of the city, if I see the sky, rich with golden light, I’ll find myself racing around, trying to find a clear view where I can stop and watch it unfold. 

For me, that moment is too important to miss.

Maybe that’s something worth setting as a life goal… to seek out unique corners of the world, not just for the wildlife, but for the skies that bookend each day. 

Imagine collecting sunsets the way some people collect stamps. 

Patagonia, Tonga, Alaska, Baja, the Pantanal. A library of skies burned into memory.

What makes them powerful isn’t just the view, but the reminder they carry, no matter where we stand, no matter how much is going on in our lives, the world still turns, still paints the horizon, still offers us a moment to pause and give thanks.

So yes, chase the whales, the jaguars, the bears.

But also chase the skies. 

Because one day, long after the adventures blur together, it’s that momentary light you’ll remember, the way it painted the world… and the way it painted your soul.

The Double-Edged Sword of Wildlife Photography

Wildlife photography has given me some of the greatest moments of my life. 

But it also comes with a truth I can’t ignore… most animals want nothing to do with us.

When I lift my camera, I know I’m stepping into their world uninvited. 

Sometimes, I can feel it, the tension in a shark’s muscles, the way an anteater pauses mid-step, the coyote’s nervous yawn. 

These are signs that my presence isn’t welcome. 

And when I capture an image in that moment, it feels selfish. It feels like I’ve taken something without permission.

There are times it even feels dirty, like I’ve frightened an animal just for the sake of a photograph.

That doesn’t feel like conservation. That doesn’t feel like helping.

And yet… I keep pressing the shutter.

Because I also know that these images tell stories. They travel beyond the forest, the river, the ocean. 

They remind people that these animals exist, here and now, in a world where so much wildness is disappearing. 

An image can plant a seed of wonder, of empathy, of protection.

And when I see the animals reacting, when I sense their stress, I take just a couple of minutes to capture a few images, then I leave them alone. 

Even if I know we could stay longer, even if no one else notices their unease, I feel it. 

I choose to walk away. 

My hope is that those few images will reach the right people, and maybe inspire the kind of change that protects both the animals and the wild places they call home.

I’ve also seen the other side… the encounters where the animal doesn’t mind.

Where they tolerate me, even seem indifferent to my presence. Those moments feel clean, honest, balanced. 

They are a gift, not theft.

So I live in the tension, between selfishness and service, between intrusion and storytelling. 

It’s the double-edged sword of wildlife photography.

And the truth is this… the wild doesn’t owe me anything. 

But I owe it everything!

So if I can turn my imperfect encounters into stories that help protect them, then maybe, just maybe, the scale tips back toward giving more than I take.

Travel Grace... Keeping Your Cool in Airports

Airports test people. Lost luggage, delayed flights, lines that never seem to move, it’s easy to lose patience. 

But the truth is, the way we respond in those moments can shape not only our own experience, but also the energy we bring to everyone around us.

When things go wrong, it’s tempting to see airline staff as the enemy. 

But here’s the reality… they aren’t canceling flights on purpose, and they aren’t misplacing bags just to make your life harder. They’re doing a job, often under pressure, and with very little thanks. 

For many, it isn’t glamorous work. It’s stressful, repetitive, and sometimes thankless.

If you keep that perspective in mind, it becomes easier to respond with empathy rather than anger. 

A simple “thank you, I appreciate your help” can mean more than you realize.

We are lucky… Traveling for wildlife, or for any adventure, is a privilege, not a requirement. 

Even if our souls feel like they require it.

To see jaguars in the Pantanal, polar bears on the ice, or sharks in clear blue water means packing your bags and traveling to places that are often far, far, away.

Sometimes that means… a missed connection, or a lost bag, or the worst… a broke down plane.

And really, if something in the plane is going to break, we would all rather it be while it is still on the ground, where it can be repaired.

So instead of focusing on what went wrong, shift to what’s waiting at the end of the journey.

 The landscapes, the animals, the chance to be somewhere wild and alive. 

A delay or a missing bag is frustrating, yes, but it’s also temporary.

The magic that pulled you to travel in the first place is still waiting for you.

Here’s the truth… you’ll get far more out of your adventure if you carry gratitude instead of frustration. 

Remember that the person behind the counter is human. 

They might be having a bad day too. They might be dealing with things beyond work.

Travel, especially for wildlife, isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be an experience. 

The missed flights, the lost luggage, the delays, they’re part of the journey.

It’s the price we all might have to pay for stepping outside of an ordinary life.

And when you finally arrive, you won’t be thinking about the airline counter.

You’ll be thinking about how lucky you are to be here, in this exact moment, connected to something wild and real.

So next time you’re in that situation… Pause. Take a breath. Offer kindness. 

Because, every delay is just another step in the dance that carries you toward the magic you are looking for.

Safe Travels Everyone!

---

*New Blogs posted 3–4 times a week.
(sometimes more, unless we are on an expedition, then we write trip reports, instead of blogs.)

Bugs Are Part of the Deal... The Reality of Traveling Wild

Let’s talk about something not-so-glamorous… but 100% real.

Bugs.

If you’re going to travel to wild places, jungles, forests, rivers, coastlines, bug bites are part of the package.

Whether you’re photographing gorillas in Uganda, hiking through South America, snorkeling in Mexico, or camping out anywhere near the equator, you’re going to encounter some kind of insect along the way.

And they’re not just an annoyance, some of them bite, some of them itch like crazy, and some can carry things that can ruin your trip, or worse.

The Usual Suspects

Depending on where you’re going, you could run into:

• Mosquitoes (some carry malaria, dengue, or Zika in certain regions)

• Sand flies (they’re small, sneaky, and can cause major itching)

• Chiggers (the itch hits later, and hits hard)

• Bed bugs (yes, they still exist)

• Ants (fire ants in some parts of the world will make you remember them)

• And then there are just your everyday mystery bites that show up uninvited.

What You Should Always Pack

I recommend this to all my guests, and I live by it myself.

There are a few essentials that should have a permanent home in your travel bag:

• Bug repellent (DEET, Picaridin, or natural alternatives like lemon eucalyptus)

• After-bite creams (calamine, hydrocortisone, or ammonia-based sticks)

• Antihistamines (Benadryl, Allegra, or your go-to allergy relief)

• Fungal cream (for the inevitable foot funk that comes with tropical humidity)

• Antibiotic cream (just in case a bite gets infected)

• Itch wipes or spray (for quick on-the-go relief)

Don’t wait to buy this stuff after you land. 

You’ll thank yourself later.

This isn’t about fear.
It’s about respecting the places we step into.

If you're traveling to wild regions, where nature still rules, the insects are part of that world. 

They're not trying to ruin your trip. 

They're just living their life… and we happen to show up.

Let’s not leave out one of the most annoying, and potentially dangerous, members of the bug world… ticks.

These little hitchhikers are quiet, sneaky, and often go unnoticed until they’re already latched on.

You’ll find them in grassy areas, forests, along hiking trails, and even in places you wouldn’t expect, especially in temperate and subtropical zones around the world.

Tick removal tools I keep in my toiletry bag.

Some ticks are just annoying.
Others carry serious illnesses like Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, or tick-borne encephalitis (depending on the region).

Pro tip:

• Wear light-colored clothing so you can see them easier.

• Tuck your pants into your socks (not stylish, but it works).

• Always do a tick check at the end of the day, especially if you’ve been hiking, sitting in grass, or brushing through thick vegetation.

And yes, add tick removal tools to your bag. Just in case.

Bug bites are just part of the deal.

The trade off for adventure, for seeing animals in their world, and for going where few others do.

A few itches are worth the experience.

But being prepared is what keeps the trip focused on wildlife and wonder, not scratching and scrambling for a pharmacy.

But with the right tools, they don’t have to be more than a minor annoyance.

So the next time you're packing, make space for your bug gear kit.

Right alongside your camera gear, binoculars, and passport.

Trust me… Your skin, and your sanity, will thank you.

---

Thank you for reading our Blog.

*New Blogs posted 3–4 times a week. (sometimes more.)
Follow along for fresh stories, trip updates, and raw moments from the wild.