American crocodile. 1/250, f/11, ISO 200

Every photographer has the shot that haunts them—the one they can see so clearly in their mind’s eye but have yet to capture.

It’s more than just an image. It’s a moment, a feeling, a vision so vivid that it pulls you back, again and again, no matter how many times you miss it.

I have had several of these shots in my head. The perfect orca shot. The perfect anaconda shot. The whale. The crocodile.

I’ve visualized them over and over, played them out in my mind like a scene from a film. I know the light, the angle, the way the water will move around them. I know exactly what I want.

Sperm whale mating aggregation. 1/320, f/9, ISO 800

But I haven’t captured them yet.

And that’s why I keep going back.

There’s a strange relationship between wildlife photographers and the images we haven’t taken yet. They exist in a space between obsession and determination—a mental archive of moments that feel just within reach but never quite materialize.

I’ve been in the water with orcas in Norway, camera in hand, waiting for that perfect baitball shot—the one where the orca is perfectly positioned next to the baitball, with enough light pouring through the water to light up the herring around the orcas.

An image that is raw and powerful and fully wild. I’ve been to Norway many times, but I have not once come close to the shot I am dreaming of. Some of my friends have, and their images fire me up and fill me with inspiration.

I’ve searched for the anaconda shot that exists in my head—the massive serpent laying in the water coiled up in the sand next to a diver, perfectly framed, every colorful scale catching the light just right. I’ve been on seven different expeditions trying to get it just right.

Each time, I leave knowing I’ll have to come back.

Whales, sharks, crocodiles… they all live in my mind as images I am still chasing.

Some might say it’s frustrating to keep missing the shot you want. But for me that’s exactly what makes it all worth it.

Wildlife photography is about patience, yes, but more than that—it’s about persistence.

I have learned you just don’t get the shot because you want it bad. The ocean doesn’t care about your dreams. The animals don’t pose for you. It’s all on their terms, not yours.

So you keep coming back.

Because one day, when you least expect it, the stars will align. The animal will move into the perfect position. The water will be clear, the light just right. And you’ll be ready.

That’s the moment every photographer lives for.

That’s the moment that makes every failed attempt worth it.

And until that moment comes, I’ll keep returning.

Because the shot I’m chasing is still out there, waiting for me to capture it.

And when I finally do... It will not be because I got lucky.

It will be because I missed my shot a hundred times before.