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

I woke to an overcast, heavy fall morning—the kind where the sky hangs low and winter whispers at the edges of every cloud. Normally I love days like this for photography, but today my mind wasn’t my friend. Grief and depression wrapped around me before I even got out of bed. Some days, sadness feels like a full-body weight. But photography has become my sanctuary—my moving meditation—something I’ve learned and leaned on over the past three years. So I grabbed my gear, kissed