Yesterday’s photo adventure had a clear goal: storm watching  and practicing long-exposure storm photography—the kind where the waves slow into soft mist and movement becomes mood. Mother Nature, however, had her own plan. My first location was exposed, raw, and powerful. Too powerful. The wind was relentless, knocking everything over, and there was absolutely no way I was stepping onto the beach and risking my life—or the life of my camera—for a photo. 70km/hr winds I manage

Yesterday’s adventure began with a simple intention. On a rare non-rainy Saturday, I headed out early to spend the day practicing my wildlife videography skills. More on that soon (and in future YouTube videos), but for now, this story belongs to the photographs—and to the quiet, powerful moments that unfolded along the shoreline.  I stepped into a fog-covered morning with one very specific goal: Surf Scoters. If you’ve never seen one, they look like black-and-white, cow-colo

I didn’t intend to photograph today. Not on a Sunday. My only goal was simple: take Finnegan out for a walk and continue his little adventure-cat training. Fresh air, sunshine, and a gentle stroll—nothing more. But, before the walk, I felt a tug. A tiny nudge. Go check the farm flats. And thank goodness I listened, because what unfolded over the next two hours was pure wildlife magic. The sun was blindingly bright—one of those winter days where everything feels washed in whit