My short trip to Kenya got off to an inauspicious start when my brand new Canon 1D MK 1V camera packed it in after just 40 minutes of shooting. “Error 20” was the flashing message – this is a problem related to the mirror/shutter mechanism that no amount of battery removal would solve.

Fortunately I had a number of other camera bodies with me and of these I settled on two, always reliable, albeit slow (in terms of frame rate) 5D MK 2 bodies. It’s always convenient to blame one’s equipment for poor images but I like to remind myself of what Mitsuaki Iwago was able to achieve in 1982/84 in his seminal publication “Serengeti” which even today, still looks fantastic –and  these were the days before even auto-focus was around, let alone digital technology.

Arriving in the Mara, I headed straight for the Cheetah mother and her six cubs which I had first seen back in early August. Amazingly and against all the odds, this remarkable mother has managed to ensure that all six cubs are still in rude health.

Imagine living in an environment where 1) you are a single, homeless parent with six young children to raise; 2) every minute of the day and night there are a variety of predators, always in close proximity, that are trying to kill you and your children; 3) you are required to catch and kill all your food unaided by any tools; 4) coalitions of males of your own species are intent on kidnapping and possibly raping you. This is the plight of a female Cheetah with cubs in the wild.

Mortality rates among Cheetah cubs are exceptionally high due mainly to predation from Hyenas, Lions and Leopards so to have raised not just one, but six cubs to just over four months is an incredible feat. As each day passes, the odds of their survival and attainment of adulthood, improve. Indeed even now they can outpace other predators as long as they have some warning and are not ambushed. Unlike other Cheetah mothers that I have observed with young cubs and which have stood toe to toe with predators, this one sensibly flees with her cubs at the first hint of any danger. What is extremely exciting is that four of the cubs are males. Should they survive, they will likely form a coalition with potentially awesome predatory capabilities.

Right now the cubs spend much of the day play fighting with each other. In reality this play fighting involves stalking, running, jumping and throat biting, all essential skills which will need to be honed to ensure a successful transition to adulthood and independence from their mother.

The cubs are already going after smaller prey. This cub actually managed to catch this juvenile Banded Mongoose but has still not developed the necessary throat choking skills to dispatch it, affording the fortunate, smaller, youngster a lucky let-off.

At this age, the cubs are also busy exploring their environment and unlike Cheetah adults who only occasionally venture into trees, the cubs cannot resist anything wooden and vertical.

Being homeless means having to endure the elements and at this time of the year, the Mara is often subject to torrential downpours of rain. Whenever it rains, the temperature drops several degrees and sitting in the comfort of our vehicle, it is hard not to feel sympathy for all the creatures of the Mara, large and small, who are forced to tough out the elements.

But rain always makes for interesting photographic opportunities and late on my second day as dusk was rapidly descending, necessitating an ISO of 2,500, I took what has become one of my favourite images. In a perfect world, all six of the cubs would be looking at the camera but the image is still a strong one, made by the water droplets shearing off the mother and the priceless expression on the cub’s face to the immediate right. It’s one of those images that begs for a caption…

I saw no Leopards on this trip (partly because I did not look for them) and spent only very limited time with Lions but I did have some good photographic opportunities with:

1)      An adult Bateleur Eagle on an attractive perch with lots of positive exposure compensation to ensure detail in the bird.

2)      A Hippo in the rapids of a very high Mara River shot at 0.4 of a second to blur the flowing water but still fast enough to ensure a sharp image of the Hippo.

3)      This juvenile Black-Backed Jackal shot backlit at sunset outside its den. The trick with backlit shots at sunrise and sunset – and at the equator, the window of opportunity is less than ten minutes – is to 1) underexpose (anywhere from -1/3^rd to as much as minus 3 stops if you just want a silhouette with rim lighting (you’ll need a dark background to make this work) and 2) to switch your white balance to shade or a similar manual Kelvin setting. This will enhance the reds and yellows and produce a “Velvia effect”. Of course you can do this on the computer as well but it is always more rewarding to get it right in-camera.

4)      These two Masai Giraffes walking on the horizon. This is an example of being able to recognize the potential of digital photography. The sky was overcast – almost white – and the Giraffes would have needed plenty of overexposure to reveal their details. Instead I deliberately underexposed with the intention of rendering them as silhouettes for conversion to a high key monochrome image. The sky was a dull, off-white which has been given some added plus exposure during post processing, to turn it white. Bingo – a pleasing image out of nothing.

Meanwhile the migration was in its final throes with river crossing still occurring on a daily basis.

However, I was much less interested in the river crossings than the approach to the river by the Wildebeest and Zebras. Unlike in August, I had bought my rock cams and while the casings still need some modifications, my new wireless triggers worked much better than the previous ones that I used in the Serengeti in May. The result was increasingly improved images. As I have noted before, this is a very hit or miss (heavily weighted to the latter) activity, requiring large amounts of patience – will the animals pass by/over the rock casings which have been laid down well in advance of the anticipated direction of the animals? And while it is exhilarating when they do so, part of you also has your heart in your mouth as one misdirected hoof from an adult Zebra has the potential to destroy the casings and/or severely damage your camera and lens. Indeed during one stampede of several hundred animals, both casings were sent sprawling with the cameras unceremoniously ejected. Fortunately no damage was done.

And this one, that was almost a winner (need to set the manual focusing distance a little closer next time!)

I tried using the rock cams in a few other situations. While driving away from the river one day, I noticed a Crowned Plover precariously sitting on three eggs right next to the dirt track down which numerous vehicles were travelling to and from the river. We withdrew about 20 meters, pulled over to the side of the road and observed the brid for 20 minutes. Every time a vehicle would go by (neither the driver or the passengers in any of the vehicles noticed her), she would raise her wings. This gave me an idea, so approaching slowly, I placed the rock cam about a foot and half from her. She made no attempt to rise and leave the eggs when I did this. We then retreated and as the next few vehicles passed, I would press the wireless trigger. As she already had enough aggrevation with the speeding vehicles, I did not want to stress her any more and so removed the rock cam after a few minutes. It won’t win any awards with the feet and wings cut-off while the mid-day lighting is horrible, but it is still an interesting picture of a bird that ordinarily would never allow itself to be photographed with a wide-angled lens.

On my last morning we came upon a male Lion feeding on a Wildebeest carcass. I was able to place the rock cam 10m away without the Lion noticing. Too far away to photograph on the kill, the hope was that he would walk in the direction of the camera after finishing his meal. Unfortunately he did the complete opposite, dragging the carcass further away before eventually sauntering off away from the camera. However, by now a posse of vultures and Marabou Storks had gathered a short distance away, ready to move in and clean up as soon as the Lion left. This they duely did, with this Marabou pausing briefly to check out the strange rock like object on the ground.

As the carrion descended on the carcass, the Lion, in a fit of annoyance, made a half-hearted charge in their direction. This was enough to send the scavangers (and flies!) skywards, fortunately in the direction of the camera.

After a week in the Mara, I headed back to Nairobi where I took a private charter up to Lake Turkana. Joining me were Ken and Michelle Dyball (www.pulseafricansafaris.com), two talented wildlife photographers from Australia who I had invited along. They spend several months each year self-driving in Namibia and the Mara and have had some amazing experiences. Ken’s beautiful and rare picture of a Caracal in a tree received a highly commended award in the Black & White section of this year’s BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

As our plane was late taking off, we had no real time for any aerial photography on the way up apart from a very brief minute or two when we were able to open the door on one side of the plane just as the sun was setting behind the hills ringing Lake Logipi.

After a night in Loiyangalani on the South East shore of Lake Turkana, we were in the air early the next morning, heading across the Lake and up its western shore before landing at a dusty airstrip outside the small town of Kalokol. From there we made our way to the shore of Ferguson’s Gulf where after inevitable delays we boarded a small motor boat to make the 45 minute trip to the volcanic shores of Central Island. I had been asked by a UK based film company to make a recce of the island to determine whether there was any interesting wildlife behavior to be filmed. Without giving too much away, the answer is largely no, although there is one potential item of interest. More on this possibly over the next few months.

After a quick lunch back at Loiyangalani, we headed for Lake Logipi. I have seen this seasonal lake in many guises – from almost completely dry last year to near full two years ago. With the abundant rains this year in April and May, the lake currently has plenty of water – although it never reaches a depth of more than a foot or two.

Arriving towards late afternoon, we were greeted with the wondrous sight of thousands of Lesser Flamingos thronging the shallow waters. It is hard to put into words just how incredibly beautiful this lake is when conditions are right. The combination of the Flamingos, the perfect cloud reflections on the mirror surface and the algae infused colours of the lake bed, visible underneath the surface, make for a stunning spectacle that really does take one’s breath away. Depending on the orientation of our plane to the water’s surface and the sun, the lake bed is a constantly changing kaleidoscope of colours which also produces optical illusions of apparent hill like features beneath the surface even though the lake bed is completely flat.

After Logipi, we headed down the equally spectacular Seguta Valley with its initial flat, wide, alluvial pan, interspersed with numerous seasonal rivers and streams giving way to a drier environment dotted with ancient volcanic features.

No, not a Wildebeest calf, but 8lbs of female Homo sapiens. Amaya Lana Mckenzie was born 13 days ago after putting mum through 46 hours of labour. All good now and we will be looking to take her on some of our wildencounters trips soon. 

Amaya -11 days old

 As domestic duties are curtailing my own travels for a few weeks, I thought I would post 16 of my favourite images from the last 18 months – about the time I began to travel on a more regular basis. I say favourite, but if you ask me tomorrow, I’m sure I would give you 16 entirely different images. Anyway, hope you enjoy them. 

1. November 17, 2009 will go down as the single greatest day of photography that I have had the privilege to experience. Blue sky, T-shirt weather, surrounded by hundreds of Emperor Penguins and their adorable chicks, all set against a breathtaking backdrop of ice and snow – it doesn’t get any better than this. The actual image is an iconic one and I have more original images from the trip but even the most seasoned of wildlife photographers would have pressed the shutter when these four came together.

Emperor Penguins with chicks, Snow Hill rookery, Antarctic Peninsular

2. Just south of Lake Turkana in Northern Kenya is a landscape from another world. Punctuated by an endless series of volcanic structures, it is an inhospitable environment of searing heat. Yet in the caustic waters of Lake Logipi, life flourishes with the seasonal lake periodically home to thousands of Lesser Flamingos. This image was taken from a small Cessna with the doors removed, last September,  when a prolonged drought had reduced the lake to a few isolated pools of water.

Volcanic island in dried up lake with flying Lesser Flamingos on the left

3. China’s culture of eating wildlife or using their parts in traditional Chinese medicine has meant that it has killed off pretty much all of its non-avian wildlife. However, China does contain areas of outstanding scenic beauty. The Jiuzhaigou Nature Reserve in Northern Sichuan province is arguably the jewel in the crown especially during the fall months. I have lots of wide angle images of the fall foliage reflections on the astounding aqua marine lakes, but this image is arguable my favorite from the Reserve. I like the painterly feel to the image and the way the colours blend into and swirl around each other.

Autumn foliage reflected off flowing river water, Jiuzhaigou, Sichuan, PRC

4. I love to show wildlife in the context of its environment and this is also a classic case of less is more. I spent many hours in the numbing cold on the edge of this field which attracts large numbers of Japanese Red Crowned Cranes in winter due to supplemental grain that is left out for the birds. In the month of February the Cranes engage in highly ritualized and acrobatic courtship dances and for most photographers this is the main attraction. I have a number of nice images showing this behavior but I still prefer the stark simplicity of this image.

Japanese Red Crowned Crane walking on snow covered field, Hokkaido, Japan

5. A straightforward portrait shot made by the flat light, uniform background and the Cheetah’s bloody face. Normally I would give this type of image a bit more space around the edges but I wanted to show as much detail in the face as possible. On the one level this shows the beauty of the Cheetah; on the other, the violence that exists in the natural world.

Female Cheetah with blood covered face from fresh Gazelle kill, Masai Mara, Kenya

6. Lake Natron and its surroundings in Northern Tanzania share many of the traits found at Logipi in Northern Kenya: harsh, dry, brutally hot and waters so corrosive that they pose a physical danger to the touch of a human. Normally, much of the lake contains water with a depth of no more than a few feet while regular Spirulina algae blooms turn the salt crusted waters a vivid violet colour. However, during the rainy season, the lake fills up, the algae wither and the Flamingos depart. On this overcast day in early May 2010, the waters were rendered a dark grey, bordering on black with just enough light to reflect the clouds above onto the mirror like lake waters. Shooting again from a small Cessna I was lucky to find a few remaining Flamingos gliding over the monochromatic surface.

Lesser Flamingos flying over Lake Natron, Tanzania

7. Adult lions are for the most part, fairly boring. Occasionally they may hunt during daylight hours but they spend up to 18 hours a day sleeping. The vast majority of their activity takes place under the cover of darkness, away from the obtrusive lenses of pesky photographers. For adult females at least, this all changes when they have young cubs. A juvenile lion’s life is all about exploration, play and an ongoing struggle with its siblings for suckling rights. A mother’s tail is treated as an irresistible play thing. Here I managed to capture the “decisive moment” as the cub rose on its hind legs to sink its small but already sharp teeth into the flailing appendage.

Lion cub standing on hind legs, biting Lioness' tail, Masai Mara, Kenya

8. It’s been called the greatest wildlife spectacle in the natural world and having witnessed the event in each of the last 14 years; it’s hard to argue with this assessment. Perhaps the most dramatic of the numerous proceedings that characterize the migration are the river crossings especially when the migration is forced to run the gauntlet of swollen waters populated by voracious Nile Crocodiles which often grow to nightmarish proportions. The individual in this particular image is a relative youngster of modest size and thankfully for the alarmed Wildebeest, proved unsuccessful in this attempt.

Nile Crocodile attacking Wildebeest, Mara River, Masai Mara, Kenya

9. Indonesia’s Kalimantan rainforest is probably the most unforgiving environment that I have spent any prolonged period of time in. A lasting memory is of being permanently soaked in sweat and covered in insect bites. Despite the uncomfortable conditions, it has also been one of the most rewarding photographically, with this mother and impossibly cute baby tolerating my close presence for almost an hour. If you ever want a quick fire introduction to the wanton destruction caused by the palm oil and logging industries, then visit Kalimantan. The Orangutan is barely clinging on in the face of an alarming loss of habitat almost entirely caused by these two industries.

Orangutan mother and baby, Kalimantan, Indonesia

10. Almost certainly the most intense and adrenaline charged few hours of photography I have had took place in a remote atoll pass in Tahiti this summer. Spawning fish aggregations occur in many locations around the globe but few can match the size of the ones that I observed at this location nor do they contain the attendant predation displayed by the numerous Grey Reef and Pointed Nose Sharks. Obtaining decent images is difficult but just to have witnessed this event was an incredible experience on every level.

Spawning Bristletooth Surgeonfish with attendent Dark-Banded Fusilers and Grey Reef Sharks above a carpet of Marble and Greasy Groupers, Tahiti

11. Ask me to name my two favorite wildlife destinations and it would be a toss-up between the Masai Mara and Midway Atoll. Difficult (and expensive!) to get to, this small speck of land in the Northern Pacific provides a safe haven for much of the year to almost two million seabirds. Unlike most of the world’s premier wildlife destinations, you can, if you choose, be on your own for the whole day surrounded in all directions by thousands of ridiculously tame birds. Laysan and Black-Footed Albatrosses are the most numerous species but my favorites are the White Terns.  The close approach of the birds means that wide-angle lenses come to the fore. This image was taken at a focal length of 26mm, using a touch of hand held, off-camera, fill flash but is really made by the addition in the background of not only five Laysan Albatrosses but also a Red-Footed Booby.

Two White Terns, five Laysan Albatrosses and a Red Footed Booby in flight, Midway Atoll, Hawaii

12. Oxpeckers enjoy a symbiotic relationship with Buffalos. The Oxpeckers get to feed off ticks and flies that plague the Buffalos who in turn are happy to be rid of them. With their distinctive red and yellow bills, the Oxpeckers hop up and down the Buffalos safe in the knowledge that they are welcome guests. They are not easy to photograph as they rarely stay still for long. I like the vertical format of this image; the Oxpecker in a mid-air hop and the docile expression on the Buffalo’s face.

Yellow Billed Oxpecker jumping onto African Buffalo's face, Masai Mara, Kenya

13. What’s not to love about Japan? From its people to its food, to its time honored culture and customs, it has to be one of the world’s top destinations to visit (ok, so you have to pay a little more – but it’s worth it). Eastern Hokkaido in winter contains a treasure trove of wildlife wonders laid out on a canvas of scenic splendor. A visit to frozen Lake Kussharo is a highlight with its large migrant population of Whooper Swans. These four were captured walking in near perfect synchronization with plenty of room given to the spectacular backdrop.

Whooper Swans walking on frozen lake, Kussharo Lake, Hokkaido, Japan

14. Kids, don’t try this in the bush. I’d like to tell you I was doing a Steve Irwin (cricky!), lying on the ground facing an onrushing Wildebeest but the truth is that I was safely ensconced in a vehicle 30m away. The image was taken using a wireless trigger attached to a camera hidden inside a casing disguised as a rock. This is a frustrating mode of photography to pursue as so much is left to chance and you have no control over the behavior of the animal or composition while exposure and focusing have to be guessed at in advance. I have lots of misses, but occasionally it works out.

Wildebeest running, close-focus, wide-angle, Seronera, Serengeti, Tanzania

15. Taken the day previous to the Flamingo image, we had suffered slate grey skies for the duration of our aerial photography trip. As we headed back towards the Kenyan border, the clouds began to part and late afternoon sunshine valiantly emerged. With Mt.Shompole in the background, the glassy lake surface produced incredible reflections of the clouds and sky, at times making it difficult to distinguish water from sky. Indeed this phenomenon has caused inexperienced pilots to misjudge their altitude resulting in a number of light aircraft crashes into the lake over the years.

Mount Shompole and clouds with reflections on Lake Natron, Tanzania

16. This is Keekei, a remarkable female Cheetah that regularly used the top of our vehicle as a vantage point to spot potential prey and predators. Shortly after this image was taken, she removed a pair of sunglasses from Paveena’s head and then began to roughly lick her hair. Enraptured, I failed to take any photos.

Close up of Cheetah face and nostrils, Masai Mara, Kenya

I recently made a brief one week visit to the Masai Mara with a colleague from work. No rock cams this time as this is very much an individual pursuit involving long hours of waiting and no small measure of patience, more often than not culminating in frustrating results. As this was my friend’s first visit to the Mara, I wanted to show him what all the fuss about the Mara is during migration season. After a slow start, our luck turned towards the end of the week with a particularly unique sighting.

The Mara in August through October is all about the Wildebeest migration. In a good year, well over a million of these awkward looking herbivores spill into the Mara accompanied by equally impressive numbers of Zebras and other grazers. The distribution of local rains in the Northern Serengeti and the Mara is generally the key factor determining when the herds arrive and in what numbers.

This year the migration arrived unusually early – in June. However, the size of the herds so far has fallen short of previous years and as I write this, I would estimate that less than half of the entire migration has entered the Mara. Still, the migration is in a constant state of flux and a few days of heavy rains in the Mara could change all this.

The main river crossing points adjacent to the Serena Lodge are proving disappointing this year. Firstly, most have involved crossings into the Mara Triangle – i.e. away from our vantage point (you always want the herds coming towards you). In addition, a mass drowning at the aptly named Cul-De-Sac crossing has meant that the waters of the main crossing points are littered with carcasses. As a result the Nile Crocodiles are paying little attention to the herds as they traverse the river. Moreover, with the waters swollen from abundant rains earlier in the year, the few attacks that do take place are over in a few seconds with victims quickly drowned.

 In the image below, a Topi is shown trying to find the exit point amid the impassable vertical banks at Cul-De-Sac.

Meanwhile though, the crossings have been a little more productive down in the South Mara. Not only have there been more crossings from the Triangle into the conservancy areas but the steeper banks at the key crossing points at this stretch of the Mara River provide a more photographic spectacle relative to the corresponding points in the Northern Mara.

There are fewer Crocs in the South Mara vs. the multitudes at the main crossing points but we did see this attempt at the bank as these Zebras were drinking prior to crossing.

Not more than five minutes later, we saw the same Croc take a young Wildebeest from the exact same spot – alas, no good pictures.

As we were driving away from a crossing one morning, we spotted a Hyena running at full tilt but with a dark object hanging from its jaws. At first we thought it was a piece of Wildebeest carcass but after following it and getting closer, it quickly became apparent that it was in fact a small Hyena pup. Adult Hyenas often carry young pups from den to den as recently born pups are apt to wander off in the wrong direction out in the open where they are also vulnerable to various predators, especially Lions. Sadly, it also became evident that this pup was dead. Why the mother was running so frantically and how the pup died, remain a mystery. Perhaps the mother gave birth to a still born pup, perhaps it was killed by a rival Hyena and perhaps the mother’s frantic running was simply due stress. Everyday in the Mara one sees behavior which cannot be explained and which one can only speculate on.

 I did manage to take this close-up image as the Hyena ran parallel to our vehicle with the lifeless pup hanging gently from her jaws.

Cheetahs are the rarest of the big cats in the Mara, but this year there are unusually large numbers of these graceful felines on the grass plains. In a small area on the way down to a conical hill known as “Lookout”, we found: 1) “the three boys” – three adult male Cheetah brothers with exceptional hunting skills who have been swaggering across a large area of the Mara for the last three years; 2) the famed “Mrembo” female Cheetah who currently has a large sub-adult cub in tow; 3) a solitary female Cheetah; 4) a first time Cheetah mother who appears to wander aimlessly across the plains trailed by her two, often exhausted,  young cubs and 5) best of all, an experienced female cheetah with six (yes six!) small cubs. We only found this menagerie on our last day and the harsh light of the middle of the day prevented us taking any decent images but while the odds are slim, if she can keep these cubs alive, they will surely provide millions of unforgettable photo opportunities for the Mara’s numerous visitors.

Although Lion numbers have decreased significantly across Africa over the last three decades, the Mara remains a key stronghold for the species with several prides continuing to thrive.

Early one overcast morning, we found a young Wildebeest that had lost its mother and had become separated from the herds. We followed it for several minutes as it approached a series of Crotton bushes leading to the banks of the Talek River. This area is home to a large, dispersed pride of Lions that we had seen in this exact area the previous day. Sure enough, we soon spotted three adult Lionesses resting under some small bushes. At first it appeared the Wildebeest would avoid them but inexplicably it changed direction and doubled back on a path that would take it directly past the Lionesses. We positioned our vehicle in sight of both predator and prey. As the Wildebeest came into view, one of the Lionesses inched forward, assuming a classic, low stalking position. As soon as the Wildebeest had jogged past it, the Lioness exploded out of the bushes. The Wildebeest veered sharply, galloping desperately towards our vehicle with the Lioness quickly gaining on it. The chase, which lasted no more than a few seconds, took place so close to our vehicle that our long lenses were rendered useless.

A trip to its back legs sent the Wildebeest sprawling in a cloud of dust. As soon as it regained its footing, the Lioness was on its throat. We just had time to reposition the vehicle, switch to a shorter lens and fire off a few shots before the Wildebeest’s legs gave way and it seemingly succumbed to the Lionesses’ death choke.

You always witness these events with mixed feelings – elation on the one hand at witnessing what is still a rarely seen event and being in the right position to get some decent images, but on the other hand, sadness and sympathy for the poor Wildebeest. In this case, these emotions were amplified as the Lioness did not in fact kill the Wildebeest. Instead it waiting for the rest of the pride to arrive at which point it released the Wildebeest to the sub-adult cubs. Lacking experience, they were unable to put the Wildebeest out of its misery and it was left to the other adult Lionesses in the pride to eventually end its suffering.

On the subject of suffering, we were resting up one day under a large Acacia tree in the mid-day heat when a solitary, limping Wildebeest ambled by. Through our binoculars we could see that it had broken a leg. How this had happened is unclear although most likely it would have occurred on the steep and often slippery banks leading to/from the Mara River. Whatever the cause, its prognosis was a near 100% certainty of death within the next 24 hours. Without the ability to run it would surely be picked off by Lions, Leopard, Hyena or even the three Cheetah brothers.

We drove over to take a closer look. It made no effort to move from the partial shade that it had found so opening the vehicle door and with a camera in hand and arms extended, I was able to take this wide-angled shot.

Ostriches are common enough in the Mara but are always highly photogenic. We found this male sitting on an egg so he was easy to approach as we knew it would take a lot to spook him from his incubation duties. This is a somewhat unusual angle of the long necked bird. Ideally, I would have preferred both eyes visible but I still like the hairs on its neck and the single, red eye.

Leopards are the most numerous of the big cats in the Mara but the hardest to see. This is partly because they are most active at night but mostly because they are extremely secretive and shy creatures. However, the Mara has typically always had up to a handful of Leopards that are highly tolerant of vehicles and relaxed at showing themselves during the day. In years gone by, one such Leopard was the Bella, star of the Big Cat Diary series. She in turn produced a daughter, Olive, who is also incredibly comfortable with vehicles. Olive has now produced her own offspring, one of which is a young male called Paja.

Although Paja will eventually grow to a size that will make him considerably larger than female Leopards, he is currently a little smaller than his mother. He also still lacks the necessary hunting skills to regularly take down the standard Leopard quarry of Impalas, Gazelles and Wildebeest.

While he is still occasionally sharing his mother’s kills, he is now perfecting his hunting abilities by focusing on smaller and sometimes highly unusual prey. In particular, he seems to have developed a taste for Monitor Lizards.

For those of you who have not seen a Monitor Lizard, it looks like a smaller version of a Komodo Dragon. However, adults can reach lengths of five feet and have a distinctive upper set of sharp teeth set amongst powerful jaws.  They are carnivorous and recent studies suggest that they may be capable of producing venom.

Late one afternoon our guide received a call on his two way radio that a Leopard had been spotted not far away killing a Monitor Lizard. We quickly drove to the spot, just in time to see Paja carrying the now deceased Lizard up a grassy bank.

Two days later, the same event was repeated. This time we had been following Paja as she flitted in and out of the Crotton bushes, in the process making a number of unsuccessful attempts on Spring Hares and various birds. She then disappeared behind some rocks set within a dry river bed. At this point we thought we were in for a long wait given that Leopards, as with all the big cats, can spend many diurnal hours simply doing nothing.

After approximately 30 minutes, we became aware of a commotion behind some rocks in a position some distance from where we had last seen him. Shortly after, he emerged with an enormous Lizard clamped between his jaws. With pulses racing, he then answered our prayers and dragged the still struggling reptile onto a group of exposed rocks approximately 30 meters from our vehicle. Although clearly the worse for wear, the Lizard was still struggling with its jaws periodically opening and closing and its tail thrashing around.  This only ceased after a prolonged bite from Peja to the Lizard’s throat. After a period of licking and almost playful biting, Peja eventually dragged the now motionless Lizard to the top of a concealed rock well away from our vehicle.

 It was an exhilarating experience and will go down as one of my best ever wild encounters. While you never know for certain, I doubt I will witness such behavior again.  

On our last night while driving back to camp, we found two male Lions lying in some long grass. Occasionally they would raise their heads and this alerted a small herd of nearby Zebras to their presence. With the Zebras focused on the Lions, we were able to drive up reasonably close to them with the added bonus that they were all motionless and also looking the same way. With the camera balanced on a beanbag and using filters to balance the darker foreground with the lighter background, I was able to take this simple but pleasing image. I really like the composition and the hint of pastel colours in the sky.

It is rare that the Mara fails to deliver something special over the course of a week and hopefully I will have more luck when I return in late October.

I’ve had some pretty amazing wildlife encounters in my time, but I can safely say that all have been eclipsed by what I recently witnessed in Tahiti. This was an incredible trip, one that I hope to repeat again, even if it had a somewhat unfortunate ending.

Divers visiting Tahiti, typically do so for one reason. It is home to one of the world’s healthiest shark populations. At a time when sharks are being massacred globally on a scale that that has seen a reduction of 80% of all large shark species over the last 50 years and which sees over 100m sharks slaughtered each year, Tahiti has done an admiral job in protecting its marine life.

Although Tahiti enjoys a high degree of autonomy, it is still an overseas territory of France and the influence of France is all prevalent – from the French language which is universally spoken to the baguettes and croissants that are standard breakfast fare. Were it not for the coconut palms and the aqua marine lagoons, you could be forgiven for thinking that you were deep in Provence.

For developing countries, one of the positives of having a rich, developed nation as your benefactor is that they typically ensure good governance with a lid kept on corruption while the environment is usually well protected. Marine conservation tends to be non-existent or low down the totem pole in most developing countries and more often than not they have succumbed to short term monetary incentives offered by the likes of China and Taiwan who are anxious to gain access to the fish stocks of these nations. Once they gain entry, the impact, especially on the larger pelagic species, is nearly always rapid and devastating. Sharks are particularly vulnerable. Demand for their fins continues to grow as China becomes ever richer while supply is limited by the slow reproduction rates of sharks – the gestation period for many species is longer than that of humans.

Twenty years ago when I was first diving, it was possible to see abundant shark numbers in the waters of many Asian countries including Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines. Today the sharks in these waters are virtually gone. Other than the occasional migratory species, I sincerely doubt that there is even a single adult shark left in the South China Sea. Certainly, I have yet to see a shark in the offshore waters of Hong Kong and Southern China despite regularly being in the company of spear fisherman – usually a sure fire way of attracting sharks from a wide distance.  Healthy shark populations are now confined almost exclusively to the waters of developed nations where there is adequate protection. Indeed, the majority of shark photos that one sees in today’s publications come from one small destination in the Northern Bahamas.   

Anxious to avoid New Zealand’s Auckland airport, I chose to travel to Tahiti via Tokyo. Although this involves a bit of a detour coming from Hong Kong, Auckland has the world’s toughest hand luggage restrictions. As I always try to hand carry one underwater camera system as insurance against possible lost checked-in luggage, Auckland is top of my list of airports to avoid. Last year when I used the airport, something like 80% of passengers had their hand luggage weighed. Anything over 7kgs and you were forced to go back downstairs to the main check-in area. As far as I could tell, there were absolutely no exceptions to this rule and they would not tolerate any repacking of photo gear into the photo vest that I was wearing. Meanwhile, 300 lb Tongan passengers passed me at regular intervals. Were any of them weighed? Of course not. By contrast, the Hong Kong and Tokyo airports are a breeze and I had no problems with my 20+ kg hand luggage. 

After a 12 hour overnight flight on Air Tahiti Nui (not bad), I arrived in the capital, Papeete, where I caught a 1 hour flight to the atoll of Rangiroa. In the late 80s and early 1990s, Rangiroa earned a reputation as one of world’s great shark diving destinations, famed for its “walls” of Grey Reef and Silvertip sharks. With expectations high, Rangiroa was however, a big letdown. While the currents were unfavourable on a number of dives – i.e. the currents were outgoing through the passes from the lagoon into the ocean creating poor water visibility – meaning that some of our dives had to be done away from the passes on the outside reefs, shark sightings were far and few between. I was told there were large numbers at 45-50 meters. However, even if one were to use a gas mixture of say 24-25% oxygen/75-76% nitrogen, the amount of time one could spend at such depths without making an extremely long decompression stop, would be limited. Moreover, when I checked with some other divers who had been down to these depths, I was told that yes, there were more sharks below 40m, although not huge numbers and more importantly, they were not coming close enough for acceptable photos. As a consequence, I didn’t bother making any of these deeper dives. The only highlight were several playful dolphins that showed up on a number of the dives.

And so after three days of average diving in Rangiroa, I headed for another, remoter atoll. Having been to this atoll last year, I knew what to expect and boy did it deliver.

Like Rangiroa, this atoll is roughly rectangular in shape and is composed of two narrow strips of land with a width of no more than a few hundred meters but a total length of 60kms. Encompassed within the atoll is a large lagoon with an area of over 1,100kms. The atoll is broken by two passes through which millions of gallons of water flow each day – typically there are two outgoing and incoming currents per day. It is in these passes that most of the marine life activity and behaviour take place.

The lagoon side of the island is spectacularly beautiful with breathtaking beaches and turquoise waters and,  especially at the south end, is dotted with small, postcard perfect motus, or islands. The reefs on the lagoon side are ideal for snorkelling and are home to an abundance of small and large reef dwellers including this increasingly rare Napoleon Wrasse in the second image. 

The reef side of the atoll is much wilder with high surf as a constant feature. The following image shows the reef side of the atoll at dusk on a day of high winds and intermittent rain.

I have noted that Tahiti is famed for its large shark population. But there is another, rarely seen marine event. It happens for only a few days each year, at a few select destinations in Tahiti. Unlike say the Sardine run off the coast of South Africa, it is an occurrence that is not well known by the diving community globally. This event is the massive spawning aggregations of Groupers and Surgeonfish.

Last year, by pure chance, I stumbled upon this event when I made a one day expedition to the more remote of the two passes. This year I made sure that I was based close to the pass so that I could dive it every day. The image below shows the lagoon at night and was taken outside my hut with the scene illuminated by a dazzlingly bright full moon.

Large numbers of Camouflage Groupers begin to gather five or six days before the full moon. In the days prior to the full moon, the Groupers are extremely placid and approachable to the extent that you can just about touch them. It is possible to lie down amongst them and have the fish swimming within a foot or two of you. Visibility tends to be good to excellent at this time.

The Groupers come together in a location that is not far from a “Wall of Sharks” dive site. Literally hundreds of sharks – mainly Grey Reef, Silvertip and Pointed Nose Sharks patrol the wall, typically swimming into the current.

As the Groupers come together, some of these sharks will lazily make their way over to the aggregation, cruising amongst the fish but showing no signs of aggression. The Groupers appear completely unconcerned by the sharks and make only very languid movements to get out of the way.

As the day of the full moon approaches, the Grouper numbers increase. As far as the eye can see – and visibility is still a good 30m – Groupers blanket the bottom of the reef, at depths of 25-35m.

On the day of the full moon (the image below shows a full moon rising over a shallow lagoon on the reef side of the atoll), everything changes.

On my first morning dive, water visibility was down to a few meters -not because I was diving on an outgoing current, but because the water was thick with Grouper spawn. Gone was the placid behaviour exhibited by the Groupers on previous days. It was replaced  instead by frenetic activity as groups of four or five Groupers would burst up from the reef floor, releasing their eggs in a thick milky cloud.

Meanwhile the spawning activity attracts large numbers of Grey Reef and Pointed Nose Sharks. Unlike the previous days when they showed little interest in the Groupers, they were now firmly fixated on catching and eating the Groupers. Unfortunately the sharks move so quickly that while you can see this activity, it is virtually impossible to catch with a still camera.

Joining the Groupers in the spawning frenzy were large numbers of Yellowfin Surgeonfish whose spawn clouded the water still further.

When I made my second dive later in the morning, the Grouper spawning had died down and the visibility had improved. However, there was a significant increase in Surgeonfish spawning activity. Not only was this continuing to draw sharks in prodigious numbers but large schools of Bluestreak Fusiliers were also attracted to the spawning commotion.

At no point did I ever feel concerned about the behaviour of the sharks. During the spawning they were very one-tracked with their focus exclusively on the spawning fish. Indeed both during the spawning and on the wall of sharks, getting close enough to the sharks was the main problem as they would tend to veer off when at a distance of 8-10 feet from me – close enough for most but for a photographer with  wide angle lenses, there is no such thing as being too close to a shark.

I should note that because of the current changes, it is only possible to do two dives per day at this site and with peak activity at fairly deep depths and even allowing for the use of a 32% or 34% Nitrox mix, your bottom time at these depths isn’t more than 20-25 minutes. So adding up your two dives you only have 40-50 minutes to get your photos on the day of peak activity.

By the next day, the Groupers had completely ceased spawning. The Surgeonfish however, continued to spawn with attendant Fusiliers and Sharks.

By the following day all spawning had ended and most of the Groupers had vanished. At this stage I moved to the other Pass. If the currents are right, the North pass can have spectacular shark numbers and exciting drift dives, one of which culminates in a bowl shaped canyon where sizeable schools of Goatfish, Bigeyes, Soldierfish and Snappers gather. Nearby there are small caves with White Tip Reef Sharks, Snappers, Soldier and Squirrelfish.

On my second last day of diving, I made three fairly deep dives in strong currents. On the last dive, anxious to get a few last images , I lost the rest of the group on the ascent and safety stop. I surfaced some distance away from the dive tender but they eventually managed to locate me – I had stupidly left my orange safety sausage at the dive centre – a big no, no when diving in strong currents.

On the way back to shore, I noticed some soreness in the knuckle above my right forefinger. I didn’t think anything of it as I had experienced something similar on previous dive trips which I put down to muscle/joint fatigue from holding a camera for prolonged periods in strong currents – my underwater housing/strobes are negatively buoyant.

I went back to my accommodation, had a drink with some other divers (non-alcohol), grabbed some dinner and went to my room. After lying down for a few minutes, I thought I sensed a very minor numbness in my right foot. My right knuckle was still slightly sore. I now began to wonder if I had some mild decompression sickness, commonly known as “the bends”. When you dive, nitrogen enters the bloodstream. As you ascend, most of this nitrogen clears, but if you ascend too quickly or do not spend sufficient time at shallower depths to expel the nitrogen slowly, you can be left with nitrogen bubbles and/ or excess nitrogen in the bloodstream. For the last 15-20 years, computers (carried on the wrist) have been available to divers to ensure that they manage this process correctly. My dive profiles had been such that I had not exceeded no-decompression limits and I had made adequate safety stops on all dives but I began to wonder if I should have spent more time on the ascent at 15-10m or even if I should have done an even longer safety stop at 5m on the last dive given that the previous two dives had involved fairly extended periods at between 20-25m. I was also conscious that the surface interval between the 2^nd and 3^rd dive had been quite short (1 hour). I also remembered drinking very little water during the day and feeling quite tired between dives – these are also factors that more easily facilitate decompression sickness.

On the other hand, I had done many dives, especially early in my diving life with worse dive profiles and no ill consequences, and I should add that I have made close to 2,000 dives over the last 20 years and have never had any decompression issues.

For several minutes, I debated what to do. Was I just being paranoid? Decompression sickness can be a very serious condition resulting in paralysis or even death, but such eventualities are nearly always preceded  by a diver making a very rapid ascent with immediate severe symptoms on the surface such as loss of consciousness, vomiting, dizziness, severe nausea, impaired motor functions etc. I did not have any of these. However, joint pain and numbness are secondary symptoms and I had these, albeit on a very minor scale. I admit to having a morbid fascination with decompression sickness and have read hundreds of case studies. When I talk with dive guides and dive boat captains, I always get around to asking them about their experiences with divers who have had decompression sickness.

Eventually, I concluded that it was better to be safe than sorry so I contacted my dive guide who came to collect me. We then made our way to a nearby clinic which by coincidence was run by his wife. As expected she immediately had me breathing oxygen. She then called the main hospital in the capital, Papeete (on another island). After a long conversation, in French, with a decompression sickness specialist, it was decided that it would be best if I receive immediate treatment in a decompression chamber at the hospital. This would mean that a plane would have to be sent for me to make the 1.5 hour journey to the main island.

Of course at this stage I could not help but think I had overreacted. I also felt a little embarrassed that a major operation was being launched on my behalf which might in fact be pointless. I asked the nurse if a medivac was really necessary but she replied that once the hospital specialist had made the decision, there was no turning back: “it is zee French protocol”.

After sticking an IV into my left arm, I then had one hour to pack up all my stuff. When it was determined that I would be flying out, two of the dive guides had gone to my room to retrieve all my gear. I had warned them that this in itself would be no easy task with bits of camera and underwater camera gear scattered all over my room. Commendably, they managed to get everything to me in several bags, but of course I needed to dismantle all the housings, strobes, arms etc. This required quite an effort given my restricted movement with the IV hanging out of my arm.

Five minutes after finishing (it was now 2am), we received word that the plane had arrived. Carrying the IV bag, the nurse drove me to the now deserted airstrip. I walked onto the small plane – just big enough for me to lie down and for a nurse and doctor to be seated. The flight passed uneventfully for the first hour at which point, I realised that I desperately needed to pee. Coupled with the water I had been guzzling, the IV fluids had filled my bladder to bursting point. Being a small plane, there was no bathroom on board, so what to do?

Fortunately or unfortunately, I had experienced a similar situation some years earlier when I had taken a three hour charter from Northern Australia to a remote location in Papua New Guinea. Travelling with two companions, we had consumed several beers prior to boarding. The resulting dilemma was solved as follows: one small plastic empty water bottle was located between the three of us. After one of us had finished, the pilot had to descend to lower altitudes and partially open one of the small side windows in the flight deck in order to empty the contents of the bottle. Not only was it necessary to perform this manoeuvre several times but as you can probably picture, some of the contents were blown back into the cabin. We had a good laugh afterwards although it was clear that when we landed the pilot did not share our sense of humour. Fortunately, there was no need to empty the bottle mid-flight this time and I managed the tricky exercise – kneeling down, back to the crew, IV still snaking out of my arm – without too much difficulty.

When the plane landed, an ambulance was waiting to whisk me to the nearby hospital. Within ten minutes I was in the cramped confines of the decompression chamber where I endured a three hour session with the compression in the chamber set at 18 meters. I say endured because although there was no discomfort relating to the pressure in the chamber, I had real trouble breathing from the oxygen mask that was clamped over my nose and mouth. I had to suck extremely hard to get a decent breath. I managed to get permission to loosen the mask very slightly which helped a little. But it was a long three hours and the discomfort with breathing made it impossible to sleep even though by the time the session ended it was 7am and I had had no sleep for the last 24 hours.

I should add at this stage that my symptoms – soreness in the knuckle of my right hand, slightly swollen and stiff fingers in the same hand and mild numbness in my right foot – were pretty much unchanged. This could mean either that the recompression process was having little or no effect (not uncommon with sensation type symptoms) or that in fact, I did not have decompression sickness.

After resting up in a hospital ward, I was back in the chamber six hours later for another two hour session, this time with the chamber set to 12m. Breathing was again an effort but I had bought a book this time to make the time pass a little quicker.

After spending the night in the hospital, my symptoms had dissipated considerably by the next morning with only some minor stiffness in my hand still evident. After being checked out by the medical staff I was told I was free to go. The main doctor noted that while he could not be certain, there was a good chance that I did not have decompression sickness. While my symptoms were consistent with decompression sickness, he said that in pretty much all cases where the symptoms were restricted to sensation ones, the soreness/stiffness/numbness would have been more widespread, e.g. down the whole of one’s right side.

I flew back to Hong Kong the next day with no incidents on the flights back. However, on waking on my first morning back in Hong Kong, I noticed that the top of my right arm and the lower part of my right leg were slightly numb. I went to a specialist the same day that put me through a whole series of motor and sensation tests. Everything turned out to be normal. As an additional precaution, I was sent for a brain MRI. Again, everything was normal (some relief to find out that I do indeed have a brain).

Since then my symptoms have almost disappeared. My hand and arm are now completely normal. The only symptom that I very occasionally experience is a minor tingling sensation in my right foot when I am sitting late at night. Hopefully this will pass with time.

Decompression sickness or not, the whole episode has certainly been a wake-up call to dive even more conservatively than before. Having had the dive profiles from my dive computer analysed, the conclusion was that while generally OK, I could probably afford to spend a little more time on the ascent at depths between 10-15m. In addition, I will be changing my Uwatech brand of dive computer to a Suunto one. I had noticed that while, for instance, my dive computer was telling me that I still had e.g. 5 minutes before exceeding no decompression limits, other divers on the same dive, who had been following a similar dive profile and who were using Suunto computers, were already five minutes into deco.

Paveena and I made a short trip to Morocco at the beginning of June, primarily to attend a friend’s wedding in the city of Marrakesh. The wedding was held in a beautiful Riad – essentially a large former courtyard residence that has been converted into a boutique hotel – owned and managed by a sister of  UK entrepreneur, Richard Branson. The Riad was comprised of a labyrinth of courtyards, gardens, pools, terraces and staircases. Hidden in a small, nondescript and dusty alley, the Riad proved to be a cool and soothing oasis to the chaos and blistering heat that lay outside its walls.

While Marrakech has an amazing souk (outdoor market) and some beautifully ornate mosques, the main one being a stone’s throw from the Riad, we didn’t feel like it was a place where one would want to spend a lot of time. A few relaxing days in the Riad and the odd trip or two to the souk was enough for us. Still, the wedding was lots of fun and aided by Marrakesh’s famed herbal substances, a good time was had by all.

After the wedding it was time to head south. Travelling in a 4×4 vehicle, we drove for the better part of a full day before reaching the town of Zagora. Along with several other members of the wedding party, we switched our mode of transport to camel late in the afternoon, arriving at a tented desert camp at nightfall. Unfortunately the camp was filled with other tourists and the usual tourist trappings – e.g. local dancers, and it was all a bit too contrived for us.

The next day we continued on our own, driving ever further south, before reaching the frontier town of M’Hamid in late afternoon. We were extremely grateful for the air-conditioning of our vehicle as the outside temperatures – in the high 40s c – were truly brutal.

Our destination was the sand dunes of Erg Chigaga on the southern border with Algeria. Shortly after M’Hamid, the road ended and it was time for a bone rattling, three hour off-road drive through a featureless, rocky desert. It was probably asking a bit much for Paveena, being six months pregnant; to endure this ordeal but she stuck it out with her usual stoic fortitude.

The drive took longer than expected and we arrived at our thankfully deserted camp with only 30 minutes of daylight left. Our camp was set among the dunes, a 40km stretch of golden Saharan sand with dunes of up 300m high. After another dinner of chicken tangine – we’ve both now had a lifetime’s fill of this dish – we walked a short distance from the camp to a spot where I wanted to make some night time images. For anyone who has been in the desert, with its total absence of light pollution, the stars that fill the night sky are spectacular. Unfortunately, a few clouds drifted into the frame while I was taking some long exposures which ruined the pictures but it was still a fantastic experience lying on the dunes in complete silence looking up at the millions white pinpricks that dotted the inky black sky.

As we made to head back to our camp, I realised that we had wandered further than I had originally thought. We became unsure of some of the landmarks that we had picked out with our torches on the way out and after about 15 minutes, we realised that we were lost. The compass function on my i-phone meant that I had a broad idea of the correct direction, but with minimal lighting in our camp, we realised that we could easily become hopelessly disorientated. While not a disaster as we would surely find the camp in daylight, neither of us particularly wanted to spend the night in the dunes away from the camp.

After ten minutes of mounting frustration, we climbed to the top of one of the higher dunes where we managed to pick out a sliver of light from a paraffin lamp. A big sigh of relieve was emitted simultaneously from both of us especially as we realized that the direction we had been walking would have taken us well past the camp.

Deserts are supposed to be cold or at least cool at night, but at close to midnight, the temperature had only dropped a little. Moreover, the mud walls and dark woollen fabric roofs of the tents acted as highly effective insulators, trapping in the day time heat and turning the insides of the tent into a baking oven. Sleeping inside was clearly impossible so we dragged our lumpy mattresses outside and slept under the stars.

The next morning, with temperatures pleasantly cool, I was up well before dawn, hiking some distance into the heart of the dunes. When asked why he liked the desert so much, T.E Lawrence (aka Lawrence of Arabia) replied “because it is clean”. Certainly, in the early morning and late afternoon when the low elevation of the sun creates flawless symmetrical patterns of light and shadow, it is hard to think of a cleaner and more perfectly simple landscape. It was this play between light and shadow that I wanted to capture. As the sun rose, the colours of the dunes also changed – from rose-gold to yellow-gold. Providing balance between the dunes was a mix of sun-bleached soft and hard sand.

While the following images were all taken within a two hour period – and it is virtually impossible to ever do justice to a new location in such a short time frame – I hope that they give some glimmer of the majestic beauty of the area.

Last year when I visited Seronera in the heart of the Serengeti in early May, I had incredible luck: almost no rain despite coinciding with the middle of the rainy season; virtually no other vehicles (a combination of the low season and the global economic downturn); three lionesses on a low kopje (a rocky outcropping) as a full moon rose behind them; an entire lion pride with eight extremely active cubs on an even lower kopje for two days; good leopard encounters; a lioness standing high in an acacia tree in perfect light; masses of elephants and decent sized herds of migrating wildebeest and zebras.

This year, it rained heavily for several hours almost every day; on three afternoons we limped our vehicle back to a workshop to repair faulty brakes/gearbox; no lions on the photogenic low lying kopjes of last year; a complete absence of leopards or tree climbing lions; a total count of just one elephant and while hardly crowded, there were still significantly more vehicles than last year.

The main consolation was the mother of all migrations. I have seen 14 years of wildebeest migrations and this is surely the largest. It bodes especially well for planned trips to Kenya’s Masai Mara in August and October when it looks like record numbers of wildebeest, zebras and other grazers will be hurling themselves into the swollen waters of the crocodile infested Mara River.

The dearth of opportunities to photograph the big cats or elephants meant that by necessity, the focus was on the migrating herds. In fact this suited me quite well as I was keen to try out my new “rock cams”. In summary, while I was able to get a few decent images, using these devices was mainly one of frustration and requires a very large dose of patience. Part of the problem was mechanical – the wireless triggers were fairly useless with a range of 20-25 meters at best (when I tested these indoors before the trip, the range was at least 50 meters). The cameras also need to be tilted upwards in order to avoid the ground dominating the bottom half of the picture. On top of this, it was almost impossible to anticipate the direction in which the herds would head. Unlike the Mara, where there are clearly defined approaches and exits from the Mara River, the Serengeti herds move in only a very general direction. I placed the shell encased cameras on the ground in the direction that the herds were headed, many, many times. On all but a handful of occasions they would change direction. On the few occasions that they passed over or close to the cameras I was then faced with the challenge of inching our vehicle close enough to the herds in order to get within the workable range of the triggers without spooking the animals away from the cameras. Lastly, I had to hope that when the herds were stampeding over the casings that the latter and more importantly, the cameras and lenses would not be damaged. While thankfully the cameras and lenses all survived intact, both casings were partially damaged.

Why put myself through all this trouble and frustration you may ask? Well, when you’ve been on c.30 trips to East Africa, you reach a stage where the onus becomes very much on trying to capture something unique or at least different. And I have to say, based on the strength of a handful of images; this type of photography is quite addictive. I have to be careful not to get completely blinded as that would be to miss potentially good opportunities using more traditional techniques, but I know that with perseverance, there are some unique and potentially outstanding images to be had. The following images give a hint of what the rock cams are capable of producing.

I now know the modifications that I need to make so I will be hoping for a better success rate when I visit the Mara in a few months.

When I am on safari, my days start early and I am always out by 5.30am. The following image was taken at 5.45am as a silvery crescent moon was sliding down from high in the inky night sky, past the acacia tree silhouettes to the dawn lit horizon.

The normal weather pattern each day was for relatively fine mornings with a build up of dark clouds in the early afternoon…

…followed by heavy afternoon rain before the sun would appear briefly late in the afternoon. With plenty of clouds still in the sky at sunset, I experienced a number of beautiful sunsets.

As always there were plenty of avian opportunities. As with the Lilac Breasted Roller, which is also extremely common, I never seem to tire of photographing Superb Starlings. This one was bathing in a muddy rain pool next to the workshop where we were repairing our vehicle one afternoon. And yes I know, the head turn is less than perfect…

Another less photographed bird that caught my eye was this immature Dark Chanting Goshawk (I am not entirely sure about the identification. If anyone reading this thinks otherwise, it would be much appreciated if they could let me know).

The trip was not totally devoid of big cats and late one afternoon we encountered this solitary Lioness on a small kopje surrounded by Wildebeest, on which she kept a watchful eye.

After eight days in the Serengeti, I headed back to Kenya in order to make a quick excursion up to Lake Turkana. However, after suffering through a drought for several years, the region is currently receiving record amounts of rainfall and on the day that I was supposed to fly up, the satellite map showed huge storms covering most of the area.

After consulting with my pilot, we decided that it was pointless to venture into these storms and instead chose to make two shorter aerial trips south to Lake Natron. After waiting for the best part of the day for the weather to clear up in Nairobi, we made the short journey down to the Lake. I had always wanted to fly around the intermittently active volcano, Oldenya Lengai, at the southern end of the lake in Tanzania. As it was, the views were less than perfect, with broken cloud surrounding the top of the volcano.

The sides of the mountain were covered with solidified ash and lava flows which have created some interesting patterns. Further down the mountain, moss has begun to form in some of the lava sculpted gullies.

Turning away from Lengai, we headed back north flying low along the western edge of the shore. In the late afternoon light, the clouds and a distant Mount Shompole were perfectly reflected off Lake Natron’s glassy surface.

After a night in Nairobi, we were back in the air the following morning heading again to Lake Natron. On the approach we flew over another of East Africa’s soda lakes, Lake Magadi, on the Kenyan side of the border. These lakes lie in the Great Rift Valley. During their formation, much of this valley was covered in volcanic ash, rich in sodium carbonate. Rainwater flowing down the slopes of the numerous volcanoes  formed  rivers, some of which were also fed by underground springs. These rivers picked up volcanic chemicals and salts and deposited them into the lakes. As a result of evaporation caused by searing air temperatures, the minerals and salts were concentrated into various sodium compounds. From the air, these compounds often show themselves in vivid red and rust colours.

With so much rain in the previous weeks, the preponderance of these colours had been diluted but in patches were still evident especially in the shallows along the lake shore.

Given the caustic mix of chemicals in the lakes it is surprising that their waters can sustain any life forms. But one microscopic creature positively thrives in these conditions –an algae called Spirulina. This is the principal food source of the Lesser Flamingo which in ideal dry conditions gathers in hundreds of thousands and sometimes into the millions.

The bountiful rainfall meant that the environment was less than perfect for the algae and hence the flamingos were limited to a few isolated congregations. Still, with the cloud cover reflected off the lake in monochromatic tones – further enhanced by black & white processing – this provided a beautiful canvas to offset the small groups of flying flamingos.

And so we headed back to civilisation, leaving the surreal landscapes, seemingly from another plant, behind. As we turned north, we passed a small herd of Zebra picking their way across the stark, featureless delta plains.

Back in Midway just a month after my last trip, this time with Paveena.  During my travels of the last year, I’ve had few inconvenient travel delays (the delay in Antarctica was a welcome one) or faced inclement weather so the odds were that something would give at some stage. Arriving in Oahu, we headed over to the east coast for a few days of R&R before our scheduled Midway charter flight. We stayed in the pleasant coastal town of Kailua, a mecca for water sports enthusiasts. After three days of eating, body surfing and touring the coast of Oahu, we were ready for some bird photography. However, on the morning of our departure for Midway, we were informed that the chartered prop plane had a mechanical problem and was currently stuck on Midway with a two day delay likely.

So followed two days of more eating, touring, beach going and even TV watching as both of us got progressively more bored. I took my camera with me on some of our North Shore excursions and did manage to capture this shot of fir trees which I have converted into monochrome and given it a funky, artistic twist. I like the image a lot and it is an indication of where I want more of my photography to head.

Arriving in Midway after a 4.5 hour flight, we were greeted with unseasonal cold, wet and windy conditions and while we did have a day and half of sunny weather, for the most part of our stay it was stormy with winds in the 30-40 mph range, punctuated with frequent, heavy squalls. All of this made photography more challenging but by no means impossible. Perhaps tougher, was bicycling against the wind, especially down the unsheltered runway.

On our first morning we had a few hours of relatively calm conditions. Before breakfast it was straight down to the “Albatross runway” for some take-off shots. I made a big effort to eliminate all distracting backgrounds when shooting this time around.

We followed this up with some flight photography of the albatrosses flying over Midway’s aquamarine coloured lagoon.

Although May and June are the peak months for White Tern hatchlings, the first chicks begin to appear in early to mid-April and for me this was a prime photographic objective: to locate and photograph the chicks and ideally the adults feeding the chicks with fish.

As I have written before, White Terns do not build nests. Rather they lay their eggs on tree branches, logs and rocks. This makes the eggs highly vulnerable to strong winds should the adults leave the egg unattended at any stage. Moreover, while the chicks have large, webbed feet with strong gripping powers, they too are also at risk in strong winds. This explains why most of the egg laying and chick rearing occurs in the middle of the year when winter storms have passed.

While looking for chicks, I found a newly hatched chick on the ground that had fallen from its tree branch perch some 20 feet above the ground. As there was no way for me to reach the branch, I instead placed the chick on a lower branch. However, despite being in full view of the adult, perched on the original branch higher up, the latter made no effort to fly to the lower branch. We watched from a distance with a mix of frustration and sadness as the adult remained on its high perch, newly caught fish in its bill, ignoring its chick 12 feet below it. It was hard to watch the increasingly dehydrated and hungry chick visibly fade as the day progressed. We hoped that perhaps nightfall would coax the adult to feed and shelter the chick but sadly when we returned the next morning after a night of high winds, cold temperatures and heavy rain, the chick had succumbed to the elements, hanging upside down from its perch. Perhaps aggravated by being a newly expecting mum, Paveena found the whole episode extremely distressing. Even I found it hard to watch as she removed the chick from the branch and buried it in the nearby sandy earth.

All species of avian chicks on Midway face various perils. For the Albatross chicks, I have documented previously the threat they face from inadvertent plastic material ingestion. In addition, their parents spend up to three weeks at a time away from them, foraging for food far out to sea in the Northern Pacific. Many of the chicks have nests on the ground in extremely unsheltered areas where they are at the full mercy of the prevailing elements. On this trip, we observed various Albatross chicks being repeatedly drenched by breaking waves over sea walls as well as chicks being sand blasted on the beach, their eyes full of gritty sand particles. When the weather is fine, even in the early months of the year, temperatures can rise well into the 80s. For those chicks out in the open, with no shade, dehydration is another risk. It is hard to say what this Laysan Albatross chick died from to but the little carcass offered a sad reminder of how perilous the early months are for Midway’s chicks.

After much looking I managed to find two healthy White Tern chicks in different locations with attendant adults. The adults would shelter the chicks by sitting on top them (gently off course) during the night. During the day, they would disappear out to sea for periods typically of 1-2 hours to forage for small fish and sand eels to feed to chicks. The latter have voracious appetites and are capable of swallowing fish the length of their own bodies. Although the backgrounds were less than ideal, I did manage to capture some of the interaction as well as some close-up shots of the adults carrying fish/eels.

On previous visits, I have photographed adult White Terns on the roots of a particularly attractive Ironwood (Casuarinas) tree. However, I have never been entirely satisfied with the images due to the placement of the Tern, the lighting conditions or the depth of field achieved so on this trip I repeatedly checked the tree. Late one afternoon, everything came together: flat light and a perfectly placed Tern. I set up the tripod, using a slow shutter speed (1/20^th sec) in order to allow a relatively small aperture (f 14) so that all the tree roots would be in focus. Too many photographers get fixated on zooming in on their subject but when you find an animal juxtaposed on a beautiful or distinctive background, I will always want to give prominence to the latter in the image. Given the virtual absence of colour in the image, this picture was always destined for black & white conversion.

Not far from this tree is a particularly attractive Banyan tree. One of the lessons that I have learnt from underwater macro photography is the importance of backgrounds. When I am underwater with a macro rig, I will often hunt for a striking background and then wait for something to come along and either swim past it or plonk itself on the backdrop.

With plenty of Albatrosses near the Banyan tree, I knew it was only a matter of time before an albatross walked closely past the giant Banyan tree roots.

On one of the days the wind was really screaming with huge rollers crashing over the reef.

The wind was so strong that in exposed locations such as at a small peninsular called Bulky Dump, it was at times difficult to stand. However, the upside is that the windier the conditions, the more birds that take to the air. Albatrosses thrive in high winds, locking their long wings in place to glide and swoop effortlessly from the sky to the sea surface. This next image was taken when the sun momentarily broke through thick cloud cover. It captures the huge numbers of albatrosses in the air as well as the thundering surf spilling over the reef into the lagoon.

One of the animals that you will encounter in Midway is the highly endangered Hawaiian monk seal. I have not taken many pictures of them over the years partly because they are mostly seen stretched out prostrate and asleep on the island’s beaches (i.e. not very interesting) and partly because there is a 150 ft radius limit to approaching the seals – designed to minimise disturbance.

On occasion however, I have come within this radius by accident. One morning, I came down some steps leading to one of the beaches and when I turned the corner, there was a seal not more than 30 ft away, fast asleep and yes, snoring loudly. I backed away carefully and took up a position behind some shrubbery where I could see it but it could not see me. Normally I would have left straight away but the dark brooding clouds in the background all screamed photo opportunity so I quickly snapped off a few pics. The seal did briefly open one eye and just as quickly went back to snoring.

Photography doesn’t have to end even when it is pouring rain. The new pro and semi-pro camera bodies and lenses are extremely weather resistant and indeed I have stopped bothering with rain coverings. My cameras have now been soaked and caked in snow several times, with no ill effect at all. When the rain descended on Midway, I tried to get a little more creative. Without captioning, viewers would probably have a hard time figuring out what these next two images are (just as intended!). In fact they are the backs of the heads of two Laysan Albatross chicks, taken from about 6 inches away while they were distracted as they faced into the teeth of a howling gale accompanied by squally showers.

Paveena and I were shown around the amazing hydroponic garden that the local Thai staff have set up. It now provides a good deal of the vegetables and fruit that is served up in the canteen every day. While under the covering mesh of the garden, the sun briefly broke through, which I noticed was creating some interesting shadows of White Terns resting on the mesh roof. I returned a little later with my camera.

One of the golden rules of landscape photography is to get something interesting into the foreground. While walking along Midway’s long northern beach, I came upon this washed up tree by the water’s edge. This next image was taken at dusk using 5 stops of graduated neutral density to balance the exposure between the ground and the sky and with the shutter left open for 20 seconds. This has had the effect of smoothing out the water, which was in fact quite turbulent.

On the last day we headed out to Bulky Dump again, a charcoal sky hanging over the breaking surf and with the smell of rain in the air. We concentrated on the Laysan Albatrosses as they went about their seemingly endless courtship dances and grooming rituals.

The Albatrosses have absolutely no fear of humans and are more curious than anything when in our presence. While I lay on the ground photographing the courting threesome in the previous image, this inquisitive individual noticed that neither of my ears were pierced, a predicament it set about trying to rectify.

Paveena and I made a quick trip to Laos in mid-March. Neither of us had been to this land-locked country despite its close proximity to Hong Kong and especially Thailand. With only a few days available, we settled on the town of Luang Prabang as our base. Although it has become a magnet for back packers, it still retains some of its sleepy French colonial charm. Certainly there is no shortage of pretty colonial architecture on display and the numerous restaurants serve an interesting mix of spicy local dishes (chilli buffalo features heavily) and traditional French cuisine.

45 minutes outside of the town there is an attractive set of pools and waterfalls which reminded us of similar features that we had seen in Huanglong national park in Northern Sichuan province in China. The sapphire coloured terraced pools are the result of yellow-tinged calcium carbonate and limestone deposits that line the soil.

On the second morning that I visited the falls, I did so early, before anyone else arrived. I was rewarded with the rising sun’s golden rays striking the tumbling falls.

We visited a number of temples in Luang Prabang. To a first time visitor some of these may come across as being spectacularly beautiful but in reality they pale in comparison to those found for instance in Ayutthaya in Thailand or Angkor Wat in Cambodia. Still, I did get some nice shots of some of the Buddhist statues. As light levels were dim at best in most of the temples, very long exposures were needed (typically 30 seconds).

We took a trip down the Mekong river for a few hours but found it very unattractive although the banks maybe more interesting during the rainy season when the vegetation is more lush.

Every year I try to go to one or two new photographic destinations but mostly I return to places I have been to before. This might seem strange to some but the fact is that the more times you return to a location and the more familiar you become with its landscape and wildlife, the better your photos will become.

There are certain places that I see myself returning to year after year for as long as I am able to travel and as long as the ecosystems of these destinations remain intact. For me, these places are almost like a drug; their appeal is so strong that they keep pulling you back. The Masai Mara in Kenya is one such area. Another is Midway Atoll, at the end of the Hawaiian Island chain.

In early March I made my fourth trip to this magical avian paradise along with 13 other photographers. Jointly leading the trip was the legendary bird photographer, Artie Morris. While Artie is probably the world’s foremost bird photographer, he is also hands down the greatest teacher of photographic techniques and post production processes (i.e. photoshop). It would be fair to say that 80%+ of all the photographic technique that I have acquired has been picked up from Artie’s publications. Along with fellow photoshop guru, Robert O’Toole, nearly 100% of what I know about post production processes has come from these two. Anyone with any interest in improving their photography, irrespective of whether they have  a nature photography leaning, needs to get their hands on the following publications: “The Art of Bird Photography,” by Arthur Morris; “Digital Basics,” by Arthur Morris (both available from his web site www.birdsasart.com); “Advanced Photoshop Techniques and Tips Simplified (APTATS 1 & 2),” by Robert O’Toole (also available from www.birdsasart.com).

Being 1,250 miles from Honolulu and more than a third of the way to Japan, Midway is right out in the middle of nowhere and getting there remains a challenge with no commercial jets servicing the atoll. This means you have to take a 4.5 hour chartered flight to get there.

Midway is best known for its decisive naval sea battle in World War 2. Up to the late 1990s, the US Navy maintained a sizeable naval/air presence on the main island. They have since left and transferred control and maintenance of the atoll to the US Fish & Wildlife Service.

Today, Midway’s major attraction is its huge bird population, crammed onto three islands within the atoll – Sand Island (1.8 miles long and 1.2 miles wide), Eastern Island (about half the size of Sand Island) and tiny Spit Island (just a few hundred meters long).  Seventeen seabird species, numbering nearly two million birds, nest on the atoll each year. This creates a density of birds of almost unimaginable proportions. It is hard to go more than a foot or two without encountering one of our feathered friends. Bicycling and driving around the island (in golf carts) involve a constant meandering pattern in order to avoid running over the birds. Meanwhile there are almost as many birds filling the skies especially when any sort of wind gets up. On two occasions including this latest trip, I have been hit by glancing blows from flying albatrosses while cycling on my bike. Luckily neither the birds nor this writer were hurt.

By far and away the most visible of the birds on the atoll is the Laysan Albatross. Between November and July, Midway is home to almost half a million breeding pairs of this species, or 75% of the global population. Add in chicks and fledgling, non-breeding birds and the total Laysan count rises to almost 1.5m. The birds mate for life, live more than 50 years and return to the same area each year to lay their eggs and raise a single chick. The chicks hatch in January and February and fledge in June/July. The fledglings spend up to 5 years at sea – an incredible period to be away from terrestrial land but as I have noted in my previous Midway trip report, the Albatross has switchblade like wings which can be locked into position turning  it into a perfect gliding machine. Indeed, an albatross expends more energy sitting on an egg than in the air. Even more staggering is that a 50 year old Albatross will have flown, at a minimum, 3.7m miles.

The other visible species of Albatross on Midway is the Black-footed Albatross with some 25,000 breeding pairs representing 35% of the world’s breeding population and the largest colony in the world. In this image a parent can be seen standing over its chick with an abandoned egg in the foreground.

The birds are so attractive that I repeatedly have to restrain myself from shooting portrait shots of their heads against pretty backgrounds (I have well and truly done these shots to death over the course of my visits) and challenge myself to try and shoot something different. This is one such shot as is the second image which shows rain droplets on the Laysan’s feathers.

As you can see from the pictures, the Albatrosses and indeed most of the birds on Midway are ridiculously tame. If you sit or lie down, at least a few of the Albatrosses will come right up to you, often nibbling on your shoe laces. When you can get so close to the birds it seems almost criminal not to make extensive use of a wide-angled lens.

In the early morning, the Laysans spill out of the woods and head down to Midway’s beaches. Lining the top of many of the beaches are native Naupaka shrubs. Interspersed between these are clear paths of sand which the birds use as runways. The Laysans, while among the smaller of the Albatross species, still weigh more than 7 pounds and have a wingspan of nearly 7ft. As such they cannot fly from a standing start and like an airplane, require an accelerated burst of speed along the ground before they attain sufficient lift to become airborne.

One of the features of the Albatross population that is hard to miss on Midway is their courtship dance. The dance takes many years to master before it can be applied to woo a mate and non-mated birds can be seen practicing the synchronized duet frequently. At times almost comical, each bird rises up and down on its webbed  feet, periodically thrusting its neck and bill into the air and vocalizing loudly. This is then followed by a repeated clacking and shaking of their bills together.

On this trip, I spent many hours observing the dance and attempting to take close up shots of the birds as their bills came together. I say attempt because the dance happens at a furious pace with the heads and necks in constant motion making it extremely difficult to lock focus. 

In addition to these two albatross species, 2-4 rare Short-Tailed Albatrosses have been residing on Midway in recent years. Only around 1,200 of these beautiful birds remain in the world today. This photo is from last year’s trip when we had the good fortune to photograph one flying over Eastern Island.

As nightfall descends on Midway, some 70,000 Bonin Petrels fly in from the ocean to overnight on the islands. On my upcoming return trip to Midway, I plan to get out at night to try and capture some images of this attractive little bird.

One species that is impossible to ignore on Midway and which remains my personal favorite is the White Tern. On numerous occasions while I was either out walking or cycling, up to five or six of these birds would suddenly appear and hover for a prolonged period just a few feet above my head. I probably spent more time photographing White Terns on this trip than I did Albatrosses and I think I managed to get some very pleasing images.

Of the hundreds of White Tern images that I made, the following is probably my favourite. Taken at a focal length of 28mm with a touch of off-camera fill flash, it shows two Terns hovering while further overhead a Red Footed Booby and five Laysan Albatrosses cruise by.

Coming a close second is an image similar to one that I took last year. In fact it is almost identical insofar as it is the same tree (Ironwood or more specifically a Casuarina tree) with the nesting Tern in a similar position. I am not entirely happy with the position of the bird and would have preferred it a little higher up in the frame. Hopefully, I will have the chance to improve on the composition when I return to Midway next week.

February and March marks the peak season for the acrobatic courtship dance of the Red-Tailed Tropic Bird which on Midway numbers around 5,000 breeding pairs. This is an absolutely beautiful bird and photographs particularly well in the mid-day sun against Midway’s deep blue skies with their undersides lit up by the white sandy beaches which act as giant reflectors.

Over on Eastern Island, a 10 minute boat ride from Sand Island, there are a number of bird species that are not found on the latter. Chief amongst these are 90 pairs of Great Frigate birds plus a similar number of juveniles. Here two juveniles can be seen playfully snapping at one another in flight. However, they do have a darker side to them and on occasion can be seen harassing other bird species into giving up food that they have collected from the ocean.

Another species found only on Eastern Island is the Red Tailed Booby. This one can be seen carrying nesting material .

Unlike last year, I managed no decent images of the rare Laysan Duck but I did get to photograph an attractive shorebird species that I had not encountered before: a Bristle-Thighed Curlew.

In contrast to the days of film, digital allows you to experiment away at no extra cost and with so many birds in the air, it would have been amiss not to attempt some blur pictures of flying birds (i.e. panning using a slow shutter speed). Generally, these kinds of pictures work best against some sort of defined background (e.g. sea) as opposed to a featureless sky. In the early morning, before the sun has come up or on cloudy mornings, I like to manually adjust the white balance setting to around 3,500 kelvin to cool down the colour to an attractive shade of blue. This is similar to the colours that you used to get at this time of the day when shooting film.

It is important to experiment with different shutter speeds. The previous image was shot at ¼ of second, while this next picture is at 1/80^th.

From previous blogs you will have gathered that I am not a big fan of photographing in large groups and one of the attractive features of Midway is that one is free to roam the island in pretty much complete isolation. I probably missed out on some of Artie’s wise words, although I did spend a full morning with him on one day, but I would generally prefer the solitude of just me and the birds (feathered that is) set against  Midway’s stunning backdrop. Towards the end of the trip, while the rest of the group were in the mess hall, and I was on a deserted beach, save for hundreds of birds, a rainbow of majestic proportions appeared over the lagoon. Here a Laysan Albatross heads out on its lonely journey to forage far out into the northern Pacific, briefly gliding past the sweep of the multi-coloured rainbow. To properly bring out the rainbow’s colours, you always need to use a polarizing filter.

Such is the pull of Midway on me, that I am headed back for another trip tomorrow. For Paveena, it will be her first trip and I am just as excited for her as I am myself.

For most of my life I have had a deep aversion to cold climates. This probably has a lot to do with my years spent in a largely unheated boarding school in the Dublin (Ireland) mountains. Memories of drinking water freezing overnight by my bedside in the concrete dormitory that I suffered in with twenty others (windows were required to be left open by a sadistic house master irrespective of outside climatic conditions); and afternoons spent on frozen rugby pitches with fingers and toes numb from the cold, are still fresh in the mind. This was also a driving force in my decision to exit Ireland ASAP post-university graduation to a destination with more agreeable temperatures. Ireland’s 20% unemployment rate at the time (things seem to be going full circle there) was a much lesser consideration.

In turn, the gravitation towards warm weather destinations has been a noticeable feature of my photographic life. It has only been in the last two years that I have ventured to cold weather areas. And I have to write that these have turned out to be some of my most memorable and rewarding trips. My Antarctica trip late last year stands out, but snowy Hokkaido in Northern Japan, which I visited in mid-February, now looks set to becoming a regular return spot.

The fact is that as long as one is dressed appropriately -crucially for photographers this means having an ample supply of hand warmers (which work best when placed in retractable mittens) -then photographing wildlife and landscapes against a backdrop of snow and ice presents endless opportunities for aesthetically pleasing images.

Hokkaido’s big winter wildlife attraction is its collection of majestic avian species. Prominent amongst these are the Japanese Red Crowned Crane, the White Tailed Eagle, the Whooper Swan and the Steller’s Sea Eagle. With time a constraining factor, I had to limit myself to the first three. The Steller’s Sea Eagle, with its stronghold on the Shiritoko peninsular of NE Hokkaido will have to wait until next year.

Arriving at the airport in Sapporo on the western side of Hokkaido with a plane full of ski-destined Hong Kong expats, I was greeted, horror of horrors, by the longest passport control lines that I have ever faced, at any airport, anywhere in the world. Not just that, but the temperature control had seemingly been switched to 30 degrees centigrade, which would have been fine were it not for the fleeces and down jackets worn by all arrivals. So it is official. Japan actually has an inefficient piece of infrastructure (although this will probably be rectified when a new terminal opens this month). 90 minutes later, T-shirt clad and drenched in perspiration, I emerged to the adjoining rail station to find I had missed my train to the port city of Kashiro in SE Hokkaido. This meant a three hour wait for the next train, which in turn would mean that I would miss my connection to the lake side village of Kawayu Onsen.

After a four hour cross-island rail journey through snow covered forests and hills barely visible in the inky darkness, I arrived in Kashiro at 11pm to a temperature of -20c. I quickly located one of Japan’s ubiquitous but comfortable motels just a minute’s walk from the station.

Six hours later I was back at the station to catch my 90 minute train to Kawayu Onsen. As dawn broke, the region’s abundant wildlife made itself visible with Sika deer especially prominent along the edges of the rail track. Also known as Spotted Deer or Japanese Deer, they were once common throughout Asia and the Russian Far East but their range has today been heavily reduced and fragmented in all areas except Japan, where the species remain common. This has been due to conservation efforts and the extinction of wolves, its main predator. The population has expanded so much in Japan that it is now considered a threat to both forests and farmland to the extent that hunting is encouraged in certain areas of Japan.

After a quick transfer to my hotel in Kawayu Onsen, I hopped into a taxi with nearby Lake Kussharo-ko my destination. At 80 sq kms, this is Japan’s largest Crater Lake. Each year hundreds of Whooper Swans winter in Eastern Hokkaido, principally on Lake Kussharo-ko, after migrating from Siberia and Northern Mongolia. Although much of the lake is frozen in winter, it is fed by onsen water, creating warm temperatures and several natural rotemburo (outdoor onsens) around its edge.

In the following image, the steam from the hot water meeting the cold air can be seen in the foreground with the frozen lake and snow covered hills in the background.

During the night, the swans leave the lake and return early morning which provides ample photo opportunities for flying bird shots. While I took plenty of these, my rule of thumb is that when the surrounding landscape is attractive – and in Hokkaido it is often stunningly beautiful – then I prefer to go wider and place the subject in the context of its environment.

That said, it’s important to shoot a variety of images. This next shot was taken with a 600mm lens with a 25mm extension tube attached to permit close focusing. I was sitting down next to the swan with the lens resting on my knees. I love these kinds of images where the subject completely fills the frame, where there is one main point of focus and where the viewer has to pause for a moment to be sure of what they are looking at.

The swans, which are the Eurasian equivalent of the North American Trumpeter Swan, pair for life. In the early morning they tend to be highly gregarious, displaying and calling loudly with their distinctive trumpeting sounds.

Nearly all the visitors and photographers congregate at a point on the eastern shore of the lake where the swans are fed grain in winter by local staff and where tourists can buy parcels of bread to feed the swans. While I took some nice images here, I have an abhorrence to photographing wildlife and landscapes in the presence of large groups of people. So on my first afternoon, I sought out some quieter locations at the southern end of the lake.

I found one especially attractive site where I could be on my own with a group of some 20 swans. Armed with some bread to keep them interested, I spent a number of blissful hours on two consecutive late afternoons surrounded by my new friends against a gorgeous backdrop. This is one of my favourite images from the trip, taken while lying on the ice.

After two days at Kussharo-ko, I was collected by my Japanese guide on the third morning. After a morning at the lake, we spent the afternoon snow-shoeing along the crater edge of nearby Lake Mashu-ko, a 212-meter-deep caldera lake. This image shows Silver Birch trees in the snow along the crater edge with the lake in the background.

Eastern Hokkaido is home to two main raptor species, the White-Tailed Eagle and the Steller’s Sea Eagle. I did not have time on this trip to visit the areas frequented by the latter, but the former can be seen in prodigious numbers at the Akan Crane Centre for about 30 minutes during the daily feeding session that is carried out in an adjoining field for large numbers of cranes. In the build-up to the feed, which includes fish, large numbers of eagles take up position in the surrounding trees. Once the feed begins, they take to the air before periodically swooping down to aggressively compete for the fish. While all a bit contrived for my liking and you will be surrounded by throngs of local photographers, it does provide limitless photo opportunities of the flying eagles.

On occasion, the feeding attracts other, non-avian visitors with this Red Fox putting in a brief appearance as it weaved its way through the cranes looking for leftovers.

On the way back from the eagles one afternoon, we were lucky to chance upon this Ural Owl at its nest.

The number one wildlife attraction in Hokkaido however, is unquestionably the Japanese Red Crowned Crane. It is the world’s second rarest Crane with the only more critically endangered Crane being the North American Whooping Crane. Today the world population of the Red Crowned Crane stands at just 1,500. Of these, 1,000 are found in China and Korea and the remaining 500 in Eastern Hokkaido. Unlike the former groups which breed in Siberia and Mongolia and then migrate to Korea and China, the Hokkaido flock are resident all year round.

The cranes were widely hunted in Japan in the 19^th century, by the end of which they had disappeared from Japan’s Southern Islands. World War II and the Korean War further devastated the Japanese and PRC crane populations. By the winter of 1950, the Hokkaido birds had been reduced to just 25 half-starved birds huddled together around a hot spring. Local farmers came to their rescue by supplying them with grain.

Over the subsequent years, supplemental feeding, rigorous protection and unflagging public support have enabled them to rebound to over 600 birds today. Death from power line collisions has been reduced by a programme to make the power lines more visible to the birds.

The Hokkaido birds breed and spend spring, summer and autumn in the marshes and swamps of Eastern Hokkaido but in winter they congregate on the snow covered wheat and corn fields where they take advantage of public and privately maintained feeding sites. In this first image of the cranes, a pair can be seen coming in to land on one of the fields during a heavy snowfall.

Once a firm bond has been established, the birds remain mated for life. The most spectacular aspect of crane courtship is the dancing ceremony which peaks in February. I had specially timed my visit to coincide with this event.

The birds prance stiff legged around each other, alternately bowing and stretching with their wings half extended. They punctuate the dance by leaping high into the air with their legs dangling loosely beneath them. When excited they pick up small sticks or pieces of grass, toss them exuberantly into the air and then stab them on the way down.

Capturing decent images of the cranes dancing is not as easy as it sounds. Firstly, the courtship display only takes place occasionally and a large group of cranes can go for extended periods with no dancing activity. Secondly, the birds tend to group together quite tightly making it difficult to isolate a courting pair. Thirdly, it is often difficult to frame the cranes against a pleasant background.

The cranes also perform a duet of their ringing unison calls to further strengthen their bond.

While capturing images of the courtship display was a priority, I also wanted to show the birds in their environment. The following image is a classic case of less is more.

One of the most popular places to view the cranes in the early morning is from a bridge overlooking the Setsuri bridge. Lighting and climatic conditions vary considerably from day to day. The first image shows a crane wading in the river towards hoar frosted trees on a particularly cold morning.

The second shows a crane standing in the river as snow falls.

Hokkaido is not just about wildlife and it would wrong to ignore its often stark but picturesque winter landscapes.

As I have noted in previous blogs, the whole experience of Hokkaido’s wildlife and landscapes is enhanced by the exceptional local hospitality you will encounter, by the wonderful onsens and the amazing food.

Japan is a firm favourite of mine and Hokkaido has to be at the very top for nature lovers.