anaconda in the Southern Pantanal, Brazil.
I travel. I keep visiting new places. I keep seeking out new animals. It’s what I love to do, and it’s what I live for.
As a kid, I ate, slept, drank, and dreamed of wild animals. I wanted to be around them every moment of the day. All my toys were animals—until Star Wars came along, then it was Star Wars everything—but my books were always about wildlife. I’d read stories about far-off places where exotic creatures roamed, and I dreamed of being there, of going there.
I grew up in rural South Texas, surrounded by orange orchards, plowed fields of corn and melons (which I still can’t stand to this day), and small ranches with horses and cattle dotting the landscape. Our only neighbors were the Curls. Bob Curl was an old horseman who never liked me much—I asked too many questions, I guess.
My days were spent outdoors, running down dirt roads, flipping over rocks for lizards, chasing snakes, spotting ground squirrels, and watching birds. When evening came, the toads would emerge, and I’d try to catch them. As the sun dipped behind the orchards, fireflies would start blinking across the fields, and I’d run through the dusk trying to grab them, knowing that when the fireflies came out, it was time to head inside.
I’d walk through the door hungry, sweaty, covered in dirt, with a runny nose and a big smile on my face.
It was a good childhood.
Growing up, I wanted to be a veterinarian, but not for cats and dogs. That never interested me much. I dreamed of working with wild animals. I wanted to go to Africa, to treat lions, elephants, giraffes—anything big, wild, and untamed. At the time, it was the only path I knew that could get me close to the animals I loved. I had no idea that wildlife filmmaking, guiding, or photography could be careers. Being a vet was the only way I could imagine making a life out of my passion.
Photographing sperm whales off Dominica. Image by Jean Dubois
That was over forty years ago, and here I am at 51 years old, still eating, sleeping, drinking, and dreaming of wildlife and wild places.
Having a bit of fun, sizing up an American crocodile off Banco Chinchorro, MX. Image by Mark Rangi
Dancing with my beloved tigers, Tiger Beach Bahamas. Image by Jack Meadows.
There’s nothing like being there, stepping into a landscape where a rare animal roams, breathing in air that few have breathed, waiting for that one moment where everything aligns. I understand when I need to keep my distance, and I always do when it’s necessary. And, of course, some animals just aren’t meant to be approached—sadly. But those moments when I can be close, when there is no blue between us, when a silverback gorilla walks just a few feet away, those are the moments I live for.
Some people call me an adrenaline junkie for it, but I’ve never seen it that way.
I’m not chasing danger. I’m just comfortable in the wild. It feels normal to me. It feels like home.
With my partner in crime, Maritza Martinez. Tiger Beach Bahamas.
This year, we’re celebrating twenty years of running wildlife expeditions. It’s crazy to think that this is my job—that taking people to see wild animals is what I do for a living. I’ll never take it for granted. Helping people on their own wildlife journeys, helping them make their dreams come true, gives me purpose.
None of this would have been possible without the love and support of my family, especially my wife, my dad, and my brother. They believed in me and every one of my crazy dreams. Why, I’ll never know. But they did.
As I write this, I wonder what compelled me to share all this. Then I remembered—it was a social media post that sparked it. Someone asked me to tell more of my story, so here it is.
Well, a tiny piece of it.
There’s a lot more to tell—the motorcycle days, the bull riding days, the wild teenage years—but those stories don’t belong here. What does belong here is the reason I do what I do.
As a kid, I wanted to be close to wild animals. That hasn’t changed. I can’t help it. It’s just the way I am. My daughter, Sophia, has always joked, "There’s close… and then there’s Eli close."
Giant anteater, Bonito, Brazil.
Writing this has brought back so many forgotten memories—so many moments of my childhood that made me who I am today. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Nobody’s childhood is. But the good outweighed the bad, and that’s all that matters.
And in the end, this has never been about a career in wildlife.
It has always been about living out a little kid’s dream.
Thanks for reading.
