Where the Magic Lives

Tonight, I was in Baja having dinner with my guests. We were walking into the restaurant when I overheard Mike—one of our guests—talking about how he hurt his knee while falling at an active volcano.

What made me laugh wasn’t the story… it was how normal the conversation sounded.

In our world, talking about photographing an active volcano, diving with crocodiles, or photographing polar bears is just part of life.

These aren’t once-in-a-lifetime experiences—they’re Tuesday night conversation over dinner.

The people in this little circle we move through... they’re all the same, yet so incredibly different.

We come from completely different walks of life—different countries, careers, cultures—but here, in this space we share, we’re all kindred spirits.

And it shows.

We talk about the animals we want to see next, the places we’ve been, and the ones still calling to us. We laugh about cold-water dives, close passes, gear failures, and surprise encounters with wild things.

It doesn’t sound exotic. It doesn’t sound special. It just sounds like us—going through the motions of being who we are... or maybe who we were born to be.

It’s in those little moments—over beers, under stars, or walking into a Baja restaurant—that I realize just how rare this tribe is.

We don’t all look the same.

We don’t all talk the same.

But we all know where the magic is.

And we all want to stay there as long as we possibly can.

🐘 Noah... The First Conservationist?

Long before the word “conservation” existed, there was a story about a man who received a warning—whether from God, a dream, or something deeper— his very first instinct wasn’t to save gold, or power, or even people.

It was to save animals.

As a kid, that story meant something to me.
In Sunday school, I didn’t care about the rest of the stories, I just wanted to hear about the ark. About the animals. About the idea that someone would do everything they could to make sure no creature was left behind.

It was the only thing I wanted to talk about or learn about.

The story of Noah’s Ark is ancient—older than many of us realize, and echoed across cultures in flood myths from Mesopotamia to Mesoamerica.

But take away the religious framing, and what you’re left with is something even more profound:

a story of one man’s vision to protect life in its most vulnerable and voiceless form.

Imagine being told the world was about to be destroyed.

Noah had a vision so vivid it shook his soul.

Whether you call that divine guidance, a psychedelic experience, or a moment of deep inner knowing… the point is, he believed it.

And what did he do with that belief?

He built an ark.

But not to save a civilization. Not to preserve human culture.
He built it to save wildlife. Every species he could get his hands on. The crawling. The flying. The growling.

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Authorities capture and tag polar bears that come too close to the town of Churchill. The bears are safely relocated far away from people.

What hits me most is that Noah’s story, at its core, is about recognizing the value of animal life when everything else is collapsing.

That resonates deeply today. We’re facing our own slow flood—climate change, habitat loss, mass extinction—and still, too often, the animals are last in line. Treated as background. As scenery. As expendable.

Noah didn’t see them that way, and neither do I.

Tracking endangered porbeagle sharks in the Bay of Fundy, Canada.

Whether that story is myth or memory, it tells us something powerful.

That saving the wild isn't just practical. It’s instinctual. It’s moral. It’s deeply human.

And maybe that’s the message.

You don’t need to save everything to make a difference.
You just need to act. To care. To respond to what the world is showing you.

Maybe, in a strange way, every time we choose to protect a species, or defend a habitat, or give a voice to the voiceless, we’re building a small ark of our own.

Dehorning rhinos to save them from poachers.

So here’s to the modern conservationists.

To the ones fighting poachers in Africa, to the ones tracking sharks in the Bahamas, to the photographers reminding everyone that we still have wild places left that are worth protecting.

Thank you for being a soldier in Noah’s army.

Please continue telling stories that might just move someone to act.

Whether your “vision” comes in the form of a dream, a documentary, or a dive—you’re answering the same call… The wild is worth saving.

Wake Up Before Life Passes You By

A reflection on fear, routine, and choosing the wild road.

A few months ago in Brazil, I met a 60-year-old man who lives along the Amazon River. As we chatted, I showed him a video of me playing with a shark. He watched it wide-eyed, completely transfixed, and then turned to me and asked with genuine curiosity, “What kind of fish is that?”

I told him it was a tiger shark.
He’d never seen one before.

Years ago, a younger version of me might’ve found that sad. How could someone live their entire life and never know the wonders of what’s out there?

But now, I think a little differently.

If that man is happy and content in his snow globe, then maybe there’s nothing tragic about it at all. He’s living his life, on his terms. And there’s a kind of perfect peace in that.

But…

If you're filled with wonderlust—if your soul itches for more—then no, that kind of life won’t do.

It’s funny—or maybe sad—how many people move through life on autopilot.
Wake up. Go to work. Feed the kids. Walk the dog. Eat. Sleep.
Day after day. Over and over.

And hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. I do those things too.
But if you’re reading this, I’m guessing that’s not all of you.
That’s just one part.

Because if you’ve found your way here, then something inside you is probably craving more.
More wonder. More adventure.
More moments that leave you changed.

Maybe it’s the ocean that calls you.
Maybe it’s the thrill of being around wildlife.
Or maybe it’s simply being somewhere new—heart pounding, senses wide open.

That’s what I write about.
That’s what I live for.

Bilbo Baggins running through the Shire, yelling out… “I am going on an adventure!” has always given me goosebumps. From the book ‘The Hobbit.’

So here’s the question that’s been sitting with me for years:
How many people live out their lives quietly wishing they were doing something else?

Or wishing they were somewhere else?

I’d bet the number is high.

And it leaves me asking:
Why do we cling to routine like a life raft?
Why are we afraid to step out the door unless we’re certain of the way back?
Why does “safe” always win over “bold”?

Here’s one answer I’ve come to understand:
Our brains are wired to protect us.
It’s an ancient thing—a leftover from the days when our ancestors needed to avoid danger to survive. That wiring is still with us.

It tells us to stay comfortable, to avoid risk, to fear the unknown. And while that instinct might have kept early humans alive, it can also hold us back from the very things that make us feel alive today.

We often have to fight through those negative thoughts just to try something new.

But when we do—when we push past that internal resistance—the reward is powerful.
The clarity. The breath. The feeling in your chest like the world just opened up.

That’s the good stuff… and that’s why I keep chasing it.

Because here’s the truth:
Life won’t wait for your “one day I’m gonna…”

So if you’re reading this and you’ve been wishing and daydreaming your way through the weeks, hoping for the “right time” to do that thing, take that trip, or become who you know you really are…

This is your wake-up call.

There’s a wild world out there. Full of beauty. Full of risk. Full of stories waiting to be lived.

And it’s calling your name.

Playing with Extinction: Dire Wolves, Red Wolves, and the New Wild

It’s Colassal’s Dire Wolf on the cover of Time.

There’s something ancient and haunting about the idea of a dire wolf. Not just the Game of Thrones version, but the real thing—a massive predator that once roamed the Americas, now extinct for over 10,000 years.

And now, thanks to Colossal Biosciences, it might be coming back.

Or… something that looks like it.

This week, Colossal announced progress on creating a genetically engineered “dire wolf”—not a perfect resurrection, but a modern hybrid with dire wolf traits, bred from existing canid species.

Powerful. Bigger. Ancient in look, new in design.

It’s the kind of headline that makes you sit back and ask: What are we actually doing here?

Captive red wolf, North Carolina.

Are We Saving Species, or Rebuilding Them?

The most frequent criticism of Colossal’s work is a simple one:
Why are we trying to bring back animals that are already gone… when we can’t seem to protect the ones we still have?

And it's a fair question.

Take red wolves. Fewer than 20 survive in the wild. Their genetics are a mess—decimated by bottlenecks, inbreeding, and habitat loss. But Colossal is also working on cloning red wolves to help strengthen their gene pool and possibly reintroduce viable, healthier animals into the ecosystem.

Colassal has already created three cloned red wolves.

To some, that’s playing god. To others, it’s the only chance this species has left.

There is enough DNA from this 39,000 year old cave bear to help bring back this species… the question is, should we?

But here’s where it gets complicated:
If cloning works, and species can be brought back or “restored” in a lab… what happens to our sense of urgency to protect the wild in the first place?

What happens when politicians or the public say: “Let them die off—we can always bring it back later”?

That’s not science fiction anymore.

That’s happening now.

I’ll admit—a big part of me wants to see a mammoth walk the tundra. Or a dodo waddle through a misty jungle. Or hear a thylacine call echo through the trees.

My passion for wildlife wants to believe this is a good thing.

A hopeful thing.

But I know this isn't a rewind button on extinction. What’s being created is not truly what we lost. These are new animals—genetically influenced descendants, not perfect replicas. They may look like what once was, but they’re built from fragments, pieced together with modern tools.

It’s not resurrection. It’s reimagining.

And we have to ask ourselves—what’s the real reason behind all of this?
Are we doing it to fix what we’ve broken?
To scratch that scientific itch… because we can?
Or are we doing it just because it’ll make a dump truck full of money?

Lyuba the baby mammoth found in Siberia… displayed in Kalinigrad, Russia

Red wolves might survive now thanks to cloning—but are they still wild if their survival comes from a lab?

Some conservationists argue that these efforts create “GMO animals,” not true reflections of nature. Others see it as an evolution of conservation—using new tools to fix old damage.

The truth probably lies somewhere in between.

If a cloned red wolf mates with a wild one, and their pups thrive in the swamps of North Carolina, does it really matter how the lineage got a second chance?

If nature accepts them, maybe we should too.

Captive North Carolina Red Wolf.

Colossal isn’t just playing with DNA. They’re forcing a conversation we all need to have—about what it means to protect life, to restore it, and to possibly recreate it.

And I’ll be honest—I’m a torn soul in all of this.

Colossal claims the mammoth will return in 2028.

Because the moment a woolly mammoth walks again, or a thylacine is spotted moving through the forest, I’ll be the first in line to see it.

That’s the animal lover in me.

That’s ten years old me; cross-legged on the floor, flipping through dinosaur books, wishing I could reach through the pages and be there.

So yes, part of me wants this… Desperately.

And another part wonders what it really means if we do succeed in bring back extinct species.

I don’t have all the answers. I just know I want a future where wild animals don’t only exist because someone built them.

I want to stand on the edge of a forest or a beach or a frozen tundra, and see something real move through it… ancient, untamed, and still here.

If we use science to help that happen, not just in labs, but in the wild, then maybe we’re not playing god.

Maybe we’re just trying to make things right… Before it’s too late.