Over the years, I’ve named and renamed this blog more times than I can count.

Each time, I was trying to capture what we do—the energy of the work, the magic of the wildlife, the grit of the journey. But nothing ever quite felt right. It just didn’t fully reflect who I am or what this life is actually like.

Until now.

I’ve finally landed on a name that feels good:
A Day in the Life of a Wildlife Guide and Photographer.

It fits, because that's truly what this blog and my YouTube channel have become—a window into what we do out there. Not just the epic moments with polar bears, orcas on the hunt, or dancing with sharks... but the full reality of our days in the field.

The early mornings.
The gear failures.
The missed sightings.
The quiet days where the ocean feels empty.
The magic we chase anyway.

If you’ve watched my YouTube videos, you already know they’re far from polished.

They’re raw, in-the-moment, and definitely flawed—but I love them that way. They’re honest. They share the heart and soul of what we experience out there.

Until now, I’ve mostly shared highlights—those big, cinematic moments when nature delivers something unforgettable. And don’t get me wrong—I’ll keep sharing those.

But I’ve been thinking…

Maybe it’s time to start sharing the lows, as well.

The days when nothing shows up.
The long waits.
The breakdowns.
The hours of effort that go into those brief flashes of beauty.

It might bore some people. But I think others might find it refreshing. Real. Even inspiring. Because that’s what these trips are actually like.

Wild places don’t follow scripts. And neither do we.

So, this name—A Day in the Life of a Wildlife Guide and Photographer—is more than just a title. It’s a direction. For this blog. For our channel. For how I want to tell these stories.

Thanks for being here, and for following along on this wild ride.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

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.

A Day in the Life of a Wildlife Guide and Photographer — Why This Name Finally Feels Right

The Shot That Lives in Your Head