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.

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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.

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.