My intent on this photography adventure was simple: to photograph the everyday wildlife in our urban parks. Not the rare birds. Not the dramatic moments. Just the ones we so often overlook. We move through parks focused on our own lives — our phones, our thoughts, our to-do lists — while all around us, birds are simply being. Singing. Playing. Searching for food. Basking in the warmth of the sun. Chattering back and forth as if sharing the day’s news. And yet, we barely notic

January shifted something in me. With many of my bird friends gone on migration, the skies felt quieter. The wetlands felt still. And without realizing it at first, that absence gently nudged my gaze upward — away from feathers and flight, and toward the vastness around me. What I found was a reminder of just how stunning a province I live in. Here on Vancouver Island, landscapes don’t ask for attention — they simply exist in all their quiet power. And this January, they show

Here in British Columbia, we’re lucky to share our shorelines with two types of cormorants that I’ve spent time photographing: Common Cormorants, with their sleek black beaks, and Double-crested Cormorants, recognizable by their striking orange-yellow facial skin and beaks. At first glance, many people dismiss cormorants as “just black birds.” But spend even a few minutes watching them — or better yet, photographing them — and you’ll realize how wrong that assumption is. Did